Harry had nearly, blissfully, forgotten the very existence of The Daily Prophet when he arrived at the church one day and found a picture of himself squinting up at him. It was an old photograph. Harry sat in a bath chair, gaping, in the wide foyer of St. Mungo's and was only wearing a dressing gown. He remembered that moment so vividly. It'd been the middle of the night, and everyone had thought it safe to move him. None of the press will be out at this hour, Arthur'd told him. He was one of the few who knew exactly why Harry had to be moved from St. Mungo's.
They'd been wrong.
Harry still remembered the flashes of light and loud voices. Even though he ought to have expected it – it was nearly Halloween, after all, the press liked to drag up everything around this time of year, as though the anniversary of his parents being murdered was not painful enough. He stood there for a moment, looking at himself, feeling everything he'd felt that day: pain, disgust, bewilderment, anger. All of that had led to the press capturing a photograph that made him look like a complete moron.
"Oh, hello, August!" said Luna.
Harry tore his attention away from the paper. She sat cross-legged on a little table and had butterflies fluttering around her. This was not unusual behavior for her, Harry had come to discover. Whatever eccentricities she'd had during their school years had only increased by an order of magnitude.
"Hi, Luna," he said.
"Oh, hey, August," Neville called from across the room.
"Who left this shite out?" Harry asked, pointing. "I thought we ignored the Prophet."
"We just have to see what the competition is up to," said Neville. "Actually, I was curious to see what the Ministry was allowing them to say about the vampire situation in Russia." Neville covered all the international news, and was always enthusiastic about telling Harry all about it. "It's interesting the way they glossed over it in favor of writing another bull shit article about Harry Potter."
Harry warmed at that. "He looks pretty gormless, it's got to be more entertaining than vampires."
"Maybe, but they reprint the same shit every year," Neville said.
"Every year," Luna echoed. "Harry Potter is a hidden menace to society," she added loftily. Harry would like to pretend she exaggerated, but it was a direct quote from last year's Halloween article.
"Yeah, they drum up all that suspicion because that way everyone is too busy to remark on what the government is doing." Neville said this with the deepest disgust. Harry was struck once more at how different from Harry's memories of him Neville was. Granted, he hadn't seen Neville for ten years, but still.
He wanted to point out to them that not even a month ago, they'd pointed out how little he'd done since Voldemort was defeated. What's he done since then, echoed in his brain. This hadn't been their fault. The extent of the damage Voldemort's final curse had done to him was hardly common knowledge. Harry wanted everything about that day locked away and hidden where The Daily Prophet couldn't find and exploit it. If it meant preserving his secrets, Harry was fine with Ginny, Neville, and Luna scoffing about him. He was absolultely fine with it.
Just then, Ginny emerged from her office. "You're later than usual," she said.
"Oh, I – sorry, but—"
"You're not late late," Ginny told him. "We just have another lead on a couple of Dark Marks."
The article was forgotten in an instant.
She grabbed a long, bottle-green traveling cloak from a peg and swirled it around her shoulders. "Are you ready?" she asked. Her hair was in a braid and hung over her shoulder, reminding Harry how well red and green went together as a general rule.
"Yeah," he said. "I'm ready."
Ginny hardly acknowledged The Daily Prophet, except to give it a scathing look. At least, Harry hoped the scathing look was reserved for the propagandized newspaper and not for himself. It might be, an anxious voice pointed out. By the time Harry had forced himself to set the issue aside, they were out the door and down the stairs.
"We'll need the Blind Bowlers for this one," Ginny told him, handing him his. "Ready?" she asked again.
"Ready," Harry confirmed.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
The next two weeks were grueling.
Ginny set a pace that had Harry falling into bed every night, utterly exhausted. If they weren't searching for Dark Marks all over Britain, they were visiting the magical commune outside of Manchester. If they weren't visiting the magical commune, there were reports of magical creatures running amok that Ginny wanted to look into. If they weren't doing that, they were lurking outside apothecaries and interviewing people. They had three different stories they were working on, and somehow – in the middle of all of that – they managed to publish their first joint article.
"Oh, look, they named him Chaser," said Hermione. The latest issue of The Turnip just so happened to be published the day of another family dinner at the Burrow. If he hadn't been there for the process of it, Harry wondered if Ginny'd scheduled it on purpose. But the church had turned into a hive of almost appalling activity during the time it took to put the full paper together, and Harry knew that it was going to be published whenever it was ready, and not on some sort of timetable of Ginny's. Instead, it was a happy accident.
"Who did what?"
Ginny strolled into the room.
"Ah, Seeker has a partner. Chaser, they're calling him," said Arthur.
"All they need is a Beater and a Keeper," said Bill.
"Ron can be Beater since he—"
Ron threw a roll at Fred; it bounced off his head and onto the floor.
Ginny sneezed.
"Oh, dear, Ginny, are you all right?" Molly half stood up from the table.
"I'm fine, Mum," Ginny said, annoyed. "Just need to find a tissue…"
"They never replaced them after Ron used them all up his teen years," said George.
Ginny rolled her eyes.
"Maybe you're allergic to kneazles, dear," said Molly. "Perhaps you should get tested…?"
"I'm fine, Mum," she said with a bit more of an edge. But then she sneezed again, and Molly whisked her out of the room. When she finally came back, Ginny wasn't with her.
"Ginny had to leave," she announced. "One of the kneazles is pregnant… Ginny has to be there for the delivery." This made Molly look very irritated. "She'd not looking after her health properly. She'll be getting sick, just you wait."
Harry suspected something else was going on, and was not surprised when the charmed coin in his pocket heated up.
The twins tried to waylay him on his way out the door.
"I've really got to go," said Harry, distracted. Ginny'd left five minutes ago. What was going on?
"We have your antidote," said Fred.
"Could — could you send it with an owl?" Harry asked.
"Well — yeah," said George.
"Everything all right?" asked Fred.
"It's fine... it's just Dumbledore," Harry lied. They let him pass.
It turned out it wasn't anything pressing, just three more sightings of Dark Marks. One was at the tip of Cornwall, another on a tiny island off the coast of Wales, and still another located on the remnants of an historical wall that divided England and Scotland.
