Author's Note: Over a hundred thousand words written. I can't believe it. Truly, I can't believe it. Much thanks as always to my betas, would did great work with making Bart sound believable, as I have no experience in that particular area. It'll make sense when you read it. I hope everyone has a happy and safe holiday. This is the last update before the New Year, but I plan to have something at least ready to go by the beginning of January. Enjoy!
"All I'm saying," Ginny said as she pushed the front door open and walked inside, "is that pulling off a feint isn't completely unreasonable. I'm not saying it's easy, but if Geraldine Winston, who had to write 'left' and 'right' on her shoes to tell them apart, could do it, then it isn't impossible."
Harry followed her into the kitchen, dropping the brown sack full of fish and chips they had gotten from the Falcon for dinner on the table before he continued the argument they had been engaged in since he had met her after work. "At the professional level, no. Of course not. Calvin is barely eleven years old, though."
"Age has nothing to do with it. It's all about skill and instinct. You, as a former Seeker of most noble repute, cannot deny that he's brilliant."
"You need perfect balance and coordination to pull off a feint safely. He still has difficulty keeping steady on even the widest turns. You want him to attempt a precision dive at high speeds with someone double his age and experience right on his tail? What did the poor boy ever do to you for you to have such a grudge against him?"
Ginny wrinkled her nose at Harry. She plucked a crisp chip from the bag and popped it in her mouth. "He won't learn unless he tries. None of the kids will. You don't push them hard enough sometimes, Harry. That's the reason why they're a third-place team. The talent is there, it just needs to be fostered."
"It's a game, Gin," he told her, setting the plates on the table and portioning out a serving of food for himself. "Would winning the tournament be great? Absolutely. The most important thing to me is that they have fun."
"When did you get so soft?" she grumbled, eating another chip out of the bag as Harry tried to take some. "At Hogwarts, when you were captain, there were times on the pitch that I thought Oliver Wood had taken a batch of Polyjuice Potion laced with your hair."
Harry shrugged half-heartedly, handing her a glass of milk before sitting across from her. "I-we-fought a war for a lot of reasons. For me, one of them was so that kids in our world would get to grow up different than me; that they'd actually just get to be kids for a while."
There was no argument for that and even if there was one, Ginny would never make it.
She finally started putting some of the food on her own plate before she ate it. As Harry Summoned the cutlery, Ginny ripped a piece of flakey crust of the fish and chewed. Grimacing a little, she quickly washed it down with a sip of her drink. "Too much…something. It didn't taste like this the last time I ate it."
"When was the last time you ate the fish?"
"End of July, I think. When my appetite came back full force."
Harry nodded and cut up his own fish. "Makes sense."
"Why's that?" He pretended not to hear her as he started eating and she narrowed her eyes. "What? Harry, I've been on my feet at the pub all day and I'm in no mood for a round of Twenty-Thousand Questions. Please just come out with it."
"Bart made the fish. It was his own personal recipe," Harry finally said. "That's why it tastes funny."
"Oh." She frowned down at her plate of food. Getting up, she walked silently to the fridge and pulled out a jar of cherries. She opened the jar as she sat down and placed it beside her full plate. Breaking off a small piece of fish, she dunked it into the juice of the cherries and ate it in one bite. She had dipped her third piece of fish in when she noticed the sickened yet fascinated look Harry was giving her. "What?" she asked self-consciously. "It makes it taste better."
"I hope for your sake that's true," he replied, returning to his own meal.
"Have you heard from him?" Ginny asked quietly.
"No," Harry shook his head slowly, "but that doesn't mean anything."
"His letter said he'd be gone for a week at most. It's been two. In my book, that means something."
"Bart worked and lived for years in secret. Infiltrators are trained, well-trained, in the art of learning everything they can about their targets without ever revealing any information about themselves. He operated alone and worked in the shadow of shadows."
"What does that mean exactly?"
"It means we could go months, years even, without hearing from Bart and it would still be possible for him to be living only two doors away from us."
"And you think that's right? He has responsibilities here. Klaus and I are barely managing the pub and Nell is an absolute wreck. She's going to end up with an ulcer if he doesn't turn up soon."
"You can't force someone to come back if they don't want to," Harry said, looking her straight in the eye. "No matter how much you beg or threaten, if they're not ready, all you're doing is giving yourself a sore throat."
Ginny picked up a chip and dunked it into the jar, swirling it around viciously. Harry waved his hand and another Butterbeer floated out of the fridge. Ginny glared at him.
"Do you have to do that in front of me?" she huffed.
"What? Drink? It's only-"
"Not that! I work in a pub, for Merlin's sake, that doesn't bother me in the least!"
"Well, then wha-?"
"Magic!" She threw her napkin down and sat up straight, folding her arms across her chest. "Did you ever stop to think that that was rude to do in front of me? I have four months, eleven weeks, and six days before I can Summon or Transfigure anything yet still I have to watch you every single day wave your hand to untie your own shoelaces! Don't you have any sense, Harry?" Without waiting for a reply, she got up out of her seat and stalked upstairs into her bedroom.
Almost as soon as she crossed the threshold, the flame of her anger at Harry burned out as quickly as it had been lit.
It's not his fault, she mused silently, collapsing on her side against the bed. The fish had upset her system. A dozen or so bubbles popped and fluttered inside her stomach. Don't take it out on him. Not after all he's done for you this past month.
Sometimes being around him felt so easy that Ginny was almost able to forget for a moment or two how difficult things should actually be. Harry should have had the right to remind her every day of the terrible pain she had caused him; how he was being nothing more than a noble citizen of Hastom or repaying some longstanding, imaginary debt to her family by taking her in; that when her six months was up, Meredith would be moving into the home in her place with a summer wedding by the lake soon to follow.
He had every right to not be her friend. Especially, like a few moments ago, when she bit his head off and spit it back out like spoiled meat for no good reason other than she needed someone to lash out at. He had every right to keep his distance from her.
But he didn't.
