Great Expectations

A/N: Sorry for the delay in posting this one, but life, as I mentioned earlier, has a way of interfering. Among other things, this week brought me a dog with an ear infection, a son with an emotional crisis, two leaky faucets, botched flight schedules, and, for all I know, a partridge in a pear tree (don't ask!). You may have noticed that I've added chapter titles for ease of identification, both for you and me. Thanks to Mimosa for giving me the idea for the Ginny-George chapter (shown as Chapter 8, actually Seven). Slightly racy "fluff alert" for this chapter, particularly near the end. You have been warned!

Chapter Nine

Fear Factor

Harry was tossing James into the air when Ginny came downstairs.

"That isn't a very good idea," Ginny warned her husband as James squealed in delight. "It wasn't all that long ago he ate, you know."

"It's our special game," Harry replied. "And you like it, don't you, little man? You like. . . Urgh!"

Harry looked down at the front of his now spattered robes, and then looked up at James, who was smiling as if he had just done something wonderful.

"How many times, Potter?" Ginny sighed. She pulled out her wand and cleaned Harry's robes with a quick Tergeo. "Why don't you find something quiet to do with him? It's nearly his bedtime."

"I will, if you go back to bed," said Harry. "The healers said you were supposed to stay off your feet, remember?"

"Bother the healers," Ginny grumbled, but she dropped into a chair and placed her feet on an ottoman. "I'm tired of staying in bed. I can rest here as well as I can upstairs, can't I? Look, see? My feet are up and everything."

She reached for her knitting with a virtuous expression. Harry subsided, but watched her out of the corners of his eyes, as if to ensure she didn't knit too vigorously.

Ginny focused on a difficult stitch, and swallowed the resentment that seemed to rise so easily these days. It wasn't Harry's fault she'd been ordered bed rest, but she did resent his unspoken accusation that she'd brought it on herself, even though she knew that might be at least partially true. She had accepted the restrictions willingly at first, but the inevitable chaffing set in and with it a resumption of many activities she had once considered blissfully "normal." The result had been another overnight stay at St. Mungo's, and when she returned home Harry's instructions to the house-elves had doubled in severity. Ginny could hardly move without Kreacher appearing at her elbow to croak, "Mistress should be resting," or Winky snatching the baby out of her arms, squeaking, "Master James is too heavy for Mistress to carry!" Ginny knew that Harry was only acting out of love and concern, but being told off by house-elves was a bit much, and more than once she sent the hapless servants scurrying for cover.

But Harry did more than order the house-elves to nag his wife. He also did whatever he could to pitch in at home, particularly in the area of child care, and after dinner playtimes with their son had become a nightly ritual that he seemed to enjoy as much as James did. Ginny felt the tiniest bit envious of the growing bond between father and son, but James was thriving and it really was sweet to see the way his face lit up whenever Harry came into view. Ginny enjoyed watching them together, and she smiled as Harry Summoned a set of brightly colored plastic toys shaped like magical creatures and handed James a purple kneazle, which he immediately threw across the room. Throwing things was one of his favorite pastimes, and on a good night he could achieve some fairly impressive distances.

"What are you making?" Harry asked as an orange hippogriff sailed past his left ear.

Ginny held up the knitted thing she was working on. It was rather shapeless, with dangling bits of yarn in a blinding canary yellow that practically scorched the eyes. "It started out as a hat, but I think it may end up as a blanket."

"It's. . .nice," Harry said, clearly struggling for adjectives.

Ginny examined it and sighed. "It looks like a cat threw up a fur ball, doesn't it? I can't quite get the hang of Muggle knitting. Hermione's been trying to teach me. She says it's relaxing, but I think I may go back to using magic."

She set her knitting on the floor and picked up a book instead. Harry scowled at the title: Perchance to Dream: A Guide to the Unconscious World.

"Where did you get that?" Harry asked.

"Hermione gave it to me," Ginny said. "It's by some Muggle author she claims is really good at dream interpretation. She's been bringing me lots of books lately. She thinks they might help me understand the dreams I've been having."

