AUTHOR'S NOTE AND DISCLAIMER:
This is a work of fanfiction, written and posted solely for the enjoyment of readers of fanfiction. The author makes no claims and receives no remuneration. All characters and locations in this story are from the works of JK Rowling, or derive therefrom. Many thanks to Ms. Rowling for her consideration in allowing the reportage of some additional adventures of her fair maidens and gallant knights.
A Need to Give
by
Bfd1235813
Following the final Battle of Hogwarts, in the midst of funerals, arrests, trials, rebuilding and recreating magical society, the unattached turned their attentions to finding companions interested in pairing up for the challenges of life as adults. Their community was small, with finite possibilities, so a false start or two was enough to tip the odds against them to a disastrous degree. If caught in such a situation, face it, organize a satisfying life using the available resources, always keep an open mind.
"HEY."
"AAAGGGHHH! Potter! I could have fallen off!"
"Uh-huh. That is probably why they don't let people like us come up here. Were you overcome with a sudden need to wash windows?"
"You've come to gloat, is that it?"
"No. I think I know what you're doing up here and I'd bet a hundred galleons my story is the same as yours."
"Poppy-cock. You're the Golden Boy. The Savior of the Wizarding World."
"My life sucks. Mostly."
"YOUR life sucks? One moment of panic. I'm a pariah."
"You're no pariah. No one thinks you're a pariah, nor should you be."
"Harry Potter…Uggghhhh…Why did we have to be born in the same year? If we hadn't been sorted…"
"What? You would have had a different boyfriend and you wouldn't have had to show off for Malfoy?"
The young woman froze, stared, twitched a bit.
"You think?"
"I know. Don't worry, I'm not going to tell."
"You don't know what it was like in Slytherin back then, all those years. After the tournament, and Cedric Diggory, it got worse. The old Death Eaters' kids were impossible. They strutted around. Demanded little acknowledgments of allegiance. The New Order. Pure Blood Supremacy. Snape. He wouldn't do anything. He was one of them."
"Do you think they knew? That he was back?"
"Yes. I think so. Before, I wouldn't have said but now I think they did. Crabbe. Goyle."
"Malfoy?"
"Definitely. His father. He was there, in the graveyard, with you. Saw you…"
"Tortured. Yeah, he was. He did. He came after me again, did you know that? The next year, in the Department of Mysteries. The night Sirius was killed. The whole story on that never really came out. That one put Lucius in Azkaban. Makes you wonder. Of course he passed it along."
"Draco. Wanted to work both sides."
"Of course. Just what we would expect. Oh, that's a blanket statement. I would expect him to."
"He tried to keep me away from the real bad ones."
"The terms of the discussion got so elastic. Right. Wrong. Bad. Real bad. Listen, you did what you thought you had to do, so I don't fault you, for anything. Well, maybe the Inquisitorial Squad."
Harry Potter tried to stifle his laugh at his own observation, succeeding only in calling attention to it with a kind of 'snork!' sound pushed through his nostrils.
The breeze picked up. It might have blown them off the building but for the sticking charms on their backsides. Harry drew back his left arm, the one on the side where Pansy Parkinson sat. Pansy accepted the invitation and slid closer. Harry's left hand gripped Pansy's left bicep and pulled them together. They looked out over Greater London at night, perched on the top of the Gherkin. Harry brought his other hand out from beneath his suit jacket. A discreet silver flask shone in the moonlight. He held the flask in one hand, unscrewing the cap with his finger and thumb and tilting it toward Parkinson.
"There's a little one inside…see it?"
Parkinson took the cap, put her finger inside and pulled out the silver shot glass nesting there. Harry Potter tipped the flask up and measured out two shots, then, without letting go of the flask, extended a finger and his thumb and took one of the shots from Pansy.
"Take it slow," he advised. "To something or other."
Harry raised his little glass to his lips and took a sip, managing not to tip the open mouth of the flask as he did.
"Something or other-Merlin, Potter! What is this?" Pansy demanded, after she regained her power of speech. It felt to Harry as if she shuddered for each drop trickling down her throat.
"It's like sucking vodka through moss!"
"It's a cousin to single malt. Comes from a barely-habitable magical rock out around the Hebrides. The origins of the distillers, the exact method and one or two other things are obscure. There're magical elements as you've discovered-scent of the sea, subtle overtones of peat. So, ready to go back?"
Pansy leaned in closer, seeking some exterior warmth to match what she had just put inside.
"I came up for a reason," she said.
"I know. I've been up here before. Same thing," said Harry.
"So you…screwed that up?" she asked.
"I don't know, exactly," said Harry. "The first time, I looked out so London would be the last thing I saw in this life and started running down, from right here. Three strides and you go flying off. I regained consciousness on my front steps."
"You ran off the top of the Gherkin, and woke up on your front steps," said Pansy.
She made it a statement.
"The town house. I couldn't even get out of London," he said. "Tried a seaside cliff the second time. Same result."
"Then back to London?"
"No, that time it was the Forest of Dean. We'd camped there while we were staying away from Voldemort," said Harry. "I have a theory I lose consciousness and something else takes over and puts me somewhere safe. No way to prove it. There haven't been any witnesses come forward, so far. Want to go home? Not for any hanky-panky. Just get down from this building before one of us gets hurt."
Pansy Parkinson let out a long, long sigh. She had to admit she really wasn't in the mood for ending it all, not anymore. She realized, complete with a genuine flash going off behind her eyelids, that she was glad Harry Potter had chosen to come visit the Gherkin that night. She wondered if it was chance or if there was some undocumented connection between the irrational compulsion sections of their respective brains.
"Okay, you drive," Pansy said after standing and throwing down the remaining whisky. Harry took back the screwcap, let out a deep, satisfying breath from the top of the Gherkin and reassembled his faithful pocket traveling companion.
Harry and Pansy materialized on the top landing of Harry's front steps. His bar and proper glassware were inside so he poured another finger of the magical Hebridean liquor and handed the squat glass to Pansy. They were in a small drawing room in the rear of #12 Grimmauld Place, London, under discreet observation by all of the embroidered faces inhabiting the Black Family's enchanted family tree tapestry.
"So, what are you doing?" Harry asked.
"What?"
"Yeah. What do you do with your time? When you're not on top of tall buildings, thinking metaphysical things."
"I try to stay out of sight," Pansy said. "As a pariah…"
Harry must have rolled his eyes.
"Well, I am," said Pansy.