Harry escorted her home from work every time he was able to. He let her chose the wireless program they listened to some nights; even when she'd catch him nodding off to sleep in the middle of it. He stopped eating beef in the house when she told him how sensitive to the smell she was. He showed her pictures of all the growing Teddy had done in the past three years and told her a hundred or so different stories about his godson. Harry's face was so alive with light when he did, Ginny never had the heart to tell him that she had already heard a few of the stories third-hand from Hermione or her family. He listened patiently to advice about the Quidditch team and introduced her kindly to all in Hastom that they met.
He's a good man, that's why. It wouldn't sit well with his conscience if he didn't make sure you were comfortable here.
"Which is nice," she mumbled out loud, rubbing her stomach to try to ease the strange sensation brewing inside it, "but it'd make my life so much easier if he made it just a little harder to be in love with him."
There was a soft knock on the doorframe. "Ginny?"
She froze. Had he just heard…?
"Are you awake?"
"Yes," she sighed in relief, rolling over to see him studying her hesitantly from the doorway. She gave him a small smile. "I'm sorry about downstairs. You didn't do or say anything wrong. I'm just…crazy, I suppose."
"That you are." Harry nodded, coming further into the room to sit on the edge of the small desk by her bed. "Bart will come back, you know. Trust me he won't be able to stay from Nell for too much longer. She's…I mean, he and Nell…" He tried to find the words.
"They're not each other unless they're together," Ginny whispered. She burrowed a little more into the pillow, uncomfortable with how the truth of that statement applied to her as well. The only thing the woman she had been two and half months ago and the person she was now had in common was a name. There was no doubt in her mind that being around Harry again so much played a part in that miraculous change.
"Yeah," Harry breathed. He examined a stray quill she had left on the desk. "That's…that's about it. So, uh, that means he'll have to come home eventually."
"I know he will. That wasn't what set off the explosion in the kitchen."
"The magic? I promise I'll try to be more mindful of it. It didn't bother me as much when I lived with Bart and Nell during my trial. But I know for you-"
"It wasn't the magic," she cut him off quietly. "I mean, it's a little irksome at times to have to run around the pub during my shifts, grabbing everything and carrying everything on trays that feel like they weigh a hundred stone and then come home to see you whip dinner together so effortlessly by waving a wand or your hand. I'm fine with it, though. Citizenship means more to me than the ability to summon a carton of ice cream from the kitchen right to my bed. You don't have to stop using magic just because I can't."
"Than what is it that has you so upset?"
Sighing, Ginny reached under her pillow and pulled out a creased envelope. She silently handed it over to Harry.
Unfolding it, he read the return address before raising his eyes to hers, furrowing his eyebrows. "It's from your parents."
"Yes."
"This is…This is the response to the letter about you living here and Hastom and…"
"The baby, yes."
He turned the envelope over to find it sealed. "You haven't read it yet."
"No."
"I don't remember this being with the post this morning."
"Probably because it came three days ago."
"Ginny…"
"Please don't look at me like that." She rolled away, curling her legs up and wishing her stomach would calm down. A few pieces of fried cod with cherry juice weren't the oddest thing she had eaten lately.
The bed dipped. She felt the warmth of Harry's skin through the layers of their clothing and the scent of the soap he used mix with his musk seep into her nostrils. His hand slowly came to rest on her shoulder and she took in a shaky breath, her heart becoming as unsettled as her stomach. Pressing down, he gently turned her over to face him. The sight of his face above hers, his green eyes taking in every line and angle of her face, was so beautiful and unnerving all at once. So familiar and yet so painful. Unable to bear it, Ginny sat up and leaned her back against the headboard, distancing herself from him as much as she could on the small bed.
Harry scooted back a little as well. For some reason, his cheeks were red and he ran his hand through his hair. Shaking his head, he tried to hand her the letter.
"Open it," he ordered gently. "I'm sure they're worried that they haven't heard from you yet and you can't write back until you read this. Open it."
"Harry, I-"
"They will not disown you. They're your parents and they love you. That's exactly what this piece of parchment is going to say. You know that. Deep down, you know that."
"I just-"
"Open it." Harry took her hand and pressed the letter into it.
She looked into his eyes, needing his strength and his confidence more than she wanted to admit. "You really think it'll be alright?"
"I promise it will be," he swore softly. He started to get up from the bed, but Ginny grabbed onto his wrist and pulled him back down.
"Please stay," she whispered. He nodded and gave her knee a small, stiff squeeze of support. Ignoring the tremble of heat that raced up her thigh to her stomach, she tore open the envelope and took out the lone piece of parchment.
It will be alright. It has to be.
With a burst of adrenaline, she opened the letter and started to read:
Dear Ginny,
First and foremost, you are our child. There is nothing you could do, no crime you could commit and no action too illogical that would ever allow us to stop loving you.
Your father thought sending you a Howler would not be healthy for your condition so I'll to make do with this: WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, GINEVRA MOLLY WEASLEY?
We talked for FIVE HOURS STRAIGHT about physical intimacy and contraception options on your fourteenth birthday to ensure that things like this would NOT happen! A witch has a responsibility to herself to make certain that she is protected from things like unplanned pregnancies precisely so she is not left to make enormous, life-altering decisions on her own! To become pregnant by a man who will take no part in that child's life is…there are no words. As your mother, I am terribly sad.
But as a mother, I understand wholeheartedly your choice. I was someone else entirely before I had Bill: A little rough around the edges, impetuous, always pushing the boundaries of magic to fight against Dark wizards and witches, consumed with my role in the Order. However, the moment that potion turned blue and I knew that there was a child growing in me, I changed. I became someone's mother and that was more important to me than anything else in the world. I imagine it was similar for you.
I cannot tell you that this is the life I wanted for you, my beautiful girl. It would be a lie. I wanted you married to wonderful man and for a child to come from that love, as it did for your father and me. Life hardly ever asks for our input, though, does it? Your child is here and it is yours. That is the only thing they need to be for your father and I to adore them.
