Ginny fiddled with the hair on his chest. Her eyes were steady on his; they were soft and warm – and not just from the lamplight pooled across her face. Then her gaze shifted, she bit her lip and sighed. His hand, which was inside her knickers and cupping her bum, tightened. Was she having regrets?
"What's wrong?" Harry murmured.
She smoothed the hair she'd just been ruffling, and pressed a kiss over his left nipple. "I was just thinking…"
"Yes?" Harry asked.
"We work well together," Ginny finally said. Harry's arm tightened around her. That was not what he'd been expecting. "I've always thought… you know, I like being Seeker. I like having a job that feels so important to me—"
"It is important," Harry insisted. "What you do is—"
"We," Ginny corrected him. "We."
Their eyes tangled again. The sofa on which they lay was small enough that their bodies were mostly pressed together. Her foot was on his calf, her hands on his back, his own hand kneaded her bum, and her breasts were against him. They were mostly naked… mostly vulnerable.
She huffed out a sigh, and broke the eye contact. Her chin firmed. "It was… I couldn't trust anyone those last years at school." His hand stilled. "Mum and Dad warned me every time I came home. 'Keep your head down, Ginny,' they always told me. And I did. I did play Quidditch until the Carrows disbanded the teams, but I… I couldn't trust anyone. I told you that I was learning Occlumency?"
"Yes," Harry said. "You did."
"It just became… easier to just keep everything secret," she said. "So when I found out something weird… something terrible… was going on, I just… didn't tell anyone." She took a deep breath, and ran her hand up his side. "I kept it a secret. It took a couple of months to trace everything that was going on. I was keeping up with my classes, and – and… do you remember the article?"
Of course he did. It had exposed a truly nasty business at Hogwarts that the Carrows were keeping quiet. A group of sixth years and fifth years had used potions to slowly enslave members of the lower years. The abuse was physical – the Room of Requirement was used to stage duels between first and second years. They were often forced to fight until they were bleeding, and then the older students set all kinds of magical creatures on them. It also was psychological; many of the students required several weeks in St. Mungo's in order to undo what was done. Harry wondered if they still had nightmares about it. They probably did.
"I remember it," Harry said.
"I knew something was happening," Ginny said. "I kept my head down, but I didn't keep my eyes closed. It took months to figure it out. And when I finally wrote out everything I found out – I didn't want to risk actually speaking to the Carrows, I did it anonymously – it felt so good. But they ignored it. I was so furious… you know, my first thought was to send everything to The Daily Prophet… or send everything to everyone's parents. But the Carrows made a rule that tattling on other students was punishable by the Cruciatus Curse."
Anger ignited in him. "They didn't dare—"
"No," Ginny said. "No, they never did find out it was me. Anyway, I think you realize I contacted Luna, and she published it."
The rest, Harry knew. All the parents of the first and second years had marched to Hogwarts, united in their rage. Harry had to guess that some of them had been children of Death Eaters, for the Carrows had disappeared, and new professors were instated without even a minor hiccup. What happened to the Carrows, Harry didn't know, but he did not think it was pretty.
They lay quietly together. Harry stroked her hair and thought about what she'd told him. His own school years had had their terrifying moments, but this… was something worse. "I wish I'd been there."
She pulled back. The subject had Harry feeling less cozy and more restless. He could tell it had done the same to her. "You had your own terrifying thing going on," she said softly. She began disentangling herself from him. She kissed his forehead before she got up. "I'm just glad we're working together now. I think we work well together." She stood and stretched her arms over her head, giving him a view of her breasts that he would not forget. Her hair fell over her shoulders when she shrugged. "I have to, you know, use the loo."
Ginny came out of the bathroom a little while later. Harry was already dressed, and pulling on his shoes. "You're leaving?" she asked him. When she'd got up from the sofa, she'd only worn knickers; now she wore a silky robe that she was now clutching.
"Yeah, I…" He didn't really want to explain to her that if he stayed, he was not going to be able to be as patient with her as she deserved. "It's late," he said lamely. It was barely nine. She looked at him steadily, eyes searching his, then her face softened into a smile.
The goodnight kiss she gave him was long, slow, and thorough. By the time her hands had slipped under his shirt and found the warm skin of his back, Harry was no longer sure he wanted to leave. What he wanted to do was pick her up and carry her to her bed. Slide the robe off her shoulders, caress her until she was wet and her thighs were clenching. As he kissed her, he imagined the small sounds she made – she'd make them when he slid in her, and started moving—
His hands were on her bum, pulling her tight against him, when the arrival of a very imperious looking owl tapped its claw repeatedly against the window. For one wild second, Harry thought it knew exactly where his thoughts were straying, and that's why it looked so censorious.
"Oh, damn," Ginny muttered, pulling away from him. "I know that owl." Her face fell into glum lines, and she went to open the window. The owl gave her a dirty look, and held out its left leg.
"What is it?" Harry asked.
"It's from the Ministry," she said. "It's my second warning about the wards…"
"What do you mean?" Harry asked blankly.
She looked at him. Her hair was tousled, her lips were swollen, and she was quite beautiful. "It's my fault, I should've said something, but you put a class three ward up… you've got to apply to the Department of Magical Protections and Wards to put those up."
"What?" Harry said.
She handed him the letter.
Greetings Miss Weasley,
At 7:23 tonight, our Department registered an unauthorized ward erected on your place of residence. The Ward of Disarmament is a Class III ward, and usage of it is controlled. Should you need advanced protections above a Class II ward, you can send your application for it to our Department for permission, and we will send a Ward-Caster out to ensure it is done properly. As this is your second warning, please send seventeen galleons by return owl.