Ginny sneezed three times. "My brother always said they made this wall to keep the dragons from fighting each other. It's magical, of course. The Muggles think they built it, of course."
Harry held a shield over her like an umbrella as she took pictures of the Dark Mark. It was her latest idea, and they were now planning to spend the next few nights going around to every known location of a carven Dark Mark. "We'll put it on the map," Ginny'd said. Her determination and fervor made it seem less like a chore and more like something absolutely necessary. After visiting the remnants of the magical wall, they Apparated to no less than four other locations. Harry was exhausted by the time they were done.
When he woke up the next morning, he found one of Fred and George's strange delivery birds. This one was a stork with bright purple wings and a blue beak. He wondered if the twins saw the irony in what this particular stork was delivering... but they wouldn't know the Muggle story, and it wasn't funny, anyway. Arnold, his own owl, was very territorial and grabbed the bottle of antidote from where it was tied around the stork's neck.
"Go on," Harry muttered, shooing it back out the window. "Go back to the joke shop. Go on with you, then."
Arnold was in high dudgeon, guarding the bottle like he was a mother with her eggs. Harry shook his head and headed off to the shower. There was a long day ahead and Harry didn't have time to engage in a dispute with his owl. He smiled just to think about it.
Over the next few days, Harry could not help but notice that Ginny was sneezing more, and looking more and more exhausted. This did not mean she slowed their pace. Far from it. Harry thought he'd traveled more over the space of two weeks than he had his entire life, even the year and a half he'd spent in hiding, Apparating from one safe spot to another.
He understood exactly why.
"We've got to have something solid before we can publish a warning about the potions," Ginny told him at least eleven times. "We can do all the interviews we want, but Merlin. The potioneers would come down on us so hard if we questioned the integrity of their product without having absolute proof that. You know. Proof that…"
"Proof that something is happening, and it's not just hearsay?" Harry prodded gently. She was slumped up against a brick wall in Dover. Their magical community was housed in an old building that looked on the verge of collapse, but was actually full of witches and wizards. For the last two hours, Ginny'd been pursuing their story, interviewing people, even examining the potions bottles in the rubbish bin. Now she looked on the verge of the kind of bone tiredness Harry associated with being on the run. Well, we're working on two different big things, he told himself. No wonder she's knackered.
"Yes, exactly that," Ginny murmured. "I'm ready to call it a night. I'll see you tomorrow?"
Harry nodded.
The next day, he found Neville in the main part of the church, working on the map in the center of the room. He stopped short. Neville covered the international side. This was Britain. He felt a surge of possessiveness on Ginny's behalf; this was her work. What was Neville doing?
"Ginny asked me to add in all the locations of the Dark Marks you two have found the last week," Neville said. He didn't even turn around when offering that explanation. Harry's shoulders relaxed. As long as Neville had the okay from Ginny, that was fine.
"Where is she?" Harry asked. Usually, Ginny was around whenever he was. In fact, he'd wondered more than once if she actually lived her, and her little flat somewhere in London was just a pretense she kept up for her family's sake.
"She's in her office, don't think she's feeling quite the thing," said Neville.
Despite the warning, Harry was astonished to find Ginny asleep in her office. Her hair was all spread out on her desk. Somehow, a bottle of ink had toppled over, staining some of the bright red black. She snored lightly. His first instinct was to back out and leave her alone. She was exhausted, by the state of her. But then his better sense prodded him. Wouldn't it be rude of him to leave her like that? Maybe she was worn down enough to fall asleep like that, but she wouldn't stay asleep. She'd wake up with a knot of pain in her back, and her cheek throbbing from the constant contact with the hard surface of the desk.
Harry walked over to the desk and laid a gentle hand on her back. Then he drew his wand, and murmured the incantation that would turn the chair she was using into a bed. A cushion from the other chair became a pillow. He conjured two sheets and a thick blanket. By the time he was done, he'd made quite a serviceable bed for her. At least she'll be comfortable, Harry thought, with no small amount of pride. Then he very, very carefully eased her down onto the bed.
"Harry," she whispered.
Harry froze. But Ginny was still asleep, still snoring, and had not somehow figured out his secret. He sat back on his heels, wondering if she was dreaming of him. She rolled over onto her other side, and a tendril of hair curled over her mouth in a way that looked quite uncomfortable. In fact, Harry had dreamed of her more than once since he'd started working with her; it seemed impossible that her dreams aligned with his increasingly interesting ones. Carefully, he eased the tendril out from under her chin, and brushed it back away from her face. It would be very strange if Ginny's dreaming self spent any amount of time wondering what color bra Harry was wearing.
By the time Harry stood and made his way as silently as he could out the door, he'd convinced himself that she hadn't said Harry at all, and that he was in obvious need of some rest himself.
"Ginny's asleep," said Harry after he'd shut the door behind him.
"Are you headed home?" Neville asked. He was still standing in front of the map.
"Oh… no," said Harry. "Ginny mentioned yesterday she wanted to go check on the hag. I figured I'd at least do that before I go home."
"Good luck, August," Neville said. "Don't do anything Ginny wouldn't do."
"I won't," he promised.
In fact, he didn't. He returned three hours later with a torn cloak (from Muffins), and a silvery knife the hag had thrown straight at his head. "I don't know what I did wrong," he told Luna, who was the only one awake and at the church. "I thought I said all the same things Ginny did, but the commune just told me Muffins could stay with the hag for a bit, they'd work things out themselves." He rubbed at his eyes. "But look, I kept this shiny knife as a souvenir."
HPHPHHPHPHPHPHP
It was early the next morning that Harry was summoned to Hogwarts to meet with Dumbledore. Fawkes had arrived and shaken him out of a dead sleep. Harry'd been dreaming of something particularly pleasant, if he could judge by the state of his body, but whatever dream he was having wafted away the moment he opened his eyes.
Fawkes dropped a scroll on his chest.
Arnold was squawking in his cage. Harry heard a dull thunk. It sounded as though his owl were tossing around the potion bottle he kept forgetting about. I really ought to take that away from him, he thought.
"Calm down, Arnold," Harry muttered. He grabbed his glasses off his nightstand and shoved them on his face.