"Have you had more?" Harry asked, looking a little alarmed. "I thought. . ."

"No," said Ginny. "The books are interesting, though. Did you know that in dream symbology a crown means knowledge or enlightenment? Of course it can also mean success or pride in achievement, but the placing of a crown on someone's head in a dream generally means that person is endowed with superior intellect or wisdom. What do you think of that?"

"I think you've been spending too much time with Hermione," said Harry. "You're even starting to sound like . . ." He broke off as a pink pygmy puff hit him on the nose.

"Lucky throw," Ginny said.

"I'm under attack by my own son," Harry said ruefully. "He's got a wicked strong arm, though. Pretty fair aim, too." He gave the tip of his nose a thoughtful pinch.

"Maybe he'll be a Chaser, like his mum," said Ginny. "What do you think, James? Would you like to play Chaser on your House Quidditch team?"

"He could be a Seeker, like his dad," Harry countered.

"Da-da!" James observed, waving his arms enthusiastically.

Ginny regarded the pair of them balefully. "It's revolting the way you men stick together."

"I wouldn't take it too much to heart," Harry laughed. "As much as he likes to bash and bang things, he'll probably end up a Beater."

Like Fred and George, Ginny thought. It had been nearly two months since Fred had come to her in a dream, but the more time that passed the more she wondered if it really had been Fred or if it hadn't been just a longing that expressed itself in the form of a dream. The books were confusing her. Her own doubts were confusing her.

"You haven't had any more of those dreams, have you?" Harry asked, breaking into Ginny's musings.

"Not for a couple of months," said Ginny. "Why?"

Harry didn't answer right away, but Summoned all the toys James had flung about the room and piled them in front of him. "They make me nervous," he said. "The dreams, I mean."

"I worked that much out already," Ginny said. "Why, though? They're only dreams."

"Are they?" said Harry. "You didn't think so after that dream with Fred. What about that whole business with the girl from Cornwall?"

"I don't know," Ginny sighed. "I'm beginning to wonder if I didn't overhear Fred talking about it once and stored the whole episode in my subconscious or something."

"Do you really believe that?" Harry asked.

"It's what the author of this book would say, but I really don't know what to think anymore. One of the things I remember Remus saying is that the answers would come, but they haven't and now. . . Well, it's like I said, I just don't know what to think."

Harry sat in thoughtful silence for several minutes. James had grown bored with his throwing game and crawled to a nearby chair, which he used to pull himself to his feet. He took a few wobbly steps before his lack of balance made him sit back down on his heavily padded little backside. Harry tried to interest him in the toys again, but he wasn't having it, so Ginny pulled out her own wand and made the plastic creatures hover in mid-air. James watched, enthralled, as they began to move in a slow circle, and grabbed at a blue jobberknoll as it passed overhead.

"Whenever I dream," Harry said quietly, "it's nearly always about you."

Ginny stared, surprised. "The nightmares? They're about. . . me?"

"They have been lately," said Harry.

Ginny didn't know whether to be flattered or insulted. "How are they. . . I mean, what are they about?"

"I dream that we're back at Hogwarts and Riddle's taken you into the Chamber of Secrets again. But I can't find you because I'm lost inside a labyrinth of tunnels and I can hear you screaming, but I can't get to you and there's all this blood and I know it's yours. Or we're in the Forbidden Forest and Voldemort is there, surrounded by all his Death Eaters, and he points that wand to deliver the Killing Curse, only this time you're with me and it hits you instead. Or I see everyone who died in the final Battle, all the bodies laid out in the Great Hall the way they actually were, but when I get closer I realize that every one of them is you. . ."

"Harry," Ginny said weakly. "Voldemort is dead. And I'm alive. I'm fine."

"You're not fine," Harry said. "You've had all these bleeding episodes, and you're having dreams about all these people who died. And if it is your subconscious, maybe it's trying to tell you something. Have you ever considered that?"