As for choosing to live in Hastom…I trust you. Neither your father nor I ever knew anyone who had lived there. Every story we told you and your brothers was legend, born from centuries of a mixture of fear and mockery. It isn't easy to have you away from us in a place we don't know. Your poor father wanted so badly to cut short this trip and come find you, to see with his own eyes that you were safe. It wasn't until I told him that you knew what danger was that he relented; that you had faced it time and again, and that if you thought you were safe in Hastom, we had to have faith in that judgment.
Please write soon. I want to hear every detail of how this pregnancy is going. You listen to what your healer tells you and if you have any questions, day or night, write or use the Floo network. I've included an itinerary of the rest of our trip if you need to find us. The conferences are going marvelously well. Your father is a hit with the representatives of both sets of governments and he is making real progress on helping to bridge some of the gaps that have divided the Wizarding and Muggle worlds. You would be so proud of him.
We love you with all our hearts, Ginevra. Take good care of yourself and our granddaughter. Or grandson. Not matter what the image may have said, you are a Weasley and you should never start buying pink until the baby is actually out. We learned that lesson with Ronnie. And I don't care what I have to do, I will be with my only daughter when she's delivering her first child. There is nothing in the world that would keep me away.
With love,
Mum
Leaning her head against the wall, Ginny laid the letter over her heart and let out a breath.
"See?" she heard Harry say with a smile in his voice. "All that worrying for nothing."
"You have no idea how scared I was," she admitted in a tiny voice. "If it had gone the other way…"
"But it didn't and there was never a chance of it happening to begin with. Telling your brothers will be a piece of cake after this."
"I wouldn't go that far," she said. Ginny set the letter on the desk next to her, enjoying the feeling of the tension leaving her shoulders. If only her stomach would relent. The bubbles stayed right where they were, making no effort to move in another direction. It wasn't even painful, just…bizarre. She had never felt anything like this.
The fish wasn't that bad, she thought. She shifted up, hoping the feeling would ease.
"It might not be easy," Harry continued, unaware of Ginny's discomfort, "but your brothers are tough blokes. They can handle the fact their baby sister is pregnant. And to be honest, it'll help me out some. Ron's going a little batty about finding out where you are. Luna told them all you were fine when you left and your letters to them go out like clockwork. Still, Ron's starting to doubt them, though; especially since you told him you left the Harpies. He doesn't buy you traveling around in Brazil, studying interpretive dance movement or whatever rubbish was in that last letter. He thinks…"
Harry kept talking, but Ginny couldn't hear him. Her heart hitched and her breath caught in her chest. She was only able to process one word:
Movement.
Is that…Bubbles…Fish…Could that be…Am I…?
Reaching down to the floor, she pulled up the book Nell had given her over a month ago. Some chapters were untouched, others read over countless times and highlighted to within an inch of their lives. Harry stopped talking about her brothers as she pulled the copy of Midwife LeBeauont's Magical Guide to Pregnancy and Childbirth open and started frantically skimming through it.
"Are you alright?" he asked. "Are you in pain? Is there something happening? Should I Floo Nell? Do you need me to bring you to her? Ginny, what's going…?"
His increasingly frenzied tone faded to the background as Ginny finally found the section she was looking for:
For the majority of first-time mothers, movement is undetectable until sometime between the eighteenth and twentieth weeks of pregnancy, although some can feel movement as early as fourteen weeks, depending on the physical stature of the mother and how she is carrying the baby. Most describe the sensation of those first instances of movement as feeling like mild intestinal gas, or like bubbles floating in their stomachs and…
"Oh my goodness," she breathed in awe, both hands dropping the book and going to her belly. Her eyes widened in disbelief as she stared up into Harry's equally huge yet frightened eyes. "She's moving."
He blinked. "I'm-I'm sorry?"
"The baby's moving! I…I felt her moving! I thought it was dinner and being…being upset, but it was her. It was my baby." She beamed with pride and love.
"Are you, um, in pain?" Harry finally asked. His eyes were still wide for some reason.
"No," she shook her head. Her smile was a little painful, but not her stomach. "It feels amazing!" Focusing inward, Ginny willed the bubbles (no, her baby!) to flare up again and announce Iris's presence. It took a few seconds to become noticeable, but suddenly the inside of her stomach came alive. "Oh! There she is again!"
Unable to contain her joy or her impulses, she grabbed Harry's hand and placed it on her stomach, looking down at the lovely sight as she held it on top of the small swell and willing him to feel her daughter.
The wrongness of the situation took a few seconds to hit her. It wasn't until she noticed how stiff Harry's fingers felt under her own that her smile faded and she slowly glanced up; she saw just how pale he had become in that moment. His mouth was open slightly and his eyes locked onto hers, overwhelmed and overcome with…something.
She immediately relinquished her tight hold on his hand. It rested on her belly for a beat more before he pulled it back slowly to his lap and curled it into a fist. He turned his head and studied the hallway past the open bedroom door.
"I'm sorry," she said in a whisper. The bliss of feeling Iris move and the revulsion of what she had just done waged war with each other. Harry was uncomfortable by even the idea of the baby. That much had been clear since their meeting in New York. He had been supportive of the pregnancy but from a considerable distance and she understood. Who was she to force this child's development onto him with no warning? "That was…I shouldn't have…" She folded both of her hands on her stomach meekly. "I was just so happy and I wanted-"
Harry nodded mechanically. "It's okay," he said.
"No, it isn't," she disagreed at once, near tears. "That was completely out of line. It was miles away from the line. I can't even see the bloody line from-"
"Ginny." He stopped her ramblings at the ice in his voice. He swallowed deeply. "It's fine. Don't worry over it."
"But I-"
He stood up, walking to the door without looking back. "Goodnight."
When he was out of earshot, she banged her head lightly against the wall and swore under her breath. "Damn it."
Harry was already gone by the time she woke up the next morning. There was no note anywhere that she could find. The plate of scrambled eggs and toast waiting for her at the kitchen tablet had a Warming Charm on it. Ginny managed to force down a few bites before heading off to work on the dreary day, her own failures literally a cloud hanging over her head.
