The Man Who Lived

by Luke1813

Harry Potter seems to have it all. So, then, why does he feel as if his life is missing something? Searching for answers, he visits his parents' gravesite, which sparks an investigation into a mystery. An investigation that takes him on a journey he never could have expected and forces him into the toughest decisions he'll ever have to face. Contains major Christian teachings.

6. Chapter 6

The Man Who Lived

Chapter 6

"Is Ginny here?" Harry asked Kreacher. The two of them were standing in the foyer of 12 Grimmauld Place, with Harry holding a large bouquet of white tulips.

"Yes, Master Harry. She's in the drawing room," answered the house-elf with a bow of his head.

Harry exhaled softly. He hadn't even realized he'd been holding his breath. He'd been afraid that she hadn't come home as some form of punishment for him leaving the Burrow early that morning.

"Should I begin preparing dinner, Master Harry?"

"No, not yet. I'm going to see if she wants to go out. But I'll let you know."

"As you wish," answered Kreacher before popping away.

Harry could feel his heart thumping in his chest as he walked up the stairs. He'd never been one to enjoy confrontation in general. Probably because, growing up with the Dursleys, any and all confrontations had been very unpleasant. And he definitely hated fighting with Ginny. But, as much as he despised confrontation, he loathed when there was a gulf between them even more so. So, he wanted to try to make things right.

He stopped when he got to the doorway of the drawing room, hiding the bouquet of flowers behind his back. Ginny was sitting on the couch, reading an issue of 'Witch's Weddings' magazine with several other issues on the sofa next to her. She was gnawing on her lower lip as her eyes scanned the pages. He smiled at the sight. He knew that she always did that when she was concentrating.

"That bodes well," he said, interrupting the silence.

She quickly jerked her head up and narrowed her eyes in his direction.

"What bodes well?"

"That you're still reading through your bridal magazines. Means you haven't changed your mind, right?"

She shook her head and gave him a small roll of her eyes.

"Don't be stupid. Of course, I haven't."

"Good. Because I haven't either," he said as he started walking towards her. Halfway to the sofa, he brought the flowers out from behind his back.

She quickly glanced at the bouquet and then back to Harry.

"What are those for?"

He sat down next to her, their shoulders and legs touching.

"They're just a small token of my feelings. To say I'm sorry – for leaving the Burrow early this morning. And to also say that I love you and that I don't want there to be any distance between us."

Ginny took the flowers from Harry.

"Thank you. They're beautiful."

She brought them up to her nose and inhaled deeply.

"They're not transfigured?" she asked with a small smile.

"No," he answered with a smile of his own. "I actually stopped and bought them."

She stared at the bouquet in her hands for a moment before finally looking at Harry.

"I don't want there to be any distance between us either. And I'm sorry if I was difficult this week, but I…I've just been scared."

"Of what?"

"Back at the end of my seventh year – right before you broke up with me – you became distant. You stopped making time for me and started acting strangely. Just like this past week. So…"

Harry stared into her beautiful brown eyes and nodded. He hadn't put those two things together at all. He hadn't realized that's what she'd been thinking, and he wished that she'd told him sooner so that he could have reassured her. He regretted that their break-up three years ago had hurt her so deeply. So much so that she now carried some insecurity about their relationship that she'd never had before.

"Ginny, I've told you. I wasn't in a good place back then. But I'm not that man anymore, okay? You're more important to me than anything in this world. So, there's no way I'm going to leave you. Do you believe me?"

She gave him a small nod before they kissed.

A half-hour later, the two of them were lying on the sofa with Harry spooned behind his fiancée. He was tracing his fingertips over the bare skin of her hip and drinking in the scent of her hair, which was damp with sweat.

"What are you thinking about?" she whispered.

"That I can't get enough of you."

And it was true. Being intimate with Ginny was perhaps his favorite thing in the entire world. But it wasn't just the physical intimacy that he enjoyed. He couldn't really explain it, but when they made love, he felt as if their souls were somehow connected, too. It was almost magical, he thought.