"Oh, Harry," Ginny said, understanding at last the source of his fear, and felt a twinge of guilt for her own part in fueling his anxieties. "Harry, you mustn't. . ."

She broke off at the sound of a tap on the window. An owl was there with a large envelope in its beak. Harry crossed to the window and took the envelope. Ginny felt her heart flutter as she recognized the Ministry seal. They didn't usually send owls to Harry at home unless it was something urgent.

He broke the seal and read the message, his frown deepening as he reached the last lines. "Wait," he said to the owl who was still perched on the windowsill. "You can take a message back."

Ginny knew better than to ask about the letter's content. His work was nearly always shrouded in secrecy and he wouldn't be able to tell her anything even if she asked. Nevertheless, she could not help a tentative inquiry. "Anything wrong?"

"Just something we're monitoring," Harry replied as he searched for a quill in the small writing desk in the corner. He pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and scribbled a brief note, then sealed it with his wand and handed it to the owl who immediately flew off into the night.

James had taken advantage of his parents' momentary inattention to tangle himself in his mother's yarn. Ginny bent down to extricate her son from the yellow web in which he had ensnared himself, but Harry pushed her hands away.

"I'll do it," he said.

"It's all right. I've nearly got him. . ."

"I said I'll do it!"

Ginny blinked at the sharp edge in his voice, but Harry continued working on the knots James had created without comment.

"I'm going to put him to bed," he said at last. "No, you sit! You shouldn't be going up and down stairs any more than absolutely necessary."

"At least let me kiss him good night."

Harry lifted their son onto her lap. Because he was tired, James permitted her ministrations. He burrowed into her, trying to find space to fit himself around the growing bulge of her belly, and in his soft little voice she heard his sleepy murmur, "Mum-mum."

"Did you hear that?" Ginny said excitedly. "He called me Mum-mum!"

Harry smiled. "I heard."

"That's the first time he ever said that! You really do know me, baby, don't you?"

"Of course he knows you," Harry said. "You're his 'Mum-mum.'"

Ginny handed James over reluctantly after one more kiss on each plump little cheek, and watched Harry climb the stairs with him. Too enraptured by her son's recognition to sit still and feeling rather weepy besides (which she suspected had something to do with pregnancy hormones though she would have died before admitting it) Ginny decided to tidy up the mess Harry had made in his search for a quill. And there, on a corner of the desk, was the message from the Ministry.

Ginny stared at it. Usually Harry incinerated these missives as soon as he read them, but apparently forgot to destroy this one. The contents must have shaken him, because he was never normally so careless. Ginny knew she shouldn't read it, knew also that Harry would be angry if she did, but it was just sitting there, lying face up on the desk. Unable to help herself, she leaned ever so slightly closer, and the first line leapt off the page.

Petroff and Dolohov were both spotted in Dubrovnik . . .

The name Petroff meant nothing to her, but Dolohov certainly did. Antonin Dolohov was the man who had murdered her uncles, Gideon and Fabian Prewett, and killed Remus Lupin during the Battle of Hogwarts. He was currently serving a life sentence in Azkaban for his crimes, so what was he doing in Dubrovnik? She started to read the rest of the letter, but got no further than ". . . this afternoon by Aurors from. . ." when Harry's footsteps sounded on the stairs.

Ginny hastened to her chair and had just gotten herself settled when Harry entered. He barely glanced at her before hurrying to the desk where she saw him frown at the newly tidied surface. He lifted the parchment, then looked at Ginny, who was making an unsuccessful effort to hide behind her book.

"You read it?" he said.

"Not really," she replied, which was more or less true. She hadn't actually read it, just sort of glanced at it. "I only saw the names. I didn't. . . I mean. . . I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have. . ."

Ginny knew her face was crimson, but Harry didn't seem angry. If anything, his reproach was self-directed. "It's my fault," he sighed. "I should have burnt it right away. Don't know where my head was at, leaving it there that way."

He touched his wand to the parchment and it disappeared in a twinkling, leaving only fragments of ash that fluttered apathetically to the carpet. With another wave of his wand, even that was gone.