"Guten morgan!" Klaus called out to her from the bar when she walked into the Falcon. She glanced over it and found him in the cellar.
"Morning," she replied. "Do you need a hand bringing anything up?"
"Nein. We have birthday lunch today for one o'clock."
"Yes, the Spranglers. Twenty-five guests, right?"
"Yes, but we not have something else."
"What?"
"Help. You only waitress today."
"What about Zaya?"
"Home sick. You only waitress."
"Excuse me? Where are Phoebe and Imelda? Can't one of them come in to help?"
Klaus climbed up from the cellar carrying two huge wooden barrels, red-faced and huffing. He brewed the house ale for the Millennium Falcon by hand from a family recipe created five generations ago and unlike Wizarding beverages, any use of magic after it was made (such as shrinking then expanding the quantity of it) had a dramatic effect on the taste. "Not on schedule. Both have plans made. Not come in," he grunted.
"One waitress cannot manage the entire pub plus a party alone," Ginny said, already feeling the headache start to form all the way from the base of her neck. "You told me you'd be fine handling the schedule for a little while, Klaus. I can't possibly-"
The stocky man set both barrels down on one end of the bar, wiping the sweat from the top of his shiny head. "Herr Nixon always makes schedules. I never makes schedules before, just makes bier and bring food to tables. No handle other people, no order food, no manage. That Herr Nixon's job. Not mine." He leaned against the bar tiredly, barely able to catch his breath. Shaking her head, Ginny went and poured him a glass of water, which he gulped down greedily. "Danke. I sorry I no more help. Herr Nixon never gone so long before."
"You're doing the best you can," Ginny told him, patting his burly arm. "We all are. So let's get this place ready and we'll find a way to get through it together."
It was the last bit of positivity she was able to muster. The day was an unmitigated disaster. The lunch rush was so busy that the cooks, Borvan and Tully, both had to come out to help serve customers, which forced the kitchen to grind to a halt. The Replenishing spell Tully cast on the soup went amiss, causing a flood of heavy cream and broccoli bits to spill out on the patrons' feet. There had been no time to prepare a cake for the Spranglers' party so Ginny had to rush three blocks over to buy one and rush back again twenty minutes later when she lost her first cake to a slippery sidewalk. Dinner had followed suit with lunch until Klaus had thrown up his hands and closed the pub for the night at seven o'clock.
Two hours later, after the floor was finally completely clean and all of the flatware put away, Ginny collapsed into a chair, seriously considering just spending the night there. She was exhausted and even the few breaks she had been lucky enough to take had barely gotten her through the day. The idea of walking all the way back to the house held no appeal and she doubted that Harry would come walking in anytime soon to keep her company on the trip home.
He could probably stand not to see your face again for a while, she thought bitterly. Mind made up, she trudged out back to Bart's office, the sofa calling her aching body. She fleetingly thought of using the Floo to get in touch with Harry, but immediately dismissed it. Let him see that he's not the only who can fail to leave notes or let other people know where he's going to be.
There was a small scratching noise coming from inside the office. Positive that Klaus was still in the cellar, she nudged it open slowly.
"Hello?" she asked quietly, mindful of where her dormant wand was on her hip. From what she knew, crime was almost unheard of in Hastom, but she had very precious cargo to protect. One could never be too careful. A grumbling moan was the only answer. "Who's in here? Show yourself."
"It's my office. You show yourse-yourselp," a voice slurred from somewhere near the desk.
"Bart?" Ginny asked. Aghast, she walked into the office and searched in the darkness for her boss. "Where are you? Please, cast Lumos. I can't see anything in here."
"Sure. No prob." A long pause. "What's the spell for Lumos again?"
"Bart, where the hell are you?" Wide awake and stumbling, she felt her way slowly until her thigh hit the edge of the desk. "Ouch!"
"Wait, wait. Hold on. Let us sled some light on the site-sit-situation." A small spark of light appeared from underneath the desk and Ginny followed it.
She found Bart huddled inside the space. His eyes were blood-shot and his formal shirt and pants were wrinkled. There was a nearly empty bottle of what smelled like Firewhiskey in his hand and splotches of it over his partially unbuttoned shirt. His face was filthy and whiskered and he reeked of days-old grime mixed with alcohol.
"You idiot!" she hissed, kneeling beside him. He lazily smiled at her, only adding more fuel to her anger. Balling up her fist, she started punching him on the leg.
"Ow!" he moaned, trying to wiggle away as best he could in his tight corner. "What the hell are you-?"
"What are you doing? You wife has been in shambles for two weeks now! No letter or call to bother to tell her you're still alive. Not to mention, you left your business high and dry! This place doesn't run without you, Bartowski! I've been running around every day since you left trying to keep your customers happy. Do you think that's healthy for my baby? I don't and I imagine your wife doesn't either. And by the way, you absolutely broke her heart! She's one of my best friends and when you told her you didn't want a baby with her, you made her cry!" Breathing heavily, she halted her abuse and pulled his face close to hers. "You are not allowed to make her cry! Do you have any idea how much I want to kill you right now?"
Bart opened and closed his eyes before he nodded. "Yeah." He tried to raise the bottle back to his lips. Ginny batted it away.
"Where have you been all this time?"
"California," he said, his head lolling back from Ginny's grip and landing hard against the wood. She winced. Bart smiled lazily. "Land of sunshine, dreams, and physical enhancements for the rich and famous."
"And what were you doing there exactly?"
"Burying my father." He shut his eyes. "Can I please have another drink?"
It took the combined efforts of Ginny and Klaus to lead Bart back to Harry's empty house. Once inside, they had deposited Bart's nearly-unconscious form on one of the plush armchairs. After assuring the worried German that she'd take good care of their boss, Ginny bid Klaus goodnight and set about tending to the drunkard she barely recognized.
Contacting Nell was out of the question; nothing good could come of her seeing her husband in this condition and Ginny doubted that Bart would want his wife to see him as he was. Ginny would go see her straight away in the morning, to ease her troubled mind, but tonight would be about trying to piece Bart back together.
