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XIXIX "When We Lie to Ourselves, Part II" XIXIX

Ginny.

Ginny and Lokstavian walked into town after dinner. She grinned secretly when he slipped his hand into hers, twining their fingers together intimately. She hadn't seen or heard from him in over a year, not since his father had dragged him out of Hogwarts like an errant House Elf. She hadn't expected she'd ever see him again. She certainly hadn't expected him to show up on her doorstep just days after Harry blew out of town. Again.

"How are you doing?" he asked quietly. "With Dumbledore and all, I mean."

Ginny shrugged. "It's hard to believe he's gone."

Loki nodded. "That it is."

"Were you at the funeral?"

"Yeah. Then, since we were in town anyway, my dad took the opportunity to meet with a few business clients. I thought maybe I'd pop by, see how you've been." He looked at her sidelong. "See how much you've missed me."

"It's been hard to survive," Ginny deadpanned.

"Good to hear, good to hear."

And she laughed. What was it about this guy that just took all her worries away? It was like how she used to feel around Harry, but… she shook the thoughts out of her head.

"What have you been up to?" she asked. "What school are you at now?"

"Archelon," he answered breathlessly, waving his hand through the air as though the gods themselves were writing the name across the sky. "It's nothing like Hogwarts, really, but my father's quite impressed by it. Archelon is supposedly the best private preparatory schooling money can buy. But I don't know. It's stuffy and traditional. And no one's crafty there. Cleverness is not a virtue at that school. Following rules is. Blech!"

Ginny grinned. "Well, it's only one more year. I'm sure you'll make it through."

"Here's hoping. Anyway, you're graduated now. What are your plans?"

"Auror training," said Ginny simply. Lokstavian stopped in his tracks.

"You're having me on."

Now Ginny looked surprised. "No. No, of course not. What do you mean?"

Loki dropped his jaw. "The last time I saw you they had you in restraints. You really want to join those people?"

"Those people were doing their jobs. It's those crackpot Ministry leaders who are the problems, not the Aurors. They really are doing a lot to help people. And I've got a lot of fighting experience in the war and with the DA. I think I could really do a lot of good as an Auror."

"But you'll be working for those same crackpot Ministry leaders."

"For now. But really, Lokstavian, if we want to change things we have to get involved. And I know I couldn't rise through politics… they've made damned sure that my name is mud. If I ever ran for office, every paper will be screaming to remind people of past accusations. People will forget how unfounded they are."

"But your name is safe in a hired position?" he asked, trying to see the point she was driving at.

"I'll be able to hunt Dark witches and wizards. I'll be able to do a lot of good. I'll work hard, hopefully impress my immediate bosses with my ethic. Later on, I can work to oust corruption with history on my side—a long career of work within the Ministry, fighting Darkness."

"Ever the optimist."

"And don't you forget it."

"What do your parents say to all this?"

Ginny made a face. "They were supportive until Dumbledore died. One of the Aurors disappeared, did you hear? An old friend of the family. He had a, ah, an alternate idea of what had happened to Dumbledore. And then he was gone."

"They think the same might happen to you if you start trying to… oust corruption?"

They walked on in silence for a minute. "I'll be careful," Ginny said. "I'll watch my back."

Lokstavian smiled. "It would be good though, if you had someone else to watch it for you. I don't know…"

"My mind's made up," she said. "Training starts in two weeks. I've already registered."

"I propose… a different plan." His voice became light again. Ginny raised her eyebrows.

"Oh? What do you propose?"

"I propose we run off tonight and get married in the Himalayas."

Ginny pursed her lips to keep from laughing. "Loki," she began, "I haven't seen you in over a year. Your father thinks I'm witch trash. You're still in school. I'm about to join the Aurors. I don't know that it's the best idea."

"But you'll think about it?"

Now she laughed. "No."

"Well," his look turned serious now. "Can we see each other again, at least? Can I make a point to be in town so that we see each other again?"

Ginny considered this. In almost a year and a half he hadn't so much as sent her an owl, but here he was again. She remembered when she'd first noticed him, when they'd first met. Harry had been sneaking away, closing off their bond in that horrible way—and then there was Loki. He could make her laugh, and he had stayed at her side like no one… like Harry never did. Until he, too, had disappeared.