"I don't think you are. Nor would I make you one," Harry tried. "If I'd been in your place…"
"No, Harry, that's the difference between us," Pansy protested. "It came down to that one moment and I…"
"You what?" asked Harry.
"I gave you up! You were right there, you heard me. I don't want to talk about it!"
Pansy turned her head into the back of the settee and buried her face in the crook of her arm.
"Here, please," Harry said. He put his glass down, got up from his favorite chair, moved to the settee and held out his arms.
"Please," he repeated. Pansy didn't move but neither did she resist when Harry pulled her slowly toward him.
"I want you to know something, Parkinson," Harry said.
He had both arms around hers, his chin an inch above her shoulder. Harry consciously managed their bodily contact-no grasping hands, no eyes looking into eyes mere millimeters apart, no lips just brushing an ear as they whispered endearments. No misunderstandings.
"I knew, at the time, that we should have all done better by Slytherin. The sane ones, I mean. Like you. Slytherins weren't all Junior Death Eaters. I knew it. So did Hermione. Neville. Susan. Luna."
"The Weasel? The Weaselette?"
Harry snorted.
"Pre-existing baggage," he said. "Goes back to the beginning of the Dark-Light conflict, the faction around Tom Riddle at Hogwarts, fifty years ago, versus the ones who opposed him. It all happened before any of us were born. It wasn't meant to be our beef at all."
"I spent a lot of hours listening to conversation across Arthur and Molly's big table. The Weasleys were raised on stories of Weasley and Prewett gallantry and the first Order of the Phoenix-that go-round. The first Wizarding War. Our group-we had our hands full. None of us could see the eventual dimensions. Nor could Dumbledore, nor McGonagall. Some of the old fighters knew it was going to be tough. Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mad-Eye Moody, people like that. How bad it would get, and why—even now…"
Harry talked on, unburdening himself, letting go, little by little, of some personal demons he had been carrying around. As he spoke, Pansy sank beneath the drone, feeling the effects of a trip to the top of the Gherkin, night air, tasting unique liquor of unknown strength plus the addition of a restorative conversation. Harry continued to hold her as she relaxed, her breathing becoming both slower and more regular.
"Well," Harry studied Pansy's face.
Her facial muscles were completely slack, allowing her skin to drape the bones the way the first half-hour of snow flurries paints the statuary in the park in a pure, unsullied coating of sinless crystallized water and air. Harry searched for the feelings from their confrontation in the Great Hall, the opening action in the final battle. He was surprised to find the place he kept them was a void.
In time, Harry realized he'd assumed responsibility for seeing that Pansy Parkinson got a good night's sleep in a secure environment. The environment wasn't a problem. The townhouse was pretty much impregnable when he was inside with the wards set. The good night's sleep was a puzzle. He settled on the most direct route, picking the sleeping Pansy up in his arms and carrying her to a spare bedroom. He removed her shoes and left them beside the bed, found her wand and took it for safekeeping. She was on top of all the bedclothes so he covered her with a blanket from the hall closet. Towels and soap were in plain sight on top of the dresser. He left everything else as it was. As he left the bedroom Harry cast a subdued alarm charm so he would know if Pansy got up and left the room during the night.
She did get up, having gone to sleep without that necessary final visit to the bathroom, but Harry listened carefully, making sure Pansy went back to bed. He didn't think she would leave without her wand and there was no possibility she could find the wand without Harry. When he was satisfied she was again tucked in, safely, Harry returned to his original project of getting a decent night's sleep.
"What have you gone and done?" was one of his last conscious thoughts.
The sun was well up as Harry sat at the plank table in his kitchen, eating a stack of pancakes and reading that morning's Daily Prophet.
"Morning," Pansy said as she walked in, adding, "I owe you."
"Nope. I owe you," said Harry.
He pulled up his trouser leg and drew Pansy's wand from his sock.
"Here," he said. "You won't misuse this, now, will you?"
"No," said Pansy. "I don't know what I was thinking. I get in those moods…"
"Oh, I know," said Harry. He stopped eating and put his fork down, then looked Pansy in the eye.
"I went up there, too, you'll remember," he said. "I took a flask."
Harry gave Pansy a little time to think it over.
"Why?" she asked. "Why would you want to walk away?"
"From?" Harry asked.
"Fame, fortune, adulation…" Pansy tried.
"Eh," said Harry. "Fame gets you a table but the restaurant wants the other customers to enjoy the show so the next night all the people those people talked to will come in and have dinner in order to see you. Fortune, beyond basic needs and a few luxuries, doesn't have a whole lot of uses. Adulation by whom? That only works from a distance. Up close, I disappoint."
"Harry, disappoint?" Pansy asked. "After last night, I wish to dispute that. You were quite dashing. I am very glad you showed up. I am not at all disappointed in you. Can I ask you something?"
"Ask away."
"Were you going to jump? This time?"
"I believe…" Harry began, then stopped to ponder.
"I believe the first two attempts were for real," he said. "They felt genuine, at the time. As for the results, I don't know. You're entitled to think however you like. Subsequent visits to the top of a skyscraper or some of the other, traditional spots have been strictly contemplative. A lofty perch with a flask of the liquid old-time religion in hand are so useful for de-activating thinking and letting the mind wander. Let it find its way independently for an hour and you'd be surprised how much it gets figured out, not to mention, how much better one feels."
Pansy thought about what Harry'd just said, pausing the conversation long enough for Harry to remember his manners.
"Oh! Breakfast! What would you like? I had pancakes but you don't have to have the same thing. Eggs, porridge, sausage, bacon, ham, yoghurt, cinnamon roll…"
"Boiled egg, one slice of toast, tea," said Pansy.
Kreacher, Harry Potter's house elf, had Pansy's breakfast in front of her with a couple of finger snaps.
"Is this your family's house?" Pansy asked. "Did you grow up here?"
"No, my parents were killed when I was only fifteen months old," Harry said. "We lived in Godric's Hollow at the time. That is when it was decided I'd be foisted upon my aunt and uncle. Then I grew up in Surrey, until I went to Hogwarts. School was more home than home."
"I knew some of that, naturally, but the extent didn't really hit me until just now," said Pansy. "Merlin. School more home than home. You could have been another Vol…Oh, Harry! Oh, I am so sorry! I don't know what I was thinking."
She looked like she was going to start crying again.