He read the scroll. Dumbledore wanted a conversation with him "just to go over the last few weeks". Harry sighed. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to Dumbledore; in fact, he wanted his advice on a couple of issues. But they'd been so busy lately Apparating all over Britain, Harry wanted to use his day off wisely, like not getting out of bed at all and having Kreacher bring him meals. Harry sighed, listening to Arnold play with the potion bottle. Thunk-thunk-thunk.
Less than an hour later, he was walking with Dumbledore along the far side of Hogwarts. The fog was magically thick, thanks to Dumbledore's power. Now that it was late October and nearly Halloween there was an eerier feel to the fog.
"I don't know what to tell you about the potions, Harry," Dumbledore was saying. "Especially the Wolfsbane Potion. So many people depend on that to keep themselves from savaging their neighbors. If you do not mind, I think I will begin my own inquiries."
"And you'll make sure Remus has somewhere safe to go next time? Just in case?" Harry asked, anxious. They'd covered this topic before in a flurry of magically-protected letters, and one late night conversation in the fire, when Harry's been certain Ron and Hermione were asleep.
"I was wondering if the Room of Requirement would be an appropriate place to contain him," Dumbledore said. "Anything else of interest?"
"Not really," Harry shook his head. "We're still tracking and marking down all the Dark Marks that have been popping up all over the place. And – and the Seeker has been working on something else. We got an odd report from one of our associates." Harry told him about the case. "And all we got was a name – Nymphadora Tonks – and we know what she looks like, but—"
To his astonishment, Dumbledore laughed. "Pardon me, Harry, but if you did indeed meet Nymphadora Tonks, I doubt you know what she really looks like."
"What?" Harry asked, astonished.
"Tonks," Dumbledore said with a great deal of fondness, "is a Metamorphmagus. She can change her appearance at will. With a bit of concentration, Tonks could look like anyone in the world." He laughed again and his eyes were twinkling. "The pranks she would play at school, Harry, you have no idea."
"But she—"
"Left the Ministry several years ago, after Voldemort was resurrected," said Dumbledore. "She was a member of the Order of the Phoenix. You never formally met her, but she guarded you often in one of her many disguises."
Harry let that sink in. Of course, he knew that the Order was comprised of far more people than he knew. Only Dumbledore knew everyone who had been in it. Considering the fact that people had been tortured and killed for that kind of information, it made sense. But it didn't make sense—
"I suspect she thought you were Ministry of some sort," said Dumbledore, cutting into his thoughts.
"But she was so unpleasant," Harry said feebly.
"She was quite pleasant when I knew her, but I suppose she could have changed," Dumbledore said. It was out of politeness only. Harry knew from his tone that Dumbledore did not think it likely.
"But have you seen her lately?" Harry persisted.
"Not since she left the Order," Dumbledore admitted.
"She left—"
"Not because she experienced a change in heart in regard to her desire to fight against Voldemort," said Dumbledore. "There was a – situation that she ultimately found she could not live with. No, do not ask me. This is not something crucial to anyone but Nymphadora Tonks and Remus Lupin."
Harry's brows slammed together. "Remus? But—"
"You will have to ask him. If he tells you, he has more courage than I thought," said Dumbledore. There was something harsh in that message, and Harry took a step back from questioning him further. "Everyone reacts differently to any kind of stress and pain, Harry. I cannot guess as to what Tonks's life has been like since I last saw her, but I do know that whatever it is you think she is up to, there is goodness at the heart of it."
Harry turned from Dumbledore and looked out over the lake. The waters were churning. Frothy little waves splashed against the shore. Every few seconds, a tentacle emerged and slapped down again. Harry could not tell if the giant squid was angry, bored, or playful, but the effect was the same. He set aside his questions about Nymphadora Tonks. The only person who had answers was Remus Lupin, and it would be suspicious of him to ask Lupin about a long ago girlfriend. There was the urge to tell Ginny what he'd learned, but how would he explain how he'd found out? He didn't trust himself as August to mention Dumbledore, not after the discussion at the church regarding the latest article assaulting Harry Potter's character. True, Dumbledore had recommended him for the job at The Turnip, but it felt too — too precarious to casually drop information like that.
Harry did not want to talk himself into a corner.
Dumbledore stood quietly beside him.
Everyone recovers differently, Dumbledore had said. The words resonated, even though they'd been about Tonks. But Harry had known Dumbledore long enough that he knew his words often had double — sometimes triple — the context than the average conversation.
He turned and let his gaze move from the increasingly wild waters of the Black Lake to the other grounds. The fog spell behind them was clearing. There was a lone figure walking down the hill toward the forest. Even with the mist, he would recognize that hair anywhere.
"Pardon me," Harry said abruptly.
"Of course," said Dumbledore.
But Harry was already striding away from him. She was nearly to the tree line, and was skirting around Hagrid's statue by the time Harry was close enough to shout: "Ginny!"
When she turned and looked at him, a stab of concern went through him. Her face was drawn and pale. She opened her mouth to say something, but she coughed instead. Her hands were full, so she coughed into the crook of her arm. It was a deep, raspy cough.
"Hi, Harry," she finally managed.
"Are you all right?" Harry asked. She'd been sneezing the last time he saw her; whatever she had had worsened.
"Have a bit of a cold," she said.
Harry was close enough now to see that she carried a cauldron full of meat. His nostrils flared. It smelled… off.
"Want some help?" he asked.
"I think I'm fine, but I'd not say no to company," said Ginny.
They followed a well-worn path into the forest. Harry did his best to ignore the smell, but it was soon too powerful for him not to mention. "Are you feeding something in here?" There were a thousand different kinds of species that made their home here. Perhaps Ginny'd come across one of them.
She nodded, then coughed again when she tried to speak. "I – yeah," she managed.
"I guess I shouldn't ask you questions," said Harry, rueful.
She answered him with another cough.
Harry let his eyes wander over her as they continued on deeper into the forest. The last month had taught him that Ginny had a great deal of stamina. Whatever kind of cold she had sapped that out of her. Her face was pale; it looked almost unnatural beside the vibrant red of her hair. When she led them off the path and over a giant root, beads of sweat appeared on her smooth brow.
"Do you want me to carry that for you?" Harry asked as they skirted around a little pond.
"You don't have to," she said. "It's easier for me. I can't smell anything."
"Smells good to me," he lied cheerfully, taking the cauldron from her unresisting fingers. "Maybe I'm part ogre."