But maybe it would be different this time. He'd come back on his own, and Ginny couldn't help but contrast that fact with Harry's most recent storm—blowing through town in the wake of a disaster, and then leaving with a mind to be gone forever. And two days later, Loki came back to her. There was something karmic about it all, like the universe was finally giving Ginny something good she might be able to keep.

"Yeah," she said. "We can see each other again."

XIXIX

Harry.

The wizard at the bar raised three fingers and the bartender poured him another. He was slumped forward miserably, and a long walk already toward getting himself good and pissed. He was tempted to think of this as the worst day of his life, the first day of his life without anyone who loved him, but… well, Harry knew better than to try and catalogue any more days as his worst. There had been too many worst days already, and so things would have to get really quite horrific in order to beat out all the others. Harry didn't want to tempt fate.

"You all right, Mr. Potter?" asked the bartender.

Harry nodded, straightened himself on the stool. He knew if he looked too trashed he'd get cut off, and he wasn't yet trashed enough for that.

He realized that hope was his problem. Ever since he first arrived at Hogwarts, no matter how scared he was, he had always believed that ultimately everything would be okay. Good would triumph over evil. The mystery would be solved. His friends would come around eventually, and would still love him. Because ultimately, good things happened in the wizarding world. He had support there. He had strength.

But here he was now, helpless and alone. He downed his latest double shot of rum, signaled for another, and reviewed the facts as he knew them. (As he was able to think about them.)

One. He held up a finger in front of his face to focus on. For two years now, I have inexplicably been losing chunks of my life from my memory.

Harry waited, but no pain came ripping through his head. He thought of disappearing, and the pain smashed through him, scattering his thoughts. He focused on his forefinger. There were times he couldn't remember. The pain subsided, and it gave him an idea.

Harry waved the bartender over, wondering if that was something he could say out loud. He could think it without pain, so why not? He would say, 'There are times in my life that I can't remember,' just to test it out. Maybe it was okay to have hope. Maybe he just needed to be cleverer than he'd been before.

The bartender strolled back over to him. He glanced down at the still full drink, back up to Harry. "Yes, sir?"

Harry opened his mouth to repeat his thought aloud, but somewhere in the pathway from thoughts to words, the sentence became forbidden somehow, and a jolt of fire ripped through his brain, setting flight to the words. He quickly thought of other things, unrelated to his memory lapses. Rum is good. Again, the pain subsided.

"I like your rum," he said. The bartender nodded, giving Harry a look that was probably pity. Harry didn't care. "That's all," he said. The bartender said thanks, and walked back away.

Two. Harry held up a second finger. I am unable to speak, write, or communicate in any way what has been happening to me.

Whenever anyone tried to discuss it with him, the pain came, his brain shut down, and apparently he started screaming at them, judging by his friends' reactions. His bondmates complained that he closed them off. Harry had no memory of this. He had no control over this. Whatever was happening to him had… some sort of failsafe that kept him from getting outside help.

He ran his fingers through his hair, massaging his aching head. It was killing him just to think that much about it. He knew he'd never be able to express it out loud. He'd never be able to tell anyone. Not even Ginny. Not even Severus.

Three. A third finger joined the other two. He noticed his hand was shaking for this one. He'd danced around this thought before, but never admitted it to himself full-out. He drained his rum, brought his three fingers back up in front of his face.

Three. I might have killed Dumbledore.

It felt like his head exploded. Harry brought his forehead down to the bar with a loud thunk. He focused on this natural pain, forgot about Dumbledore. Slowly, the pieces of his head came back together.

"Mr. Potter?"

Harry looked up. The bartender was standing over him, clearly unsure of what to do. Harry suspected any other patron would have been thrown out by now, but he was Harry Potter.

"Sorry," he said. "I'm just having a bad day. I'm okay."

"I think you should head home, Mr. Potter," he said kindly, gently.

Harry thought of home and shook his head. "No, if it's okay, I'll sit here for a little while longer. Need to sober up a bit before I head out." As though to punctuate his disinclination for further alcohol, he turned his glass upside down. He nodded to the bartender, who nodded back uncertainly.