Sincerely,
Nolan Rain
Harry read the letter three times. The first time, he'd felt terrible he'd gotten Ginny reprimanded by the Ministry of Magic. The second time, he was confused that the Ministry felt the need to control who were allowed to place advanced protections on their homes. The third time, his guilt and confusion had melded together into a disturbed sort of understanding.
"I have the money on me, thankfully," said Harry.
Her eyes widened. "You don't have to pay—"
"Of course I do," said Harry.
"I have money, you know," she said gently. "We get quite a lot of subscribers – and, you know, donations."
"It's not about the money," he told her. "Maybe neither one of us would miss seventeen galleons, but I created the ward. It's just the – the principle of it."
She eyed him a moment longer. "All right," she said.
Harry tucked the galleon into the pouch that circled the owl. As soon as that was done, an awkward little silence descended over them. The arrival of the owl – and the reminder the Ministry was watching – was as effective as taking a cold shower. "I'm sorry about that," he said finally. "I had no idea they kept a watch on what wards were where. I should've guessed."
"It's not your fault," she told him.
"Well, you know," he said, shrugging. "I wish there'd been a class on that at Hogwarts – everything the Ministry's involved in and how. And why."
"Sounds like a good idea for an article, actually," said Ginny. "An overview of every bit of power the Ministry has. I like it. Neville would like it, too."
"And Luna?" Harry asked.
"Well… Luna would care about the creatures," Ginny said.
They shared a quiet little laugh, after which, Harry sighed. "I should go," he said.
This time, their goodnight kiss was not nearly as arousing as the first.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
It wasn't until the following afternoon that Harry realized it was Sunday, and he would be expected at the Burrow. He sat in the living room, picking through some of the articles in The Daily Prophet, grimacing whenever he saw his name, but combing for any details that might be important. After he was done, he was going to head over to the turnip church, both to see Ginny, and to see if she was serious that they ought to write that overview. The more he thought about it, the more it bothered him that the Ministry regulated magical protection.
"Are you ready, mate?"
Ron's voice cut into his thoughts, startling him.
"Ready?" Harry gaped at him.
"For the Burrow?" There was a faint question in the droop of Ron's eyebrows, and the tone in his voice. "It's Sunday."
"It's Sunday?" Harry asked in disbelief.
"Yeah," said Ron. "So go get ready. Mum's expecting us. Unless… you want to come, don't you?"
Harry was already leaping out of his chair. "Blimey, I forgot it was Sunday."
"You sure you're completely recovered from that spell backlash?" Ron asked, grinning.
Thirty minutes later, Harry was sitting in the living room at the Burrow. He sipped his coffee and exchanged a few words with Fred, who was eager to tell him about some of the new pranks he and George were working on. Most of his attention was directed at Fred, but he couldn't help that part of himself that was aware of where Ginny was at any given moment. "Musical yo-yos sound fun," Harry agreed. "Who thought of the music?"
"George did," Fred said promptly.
"George did what?" George asked, appearing at Fred's elbow.
"Figured out that our yo-yos not only needed the light show, but the music," Fred said.
"Ah, yes," George said. Then he peered at Harry, giving him an uncharacteristically serious look. "Have you been all right?"
"Erm – yes?" said Harry.
The twins exchanged looks. "Good," said Fred. "We just didn't know how suddenly… not taking the antidote would affect you."
"We were concerned," said George.
"What antidote?" Ron asked.
Harry hid a smile. The Weasley brothers appearing out of nowhere and asking challenging questions was one of the reasons why he was so grateful Ginny had her own space. His eyes caught hers for the briefest of moments. She was all the way across the room from him, talking to her mother.
"The antidote to having you as a best mate," said George.
"That's nice!" Ron said, offended.
"It's nothing, Ron," Harry put in. "They just used me for one of their experiments."
The back door opened, and Arthur came in. "Sorry I'm late!" he boomed. Harry was relieved to see him.
It wasn't that he trusted the twins more than he trusted Ron. He trusted that the twins might take the mickey, but they wouldn't ask questions about why he'd needed the antidote. Ron wouldn't be able to keep his suspicions quiet; which was fair, Harry thought, as he would've questioned Ron if he were the one taking it. Ron and Hermione knew almost all of Harry's most humiliating moments. They didn't need to know that one.
"Ginny," Arthur said, after he shrugged off his traveling cloak and hung it up on a peg. "What's this about you using a Class III ward? I just heard about it from a friend of mine who works for the DMP."
"Again?" Molly asked. "Ginny! That's quite a serious fine."
Her eyes caught his again in a fleeting look, gave her head a small shake, and turned to her parents, who were now standing side by side in front of her. "It was a mistake," she said. "The lady I work for – she has it on her house – I didn't even think of what class it was. Just… a disarming ward seemed like a good idea."
Discomfort churned in his stomach. It was his fault that she got that fine, and was now being reprimanded by her parents.
"I know there's been talk of changing the classification of that particular ward from Class III to Class II, that's not the case," Arthur said gently.
"Which I thought you knew," Molly said, upset. "If it disarms someone, that's clearly Class III."
"But it doesn't do any harm," argued Ginny. "It just disarms them."
"It sounds like my favorite ward," Harry said desperately, trying to dispel the tension.
While the twins and Ron laughed, Arthur and Molly ignored this. Harry could not blame them. "Any ward that causes anything to happen to anyone for any reason is designated Class III," Arthur said. "We can apply to the Ministry for exceptions – if we can prove we are being legitimately threatened - in those cases, Class III and even Class IV wards might be approved."
"All of which we discussed the first time this happened," said Molly.
"Why haven't I ever heard of this?" Harry asked, hating how Ginny was now looking at the ground. "I've never even heard of these distinctions."
