March 01, 2000

ST MUNGO'S OPEN TO THE PUBLIC ONCE MORE

Astrid Lang

It is with great pleasure that the Daily Prophet is able to announce that as of two o'clock in the morning, Britain's most renowned hospital, St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries has reopened. It comes as just as much of a shock to us as it does to you. As you well know, the Daily Prophet has now made its home in the heart of Muggle London. Many of us walked by the hospital on the way to work. We felt just as you do: sad, betrayed, and worried for the future.

But Minister Shacklebolt woke several of us junior reporters up last night, and this is what he said: "Are you all listening? No, Geoffrey, don't go back to sleep. You wanted to be a reporter, didn't you? News happens in the middle of the night, so be prepared. Are we all here?" I should mention that Minister Shacklebolt did not wake up any of the more seasoned reporters, which has caused quite a lot of people to be quite shirty this morning. But they did allow us to break the story.

"It has been far too long since British witches and wizards have been able to have their injuries and illnesses treated at St. Mungo's due to the vile spell laid in place by the prior Ministry. We had a breakthrough over Christmas – a true Christmas miracle, let me tell you, in more ways than one! – and our Department of Mysteries and our Curse-Breakers spent the last month tirelessly breaking down the Web, and destroying it once and for all. For too long, St. Mungo's was a place of fear and death. Let us return it to a place of healing and hope."

This reporter would like to add that the hospital has already received its first patients: A Muggle, named Jacob Kowalski, and a magizoologist, Newt Scamander, who asked that the details of their injuries remain private.

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Harry was there to shake Newt Scamander's hand when he and his friend Mr. Kowalski left St. Mungo's at 10:37 in the morning. They had met before at an official Ministry event; then, Scamander had been reserved and formal. Here, he was sporting a bandage around his head, and was mildly giddy. "So glad you've made a full recovery," said Harry. In truth, both Newt and Jacob (as Harry was soon asked to call him) looked more embarrassed than anything. They were an odd couple: one a wizard, one a Muggle; one tall, one short; one thin to the point of looking slightly unhealthy, and one robust. But the identical look of sheepish laughter was identical. It made them look like brothers.

"If Queenie finds out…" said Jacob.

"It's unfortunate we were in the news," Newt murmured.

"I'm sure your wives will just be happy you're alive and well," Kingsley said firmly.

The two exchanged dubious glances.

A diversion in the form of a swarthy wizard arrived at just that moment. "What did you two get into again," he folded his arms across his chest and looked stern. "Grandmum and Auntie are never going to let you hear the end of this – what was it?"

"Now, see here, boy," Jacob pulled himself to his feet. "You don't need to involve yourself in the business of your elders."

Just when Harry was growing concerned that there was some serious family issues lurking under the surface, the swarthy man relaxed, grinned, and then laughed. "You two," he shook his head. "You are in so much trouble. At least tell me what it was." He glanced toward Harry. "Have you ever seen… the…" his voice trailed off as his eyes widened on Harry's scar. "What the…"

Jacob clapped him on the arm.

"Don't stare at him," said Scamander.

Harry laughed. "I heard St. Mungo's was finally open for business, recognized your… granddad? Yes, your granddad, and came over to say hello."

"I'm Ralf," said Ralf. He leaned forward to shake Harry's hand.

"Pleasure," Harry said firmly.

There was a loud crack, and two older, but still quite lovely, witches Apparated into the waiting room. Ralf let out a low whistle.

"Baby erumpents?!" one of them said incredulously.

"And you thought we wouldn't know? We wouldn't find out?!"

"I'm a LEGILIMENS, you barmy old nutters!"

"And they managed to be put on the front page of the Daily Prophet," Ralf pointed out, laughter in his voice.

Harry and Kingsley exchanged a look, grinned, and eased away from the erupting family drama. Most of the parties were more amused than angry; there was no need for an Auror to be there. Indeed, they started laughing before Kingsley and Harry had even turned the corner.

They were arguing like the Weasleys argued.

