George is coming home today. Mrs. Weasley has us running around gathering things for his homecoming party and Fred's early Deathday party. The truth is the twins have already been planning celebrations for the past two weeks of George's hospitalization. As soon as George was strong enough to ride around in a hover chair, he and Fred began contacting other patients and ghosts of St Mungo's.
George was paid a fair bit of gold from the Head Healer for getting rid of an unwanted ghost from the third-floor sunroom. Fred and George had simply talked the ghost of Sir Le Duc from Uxbridge, dead for the past four hundred and fifty years, into returning to his still empty mansion. I'm sure my name must have come up in the negotiations because, somehow, I've been talked into meeting the twins at the old Le Duc manner after midnight tonight. Something about ickle live 'uns and a bonus Potter being present at Le Duc's first ever Deathday party.
I didn't see much harm in what Le Duc was doing at St Mungo's. Everyone knows the third-floor sunroom is mostly filled with witches recovering from magical nips and tucks or enhancements that have become popular since the war's end. I think most of the witches secretly enjoyed Le Duc flying up the backs of their short hospital gowns and whistling. Okay, he is a bit of a pervert. And I don't think the Healers much cared for the times when Le Duc would visit the Prostate Health Wing.
It's a good thing Mrs. Weasley doesn't know about this venture. If all goes well, George will feign tiredness from the party at eleven thirty. We'll retire to our rooms and sneak out around midnight. I hope we don't get caught.
Mrs. Weasley hands me an empty sack and a list to take to Diagon Alley. I'm to gather Firewhiskey and ingredients for a dish called kimchi, which is basically fermented cabbage and onions with fish oils, for Fred's main course. I've only had a few outings alone in a long while. It feels good to be out, but I keep my hood up against the cold and to avoid any stares from the Christmas shoppers out enthusiastically for the first time in many years. The cabbages are heavy, but I've been warned not shrink them as they have a nasty habit of turning into brussel sprouts and not coming back to usual size.
As I walk along the slippery, cobbled street, I can't help but think about what things would be like had the war been lost. My eyes dart to the direction of Knockturn Alley where raids are conducted daily to clean up the last of the Death Eaters and traders in illegal goods. With Umbridge in Azkaban and the werewolf legislation struck down in the Ministry, Remus would likely have had a job alongside Tonks making the streets safe again. But they did their part, and Sirius's words still ring in my ears from my third year. I know it would be a pretty poor way to repay everyone who helped me if I don't find a way to start living.
As if making its own point about my state of mind at the moment, the cabbages fall through the threadbare sack and roll away, gathering snow and momentum.
"OOOF!" The cabbages and my head find the same glass and wooden door to bump into. I stand up shakily, kicking the cabbage snowman as if it was its fault I have a goose egg for the parties tonight.
"Can I help you with something?" A young witch smiles at me from the door of the shop, and I fall inside. The small bell on the frame still rings from my collision.
"No. Sorry, I just…"
It's a jewelry store.
I pick up the bruised cabbages, repairing the sack and shoving them, snow and all, back inside. Straightening up, my eyes catch the glittering objects behind dusty glass display shelves.
"Pardon the mess, we've only just reopened," the clerk explains. "That is to say reopened. My parents owned the store, but they were both Muggleborn and there's been no word on their whereabouts yet. They were rounded up when …"
"I'm sorry," I tell her. I am, not only for her loss but for the fact that I want to turn and run out of here. The young woman reminds me of Luna with her straightforward words and blunt honesty.
"They would want me to go on. Here, let me help you with that," the clerk says, pulling her wand out and shrinking the cabbage. "Don't worry, I'm good with food shrinking. You won't end up with brussel sprouts."
I feel a bit obligated to look around. It's hot in here. I lower my hood. The clerk's jaw drops in recognition and her already protuberant eyes grow wider but she says nothing. I make my way over the watch rack and purchase a couple of watches, one each for Bill and Charlie. I find myself glancing toward the small objects in the case to the left. My feet follow my eyes and I point out several pieces of jewelry, none of which will do Ginny justice. Christmas isn't actually on my mind. It's the future. The clerk's words repeat in my mind. They would want me to go on.
"I'd like to see that one, please."
The clerk draws out the small ring. I know it's the one, and somehow I feel that I can trust the young woman behind the counter not to Floo the Prophet with a story about what I'm doing here. I pay the full price without quibbling as is customary. I know the shop needs repairs and I can afford it. As I leave, my hood flies up of its own accord. The clerk smiles as the bell chimes to announce another customer. She winks as her wand lowers. I nod in appreciation of her discretion and step out into the cold.