"Stop, it's okay," said Harry. "You don't think I haven't had the same thoughts, do you? I used to think about it every day. The parallels are very disturbing. I don't know why it didn't happen, to be honest. Fear of that coming about sent me up, at least partly, the first time. Want to talk about something else?"
"Uh…yeah," said Pansy, focusing on digging a little boiled egg from the shell. "This house. How'd you come by it?"
"Wish I could say I bought it honestly but it's inherited. It's the old Black family townhouse. Sirius lived here until he was fifteen or sixteen, then he moved out and stayed with my dad. He inherited when his mother died."
"How'd it get to you, though? If it's alright to ask."
"It's a matter of record so I guess it's alright. Sirius Black was in Gryffindor and my father's best friend, all through Hogwarts and after. When I was born, my parents made Sirius my godfather. When he made out his will, his children, if any, inherited his worldly goods by share, in birth order. Very traditional. Sad to say, Sirius never fathered any children, so his estate passed on, intact, to me."
"Ahh…" Pansy acknowledged.
"Get it?" asked Harry.
"I didn't mean to pry, I was just trying to understand what led to my waking up in a magical London townhouse."
"And now you know," said Harry. "I've become more and more grateful to Sirius, over the years, for cutting me in. He didn't get on with his parents, hence his exiting to live with the Potters for his last two years of school. If he hadn't needed a place for the Order of the Phoenix to meet that could be kept hidden from Riddle and the Death Eaters, he'd have undoubtedly disposed of it and I would be in a bachelor flat. As it stands now, I just keep peeling back layers from the onion and learning."
"About the house?" asked Pansy.
"Yep. It's like a graduate course in magic. The Blacks weren't just ornery cusses. They had the chops to go along with the legendary temperament," Harry said. "Wards, charms, jinxes and interesting collections of magical ephemera. I have a dungeon downstairs."
"I lived in a dungeon," said Pansy. "Seven years."
"They let you come and go," Harry observed before taking a pull on his coffee.
Pansy looked straight ahead.
"I guess…" she began, then stopped, thought, then began again.
"I guess that does sound a bit touristy, to someone with the keys to his own."
Harry nodded and thought he might want to clarify.
"Not that I have ever misused mine," he said, hand over heart.
Pansy Parkinson looked up at the kitchen window. It appeared they were embarking on a bright and shiny London day.
"I suppose I should think about getting going," she said.
"Not on my account," said Harry. "My most solid plan for today was to go by my tailor's and get them started on a new suit."
"Oh," said Pansy. "I've never known how that is done. For a wizard, I mean."
Harry got her meaning—she'd like to come along. He looked at the outfit she was wearing. The cape was emerald green with a Slytherin crest. That could become a very stylish raincoat and not be out of place with her blouse and skirt.
"Well, witches like to shop, so if you want to come see, you're welcome," Harry said. "If you want to, you can go freshen up. I don't have clean clothes for you but Kreacher can do a quick turnaround and I'll wait here."
He'd said all the right things, in the right order, apparently, because Pansy got a big smile and headed upstairs at double-time.
When the freshened-up Pansy came downstairs Harry stood up and confessed.
"We're going to Muggle London, to a muggle tailor, so with your permission I'll modify that cape?"
"Oh, that's different," said Pansy.
"I was thinking of a kind of lightweight, trench coat look," Harry explained. "Without all the straps and buckles, if you're fine with that?"
"Sure," said Pansy, not sounding completely sure.
She needn't have worried. Harry drew his wand and made one pass. Pansy no longer wore a cape. Now she wore a very pale green, double-breasted overcoat with generous lapels and a long belt at the waist. Something instinctual told Pansy not to use the belt buckle but to join the ends with an overhand knot, slightly off-center, in a nod to the coat's military heritage.
"Ready," Pansy said and stepped into Harry's open arm.
One disapparation later, Harry stood on solid ground, a stub of alleyway paved with blood-red bricks just outside the perception range of non-magical London. He stood still, providing an arm until Pansy separated and stood on her own.
"Good?"
"I am," she said.
"Right, then. My tailor is just around to the left. Perfectly normal muggle tailor shop. You can help me with picking out the fabric," Harry said.
Pansy carried out a systematic evaluation of all the fabric samples. The majority didn't pass her visual inspection. Then the survivors were lifted, tilted to let the light strike them at different angles, watched while they fell from fingertips.
"When did you think you'd be wearing this, Harry?," Pansy asked.
"Business. Meetings, here and there. If, for some reason, I have to attend a criminally-stuffy evening event," said Harry.
"Got it," said Pansy. "Two piece or three piece?"
"I was thinking two, but…" Harry answered.
"This, and I recommend a three piece. For the versatility," concluded Pansy.
Harry looked at the fabric, sliding his first two fingers under the sample, feeling how it wanted to ripple over a finger, fall in-between then fold over the next one. It was nearly a solid Navy, the blue needing the light just so to come out, with the tiniest crimson pinstripes setting off strips of blue a centimeter wide.
"Nice," said Harry.
The tailor's man had been hovering and pounced as soon as he perceived Harry had come to a decision. A stiff card with Harry's name appeared and the assistant began making cryptic notes.
"Fabric? Hmm…yes, that is a fine mill…hundreds of years…Mmm…and a three piece today? Excellent…And—I will be taking Mr. Potter behind that curtain for a few minutes, perhaps Madame would like tea? Black? Green? Sugar? Lemon?"
Harry's dimensions hadn't changed very much so measuring and updating his card went quickly. Harry got to look at himself in the full-length mirror with what looked like a bolt of his suit material draped over a shoulder, toga-like. He decided it went well enough with his personal coloration. An appointment for his fitting was agreed and Harry used plastic for his deposit. Harry's tailor held the quasi-trench coat personally for Pansy and they were back outside.
"Ah…I have time for an early lunch, if you'd like, then…"
Pansy got it. Harry needed to get on with his day, one that wouldn't have room for her.
"Oh! I've imposed…"
"No, not at all," Harry protested. "Not yet! There are some things. Have-to-do things. Do them alone things."
Pansy smiled at his fumbling around, trying to be diplomatic as he was saying, 'Time you went home.'
"I understand. Well, if you want to do lunch, I'm game, but only if you agree it is my treat," said Pansy.
"Can't pass that up," said Harry. "Lunch special at the Leaky Cauldron or do you have somewhere in mind?"
"Leaky's okay," Pansy said.