Harry's heart squeezed.

The Weasley fights had always been like a series of small explosions. One of them would erupt, it would cause a chain reaction. There would be yelling, jinxes, breaking… and then they'd blow over, and the laughing would begin. It was a rhythm of a family Harry had known from the time he was eleven years old. And it had been broken.

"I'm glad you came," Kingsley murmured as they walked. "I wanted to speak to you… preferably away from the Ministry."

"Am I in trouble?" Harry asked, half-joking.

Kingsley was quiet for a long while. They pushed out the doors of St. Mungo's. The press had lingered, but were now packing up their things. The group of interns – no older than teenagers – were standing no more than ten feet away from the entrance, talking excitedly, and making no effort not to draw the attention of Muggles.

"No," said Kingsley, his deep voice low and even. But his eyes were troubled, hardly looking at Harry at all.

Harry stopped in his tracks. "What is it? What-?"

"Not here, we're meeting Tonks at the pub," Kingsley gestured at the pub ahead of them. It was, Harry noticed, the very same pub that gave Ron free drinks on account of his red hair. They'd been there once or twice since, although Ron felt increasingly guilty at accepting free drinks.

"I know this spot," Harry murmured.

This time, the proprietor did not come out to meet them, nor was he behind the bar. A slight, dark-haired boy who did not look old enough to legally buy alcohol was moving with business-like purpose to refill drinks and pile plates high with chips for the lunch crowd. Behind him, he could see the proprietor, sitting behind a half-closed door. His arms were folded over his ample belly, and his smile was wide enough to split his face. A good meeting then, thought Harry, a little wistful that there was no such thing as having fun at work.

Tonks sat in a far booth, a pint of amber liquid in front of her. "Try the beer," she said cheerfully, "It's good!"

"It's good, yeah," agreed Harry. He slid into the opposite side of the booth. Kingsley grabbed an extra chair from another table, and sat down.

Tonks insisted they order before they chat. By the time Harry had requested an ale and bangers and chips, his stomach fuzzed with anxiety. He was on very good terms with both of them; he had not been lying when he'd said he'd thought of them as family, and had done so since he was in fifth year. And he did see them socially every once in a while, usually over at the Burrow. But they'd never sprung a surprise lunch on him.

"Harry, we wanted to talk to you about—" Kingsley began.

But Tonks interrupted him. She leaned forward, her eyes unwontedly serious. "We worry you might be about to crack up, and we're pulling you off active cases. No, we're not firing you, nor are we demoting you. In fact, you are being promoted to group leader. You will be in charge of monitoring the progress of Auror trainees."

Harry gaped at her. "What—"

"Harry, don't look at me like I've just betrayed you," Tonks said gently. She took a long pull of beer.

"And I would not have put it the way Tonks did," Kingsley said slowly. "We think that by not giving you a chance to breathe, by throwing you into work right after you recovered from your injuries, we think we have done you a disservice. Your partner mentioned to me that—"

"What's this about Savage?" Harry said sharply.

"Never you mind what exactly he said," Kingsley said repressively. "He asked for confidentiality, and I respect that. But you are working too much, you are not resting enough, and you need a change in rotation."

"The Auror Department does that constantly," Tonks said. "It's just that it's hardly been like following protocol these last few years. You didn't even attend the Academy yourself, and we didn't – and don't – think you have to. But Aurors are rotated between different types of duties because there are not enough of us for us to be able to burn out."

"We trust you, Harry," Kingsley said simply. "This isn't a disciplinary issue."

"Sorry if I was being far too light-hearted," Tonks smiled at him. Harry, somewhat begrudgingly, smiled back.

"So, it's… I'm to be in charge of the trainees?"

"Yes, and I think you'll like your immediate partner," Kingsley said. "We'll save that for a surprise, though, since he hasn't actually accepted."

"It's Ron," Harry scoffed. He grinned at the looks on their faces. "Of course it's Ron. I can't think of any other Auror I'd be immediately happy to work with – excepting you two, but I can't imagine the Minister of Magic going out to the Orkney Islands for a rotation."

