Chapter 26 – Blessed Curses
"Stay with us, mate," Dean coached as Seamus drifted in and out of consciousness. "We're almost there!" He and Ron had Apparated to the Hogwarts gates from the demolished pub in Antrim.
Ron sent his Patronus to Hagrid, begging him to come quickly and open the gates. "Hagrid's coming, see? Hang on!"
"Fi…ona," Seamus moaned as his head lolled around on his shoulders. "Sleep now."
"No, Seamus. Don't go to sleep! Stay with me," Dean cried, tears filling his dark brown eyes. "Fiona's coming too!" Dean looked up at Ron with a questioning gaze. "Who or what is Fiona?"
"My cousin," Ron replied. "He likes her."
Rubeus Hagrid moved as fast as a man his size could move, a ring of keys clutched in his dustbin lid-sized hand. "Woss 'appened to Seamus, Ron," the half-Giant asked, unlocking the great iron gates.
"Rally…" Ron huffed as he and Dean pulled Seamus through the gates. "Fight."
"'Ere now, lemme tak 'im," Hagrid said in his gravelly voice. "Yer two look like yer about ta pass out yersels." Hagrid lifted a still-bleeding Seamus into his massive arms and sped off toward the castle. "Tak' yer time. Ye've done yer bit."
Ron and Dean bent over with their hands on their knees, sucking great gulps of air into their lungs. Their backs ached from the fight and they had all they good do to remain upright. Ron shook his shaggy red head, his ponytail having long-since fallen from its leather thong. "Reckon we should head up, then?"
"Yeah," Dean panted, standing up with a groan to straighten his back. "Let's go." The only time Dean Thomas could remember being this scared was the night he and the Trio were picked up by Fenrir Greyback and a few of Voldemort's Snatchers and taken to Malfoy Manor. That night, he feared for his own life, but tonight, he feared for his best mate's. Please let him make it.
For his part, Ron was grateful Hermione wasn't there. She had agreed that she should stay home with Ginny, admitting later on that she didn't really want to be there because she knew in her heart-of-hearts that something was going to happen and she'd have been a distraction for Seamus and Dean and ultimately, for him and Harry. My beautiful Hermione might have been killed tonight. When the full impact of what happened in that Antrim pub hit him, he stumbled and nearly fell to his knees.
"You all right, Ron," Dean asked with concern. "Should I call for help?"
"No," Ron replied, choking back a sob. "I was just thinking about Hermione and what…what might've happened if she had been with you."
"Wasn't going to happen, mate," Dean said, clapping the larger man on the back. "We told her at the meeting at the Broomsticks that she wasn't going to be there. She didn't argue."
"She didn't argue with me either," Ron replied as they pushed through the doors into the castle. "She was actually relieved when you and Seamus told her you weren't going to let her go."
"Like there was ever a question. That place was no place for witch like her," Dean chuckled. "She's far above a place like that."
"Thanks, Dean. I think so, too," Ron said sincerely, squeezing his companion's shoulder. "Let's get upstairs, yeah?"
Hagrid burst through the hospital wing doors, bellowing at the top of his voice. "Poppy! Fiona! Come quick! 'E's bleedin' out!"
Poppy Pomfrey rushed from her office with Fiona on her heels. "Hagrid, what's going on? Oh dear," she cried. "Fiona, blood replenishing potions, clean bandages, and the purple ointment. Quickly!"
"Yes ma'am!" Fiona raced to the cabinet as fast as she could, grabbing the items the matron asked for. "What can I do?"
"You can pour three vials of that BRP down his throat and then help me stop the bleeding," Poppy said breathlessly. "Stay with me, Mr Finnegan. You're going to be fine if I have anything to say about it!"
Finnegan? Seamus? Fiona's mind began to race and her heart to pound. "Great Merlin and Maeve, what happened to you," she cried, watching his ashen face and trying to clean the wounds so Poppy could heal them. "Stay with us, Seamus. Talk to me!"
"Another vial, Fiona. Quickly," Poppy ordered between muttered spells.
"Fi…Fiona," Seamus moaned. "Is that…you…me darlin'…girl?"
Fiona couldn't help but smile, even though she knew he was out of his head due to the blood loss. "It's me," she said. "Come on, I need ya ta take this here potion to replace the blood ya lost." She raised his head gently and lifted another vial to his lips.
"Hagrid, please find Professors Flitwick and Slughorn. I'm going to need some help with these cuts and we're going to need more BRP and some heavy restoratives," Poppy ordered.
"Righ' away, Madame Pomfrey," Hagrid said. "Ron Weasley and Dean Thomas should be along soon. They're gonna need a kip."
"Fine, fine," Poppy said absently. "Go!"
Hagrid left the ward and shot through the doors. At first, he couldn't decide who to go to first, but then thought that potions might be more important, so he made his way to the stairs that led to the dungeons.
"Fiona, as soon as I close a wound, you need to slather that ointment over the incision, understand," the matron said. "It smells awful, but it does the job."
"Yes, ma'am. I worked with it a little at St Mungo's with Jason," Fiona said, still stealing glances at Seamus' face. "How ya doin', there, Auror?"
Seamus groaned and tried to smile. "Enjoyin'…the…scenery," he said weakly.
"Mr Finnegan, now is not the time to flirt," Poppy huffed, secretly pleased that he was at least joking a little bit. It was a good sign that he'd pull through. "However, it is time to do as you're told. Fiona, another vial!"
Fiona reached over to the side table and picked up another vial of the clear red liquid. "Bottoms up," she said brightly and lifted his head again so he could drink it. As soon as she was sure he'd swallowed it all, she laid his head back on the pillow.
"God-awful stuff," he moaned. "Ah!" He hissed in a breath when the nurse touched a particularly tender spot on his chest. The adrenaline had begun to leave his system and he was now fully aware of his injuries.
"I'm very sorry, Mr Finnegan, but this one's rather deep. And where did this bruise come from," she asked.
"A ruddy chandelier fell on him," Dean's voice replied from across the ward. "The bastards cut him to ribbons and then dropped a damned chandelier on him!"
"Mr Thomas! Mr Weasley! Bed! Now," the matron ordered. The two exhausted crime-fighters were all too eager to obey, not because Madame Pomfrey put the fear of Merlin into them, but because they were about ready to drop. They chose beds on either side of their wounded comrade and dropped themselves onto them.
"Will he make it," Dean asked quietly.
"If we can stop the bleeding, yes, Mr Thomas. He'll make it," Poppy answered.
Professor Flitwick sat in his favourite easy chair in his quarters, sipping a glass of Madame Rosmerta's best Gillywater when he heard a commotion from outside the door. He leapt down from the chair and tottered to the door. "What on earth—"
"Perfesser Flitwick, come quick ter the 'osptial wing. Madame Pomfrey needs yer straightaway," Hagrid growled urgently.
"I'll be right there," the Charms professor promised, tossing off his smoking jacket in favour of his professor's robes. He wondered what might have happened to cause Poppy to send for him. He tossed a bit of Floo Powder into his fireplace and called "Hospital Wing." He stepped in and disappeared with a whoosh of green flame.
Horace Slughorn shouldered his portable potions lab he kept in a charmed knapsack and rushed through the Floo to the hospital wing where he found Madame Pomfrey and Miss Prewett working feverishly over a patient. The sheets were stained deep crimson and the nurses were covered with blood up to their elbows. "What's going on," he asked, his face full of fear.
"Sectumsempra curse, Horace," Poppy replied. "I'll need more BRP and some restoratives."
"Dear me," he said, setting up his equipment on a vacant side-table. "Engorgio," he muttered, and the table quadrupled in size. "Ah, that's more like it. Now, blood-replenishing potion first, then." The Potions Master set to work, expertly brewing enough for ten wizards.
A few minutes later, Flitwick arrived and scurried over to Seamus' beside. "What can I do to help, ladies," he asked.
"We need an extra wand here, Filius," Poppy said. "This boy—this man—has been cut to ribbons with Severus' damnable cutting curse!"