He winced when her laugh dissolved into another wracking cough.
It was another ten minutes before she put his hand on his arm, stopping him. "We have to be quiet, now. She's very sensitive."
Then she led the way into a quiet clearing. At first, Harry couldn't see anything in the gloom. Ginny took the cauldron out of his hands and moved gracefully to the side, managing to avoid all the roots and stones in her path. He tried to be as stealthy as her, but sticks broke under his feet.
Then Harry saw it. The tiniest thestral he'd ever seen stood quavering underneath a low branch. Its silvery eyes shone. It looked like a newborn, all shaking legs and trembling wings. Ginny was crooning to it. To her, Harry reminded himself. Ginny said 'she'. An instinct made him hang back, and not go too close. Curiosity made him want to light the tip of his wand.
Ginny was kneeling on the ground beside the baby thestral. One hand was gently stroking the leathery, batlike wings. The other was grabbing a fistful of meat. "That's it," she said. "I have your favorite food for you… I know you like it…"
The baby thestral was nuzzling Ginny's hand. She was timid, but Harry could see a long, black tongue swishing over the meat. It took her a long time to finish even one handful of the meat. Ginny never stopped stroking her, murmuring gentle words to her, even though the talking made her cough. Harry watched until the last bit of meat was gone.
"You're a very good girl," said Ginny. "I'll be back next week with more."
It was slower going back.
"You can – go on ahead," Ginny said through a coughing spasm. She sat on a boulder.
Harry shook his head. "Not a chance." Instead, he sat on a separate boulder. His mind was still on the baby thestral. He had what felt like a hundred questions for her, but didn't want to make her cough. They sounded so painful. It was obvious that Ginny should be home in bed. Or possibly even at the Burrow. Yet she'd come all the way down to the forest to feed her.
Another cough snapped him out of his thoughts. He pulled his wand out of his pocket, cast the familiar charm, and the light of his Patronus banished the ever-present gloom. "Go to Dumbledore," he said firmly. "Say: Please fetch a Pepper Up potion and place it somewhere it'll be convenient to summon it." He did not want to break the glass windows of Hogwarts. The stag bent his head regally, gave a great leap, and disappeared.
He gave Ginny a rueful look. "Sorry about that," he said.
"Giving orders to Dumbledore?"
"He won't mind," said Harry. The words had hardly come out of his mouth, when Dumbledore's silvery phoenix appeared. "Fetching it now. I will send it with Fawkes."
It was no more than two minutes later that Fawkes appeared in blaze. There was a bottle with fiery red liquid in it. Harry plucked it from the phoenix's talons and handed it over to Ginny. As she drank, steam came out of her ears, her pallor vanished, and the tightness in her face eased. It was beautiful to watch, and Harry's worry drifted away.
"Thank you, Fawkes, you beautiful boy," Ginny said. The phoenix came to land next to her, and rubbed her shoulder with his beak. Ginny stroked the red and orange feathers on his chest. She paid him more compliments; Fawkes preened and spread his tail feathers wide. Harry could not help but grin at the sight.
"He likes you," Harry observed.
"And I love him," said Ginny. "You saved my life, didn't you, Fawkes? Yes, you did."
Fawkes nuzzled her again, as though telling her it'd been worth it.
When the phoenix finally left, Ginny leapt to her feet. "Oh, I feel so much better," she said, sounding absolutely delighted. Steam was still coming off her body, wreathing her in it. It gave her a sort of mystical look.
"Now that you're feeling better, can you tell me about the thestral?" Harry asked.
"Curious, are you?" Ginny eyed him.
"Perishing," Harry admitted.
"You remember that thestrals have a kind of unusual life cycle?" Ginny asked. Really, her voice was so much stronger now.
"Yes," Harry said. And he did vaguely remember Hagrid explaining that during one of their lessons during Harry's fifth year. But he'd been trying to avoid Umbridge and find the Heir of Slytherin… his fifth year had been rather busy.
"The day that baby thestral was born, she watched her mother be slaughtered in front of her eyes," said Ginny. "Luna has a lot of theories as to thestrals… you'll have to ask her about them sometime. But what we do know is this: thestrals – unless murdered – go back to the earth when they die. They ease into dust at the end of their life. It's natural and Hagrid said it was painless. But they can be murdered. Oh – watch that branch, Harry."
Harry was so intent on her words that he nearly walked into a branch.
"Hagrid told me before he – he passed that this baby thestral—"
"Wait," said Harry abruptly. "It's been over two years since Hagrid died. That thestral can't be more than—"
"She was born about three years ago, but they guide their own development," said Ginny. "Hagrid said she was traumatized so badly by watching her mother slaughtered – and deep down, her nature told her it was wrong, her mother shouldn't have died like that – that she locked herself in place. She's been a newborn baby for years."
Harry stopped and looked at her. "So she's locked in place like that? Is she facing where her mother died?"
Ginny nodded. "Terribly sad, isn't it?"
That was an understatement. Harry looked over his shoulder, back toward the clearing he could no longer see. The baby thestral was unable to look away from where she'd watched her own mother die in front of her eyes. It wasn't until Ginny gripped his wrist that he turned away.
"Sorry," he muttered, looking down at where she was touching him. "It's just…"
She dropped his wrist. "I know," she said.
They were silent the rest of the way out of the forest. Harry couldn't get the image of the baby cowering under a branch, so unable to comprehend that she'd lost her mother that she hadn't allowed herself to move… to join the other thestrals of the herd… to grow up. It wasn't until they were out of the forest, halfway up the hill, and meeting Horace Slughorn on his way down that Harry was jolted out of his thoughts.
"Harry, m'dear boy! Ginny, m'dear girl!" Horace called out. He was positively beaming.
"Hi, Horace," Harry said.
"Hi, Professor Slughorn," Ginny said.
"Two of my favorites in the same place!" The smile had not faded. In fact, it spread wider. "You'll be the first to hear of my most interesting news. We're having a little Slug Club party—"
"I so enjoyed the last one," Ginny said, smiling. "I'm always amazed at how many show up for it."
"It's true that generally people accept my invitations," said Horace. He gave Harry a playful look and wagged his finger at him. "All except Harry, here."