"See? You'll enjoy yourself. You can think of it as a small holiday. You'll work with one group of trainees, and then when they graduate the four month program, you'll be rotated back to the Ministry." Tonks nodded sharply. "I, for one, am glad you haven't fought our decision."

Harry privately thought that there was not much he could do. This was the Head of the Auror Department and the Minister of Magic who were giving him gentle orders. Not to mention, they were his friends. His only bleak thought was for the Horcrux… how could he question the dark wizards and witches about the Horcrux. But even then… Yaxley had been the last great suspicion he had. Everyone else who had been in any sort of leadership capacity were either captured or dead.

He'd have to start searching the countryside soon. Maybe he could consult with Dumbledore's portrait… ask him how he'd planned to search for the Horcruxes… in fact, he should have done this a while ago.

Harry took a slow, even breath. "All right. When does the training start?"

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March 01, 2000

It had been two weeks since Ginny Weasley at last set foot on British soil. She had not arrived by magical train, carpet, or broomstick. She hadn't Apparated (though she knew how, thank you very much). She had taken a Portkey from the French hospital she had been in, and it had taken her to a care center in Cornwall. It was a rather dingy place. "We've not got any patients for over two years," said a mediwitch, "We think people forgot we were here. Just lucky we were never raided. Here you go, your things already arrived." Ginny shrunk and pocketed her trunk, murmured her thanks and goodbye, and she was free.

Then she looked down at the bundle in her arms, and all the extra things she had to carry.

Well, mostly.

"You'll be all right?" The mediwitch asked. She'd followed her out the door.

"I'll be fine," Ginny said.

"We've just read St. Mungo's is finally open…"

Ginny huffed a tiny laugh. "It's why they let me out," she pointed out. "They knew I needed to have access to the resources St. Mungo's has." Ginny was fairly itching to take her leave, but did not want to be overly rude. "If you'll excuse me, I've got… places to be."

"Family?" The mediwitch gestured at what Ginny carried.

"No… no, I don't think so," Ginny said stiffly. "Please excuse me."

Ginny did not allow the mediwitch to probe more deeply for answers, spun in a tight circle, and Apparated on the spot. She had had enough of that, thank you very much. The last months had been full of everyone keen on finding answers. Ginny had come out of it thankful for how her life had been saved, and yet had felt very keenly that her privacy had been violated. Healers paid no mind to modesty, to penetrating questions, or to boundaries. They couldn't.

Ginny found a bench. She was somewhere near St. Mungo's, she knew that. The healers had given her a talisman that would help guide her while Apparating. It had taken a lot out of her, the Portkey… the Apparition. Once the healers had been sure Ginny would recover – and that had not happened until after Christmas – the healing had gone fast. She still tired easily, and she still was on an insane number of potions – she looked down at the bundle of sampler potions in her arms, the ones the healers had thrust at her ("Just in case St. Mungo's is quite ready," said one healer, who was far more nervous than Ginny), and she had not yet had time to pack away in her bag. Just a few more weeks, and she'd be free of just about all of these…

"Weasley?" someone shouted.

Ginny had the impression of dark hair and pale skin before a small child barreled into her. Just as quickly she pulled away. She flushed brightly. Ginny looked her up and down. Still tiny, but not the small child she'd immediately thought. This girl was twelve… maybe thirteen… maybe even fourteen.

"Barrow," she breathed.

"What are you doing here?" they asked at the same time, incredulous.

"So you and your family made it," Ginny leaned back against the bench and closed her eyes. "Thank God."

Barrow looked around at the passersby. There was a hint of suspicion there in those dark eyes. "Let's get off the street," she murmured. "You look… you look knackered, and my da owns a quiet spot."

Ginny followed Barrow up the street and into a clean, well-lit pub. A man with an ample stomach and a mustache like a walrus greeted his daughter cheerfully. And then his eyes grew huge when he saw Ginny.