They met at the brick wall into Diagon Alley. Hannah Abbott saw them come in. Hannah did a very good job of not looking startled. She waved, sweeping in the main room with her backhand. They caught her meaning: 'Anywhere.'
The lunch special was acceptable to both, as was a butterbeer.
"So," they began, followed by a bit of embarrassed laughter.
"You first," said Harry.
"You have a muggle tailor," declared Pansy.
"This is London," said Harry. "One of the privileges of living here is the opportunity to help support the London tailoring community, which I am very happy to do. In return for my contributions I can wear a beautiful suit to my meetings and personal appearances."
Pansy nodded.
"Thank-you for the help picking out fabric and the idea for the vest. It's going to look great," said Harry.
He took a bite of his sandwich. Harry didn't want to but he knew he was going to ask anyway.
"Were you going to?" he said, looking Pansy in the eye.
"I don't know," she answered with a sigh. "Do you ask yourself what is the point? Why go on? Why sit up all night? Why keep looking for the potion or mantra or quieting exercise that will shut everything off so your eyes will stay closed for two hours? Do you hear the voices? Screams?"
There was a little sparkle at the corner of one eye, Harry noticed. He nodded, one time, not agreement but acknowledgment in recognition of another soul in torment. It was a salute.
"You've paid," Harry said. "You're entitled to some rest. I'd rather you didn't look for it on the other side of the Veil. We've had enough of that."
Pansy looked down at her plate. She took a bite of her sandwich and chewed, still not looking up.
"Did you really jump?" Pansy whispered, respectful of his privacy in the public space. "Like you said? Ended up on your own steps? That sounds like a story to tell children."
The ending took Harry by surprise. He was speechless for a bit.
"It does," he said, once he got his thoughts reorganized. "You're right, it does. Hah! I didn't see that, until just now. Hmm…I wonder? It seemed like it at the time. If that were true, though, how to explain regaining consciousness, back home, safe and sound?"
They ate in silence, both thinking over their short lives, the twenty-something years that felt like a long, unending epoch of dysfunction.
Finally, Harry broke the silence.
"Do you feel like you have a lifetime supply of those unanswerables?"
Pansy laughed behind her napkin, stood up and leaned over to give Harry a peck on the cheek.
"We good?" she asked as she pulled a money pouch out from somewhere beneath her cloak.
"More than good," said Harry, standing up with Pansy. "Can I safely release you back into the wild?"
"Yes," Pansy said. "Thank-you, many times over. I may owe you a life debt."
"Time will tell," said Harry. "Until then."
With that he stepped away from the table and crossed the room to the Leaky Cauldron's commodious fireplace and floo connection.
Harry kept busy with ordinary personal administration for two days. The third arrived, and his appointment with his tailor. The fitting went well and Harry was able to pick up the suit he'd ordered the following week. He looked it over carefully while he was still at the tailor's, noting again how Pansy's choice of the Navy with the tiny red pinstripe was subtle and striking, all at once.
Harry was so pleased with his new suit he decided to treat himself to a night out, just to have an excuse to get the suit out in the London air. He considered a number of plays, movies and hard-to-label cultural events and finally settled on a revival of The Caine Mutiny Court-Martial. The play was presented by a small, poorly-funded company housed in a modest theater with perfect acoustics, a skilled technical staff and a reputation for discovering and casting talented actors.
It was a good choice. Lieutenant Greenwald asked the right questions and got to Captain Queeg. Captain Queeg broke down on the stand and rolled the ball bearings so convincingly Harry heard gasps coming from here and there around the theater.
"Wow," Harry said out loud as he stood for the curtain call.
Harry thought about the play as he walked to a convenient apparition point. So many elements paralleled recent events in his own life. An extended period of great stress, clashing personalities struggling to control events, frail humans doing what they saw as their duty in morally-ambiguous circumstances. He'd been over that ground hundreds of times. He wondered, if he'd kept a ledger if by now he'd reached a thousand.
Harry went directly home, thinking about a good night's sleep. He slept, at intervals. It was not that good and it did not last all night. He awoke in the midst of an ongoing monolog about the residual effects of extended exposure to life-threatening trauma, the stress of command responsibility and the maintenance of a capacity for empathy. For not just seeing but feeling another's distress and extending oneself to join them beneath and push up to take a share of the burden.
While eating his breakfast Harry ruined several pieces of note parchment before he got his thoughts composed in a way that sounded respectful and not smarmy, positive and not gushy. He invited Pansy Parkinson to accompany him on a visit to Godric's Hollow.
Harry carried a bouquet of mixed flowers with him when he took the floo to Pansy's. She lived in her childhood home, Parkinson Farm, with her widowed father. Mr. Parkinson had been a pureblood partisan but was too old for active service with the Dark Army, so he and Harry were spared having to face one another as veterans from opposite sides of the late conflict.
"I'm sorry, I'll get you some but these aren't for you," Harry said, giving the flowers a little wave.
Pansy managed well, only a little, unreadable flicker passing across her face.
They went to Godric's Hollow by apparition, arriving just beyond the edge of the town.
"St. Jerome's Church," noted Harry as they walked along, pointing out the steeple.
"The church cemetery," he said when they drew close.
The gate had a return spring so Harry entered first and held it open.
"Right over here."
Harry stood, reading out the names on the stone that marked his parents' grave.
"James and Lily Potter," he said.
He stood still, silent, thinking of the comments Remus Lupin and Sirius Black had made, the observations of longtime friends. Little humorous asides, mostly, but also Professor Lupin's heartfelt appreciation for Lily's ability to see the good in a person that they themselves might be unable to see.
Harry knelt down and put the spray of flowers on the grave, just beneath the names on the stone. He stood and stepped backwards, stopping next to Pansy. When he did, Pansy's hand came up, under Harry's arm, stopping with a wrap around his bicep. Harry liked the way her grip felt—not too tight, not too loose. He tried to remember the last time a woman had taken his arm and found that he couldn't.
"Walk?" Harry asked.
"Sure," said Pansy.
"Been here before? Godric's Hollow, I mean. Not church," Harry said, again holding the cemetery gate for Pansy.
"Not that I recall," said Pansy. "Heard about it all my life, of course."
"Of course," said Harry. "You grew up magical. I had no idea. Hermione Granger explained irony to me, I guess we were eighteen or nineteen."
Pansy pondered Harry's revelation for a bit, then started to laugh. She'd chuckle, stop, start back up.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" she said, then chuckled some more.
"I'm sorry," Pansy said again.
