Great Expectations

A/N: This is a relatively long chapter, but there are some fairly complex concepts here that really can't be expressed in a short form. I'm sure that many of you will have a lot of questions after reading this, but if I may borrow a phrase from Remus Lupin, the answers will come in the fullness of time. Poll results are shown at the end of the chapter, though I can tell you right now that only four percent got it right (which means I'm either doing something very right or very, very wrong, I suppose). But take heart! The story is far from over, and keep something in mind that we all learned long ago: seven is the most powerfully magical number. And on that cryptic note . . .

Chapter Ten

What Dreams May Come

Molly's solution for nearly every problem had always been to feed it. She had been like that when her children came down with colds or dragon pox, and as far as she was concerned, emotional ills were the same. In the days after Fred's death, while the family stumbled around in a haze of tears, Molly had cooked incessantly and it wasn't until the largely uneaten food started to pile up that she realized her behavior was a little obsessive and finally began the process of healing her own grief. But the habit was far too firmly ingrained not to persist, and when Molly realized that her normally vibrant daughter seemed a little down, she knew just what to do.

Ginny was not especially surprised when her mother turned up at Grimmauld Place shortly before Christmas with enough food to wait out a siege. Her parents were leaving for Romania soon to spend the holidays with Charlie, which would also give Molly an opportunity to investigate the "rumors" of her son's living arrangements (Merlin help Charlie, Ginny thought, pitying her brother). But of course Mum, being Mum, had to stop by ahead of time to ensure that no one starved in her absence.

"I don't trust that house-elf," Molly sniffed, casting a suspicious eye at the corner behind which Kreacher had just skulked, offended by the criticism of his cooking implied by all the covered dishes. "There's something shifty about him."

"Kreacher's all right," said Ginny. "He grows on you."

"Mm," Molly said. "A bit like fungus. Where's Harry, by the way?"

"Croatia," Ginny said.

"Croatia? What on earth is he doing in Croatia?"

Ginny gave her mother a look. "Oh," said Molly. "I should have known better than to ask. Well, I'm sure he'll be back soon."

"I'm glad you're so confident."

"Now, Ginny, if anyone knows how to look after himself. . ."

"It's not that," Ginny said. "It's just that he's no sooner home when he's called out again. He's been working on an important assignment, which of course I know next to nothing about, and they've got him running in a hundred different directions while I'm stuck in this bloody house with a bloody baby and two bloody house-elves watching my bloody fingernails grow."

Molly scowled at her daughter's language, but refrained from commenting. "How did your appointment with the midwitch go this morning?"

"Fine," Ginny replied dully. "Bleeding's stopped. Baby's growing. Everything's bloody, freaking fabulous."

"Then why are you so down?"

"Because I'm so mind-numbingly bored I'd like to scream until my throat is raw," Ginny said. "I swear there are times when I feel like dragging the portrait of Sirius's mother down from the attic just for the conversation. Even if all she does is shriek at me what a filthy blood-traitor I am."

"Well, if the bleeding has stopped, why not get out? Do some Christmas shopping or something."

"Because I'm not allowed to Apparate or use the Floo Network," said Ginny. "The healers think the squeezing and spinning will start the bleeding up again. So that leaves brooms, which I'm not allowed to use either, or Muggle transport, which is crowded and uncomfortable at the best of times. If you have any other ideas, I'm open to suggestion."

Molly, whose loathing of non-magical travel was legend, shuddered. "What about your friends? Hermione or that Luna girl?"

"Luna's out of the country, chasing some blubbering, blibbering something or other," said Ginny of her naturalist friend. "And Hermione's hunkered down with her studies. She's determined to get her certificate in magical law before their baby is born, so she's totally focused on that, and I've just been stuck here. I really think I'm going mad some days, Mum."

"You're not going mad," said Molly, who knew how difficult it must be for her daughter, who had always been active, to wait out something like this. Still, Molly also knew how serious the situation was. It made her heart clench to think of it, but the baby's survival wasn't the only thing at stake. The latest episode that landed Ginny in hospital again had frightened the entire family, and it was a strain on everyone not to hover because the danger was very real. But excessive sympathy would only sink Ginny into even deeper gloom, not to mention earn the sympathizer a good, swift kick in the shins. The solution would be something to keep her mind busy, and suddenly Molly had it. It seemed to arrive from out of the blue, but it was pure genius, really.