Flitwick transfigured a chair into a tall stool he could stand on so he could see over Seamus' body. "Oh dear, dear, dear, Mr Finnegan," he squeaked. "You have done it this time, haven't you?" The tiny wizard set to healing cuts while Fiona smeared the foul-smelling ointment over them in his wake.
Two mages could heal wounds faster than one, and since Fiona pushed blood-replenishing potions between smearings, Seamus began to breathe easier and his colour improved markedly. A half-hour later, the three stepped back and breathed collective sighs of relief. "Horace, how are we coming with that first restorative?"
"It'll be finished in about twenty minutes, Poppy," he replied, handing her several vials of blood-replenishing potion. "Judging from the amount of blood he's lost, I thought I should brew the BRP first."
"Good thinking, Horace," Flitwick agreed. "Our Mr Finnegan's not out of the woods yet."
"No and he's going to need a round-the-clock watch, tonight," Poppy said gravely.
"I'll stay with him," Dean offered. "I've got nothing going on at home right now."
"Mr Thomas, are you sure," the matron asked. "It's going to be a long night."
"I'll spell 'im halfway through," Fiona offered. "That way nobody's up all night."
"Fine, then. I'll take first watch. Mr Thomas, I'll wake you for the second, and Fiona can take the third. Is that all right with you," Poppy asked. Dean and Fiona nodded. "Right then. Mr Thomas, to your bed; Fiona to your quarters. Mr Thomas can Floo you when it's your turn."
"Yes ma'am."
"Fiona," Ron called from his bed.
"Yeah, Ronnie," she answered. "Whattaya need, honey?"
"Could you Floo the Burrow and let Mum, Dad, and Hermione know we're all right? I think Harry's already contacted Ginny, but we might want to let them know anyway," he said.
"Sure," Fiona said. "I'll let 'em know as soon as I get to my quarters."
"Thanks, Onie—you're the best," Ron smiled and promptly dropped off to sleep.
"All right, Mr Thomas," Fiona fussed. "You need to crawl in too. Yer shift's comin' up in four hours."
"You'll have no argument from me," he yawned. "Thanks for looking after my mate over there."
"Now you jus' never mind," she whispered, patting his foot. "I was doin' my job is all. Good night." Fiona blew out the flame of his bedside lamp and then helped Poppy finish cleaning Seamus up and to change his linens. Dean turned over in his bed and drifted off to sleep, secure in the knowledge that his best friend would be there when he awoke.
It seemed as though Fiona had just lain down when she was awakened by a voice in the Floo. "Miss Fiona," the voice called. "It's your shift."
"All…all right, Mr Thomas," she replied with a stretch and a groan. "How's he doin' so far?"
"He's still sleeping," Dean said. "Madame Pomfrey says he should sleep for a few more hours yet."
"Good. I'll be right down." Fiona swung her legs over the side of the bed and headed into the loo for a quick shower and a change of scrubs. She hadn't even bothered to put on nightclothes, she was so tired. Throwing her ever-present rucksack over her shoulder, she whistled for Mr Deeds who hooted and left his perch to fly out the door and lead the way to the hospital wing.
As soon as she arrived in the hospital wing, she removed her rucksack and set it down in the corner by the office. She opened it and withdrew her wand. Ron lay on his belly with his arms tucked under his pillow, fast asleep, snoring softly. Dean had returned to his seat on Seamus' left after waking Fiona. "He's asleep, but he mumbled something that sounded like your name," Dean told her.
"He's liable ta say just about anything in his state," Fiona replied, waving her wand the length of Seamus' body. "We gave him Dreamless Sleep Potion, but that was almost nine hours ago, so it's just about time for 'im to start comin' to."
"Madame Pomfrey says he's healing, but awfully slowly," Dean reported, a little worried.
"He's got some nasty curse wounds, Mr Thomas—"
"Dean. It's Dean," the younger man insisted.
"All right. Dean. As I was sayin', he's got some nasty curse wounds. I ain't never seen anything like 'em 'til I visited that seventh-year at St Mungo's. Until then, I'd never even heard of Sectumsempra, let alone ever tried to heal it."
"It was really popular with Vol…Vol…Voldemort's Death Eaters. In fact, one of our old professors invented it when he was a student here," Dean told her. "Harry discovered it our sixth year. Almost killed Draco Malfoy with it because he didn't know what it would do."
"Harry? As in Harry Potter," Fiona asked, aghast.
"Yeah. He found it in an old Potions book that used to belong to Professor Snape," Dean said. "Ron, Hermione, and Ginny finally talked him into getting rid of the book. I don't know what he did with it, but it's gone."
"Good riddance," Fiona said, finishing her scan. "Now you go back to bed for a few hours. Breakfast—well, you know when breakfast is served, don't you?"
"Yeah. I do," Dean chuckled. "After seven years here, I ought to. Well, goodnight, then."
"Sleep tight," Fiona said. As soon as Dean tucked back in, she cast a silencing charm around his bed so as not to disturb him in case Seamus woke up in pain. "As for you, Auror Finnegan—you jus' stay in La-La Land for a bit longer so you can heal." She walked back to her rucksack and removed a miniaturised Mokey. I might as well play a bit.
Fiona worked through a few mountain songs and a couple of hymns in between thoughts about what had happened to Seamus and why. It sounded to her like a lot of the stories her mother told her and Taya about freedom-fighters in Ireland's storied history and the struggles they endured in the name of independent home-rule.
Those stories reminded her of other stories Granny Tyree told her about the American Revolution and even the War-Between-the-States. "T'weren't nothin' civil about that war, girls! War ain't civil a'tall! It's bloody business 'n' ain't fit fer human bein's." An old song about the Easter Uprising in Dublin in 1916 came to mind—one that her mother used to sing as a lullabye. Adjusting her capo, she began to play.
As down the glen one Easter morn to a city fair rode I;
There armed lines of marching men in squadrons passed me by.
No pipe did hum, no battle drum did sound its loud tattoo,
But the Angelus Bell o'er the Liffey's swell rang out through the foggy dew.
'Twas England bade our wild geese go, that "small nations might be free;"
Their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves or the fringe of the great North Sea.
Oh, had they died by Pearse's side or fought with Cathal Brugha,
Their graves we'd keep where the Fenians sleep, 'neath the shroud of the foggy dew.
Right proudly high over Dublin Town they hung out the flag of war;
'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky than at Suvla or Sud-El-Bar.
And from the plains of Royal Meath, strong men came hurrying through.
While Britannia's Huns, with their great-big guns sailed in through the foggy dew.
Oh the night fell black, and the rifles' crack made perfidious Albion reel
In the leaden rain, seven tongues of flame did shine o'er the lines of steel!
By each shining blade a prayer was said, that to Ireland her sons be true,
But when morning broke, still the war flag shook out its folds in the foggy dew!
Oh the bravest fell, and the Requiem bell rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Eastertide in the spring time of the year;
And the world did gaze, in deep amaze, at those fearless men, but few,
Who bore the fight that freedom's light might shine through the foggy dew.
As back through the glen I rode again and my heart with grief was sore,
For I parted then with valiant men whom I never shall see more.
But to and fro in my dreams I go and I kneel and pray for you:
For slavery fled, O glorious dead, when you fell in the foggy dew.
"Am I dead, then," a weak voice said, startling Fiona from her reverie. "I could swear I'm hearin' angels."
Fiona's eyes grew wide as she looked into the face of a pale, but grinning, Seamus Finnegan. "You're awake, Auror Finnegan."
"Then I'm still among the livin," he asked.
"I'm afraid so," Fiona said. She couldn't help but smile. "Ya did give us a scare, though. You almost bled out on us. If it wasn't fer Ron and Dean…"
"Ach, nothin' doin', darlin'," Seamus said. "Just a few scratches."
"Scratches, my left food," Fiona said, putting Mokey in his case and shrinking him down. "You were cut to ribbons, not to mention the fractured ribs." She placed the guitar back into her rucksack and drew her wand again.
"Ruddy damned chandelier," Seamus said with a chuckle. He then began to cough. "I forgot not to laugh."
"Don't laugh, Auror—"
"Seamus. Me name's Seamus, Love," he said. "So do I have a lovely Fenian lookin' after me, then?"