Harry did want more alcohol. But he had nowhere else to go. He was in a "traditional Irish pub" in Prague, that somewhat surprising employed an actual Irishman as barkeep. Harry had chosen the city as his next destination almost at random. Leaving the Three Broomsticks yesterday morning, he'd overheard a friendly-looking couple talking about how good it would be to get back to Prague. Harry hadn't been there yet, so off he went. It was somewhere new, and far enough away that he felt very far away.

Four. Since I can't tell anyone what's going on, and I might be doing terrible things, it is far better for all those concerned if I just stay the hell away from them.

Harry knew this was true. But he really didn't want to accept it. That was why hope was his major problem. He kept teetering on this edge, this balance between hope of being saved, and acceptance of what actually was. His hopes had been dashed at every point over the past two years, but still he clung to them. He knew he needed to abandon them. And he had to do it now if he were going to succeed in staying away from the people he loved.

He needed another drink.

He thought of Remus, who thought Harry had lied to him and avoided him over the past two years. Remus was better off without him. He thought of Ron and Hermione, whose wedding he had missed. They were better off without him. He thought of Severus, who thought Harry left last year because they had kissed, who probably thought Harry was taking advantage of his love. Severus was better off without him. He thought of Ginny, who shared a twin bond with him stronger than any other twin bond on record. And who couldn't possibly understand the subsequent distance between them. She was better off without him. He thought of Draco, sleeping next to him with that damned gorgeous smile creeping onto his lips as he dreamed something nice. Draco would always be better off without him.

Harry took in a shuddering breath. God, he missed them. He wanted them all back. He wanted to settle down and love and be loved. He wanted to convince himself that he was better off without them all, but he couldn't think of any reason he was. Only that they were better off without him. It would have to be enough. They couldn't help him. And he only hurt them.

Abandon all hope, Harry Potter. Nothing will ever be right for you again.

He wished, briefly, that he could just kill himself and be done with it. Except if he died, Ginny would as well. And Harry wanted her to live. He loved her so much it was painful. He wished with all his might that someone would come into the bar, that he'd turn around and Draco would be there, having followed him when he left. He wished that someone, anyone, he loved would arrive and tell him it was okay to still have hope.

Harry turned to the door. No one came through. He abandoned his hope that it was possible for him to keep his hope. He would have to be alone, and that was that. He could never be with his loved ones again. And god, he wasn't strong enough for that. He would go crazy alone, and would just wind up going back to hurt everyone all over again.

A thought struck him. What he really needed right now was an acquaintance. He needed someone that he didn't love, wouldn't love, to come and keep him company.

He heard the door open behind him and he swallowed his heart. It wasn't Draco. It wasn't Severus. It wasn't Ginny. No one was coming for him. There would be no rescue.

The stool next to him slid back with a loud scrape against the floor, and someone plonked down unceremoniously to his left. "Ryan, give me a Midnight Cinderella," she called out. "Make it strong."

Harry looked up as the young woman dropped her bag heavily onto the floor next to him and sighed deeply. The bartender came over with a tall glass of pumpkin juice and fire whiskey. He gave the woman a medium smile.

"So, Mala," he said, "Are we celebrating or commiserating?"

She gave him a pained look. The bartender nodded. "This one's on the house," he said.

"Thanks, Ryan," she said.

"What are you going to do?"

Mala shrugged. She was a pretty young woman about Harry's age with straight brown hair, light brown skin, and dark brown eyes. She looked somewhat familiar, but he couldn't place her.

"The bank is going to auction off the house, the land, all of our possessions. I'll stay until then. I just want to meet the buyers, you know? Make sure they're good people."

"And after that?"

"No idea. I don't have any money left. I guess I'll go back to England and try to get my old job back."

"I thought you hated that job."

"I did. But what else am I gonna do? My Czech isn't good enough to stay here and work, and anyway I don't have any family left to keep me here. I have family in Spain, but my name freaks people out there."

"Sorry," said Harry, too drunk to be embarrassed for interrupting a stranger's conversation. "What's your name?"

She looked to him and gave him a sort of rueful smile. "Mala Suerte Radinavich. It means 'bad luck' in Spanish. My mother was… wait a minute. I know you!"