"You've always liked to write," Molly suggested in a burst of inspiration. "Seems to me this would be an ideal time to pursue new avenues."

"And what would I write about?" said Ginny. "All I know is Quidditch."

"You know a lot of things, dear," Molly said. "You're a reporter, aren't you? And after all, you had a front row seat at some of the most dramatic events in wizarding history."

Ginny looked surprised. "Where did that come from?"

"I don't know," said Molly, looking a little surprised herself. "It just. . . came to me all of a sudden. But now I think about it, it seems like a good idea."

"You think I should write about . . . that?"

"Why not? Enough rubbish has been written by people without a clue about what really happened."

Ginny knew exactly what she was talking about. A great many accounts had been published after what was now being called the Second Wizarding War. These had included an unauthorized biography by Rita Skeeter titled, Harry Potter: Hero or Zero, in which she dredged up the old rumor that Harry had been hiding from Voldemort in the year before his great victory and that he, Ron, and Hermione had cooked up the story about Horcruxes to make themselves look more heroic than they really were. There was an enormous hue and cry when the book came out, along with suggestions about what Skeeter could do her with her Quick-Quotes Quill, and several volunteers actually offered to help her do it. Unfortunately, the publicity only seemed to increase curiosity about the book, which ended up selling a record number of copies. Harry himself had taken the whole thing in stride. He'd never asked to be a hero and didn't care whether or not anyone thought of him that way. The people he really cared about knew the truth, which was all that mattered to him, but Ginny had been outraged on his behalf, as had all the Weasleys. Still, to write about those events herself? She wasn't sure she was ready for that. She wasn't sure any of them were ready for it.

"I'll think about it," Ginny said, even though she had absolutely no intention of following through on her mother's suggestion.

No sooner had Molly left, however, when Ginny found herself drawn to the old library which Harry had turned into a study. He was the only one who ever really used it. There was room enough for two desks, but Ginny preferred the small writing desk in the sitting room which was sunnier and cheerier than the stuffy old library. It was also closer to the center of the house which enabled her to dash up to the nursery or down to the kitchen as needed. Not that I've been doing much dashing anywhere these days, Ginny thought with a sigh.

The library, now a study, smelled of wood polish and parchment, and a faint odor of mustiness emanated from old books stacked on shelves lining the room, many dating back to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. They'd weeded through and destroyed all the books on Dark Magic (some of which had put up quite a fight), but a number of older volumes remained, including several portfolio-like notebooks containing records of the Order of the Phoenix, left there from the time when this house had been their headquarters. Neither Ginny nor Harry had ever looked through these records. It had been far too painful to think about reading the names of individuals they would never see again, or pore over minutes of meetings attended by those whose voices were forever silenced. But Ginny took a few of the notebooks now and sat in one of the comfortable armchairs by the fire where she began to leaf through them.

There were photographs in the first album, including one of the original Order. Ginny recognized Remus and Sirius, both achingly young and as yet unravaged by bitterness as they smiled up at her. With a jolt, she also recognized Harry's parents. From the slight swelling beneath Lily's robes, Ginny thought she must have been pregnant with Harry when this picture was taken. There were Frank and Alice Longbottom, now living out their days at St. Mungo's in a dreamy twilight that was perhaps kinder than the anguish Neville and his grandmother still endured. There was Peter Pettigrew, the traitor who betrayed Harry's parents. Elphias Dodge, whom she remembered seeing at Bill and Fleur's wedding, stood next to Dumbledore whose face was as kindly and serene as ever. A woman whom Ginny believed was called Marlene McKinnon sat beside Benjy Fenwick, an old friend of her parents'. There was Mad-Eye Moody before he lost his eye, and Edgar Bones - Ginny remembered his niece, Susan, from school. And of course Gideon and Fabian Prewett, Molly's brothers. Ginny knew that it had taken five Death Eaters to bring her uncles down, but it was Antonin Dolohov who dealt the final blow. Dolohov, whose cousin Andrei, a Voldemort sympathizer and supporter, was currently in Croatia. Where Harry was.