"I don't really go much of anywhere," Harry said. Two months ago, this would have been perfectly true. Now, he was pulled hither and yon by the witch beside him.
"That's what I hear, m'boy," Horace said pleasantly. There was a crafty gleam in his eyes. "But you'll want to come to a little soiree I'm having in December. If I remember right, you were the Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team?" Harry nodded; he felt this was an unnecessary questioned designed to get him to engage. "Well," Horace continued, "the Holyhead Harpies – top of the league! – are going to play a little game against Puddlemere United… it'll be all part of the festivities. And they're all going to use whatever the school has for the game. No fancy broomsticks."
"The managers must be thrilled," Ginny said in a dry voice.
"They'll get over it," Horace said with an unrepentant grin.
They exchanged a few more pleasantries… well, mostly Harry watched Ginny and Horace exchange pleasantries… and then they were walking again, having said goodbye.
"Do you think you'll go?" Ginny asked.
Harry shook his head. "It sounds like fun, though."
"You really do need to get out more," she said, exasperated.
"Where should we go?" Harry teased. "Not Slug Club, obviously."
"Well, we're on our way to Hogsmeade, we could get a drink," she said magnanimously.
Harry felt the sudden cheer slide off him like water. For a second, he stared at her. He watched her face tighten.
"I was just kidding," she said stiffly.
Harry hadn't, and thought perhaps the conversation might have gone differently had it been anywhere but Hogsmeade. He kicked himself all the way down the hill. This was your chance to get to know more of her secrets! He castigated himself. No thestrals, no forest, no Slughorn, no August Peverell, no Ron. Damn it. He wanted to redo that moment; instead of freezing like a berk, he'd… be better.
They were only halfway there when he heard her sniffle.
He'd barely turned to ask if she was all right when a sneeze erupted out of her.
"Damn," she said. "I suppose that Pepper Up potion isn't very long-lasting."
Harry glanced away, squinting, just so that he would not look at her and give away the fact that he was thinking about all the ways in which the potions were failing. "Well, we're almost to Hogsmeade, maybe we can—"
"You don't need to worry—"
"—I just think we should get—"
"—certainly not going to—"
"—stop at the apothecary before we head to Grimmauld Place," finished Harry.
Ginny's mouth fell open. "What? I'm not going to Grimmauld Place."
Harry stopped then, eyeing her. "You're pretty sick," he said carefully. "You really want to be alone while you're sick like that? At least at my place, you'd have two wizards, a witch, and a house elf to be at your beck and call." It was her decision. I ought to have made it an offer, Harry mused. He knew her well enough by now to recognize the signs of stubbornness. Reaching out, he brushed her hair off her shoulder. Her nose was running again and he was pretty sure the cough was about to start back up. "I'm sorry," he told her. "I assumed you wouldn't want to be alone and sick because I hate being alone and sick."
She was laughing and wheezing at the same time. "Harry, stop. You drive a hard bargain, but honestly, you had me at the fact I'd have you and the others at my beck and call."
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
The second they arrived at Grimmauld Place, Hermione took one look at Ginny and took charge. Harry had had this happen before, was used to it, and generally liked that she took on tasks for him. Perhaps it was living with her for so long, and the fact he knew everyone ran enough interference between him and Ginny that Madam Hooch would call foul, but Harry was annoyed.
"I have—"
"Don't you worry, Harry," Hermione said, patting him on the arm. "I just went to the apothecary today… we'll find something that'll help her. It was very nice of you to bring her here."
"Yes, thanks, Harry," said Ginny. There was nothing at all except innocence on her face, but Harry thought he detected a hint of sarcasm.
"Where's Ron?" he asked, grumpy.
"He got called in to work," Hermione said. She twirled her wand and less than a minute later an entire cabinet appeared at the doorway.
"Poor Ron," said Ginny. "Has to miss me being sick."
Harry, having nothing better to do, brought her a glass of water.
"Don't drink that just yet, Ginny," Hermione told her. "You'll want to wait half an hour after the potion you just took." Shockingly, Hermione had an entire arsenal of all sorts of potions. Harry sat back in his chair feeling itchy. She'd brought out her entire potions cabinet.
And one by one, all of them failed.
It was mid-afternoon by the time Hermione gave up. "I just don't know what's going on," she said. Her hair was bunched out all around her face.
Ginny coughed into a pillow. "Honestly, you two, I just want to go to bed. Can't I just go to bed?"
"I have an idea," Harry said. "I'll just go 'round to – erm – you know. Places. Maybe you stored the potions wrong," he told Hermione. He could not help but feel slightly smug at the aghast look on her face. "In fact, I bet that's what it is."
"I would never store potions incorrectly," Hermione said.
Ginny hid a laugh behind a cough.
"Come now, Hermione," Harry said in his best you-can't-prove-I'm-being-condescending tone. "Why else wouldn't your potions be working?"
At last, Harry had the pretext he needed to once more go to his grandparents' former potions company. He took care with how he dressed, choosing an overcoat over his robes that once belonged to Sirius that Molly had modified to fit. It was burgundy and black. His attention was caught on his reflection in the mirror. Harry could not remember the last time he had put much effort into his appearance. Possibly not since his one and only disastrous date with Cho Chang late sixth year.
His lips twisted at the memory.
He was happy he'd been let out of the castle at all, and even happier that he was walking down the path to Hogsmeade with Cho Chang. They walked arm and arm and Cho kept up a conversation with ease. It wasn't until they got to Hogsmeade that Harry began to rumble why she'd asked him to go with her. It wasn't because she'd harbored feelings for him that she'd put on hold during her long relationship with Cedric Diggory and wanted to make a go of it before their paths parted ways when she graduated.
A chance glance inside Madame Puddifoot's had Harry's eyebrows raising. Diggory was in there, despite having already left Hogwarts, and was holding hands with Katie Bell. He moved to stand in front of the window so Cho couldn't see, but there was a flicker in her dark eyes that told Harry he might not have been fast enough.
"Let's go to the Three Broomsticks," Harry said, injecting cheer into his tone. "Puddifoot's looks crowded."
Cho dropped her hand and laced her fingers with his. When she laid her head on his shoulder as they walked, Harry's stomach leapt. All thoughts of Cedric Diggory fled; all he could think was that, by some happenstance, the girl he'd fancied for quite some time had finally started to fancy him back.