It was Hermione who finally spoke. "The Ministry has five different classifications of wards. Class I are just wards of detection. Class II offer protection against hexes and curses being flung from the outside. Class III will fling something back at whoever is casting a hex or a curse. Ginny's was just meant to disarm, but some of the Class III wards use fire, wind, or—"
"I know what the basic wards are," Harry said, frustrated. "I just didn't know some of them were illegal or not." Grimmauld Place had almost all of these placed on it.
Hermione continued as though he hadn't spoken. "Class IV also provides backlash against the intruder, but these suck them in – like the Labyrinthine Ward. These wards are generally less about protection, and more about getting vengeance on the intruder. Harry, the ward Dumbledore created around the Dursley's house was almost certainly Class IV – it would've hurt any Death Eater who tried to get to you there quite badly."
"I think Unplottable is considered Class IV, too," said George. "Right? But that doesn't have anything to do with harming any intruder."
"Yes, well, the Ministry wants to be able to find everyone, don't they?" Molly said. "Maybe for the good of the people—"
"—but maybe because a lot of them are just corrupt wankers," said Fred. "With Minister Crouch leading the lot of them."
"It's a bit of a stretch to call Crouch a wanker," Bill said mildly. "He's always been quite ferociously against dark magic."
"Then why doesn't he let people protect themselves?" Ginny challenged him. "How come I've just had to pay seventeen galleons?"
"But – but Grimmauld Place has got just about every kind of ward you've mentioned," Harry said, perplexed. "I find it a little hard to believe that the Ministry hasn't come down on me for that, not if they got on – Ginny for just a Ward of Disarmament."
Arthur gave him a faint smile. "Because Grimmauld Place is covered by the only ward the Ministry considers Class V: the Fidelius Charm. They have no idea which wards are on the house, because they've got no clue it exists. It's hidden totally from their system of magical detection."
"Oh," said Harry. "Well, that's good."
His questions had done exactly as he intended. Neither Arthur nor Molly wanted to continue to lecture their youngest child. In fact, Molly hugged her around the shoulders. "That was a very expensive fine you just had to pay," Molly said. "Your father and I would like to help with that—"
"Oy!" said Fred. "You didn't help us when we were fined by the Ministry!"
"That was for public nudity at the Leaky Cauldron, not for trying to protect yourself," Molly flung at him. "Honestly, I don't know what you and George were thinking…"
Fred wilted. "Oh… yeah…"
"Thanks, Mum, but I got it covered," Ginny said, patting her mum on the shoulder. "I'm most worried about what my landlord is going to say, though. I don't think there's any chance he won't find out."
"I can go talk to him," Arthur offered. "I can explain what happened."
"No, it's all right," Ginny said, shaking her head. Her hair swung around her shoulders. "I'll take care of it."
Harry was still kicking himself for not knowing any of this. Had they ever gone over it? When they'd been on the run, they'd never used anything but Class II wards, but those were the only ones they'd needed. He had to acknowledge, though, if only to himself, that those months of being on the run… Voldemort was the only thing he could see. If there'd ever been a discussion on how they could, or could not, protect the tent they were living in, Harry did not remember it.
As he drank the last of his coffee, he thought of all the times he'd seen Class III wards. Grimmauld Place, for the most part, though he'd seen a few of them in use at Hogwarts. Dumbledore's age line was a ward, Harry thought.
During Harry's seventh year, when the Tri-Wizard Tournament was going on, Dumbledore had used what Harry now knew to be a Class III ward. Prompted by his knowledge of his own students, he'd created an age line that kept out anyone under the age of seventeen, and over the age of nineteen. This was proven to be necessary, as several sixth years, and two fifth years had tried to use a potion to age themselves up. Even a fourth year had tried, which Harry thought unbelievably stupid. After having gone through all three tasks, he knew a fourteen year old – with a fourteen year old's knowledge of magic – wouldn't be able to survive it.
There'd even been more than a few people who'd snuck back into Hogwarts to try to put their names in. Harry glanced at the twins, who were entertaining Bill, and remembered them swallowing a few drops of De-Aging Potion, stepping triumphantly over the barrier… and turning into two babies, who immediately fell on their nappied bums, and began to squawk their distress at being thwarted. Molly had been contacted, and she'd marched up to the school and taken her baby twin sons in hand. His smile turned into a grin; Molly had not been happy to find herself the mother of two small babies once more. "You owe me fifty galleons for every nappy I have to change," she'd told them grimly.
"Care to share the joke?" Remus asked, slipping onto the sofa beside Harry.
"Oh… just remembering when the twins tried to enter the Tri-Wizard Tournament," Harry said. "Dumbledore's Age Line stopped them… turned them into babies. Molly was not happy."
Remus chuckled a little, and sipped at his coffee. The smell reached Harry's nose, and suddenly he wanted his own cup.
"Is there any coffee left?" Harry asked.
"No, I—" But Remus's eyes fluttered closed, and he took in a deep breath. "Ah. I had the last cup, but Molly's making more."
"You could hear that?" Harry asked in disbelief. "With all the racket?"
Remus tilted his head and looked at him. "I could probably have heard it if I concentrated," he said slowly. "But I smelled it. I smelled the beans when Molly opened the bag, and smelled it when the full scent was released. I do love coffee, Harry."
"I can tell," he said. It was making him want another cup. "I didn't know your sense of smell was so… keen."
Remus shrugged. "Some characteristics of the wolf remain with me no matter what phase of the moon."
"Is it useful?" Harry asked.
"Sometimes," Remus murmured. Brown eyes very serious, he told Harry: "I think I've had a – there have been a few issues. At my cottage." His tone was very cautious.
Harry leaned forward, elbow on his knees. "What kind of issues?"