Ginny closed the notebook, feeling ill again. She would never be able to write about the people she actually knew if seeing those who were, for the most part, strangers to her affected her this way. Life was so bloody unfair sometimes. So many good people had died and others would go the same way if another Dark Wizard ever rose to power, which was probably inevitable, given the nature of power itself. It wasn't fair, but whoever said life was fair? It wasn't fair that she and Hermione had both gotten pregnant at the same time, and yet Hermione was blooming, studying for a new career in wizarding law while she, Ginny, had been forced to give up her job, albeit temporarily, and was trapped in this gloomy old house because her own stupid body had betrayed her. Betrayals, Ginny thought bitterly, didn't get much more personal than that.

Why this had happened was still a struggle for her. Ginny knew the reasons, at least the medical ones. The healers had already explained about back-to-back pregnancies increasing the risk for complications in ways that not even magic could overcome. Of course she hadn't planned to get pregnant again so soon. They'd even taken precautions to prevent it, yet here she was, five months later, fighting for her life in addition to that of her unborn child, and what the hell was that about, and where was the sense in it? But she knew the reason for that too, and it made her feel angry and weepy concurrently to think of it, because they had been so bloody happy during that weekend at Rose Cottage, and how could anything so beautiful have led to so much pain?

There was a burning behind her eyes. Ginny felt disgusted with herself. Self-pity, she thought. Surely the most obnoxious of emotions. But she was by herself and there didn't seem to be any way of stopping it. She placed the leather-bound volumes on the floor and closed her eyes. Maybe if she rested for awhile, it would all go away. Perhaps if she went to sleep, all the memories would disappear and never come back.

Ginny realized that she was not alone. At first she only sensed another presence in the room, and then she saw someone sitting in an armchair across from her. In the dying light of the fire it was hard to make out who it was, but as her eyes adjusted, she saw a man with long white hair and a long white beard that reached nearly to the tops of his boots. His blue eyes twinkled behind half-moon spectacles, and he smiled as he surveyed her over the tips of his long fingers, pressed together to form a kind of steeple.

"Miss Weasley," he said, as Ginny half rose in shocked surprise. He placed a hand over his heart and gave an apologetic little bow. "I beg your pardon, I meant Mrs. Potter of course."

Ginny sank back into her chair. "Who are you?"

"Who do you think I am?"

"You look like Professor Albus Dumbledore. But you can't be Professor Dumbledore because Professor Dumbledore is dead, and I'm sitting here talking to you, so you can't be him. Can you?"

"I could be many things. I could be the voice of your conscience. I could be the Ghost of Christmas Past. But since your memory gives me the appearance of Albus Dumbledore, perhaps it would be best to think of me that way."

Ginny surveyed her surroundings. The room looked exactly as it had moments ago. And yet here she sat, talking to her former headmaster, a man who had been moldering in a white marble tomb on the Hogwarts grounds for more than eight years.

"I'm dreaming, aren't I?" Ginny said.

"What do you think?"

Here we go again, Ginny thought with a sigh. "Why are you here, Professor? And am I speaking to your spirit, or whatever it is that you are?"

"Spirit," said Dumbledore with a reflective gleam in his eyes. "Now there's an interesting word. The vital principle or animating force behind all living beings. From the Latin 'Spiritus,' the divine spark from whence comes the word 'inspiration.' Funny thing, inspiration. It often derives from the most mundane. . ."

"Professor," Ginny interrupted, as Dumbledore appeared to be going off on a tangent of some sort. "I don't mean to be rude or anything, but. . .?"

"Yes, of course. I do apologize. You see, Ginny . . . I may call you Ginny? As you have already rightfully surmised, you are in that state of unconsciousness known as sleep. When you sleep there is a part of you that is always awake, and that part has the ability to pass between the worlds of life and death. You may not always remember it, but in dreams all your memories come to life and therein lies your connection with those who have gone before."

"But dreams aren't true," said Ginny, feeling an inexplicable sense of disappointment. "They aren't real. They're only . . . dreams."

"What is reality? Are thoughts and feelings not real? Is love itself not a very real and tangible thing? Dreams are a merging of mind, body and spirit, and it is from spirit that all life springs. The child in your womb began with a dream. It is love manifest, and that, my dear Ginny, is one of the truest things in the universe."