"Is this her? Is it?" he boomed. When Barrow cried "Yes!", he sprinted from around the bar, and gripped Ginny's hand tightly in his. "Dear girl," he said, mustache quivering. "Dear, dear girl."

Ginny was grateful when he let go of her hand, stepped back, and clapped his hands together. "Come! Have a meal. You can tell me how it came to pass that you saved my daughter's life." He urged her into the back, partially shut the door, and pointed her to a chair. "You look exhausted, and hungry. Mind the bar, Finny!"

Ah, Finny, thought Ginny, inwardly grateful she'd not had to ask her first name. She'd only known her as Barrow. "Is she… a little young to mind the bar?" Ginny asked.

The big man shrugged. "She'll do alright. And I'm right here. Now! We were so certain that the cover my daughter used would work! What happened?"

There was so much Ginny could have told him. It had been Dedalus Diggle's job to give fake identities to those who had need of it. Dedalus Diggle, who had been tortured into insanity (and, later, summarily dumped into Azkaban). There was no way of knowing how much information he had given his Death Eater torturers. It had not been his fault… Ginny knew that there were some things the mind and body just couldn't bear. So Dedalus had likely told the Death Eaters about his associates, and his connections. One of those had led to Finny Barrow's identity being discovered.

But all of that was associated with the Order of the Phoenix, and Ginny was unable to speak of it.

She was used to prevaricating, though. "You called her Finny," she said. "I knew her as Barrow. And I don't know your name, sir."

"Leonard Swishbaggle," he said promptly. "Think Finny was happier with a more common name like 'Barrow'. And what's yours?"

"Ginny Weasley," said Ginny. "And trust me, I'm sure Finny missed the opportunity to be a Swishbaggle her entire time at Hogwarts." No one ever got over losing their family.

Mr. Swishbaggle leaned back, folded his arms over his ample belly, and smiled at her. That smile reached somewhere inside Ginny, the part of her that was vulnerable, the part that made her cry in her dreams. To her absolute horror, her eyes began to well with tears. Stop, stop, stop, she ordered herself.

"I had a hard war, myself," Mr. Swishbaggle said gently. "Saw terrible things. Lost friends. It took a long time to come back. You have family?"

Ginny's head did a sort of wobble. "I can't… I can't go home," she said. It would kill her to be there, and Ginny did not take those words lightly. Not after the last months. But it would kill her to be at home with her family, and them having no clue that a part of Ginny was beating desperately at a wall in her own head, begging them to let her out.

"You need a job?" he asked. "A place to live? What?"

"Both," said Ginny miserably. "I came to London… I need to find a job and a flat. Or… somewhere."

"Well," Mr. Swishbaggle said. "I can offer you a job, and a place to stay. There's a small apartment above the bar. It's empty just now, so you wouldn't need to pay—"

"I can pay," said Ginny, surprised. "I have plenty of money." Ginny, in fact, had more money than she could use up in several lifetimes. The twins had been far wealthier than any of the other Weasleys could even dream. "And, sir, I wouldn't need a job for long – I have another… prospect, but it wouldn't be for a couple weeks…"

"Well, then, looks like I've got a worker who won't get me in trouble," Mr. Swishbaggle grinned easily.

Barrow came in just then with a plate piled high with bangers and chips. "Sorry," she said, a little breathless, "we've got a bit more than our usual lunch crowd… and I think some of them are from – are from our lot," she gave Ginny a furtive look.

Mr. Swishbaggle stood abruptly. "I'll take care of it from here. Finny, why don't you show Miss Weasley the apartment upstairs. Help her carry her things. There's a good lass."

"Da still worries," Finny said. "Even though the war is over. We found out when we were in Greece – I didn't even know I'd been tracked, but a pair of wizards showed up at the docks – we'd gone out on a fishing boat – they showed up, and said the war was over. I could go home without even worrying. Da said it was a load of tosh, but then they came back the next day with a bag of gold and the Daily Prophet."

"But he still worries," Ginny said, once her rambling speech had run down. She looked at him fondly. She'd known another Gryffindor who'd rambled. "Are you… sure you don't ever want to return to Hogwarts?"