This time she got control of herself.
"You had no idea? Who you were?"
"None," said Harry. "Dumbledore decided to put me with my muggle relatives so he could set up the blood wards around their house, also keeping me away from magical society. There were some effects from that, later on, of course."
"And you had irony explained to you when you were eighteen?"
"Something like that," he answered.
They passed by the war memorial that transformed when a magical person happened by.
Harry stopped and waited for the memorial to Lily and James to materialize.
"Some friends…" Harry began, then stopped.
Pansy held onto Harry's arm as they strolled through Godric's Hollow, Harry pointing out a point of interest here and there.
"You know Bathilda Bagshot's history books, of course," Harry said. "She was living right over there when we were at Hogwarts."
"Really? I met her once, in Flourish and Blotts," said Pansy. "I guess I just always thought she lived in London. A big-name author like her."
Harry couldn't pinch off the little snort.
"What?" asked Pansy.
"Well, the magical population, reduced by the fraction that never cracks a history book…what's the total? How big is the market?" Harry asked.
"Shut up, Harry Potter," said Pansy, softening the sentiment a little by crossing her offside arm over her chest and holding onto Harry with both hands.
"And right here," Harry said, pausing across the street, "Right here is the house where the Dark Lord Voldemort found my mother and father and attempted to kill me, all because of a bit of prophecy uttered by a chemically-impaired soothsayer."
Pansy didn't say anything, standing still, holding one of Harry's arms with both of her hands. Harry let her take in the house, the section of missing roof and the blown-apart wall.
"Come on," he said, reaching up and putting his free hand over one of hers.
They got to the gate.
Pansy read the plaque and squeezed Harry's arm tighter and tighter.
"Is it yours? The house?" Pansy asked.
"It is," said Harry. "It was left, just the way it was afterwards, ten years with the Dursley's and another six or six-and-a-half, I guess, while I was at Hogwarts. We came here when we were on the run. Hermione. Me. It was a shock. There wasn't anything I could do at the time. We had to leave it alone. It was…Well, I'll tell you all about it, someday. There was a lot of Dark Magic involved and it helps not to dwell. That really is nightmare stuff. Take it from me, you don't want to use it unless you don't have a choice."
"Yes," said Pansy. "Yes. There are good reasons it is outlawed."
Harry thought that over. At last they had stumbled onto something over which they could laugh, together.
"Come on in," said Harry, opening the gate.
"Are you sure?" asked Pansy.
"Why not?" Harry returned.
"It's safe?" Pansy asked.
"Allowing for a stray lightning bolt, I'd say yes," answered Harry.
Once inside the picket fence, Pansy saw that the Potter house was not at all what it appeared to be. The lawn was clipped, the beds free of weeds, some shrubs accented the porch, everything outside neatly groomed. Harry stopped on the porch and turned around, as did Pansy. There lay a few blocks of the magical village of Godric's Hollow, St. Jerome's, Bathilda Bagshot's, the little businesses just a bit further down.
"Something, isn't it?" Harry asked.
"Like a model or a film set," said Pansy.
"Mm-hmm, exactly," said Harry, reaching back to open the front door.
"The structure was badly damaged, as you saw outside," Harry began his tour, stepping out of the way so Pansy could enter. "Over the years, everyone got used to it, as a landmark. After the war I got control of my inheritance. I had to put some into the repairs to Gringotts, I suppose you heard about that."
"When you stole the dragon?" asked Pansy.
"It wasn't stolen, really, just borrowed for the purpose of escaping from the security guards who were loyal to the Dark Lord," Harry clarified, correcting Pansy's innocent mistakes as he went along.
"The dragon wasn't the big deal, the building sustained a fair amount of damage and the goblins thought it was only right for Ron, Hermione and me to contribute. Neither one of them had a lot of cash at that time so I got Professor Flitwick to negotiate for me. He's a lot more than a duelist and charms professor," Harry said.
"When I got my personal finances sorted out I treated myself for a couple of years," Harry said. "Played quidditch. Relaxed after matches with my teammates. Serious, sustained relaxation, you know? The attraction lasted only so long then I set about finding something more positive. More substantial. Worth putting some time and attention into. I'd come out here and do little jobs. Mostly just Kreacher and me. We started out trying to stabilize the old wreck in a way that kept the look outside. People are attached to it. They don't want to forget. Touching. I get it."
Pansy was walking around the room, slowly, putting her fingertips on a windowsill or the top of a table. She didn't pick anything up to inspect it.
"These books?" Pansy asked.
Harry crossed to the bookcase.
"I brought them in over the years. All of the books that were here afterwards were ruined by rain or mice. I believe there were a lot more that were taken. Souvenirs, probably. That's what I like to think. I hope no one took things for resale but I can't know that," Harry said.
"Yeah," said Pansy. "Yeah. Oh, Merlin."
"Want to come this way?" Harry said.
Pansy watched Harry put a foot on the lowest step, then the next, then the next.
The answer was no. She did not want to go up those stairs because she feared what he was taking her up to see. Pansy put her foot on the first step, then the next.
"This took a bit more work," Harry said, opening a door.
Pansy joined him in what had been a toddler's bedroom, according to the bed and a few other furnishings. The room looked complete, from the inside. The wall that had been replaced fit neatly with the original, although the new work stood out for having been finished with flat white paint. Pansy stood on the threshold, staring at the crib. It was weathered, all of the finish gone, the wood cracked and gray. She looked away from the crib and saw the scorching on the remaining original walls, going up as far as the ceiling, the boundary between the marred original and the replacement white as distinct as Harry's lightning bolt.
Harry heard the change in Pansy's breathing, the shift to long, slow breaths. The ones that say someone is making themselves do it that way so they don't hyperventilate.
"Feeling okay?" Harry asked.
Pansy shook her head. Harry saw the sparkles in the corners of her eyes.
"Here," he said, moving closer and putting an arm around her waist. "You've heard about it for as long as you can remember, or, at least most magical folks our age have. It happened. It's reality. A very bad man tried to commit the worst crime there is and he failed. Good people who would never do that kind of thing need to accept there are bad people who will and do what they can to stop them. It took me ten years, I suppose, to work through that and accept what happened to my parents and to me. You know what came after that? It hit me just how much more evil he would have gone on to do if we had failed at Hogwarts. At the big battle. There is no telling where it would have stopped. He had already shown he was willing to do the worst thing it is possible to do."