"Not me, but my momma's granddaddy was a Fenian," Fiona said. "She told me he got in a few scrapes with the Tommies."
"Ya better watch that word around here, Love," Seamus warned with a twinkle in his blue eyes.
She chose to ignore the warning and stick to business, summoning a basin, flannel, towel, clean bandages and the jar of purple ointment. "It's time to wash you up 'n' change yer dressin's. Can ya sit up or do ya need me to help ya?"
"I could use a hand, if ya don't mind," Seamus said, trying to raise himself up. "I'm a bit stiff."
"I'm sure," Fiona said with a private smile. "All right. Let's unbutton your shirt and then we'll setcha up so we can take it off ya. Ready? Up!"
Fiona released the button of Seamus' pyjama shirt and then braced him behind his shoulders and helped him sit up. "I've never been undressed by a beautiful Fenian before," Seamus flirted. "I think I could get used to it."
"I'm glad you're havin' such a good time," Fiona smiled. "Let's see how ya handle the beautiful Fenian givin' ya a bath." As she slid the pyjama shirt off him, she sucked in a breath. His muscled chest was covered with bruises. His entire upper torso was wrapped in linen bandages, some showing evidence of oozing. The pressure bandage on his stomach was half-soaked.
"Somethin' wrong, Love," Seamus asked. "Ya look like ye've heard a Banshee cry."
"I…I'm fine. It's just—"
"Ya've never seen anything like this before," he asked again. "It's all right, darlin'. Ya gotta find out some day, 'n' if yer gonna be healin' Aurors, ye're gonna see a lot of it. Now how 'bout that bath?"
I'd love to do more than bathe you. Merlin, you're gorgeous. "Oh, yeah. Here, let's get these old bandages off." Fiona set to carefully cutting the wraps and removing them from the wounds. She blinked back a few tears the moment she saw the extent of his injuries. She hadn't given it much thought the night before, as she and Poppy were too busy staunching the flow of blood to pay much attention to the cosmetic appearance. "Um…I'll take care of everything above the waist and let you take care of the rest if ye're able."
"We'll have to see." Seamus would have liked nothing better than to allow this beautiful redhead to take care of the rest, but if any of his private fantasies had a prayer of becoming reality, he'd have to put off the ladies' man and put on the gentleman. "We won't know until we try."
"Fair enough," she replied. "Now I'm going to let you wash your face first, then I'll do your arms, chest, back, and belly." She handed him the soapy flannel so he could wash his face. There was still a bit of dust in his hair and on his face and neck. "When we're done, I'll see what I can do with your dusty head. What is it with you Aurors and hair?"
Seamus washed his face and neck and then handed her the flannel, so she could rinse the soap off it. He wiped the soap off and held his hand out for the towel, which she gave him. "Harry started that, actually. Ginny wouldn't let him cut his hair after the war, and so it sort of snowballed from there. Even Boot and Goldstein have deserted their barbers."
"I like it," Fiona said, before she could catch herself. "I mean…um…it's… Oh hell. It looks good on ya."
YES! "It looks all right on me," Seamus asked, surprised. "Honest?"
"Oh yeah. I like long hair on a man. Always did," Fiona said. "It's quite popular back home. The Carver boys are famous for it. Jackie wears his like Willie Nelson—two braids and a bandanna around his head." She took the towel from Seamus and began to gingerly wash his chest. As she passed over a particularly nasty gash over his sternum, he let out a hiss. "Oh Seamus. I'm so sorry, I—"
"S'arright, darlin'," he said wincing. "Goes with the territory. I'm all right. Go on. Who's Willie Nelson?"
"He's an American country singer," Fiona said. "I love Muggle country music. Hell, I love Muggle everything music, pretty much—'cept rap 'n' hip-hop. It sounds like fartin' to a beat. Gives me a headache."
Seamus began to chuckle and then cough. "Oh, don't make me laugh. Dean listens ta that stuff—bloody annoyin'." He coughed a few more times and then settled when Fiona gave him a sip of water.
"Okay now," she asked. "Sorry about that."
"It's nothin', Love. So where'd ya learn The Foggy Dew," Seamus asked, enjoying Fiona's ministrations. "It's one of me da's favourites."
"My momma used to sing it as a lullabye," she replied, still washing his chest. "I think it's more about the melody, though, because the words ain't nothin' remotely lullabye-ish."
"It's about an uprisin' that got a lot o' good men killed," Seamus said.
"Yeah, I know. Momma said her granddaddy was there, but managed to escape before he got arrested when it was all over," Fiona said. "She heard all the stories. It wasn't pretty."
"No, it wasn't. But—ow," Seamus cried. "That bloody hurt!"
"Sorry," she winced. "It's this really ugly one on yer belly. Hang on," she said apologetically, pulling her wand. "I need to see if I can seal this again." Concentrating as closely as she could, she moved her wand slowly over the oozing slice. "Good grief! If I ever get my hands on that Snape guy, I'll rip his cajones off!"
I need to requisition a wrist-holster for this woman. "Ya won't, Love," Seamus said through his teeth. "He's dead. Voldemort killed 'im in the war."
"Good. Why ain't this one o' them Unforgivables," Fiona fumed. "Damnation!"
"Makes ya wonder, doesn't it," Seamus agreed. "It cuts through things better than Diffindo, though."
"Yeah 'n' the AK is good for slaughterin' beef cattle, but folks got no business cuttin' each other up like this! You could-a…could-a…" She wiped a few rogue tears on her sleeve. "I'm…I'm sorry. I don't know what's the matter with me. I don't usually…get all worked up like this."
"It's all right, Love," he said, taking her hand. "With what's been goin' on this past month, it's amazin' ya haven't gone ta pieces before now."
"I ain't goin' ta pieces," she countered. "I just never seen so much violence and hatred, Seamus. What's goin' on with folks these days? Wasn't that war enough for 'em," she asked, tears streaming down her face as she worked. "Here, do yer family jewels and lemme know when ye're ready to rinse." She handed him the freshly-soaped flannel so he could finish the job and then turned around to give him some privacy.
A few minutes later, Seamus was ready for a rinse. She laid the towel next to him so he could dry himself. "Fiona, do ya think ya could help me ta the loo?"
"Uh…okay. Just put your arm around my shoulders and we'll go one step at a time, okay," she replied. "Ready?"
"Ready," he confirmed. She helped him swing his pyjama-clad legs over the side of the bed and then supported him as he stood on shaking legs.
"You all right," she asked. "Ye're a bit wobbly and lookin' a little peak-ed."
"Yeah," he groaned. "But I've got a beautiful Healer by my side. What more could a lad ask for?"
"Flirt," she said, blushing scarlet.
"I'm not flirtin'; I'm serious. What about that date," he asked.
"Seamus, ye're in no shape ta be talkin' about datin'," Fiona said, blushing furiously. "Ya got a lot o' healin' ta do."
"I'm ready ta go dancin', Love. I know a great pub in Dublin that has live band jams and a bit o' dancin' on Saturday nights," Seamus insisted. "But first I need the loo!" They shared a quiet laugh as Fiona helped the wounded Auror to the loo.
"Think ye'll be all right in there," Fiona asked, a little concerned about his pallor. "I could wake Dean or Ron—"
"Nah, let 'em sleep. They had a rough go of it. I'm fine," Seamus assured her. "There's stuff ta hold on to."
"If ya have any trouble—"
"I'm good, Love," Seamus chuckled, but didn't cough. "I'll be out in a few minutes."
"I'll be countin' the seconds," Fiona smirked.
"Now who's flirtin'," Seamus smiled, closing the door.
"Fiona, girl, that is one good-lookin' man, and ye're a downright fool if you let that go," a facsimile ofGranny's voice sounded in her mind.
"But can I trust him?"
"He ain't that dad-gum big-talkin' horse's patoot ya just got rid of. He's a good man, this Irishman. He's got a thing fer you, girl," Granny's voice argued.
"Harry says he's a ladies' man."
"Didn't sound like a ladies' man, though, did 'e? Nope, this is the real deal, Onie-girl, and ya need ta latch onto 'im 'fore he gits away," Granny's voice reaffirmed.