My hand wraps protectively around the ring in my pocket. It's small, and stops halfway down my little finger. My mouth is suddenly dry, so I slip into a pub to have a quick drink. But I order a soda instead, hearing Ginny in my head questioning my need for a drink before I propose to her and Mrs. Weasley's words as I hand her the shrunken, bruised cabbage.
The pub is cold. I should have ordered warm Butterbeer or Firewhiskey. I think of the times I've tried to do this in the past and ended up chickening out. I unfold a picture of my parents dancing silently in their frame to a song I cannot hear. For all the magic in the frame, I still wish for more so I can hear them.
Over the last months I've taken two rings back to the store, transfigured one into a bracelet for Ginny when I got cold feet and threw one over my shoulder on my way back to The Burrow from Godric's Hollow as I walked through a park. It was eaten by a corgi before I could explain what happened. What a tip for the dog walker or the gardener if they erm, find that ring.
"Pssst!" The sound comes from my pocket. I carefully fold the photo of my parents and tuck it away and answer the two-way mirror Mrs. Weasley insists we all carry.
"Harry." It's George. He's seated in a hover chair and Mr. Weasley is signing papers for his release in the background. "Find a way to get word to Ron, Hermione and Ginny to meet us out at the old Le Duc Manor after Mum's party for us."
For a second, I was going to tell George I would not be sneaking Ginny out of the house at midnight when there are still Death Eaters loose. And then it hits me. It's Ginny's prerogative to do what she will. Something cements in my mind and I know I can propose. I know why I've hesitated until now. I did what I had to do during the war. I pushed her away, and no matter how many times I want to tell her how sorry I am, I know I'd be lying. Believing she was safe was the only thing that got me through the war. But now, knowing that she will be beside me, come what may, puts me at peace like I've never felt before. Could I live with her in peace or war? Sickness or health? Yes. For I can live because he didn't survive.
I drink the soda quickly despite the fact I'll be dragging my feet tonight I'm not romantic. At all. Did I ask her out to dinner or to a Muggle movie, which she seems to enjoy? Nope. I'm taking her to Le Duc's Deathday Party! And the worst part is, I never told her where we were going. Curse her blind faith in me. Deaf too, must be. I know I'm a git. But I can't wait another day to propose.
I contact Ron to give him and Hermione the co-ordinates to Apparate near Le Duc's castle. Apparently, Le Duc has made arrangements for me to arrive in style, whatever that means. I warn Ron not to tell Ginny where we're all meeting. I'll find a way to be alone with Ginny tonight if only just long enough to propose.
I Floo back to The Burrow and am met by Mrs. Weasley whose hands are on her hips as she searches me with her eyes. I hand her the shrunken sack and she makes a tsk tsk noise but forgives me when at least one of the cabbages returns to a reasonable size. I brought the wrong kind of cabbage but Mrs. Weasley says it will do. She sets to work to magically ferment the ingredients, as there isn't time to bury it in the ground as is customary with kimchi.
By the time Ginny and I are covered in icing sugar from putting the finishing touches on George and Fred's cake, the fireplace blazes green and Mr. Weasley steps through, pushing George on a hover chair. Fred simply floats through the ceiling, and I swear Mrs. Weasley is about to give him trouble for not using the Floo until she remembers that he's a ghost.
The twins enjoy a welcome home party fit for kings, and truth be told, I think we're all truly tired at eleven thirty when everyone trudges upstairs to supposedly go to bed. Mrs. Weasley fusses, tucking George in and making plans for breakfast tomorrow. It's almost ten past midnight before we hear her blow the lamps out and go to bed.
I still haven't told Ginny where we're going yet. For good measure, I hold up the flowers I nicked from the vase on the table on my way out of the pub in Diagon Alley while no one was looking. The flower shops were closed and I don't know how to resurrect the dead flowers beneath the snow like Neville does. Just as I'm about to knock on Ginny's bedroom door, the Intrusion Charms activate and I thank Merlin they're silent. I curse Merlin, however, for the fact that I now have a rose thorn stuck in the center of my forehead for my troubles. The blast of hot air from the charm knocked the flowers down the stairs and nearly took me with it. I curse under my breath. At least I thought I did.
"Harry, be quiet or you'll wake the house," George warns. "Oh, and here, let me get that for you." George waves his wand and Ginny's bedroom door opens before I can heal the rose thorn hole that must look like a third eye.
"Oi! Oh, Harry, it's you." Ginny smiles at me and scowls at George, warning him to never put Anti Intrusion Charms on her door again. George blows a raspberry at Ginny and tells us to wait here, as Le Duc wants us to arrive in style. I hear them all getting ready as Ginny mistaking my rose injury for a pimple, smears it with Vera's Vanishing Cream. My eyes cross as her little finger circles the centre of my forehead.