She stuck out her hand toward him with a genuine smile. "Harry Potter! You don't remember me, of course, but we met at the DMV!"

Harry shook her hand, thinking back. Then it hit him. "Lucky 13," he said. "You let me jump in line. I never got to thank you for that."

She waved him away. "It was your birthday, and anyway, I knew I'd wind up failing and having to come back again. Took me five times to pass, you know," she said matter-of-factly.

"Five times?!" Harry was not quite drunk enough that he couldn't realize how rude he sounded. He cringed in embarrassment.

"Yeah, I know!" she said. "That day that I traded with you, a gremlin actually broke into the DMV and messed with the magic in the sigils so that they kept moving around. But, get this! The only group that was affected was the one I was in! Everyone failed. Our instructor had already marked our paperwork before they figured out what had happened, and since the paperwork is charmed to only allow people one test per day, there was nothing for it but for all of us to return again. Just my luck!"

"So it's not that you can't apparate…"

Mala Suerte nodded. "Outside forces kept me from proving I could. I have the worst luck of anyone on Earth. And people ask what's in a name!" She took a huge gulp of her mixed drink, made a face, and took another drink.

"Why did your parents name you that?"

Ryan snorted and moved to deal with other customers. Mala looked after him for a moment before turning back to Harry. "My mother was from a superstitious town in Spain. She was muggle-born, so when weird things started happening around her, everyone said she was cursed. I think she believed it, too, even after she joined the wizarding world. My father was Czech, but he was living in London when they met. Whirlwind romance, and all of that. They'd known each other less than a year when I was born. They were walking down the street on Friday the 13th, and a black cat crossed their path. My mother went into labor right then. They hopped a muggle taxi to get to hospital; it got into a wreck. When they finally made it to St. Mungo's, there was a ladder set up right by the door, so when they walked in, they walked under it. A man died in the waiting room right next to them while they were registering. Then, while I was being delivered, the mediwitch knocked into the tray of instruments, and…" Mala smiled as she told the story from rote memory, "A mirror fell to the floor and shattered."

"Holy cow," said Harry.

"Yeah, I know. Like, every bad superstitious thing that could happen. My father figures that mum thought it was her curse. No one could find any reason for her to have died from the labor. He believes that she just gave up. Her last words were, 'Mala suerte.' Pop thought she was naming me. He didn't speak Spanish." She smiled again, reminding Harry of Neville. He, too, could be cheerful regarding the most dire of circumstances.

"That is one hell of a story," he said.

"The story of my life…" She laughed, but then her smiled turned back rueful. "Bad luck all around." Mala drained her glass with four heavy gulps. Her face turned red from the effort of swallowing that much alcohol. She looked to Harry almost apologetically.

"I don't usually drink this much," she said. "But it's been a bloody awful week."

Harry nodded. "I know the feeling." He signaled for Ryan to fix her another. "It's on me," he said.

"You don't have to…"

"It's fine. Your bad luck is distracting me from my own. Least I can do is keep you drunk for a bit."

Mala Suerte smiled. "Well, thanks. It is good to talk to someone."

Ryan arrived with her drink. She tucked in to it.

"I'm losing my father's land. He died last year, in a lot of debt. I sold most everything we both owned to pay it off. The land here, just outside of the city, was the last bit. I was going to live there and work to pay off the rest of the debt over a period of time, but…"

Her chin was quivering. She took another drink to embolden herself.

"He didn't have a will that clearly labeled me as his heir. There's not another closer living relative, but… There was an error in my birth certificate. Some filing clerk typed it up wrong, so that my father's name is where the doctor's name ought to be, and vice versa. There is nothing that legally proves I'm his heir and the land belongs to me. So the bank I was working with to pay off his debts has taken possession of it. I had until this afternoon to buy it, or strike a deal of some sort, but they wouldn't budge."

"Bloody hell."

"You said it."

It was all wrong. Why did such horrible things have to happen to good people? Harry thought on that a minute, and had an idea.

"What's the land like? You said there's a house on it?"

"Yeah. It's a summer home, really. Spent every summer of my childhood there. Three bedroom bungalow, two bath, full kitchen. Ten acres surrounding it. It's beautiful. I should have known it wouldn't work out for me to be able to live there." Mala pouted drunkenly, took another drink.