She was just about to form another mental counterpoint when she heard the lock turn behind her. "Everything come out all right," she asked with a smirk. If he can flirt, so can I.
"Good as gold," he quipped, reaching for her arm. "Shall we take a walk, then?"
"I thoughtcha were ready ta go dancin'," Fiona replied.
"I am, but not 'til next week," he said with a series of winces. "Need me rest."
"That ya do, but next Saturday is Ronnie's and Hermione's Stag 'n' Hen night," Fiona reminded him. "Ya won't be doin' any dancin' 'til the weddin', honey."
"Ifreann na Fola! I ruddy forgot about that," Seamus said, dropping onto his bed.
"How's that? You freed a what," Fiona asked with raised eyebrows.
"Ifreann na Fola," Seamus gasped. "It means bloody hell."
"All right, super-Auror," Fiona said resolutely. "Back into bed with ya. Dinky!"
Pop! "Yes, Miss Fiona," the diminutive House elf replied with a curtsy.
"Dinky, darlin', could you bring some breakfast to our heroes? Mr Thomas and Mr Weasley can have anything you bring, but Mr Finnegan here is limited to broth, jello—er, jelly—clear juice, water, and plain tea. Understand?"
"What," Seamus exclaimed. "I'm healin'! I need me meals!"
"Nothing heavy yet, Seamus Finnegan. Ye've got a belly wound. No sense gobblin' like a hawg if ye're gonna heave it all up again," Fiona argued. "Now just lay back 'n' hush. If ye're a good boy, I might let you have an ice at supper-time."
"And I thoughtcha were an angel. Ye're the divvil in disguise, ya are," Seamus huffed, wincing as he tried to cross his arms over his chest.
Fiona sent Dinky on her way and then returned to Seamus' bedside. "Aw, now ye're not gonna hold a little broth 'n' juice against me, are ya," she said, batting her long lashes. "Ye'll thank me for it later, I promise."
Seamus took her soft hand in his and rubbed the back of it with his thumb. "I s'pose I'll survive it. Now, about that date, Miss Prewett…"
"Fine. Okay. I'll go, but it'll have to be after Christmas," Fiona said with a grin.
"New Year's Eve then," he said. "They're havin' a party at McGourthy's. Ya might wanna bring that guitar o' yers, too."
"I thoughtcha said we were goin' dancin', not singin'," Fiona said in mock-suspicion.
"Singin' and dancin' go hand-in-hand where I come from," Seamus replied. "Don't ya's do that in America?"
"Of course they do that in America," a new voice called from the centre of the ward.
"Hermione! What brings you to Hogwarts—oh. Duh," Fiona laughed. "He's still out, but Dinky's bringin' breakfast in a few minutes, so I'm sure he'll wake up—"
"Breakfast," a sleepy voice said. "Did someone say breakfast?"
"RON! Oh Ron, are you—" Hermione cried. "Harry said you were okay, but I had to come and see for myself when you didn't come home!"
Pop! Dinky arrived balancing three trays in her hands and on her head. "Dinky is bringing breakfast for the Aurors, now. Auror Finny'll be taking his time, sir. Auror Finny is not to eat too fast," she said authoritatively.
Dinky had been assigned to the hospital wing to help out any way she could, as she was too small to work in the kitchens or do much cleaning around the castle. She was quite helpful, fetching potions and bandages whenever Fiona or Madame Pomfrey needed them, and was responsible for bringing meals to in-patients. She watched and listened carefully when the Healers took care of their patients and learned a bit about healing herself.
"Here, Dinky, let me take that tray for you," Hermione suggested, taking the heavily-laden tray from her head. "I assume this one's for my fiancé?"
"Yes, Miss Grangey," Dinky replied. "It is for Auror Wheezy, sir. Dinky is waking Mr Thomas, sir, now." Dinky held the last tray in both hands and hopped up onto Dean's bed. "Mr Thomas, sir. Dinky is bringing you breakfast. Needing to eat, sir."
Dean stirred and then rolled over to find the tiniest House-elf he'd ever seen standing on the foot of his bed. "Uh…thanks…erm…"
"Dinky, sir. They is calling me Dinky because of Dinky's size, sir," she said in a squeaky voice.
"Right. Dinky. Thanks," Dean said.
"Sir is most welcome," Dinky said. She hopped down and padded to the office and went inside.
"She. Is. Adorable," Hermione said, preparing to feed Ron his breakfast.
"'Mione, I'm all right. I can—" Ron protested weakly.
"I know, Love, but…just humour me, okay? I missed you last night," she argued with a blush. "Open wide."
"Bloody hell," Ron grumbled, but allowed her to feed him. "I feel like a two-year-old."
"Mm, but you don't look like one," Hermione said, feeding him a bit of sausage. She leaned in to his ear and flicked her tongue at it. "And you sure don't shag like one either."
Fiona picked up the bowl of chicken broth and sat down beside Seamus on the bed. "Hungry, Finny?"
Oh I'm hungry all right, but not for that soup. "Go on, then." Seamus opened his mouth so Fiona could spoon some of the broth into it.
"Good boy," Fiona cooed. Her stomach flipped, leaving a warm feeling pooling in her belly. I never thought feeding a man some soup could be so…wow. "Is it settin' good on yer stomach?"
"So far, so good. I got good warm broth and a lovely Fenian face ta go with it," Seamus said softly, looking into her sky-blue eyes. "I could get used ta this." Eat your heart out, Watson, you git.
"Ye're flirtin' again," Fiona said with a soft smile. "I could get used to that, too."
Seamus took the spoon from Fiona's right hand and placed it inside the bowl. Taking her now-free hand in his, he raised it to his lips and kissed it gently. A chill ran down the redhead's spine, raising goose-flesh all over her body. "There's more where that came from, Love."
Her gaze locked with his. She couldn't bring herself to look away. Seamus pressed his lips to her hand once again, taking her breath away, but never breaking his gaze. His eyes searched hers almost desperately.
Ron and Hermione stopped what they were doing when the room went quiet. Dean stared on in disbelief at his friend and the Apprentice Healer, who appeared to be engaged in a silent conversation.
"He's flirting with my cousin," Ron hissed. "I'm not going to let him—"
"Leave it, Ronald. He's looking at her like you look at me and like Harry looks at Ginny," Hermione said, running the back of her index finger along his jaw line.
"How can he…but they just…she's—" Ron sputtered.
"It doesn't matter, Ron. They're falling in love," Hermione smiled broadly. "Molly's going to be thrilled!"
"But…they hardly know each other," Ron argued. "He just dumped Lavender!"
"Ronald, just leave it. She's a grown woman and fully-qualified witch," Hermione argued. "She can take care of herself."
"But 'Mione—"
"Leave it, Ron. She needs someone and Seamus is really a good man. You trusted him with me," she insisted.
"That's different. Your heart wasn't on the line," Ron said.
"No, but my life was," she reminded him. "I mean, look at them. He's looking at her the same way you look at me. Only love can do that."
Ron watched his cousin and comrade-in-arms for a few moments. He had to admit that his American cousin appeared completely at ease with the scrappy Irishman. Still, he'd known and been friends with Hermione for seven years before they got together and Harry had known and been friends with Ginny for four, initially, but Seamus and Fiona had met just three short months ago. He couldn't help but harbour some degree of concern for his somewhat-vulnerable American cousin.
"Well, I guess…he just better be good to her."
"He will be. Now finish your breakfast so we can go home. Your mum's worried sick," she said, kissing him on the nose.
Monday morning found Ginny at home at Ionúin Bhaille with her mother. Harry and left for work, meeting up with Ron at the office. She and Molly hadn't had a chance to chat alone in a very long time, what with so many people in and out of the Burrow all the time. She had baked a batch of Harry now-favourite chocolate chip cookies, making sure to set aside a dozen just for him.
"Mum, relax. You put up your best against a load of amateurs," Ginny told her mother, serving her a cup of tea in her brand-new kitchen.
"But Ginny, some of those recipes are new ones," Molly worried. "They're dishes from Thanksgiving."
"Exactly, and they were wonderful. Besides, you included two of Harry's favourites. You can't lose," Ginny said, sitting across from Molly.