If magic was involved, Ginny could have him fixed up in an instant: A simple Sobering Charm, a quick shower, and he'd be all set. This, however, would not fall into the category of "medical emergency" that would permit her to use magic so Ginny changed into her nightgown, grabbed a few towels and filled a small basin with warm water before returning to the living room. She considered waiting for Harry to come home, but she had no idea when that would be. There was concern for him pinging in the back of her mind. He had to still be upset about last night. Ginny couldn't allow herself to focus on that mess now. Bart's needs were more pressing at the moment.
He was uncooperative as she peeled his soiled shirt off. When she was finally able to toss it into a far corner and start washing his face and chest, he was much more amenable.
"Thank you so, so, so very much," Bart said happily. His head hung over the top of the chair. Ginny only hoped there wasn't too much Firewhiskey in the blood that was rushing to his brain. "You are a kind person, Miss Weasley."
"You're my friend," she told him. "Friends take care of each other when they can. Even when one friend doesn't particularly care for the choices another friend has made, she still has to try to help him if she can."
"Yeah, friends are good. I've got a lot of friends, you know."
"I do know." She tugged on him gently until his head was upright again. Looking into his glassy eyes, she debated about what she was about to do. Hannah Abbot had once told her in passing that drunken men never tell lies. He might be angry later on, but she needed the truth if she was going to help him. "You told me something once, the first night I was in Hastom. Do you remember?"
"Nope," he shook his head to the left and then to the right. "That is a big fat negative."
"Well, you told me that you had lot of friends in your life, but you didn't have much family."
"Yeah, that sounds like some bull that would come out of my mouth."
"Why is that? Why do you not have a lot of family?"
"Because," he said as if the answer was obvious, "I was different than them. They didn't like that."
Ginny dipped the water into the bucket again, wringing it out and then wiping the stickiness off his neck and chest. He must have missed his mouth and poured the Firewhiskey right down his shirt. "You were magical," she concluded, "and they were Muggles."
Bart lifted his hand and rocked it back and forth. "Half and half. Mom was a Muggle. That is such a funny word; where do we come up with these funny words? But Daddy was a Squib. There's them funny words again. Anyways, not just any old Squib. A squib in a long and lust…lust…fancypants line of Squibs. One wizard in his family, born in the 1400s, and after that, barely enough magic in the whole tree to levitate a leaf. He didn't tell mom about magic. Thought it wouldn't come up. Then, lo and behold, along came me. When I was born, I accimently set off all the fire alarms in the hospital and turn all the televisions to Star Trek." He laughed uproariously until he started coughing. "So, uh, Dad exmaimed the whole sordid tale to Mom. She did not take the news well. I…I give her some credit; she hung in long enough to get me off her milk, but by the time I knew what a mommy was, she was on Husband Number Two and Kid Number Three." He hiccupped loudly. "I, uh, come from rechilient stock."
"And your father?" Ginny asked quietly.
Bart took a long time to answer. "Dad took care of me at first," he said. He stood and started pacing the room in a slow, wobbly circle. Ginny stayed close behind him in case he fell or went anywhere near the small liquor cabinet. "No one else on either side of my family was around. They went buh-bye when they got glimice of me so it was just him and me. I had food and toys and a house. We…talked: how our days were, movies, sports. That was as deep as we went. Dad never really laughed much or smiled. We also never really talked the magical stuff." His hand traced the living room wall unsteadily. "If my bedroom were a different color in the morning than they had been the night before, he'd just repaint 'em. If I started floabing dishes out of cabinets , he'd put locks on 'em. Any time I asked, he'd always say, 'When it's time, I'll tell ya'. He never made me feel like a freak or anything. He'd only ever tell me to do was…Shush! Not talk about it with other people. And then one day," Bart gasped in wonder and motioned dramatically with his hands, "it was time. Yay!"
"Your letter came," Ginny said, smiling a little at her own memory of seeing the owl fly into the kitchen with the envelope that, at long last, had her name on it and her school lists.
"Yeah," he said, turning around to her. He had a goofy grin on his face and tried to high-five her, but missed spectacularly. Ginny caught him before he hit the floor and gently urged him back to the armchair. "I t was so cool seeing that eagle waiting outside my bedroom window, holding tha letter out…"
"Eagle? Aren't they almost extinct?"
"No, no, no, no, no, no! Just too oc-ox…busy being used as a magical mail service in America to be found. That's a lot of 'em. Anyhoot, it was all in that letter: You are a wizard; you will study magic at Weiss Academy for eight years; you will live in New York during the school year and blah, blah, blahbedy blah. I read the letter with my father." Bart hiccupped again. "He was so, so quiet for a while and then he told me about our family; and how fortunite I was that I had this power at my disposal 'cause he would have given anything-ANYTHING-in the world to trade places with me.
"Well, we went to New York and got all my school supplites, my wand, and all that jazz. He dropped me…he dropped me at the gate like the other mommies and daddies, but," Bart's look became incredulous, "before I went inside, he gave me a hug and told me how much…" Bart grunted and his smile became bitter, "How much he loved me. He had never once that to me before. It didn't trivver any bells at the time; it just made me a happy, itty-biddy lamb. It was also last time I ever saw the soman bitch alive."
Ginny stayed kneeling on the floor. "He never came back for you? You never went home again?" she whispered when he looked in control.
"Nope," he muttered. "Headmisless Blackstone came to see me about a week into my first term. My father had relinq…relinquist… you know, that big word. He did that with me, giving to me the care of Weiss Academy. Or something like that. He had left enough monies to me to cover my eduvation until I was fourteen and then, I was on my own. All alone in the big, bad world," he said, singing the last part in a high pitched voice. "It wasn't so bad, though. See, to finish out at school, I needed a sch-scl-skol…more monies. That's hows I became an Inflitrator. They will pay for your eduvacation in exchange for serving with them when ya graduate." He pointed with two fingers to himself, missing and pointing to the chair he was sitting in. "That's what I's a did. I's worked all over the world after school: Spying on other governlents; acquiverring lethal potions and curses from baddies before they's could sell 'em to nice peoples; stopping wars from happening by elimicating a wizard or two. Yup. That's what I's did for a much long time.