"Would you… would you be willing to take a part time roommate? If you could keep the house?"

Mala slumped forward against the bar. "Oh, a roommate would be fine, but I can't afford to buy the place. I don't have anything left. I'm not likely to find someone who will buy it and then let me live there."

Harry turned to her, working it out slowly through the drunken fog of his brain. This could work. "What if I bought it, and then hired you to keep it up?"

Mala looked to him. "What are you talking about?"

"I have money. I don't have a place to live. I could buy your land."

"But…"

"I'm… er… gone a lot. With my job. I'm kind of a bounty hunter nowadays, and I get really out of touch. I lose track of time…" Harry paused for a moment, waiting for the pain to rip through him, but it didn't. Maybe if he deliberately misled people about what he meant, he could tell them these things. Just so long as he never tried to relate his disorientation to his disapp… fire sliced into him; he let the thought go.

"If I had a house where I could go when I came out of a job," he said carefully, "And if I had someone there who could tell me what month it was…" he smiled, "Fix me some tea maybe, and most importantly… someone who never asked me questions about myself or what I was doing or where I'd been… it would… it would be great."

I wouldn't be alone.

"You'd pay me to live in my house and tell you the date?" Mala's eyes were growing large with burgeoning hope.

"And let me live there," he said. "Watch my stuff while I'm gone, make sure the place doesn't go to weeds and boggarts. And then later on when you've saved up some money you can buy the place back from me."

It seemed a great idea to Harry, but then he realized he was offering this woman a chance to be a servant in her own home. It was a terrible idea. He was a terrible person.

But Mala Suerte Radinavich grinned broadly and flung her arms around Harry's neck. "I can't believe you'd do this for me!" she squealed. "I'll take good care of your things! I'll fix your meals when you're in town—I'm a great cook. Well, a decent one. Merlin's hat! I'll be roommates with Harry Potter! This is too good to be true!"

Harry felt a twinge of panic. He pushed the young woman back gently. "Mala, wait," he said, "There is one really important thing you need to agree to."

Her smile faltered. "Okay," she said carefully. "What?"

"I hope you don't think I'm a prick for this. Just trust me, there is a really good reason. We can't be friends. I mean, I won't treat you badly or act like you're my House Elf or anything, but… We can't have any personal conversations. And you must never ask me where I've been or what I've been doing."

Mala's face became very serious. She thought about this, and nodded. "You're Harry Potter," she said finally. "I'm sure you work on a lot of top secret things. I won't get in your way. I won't compromise what you're working on. And I promise I'll protect your privacy."

Harry couldn't believe his luck. He needed an acquaintance to keep him company, and one basically fell into his lap, along with a place to stay. This was it. This was his key to moving on, to accepting his lot in life. He would leave his old life behind, and figure out a way to live this new one that had been created around him. Maybe he couldn't be safe from what was happening to him, but he could learn how to live with it.

XIXIX

Two weeks later, Ginny stood just outside the gates of the Auror Training Camp with close to forty other recruits. Inside would begin a three-month boot camp designed to weed out the weak of heart—those who didn't have what it took to become an Auror. Those left would continue with another six months of on-the-job training, after which time they would receive their first real assignments, if one would be offered.

Ginny was determined to do this. No matter what it took, she was going to get in there and start making good on her life.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder. Ginny turned around and was surprised to find herself staring into a pair of crystal blue eyes.

"Hello, my Queen," he said.

"Draco! What are you doing here?"

The blonde smiled at her. "Same as you. I quit my job at the Mageria. I'm going to become an Auror."

"Did you not get the promotion?" Ginny was shocked. She didn't know what to think about this new development.

"I turned it down," he said.

"Oh."

Draco made a face. "Not happy to see me?"

"No, it's not that. I'm just surprised. I really did not expect to see you here."

He grinned. "That's because I decided to surprise you. Seriously, though. Are you not happy to see me here? Think a Malfoy could never make a good Auror?"

Ginny shrugged. "Depends on the Malfoy. You, for instance, will make a great one."

She cracked a smile at him. Draco flung one arm around her shoulder. "Well, let's get to it, then. Time to save the world again."

XIXIX

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