Pansy sniffed, so Harry reached in his pocket for his handkerchief, which he handed over.
"I'm not going to do anything to my old room," Harry said, arm still tight around Pansy, keeping her steady on her feet. "I don't dwell on it. Sometimes I just have to look at it again."
"Now I owe you lunch," said Harry. "Do you like pub grub?"
"I do, much too much," said Pansy.
"That is what makes it so satisfying, in my opinion," said Harry.
Harry led the way down the narrow stairs, waiting at the bottom.
"We'll walk, if that is okay," Harry said. "It's just a few blocks, it's a nice day and I like it here. I've rediscovered my ancestral village."
"Is it? Is it really your ancestral village?" asked Pansy.
"There have been Potters here for a long time, certainly" Harry answered. "Centuries, I'm told. Haven't done any research in the original records so give it whatever credibility you think it deserves. My father inherited that house and I inherited from him."
They got to the street and turned in the direction of the businesses that were visible, just past St. Jerome's. Shoppers and strollers greeted them, usually with a silent nod. One or two called him Harry. Pansy surmised they knew him and acceded to his preferred form of address.
"You know them all?" Pansy asked when there wasn't anyone close by.
"Yes and no," said Harry. "When I started to work on the house, people began to come by. Some were worried about losing tourists if I just restored the place. I didn't know at the time, but while I was gone a little sightseeing market developed. Most are day-trippers. Magicals who pop in, maybe bring the family, look at the house, St. Jerome's, get a meal somewhere, buy a post card."
"When I thought about it, I knew I didn't want to cut any of my neighbors out of a sale or a job. That's when Kreacher and I came up with the plan to fix the inside while leaving the outside alone," Harry said.
"So you're Harry and not 'Old Man Potter,'" Pansy giggled.
"Exactly," said Harry. "Most of the people are really good about it. I can go to Diagon Alley and get pestered, anytime. Around here I'm just a local guy out doing my grocery shopping. We have a shoemaker. See the sign?"
Pansy looked.
"I bought a pair of made-to-order shoes," Harry said. "Ever had a pair? If you try them it will change the way you think about feet and footwear."
Pansy looked skeptical but she let it go.
"We have two pubs," said Harry. "Some people anoint favorites but the differences are minimal. Feel like eating a hamburger?"
Pansy did feel like a hamburger would fit her nutritional needs, so she let Harry the local guy pick one.
"Have whatever you feel like," Harry said when they'd gotten to their table. "I had a couple of pints in here one day and made the Prophet. Ever since I've stuck to soda. Don't want to set a bad example for the youth."
A young woman came out from behind the bar with a tray holding two pint glasses of something clear.
"Harry," she said as she gave him a smile with his soda, pausing to shift her eyes toward Pansy and back.
"Violette," Harry returned. "My classmate Pansy. Pansy, this is Violette, from Godric's Hollow."
Violette sent Pansy a nod and just the slightest smile as she gave Pansy a plain water.
"Two house burgers and whatever Pansy would like to drink," Harry said.
"That soda looks good," said Pansy. "Lots of lemon, please."
Violette nodded again.
"How do you want your burger?" she asked.
Pansy waited for Harry.
"Pansy?" asked Violette. "I've been giving Harry his burgers just the way he wants them for years and years."
"Oh!" said Pansy, blushing a little. "Medium-well, then, with lettuce and tomato."
Harry dismissed Violette, from Godric's Hollow, with a slightly firm, "Thanks, Violette."
Pansy gave Harry a look.
"I know, I know," he muttered. "It's just the burgers, I swear."
Lunch went well. Conversation, delicious burgers, lots of visual interest on the pub's walls.
"Anything close to your place?" Harry asked.
"The house?" asked Pansy. "There is a little settlement we can walk to but there aren't any businesses. It was a market town before cars but now all the muggles drive to the cities for better prices. The population just slowly gets more and more magical."
"Makes sense," said Harry. "Who needs a car when you can ride a broom?"
"Yeah, or disapparate," said Pansy.
"What do they do, the witches and wizards?" asked Harry. "With their time, I mean."
"Lots of bonkers stuff," said Pansy. "Potions, runes, Moon-worship."
"Moon-worship," Harry stated.
"I don't know if they actually worship, in a religious sense," said Pansy. "It's a witch thing. Outdoors on private property, full moon, blankets on the grass, get naked and drink tea with your friends."
"Are you…" Harry began, searching for the right word, settling for the easy and obvious choice, "Serious?"
"You bet," said Pansy. "I went a couple of times but they're really tedious. They say they're preserving the culture of Boudica and the Old Britons but I think they're ordinary nudists who like to sneak away from wizards and run around outside, naked."
"Well, how about that?" Harry. "So…magical. I've never heard of it."
Pansy finished her hamburger last, then emptied her glass of soda.
"Ready?" Harry asked.
"I am," said Pansy.
Harry left some sickels for Violette, waved to the man behind the bar and led the way to the door.
"Lest you think I just walked out without paying," Harry said, "Bob, the owner, won't take my money. I keep an estimate of my tab in my head and settle up by buying tickets from Mrs. Bob for the church raffle or something."
"That's generous of him," said Pansy.
"Allegedly, my frequenting his pub is good for business," Harry said.
It was a nice day for a stroll in a little country town, spiced up with magic and the stimulating color choices of the magical inhabitants.
"What do you think of my native village?" Harry asked.
"Charming. Historic. Seems peaceful enough," said Pansy.
Harry walked on, pointing out a business or some point of interest. Before long, they'd come to the end of the shops and habitations.
"And that's it," said Harry. "Godric's Hollow, founded, allegedly, by Godric Gryffindor many, many years ago. We'll need to go on a bit further. The tourists. Not all are magical and disapparations upset them."
Pansy smiled at the observation as she reached up and once again grasped Harry's upper arm.
"I hope you don't mind," she said. "After all, I have slept over at your house."
"So you have," said Harry. "I don't mind at all. If you don't mind, I'll say right here that I have enjoyed our outings, very much. I would look forward to more, if you think you'd like to see…"
Pansy waited for Harry to finish.
"If you would like to see, if we do this again, whether it…I met your expectations."
Harry knew he was fumbling. He knew what he wanted to convey, just not how to do so.
"Oh," said Pansy, a bit of surprise apparent in her tone.
"Oh, you're serious? About you and me and a future. You're quite sure? I mean, I'm grateful you got me down safely from the Gherkin, Harry, but everyone who was in that room back then will think you're insane. Have you thought about that?"