"I'd had to stay. There was nothing else out there for me. Nada. Zilch. Goose egg. On my last misheeon, I was tailing my target through an alley in New York. He had gotten a tip about me, though, and he had some of his henchpeoples tailing me. When I moved in to apprevend him, I was hit with about half a dozen Cutting Curses before they's covered the wounds with a nasty mix of poisons. It was very, very, very…" Bart slashed his hand across his throat and made a face. "Real bad. The Nilrem Institute is the best place for magical healing in the Americas. Most of the healers there thought I's was a goner. Only one," he held up three fingers, "gave me a shot. A gorgeous-and I do mean GORGEOUS-young witch from a strange place across the waters that was studying abroad put all of her skills into making me bedder. Thanks to her, I was finally able to broked out of the coma. Nell's face-that GORGEOUS face-was the first thing I saw. I was in L-O-V-E, my good woman. The first thing I was able to say was, 'I love you.' It took a while to convince her that I wasn't lahucinating or damaged up top, but I eventually got her on board. I proposed in the hospital and the first thing we did when I was dismarged was go to the N.A.C.M.R. building in New York and get married. I still can't believe she said yes." His happy smile became pathetic. "Now, the one thing she wants, I'ms too scared to give her.
"Of course, she chooses to want it right when my bastard of a sperm donor kicks the bucket. I had to go clean up the mess he made of his life before I finally got to drop the box deep in the ground. No one else even came. Just me and some pimply-faced rookie priest who got my old man's name wrong. You know what the real tragedy of it is? I cried." He looked like he would again and Ginny rubbed his knee in support. "When I was all alone in my hotel room, I actually cried. All that childhood shit I locked away came out all at once. It was surbreal. I even found my mom's address and sat outside her swanky house for two whole days, drinking and waiting for her to come home from a vacation and drinking. Did I mention drinking? If not, I did. When I saw her, she didn't even know who the hell I was. So I say unto her, 'I'm your firstborn child and I buried my father a couple of days ago. Does that mean anything to you?' Parently, still not. She didn't say a word; just walked inside and shut the door behind her." He clapped his hands together and made a loud whooshing noise before he slumped down into the chair.
"I'm sorry," Ginny told him, wiping her eyes. She wondered how many times, in how many ways, one person's heart could break. Maybe all this excess of empathy was simply a byproduct of the pregnancy. Or maybe, after focusing all her attention on herself and Lionel for all those years, she was simply out of practice at being a good friend and had little to no ability to guard her heart against the hurt.
It was also easier now to understand what Nell had said before: Harry had been the lucky one between the two of them. Harry, at least, had the security of knowing his parents had no choice in leaving him alone as a child. Bart's parents had let their own fears and jealousy make their son an orphan.
"Why're you sorry? Wad't your fault." He reached out and patted the top of her head. "You," he tweaked her nose playfully, "are not like my folks. You're good and nice and you'll be good and nice to your kid."
She took his hand and gave his knuckles a chaste kiss. "And you're not your parents either. You'd be a very good father. I know it."
"How?" He shrugged and his smile dimmed. "How do you know that at even the povential sign my kid isn't like me that I wouldn't bail? That I wouldn't love her as much as she deserved? That I'd put myself over her and crush her spirit? I-I can't do that to my daughter."
Ginny ran the wet cloth over his face one last time. "Are you going to be able to remember this conversation in the morning?"
"Prolly not."
"So if I tell you a secret, you won't be able to share it with anyone else?"
"Prolly not."
"And you won't think less of me?"
Bart snorted. "Definly not. Spill it, Ginger."
"I met Nell before I came to Hastom." Picking up a dry towel, Ginny began patting him down. "I went into Healer Smythe's office one day when she was working for him and I was fortunate enough to end up with her. See, um…" She bit down hard on her lip. How she had even let herself consider for a moment what she had almost done was still piercing. "When I first found out I was pregnant, I considered not going through with it. I nearly decided to-to terminate."
"Really?"
"Yes. Thankfully, for all of us, Nell was my healer that day. She saw how much I didn't want to be in that office and helped me realize that if the main reason I was thinking of not having a child was that I was worried I wouldn't be a good enough mother, that it meant I already loved my baby and was trying to think of her before anything else. That kind of love is what makes a good parent. That's what you have inside you, Bart Nixon. If you can find the strength to work through your fears and past, you could have something wonderful in your life: A tiny piece of you and Nell that will floor you and scare you to your wit's end with how much you love her. Even when you haven't held her yet or know what she looks like or what she's called."
"Sophie."
"I'm sorry?"
"Sophie," Bart said, closing his eyes and smiling a little. "That's our daughter's name. One of Nell's grandmother and my favorite teacher in school both had that name. I always thought we'd call our baby girl that."
"It's beautiful."
"She is too. I think so. I hope so. No, I know so. If she looks like her mom, she will be."
"Well," Ginny said softly as Bart's breathing started to even out a little, "if you have her soon enough, Sophie can be best friends with my daughter. That'll be nice."
"Yeah. Be nice." Bart tried to shift on his side to get more comfortable, but only succeeded in nearly falling out of the chair. Smiling, Ginny got up and propped his feet on the coffee table. She grabbed a light throw and placed it over him, tucking it around to cover his exposed upper body. Bending to pick up the basin of water, she was startled when Bart grabbed her wrist; she looked up to see his eyes wide open. "You're a good person."
"You've said that already," Ginny soothed, wriggling her wrist out of his grip and repositioning the blanket. "Numerous times. Rest now. We'll talk more in the morning."
"You have a good heart," he continued seriously. "And I actually get it. I mean, I thought I did before, but now I really do."
"You get what?"