"I wish I could be as confident as you, dear," the older witch sighed, sipping her tea. "Ginny, this china is lovely. You let Harry spend entirely too much gold."
"Mum, when Harry decides he's going to spend, he spends, and no amount of arguing's going to stop him. I talked him out of a load of Muggle appliances, so I had to let him have his fun with the furnishings and such," Ginny laughed. "He really does love to shop."
"You father hates it," Molly giggled intimately. "He only went along to buy your school things because it gave him a chance to socialize outside the Ministry. And then once Harry came along, well, it was like having another son to guide."
"Dad's been good for Harry, too, Mum," Ginny confessed. "He told me once that at the very moments in his life when he needed the advice only a father could give, Dad was there for him. Harry really loves him."
"That dear, sweet boy. It breaks my heart to think of the horrors he's had to endure in his life. But Ginny, you've been the light in his darkness. You and Ronnie and Hermione saved his life. I shudder to think what he might have turned out like if not for your love and friendship," Molly sniffled.
"We've all saved each other at some point, Mum," Ginny said. "We would never have survived the war if we didn't have Harry and Harry couldn't have done what he had to do without us."
"That's what binds us together as a family, Ginny. When you have children, you'll understand better," Molly assured her. "Now—what have you planned for Hermione's party?"
"I was thinking about having a theme-party. Harry's taking the Troglodytes to the Black Dragon. He and Sam have something cooked up, but what it is, is a mystery. He won't say."
"Troglodytes? What in the name of Merlin's knobbly knee-caps is a troglodyte?"
"A cave-man—a Neanderthal," Ginny giggled. "Hermione called the stags that when they crashed our hen party at Shell Cottage. Harry, the git, threw three of George's Stun-bombs through the Floo and knocked us all out for a few minutes. We were all pissed out of our minds, including Hermione."
Molly worried about her boys with their Weasley temperament. Alcohol might intensify that trait and cause her boys to become dangerous. She worried mostly about Charlie and Ron, but with Bill's new wolfish traits, anything was possible. "How was Ron that night?"
"Pretty mellow, actually, Mum. When Hermione fell into his lap, he just wrapped his big arms around her and snuggled into her neck," Ginny assured her mother. "The others were too busy trying hold one another up to do anything else. Charlie and Neville were hysterical."
"Are they meeting here or at the restaurant?"
"They're going to meet at the restaurant. I'll have the hens here," Ginny sighed. "What Hermione did for mine was brilliant, but she's not about Quidditch or carousing. I think the lingerie thing might be fun. Just ask the guests to bring something…pretty and lacy…as gifts."
"Where would we find something like that? Madame Malkin doesn't sell that sort of thing," Molly observed.
"Mum, there's a Muggle shop in London called Victoria's Secret, and from what I've seen, Victoria's secret is out," Ginny giggled.
"Ginny!"
"They have the prettiest things, Mum. Knickers and bras that match in all kinds of colours, teddies, negligees, peignoirs—Fleur says Bill loves hers!"
"And Harry?"
"Mum!"
"Well?"
"Okay, okay. Let's just say I rarely have any of it on long enough to really know for sure," Ginny told her mother point-blank. For the second time in history, the great and powerful Molly Weasley was struck dumb, her face red with embarrassment. "He's a red-blooded British wizard, Mum."
"Oh poor Hermione," Molly groaned. "If Ronnie's anything like your father, she's in for it."
The image her mind conjured up of Molly Weasley dressed in a lacy teddy gave Ginny pause to consider never having children, but then again, she and Harry didn't plan on doubling the population of the Wizarding world single-handedly, either.
"Ginny, we were young once, too, you know," Molly reminded her daughter. "I used to be petite like you and your father was tall and slim like Ronnie used to be. It's just that your father didn't have the chance to build himself up like he has."
"Was he cute," Ginny asked, suddenly interested in her parents' love life.
"Oh my, yes," Molly said dreamily. "Red Weasley. He didn't much like his given name. He though it was nerdy."
"Arthur's not nerdy. It's…distinguished. I mean, I'm madly in love with and married to a guy called Harry, for Merlin's sake. And he wears round glasses," Ginny argued. "But he does make round glasses look good…"
"And your father made red hair look good. I wasn't the only girl at Hogwarts with her cap set for Arthur Weasley, let me tell you," Molly said. "But the dear man had eyes only for me—little Molly Prewett."
"At least Dad noticed you," Ginny said. "Harry barely knew I existed. Was it that love potion you told us about?"
"Love potion? Oh that! I was seven. I think what I finally came up with was herb soup," she laughed. "It was vile!"
"That's not what you said to me and Hermione that day at the Leaky Cauldron," Ginny reminded her.
"All right, all right. I was twelve, but I didn't know what I was doing. Love potions are illegal and very hard to brew, you know that," Molly said, waving her hand while her daughter clutched her sides in laughter.
"But seriously, Ginny, Harry knew you existed. He just didn't know what to do about you," Molly assured her. "I remember the look in his eyes the moment you came down the stairs that morning your brothers rescued him in that old car. But that aside, look how long it took for Ron to finally admit his feelings for Hermione."
"Yeah, but that's different, Mum. They hung out together—they were the Golden Trio. I was just Ron's little sister," Ginny sighed. "I had all but given up on Harry until that day after we won the House Quidditch cup in '97."
"Oh your father wasn't in love with me from the day we met, Ginny. Far from it. He was awkward and shy and completely unaware of how attractive he was or how many girls would have given their wand arms for his attention," Molly said. "But I knew he was the man for me, so I was patient. Frustrated, but patient."
"When did he finally notice you, Mum?"
"Our fifth year, Valentine's Day, 1966. He caught me completely off-guard. I was sitting in the Gryffindor common room working on some project or another with Mary-Alice Landon when your father walked up—sort of stiffly, like Percy—and said, Miss Prewett, would you do me the honour of accompanying me to Hogsmeade this Saturday?"
"Did he really say it like that," Ginny laughed.
"Yes. Just like that," Molly giggled. "Percy is more Weasley than he knows, dear. To be honest, the rest of you are more Prewett than Weasley, except for your tempers. Percy is pretty-much all Weasley. Aunt Muriel doesn't have the slightest idea what she's talking about when it comes to Percy."
"So did you go to Hogsmeade with Daddy," Ginny asked.
"Of course! And he was the perfect gentleman, too. He'd saved his meager allowances and a few Galleons from his summer job to do it right," she remembered fondly. "We had lunch at the Three Broomsticks—Rosmerta was just a young barmaid then—and then he took me to Honeyduke's and bought me a small box of their best chocolates. He blew nearly every Knut on that date."
"When did he propose, Mum," Ginny asked.
"Graduation. Aunt Muriel didn't much approve. She's always had a disdain for the Weasley clan, but I never quite understood why. My mother was thrilled that her little girl was going to marry into one of the oldest families in Wizarding Britain," Molly said. "Granted, the Weasleys were not wealthy like the Blacks or the Malfoys or the Potters, but then again, we Prewetts weren't nobility either."
"So where did Auntie Muriel get all her money," Ginny asked, a bit confused. If the Prewetts weren't rich, how did that old bat get her hands on all of that gold?
"Savings and investments, dear," Molly said. "Muriel never married, so when my grandfather passed away, she invested her share of the inheritance. My father used his share to raise me and your uncles. It paid for our schooling."
"But he passed away before you graduated, didn't he," Ginny asked for clarification.
"Yes, he did. He became very ill and it weakened his heart, so my mother was left to raise us alone. As soon as the twins graduated from Hogwarts, they went to work in Magical Games and Sports at the Ministry. We weren't destitute by any means, but we weren't wealthy either."
"So Grandmother was okay with you and Dad getting married, but Aunt Muriel wasn't? Hag," Ginny snorted.
"Just remember that that hag, as you called her, sheltered us during the war," Molly scolded gently.
"But that doesn't give her the right to treat you and Dad like dirt under her feet," Ginny asserted. "I was so proud of Ron when he told her off that day when she insulted Onie. She had no right to say those things about Aunt Rhiannon."