Ron, Hermione, Fred and George Apparate to the castle, leaving Ginny and me standing by her bedroom window. Ginny puts the vanishing cream away and folds her arms around herself. I think she's annoyed that her brothers and Hermione are part of our plans tonight.
"What are we waiting for?" she asks. She waited for me while I searched for Horcruxes, telling her virtually nothing about what we were doing and I understand her frustration tonight. Then her features soften and I watch a carriage pulled by Thestrals reflected in her eyes. It stops just below the window.
"This must be what in style means to Le Duc." I turn from Ginny to look out the window. I know that Thestrals are kind, intelligent creatures but it was easier to look at them softened in the reflection of her eyes.
Rather than risking walking down the stairs, I Sidealong Apparate Ginny out the window. I'm thankful that she seems curious now instead of suspicious. I can only hope she knows I will never leave her again. Once settled in the carriage, we both stare at the swaggering backs of the Thestrals. Most people from Hogwarts can see them now.
"I brought snacks," Ginny says when she can pry her eyes off the Thestrals.
I smile. I think Ginny's ready to just let a surprise evening unfold. Only she could sit here with a sack of ham sandwiches dressed in a Muggle skirt and blouse. The ham makes me think of Ron. Makes me remember I never told anyone what I'm about to do tonight, never asked Mr. Weasley for Ginny's hand in marriage. At first, this makes me more nervous. Then I realize it's up to Ginny. She spent her whole life having to get permission for everything. Now it's time we respect that she's her own person, not just Ron's little sister, only daughter of the Weasley line, or youngest child.
I'm not hungry. I have no idea why I'm sitting here in the swaying carriage, which seems to know exactly where it's going, eating ham sandwiches. The sandwich smears across my face as the Thestrals decide to turn left suddenly. Ginny smiles and leans over to kiss me. Only she kisses some mustard that I missed from the corner of my lips. Chills of pleasure run down my spine. I tilt her chin up and kiss her neck and contemplate forgoing the Deathday Party altogether and just popping the question right now. But I don't think Ginny would take to being interrupted by a pervy, ticked off Deathday boy who didn't have his 'live uns' to show off. I hope Ginny didn't notice that I lengthened her skirt by a few inches just in case. Le Duc can chase his 'dead uns' all he wants. Ginny's mine.
Before I'm ready, we're parked in front of what once must have been a beautiful mansion on a hill, complete with rusted iron rod gates that squeal in the wind.
"Er ... Ginny, you might want to lengthen that skirt of yours and put on this jumper. It's going to be cold inside." I don't want the ghosts ogling her.
Ginny watches as some guests flow through the old wooden doors, then looks down at her own attire. She smiles and closes her eyes, and I breathe a sigh of relief as her skirt is transformed into an elaborate long gown. I could definitely do without the ruffles that cover up her perfect chest but I'll put up with that gladly if it means Sir Le Pervy won't be able to see them either. In minutes, I'm wearing a top hat and a clunky old suit.
I take Ginny's arm and lead her up the rickety steps, walking around old whiskey bottles underage Muggles must have left during their parties. If we're not careful of where we step, we'll trip or fall through the porch. No one's attended to this dilapidation for years and it shows. It's embarrassing to find myself struggling to ring the huge bell that announces our arrival. I can hear the lively party go silent. A floating doorman greets us.
"Good Ladies and Lords, The Potter and Weasley party!" The doorman announces.
There is polite applause. I see no sign of Ron, Hermione, Fred or George. I can however see that they've been here. Three sets of footprints are visible in the layers of dust on the black and white marbled floors. Impulse, no matter how stupid, makes me look for a fourth and I finally remember that Fred is one of them. One of the many curious ghosts here tonight.
Ginny goes stiff in my arms for a mere minute when cold air surrounds us as the ghosts gather to examine us as if they hadn't blood pumping in their veins at one time, too. Ginny's breath swirls around the opaque figures, and to my amazement, she begins asking them questions about themselves and their past lives. I guess the dumb male in me wanted her to cuddle in closer, for protection. But she's Ginny Weasley and she doesn't cower easily.
When Mr. Le Duc bows, I bow. Ginny curtsies and Le Duc's transparent eyes move to her backside. I clear my throat and indicate toward the door that we will leave if this continues.