"The child," Ginny said, suddenly mindful of a question that had been plaguing her. "The others said these dreams are connected to the child I'm carrying."

"And they were quite right. Birth and death are not unalike, you know. The portal to one is the gateway to the other, and the child has given you a temporary glimpse into that portal."

"So this child. . . can see spirits?"

"Most children can, before they become blinded by that we adults call reality. Being so much closer to the source of all Creation, they often see things that we dismiss as fantasy, even lies, when in fact what they see is part of The Infinite. This child may not retain that ability into adulthood, but I have a feeling he will always be a little more sensitive than average."

"He?" Ginny said, feeling a smile creep around her lips. "It's a boy?"

"Oh, dear," said Dumbledore, looking rather nonplussed. "Well, I've let that cat out of the bag, haven't I? I hope you didn't want it to be a surprise."

"I'm not fussed," Ginny admitted. "But what I really want to know is . . . The others said this child is special."

"That is one way of putting it," Dumbledore acknowledged. "But keep in mind that all of us has something special to bring to the world. No one is ever born with more than the potential for greatness. What we do with our native talents is largely up to us and, to a certain extent, our upbringing. Your job will be to love him, guide him, and support him so that he can discover for himself what he has to offer. Though of course this is no more than I would expect you to do with any child, whether your own or that of another. A perfect example is young Teddy Lupin, a child you have taken to your heart. And he, too, is a child of special abilities."

"Special abilities?" said Ginny. "Oh! You mean because he's a metamorphmagus?"

Dumbledore nodded. "That is one of his gifts, certainly."

"Are you telling me, Professor, that my child will have some unique ability, such as the power to morph into different forms?"

"In the case of your child, it has more to do with the spirit," Dumbledore replied. "Beyond that, however, I cannot say."

Ginny fought down a tide of frustration. "Excuse me, Professor, but isn't that kind of a . . ."

"I believe the word you are searching for is 'cheat,'" said Dumbledore, the mouth behind the long white beard twitching in amusement. "I'm sorry, Ginny, but at the risk of seeming a piker, a little air of mystery isn't always a bad thing. It's never good for anyone to know too much about his or her own future, and for parents to know too much about the future of their child is equally unwise. Besides, the future itself is largely unwritten. Within certain parameters, destiny is there for us to pen in our own distinctive hand, very much as you write your newspaper columns. You wouldn't write about a match before it had been played, would you?"

"Well, no," Ginny said. "But it is possible to make reasonable predictions based on certain criteria: the strength of the players, the speed and precision of their brooms, weather conditions. . ."

"Yes, of course, but I think you would agree that a great deal can occur to affect the outcome. A missing player, for example, affects the entire team. No, it would be foolhardy to predict all the winners and losers in advance. It's best to let the game play itself out, I think."

A missing player, Ginny thought. She was beginning to grasp the metaphor and it worried her a little. "You said, 'within certain parameters.' What does that mean?"

"Well, to borrow an old expression, one can't make a race horse out of a pig," Dumbledore replied. "On the other hand, it is possible to make a very fast pig."

"So what you're saying is that my child will be born with certain gifts, but it'll be up to him to decide what to do with them?"

"A very succinct and accurate analysis of the human condition," Dumbledore said with another little bow, as if she had just answered a difficult classroom question.

"Can you tell me this much at least, Professor? If this baby is so special, then why has my pregnancy been so difficult? More than once I've come close to losing him. If the child is important, then why has this been so hard?"

"Because the best nearly always comes at the price of great pain," Dumbledore said sadly. "There is perhaps no greater example of that than the man to whom your life is now unalterably bound. I do not need to tell you the ways in which Harry has suffered. You witnessed them yourself and, I think, to a certain extent, you still do. But Harry's greatest victory was the goodness of his heart that enabled him to rise from the devastation meted out to him to become stronger, better, wiser. He is not unlike the phoenix, you know."

The phoenix, Ginny thought. The Order of the Phoenix was destroyed once, but it rose again and they continued to fight even after they were very nearly destroyed a second time. Dumbledore's Army had come out of that, and it too had almost been destroyed. But Ginny herself had helped rebuild it, and they fought on until Harry literally rose from the ashes of all the destruction to achieve the final victory. To be sure, their losses had been shattering, but perhaps even that was mere illusion. Spiritus, Ginny thought wonderingly. The divine spark.