There was a hint of a question in Remus's eyes. He sipped his coffee, jiggled his leg, and smoothed the purple fabric of the chair he sat on. "I hesitate to say anything because I don't have any proof." His face sagged slightly. There was pause as the twins passed by on their way to the kitchen, chattering and in high spirits. "You know I am only allotted Class I wards—"
"What?" Harry interrupted.
"It's part of Umbridge's legislation," Remus said. His lip curled up in a slight snarl. "What you have to understand is that my kind… most of us don't register with the Ministry—"
"And who could blame them?" Harry muttered.
A smile flickered across Remus's face. "I'm only allotted Class I wards. But I fear they are no longer working properly. I've contacted the Ministry, but I've heard no reply that they will come renew the wards they placed. But I – I can tell someone's been there."
"Oh," said Harry, as embarrassment washed over him. "I – erm – came to check on you the night of the full moon. It was me. I'm sorry – I just wanted to make sure it was working—"
Remus waved him down. "I know you were there, just as I know Ginny Weasley drops off a package the morning after every full moon – it's not those… small kindnesses. I know when a scent is familiar to me. This one isn't." His brow furrowed. "At least I don't think it is."
"Someone is stalking you?" Harry asked in a low voice.
"Yes," Remus said solemnly. "Yes, I think someone is stalking me."
Harry did not have a chance to reply to this. An owl banged against the window drawing everyone's sharp and immediate attention. It held a bright red envelope in its talons.
"Uh oh," Ron whistled and then snickered. "Someone's in trouble."
"It's not funny!"
"I think it's from my landlord," Ginny said glumly.
It was Bill who opened the window and let the owl in. Harry's hands tightened on the arm of his chair. "You were right," Bill said, grimacing. "Sorry about that."
"Just open it," Ron advised. "It won't last forever."
Ginny rolled her eyes, and opened the Howler. "MISS WEASLEY, YOU'VE HAD TWO WARNINGS!" A loud voice thundered over the room. Harry resisted the urge to cover his ears. This was his fault, after all. "YOUR SECOND OFFICIAL AND UNDISPUTED REPRIMAND FROM THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC IS THE FINAL STRAW. YOU HAVE BEEN EVICTED FROM 77D RAINSHADOW CIRCLE." Her lips set in a grim line, she ripped up the Howler after it'd finished yelling at her. "How am I meant to get my things, then? All my clothes? The apothecary cabinet Grandmum Cedrella left me—"
"Don't worry, Ginny," Arthur said. "If that landlord of yours doesn't return your things, I'll go earn a couple of official reprimands myself."
"Us too," Fred said, indicating himself and George. "We haven't used that Probity Probe in such a long time, I'm sure it's feeling neglected."
Two more owls flapped in, carrying a large box between them. It had been battered during the journey. The brown paper that covered it was torn in spots, and the twine that held it together was frayed. Harry leaned forward, brow furrowed. When the package was dropped on the floor with a thump, the packaging fell apart completely, revealing a miniaturized version of the room Harry'd found so much pleasure in the night before. His eyes roved over the sofa, the chairs – everything was exactly as he remembered, including the dress she'd worn to the false Slughorn's party draped over one of the chairs. The curtain, however, was pulled back. It revealed a small, unmade bed. Clothes were thrown haphazardly around, the bedcovers were half off, and books and Quidditch magazines spilled over the side. There was a tiny snitch in the center of a pillow.
Harry was able to note all of this before Ginny threw the brown packaging paper over it. "That git, pawing through all my things," she said indignantly. Her shoulders slumped. "I guess I've got to take off and go looking for another place."
"Don't be silly, dear—"
"You can live with us—"
"You could just come and move into Grimmauld Place."
Harry was the third person to voice his offer, for which he was grateful. The moment he spoke, everyone raised their brows at him. A fleeting glance at Ginny told him to be cautious. The indignation was gone; in its place was the shuttered look he now associated with her practicing her Occlumency. "It's a huge place," Harry pointed out.
"That's very kind of you, Harry," said Molly. "But Ginny already has a room here." She threw her twins a waspish look. "And she certainly doesn't need to live with you two, she'd never be able to sleep through the constant explosions."
"It's not constant, Mum," Fred said, indignant.
"At Grimmauld Place, you could set any ward you wanted," Harry told Ginny. "Throw some new ones on there, I don't care."
"There's plenty of protective wards here at the Burrow, Harry," Arthur said.
There was another moment where Ginny caught his eye. The packaging at her feet was flapping in the cold wind from the open window, revealing bits and pieces of all her things. It was the same with their secret. I'm scared that one day I'll be at the Burrow, and everything will just come spilling out, Ginny'd told him. If Harry kept pushing for her to come live at the Burrow, eventually her family would see enough of his feelings for her for them to start asking questions. One answer would lead to another, and logic would lead to The Turnip.
Harry looked away. "It was just an offer," he said as casually as he could. "All of you could move in with me if you wanted."
He thought he heard Bill mutter something about August Peverell not liking it very much if Ginny moved into Grimmauld Place, further solidifying the fact their secrets would come tumbling out were he to persist. Actually, Bill, August would like it very much if she were only a few rooms away from him every night.
And what was he thinking, asking her to move in with him? They were barely even started. What if she thought he was a nutter?
He didn't get a chance to ask her about that until much later, after supper, and after Bill and others began to wind down and Apparate home. Ron and Hermione left, but Harry avoided leaving with them by heading up to the loo. The twins were still downstairs, distracting her parents by attempting to help clean up. Another landing up from the loo he was pretending to use, warm light spilled out of an open door. Harry took it as an invitation to knock.
She was muttering to herself, and unpacking her see-through box, but glanced up at him.