As Ginny talks to the ghosts, I search for any familiar faces. Nearly Headless Nick isn't here. Nor are any of the recently dead students or staff from Hogwarts. I wander just a bit, studying the faces. It's obvious ghosts don't go for fashion as they seem to wear clothing from the period in which they died. And then I see them. Two ghosts dressed in modern Beaubaxtons robes. I recognize them from their pictures in the Prophet after the war. They had been visiting England during the war and had been killed by Death Eaters like so many others. I don't think I can face them. Not new ghosts. Not ones who died because I wasn't faster at my task.
I must have wandered because I can't find Ginny. The male ghosts are smoking cigars in a small, crumbling plaster alcove to the right. I scan the crowd and find Fred and George among them. I'm about to turn away when I'm spotted and know I must make polite conversation. Le Duc is beside Fred. Le Duc introduces me to the others and informs me that I'll be a wonderful addition to these parties when I'm dead. I think I'm supposed to say thanks. I stay with this crowd only long enough to hear Fred and George make arrangements to hire some of the younger looking ghosts to rent out for parties from their shop.
The lady ghosts are sitting in a parlour with peeling light green walls. They sit in faded, winged chairs sipping tea from fancy china mugs that are as unreal as they are. They point to the portraits on the wall, lamenting the fact that their cheeks no longer have the rosy glow they once did. I follow their gaze as they speak of someone whose face still has that glow. And I find Ginny.
Ginny winks at me and playfully sticks her little pinky finger out like she's holding a cup, too. Suddenly I remember the ring in my pocket. I haven't even noticed that I've had it on my little finger as I stand here answering mundane questions from still more ghosts who surround me asking about the new fangled Muggle electronics and the renovations at Hogwarts. Ginny blows me a kiss as one of the ghosts brags that he's four hundred years dead and still figured out how to haunt a cell phone. Everyone seems impressed and attention turns to the bragging ghost who from the looks of things was squashed by something. His nose is flat and lies to the left of his cheek and his eyes are over too far on either side of his head. Remind me to die of natural causes. Like too much sex.
A slow funeral march begins. The orchestra set up near the fireplace looks ... wet. I wouldn't at this point be at all surprised to find out that they are from the Titanic. Well, the Rolling Stones are still going...
There's a word for music like this but it's not beautiful. Painful maybe. And it gets more painful because Sir Le Duc announces Ginny and I must start a waltz. Other than the Weird Sisters, Ginny and I prefer Muggle music. Well, Ginny secretly likes Celestina Warbeck. I found a recording on her wireless once when I was looking through ... er rather, looking for something. I think Ginny only listens to Warbeck when she's in the bath. I'd put up with it if I was in the bath with her. When will this party end? Well at least it's an excuse to hold Ginny. And I never had to ask for the dance. I mean, how does one just go up to someone and ask to hold onto them for a few minutes?
I can't dance to save my soul. When we are joined on the dance floor by other lively dead couples who are stepping in rhythm and have obviously been trained, we try to avoid letting them dance through us. I hate that cold feeling. Sir Nick once stepped right through me on his way out of the portrait hole.
We sway in and out of the crowd and are almost to safety and the door to give our reluctant farewells when a large ghost with a handlebar moustache dances right through me. I fall over an old brass umbrella stand that no one bothered to move from the middle of the dance floor. Ghosts don't trip. I'd be mad if it was Ginny lying in my place looking up at the cobweb-muted lamps through crossed eyes. I try to get back up but my body has other ideas and my eyelids slide closed though I fight to keep them open.
I wake up with Ginny looking down at me while swatting the head of a male ghost from inside her own head. It's disconcerting enough to wake up with another huge goose egg on my head without seeing four eyes in one head staring down at me. At least now we have good reason to leave. I still don't see Ron or Hermione, but then again, they aren't exactly on the ceiling, which is taking up most of my point of view at the moment.
Ginny offers me a hand up and we head quickly toward the door as one of the ghosts dressed in old Healers' robes offers to bleed me, saying that he was a medic in the Napoleonic war. No thanks! I try to stop swaying on my feet, dizzy from the head knock. We close the door in the earnest former Medic's face as he suggests putting leeches on my temples to remedy my headache and double vision.
We slip and slide over the ice toward the carriage. Seeing Thestrals is something Ginny and I have gotten used to, but seeing them in double is still rather freaky. Thoroughly embarrassed and thinking of calling it a night and doing this proposal thing properly later, I reach for the handle of the carriage, missing as I reach for the one that isn't there. Ginny places my hand on the handle.
"Oi! Occupied!" a grumpy voice shouts.
It's Ron. Hermione leaps from the carriage pink faced and embarrassed.
"I told you we missed the party," Hermione scolds.