"Why Harry had such a hard time letting go of you. Why even when he started seeing that chick, there was all this distance kept between them. Why when you showed up, everything in his life became all about you. I get it, Ginny. I understand why Harry's struggling so much now." He smiled brightly and shut his eyes again. "Man, do I get it."
Bart could have shown her a Dark Mark on his forearm and her shock wouldn't have been as great as hearing what he had just said. "What are you…Struggling?" She kneeled down next to Bart, shaking his shoulder lightly. He only started snoring loudly. "Bart what do you mean? What do you mean about Harry struggling? Hey!" She clapped her hands together near his ear and he cracked one eye open. "Has Harry told you anything…anything about what he really thinks of me being here with him?"
Bart opened his mouth and Ginny gripped the chair's arm tightly, encouraging him with her eyes to speak.
"Swiverland," he said in a stage whisper. He shut his eyes again and finally fell asleep.
"No, no! No Switzerland!" Ginny tried to wake him again, but it was pointless. He was dead to the world and when he woke up, he likely wouldn't remember anything that had happened tonight.
But she would.
The trials of the day, both experienced and second-hand, caught up with her and she lay down heavily on the couch. The clock chimed to eleven as her eyes started to close.
What was he going on about? Ginny thought, curling into herself against the slight chill of the summer air. She didn't even have the strength to find a blanket. I'm not everything in Harry's life. That's absurd! He has friends and a good job and…and a relationship with a perfectly lovely witch. And yes, it can be hard between us sometimes with me being pregnant, like yesterday, but Harry's hardly struggling with anything. Bart was drunk and confused. That's all. He didn't know what he was talking about.
At ease, she settled into a deep slumber, conveniently forgetting that drunken men tell no lies.
Ginny rolled over in the large bed. Her hand instinctively reached out for something sturdy and solid; instead, it encountered something fine and flowing.
Opening her eyes against the dim light, Ginny gazed into the face of the loveliest child she had ever seen. Her skin was clear porcelain, save for a few freckles scattered on her button nose, and her face was at perfect ease in slumber; her lips were parted slightly, little puffs of breath escaping from between them and her long eyelashes twitched in time with her dreams. One little hand curled underneath her left ear and the other lay still at her side.
Ginny couldn't resist. She reached and brushed a stray lock of delicate red hair away from Iris's face. It was the softest thing she had ever held.
"Sorry." The whisper broke through Ginny's silent worship of her daughter and she looked away into Harry's green eyes, smiling at her from the other side of the sleeping little girl.
What on Earth…?
"She had a nightmare," Harry continued before Ginny could voice her confusion. "I know you said you didn't want her sleeping in the bed with us anymore, but she was so scared…" He bent down to place a kiss on Iris's exposed ear. She sighed and snuggled deeper into the pillow. Reaching over the girl, Harry took Ginny's hand in his. "I'll move her back to her room in a little while."
"No," Ginny said, much louder than she had intended. He was going to take her baby away from her? Not on his life! Harry raised his eyebrows and they both held their breath as Iris shifted restlessly for a moment before settling. "Why…Why wouldn't I want her here with me? I mean, with…us?" Ginny managed to ask quietly, questions looping through her mind one after the other.
She and Harry were an us? How was that possible? How was that even logical?
And why was he looking down at her daughter as if the little girl were precious above rubies?
"You said just the other night that she was getting too big," Harry explained, lying back down on his side of the bed. Ginny joined him slowly, trying to catch his soft words. "That she was almost six years-old and it was time for her to start setting a good example for her little brothers."
'BROTHERS?' she screamed silently.
"Oh," Ginny whispered out loud. She could hardly breathe. If she did more than blink her eyes, she thought she would scream. Where was she? What universe was this? Was she drugged? Was she dead and this was heaven? How had this happened? "Harry," she croaked, "I don't know what's-"
"Mummy?" The child kept her eyes closed, but she reached out until her hand made contact with Ginny's face. The touch forced every other thought away. It was somehow both equal parts warmth on an icy winter day and a cool splash of water against a blistering sun. Delicately soft, but it lit a fierce fire of joy in the pit of Ginny's stomach.
"At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet." Hadn't Hermione forced her to read that passage from one of her books some time ago? She had never understood the depths of its truth until now.
Ginny released Harry's hand and pressed Iris's hand more firmly against her cheek.
'Heaven. Definitely heaven,' she thought in wonder.
"Mummy?" Iris mumbled again. Harry smiled and wrapped his free arm around the girl, tucking her into his side before closing his own eyes. He waved his hand and the lights in the room dimmed to darkness.
"Yes, my love?"
"You're too loud. I can't sleep."
Leaning over, Ginny pressed her lips against each of her daughter's closed lids. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be."
"Don't wanna sleep. Don't want bad dreams again."
"Mummy will be right here with you," Ginny promised, pulling closer until their foreheads touched. "She will never let anything hurt you."
"And Daddy too?"
"Yes," she said without thinking. "Daddy's here. Go back to sleep now."
"Love you, Mummy…"
The sunlight broke through her dream and woke her up. Whatever it had been, she knew it had been wonderful and it must have pleased the baby as well. She was fluttering around in the womb, the feeling now welcoming and reassuring. Snuggling into her mattress, Ginny pulled her quilt over her shoulders and sighed happily, enjoying a few more moment's calm before she had to get out of bed and-
Wait, that's not right.
Peeling her eyes open, she was surprised to find herself lying not on the couch in the living room, as she had fallen asleep, but rather in her room, in her own bed, and tucked in right and proper. How on Earth had that happened?
Before she could question it further, she looked to the clock on her bedside table and gasped.
"Sweet Merlin, I'm late!" she cried, flinging the blankets off and flying out of bed. Grabbing the first shirt and pants from her closet that matched, she struggled to work the buttons on the garments through their respective holes. She had been lucky enough so far to avoid having to invest in maternity clothes, but it seemed that her luck had run out.
I'll be covered in an apron all morning. I'll pick up some clothes on my lunch break, she consoled herself, pulling the tail of her shirt over the front of her pants. Racing through her bathroom routine, her stomach started growling impatiently and loudly.