He was embarrassingly old for a first kiss, but she gave it to him anyway. Right in the middle of the street. Her lips were cool and moist but the kiss itself was not exactly how Harry'd imagined it. Her hands tangled in his hair but their lips hardly touched. She seemed content to just stand there in his arms.
Harry finally dropped them.
"That was lovely, Harry," she told him.
Harry nodded.
It was warm and cheerful in Three Broomsticks. Harry forgot some of his unease but enough of it lingered that he could not quite bring himself to enjoy the next hour. He drank his butterbeer. He caught a glimpse of Katie Bell walking down the street with Cedric. They were holding hands and grinning at each other. Without giving him any sort of warning, Cho practically leapt across the table, grabbed his face in her hands, and mashed her lips against his.
Harry recoiled but she was determined. He gave in; hadn't he wanted to kiss her since his fourth year? But it didn't feel like his adolescent dreams coming true. It felt more like a punishment. He was relieved when it was over, and even more relieved when she excused herself to visit the loo. Harry sipped at his butterbeer and wished he'd stayed behind with Ron and Hermione. They were keeping Ginny company since she was a second year and couldn't visit Hogsmeade. Whatever the three of them were up to, it had to be better than this.
When he saw Cho visiting with her friend Marietta just outside the door, some instinct made him use the spell he'd learned from the Half-Blood Prince that would allow him to eavesdrop on their conversation. Something was wrong, here; he wanted to find out what it was.
"—see you?" Marietta asked.
"Both times, I'm sure," said Cho.
"Were they at least good kisses?"
"They weren't terrible, but I can tell he's never been kissed."
"It's because he's fancied you for so long!"
"It's why I picked him. Merlin, I can't believe he's dating Katie Bell. Katie Bell! We used to get into terrible rows about how she was always looking at him. It was the one thing we'd row about. And look at him! Snogging her."
"He'll be jealous of Harry," Marietta pointed out.
Harry's ears were burning and there was a sourness in his stomach as though his butterbeer had been rancid. She was just using me? he thought, incredulous.
"Everyone's jealous of Harry," said Cho.
Later, Harry could not quite believe how cool he'd played it. When Cho returned to the table, he'd already closed out their tab with Rosmerta. He made some sort of excuse – something about Sirius Black – about how he ought not to have come out to Hogsmeade in the first place. "No, no," said Harry, when she offered to come back with him. "No, you stay."
During the long walk that followed, Harry realized that because he'd been famous since before he could even walk and talk, he was always going to have to deal with this kind of thing. It hurt, coming from Cho, whom he'd fancied for an embarrassingly long time. "How was your date, mate?" Ron asked once he finally made it back to the common room. Ron had not looked up from the game of wizard's chess he was playing with his sister, but Harry could feel both Hermione's and Ginny's eyes on him.
"It was fun," Harry said, forcing cheer. "Came back early because – erm – everyone kept talking about Black."
Ron made a sympathetic murmur and Hermione went back to her book. Only Ginny didn't seem fooled. Her gaze lingered and a flush climbed up the back of Harry's neck. When she looked away, Harry sagged on to the couch, summoned writing supplies, and got to work writing a letter to Remus Lupin.
Harry shook the memory away. He hadn't thought about that day in years; unfortunately, his experience with other witches—
No, Harry, he ordered himself. Don't dwell on that.
He gripped the cool porcelain of the sink. Think of your grandparents… you get to see them…
Ten minutes later, he was back downstairs. Ron was finally home, and Hermione was still incredulous. "I don't understand. It's such a simple potion! I've gotten it from the apothecary loads of times… Ginny, you should be feeling better!" But Ginny was no better than she'd been before she'd taken the potion Hermione'd made her. She was still coughing and her eyes were glassy with fever.
"What're you doing, looking so fancy?" Ron asked, looking over at him.
"I thought I might go out and find another potion," Harry told Ron, trying to be both honest and evasive.
"Dressed like that?"
"Nothing else is clean," said Harry.
"Oh, Harry, you really ought to be better at doing your laundry," Hermione said.
Harry's face heated.
Ginny coughed again.
"I'm going to go," Harry mumbled. "Ginny, I'll be back."
Harry Apparated to the wide, gracious atrium that Ginny had taken him to once before. He took in a deep breath, then walked forward. His footsteps made a muted sound; he kept his eyes straight forward. There was a small desk, an old fashioned rotary phone, and a quill in the center of the room. He had a moment of doubt when he realized that a potioneer as wealthy as Tiberius would not appreciate it if Harry walked in and started throwing out his first name.
What was his name again? Harry fought hard to remember. It was something familiar; he knew someone by the name of it. Someone he'd gone to school with. McLaggen!
Harry reached for the quill. As he grasped it, a scroll appeared before him. It prompted him to write his name. Harry glanced back over his shoulder, and wrote Harry Potter for Mr. McLaggen. That done, he could no longer contain his nerves and excitement. He smoothed Sirius's old jacket over his stomach and strode over to where he knew he would find his grandparents. It'd been brilliant to meet them as August. It would be even more brilliant to meet them as himself. The portrait—
—was empty.
Harry stopped short in disappointment. All the background details were there, but it was empty of the two people he most wanted to see. Fleamont and Euphemia had done what magical portraits were wont to do and were visiting elsewhere. Something inside him sagged along with his shoulders.
"Harry Potter!" Tiberius boomed.
Harry turned. He smiled a greeting, and shook the man's hand. Remember, you're also here for Ginny, he told himself.
"I wondered if you would ever find your way here," said Tiberius. He gestured toward the portrait. "This was your family business, you know! Four generations of Potters built this place!" Harry tried not to pull away when Tiberius wrapped his arm around Harry's shoulders.
"I just found out about this place," Harry said honestly. "I didn't — know about it." I was raised away from this world, you see, and I think people just assumed I knew what they knew, so they never bothered to talk about it.