"Harry," Ginny said. "I know I shouldn't ask, but . . .Dolohov?"

"Not Antonin," Harry said, dropping into a chair beside her. "He's still in Azkaban. It's his cousin, Andrei."

"Is he a Death Eater too? Or was he?"

"More of a sympathizer and supporter," Harry said. "So was Nicolai Petroff. But I really can't say more than that. We're on top of it. There's nothing to worry about."

Ginny closed her eyes. "Nothing to worry about? Do you really not know what the name Dolohov does to me? Even if it isn't the same one?"

"I'm sorry," he said. "I wish you hadn't seen that message. It was careless of me. . ."

"Is he dangerous? Is he a danger to you?"

Harry gave her a direct, compelling look. "This is my job, Ginny. It's what I do. There's no reason to get upset."

Neither of them spoke for a few minutes. "What I'd like to know," Ginny said into the silence, "is why it's all right for you to worry about me, but when I worry about you, all I get is, 'Don't get upset.'"

"It's hardly the same. . ."

"How is it different? Do you think I love you any less? Do you think my fears are any less terrifying?"

"I'm just trying to protect. . ."

"Well, maybe I don't want your protection!" Ginny shouted. "When are you going to stop thinking of me as a child you can fob off with platitudes?"

"I don't. . ."

"Yes, you do!" Ginny glared at him. "You always try to protect me, but you put yourself in mortal danger all the time and then tell me I'm not allowed to worry! Well, I've got news for you. I've spent years worrying about you, and I expect to spend a lot more at it before I ever draw a quiet breath. So don't tell me not to worry because I'll worry about you if I damned well feel like it! I'm not fragile, I won't break, and I don't need your bloody protection! Got it?"

Harry stared at her for a minute, then his mouth twisted into a wry smile. "What can I say? Worry away."

Ginny's breath continued to escape in small, indignant huffs, but the smile disarmed her even though she wasn't ready to admit it. "Well, all right then," she said.

"All right," said Harry. "Is it okay if I worry about you too? Just a little?"

"If you must. Though if you don't get Winky and Kreacher off my back, I'm having them both baked in pies."

"Well, we can't have that." Harry moved his chair closer and took her hands. "I'm sorry if I've been a little overbearing."

"A little overbearing?" said Ginny. "My own father never ordered me around that way!"

"I'd like to see him try," Harry grinned. "And you'll trust me not to do anything stupid while I'm out on assignment?

Ginny didn't respond, but gave him a sideways look. "I'm pretty good at what I do, you know," Harry reminded her. "In case you've forgotten, I've been in some very precarious situations. . ."

"And come very close to getting killed," she reminded him in turn.

"The point I'm trying to make is that I'm not an idiot. And I do have quite a lot to live for these days."

"I'm not an idiot either," Ginny said. "And ditto."

"Fair enough," Harry acknowledged. "Will you at least try to take care of yourself?"

"Will you?" asked Ginny.

"I always do."

"Same here."

They stared at each other, but now both were smiling. For some reason, Ginny thought of what Remus had said about fear being the cause of so much pain. Remus, the man who had taught Harry to fight the incarnation of fear, had run from love out of fear of the Dark thing that lived within him. But Harry's problem was that he didn't fear darkness enough. He'd faced too many dark things, both inside and outside himself, for darkness to hold any terrors. What he feared was the loss of light, and it was the same fear that haunted Ginny every time he went on a mission with the Aurors. But she could never ask him to be less than he was. She could either accept him that way, or leave him alone, and leaving him would never be an option for her.

"Just for the record," Harry said, "I don't think of you as a child."

"No?" said Ginny.

"Not at all." His voice was a little huskier than usual. "In fact, I'm very glad you're not."

"Oh?"

They were sitting face to face, knees touching, and she nuzzled the hand he had lifted in an almost involuntary gesture to caress her cheek. He started to pull away, but she was much too quick for him. His Auror-honed instincts always seemed to desert him when it came to defending himself against her.