"Bloody hell," she mumbled, spitting out toothpaste foam. Breakfast couldn't be ignored, no matter how abysmally late for work she was. She shot out of the bathroom and ran down the stairs, reaching the entrance of the kitchen before she stopped short.
Bart and Harry were sitting together at the table, sitting in silence amid a spread of breakfast. Harry's back was turned to her. Bart caught her eye and smiled a little, clean-shaven with spotless clothes and slightly red eyes, otherwise looking none the worse for his drinking binge.
"All I want," Harry suddenly started to say, "is for her to understand that I-"
"Morning Ginny!" Bart said loudly. Harry immediately stopped talking and whirled around to face her.
"Morning," she replied, still a little out of breath. "I'm…I'm sorry. Was I interrupting something?"
"No," Harry said at once. He stood up and pulled out a chair for her to sit in, turning away to go to the stove. "Not at all. What are you hungry for? I made a bit of everything."
"Something quick please." She winced at Bart apologetically as she sat. "I'm late and I'll head over to the pub straight away, I just need to grab a bite."
Bart waved her off as he took a sip from his coffee mug. "Don't worry about it. You get today off actually. Employees who clean me up and give me a chair to sleep on for the night always do. It's a policy of mine."
Ginny relaxed into the chair. "You don't have to do that."
"And you didn't have to do what you did last night. Take the day off and we'll call it even."
"Deal." Harry appeared at her side and set down a plate brimming with food in front of her. She tucked into it, sighing in delight at the taste of blueberry pancakes. "It's delicious," she told Harry as he sat next to her. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." Their chewing was the only noise between them until Harry asked Bart, "Is Nell going to work today?"
"Yeah," he replied, taking a bite of toast. "I Flooed her a little while ago, when the chef here was preparing the feast, to let her know I was back in Hastom," he explained to Ginny. "She, uh, was glad to hear from me, I guess, but she wasn't in the mood for company." He smiled down at his food. "I have got some serious groveling to do over the next few days." Ginny raised her eyebrows at him. "Weeks? Months?" Bart winced. "Well, I'm really glad now that we splurged on a nice couch."
"She'll come around," Ginny told him. "Just be honest with her and give her time."
"That seems to do the trick in most cases," Harry offered.
"Here's hoping so." Bart scooped up the last of his eggs with his toast and stuffed it in his mouth as he stood. After he swallowed, he walked over to Harry and clapped him on the shoulder. "Might as well start now. Thank you for the food and the hangover remedy. They were both much appreciated."
"Anytime. If I remember correctly, I owed you a couple of each."
"That you did, my friend. As for you…" He bent down to Ginny and gave her a big hug. Putting his lips to her ear, he whispered, "Thank you, Ms. Weasley, for being such a nice and good person." He winked at her as he pulled back.
Wait a tick, she thought curiously. I thought he said he wouldn't-
"I will see you both later," Bart said, gliding out of the kitchen. Ginny heard the front door slam shut and she and Harry were left alone with each other.
"Listen," she started while her nerves were up for it, "about the other day, I want to apologize. There's no excuse for what I did. I know that my being pregnant makes you uncomr-"
"I don't hate the baby, Ginny," Harry said earnestly, out of the blue. Ginny nearly dropped her fork to the ground. "I'm sorry if that's how it came across in your room. You just surprised me, is all, and I didn't react well to it. I got called in on a case yesterday and all day, all I was thinking was how horrible I'm being to you."
"What are you talking about?"
"I know how you must think that I can't stand the baby. I mean, I don't ever ask you about anything to do with the baby or how your appointments go. Hell, lately we don't ever talk about you being pregnant unless you or someone else brings it up. It's only because I don't know how involved you want me to be. You always say how you're doing this whole…thing," he waved clumsily at her stomach, "by yourself. I just started thinking that you felt more comfortable if I let you handle it on your own and I kept my distance."
"That's what I thought made you feel comfortable," Ginny said guiltily. "This isn't your baby and…and I thought that…I don't know. I just thought you see this baby as a symbol of everything I did wrong with my life and that the more I tried to talk to you about her, the more it brought up bad memories of-of our past for you."
Harry nodded slowly, playing around with the food left on his plate. "That is what happened when I thought of you being pregnant, at first. Especially after New York and even after you first arrived in Hastom. But then we talked about…about who her father was and how he wasn't going to be involved in her life. And something you said then finally clicked with me."
"What?"
"She's yours," Harry said simply, looking up at her. "She's yours and in the end, that is all that matters. She's the biggest part of your life and since you're a part of mine that means the baby is too. You are going to need some help taking care of her when she arrives and I want to be one of the people in your life that you can count on for that. So from now on, don't hold back with the baby on my account. If you want to talk about her or go shopping for her or you want company at your appointments with Nell…" He laughed quietly. "I'm sorry. I think I'm overcompensating a bit for the last month. The important thing for you to know is that whatever support you need, I'm here for you."
Ginny couldn't hold back the smile from her lips. It was something she had stopped hoping for, for Harry to accept the baby fully. He really did want to be her friend.
She reached across the table and squeezed his hand, praying he didn't notice the slight hitch to her breath. "Thank you. You're a wonderful man, Harry Potter."
And you have absolutely no idea how much I love you.
Shaking her head, she smiled even brighter. Harry returned the grin in full, his thumb making a small circle on her hand. That wouldn't do, to say that out loud to him. So she settled for something a little less stirring. "A girl couldn't ask for a better mate in the world."
There, that would have to suffice for a declaration of love.
His eyes darkened ever so and he nodded firmly. "Well, let's eat up then." He released her hand quickly and went back to his own food. "I was thinking of seeing if the kids wanted to try to get an extra practice in. You can go over a few of those new plays you've designed for them and I'll work with Calvin on a feint."
"Sounds brilliant." She bent across the table to reach for the butter. The fabric of her pants tightened painfully and she was suddenly afraid to stand. "Say, Harry?"
"Yes?"
"Were you serious about the shopping?"