"Aunt Rhiannon. Oh, she would have loved to hear you say that. She was an only child and in our year—I didn't even know she and Fabian were married. But I digress…"
"Yeah, so Dad proposed at your Graduation. That would have been—"
"1968. And like the proper Purebloods we were, our engagement lasted a year. We married in October of 1969 and Bill came along in November of 1970," Molly said. "So any of Muriel's reports about my being pregnant when I married your father are plain rubbish. I've got the documentation to prove otherwise. I came to my husband on our wedding night a virgin."
"I guess Harry and I didn't carry on that tradition, did we," Ginny said with a smirk.
"Oh well, those were different times and different circumstances, dear. You and Harry and Ron and Hermione had to grow up entirely too quickly. You stopped being children when you were eleven and twelve years old and then you fought in a war," Molly rationalised. "And that Soul-bond of yours made a lot of difference."
"I don't think Harry ever was a child," Ginny said sadly. "I mean, those relatives of his were horrible to him! Did you know he slept in a cupboard under the staircase until he got his Hogwarts letter?"
"Yes, Ginny, I know that. I know a lot of things about Harry's childhood he doesn't think I know," Molly confessed. "Daddy and I sat up many a night talking with Remus and Sirius at Grimmauld Place that summer. It took a lot of talking to keep Sirius from Apparating to Privet Drive to kill Vernon Dursley."
"They really hurt him, Mum," Ginny said. "Hermione said Harry used to flinch when people would touch him. Sometimes he still does if I touch him while he's asleep. The first time Hermione hugged him, she said he stiffened up like a board and held his breath for a moment."
"He'll get over that, dear. It's just going to take time. He's had a rough go of it for seventeen of his nineteen years. But he's got a loving wife and family around him now and I'm sure James and Lily Potter are just as proud of him as we are."
"Why did you and Daddy have seven children," Ginny asked. "I mean, how did you manage all of us?"
"Ginny, we had all of you because we wanted all of you. After you were born, the Healers told me I shouldn't have any more. I was thirty-one years old when you came along, all pink and adorable. I had a few more child-bearing years left, but I'd had all of you so close together—the twins were especially hard on me—that it literally wore me out," Molly told her daughter fondly, taking her hand. "But then we were blessed with two more when Harry and Hermione came into our lives. And I must tell you, Ginny that each and every one of you has been an absolute joy."
"I still miss Fred," Ginny said, a tear slipping down her cheek. "Harry still feels guilty about him, but I don't know how to bring it up."
"We all miss Fred, Ginny, but he lives as long as we keep his memory alive," Molly counselled her daughter. "You and Harry need to talk about Fred so you can heal. We all do. It's the only way Victoire and Teddy and however many other grandchildren are going to know about their funny Uncle Fred and how he and crazy Uncle George used to terrorise Hogwarts. They have to know about the legacy to carry it on."
"Those who love us never truly leave us," Ginny mumbled.
"What's that, dear?"
"Oh—it's something Sirius told Harry once. Those who love us never truly leave us. I think what you said is what he meant. It's because we keep them here and here," she said, covering her heart and tapping her temple. "But more importantly, it's because we talk about them and remember them how they lived, not that they died."
"Yes, Ginny, that's exactly what Sirius meant. I have an idea," Molly said.
"What, Mum?"
"I'm going to gather all the women in this family together—you, me, Fleur, Fiona, Hermione, and Angelina—and we're going to build a Scrapbook!"
"Mum, that's wonderful! We can do a Family Tree like that tapestry at Grimmuald Place! Hermione and Harry hold Wizengamot seats, so they can access Ministry archives and get copies of birth, marriage, and death certificates, records of commendations—and I'm sure Minerva can help us with any Hogwarts records we might use," Ginny said enthusiastically.
"And I'm sure we can coax a few photos out of our friends. Harry's got some that Hagrid managed to scrape up for that little album he loves so much, and I'll bet he's got more somewhere in those vaults of his. Albus must have salvaged something from James' and Lily's lives," Molly added.
"And it'll grow with our family! Oh Mum, this is brilliant," Ginny cried. "I've got to owl Dennis and see if he can find Colin's negatives. He's sure to have loads of pictures of Hogwarts!" Ginny was about to go off on a tangent when her eyes fell on the clock. "Great Circe! Mum, it's past noon! Dad wasn't coming home for lunch, was he?"
"No, not that I know of. Why don't you send that owl and we'll Floo home for some lunch. I've got some roast pork left over from supper last night. We can make open-face sandwiches with mash," Molly suggested.
"I'm there! Just let me owl—damn!"
"What is it, dear?"
"I keep forgetting we don't have an owl. Harry won't—"
"Hedwig?"
"Yeah. He can't bring himself to buy another. I've tried, but he won't have it. He either sends stuff from work or sends Prongs," Ginny sighed.
"Well, I'm sure Pig would be more than happy to carry a note to Hogwarts," Molly soothed. "The poor dear's been going stir-crazy."
"Great! Let's go then," Ginny said, crossing the kitchen to the fireplace. On the mantle sat a large bowl filled with Floo powder. Ginny took a small handful and stepped inside. "The Burrow," she called and disappeared in a whoosh of green flame with Molly right behind her.
Ron stepped out of the lift on Level Two, but Harry made no move to follow. "Harry? You coming, mate?"
"Kingsley asked me to personally deliver the report on the Antrim operation," Harry explained with a heavy sigh. "He Patronused me only minutes before I left home."
Ron looked at him even more concerned. "Do we expect any problems?"
"I hope he just wants to talk with me to get a few answers that weren't put in writing," Harry said as the door closed and the lift continued. Moments later it stopped.
"Level One, Office of the Minister for Magic," the soft voice announced.
"You don't say," Harry grumbled as he stepped out. He strode swiftly to Kingsley's office, maroon robes streaming behind him in his wake. When Kingsley's Patronus interrupted, he'd been engaged in an enjoyable snog with Ginny on the kitchen table. He stepped into the outer office and reported his arrival to the secretary.
"The Minister will be with you shortly, Chief Potter," the secretary said with a dull voice.
Harry sat down and browsed the three-foot parchment that contained each team's report while he waited. After five minutes, the door to Kingsley's office opened and Percy stepped out with a stack of parchments under his arm.
"Harry," he greeted warmly. "How do you do?"
"Percy," Harry replied. "I'm fine, thanks. And you?"
"Fine, Harry. If you'd excuse me, I'm off to the Wizengamot Administration Service with these reports."
"And I have a meeting with the Minister," Harry replied. "But I'll see you for lunch, right?"
"Our usual table," Percy declared with a grin. "Have a great morning."
Harry nodded before he entered the office. Why's he so bloody cheerful?
"Good morning, Harry," Kingsley said, shaking his hand once the door closed.
"Good morning, Kingsley. Here's the report you asked for," Harry said and handed over the parchment. "It's only the initial reports written last night before we all returned home to get some sleep."
Kingsley accepted it and placed it on top of his pile of parchments. "Tea, Harry," Kingsley offered and nodded toward his armchairs.
"Please," Harry said and sat down. "I was running a bit behind this morning." And if I'd had my way about it, I'd have been a lot more behind.
Kingsley flicked his wand at the pot and served them a cup each before sitting down. "Now, Harry, you're probably wondering why I asked you to come here in person."
Harry nodded. "You could say that."
"You see, Harry, three people died. A couple of your Aurors were injured and Finnegan is still not out of the woods. And you made a couple of arrests," Kingsley said.
"That's true," Harry replied, hoping Kingsley to come to his point before lunch.
"Harry, what can you tell me about what happened last night? I have a meeting with Undersecretary Gumboil later this morning, and I'd prefer to have heard what happened there from you, personally, rather than what's in this morning's Prophet." Kingsley took a sip of tea.
"Undersecretary Gumboil heads a political-activist group called ELF, promoting Muggleborn rights," Harry started, choosing his words carefully. He wanted to tell the truth, but do it without saying too much. "Gumboil approached me, Hermione and Ron about it a few months ago."
"I wasn't sure if he had, but it isn't a surprise," Kingsley commented. "What about Finnegan?"