"What are you thinking about?"

"I was just wondering how your morning went - at church. What was it like?"

"Not like I was expecting. That's for sure."

"How so? Was it strange?"

"No. It was actually pretty normal. I was half-expecting a room full of people like my aunt and uncle, but everyone was incredibly friendly and welcoming."

"Did they ask you for money?"

"What? No. Why do you ask that?"

"I don't know. I guess I just don't trust them. I figure they must want something."

"Yeah, well, there was a box at the back of the church that they said was for offerings. But nobody specifically asked me for money."

"Only because they didn't know you're rich."

Harry laughed.

"When did you become so cynical?"

"I'm just worried about you, that's all. I don't want you to be taken advantage of."

"Well, don't worry – because I don't either. Besides, you're forgetting I was an Auror."

"And? So?"

"I was trained to spot ne'er-do-wells," he stated with a smile.

Ginny snorted.

"You barely lasted a year."

"True. So, maybe I need you to come with me next time. To watch my back. What do you say?"

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah, I am. I always want you to come with me – everywhere. Even to church."

"So, you're really planning to go again?"

"Yeah. I think I am."

"I don't know, Harry. What did the preacher talk about?"

"Sheep."

Ginny laughed. "What?"

"He taught over the Parable of the Lost Sheep. He basically said that we humans are pathetic, dumb, foul-smelling sheep."

"Well, that's insulting."

Harry let out a small laugh of his own.

"Yeah, well, he explained it a lot better than I can." After a pause, he continued, "So, what do you say? It might put you at ease if you met Festus and his family. To see that they're really nice people."

Ginny didn't immediately respond. He heard her let out a soft sigh.

"Can I think about it?"

"Of course. And don't feel like you have to go with me, okay? Only say yes if you really want to."

"Okay."

At that point, he reached up and grabbed her hand and pulled her body tightly to his.

"Just the fact that you're even considering it means a lot to me. I love you, Ginny."

"I love you, too."

oOo

"What are you reading?"

Harry was sitting on a wooden stool in front of his locker, fully dressed in his Quidditch gear. He'd been so engrossed by the book in his hands that he hadn't heard anyone come into the locker room. He'd been there alone for at least the last hour.

He looked up to see Barnabas – his Chudley and national team teammate - towering above him. He made sure that the ribbon book mark was in place before closing the text so that Barnabas could see the spine.

"The Holy Bible," answered Harry.

Barnabas didn't immediately respond. He just peered at both Harry and the book with a quizzical look on his face for a few moments before eventually extending his meaty hand.

"My name is Barnabas," he said with a smile. "And you are?"

"Yeah. It's a new thing," said Harry, also smiling, and then he went on to explain a shortened version of the story involving the epitaph on his parents' tombstone. "You ever read it?" he asked Barnabas once he'd finished his tale. He knew that his friend was a Muggle-born and, therefore, might have some experience with Christianity and the Bible.

"Nah. Never had any desire to. You know me - I like sex too much," he answered with a laugh.

"What?" asked Harry, a perplexed grin coming to his lips. "What are you talking about?"

"Just something my old man told me once. His parents had forced him to go to church when he was younger so he knew a bit about it. He always said that Christians are barmy when it comes to sex."

"Really? In what way?"

"He called them a bunch of prudes. Said that they only have sex for procreation purposes." Barnabas let out another laugh. "He joked that they probably do it with their eyes squeezed shut while quoting the Bible, and then they thank their god once it's all over."

"Huh. Well, I've been reading this for about a week now, and I haven't come across any teachings about sex. There was one section in John about a woman caught in adultery, but, if I remember correctly, I don't think the point of those verses was about sex."

"Hey, man, you'd know better than me. Like I said, I've never read it. My dad never took me to church, and after hearing him talk about it, I never had any interest in learning more about it."

It was at that point that the locker room doors swung open as several other players noisily entered the area – which signaled to Harry that practice would be starting soon.

"So, it's really that interesting," said Barnabas, "that you brought it here to read?"