"Yeah, well, I didn't want you in there with that perverted St Mungo's ghost anyway," Ron yells.
"He may not be perverted, Ron. He may be simply outdated on the modern concepts of witches' rights."
Trust Hermione to feel sorry for Le Duc.
Ginny and I watch as Hermione tries to lecture Ron about judging people, living or dead, before you meet them. I'm with Ron on this one.
"What are you two doing out here?" Ron narrows his eyes taking in Ginny's long gown. Hermione is similarly dressed but is shivering. She reaches behind her and pulls her cloak from the carriage.
"To get Harry some ice," Ginny offers lamely before squaring her shoulders and telling her brother to mind his own business. Hermione drags Ron to the front steps before the two red heads can get into an argument, and Ginny and I are off.
"We should get back," Ginny says, turning to see Ron part the tattered curtains in the mansion and watch us pull away.
"Not yet." I try not to sound desperate. I just need a bit more time.
"Mum's bound to get up to check that George is still breathing and that Fred isn't," she jokes.
"Surely your brothers have enlisted the help of the ghoul in the attic to fool her?"
"Maybe…"
I look out the frosted glass windows of the carriage. It's snowing. I don't even know where the glistening flakes are coming from, as the sky is clear and full of stars.
I whistle for the Thestrals to stop and I open the door of the carriage.
"You're not going to be sick, are you?" Ginny asks. Her hand makes small circles on my back. The last time I bumped my head like this during a Quidditch match at the Burrow, I had a concussion and ruined a perfectly good carpet.
"No, it's just really cold outside, and I think it'll do me good to step out," I lie.
I've never been more dizzy and level headed at the same time in my whole life. It's now. It's her I want laughing at me when I screw up, her face looking down at me when I fall, her cheering me up when all seems lost. And I want to be everything to her. I want to be the father of her children when she decides the time is right. I want to cheer for her when she chooses a career. She is my past, present and future.
I get out of the carriage and Ginny slides to the side to get out also. I motion for her to sit. "No, don't come out, it's cold outside."
I kneel. In something. Okay, someone should have told me that Thestrals do that. I try to ignore the warmth on my knee that shouldn't be there. Ginny giggles. She saw it. I don't see it. How many bloody people do you have to see die before you can see that?
"Finished?" I ask. But I can't help but smile. I take a deep breath.
"Will you marry me?"
Silence mingles with a muffled song. The music is coming from my pocket. I unfold the photo of my parents dancing.
Brr its cold….
It's cold out there
Can't you stay awhile longer baby
Well…..I really shouldn't...alright
Make it worth your while baby
Ahh, do that again….
And now I know. This is the song they were dancing to. It was cold, just like tonight.
"Yes," Ginny tells me and tears shine in her eyes.
My hands shake as she takes the picture. The music stops but my parents dance on. I put the ring on Ginny's finger, and it's a perfect fit.
"I love it." Ginny looks at the picture and her ring before turning her eyes up to meet mine again.
"Will you marry me, Harry?"
When she asks this, the music begins to play again. Ginny points out a tiny sparkle in the picture that I've never noticed despite having spent hours staring at it. This was their engagement photo.
We take turns asking and answering the question over and over again and the song plays each time. My feet are too cold to dance. My heart would be cold also if not for Ginny. I can't fight the lump in my throat and the confused joy and pain. All the years of wonder at what they were dancing for and now I know.
"Your dad was a good dancer, Potter. Study his steps because we're dancing at the wedding and all eyes are going to be on us, only this time for a good reason." Ginny manages to cut through the momentary longing the photo has inspired in me.
"Agreed. But horses for the wedding, okay?" I implore.
Ginny laughs in agreement and performs a Cleansing Charm on my knee. We transform our clothing back to our century, and Ginny's legs make a reappearance that I can't pretend not to notice.
"Why, Mr. Potter, you are a forward young man," Ginny says as she slides back on the seat to let me back into the carriage. "I'd have been strung up for that attire at our little party back there."
I grin back and conjure a blanket to drape over us.
As we kiss, I keep looking over my shoulder. I tell Ginny that George told me our Deathday boy, Le Duc, was executed for being in a brothel and that he's been known to spy on people like Peeves used to when students were snogging in closets.
"Well, if Le Duc dares to spy on us, he'll get an eyeful fit for repeating at his next fifty Deathday parties," Ginny tells me as shivers run down my spine.
By the time the Thestrals drop us off at The Burrow, our fellow live 'uns and Fred are home. I kiss Ginny outside her bedroom door and know that the next few months of waiting for our wedding will be the longest of my life. But it will never be cold outside again.