"I'm sorry about this," he said, gesturing toward everything.
A smile of welcome eased some of his guilt. "Muffliato," she said, standing up. "It's not your fault, you didn't know—"
"But still—"
"And I have been wanting to find a new place," she said. "My landlord made things as miserable as he could."
"So I gather," Harry said, annoyance tripping through him. "Evicting you like that! Did he break any of your things?"
She shook her head. "No," she said.
"It looked like he messed up your room," Harry said.
"No, I left it that way," she grinned at him, rolling her eyes a little. "I'm not the tidiest."
A part of him relaxed and he grinned back at her. "Neither am I," he said. But everything about the wards and the Department of Magical Protection was still bothering him. "I don't like that you got reprimanded for the wards," he told her. "I'm sorry I did it, but…"
She made a face. "I don't like it, either."
Despite the charm she'd just cast, Harry lowered his voice. "What would you think of a Turnip article about it?"
"I think that's a good idea," Ginny said. Then, despite the open door, she walked forward and into his arms. Wrapping her arms around him, she nuzzled his chest. "You know I'd much rather have moved to Grimmauld Place," she told him as his hands came up to stroke her hair. "It's going to be very – inconvenient to live here at the Burrow and not have my own place."
"I know," Harry said dryly. Inconvenient for both of them. He rested his chin on the top of her head. Closing his eyes, he breathed in the elusive, flowery scent he associated with her. They swayed a little. It wasn't just about protecting their Seeker and Chaser secrets; Harry wanted more time with her to be private, and not have their whole family eyeing them. Which they would – eye them and make all sorts of comments. Ron and Hermione were an established couple, but they still got teased.
"It's too new," Ginny said, voice muffled against him. "I don't want them to know. Not even just because of the secrets. It's just new."
"My thoughts exactly," Harry told her.
They kissed.
Ginny pulled away before the heat they created could get too out of hand. She stroked his jaw. "I'll see you tomorrow?"
Harry nodded, kissed her once more, and left. He was quiet as he could be until he reached the loo, then clattered down the rest of the steps.
It wasn't until he'd said his goodbyes to the twin and Molly and Arthur, and had one foot in the hearth, that he remembered Remus. He'd left some time ago with only a couple quiet words of goodbye to Harry. With a pang of guilt, he realized he'd nearly forgotten Remus's dilemma. Some friend you are!
"Actually," he said, pulling his hand out of the floo powder. "I think I want to Apparate stop by Remus's on the way home…"
Once he'd Apparated to the woods outside Remus's cottage, he lit the tip of his wand.
"Harry!" Remus said, alarmed. Harry whirled around and found Remus standing behind him, wand in a defensive position.
"I'm sorry!" Harry said.
"I nearly cursed you," Remus said weakly.
"I'm sorry," Harry said again, making a placating gesture. "I completely forgot what we were talking about earlier."
"I almost did as well," Remus said wryly. "It wasn't until I got home that I remembered I ought to have asked you to come with me." His wand tip ignited, and Remus's strained and tired expression was revealed. "If you wanted to come, I mean," he added hastily. "I told you, I don't have any proof, but—"
"Don't be stupid," Harry told his old professor. "I believe you."
Remus spent the next hour walking Harry around his property. "I can't have wards, but I have other things," Remus told him. Their wandlight provided enough light that Harry saw bunches of Venomous Tentacula planted at strategic points. The dangerous flora was only one way in which Remus defended himself. There were a few traps, and even a pit.
"How did I not know any of this was here?" Harry looked around in disbelief.
"I've disillusioned it," Remus said blandly.
Harry's heart tripped a little faster. He could've been caught in one of these traps – Ginny could have been caught.
Remus gave him a knowing look. "I have some skill with magic, Harry, I've made sure that none of the traps I've set would hurt any of my friends."
"Oh," said Harry.
Then Remus showed him some of the Muggle snares he'd set around the place. "Arthur would have to arrest me if he found these," Remus said with an attempt at cheer. Then his face sagged again. "I found this one today… look, it's been tripped."
A large metal snare had indeed snapped closed. There was blood and cloth around the jagged teeth. "I set these as a deterrent," he said grimly. "It wasn't to harm them, just to keep them away. But had they kept attempting to get closer to my cottage, the other snares would've thrown themselves in front of their feet."
"None of the others were tripped?" Harry asked.
"No," said Remus.
They finished their circuit of Remus's small property. Harry was impressed at the lengths Remus had gone to in order to protect himself. The ward the Ministry had – reluctantly, Harry was sure – to protect the werewolf only surrounded the cottage. More signs that someone was indeed stalking Remus showed in a Venomous Tentacula – one of its tentacles lay flat on the ground, twitching slightly – and bear pit that was halfway filled with earth.
"I don't like this," Harry said, once they stood in front of Remus's front door. "I don't like any of this."
"I agree," Remus said quietly.
And Harry understood. This was the most permanent place Remus had had for himself since he'd lived with his father and mother. It bothered Harry that someone was disturbing it. But for that one incident of a faulty potion, which was hardly Remus's fault, Remus was nonviolent. He only wanted to live his life in peace. Anger stirred as he thought again of how the Ministry enforced laws that made that nearly impossible. It was unfair.
His dislike of the Ministry grew.
Remus sighed. "Thank you for hearing out an old man's worries," he told Harry.
"Of course," he said. "We're friends, Remus."
A smile flickered over his face. "Spoken like your father," he said. He clasped Harry's shoulder. "Thank you again."