"Professor," Ginny said, for there was something else she needed to understand. "Why am I being given this glimpse into what you call 'The Infinite?'"

"There's not a simple answer," said Dumbledore. "Perhaps it could best be summed up in the words of a Muggle playwright who wrote something I've always considered very wise: 'For in that sleep of death what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil.'" He added, rather unnecessarily it seemed to Ginny, "Hamlet, Act Three, Scene One."

"Sorry," Ginny said, shaking her head in confusion. "I'm afraid you've lost me."

"Why don't you tell me what you think it means," said Dumbledore. "It might be illuminating."

Ginny considered for a moment and then regurgitated one of the books Hermione had given her. "I think these dreams are a series of sensations, images, emotions, and thoughts that are passing through my mind. It's like a puzzle that I'm meant to work out, but haven't yet. That's it, isn't it? Is that what this this is all about?"

Her voice practically begged him to say yes, but his smile was sad, if understanding. "My dear, there are so many things in this world that defy logic. The heart is a much better guide than the head in such matters. You have a good heart, Ginny. You must learn to trust it."

"But I want to understand. I want to, and yet I can't."

"There are some things you are not meant to understand," Dumbledore replied. "You are meant only to feel them and know by the strength of your feelings whether or not they are true. And now I'm afraid I must leave you."

"But Professor. . ."

"Goodbye, my dear," said Albus Dumbledore. "For now."

The fire had nearly died out when Ginny opened her eyes again. The room was empty and she was quite alone. But the portfolio with the photographs of the original Order of the Phoenix lay open on her lap, even though she distinctly recalled having placed it on the floor.

The dream, Ginny thought. It was the strangest one yet, but also the most powerful and it was not something she wanted share with anyone, at least not until she understood it better herself. It was something she needed to hold in her heart, ponder in her head, and feel at the deepest level of her soul before she let it out into the world to be corrupted by either logic or uncertainty.

As she thought these things, the child in her womb gave the tiniest flutter, like the brushing of wings against the inner wall of her. Ginny placed her hand on the place where she had felt the quickening, and tears sprang to her eyes at the recognition of what had just occurred. Whether it had been illusion or reality, the dream contained the spirit of the man she once knew, and there was no longer any doubt in Ginny's mind what this child's name must be.

And that was why she cried, because she realized she'd forgotten to tell him. Although, on some level, she thought he already knew.

A/N: Okay, poll results. Out of 81 people who voted, 41 percent chose Lily and James; 23 percent chose Sirius; 16 percent, Snape; 4 percent each for Dumbledore, Colin Creevey, and J.K. Rowling. One person selected Dobby, and nobody chose Hedwig. For those who are disappointed by this chapter's ghostly "visitor" just remember what I said earlier: seven is the most powerfully magical number. Thanks to everyone who participated. Another update will be posted soon.
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: Thanks for the commiseration. Things have settled down, as they tend to do (the faucets are fixed and the dog is feeling better anyway). That last chapter, as I told several reviewers, was kind of a "sandwich" with substance packed between nice warm slices of fluff, though the substance part will probably seem more significant in retrospect. I think Ginny understands Harry pretty well, but you're right, he should never assume she has a mirror to his mind. Men sometimes assume women know what they're thinking, and that's usually not the case. They also sometimes assume they know what women are thinking, and that's never the case. Ah, well, at least I can make it work in fiction.

Faith: I agree that we were rather "stiffed"on Harry/Ginny interaction in the series, which is actually the main reason I started writing fanfics in the first place. It always struck me as strange that in a series whose central theme was love, we saw so little of one of the most (if not the most) important loving relationships in Harry's life. I found it especially odd after I read an interview Jo gave in which she said, "Harry and Ginny are soul mates with a passionate connection." In my opinion, both the passion and the connection were AWOL in Books 1-7.

ChickenChild: I'm really glad you're enjoying the dreams. I was a bit nervous about the "Fred" chapter as I really wasn't sure I'd captured his personality just right, but the response indicated that I had and of course that was very gratifying. Hope I've done as well with Dumbledore in this chapter.

camron: Thank you! I'll try to get another chapter up soon.