"I… don't really like to talk about Hogwarts," Finny said. Her face paled even further until she looked nearly translucent. In that moment, Ginny remembered the desperate flight up to Hogwarts, the way she'd roughly roused Finny – she'd not even known the girl's real name at that point – and performed memory charms on Finny's yearmates. All of that was between them. Ginny shouting, Finny crying… It hurt to remember.

"I understand," said Ginny.

Sadness seemed to follow her.

The space had some furnishings: a small bed with an iron frame, a rocking chair next to the window, a tiny table next to the bed. Ginny sat on the bare mattress. An hour ago, she hadn't had a job or a place to stay. Now she had both. Her head spun with her luck, and her body mentioned that it might be time for a nap. But her mind told it firmly that she had errands to run: sheets and food and other household things to buy, and an application from the Ministry of Magic to pick up.

After all, Auror training started in a month and a half. Ginny needed to be ready.

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March 20, 2000

The Orkney Islands were frigid. Harry wrapped his cloak tighter around his body.

Much of what he knew from the Islands came from Hermione, of course. ("It's to the north of Scotland, so you'll need a warmer cloak," she'd told him. Harry hadn't paid much attention to that, a fact that he was regretting at the moment). The Orkneys were remote to almost a laughable degree. The only buildings for miles made up the former Enforcer compound. A tall, proud structure was surrounded by seven other squatty things that were classrooms, dormitories, research departments, and whatever else. Voldemort had had the Ministry open its coffers. According to Hermione, the whole place had taken seventeen days to build, from raw materials to finishing touches.

"And it's built on the largest uninhabited island in the Orkneys," she'd said. "It hardly even needs to be protected, but it's got all the protections – except the Fidelias Charm – that Dumbledore put on Grimmauld Place."

Well, it was inhabited now. The place did not quite bustle, but it was not empty. The squatty buildings sat among trees – magically tall trees that Hermione'd said had been transported to the island. It created a forest type atmosphere in a place that was otherwise fairly barren. For all Harry knew, Voldemort had ordered the trees brought in from Albania. Maybe he'd been missing his home of eleven years, and wanted to recreate it. Harry and Ron made their way down from the Apparition point. They both carried brooms and duffel bags, for what Hermione considered one of the craziest ideas they'd ever had.

"You ready?" Ron asked.

Harry nodded sharply. They'd had their discussion, the two of them. At first, Harry had been willing to go along with the Ministry, but then he'd nearly changed his mind. Then Hermione'd talked him out of it ("You and Ron should stick together, it was silly of them to put you with a different partner"). Then Ron had changed his mind, threatened to quit the Aurors completely, and go oust his brother Percy from whatever he was doing in the former Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. ("I'll just… make jokes," he'd said helplessly, even though both Harry and Hermione knew that he'd never felt less like laughing.) In all, it had taken nearly five days, and at least as many bottles of Firewhiskey for them to decide, finally, that they would help with the trainees while they thought out their next steps.

Hermione'd got down on her knees to thank anyone who would listen that it was finally over.

Harry and Ron headed down a steep track carved out of stone. Apparently the Enforcers had wanted plenty of warning before anyone approached. Harry admitted inwardly that it made sense. This whole place made sense as a location for the Aurors. For a time, it had been used for evil, but they could turn that around…

They finally approached the tall building, and entered. A blast of warm air hit them, and Harry sucked in a deep breath.

"You're here!" Tonks said cheerfully, appearing as though from thin air – which Harry thought impossible.

"Were you hiding behind the door?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Of course," she said brightly. She gripped his arm, and then Ron's. "I wasn't sure you two would really come… I know our decision didn't sit well with either of you." Her eyes were suddenly very serious. "But we really do need you. You two lived it. The last class of trainees we had were green as grass. None of them knew their behinds from their brooms. We're hoping the next class will be better, but…" she spread her hands helplessly.

"But you aren't counting on it," Ron finished. He and Harry shared a glance.