It was a quiet dismissal, and not one Harry resented. His thoughts were awhirl with Remus's dilemma, and the sudden need to write that article, exposing the Ministry for being heartless and willing to place its constituents in danger because of prejudice. It burned in him, the need to do something about it, and kept him up until the small hours of the night.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHP
"Here's everything we've got on the Department of Magical Protection," Ginny said. To Harry's brief horror, she was levitating a stack of thick books. Each one was twice the size of Hogwarts: A History. One of them was as wide as his forearm was long.
"Thanks," said Harry. "Are we – erm – allowed to have this?" He certainly would not put it past Ginny to have snuck into the Ministry and smuggled out all the secrets. Admiration welled up in him.
"Yes," said Ginny. One by one, the thick tomes landed on the desk. "The Ministry tries to pretend it's so transparent. Its decisions are public record. However – I can tell you that it took a lot of galleons to purchase these – the Ministry doesn't give a knut that most witches and wizards wouldn't be able to justify the expense."
Harry sat back, smiling. "I'm glad you have it."
"Well, we've done some articles about Ministry politics before," Ginny told him. "It's useful. We've got all the records for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, this one, and the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Good luck getting a peek at that one, though, Neville has it in his office."
"No Department of Magical Games and Sports?" Harry teased her.
She grinned at him. "As much as I love Quidditch… no." She flopped down onto her chair with a sigh, smoothed out the hem of her skirt, and crossed her legs. "What I'd really like is the record on all the decisions the Department of Mystery has made." Disgruntlement tugged down the corners of her mouth, and she bounced her foot up and down. "But Ministry transparency only goes so far. They've got a special injunction that they don't have to keep secrets."
"Of course," Harry murmured. Anger flashed in him as he thought of the house elf, crying in one of those secret rooms. They'd need to keep those kinds of secrets from the public. He shoved that down – short of storming the Ministry, there was nothing he could do about that. Yet, he reminded himself.
Then he looked at the books Ginny'd brought him.
An extension charm had been placed on her desk just for this occasion. Harry now had his own whole side. Neither one of them had discussed him using his own office – which was empty of everything except that small model of the turnip church he'd made, complete with suggestions for wards. It was a pity that was useless now, especially since he didn't want to attract the attention of the Ministry.
The first entry in the oldest book was dated 1598. Harry sighed.
At first he just read. Then he flipped through the pages, scanning for anything that caught his eye. Most of the reports were of violations. Some of them were minor infractions – others, such as the very first, were far more serious. As the morning drifted to afternoon – they only stopped once, when Luna brought them a plate piled high with sandwiches – he grew wearier and wearier.
Harry took off his glasses and pressed his fingers over his eyes, groaning. "I think I've bitten off more than I can chew," he admitted. The fact of the matter was that the regulation of protective measures witches and wizards could use was the work of centuries. It was 1598, actually, that saw a witch first arrested for the use of a ward. Tired of worrying if her Muggle neighbors were going to come in the night and hang her as a witch, she placed a ward that would take care of any ill-intentioned intruder. Unfortunately for both her, and for the mob of Muggles who'd gone after her, the ward sent streams of fire after all of them who'd come for her. Fourteen Muggles had been burned as they tried to run away, and the Ministry had to take action. That set an historical precedent. Harry felt like he was trying to trace an impossible path through history.
"Do you want my advice?" Ginny asked.
"Of course," Harry told her. His eyes were still closed.
"I think we may have been too ambitious, saying we could do it in one article," Ginny admitted. "Honestly, this should be a series. Chaser will become known for his brutal reveal of Ministry motives."
"This isn't another joint project?" Harry asked, aware she'd made no mention of Seeker.
Ginny looked at him, thoughtful. "Seeker, Mimbulus, and Morgana have always had different areas we focus on. For the most part, we've done joint projects. Are you sure you don't want something of your own? I know you have the house-elf studies you're doing, but this could potentially be the niche you carve out for yourself. I don't want to… barge in."
"You aren't," he assured her. "If you aren't passionate about it, or don't want to do it, I'm fine with that. But I… we work so well together," he reminded her.
A tiny smile curved her lips. "It's not that I'm not passionate about the wards. I just never questioned the Department of Magical Protection. It's been around forever."
"Did you know they still enforce Umbridge's legislation?" Harry asked. Her cheeks flooded with color at the mention of Umbridge's name. "Remus is only allowed to do Class I wards on his home because of her."
"Which is basically the Ministry saying that anyone who's registered as a werewolf isn't allowed to protect themselves and their families from hexes and curses," said Ginny. She pulled at her hair. "I just… never blamed the DMP for that. I blamed Umbridge. Her anti-creature bias is all over the other departments."
"They're still forcing him to pay five galleons a month to even have the right to use Class I wards," Harry said. "It's wrong."
She gave him a fierce look. "It's wrong," she agreed. "So you'll let me help you?"
"I'll beg if you want," he said. The fierceness in her expression turned into something more personal. Palpable heat began to rise between them.
"Begging isn't necessary," she murmured.
Harry gave a sideways glance at the open door and shifted in his seat. Focus, he ordered himself. But it was difficult. The fact she'd moved back in with her parents – even temporarily! – had placed a braking charm on their physical explorations. The more days passed, the more he wanted her. Last night, he'd thought of three different ways he could sneak her into Grimmauld Place, he didn't care how risky it was. At other times, he thought it was for the best, that his self-control wasn't being tested. His patience might be situational, but it was still patience.
His stomach swooped as he thought of all the ways he wasn't pushing her. He wasn't closing the door, placing a few charms on it, and striding over to her. He wasn't conjuring a bed, kissing her until she trembled in his arms, and taking off every bit of her clothing, was he? He certainly wasn't taking off his own, running his hands up and down her body, using his fingers… or his mouth… to tease her clit, and get her wet enough for him to slide in.
He took in a deep breath. In fact, thinking of all the ways he was being patient was not helping him at all.