"Well, here you are now!" said Tiberius. "Fleamont will be sorry he missed you. They're off visiting one of their other portraits, I assume. Come back any time. Now, what did you want today? A tour? A job — never heard you were a potioneer, but if you want—"
"I'm afraid I'm not particularly adept," Harry said, rueful. "Which is actually why I'm here. A friend of mine is very sick... for some reason the Pepper Up isn't working." He tried to make this sound innocent, like it wasn't a question he was trying to untangle. "Must be some sort of other illness. The crowds at St. Mungo's are pretty bad, you know, and she's so miserable. If there's anything you can do..."
He need not have explained so much. "Ah, you've come to the right place!" Tiberius told him, clapping his hands together. "Let's have a spot of tea, and I'll have a couple of my lads parcel up a sampling of potions for you."
Less than an hour later, Harry was holding a case of Tiberius's recommended potions. During tea, he'd been given a lecture that was both informative and more interesting than anything Snape had had to say during Harry's time at Hogwarts. Pepper Up was kind of a catch all term for potions that had been mixed together. In Harry's case, Tiberius's lads had put together samples of the most powerful anti-sickness potions the company had. "I swear by them," Tiberius said cheerfully. "Never use anything else when I'm sick. It's not just because I'm president of this company." They were back in the lobby after finishing their tea. Harry was eager to get the potions to Ginny, who must be fairly miserable by now. "Your girlfriend will feel better in no time!"
"Oh — erm — thanks," said Harry. The back of his neck got hot. It wasn't worth it to explain it to him, was it? What was the harm in Tiberius thinking Harry had a girlfriend? "She'll appreciate it."
In actuality, Harry did not find out if Ginny would appreciate the potions or not. By the time Harry returned to Grimmauld Place, he found the sitting room empty except for Ron, who looked both sheepish and defiant. This was never a good combination.
"What did you do?" Harry asked him sharply.
"I didn't do anything," Ron immediately fired back.
"I finally got back from getting her potions, and she's gone? And you didn't do anything?"
"It was an accident," said Ron. "And listen, it's between me and Ginny. I'm not going to tell you."
Harry looked at him with real annoyance. It was not hard to guess what he'd said. "Did you tell her I just brought her back here and went out for potions because you told me I was rude to her?" he asked.
"That was part of it," Ron admitted. "I mean, it's pretty obvious you're trying to make up for some of the – you know, in the past. It's not like it's a bad thing, Harry. But Hermione did say that I made it sound like you just did it because you pity her," he mumbled. "She left pretty quickly after that."
Harry blew out a breath. This was nearly as disappointing as finding his grandparents's portrait empty. Everything he could tell Ron right now would be a betrayal of Ginny's secrets. The truth was, Ginny had her own vibrant life going on. The last thing Harry thought about doing was pitying Ginny. Envying her, perhaps. And he couldn't tell Ron any of this because then Ron would wonder why, exactly, Harry's whole perception of her had shifted. It was safer for Ginny's secret to let her brother keep thinking that Harry was still blind and dumb.
"I went out of my way to get these for her," said Harry.
"And I'm sure she—"
"I'm sure she'll appreciate it when you deliver it to her," said Harry. "When you go over there right now and give them to her."
"Fine," grumbled Ron. "These better work."
Harry slumped upstairs, not even bothering to wait for him to leave.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
The night before Halloween, the staff at The Turnip celebrated Ginny's return to good health by going out to the Leaky Cauldron. There was a crowd, and they had to squeeze into one of the small booths in the corner.
"Sorry about that," said Hannah Abbott, their server. She grimaced and shrugged. "It's always busy around Halloween, but this is a little..."
"Excessive?" Neville supplied. Harry peered at him. There was something in Neville's voice. He was smiling up at Hannah, and not taking his eyes off her. The corner of his mouth lifted.
"Would you bring me a gillywater?"
"Of course," said Hannah. "What else?"
Harry asked for a butterbeer, not trusting himself to have any sort of alcohol and still maintain his secret. Sobriety was the best choice.
When the drinks arrived, they toasted Ginny, who drank her glass in one. "Another?" Neville asked. He appeared eager to go back to the bar, where Hannah stood.
"Please," said Ginny.
The drink had given her a bit of a flush. Harry smoothed his hands over his thighs, thinking of the way she'd been cropping up in his dreams lately. The details were hazy; he couldn't remember much beyond the fact she was in them and that they were very enjoyable. Pleasurable, Harry thought. In fact, the last time, he'd—
Quickly, he thought of Quidditch, of potions, of the wrackspurts Luna was insisting were flying all around them. Ginny was halfway done with her second gillywater, and Harry was smiling and taking as much part in the conversation as he could.
"Luna," Ginny said. She leaned forward. The shirt she was wearing wasn't low cut by any stretch of the imagination, but Harry caught a glimpse of a shadow that was the first hint of cleavage. "Do you ever even get sick?"
"I don't," Luna said. "It's all the plimpy tea... my dad swore on its health benefits..."
Tea. Xeno Lovegood. Plimpies.
"That sounds about right," said Harry.
Neville came back to the table then with fresh drinks for everyone. The booth suddenly seemed ten times smaller. Ginny wasn't touching him or anything, but he could feel her. Whenever she moved even the slightest bit, a sweet, flowery scent wafted in his direction.
He downed his second butterbeer like it was liquor.
"Do you lot come here often?" Harry asked during a lull in another wrackspurt conversation.
"Often enough," said Neville.
"Yes, ever since he started talking to Hannah, we've come here a lot," said Ginny. "A lot a lot."
Neville flushed as Luna giggled.
"She seems nice," said Harry. The butterbeer had an alcohol content that was serious for house-elves, but negligible for adult wizards. Still, he gradually warmed. Ginny, Neville, and Luna had the ease of old friends, but they went to efforts to include him.
He was just laughing at one of Luna's jokes, when a suspicious voice cut through all the humor in the room.
"What's going on here?" Ron demanded. He wore the purple and black uniform of a driver of the Knight Bus.
Ginny and Luna exchanged glances and continued to laugh.
"Ginny!" Ron said, exasperated.
"I'm having a drink with friends," said Ginny. There was an annoyed what does it look like I'm doing? hidden somewhere in her words, but she didn't voice it.
Ron stabbed him with a glare. "Who is this, then?" Guilt pinned Harry to the seat. He knew Ron was acting belligerent over Ginny sitting with some unknown man. It was excessive and over the top, and knowing as much as he now did about Ginny, he was surprised Ron didn't have bats dripping out of his nose. The guilt wasn't because he was sitting with Ginny; Harry suspected that if Ron could perform Legilimency and found out about the dreams, Harry would be in trouble.