"So… what exactly does the job entail? Are we teaching?" Harry was a little apprehensive of the answer. He'd done some teaching, of course, back in the Dumbledore's Army days. But he was not comfortable with the idea of teaching day in and day out. Aurors had to learn all sorts of things, he'd barely past his potions exam…

But Tonks interrupted his train of thought with some words of reassurance. "No, no, we have professors who will be taking care of that end of things. But the trainees are to spend two hours a day with you, going over their reflexes, talking, etc. You're also officially in charge of them. You need to make sure they get to class, that they have done their work, that they are maintaining certain standards of behavior…"

"So… we're the Head Boys of Enforcer Hogwarts," said Ron.

Harry laughed.

Tonks beamed at them. "Yes, that's a fantastic way to put it!"

"If we're to enforce the rules, we've got to know them," Harry, who was less impressed by Ron's sense of humor, pointed out. "Have you got a list of rules or anything?"

Two immensely fat books appeared out of nowhere to land with twin thuds at Ron and Harry's feet. There on the cover, in thick, important-looking lettering, were the words "Auror Rules, Regulations, Policies, and Protocols". Harry was aghast at the size of the thing.

"We have to read all of that?" Ron asked in horror.

"Well… we'd like you to," said Tonks. "A lot of the rules are intuitive… you'd think. Last year, we had an incident with fraternization between one of the Aurors and a trainee. She'd been ignoring certain warning signs that the trainee was falling behind in her classes, and we found out that that was due to an inappropriate sexual relationship. It hurt, because we had to shunt her to another Department – the rules are the rules – and we really can't afford to lose any Aurors at the moment."

Ron nudged Harry. "Guess that means you can't take the trainees out one by one to find out if they're Closet Girl or not," he grinned.

Harry stepped on his foot, hard. "Shut up, Ron," he said between his teeth.

"Oh, don't mind me," said Tonks. "I know all about Closet Girl. But yes, even if Closet Girl falls out of the sky and lands at Auror Training Academy, you're not to have anything to do with her until her training is over."

It had been quite some time since Harry had been quite that mortified. He was very quiet after Ron and Tonks had finished having a laugh at his expense. He hardly said a word when Tonks took them around the various offices to introduce them to those witches and wizards with whom they'd be working soon enough. She showed them the dormitories, the classrooms, the dining hall ("Very important!" said Ron), and the recreation centers. There was even a Quidditch Pitch.

The sun was low in the sky when Tonks finally released them. "I'm releasing you from duty until you report here on April 19," she said. "Enjoy your time off. Spend time with your family. See your friends – you're both invited to dinner. Remus would love to see you. I don't want to see either of you at the Ministry, are we clear?"

"Clear," said Harry.

"Crystal," said Ron.

They trudged back up the hill. The books Tonks had forced on them seemed to weigh about 5 stone each. Harry took out goggles and gloves before stuffing the book out of sight in his duffel bag. Ron had undone his cloak, and pulled three sweaters over his head. Harry followed suit. "You sure about this?" Harry asked. Hermione'd told them it was insane of them to even consider flying back from the Orkney Islands on brooms.

"Yeah, you?" Ron asked.

Harry swung a leg over his new Firebolt and nodded. They kicked off at the same moment. It felt like freedom, soaring into the cold air. They had nowhere they really needed to be. It was just them, the brooms, and the freedom of flight. Harry grinned, feeling lighter than he had in ages.

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March 23, 2000

Dear Fred and George,

Much has happened since my last letter. I am writing this in a flat above a bar – thank you, by the way, your money is what is paying for it. I don't know what I would have done without the financial resources you two provided for me, though I would much rather you were alive to lend it to me. I know! I'm sorry. I won't mention your deaths again, I know how depressing that is.

Anyway, I am in London. St. Mungo's reopened, and the Healers in France let me come back. I've still got a few more weeks left of treatment (potions so nasty you would not even believe it), but after that I am free. Free. It has been a year since it happened, and I will finally be free.