Oblivious to his thoughts, Ginny stood, walked around her desk, and came to stand behind him. Her touch on his shoulders was light. Harry groaned when she pressed harder and began to massage the tension she found there. "That feels so good," he told her. When she told him to lean forward, he did, and she continued to rub him. Her thumbs pressed along his spine in ways that felt so good, he got chills, and it wasn't long before he was completely, achingly hard. When he groaned again, softer, she took her hands away, slid one of them down his chest, his stomach, and found his erection.
"Is that okay?" Ginny whispered.
"Yeah – I, yeah," Harry managed to say. She was stroking him lightly through the fabric of his trousers, caressing him, providing just enough pressure for him to need more.
A subtle sound from outside had Harry's head jerking back. Ginny's hand disappeared, and so did the warmth at his back. She'd straightened up.
Instead of retreating back to her own chair, Ginny murmured a couple of spells that had him taking a quick breath in surprise. First, she used magic to shut the door. Then, she put up a silencing charm, and an imperturbable charm.
Before Harry could properly react to this, she came and straddled him. His hands came up to grip her waist, squeezing lightly. But when he tried to pull her closer, so they could rub against each other, her thighs squeezed his in a silent refusal. "Can I touch you?" she asked. She was already doing so. Her hands were back on him, rubbing him not-so-gently through his trousers. It was perfect.
"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, touch me."
She undid his button and zipper, tugged his waistband and pants down, and freed him. Her head ducked, and her hair was like a curtain, shielding him from anyone's gaze but her own. His heart hammered as she brushed her thumb against the tip. She explored him the same way she had in the broom cupboard; even though the way she was touching him wouldn't make him come, it was intensely pleasurable.
When she brushed over his sac, he couldn't hold in a low moan.
"I like seeing you in the light," she admitted. Her head came up and she smiled at him. "It was so dark the first time, and I was really so distracted the second… I didn't get a chance to see you."
His breath quickened, and he tucked some of her hair behind her ear. As she played with him, her face was so expressive… he could see her shifting from curious, to delighted, to smug (when she stroked his shaft up and down, and he pulsed in her hand), to determined. All the while she was touching him, caressing him, and then, finally, circling her hand around him and rubbing him the way he'd shown her. He was groaning at every pass, both his hands were in her hair, his hips were moving. He was thrusting into her hand as much as he could.
And finally, he was there.
"Ginny," he said. "Ginny, I'm going to—"
"Good," she said, and kissed him.
He tried to reply, but it came out a garbled cry of pure pleasure as he came. She stroked him through it, her eyes fixated on him. His eyes squeezed shut, he relaxed back in the chair. "That was brilliant," he murmured. "So brilliant." His fingers trembled on her back as she draped herself on him. Bit by bit, his thoughts were able to focus, and – ignoring the small voice reminding him how useless he was after he came – Harry began to touch her more purposefully. He kissed her neck; her pulse leapt under his lips.
His hand found its way up her shirt, brushed over her belly, and found her breast, pushing her bra up as he did so. Her nipple budded her him as he stroked it with his thumb, and her hips rolled against his when he pinched it lightly between thumb and forefinger. Her eyes clouded with desire. When she squirmed against him again, he withdrew his hand, moved the books he'd just been studying aside, and set her on the desk.
Her arms came around him as he stood between her thighs. He kissed her as he bunched her skirt up. She pulled back and groaned when he rubbed her through her knickers.
"You're wet," he told her.
"Yes, well," she swallowed. "I like touching you."
"You do?" Harry said. Even though it was so soon after he came, he could feel himself stir slightly.
"Yes, Merlin, yes," she said.
Both of his hands gripped the warmth of her thighs. They quivered under his touch. When he tugged at the waistband of her knickers, she moaned, and didn't stop him. Harry stepped back, pulled them down all the way, and let them flutter to the floor. Green lace, he thought, satisfied. With her skirt bunched up, he could see where the smooth cream of her stomach met dark red curls.
His stomach swooped as he brushed his fingers through those curls. Then he looked up. "Is this all right?"
"Oh, yes," she said. "It was all right—"
But his fingers were spreading her apart, spreading around the dampness he found there. With his thumb, he found her clit, and whatever she was about to say ended on a moan. Harry moved one arm around her back, bracing her, caught her lips with his, and used his fingers and thumb to give her the same sort of pleasure she'd just given him. She was so aroused already it didn't take long until her thighs were clenched around his hips, and he felt the quiver of her climax on his hand.
Moments later, they were back on the chair. Her breath still came out in pants.
"That was brilliant," she said, finally peering up at him. "So brilliant."
Harry chuckled, kissed her, and was still kissing her when a silvery wolf materialized in their office, and spoke with Remus Lupin's voice.
"Harry!" it said. "Someone's been in the cottage – the ward is down – please come."
Harry blinked at it, uncomprehending. The fear in Remus's tone made no sense. How could anyone be afraid when – Pull yourself together, he told himself. It came back to him, dispelling the pleasure. Harry looked at Ginny; the regret in her eyes reflected his own regret. "I'm going to figure out a way to sneak you into Grimmauld Place," he told her. "We'll use my Cloak." He needed uninterrupted time with her. Where else could they have that?
"Great idea," she told him. With obvious reluctance, she got off his lap, and began smoothing her clothes. Harry could not help but notice with some interest that while she picked up her knickers, she did not pull them back up, but instead tucked them in her pocked. "Harry," she said.
"Right. Remus," Harry said. He shook his head. "Remus." It took only moments to pull his clothes together and cast a few cleansing spells. Ginny aimed a freshening charm at him as he was pulling his traveling cloak off the peg on the back of her door. Their eyes tangled as he opened it. "Grimmauld Place," he reminded her. He could envision her in his bed – where he would take care not to do anything she wasn't ready for.