"Of course," Harry said. "After you left the house I couldn't think of anything else. I told myself to forget about it. The more I thought the more sense it made. Neither of us have anyone. At least, as far as I know. Everyone from our group has paired up or isn't interested. We've both been to the top of the Gherkin. I can understand your perspective and you can understand mine. What do you think of my houses?"
"I think you are completely twisted," said Pansy. "That townhouse with the Blacks and your elf looking at everyone. They're judging, I think. That tapestry has more than one infamous resident."
"Yeah," Harry chuckled. "Yeah, they're in the history books, alright. They've calmed down. I truly believe an adult with an open mind could get used to them."
"They're dead," Pansy noted. "Now, your house here, I can grasp it."
"Can you?" asked Harry.
"I think so," said Pansy. "It should drive you insane but you face it and overcome the feelings. That's how you're getting yourself better."
Pansy's brain caught up with her mouth and she gasped.
"Not that there's anything wrong with you!"
Harry laughed out loud.
"Of course there is!" he said. "I don't expect that to change, either. How are you, by the way?"
"More good days than bad," said Pansy.
"How is today?" asked Harry.
Pansy didn't answer, walking along, instead, a hand on Harry's arm, looking down at the lane. She took in a long, noisy breath.
"The best in quite some time," Pansy said.
"Me too," said Harry. "Thank-you for coming."
There wasn't anyone in sight so Harry pulled Pansy into a hug, laying his cheek on hers.
"When I went up on the Gherkin, I was planning to sit and look out at London and have a sip or two of that whiskey. Think about things, nothing more. And there you were. Then we sat and talked. Had a shot together. I liked it. No one assigned any labels. I was just sitting, having a drink with a pretty girl and enjoying the city lights. Probably happens a billion times every twenty-four hours. The next day, after you'd gone home, I had to admit it was nice having someone wake up and come downstairs for some breakfast. Give me a little conversation at the table. I'd been missing that and hadn't noticed, or maybe I had and wouldn't admit to it. I decided right then, maybe it would be a good idea if I were to ask if you were missing it too? We could see if the pieces fit."
Pansy wiggled out of Harry's suffocating hug and looked him in the face.
"A kiss, please," she demanded.
"Oh, of course," Harry said, planting one on her lips, staying there, opening up a little to find Pansy every bit as eager to explore as himself.
Harry looked into Pansy's eyes as she looked into his.
"I'm sure I'd ought to have something to say right now but something is crowding everything else from my mind," said Pansy. "Perhaps you'd better take me home."
Pansy held Harry's hand all the way to the front door at Parkinson Farm, then stopped and turned.
"I want to collect my thoughts," she said. "My juices are trying to take the wheel and I don't like what happens when they drive, if you take my meaning. I have to think about some things."
Pansy gave Harry a very nice kiss, on his lips, reached behind herself and opened the front door.
"Bye," Harry said to the doorknocker.
It took forty-eight hours for Pansy to think about the things she'd mentioned there on the threshold, take a quill and a piece of parchment and invite herself out on a date with Harry Potter.
Harry followed up with a floo call. The logistics began to get complicated so Pansy dispensed with the nonsense and told Harry to pick her up in the pub section of the Leaky Cauldron at the agreed time.
"Pansy," said Harry when he arrived for their date.
Pansy stepped close to Harry and gave him a tiny peck on the cheek, more nearly a conveyance of the idea of a 'Glad to see you' kiss than an actual one.
"Tom, two butterbeers?" said Pansy.
"Come along," she said when they'd picked up their drinks.
"Got us a room," she continued on the way upstairs.
The room wasn't bad. It had a window and a bath. Considering the two butterbeers they were good until dinnertime.
"So we don't leave anything to chance, I've brought a list of questions that occurred to me between the Gherkin and now," Pansy said, pulling a folded piece of parchment out of a pocket.
There was a wing chair by the window so Pansy took it, for the light. Harry sat on a straight wooden chair that held down a place next to a wall. He looked for the little desk or side table that ought to have gone with the chair but came up empty. He folded his hands in his lap.
"Are you married?" Pansy began.
"No," said Harry.
"Um," said Pansy, moving a quill down the page. "Neither am I. Nor have I been married. Have you?"
"No," said Harry.
Pansy's quill made a little scratching sound.
"Are you betrothed or in any form of committed relationship with anyone, male, female, magical or muggle?" Pansy asked.
"No," said Harry.
"Neither am I," Pansy said.
"Are you dating anyone?" she asked.
"No," said Harry.
"Nor I," Pansy said. "How long has it been? You don't have to answer if you really don't want to."
"There was something kind of fuzzy with Ginny Weasley during her final year, then eight or ten weeks after she finished until she went to the Harpies and that was that. She married Dean Thomas right after the end of her first season. I saw Daphne Greengrass, in a casual sort of way, three times. A class picnic, then I went to see her in Oxford when she was there. We had dinner at a pub in town. Then the one where she said it had been nice and there wouldn't be any more."
Harry paused to think.
"I don't think anything else would qualify," he said.
"There wasn't anything going on between Draco and me," Pansy said. "I know what it looked like. He had always been nice to me, going back to childhood, so naturally… By sixth year he had other things occupying his mind."
Harry couldn't resist.
"Poor Draco."
"Yeah, very true," said Pansy. "Nothing has gone beyond one date since."
Harry was temporarily speechless. Pansy had always stood out, to him, among the Hogwarts students. She was lively and energetic, generally good-natured, even though she'd been in the middle of all the pro-pureblood prejudice. He thought it might be a good time to clear that up.
"The pureblood concept—how do you feel about that now?" Harry asked.
Pansy looked down at her list, took a breath and drew the exhalation out.
"I listened to it when I shouldn't have," Pansy admitted. "The idea behind it is false. It falls apart as soon as anyone examines it. It's really embarrassing now. I regret ever having anything to do with such nonsense. If I gave offense, I apologize and ask your forgiveness."
Again, the surprise made it hard for Harry to formulate the response he felt, lurking a millimeter beneath the surface. He had never expected Pansy Parkinson to make such a statement.
"Then I ask your forgiveness if my words or actions harmed you or anyone close to you," Harry said. "What's next?"
Harry gestured at Pansy's list.
"Do you have any children?"
"No, although I have a godson. He's with his grandmother but she might not always be there. I'd be expected to step up if anything made it impossible for Andromeda. Understand?"