Speaking of freedom, I flew for the first time a couple days ago! Well, for the first time since I left Hogwarts. It felt unbelievable. I went out at night, and the lights below looked like fairy lights. Remember how Mum would decorate the garden at the Burrow with fairy lights sometimes? It looked like that. It was beautiful.

I'm working on my application to the Auror Academy. I would much rather turn it in now – I don't like to procrastinate the important things. Don't laugh – I've changed! This could change my life forever, I could finally become an Auror. I can help rebuild the world. It's important. Nevertheless, I have to wait another week or two before I get the clean bill of health. Cross your fingers for me.

I haven't seen anyone. I went to Diagon Alley the other day. I kept my hood up. I am terrified to see them.

I walked by WWW. It's closed, of course, but would you believe that I saw jets of purple and green smoke coming out of the chimney? It's almost like someone is in there working… Surely Percy wouldn't? Maybe Lee?

Anyway, I'd better go. I have my last shift as a bartender in a few minutes (Mr. Swishbaggle is a wonderful man, but even he could no longer excuse how terrible I am at waiting tables and getting drinks and things. Not my calling!).

I'll write soon,

Love from,

Ginny

02 April 2000

It's boring waiting for a child to be born.

Harry immediately felt guilty at the thought, glanced over at Mrs. Weasley, hoping that she hadn't learned Legilimency. She was knitting a pair of booties for her future grandchild; apparently being in the waiting room at St. Mungo's did not deter her from this. Everyone else lounged quietly: Hermione was curled up on Ron's lap; Mr. Weasley was pretending to read The Daily Prophet; and Charlie, most like his mother in temperament, darned a balaclava.

Still bored, Harry lurched to his feet. Babies took hours to be born, apparently. For some reason, he'd thought there'd be a magical way to make it easier for witches. And then he'd been quite shocked to realize that magic was apparently useless in childbirth.

Fleur had glared at him when he asked her about this.

"I'm going to… take a walk," he announced.

"Going to take a tour of the closets?" Ron asked innocently. Charlie laughed; Harry cursed Ron for telling pretty much his entire family about Nosy. At least Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were oblivious.

"No," Harry said shortly. "I'm going to stretch my legs."

Without waiting for anyone to ask if he wanted company, Harry left, and turned right outside the door. After a corner or two, he heard screaming, loud streams of swearing in French, and decided to go in the opposite direction. He did not want to be anywhere near Fleur at the moment.

After that, he wandered.

It had been a week since the memorial, and two weeks since Kingsley and Tonks had forced him to step out of the field for a time. Harry was still angry, but he wasn't completely lit up with fury any longer. So what if he had to help out with the trainees for a few months? After his little punishment was over, he'd be right back to it. Trying to find out if the Horcrux had been destroyed… or if there even had been. And helping Ron figure out who had been responsible for the twins' deaths.

That could wait a few months.

Harry was tired, and maybe the little break would be good for him. The Auror trainees had a few exercises that had to be done at night, but other than those few times, Harry would be able to sleep a night through without being called from his bed.

He could do this.

Harry shouldn't have been surprised that, a little while later, he found himself walking down a familiar corridor. There were a few more people out and about; Healers walked by with regularity, moving purposefully by him, barely even glancing at his scar. The door was open; Harry could see an empty room filled with storage boxes, and another small door that led to a closet.

Nosy.

The suspicion that Nosy had fallen at the final battle hurt just as much now as it had at the memorial. Harry's belly clenched with it. He was being stupid, he knew; he didn't know Nosy's real name, what she looked like, how old she was… nothing. But he did know that she'd given him warmth and grace, and the thought that she'd never been able to go home again killed him.

Long minutes passed.

"Mr. Potter?"

Harry's eyes flew open. "Er—"

"Are you all right?" asked the wizard in Healer robes.