"We'll figure it out," she told him. "I want time with you, Harry."
"Me too," he assured her.
"I know," she told him.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
Remus paced in front of his cottage, his face a mask of anxiety, and let out a small yelp when he saw Harry.
"Are you all right?" Harry asked, striding forward.
"Yes, yes, I wasn't home," said Remus. Then words launched out of him. "I came home and noticed immediately that the ward was no longer there. I came home and I…" He squinted his eyes and looked around. "I wasn't home."
"You didn't see anyone?" Harry asked.
"No," Remus said. He took a deep breath and paused. Looking at Harry, he asked: "Did you bring Ginny?"
"No," Harry said, confused. "Did you want me to?"
"Of course not, I wouldn't want to drag Arthur and Molly's daughter into this," said Remus. "I just thought I could smell her – never mind." He opened the door to the cottage. "Nothing looks like it's been disturbed but I want fresh eyes on it. Maybe you can see something I've missed."
It was a good thing that Remus had turned his back. Harry'd realized with a jolt of horror that Remus had not exaggerated his sense of smell. He put both hands behind his back, and silently cast another freshening charm. Hoping that would go unnoticed – I could tell him I was just at the Burrow – Harry followed Remus into the cottage. When Remus did not make another comment, but instead showed him around the cottage, Harry relaxed a few degrees and focused all his attention on the task at hand.
"Here, stand right here," Remus told him, maneuvering Harry into the corner of his small living room. All the hair on the back of Harry's neck immediately stood up. He rubbed at it, careful to use his left hand.
"That's—"
"Makes you feel like you're being watched, doesn't it?" Remus asked with almost manic triumph. Then he slumped forward. "I tried Revelio, but nothing turned up. I just know something's there. I know someone's watching me – I've known it for days."
"And now it's here inside your house," Harry said slowly.
"Yes," Remus said in a whisper.
There was one trick Harry could try. Whoever had done this might have made whatever they did in here impervious to being revealed with the most common charm. But Harry'd been given private instruction by Dumbledore himself during the long years it took to seek out Voldemort's horcruxes and destroy them. Harry knelt on the ground, drew up all of his focus, and said: "Vestigium."
Immediately, the room began to glow with the memory of magic performed here. It was especially bright around the lamps… the sofa… the ice-box. Even a cupboard. But Harry was not paying attention to that. In the space where the ceiling met the corner of two walls, a tiny light shone. Grim, Harry ended the spell. A Supersensory Charm had been deliberately placed here. In Remus's cottage. It ought to have been Remus's private space.
When Remus opened his mouth to speak – he wouldn't have been able to see anything that Harry had, he'd not cast the spell, after all – Harry put a finger to his lips. They'd already told whoever was listening and watching enough. He made several decisions very quickly. "Muffliato," he muttered, remembering. "Sorry, Remus. We can't trust even this. You should come to…" He cut himself off. "You know. Padfoot's old digs." Remus's eyes widened. "…pack your stuff… it'll be safe there while we – figure this out."
As Remus rushed to do that, Harry allowed himself a moment of regret. Grimmauld Place, where he'd been hoping to take Ginny. He might've been able to smuggle her past Ron and Hermione, but if Remus could catch her scent on him… Impossible.
She'll understand why you have to help, Harry reminded himself. When Remus hurried past him with two stuffed rucksacks, the regret was almost gone. A cupboard was opened—
"Wait," Harry said. That exact cupboard had lit up much more strongly than any of the others. "What is it you keep up there?"
Remus pulled down the bottle of Wolfsbane potion and showed it to him, a question in his eyes.
"The spell I used shows stuff that's been charmed," Harry explained. "Do you have to use magic on it to get it to work properly?" His stomach sank when Remus shook his head. Wordless, Harry walked over to the bottle.
"Wait, Harry, that's – it's very dear to buy this potion—"
Harry poured out a few drops of clear liquid onto his palm. For a brief moment, he hoped Remus would tell him it was meant to look like water, but his old friend's face slowly filled with a broken sort of horror. He plucked the bottle from Harry's hands. "It keeps me safe," he said in a whisper. "It's the only thing that – usually – works."
"I know," Harry said. Anger jabbed him and he fought the urge to make a rude gesture at the Supersensory Charm. "We're going to figure this out." He clasped Remus on the shoulder. As soon as it was safe to speak – as soon as they were ensconced at Grimmauld Place – Harry would tell him that Molly was working on creating her own batch of Wolfsbane Potion.
"Harry, I… thank you."
"Friends, remember?" Harry gave Remus's shoulder a little shake. "Let's go."
HPHPHPHPHPHPHP
Author's Note: Hi! How are you?
I realize the "spring penis" wasn't clear enough in the last chapter. The way I saw it was that Stan's penis itself wasn't coiled. The head of his penis was normal, but his shaft was kind of like a flesh-colored slinky that 1) was still sensitive, though had slightly more give than a normal one, and 2) made the slinky sound when he had sex. I asked on the discord what would be a funny (though slightly tragic) thing to do to Stan that would make him a target for the bullies in his life. This was one of the first suggestions, and I ran with it. I know what your next questions will be, and 1) yes, of course the slinky shape provided extra ribbing, and 2) I'm not answering that, you pervs! (Just kidding – I like you best – PM me if you want the answer.
Sorry again for misnumbering the last chapter.
HinnyFTW, if you made a true account here, I could PM you the answer to your questions! Thank you to everyone who consistently, or not so consistently, leaves me a review. This story is honestly very fun to write, especially the chapters that are more like episodes, because it's always a challenge to both introduce and solve a case in one chapter. It's a nice stretch.