"Ginny," he said, and the regret in his eyes was eloquent. "We can't."

"I can't," she clarified. "I don't believe the healers said anything about you."

Ginny could see he was sorely tempted. She might have even said he looked wistful except that he was so far beyond wistful it was an entirely different category.

"That's not quite fair to you, is it?" he asked.

"It's called living vicariously. And don't worry. What I have in mind isn't strenuous."

Harry threaded his fingers through her hair. "If you're sure. . ."

"I'm sure that I love you," said Ginny, smiling up at him. "And after all, it's for the greater good."

A/N: Ah, well, let's leave them some privacy, shall we? The next chapter is titled "What Dreams May Come." Poll results will be released along with it, so if you haven't voted yet, hop on over to my profile page and cast your ballot. Thanks to everyone who participated thus far, including the wags who chose J.K. Rowling. I added that as a joke, but it cracked me up that several people actually chose it. Although maybe I should do a dream chapter like that. I could have Ginny ask Jo some searing questions about some of her post-DH revelations. (I'm joking! That's a joke, people!)
Notes to Anonymous Reviewers (this includes all those for whom I do not have email addresses; all others receive personal responses, as do all signed reviews; if I miss anyone, please let me know)

Mimosa: Regarding your comment that I am completely and utterly mental: I aim to please. And thank you! As for women going to the loo together, perhaps it's more of an American phenomenon, though one of my British friends tells me she's known a few English women to travel in packs that way. I have no idea why Jo chose Rose & Hugo, but that's my take on it. And no, I haven't been having tea with Ms. Rowling, as she and I differ on some crucial points and they'd probably lob me out of the Ritz via the back door after I finished telling her what I think of some of her post-DH revelations (George & Angelina? Seriously?) Hermione & Ginny's experiences are specific to these pregnancies only. Ginny's problems stem in part from having two babies very close together, which is rough on the reproducive organs, but there are other reasons you'll find out more about later. Hermione, I reckon, has already paid her dues by having so much trouble conceiving, so I thought I'd give her a break during the actual gestation. But don't forget, the really uncomfortable part of pregnancy is yet to come. Hermione's hormones haven't fully kicked in yet, and God help Ron when they do! Ought to be fun.

harryxxginny66: I've actually read several fics like the one you described (i.e., Ginny refuses to take Harry back right after the war) but they never struck me as quite "true," so I'm not sure I'd be the right person to write something like that. My own theory is that Ginny would have taken Harry back because, first of all, she's been besotted with him since the age of ten, and second, she really, honestly loves him. However, a simmering resentment may have lingered which is why, in my fics, she puts Harry off for several years when he proposes marriage (To Hear the Bells Ring) and her decision to "run off with the Holyhead Harpies" (The Letter, Chapter 9) after the war is partially a form of revenge. I think you'll see a little more of that resentment come out in this story. Stay tuned!

Amy: I'm glad I'm able to provide regular "fixes" to feed your addiction (I suffer from the same addiction; when I'm not writing I'm surfing for quality stories). I've touched a little on the crown symbol in this chapter, but there will be more with Ron & Hermione, and Rose of course, in future installments.

Faith: I'm glad you liked the image of Ron "stalking" his nieces and nephews (can't you see all the Weasley wives locking up their children?). I've touched a bit on the crown image in this chapter. As for Teddy, he will continue to play a role in this story, but I'm not sure how much yet. I'll have to see how he fits in with future plot devices. I still want to write a full-length fic about Teddy as an adult, which will, of course, also feature Victoire.

Kim: Yes, I have posted stories on Mugglenet (the same ones that I have on this site) but I'm getting a little fed up with some of their processes and may not post there in the future. You'll always be able to find me on FFN, though.

THEWORLDOFHPEXISTSNOMATTERW: Thanks a lot! I really appreciate your reviews. They make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Jacqueline: Glad you're enjoying it. I'll try to keep the updates coming as quickly as possible.