Harry felt like a complete prat. How long had he been standing there? "I'm fine," he said, waving his hand. "I was here during the war… stealing supplies," he added a bit unnecessarily. "I almost got caught in the Web—"

"We've had a lot of problems with that," the Healer said, eyes going round with excitement. "You're lucky none of the wards caught you… that brain scrambler is hard to counter. That's what I've been doing all day."

The man prattled on, obviously made nervous by Harry. One mention of the war, and the Healer's mouth couldn't seem to stop working. And Harry had no one to blame but himself. He'd started the conversation, after all. "Yes, that sounds awful," Harry murmured. "Quite awful."

"—Far more people than we ever expected—"

When can I escape?

"—and did you know? It's ludicrous!"

"Uh huh," said Harry. "Completely ludicrous."

"—just like that damn Ministry to make those sorts of—"

At this point, Harry's brain shut off. He no longer had a clue what this short, balding wizard was talking about. He'd gone directly from talking about the various wards and the difficulties in getting it all sorted out, to complaining about the Ministry. Harry contented himself with remembering Nosy pulling him into the closet and having her way with him. A pang of guilt was quickly extinguished.

"—you later, Mr. Potter," said the Healer. Apparently he was done with the conversation.

Harry jerked himself out of a replay of the second time they'd had sex. "Oh… well… good bye, then," he said. "Wait!" he said to the Healer's retreating back. "Do you know where the tea room is?"

"Fifth floor," the Healer said over his shoulder. "Right next to the apothecary."

Fifth floor, right next to the apothecary. Harry gave one final look at the closet before he turned on his heel and made his way to the stairs. You've got to stop fantasizing about someone who is probably dead, he told himself, feeling his belly clench. It hurt to think of Nosy – funny, brave, and vulnerable Nosy – as dead. But Harry was obviously never going to find her, even if she was alive.

Four stories of steps went by in a blur. Glancing at his watch, Harry decided he had enough time before he had to go rejoin the Weasleys. He didn't really want or need tea, but it was a useful distraction.

"Excuse me," he murmured to a pair of tittering witches, who had practically thrown themselves in his way. Ignoring their comments, he rounded one final corner, and saw the apothecary. Only one witch stood in line, anxiously digging through her bag, and shaking her head. Her bright red hair—

Harry stood stock still in the center of the corridor. That was Weasley red hair. His mouth hung open as he waited for her to look up, and he wondered how this was even possible. She was off touring the world, wasn't she? Harry had heard the details so many times. There was nothing she needed in Britain, right?

The witch who might have been Ginny sighed in relief, and pulled out a handful of coins. She looked up from her bag, and Harry let out a low whistle. She was thinner than he'd ever seen her: her cheekbones stood out, and her brown eyes looked huge in her face.

For a few moments – long enough for the man behind the counter to hand her a small vial – Harry just gaped at her.

"Ginny Weasley," he said.

Author's Note:

So I wasn't going to do one of these, but I really ought to have long before this. Some of you are probably very confused as to why I'm reposting an old story. Well, I've felt haunted by this story off and on over the years. Yellow Sub is basically finished (I'm thinking of taking out that last chapter in which Ginny is in trouble, and heading straight to the – mostly written! – epilogue). Refuge of Hope still had a bit of writing left, but I felt like the important bit there was done. Harry is alive. Al is alive. And you just know Al's family and friends have been working on the impossible, and have found the cure for Segnismorenia. As for some of my frothier works (like A Series of Escalating Dares), they just don't have the gravitas to pull me back in.

But this one. This one was abandoned before it even had a chance. Sure, I wrote some key scenes from way ahead in the story, just so I could have some closure. But a couple weeks ago, I started reading this story and cursed myself for never finishing. The scenes I'd written just weren't enough. I needed to see the whole ride. I think this story has the potential to be one of my favorites. I also think finishing it will have a good impact on my writing (which I feel has suffered since I quit writing fanfic).

Anyway. I've changed some things in the story the last few days. The first year Ginny saved is now a girl instead of a boy. I've also taken out some pesky page numbers that sort of ruined the formatting. Hopefully those issues are gone.

As ever, please drop me a line letting me know what you think of the story.