"He lives at the Three Broomsticks and I know he was there and heard what Gumboil had to say," Harry replied honestly. "First of all, he wasn't on duty yesterday, but after sharing a dorm with him for six years, I'd say, being Irish, he smelled trouble with a Muggle-connected political rally in Ireland and went there, just in case. It doesn't matter to Seamus whether he's on- or off-duty. If he smells trouble, he investigates."
"Ah, you refer to the Muggle conflict in Ireland," Kingsley asked.
"Yes. There are Muggleborn wizards and witches who share the Muggle opinion that Ireland, Muggle or magical, would be better off without us Brits," Harry claimed.
Kingsley sat in silence and thought about what he was told. "And once the trouble started Seamus alerted you, and you sent your people in," Kingsley assumed.
"Yes. It was full-scale war in that pub when we arrived. We tried to minimize the danger of injury, but had to put a stop to it as quickly as possible. I don't think it was any of my Aurors who did the killing," Harry said. "There was a Muggle shotgun involved."
"Even if that's the case, you did well," Kingsley said. "Is there anything else?"
"If I may say so, sir, in my opinion it was wrong from the start for Gumboil to bring his political group to Northern Ireland," Harry said. "There was really no point to it other than to cause trouble."
Kingsley sighed and nodded. "Yes, I intend to ask him about that," Kingsley assured his Chief Auror. "By the way: I heard Finnegan wasn't there alone, but in the company of a friend, a Mr Thomas."
Harry nodded. "Dean and Seamus have been best friends from our first year at Hogwarts. They spend a lot of spare time together. Although I shared that dorm with him for six years, I'm not that close to Dean... some minor personal issues... but I know he suffered greatly during the war and would share Seamus' interest in Muggleborn rights. Dean is a Halfblood, but he was raised by his Muggle Mum and Muggle Step-father."
"Personal issues," Kingsley asked.
"Nothing to worry about, sir. He dated Ginny for a while and I was jealous. Then I got together with her not long after they broke up and he was jealous. We're fine now. Anyway, I'd guess Dean and Seamus were there because of their interest in Muggleborn rights, and Seamus definitely sensed potential trouble."
"What about you, Ron and Hermione and Undersecretary Gumboil's group," Kingsley asked finishing his tea.
"You know I hate politics. I get enough of it as it is," Harry said. "Ron's thinking pretty much the same way. Hermione has attended a few pub meetings to see what he has to say. She was at the Three Broomsticks that first night, and I know that she allowed Gumboil to use a short treatise she'd written."
Kingsley nodded. "Yes, I read that. It's a brilliant piece."
"But with the wedding, her new job, and the Wizengamot seat, she has no time to devote to it, so she declined his invitation, too," Harry explained. It wasn't a complete lie. She actually did decline for two of those three reasons.
"Thank you, Harry. I must read that report of yours now before I meet with Gumboil," Kingsley said.
"And I need to see how my injured Aurors are doing," Harry said and stood up.
"Harry, I know you're brooding over this and I want you to stop. Your Aurors were injured in the line of duty, not because of your choices, but because of Undersecretary Gumboil's choices," Kingsley reminded his Head Auror. "You did this right, Harry. A three-pronged attack put a quick end to the fight and saved more lives."
"Yes, sir," Harry replied quietly. "I wanted to arrest Gumboil, you know."
"I'm sure you did, but why didn't you," Kingsley asked.
"Because of who he is, the charges would never stick," Harry replied. "I'll see you later."
"Give my best to Ginny," the Minister said as Harry swept out the door. I thought Alastor was the right man for the Undersecretary job. Perhaps I should've approached Arthur instead. Bloody hell.
An hour later, Kingsley's secretary knocked on his door. He had finished reading Harry's report five minutes before his meeting with Undersecretary Gumboil. He took a few moments to collect himself. He was furious over the lack of judgement displayed by a veteran Law Enforcement officer like Alastor Gumboil. Kingsley's first impulse had been to sack the man, but on second thought, he realised he needed to hear Gumboil's version of the story before taking any action on the Antrim debacle.
The man of the hour was escorted into Kingsley's office by the secretary. "Undersecretary Gumboil, sir," she announced.
"Thank you, Mavis," Kingsley said and invited Gumboil to take a seat. After the secretary closed the door, he turned to Gumboil. "Alastor, you've been in Magical Law Enforcement your entire adult life. You have an exemplary record. As I hear it, yesterday evening, you took a group of British political activists into Northern Ireland that resulted in a minor battle which claimed three lives. I must ask you WHAT IN THE NAME OF MERLIN'S BRAIN FARTS WERE. YOU. THINKING, IF YOU INDEED WERE THINKING AT ALL?"
Kingsely's voice had darkened and once he stopped shouting, a very tense silence hung in the air until Gumboil, clearly nervous, cleared his throat.
"Minister, I... I didn't know it would go wrong like that," Gumboil began, immediately being interrupted by Kingsley.
"But surely you must be aware of the hostilities in Muggle Ireland, and certainly you must understand that the Muggle conflict affects us too, since there are many Muggleborn witches and wizards in Ireland who learn that the British are their enemy. Ever after the Irish Muggles became independent, there has been more and more talk among the magical Irish that they should follow suit, and have their own administration."
"I am aware of the Muggle situation, yes..." Gumboil said shamefacedly.
"We've seen our community almost destroyed by the two wars, Alastor. Blood Purity politics has all but ripped us apart," Kingsley said slowly. "And now you might have created a spark that could ignite into an explosion that can rip us apart again—English, Irish, Scots, Welsh... and who knows if it'd stop there. Why, Alastor?"
Gumboil looked sheepishly at the Minister before answering. "I thought that a more equal community would be in everyone's interest."
Kingsley nodded. "But why a pub in Northern Ireland of all places," Kingsley asked.
"I've been to pubs in England, Scotland and Wales without any hostilities at all. Pubs are a great way to meet with people. Much better than cold and impersonal interviews in the Prophet."
Kingsley closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "Look, I have to investigate the incident at the pub. Since you're involved and may even have inadvertently caused this mess, and are the Undersecretary for Law Enforcement, you understand that this is a difficult situation, since it'll be DMLE who conduct the investigation."
Gumboil stared at Kingsley, this time with a streak of fear in his eyes. "What are you saying, Minister," Gumboil asked, the sweat beginning pour down his face in earnest.
"That I suggest you send a memo asking for a holiday for the rest of December and the entire first week of January."
"Any alternative?"
Kingsley thought about it for a moment. "I can't have you working as Undersecretary for Law Enforcement until this investigation is finished. The alternative would be to sack you, which would look bad for all of us, or move you to another position, which wouldn't look quite as bad."
Gumboil sighed. "You'll have my request for a holiday before lunch today, sir."
"And you understand that you'll be summoned for questioning," Kingsley added.
"I suppose all who were present will be questioned," Gumboil replied.
Kingsley nodded and studied Gumboil carefully before he spoke again. "If you're ever involved anything like this again, Undersecretary Gumboil, it may cost you your job. I need my Law Enforcement to be strong and trustworthy. Despite your record and your experience, I won't hesitate to replace you if activities like the ones last night and in Hogsmeade are repeated."
Gumboil felt annoyed by the threat, but he simply nodded. Kingsley flicked his wand to open the door. "Sir, for what it's worth, I'm sorry," Gumboil said as he got up.
"Alastor, I assure you that I want some of the old prejudicial laws changed as much as you do, but changes like those take time," Kingsley said. "Now, I must write a letter to the French Minister. I hope he's stopped laughing by now about my appearance the last time I saw him." And then I'm going to nail that wand-slinging reprobate of a Boy-Who-Lived-to-Regret-Pranking-Kingsley-Shacklebolt and put my foot so far up his Chosen arse, he'll be using the sole of my boot for a tongue!
Gumboil left the office to request a long Christmas holiday.
Harry still wasn't happy with the Gumboil situation. He wanted to rant and rave at Kingsley for being so calm about it all, but then what would he have the Minister do? Sack the git? It wouldn't stop the man from doing something like Antrim again—in fact, it'd give him more time and ammunition. He decided to just suck it up and find solace in the arms of his beautiful wife when he got home that evening. He exited the lift-car and strode to the Apparition point at the rear of the Atrium and transported himself to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.