"That's August," Luna said brightly.
Harry gave Ron a half wave.
"How'd you meet him?"
"Just at work," said Ginny.
"What's he got to do with kneazles?"
"Just likes them, I guess," said Luna.
This did not impress Ron much, and he glared at Harry again. "I'm just thinking he looks a little old to be sitting here with you—"
"He's only twenty-eight," said Luna.
"And you're only twenty," Ron was glaring at Ginny now.
It was the implication that Ginny was so young that she couldn't make her own decisions as to who she sat next to at a bar that had Harry opening his mouth. "Is she only twenty?" he asked, with an air of great surprise. "That's hard to believe."
"Why is that hard to believe?"
Ginny, Ron, and Luna were all staring at him now. Harry was just lucky Neville had disappeared some time ago. Play it cool, Potter. "She handles herself like someone a lot more mature. Those – kneazles are a lot of work. She just takes it all in stride and gets everything done. Even when she's sick."
Ron's mouth twisted in a grimace Harry recognized all too well. He was very annoyed, but couldn't refute what Harry was saying.
"HEY, KNIGHT BUS BLOKE!" someone was shouting from the front of the pub. "I WANNA GET TO MANCHESTER BEFORE DAWN!"
"Calm your tits!" Ron shouted back, supremely unconcerned that someone might consider that unprofessional. Then he swung his glare back to Harry. "You work with her, then?" His tone was heavily laden with suspicion.
"His aunt is Ginny's boss," said Luna.
"That she is," said Harry.
Ron chewed on that for a moment. "So why're you at the pub with him? Don't tell me Harry has competition."
Harry jolted at the sound of his name. At the same time, Ginny slammed her glass down on the table. The last of her fourth gillywater sloshed out onto the table. She stood up. "For Merlin's sake, Ron," she snarled. "You're embarrassing me."
Ron did not recognize the danger. "Does Mum know you drink gillywater?" he demanded. "And come out with twenty-eight year old men?"
"Does Mum know you got so drunk at the Hog's Head last time you were there that you tried to sleep in the bushes outside until Aberforth floated you to a room?"
"It wasn't a room, he just put me on the hearth," Ron said defensively. "But we're not talking about me right now, we're talking about you. Ginny—"
"Save it, Ron." Ginny's lip curled. "Why don't you go coddle your other little sister?"
"I don't have another—"
"Oh, you seem to think you have a three year old sister somewhere," Ginny said. "Someone who needs to be protected, have her friends interrogated, needs to listen to her mummy about what she can drink."
"That's not—"
"That's exactly what you're trying to do," said Ginny.
Harry was poised to intervene. He had his wand in his hand and he was already planning the best way to break this up. Instead, a large pint of Occam's Ale started bouncing up and down on top of Ron's head. They all looked around, flabbergasted.
A group of rowdy wizards were laughing. "WE WANNA GET TO MANCHESTER!" Their ringleader was twitching his wand up and down in time to how the glass bounced on Ron's head. Ale sloshed out over onto Ron's hair, and Harry suddenly couldn't take it anymore. He sent a wordless jinx, and one of the guilty party bent over and vomited all over the floor.
"You better not do that in my bus," Ron barked at them. He seemed to take their antics in stride. He glared back at Ginny. "We'll talk later," he said.
"Or not," Ginny called to his retreating back.
"You did good, backing her up like that," Luna said with warm approval. "Good job, August."
"Yes, thanks," said Ginny. She smiled at him. Harry could hear the musical horn of the Knight Bus, but didn't look away from her.
"You're welcome," he said.
"He's not so bad, but he can get—"
"Over-protective," said Luna.
Harry nodded, and was grateful when they didn't pursue this conversation.
"So what are your plans for Halloween?" Luna asked Ginny.
"Over-seeing some trick-or-treating in a wizarding village," said Ginny.
Harry perked up at that. "Trick-or-treating?"
Ginny smiled at him again. "Yes."
"Want some company?" he asked her.
She dipped her head in a nod. "Sure, might as well," she said. "If anything goes wrong, I wouldn't have to summon you." They were just making plans to meet at the church just after four in the afternoon when Neville returned.
"We made plans for tomorrow!" he crowed. "She's got it off… the Leaky always does a huge feast, but she hasn't got to work. I think I'll take her to Gran's…"
Later, Harry realized he'd not thought to ask where they were going tomorrow. He was just glad they were going to be somewhere without her brothers.
His dreams that night grew increasingly restless one by one. In the last, they were holding hands and walking down a path. The warm wood was filled with dappled sunlight. She was smiling at him, and then pulling at him to sit with her on a log.
"Take off your shirt," she told him. "You need the sunshine."
"Only if you take off yours," Harry countered.
His shirt and hers melted away. Her bra was bottle green and Harry could not take his eyes from it. A playful little breeze tickled his back as Ginny put her hands on his chest. She stroked him the way she'd stroked Fawkes. Breathless, Harry pulled her onto his lap. His hand splayed over her smooth stomach. She continued to stroke him; her fingers tangled in the hair on his chest.
The log disappeared, and they toppled over into a soft pile of leaves. Ginny's hands were on his face, she was straddling his stomach, and her lips were nibbling at his. He stroked her back, feeling a jolt of pure pleasure at the uninterrupted smoothness he found there. His eyes closed of their own accord. Pleasure rose, and rose, and he squirmed with it, gasping as she kissed him.
His orgasm woke him up.
It was a dream, it was just a dream. Harry was both guilty and disappointed at that. His racing heart calmed. He took his wand and cleaned up the mess he'd made. This time, the images took a while to drift away and it was nearly dawn before Harry slept again.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHP
Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed this one. It wasn't supposed to be this long! It was meant to be a bridge between last chapter and the next one (which I think is going to be the most fun case I've ever written; the Halloween episode, guys!), but I obviously have no control anymore. This is the last time I'm going to try to estimate how long a chapter is going to be. If I were still in the business of naming chapters, I think this one would be called 'Disappointment'. But don't worry! This is not something that lasts for all that much longer.
I feel like I've been working on this for a long time, but has it only been since January?