"Uh-huh, no problem," said Pansy. "Who is he?"
"Teddy Lupin," said Harry. "Remember our Defense professor, Remus Lupin? He married Nymphadora Tonks and Teddy was born a month before the Battle of Hogwarts."
"Oh, I never knew!" exclaimed Pansy. "So he…"
"Has never known his parents," said Harry. "He spent less time with them than I spent with mine."
"Okay," said Pansy. "You have a duty. I understand. I have no children, if you were wondering."
"No," said Harry.
"Are you on the verge of bankruptcy?" asked Pansy.
"No," said Harry. "You?"
Pansy snickered.
"I live at home, look after the place and my father, who is my last living relative," said Pansy. "No. I don't do very much that takes money."
"Are we good, to go ahead, I mean?" asked Harry.
"I'd say so," said Pansy. "Now, what are you thinking?"
"I was thinking I'd have taken you to a nicer hotel," said Harry, looking around the room.
"Snob," said Pansy. "You still could, you know."
"Oh, I expect I will," said Harry.
He got up and held out his hand. Pansy stood and took it. The two of them walked out and downstairs together then on out through the brick wall and into Diagon Alley. From the occluded passage into the alley they strolled the length of the street, keeping to the right side. Harry bought two small ice creams at Fortescue's and they sat outside, taking little bites and watching the foot traffic ebb and flow. Harry Potter sitting with Pansy Parkinson was a multi-level phenomenon. They were very well-known, as individuals. It was not known, before that hour, that Harry Potter and Pansy Parkinson were keeping company and being seen around Diagon Alley. The floo calls began before they finished their ice cream.
Harry and Pansy walked back to the Leaky Cauldron on the opposite side of Diagon Alley, looking in doors and shop windows, inspecting the goods that spilled outside the stores. Harry promised to make up for not getting the room in the nicer hotel, if Pansy had the patience. The Leaky Cauldron's floo once again provided their means of homeward transportation.
Pansy arrived to meet Harry in the lobby of the nicer hotel at ten in the morning on the agreed-upon day.
"Isn't this early?" Pansy asked.
"No," said Harry. "You've got an appointment."
He held up an envelope printed with the name of the spa that occupied a substantial space on the ground floor, just off the lobby.
"I'm advised you are due there in just a few minutes. There is something in the envelope. Just give it to them and they promised they'll return you to me right here at three," he said, putting the envelope in her hand. "It's just through there. See it?"
It really did take five hours for the shower, steam, soaking tub with flower petals, massage, shampoo, trim, facial, manicure and pedicure. Harry returned to the lobby at five before three and made a show of waiting patiently for his date to arrive.
"Upstairs?" asked Pansy.
"And mess all of this up?" Harry asked, waving top to toes. "No. We've time for a long, drawn-out dinner. Did they feed you, by the way?"
"There were always nibbles right there, whenever I was allowed to lounge in their huge, fluffy towel for a few minutes," Pansy said. "No peanuts or cheesy snacks, all raw veg in a lettuce wrap or somesuch."
"Very healthy," Harry noted. "Well, I have reservations. We can take our time. They won't begin seating until five. Hyde Park is nearby and suitable for strolling, then I propose a taxi back to Charing Cross Road."
Between the taxi and some strategic dawdling Harry got them to the restaurant right on time. It was a small place with just six private rooms. The owner was some kind of relation to Garrick Ollivander, a grand-nephew, something like it. The cuisine had magical connections, each dish using ingredients not normally obtainable from muggle sources.
"Perfect," said Pansy as she finished her dessert, an apple crunch topped with a sauce infused with goblin-made mead.
Harry smiled.
"Not promising this place every time," he said.
"That's good because it is certainly not necessary," said Pansy. "Thanks for the treat today."
"You're welcome," Harry said. "Ready?"
"You're a very dull-witted boy, aren't you?" asked Pansy.
They slept in, ordered breakfast from room service, freshened up one last time and left at eleven. Harry took Pansy to #12 Grimmauld Place and changed out of his new suit. Pansy borrowed jeans and one of Harry's white shirts so Kreacher could take care of her laundry.
"Want to go somewhere?" Harry asked from his place on the sofa.
"No," said Pansy, picking up the Daily Prophet from a little table and lying back with her head on Harry's thigh.
She lasted all of five minutes. Harry smiled and stretched his legs out in front of himself, careful of her head, thinking about their overnight hours. He needed a bit more sleep it seemed, the same as Pansy.
"You're back," Harry said when he noticed Pansy straightening up, looking around.
"I was out!" she said. "I couldn't figure out where I was. That is not a good way to wake up."
"Agreed," said Harry. "Very disorienting."
"Had a good time?"
"The best," said Pansy.
She pulled her knees under her and slid her arms around Harry, kissing him on the lips.
"Good," said Harry. "I was hoping…Anyway, want to do it again?"
"Of course," said Pansy. "I'm not Greengrass."
"She is direct," Harry said.
"Direct to the bin, by her own hand," said Pansy, kissing Harry again. "Idiot. Ooops!"
"She sure tossed me in, I'll give her that," Harry said. "Okay, I want more. Don't need to take over your life right away, take all the time you want. Just be aware."
"Why?" asked Pansy. "Why more? From me?"
Harry sat, silent, staring straight ahead.
"Right now, I think it is because we both saw the other one on top of the Gherkin. When I discovered you up there I felt a need to get you down, safely, whatever it took. These last days I've sensed, I think, that you like the idea that there is some work to be done, over here on this side," said Harry.
"That is a convoluted way to say it," said Pansy.
She paused to think over the last exchange, staring at Harry's face.
"You seem to be saying we are both damaged, somehow, and in need of assistance."
"Maybe," said a hesitant Harry. "I, ah, I have been missing this. I didn't realize how much, until yesterday, over our early dinner. Suddenly. I had been thinking it felt good to bring about a successful conclusion to the Gherkin. Then it hit me that it felt good that you wanted to spend time in my company. It was such a surprise, I suppose because I had never felt it so plainly before. It makes a man feel like he is worthwhile. Maybe we all need to feel that."
"Maybe we do," said Pansy. "Maybe we're healthier if we give someone that feeling and they give it back."
The sat so long they lost track of time, cheek on cheek, arms wrapped loosely around one another.
Eventually, Harry broke the silence.
"Now I suppose I have to make myself available at Parkinson Farm so your father can get used to the idea."