"Head Auror Harry Potter to see Aurors Dawlish and Bones, please," Harry said to the kind-faced woman at the reception desk.
"Of course, dear. If you hurry, you'll catch them. They're about to be released," she told him with a grandmotherly smile.
"Fourth floor?"
"That's right," she replied. "Open ward."
"Thanks…er…Gertrude," Harry said politely.
"Anytime, dear. Hurry, now!" Gertrude watched as the dashing young Auror walked quickly and confidently toward the lifts. "Such a polite young man, that Harry Potter," she said to the young woman at the other end of the desk.
"And did you notice his chest," she sighed. "Ooh, that Ginny's a lucky girl."
"Now, Julia, there are other Plimpies in the pond," Gertrude said. "I'm sure there are a few single Aurors still available."
"Yeah, but they're not Harry Potter or Ron Weasley," Julia sighed again. "Why couldn't I snag one of them?"
"Because your mother insisted upon sending you to Beauxbatons instead of Hogwarts," Gertrude asked with a grin.
"I'll never forgive her for it either," Julia giggled.
Harry arrived on the open ward on the fourth floor just as Susan and John were signing their release parchments and receiving last-minute instructions from Healer Wyatt. "…Auror Bones, you need to rest that leg for a few days before you take on any heavy assignments. Auror Dawlish, be sure to keep your head clean and apply this salve until those blisters heal. Don't go breaking them on your own. You'll regret it, trust me."
"So you two are going to live, then," Harry said with a smirk, causing the Healer to jump.
"Auror Potter, it's great to see you again," the Healer said, extending his hand. "How's Miss Granger?"
"It's good to see you too, Leo. Hermione's fine. I'm sure you heard she's on the Wizengamot, now," Harry replied.
"Good for her," he said. "Now, these two: I'd suggest a few days off so Auror Bones can rest that leg while it finishes its knit. Auror Dawlish needs to keep his head clean, so no outside assignments."
"Fine, fine. Bonesy, why don't you go on up and spend a few days with your aunt at Hogwarts. JD, you can work cold-cases with Jock and Ross."
"Okay, Harry," Susan replied. "Is it all right if I Apparate, Healer Wyatt?"
"Absolutely not, unless Auror Dawlish wants to Side-along you there," he ordered.
"You can go with me. I'm going up there from here to look in on Irish, anyway," Harry offered.
"Well, now that that's settled, I think I'll just head home and have a nap," Dawlish said.
"Good idea, John. We'll see you tomorrow, yeah," Harry said, shaking the man's hand.
"Bright and early," he replied. "Thanks, Leo."
"Sure thing, Auror Dawlish," the Healer said as the senior Auror left the ward.
"Ready, Bones," Harry asked, offering his arm.
"When you are. See you, Leo! Thanks for everything," Susan said, taking her boss' arm and limping from the ward. She let out a squeal when Harry picked her up and carried her to the lifts. "Harry, what on earth are you doing?"
"Taking care of my people. You need to rest that leg and you don't weigh more than a Fwooper at the most."
"I am not shocking pink and I do not make people crazy with my singing," Susan protested with a giggle. "I think my singing would make them sick!"
"Of course you're not shocking pink," Harry said, putting her down while they waited for the lift. "You're a Hufflepuff. You'd be day-glo yellow!"
By the time Harry and Susan reached Hogwarts, it was already 10:30 AM. He escorted her safely to Amelia Bones' office and then to the hospital wing. In case Seamus might be asleep, he entered the double doors quietly, casting a silencing charm on his feet.
What he found made him smile. Seamus was sitting up talking with Fiona about something they both found amusing, from what he could tell. But most-noticeable was the fact that he held both of her hands in his and their eyes never left one another's faces.
"So it appears you've decided to hang around a bit longer, then, Irish," Harry said slyly.
"Shut it, you," Seamus growled good-naturedly. "Didja think I was done in, then?"
"You looked pretty bad off, mate," Harry said, approaching the bed. "Onie, how are you?" Harry leaned over and kissed her cheek.
"I'm just fine, Cousin Harry," she replied. "Our patient here is on the mend, I'm happy to report. His belly wound stopped oozin', so he should be sprung by Friday afternoon."
"Harry," a familiar voice called from the end of the ward. "What have you broken this time?"
"Nothing, Poppy. I'm here to check on my Auror," he replied. "What's the prognosis?"
"He gave us a scare when Auror Weasley and Mr Thomas brought him in, but our Fiona's been a real shot in the arm," the matron told him. "She's something special." Fiona turned bright red and ducked her head. Since Seamus had her hands held in his own, she couldn't cover her face.
"Damn right she is," Seamus agreed. "She's agreed to go dancin' with me on New Year's Eve."
"Dancing? Where?"
"McGourthy's Pub in Dublin. They're havin' an open jam and a bit o' set dancing for First Footin'," Seamus said with a Cheshire grin.
"Isn't that a Scots thing," Harry asked.
"Yes, but we do it in Ireland, too," Seamus replied. "Only better!"
"So is that a request off for the weekend, then," Harry asked. "You'll have to pull Christmas Eve and Christmas Day."
"Fair enough. I'll take the Swing Shift if nobody else wants it."
"That'll work. Lavender asked for days so she can go to her mother's. Tony'll be on with you. Of course, I'll be on call while Ron and Hermione are in Barbados."
"Barbados! Is that where they're honeymoonin'" Seamus asked with a gasp. "Must be nice!"
"Yeah. The trip is gift from Hermione's parents. Hey, you know the Stag/Hen night is next Saturday, right," Harry asked.
"Yeah, Fiona and I were just talking about that. I told her about yours. Ruddy Stun-bombs," Seamus snickered. "You were right pissed, mate!"
"We all were. Neville kept calling Charlie Chuck, so Charlie called him Nevvie," Harry laughed. "We got our arses handed to us by the girls on the Quidditch pitch, though."
"Lucky Bludger shot for Hermione won that match," Seamus reminded Harry. "Not bad for a witch who's afraid ta fly!"
"Liquid courage, my friend. That was all there was to that," Harry said.
"She wasn't drunk during the game, was she," Seamus asked. "She seemed quite herself, if I remember correctly."
"Seamus, you were smashed when I threw those Stun-bombs into that room," Harry laughed. "You lot had already cracked a case before Ron even brought me there! But Ginny said they'd spiked Hermione's orange juice with gin."
"Gin? In orange juice? No wonder she got blitzed," Fiona laughed. "Gin's so sweet, she would never have known it was there."
"That's what Fleur said," Harry snickered. "Trust me, Fiona. Whatever Ginny's got cooked up for you girls is going to be fun."
"So what are we doin' ta—er for—Ron, then," Seamus asked.
"Black Dragon. Lots of food, plum wine, sake—Sam ordered it special from Osaka—ale and porter," Harry said. "I bought the place out for the night. It's all ours!"
"Do you mean to say, Mr Potter, that you bought out an entire restaurant on a Saturday night for a Stag party? That must've cost a king's ransom," Poppy exclaimed while she checked Seamus' dressings for the third time that day. "Is Mr Weasley aware of this?"
"No—he doesn't know I bought the place out. Don't worry, though. He's long over that money-thing he used to have," Harry assured her. "Fifteen-thousand Galleons a year as an Auror cured him of that."
"Hey, I only get ten-thousand," Seamus complained, winking at Fiona. "What's he got that I don't?"
"The Assistant Head's badge and a load of headaches," Harry replied.
"Oh, right. Pass," he said, shaking his sandy-blond head.
Harry glanced down at his watch and noticed it was almost noon. "It looks like you're all right, Irish, so I'm going to head back to London for lunch."
"Yeah, I'll be fine, mate. Say hello to everyone for me," Seamus replied, shaking Harry's hand.
"Me too," Fiona said.
"Poppy," Harry said, giving his favourite Healer a hug. "Keep an eye on our Onie."
"Of course," she replied in mock-annoyance. "It's what I do best—babysit you and your friends."
"Oh but you love us anyway," Harry chuckled. "Take care, you lot." With a final wave, Harry passed through the double doors into the corridor.