"Yeah, I suppose it is," answered Harry, but he decided to keep the full truth to himself. After making-up with Ginny the previous afternoon, he didn't want to do anything that might ruin their reconciliation. Thus, he'd made the decision that while he was home – around her – he wouldn't read the Bible. He'd spend his time with her so that she wouldn't feel neglected like the previous week. So, instead, he'd decided to start carrying his Bible with him everywhere so that he could read it when he had time – like this morning before practice. Perhaps, he'd even stop at a café or bookstore after practice and read a few more chapters there. But he didn't tell Barnabas any of that simply because he didn't want Ginny to come off in a negative light. His friend still thought he was a fool for ending his relationship with 'Hottie' Goodbottie and routinely told him so.

"Potter!" called out one of the assistant coaches from across the locker room. "Coach Barker wants to see you - now."

"You want to borrow my bat?" joked Barnabas.

"No," said Harry with a smile. "I should be fine. Whatever he has to say, it can't be worse than the butt-chewing I got last week."

"Yeah, well, no offense, Harry, but you deserved it."

"I know."

Barnabas then looked around to make sure no one was nearby before continuing in a low voice.

"…because if you can't outfly Cartwright, then we don't have a chance of getting out of Group Play. Certainly not against the Russians."

In the previous week's practices, Harry had flown everyday with the starting squad while Jonas had played seeker with the reserves. Unfortunately for Harry, though, Cartwright had caught the snitch more times than not, which had brought the ire of the national team's head coach down on Harry.

"I know," he answered as he shrunk his Bible with his wand and placed it in his pocket.

"Okay. Just wanted to make sure you were aware of the situation."

"Believe me – I'm aware."

Harry made his way through the locker room to the coaches' offices. Bulldog's door was open when he got there, but he stopped and knocked on the threshold instead of just entering.

"You wanted to see me, Coach?"

Bulldog looked up and removed the unlit cigar from his mouth.

"Yeah, have a seat," he growled out, nodding to the chair in front of his desk, "and shut the door behind you."

Once Harry was seated, the coach got straight to it.

"You injured, Potter? Your shoulder still hurting you?"

"No," answered Harry, shaking his head. "I feel good."

"That so? Then, you're not exhausted from the long season and then the playoffs? It just ended for you a week ago."

"No, Coach. Like I said, I feel good."

"Then, I guess it was just a fluke."

"What was?"

"You beating out Zaghloul and winning the championship last week."

Harry didn't say anything, but he immediately clenched his jaws. He knew the win hadn't been a fluke. He'd fully earned it - for he'd wanted it more than the Montrose seeker and had been willing to risk serious injury to get it.

"You know what they say – even a blind squirrel finds a nut on occasion."

Harry still didn't respond. He knew Bulldog was simply trying to get a rise out of him. There was no sense in arguing with the man.

"If you say so."

"Yeah. I say so. Regardless, I don't make my coaching decisions based on past results. My question always is, 'What have you done for me lately?' And lately, your results have been piss-poor. Cartwright flew circles around you last week."

Harry couldn't deny it. It was true that he hadn't flown well in practice. He'd attributed it to his lack of sleep.

Therefore," continued Barker, "you'll be flying with the reserve team today."

"Is that right?"

"Yeah, that's right. And know this, Potter – Group Play starts Friday, which means you've got four days to turn things around and earn back your starting position. Otherwise, Cartwright gets the call against the Kiwis."

Harry didn't say anything. He just nodded. And then he let out a small sigh, knowing what was going to happen next.

"Three and a half days."

"Come again."

"I was coming in here this morning to talk to you even if you'd hadn't called me in. To inform you that I've got to miss practice tomorrow afternoon."

"What the hell are you talking about?! Missing practice right before Group Play?!"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Potter, for me to let you miss practice, somebody had better have died."

"They did. I'm going to a funeral."

oOo

Harry sat on a short, wooden bench in the village square of Godric's Hollow. He looked up at the statue of his parents – the statue of them holding their infant son - and sniffed once. The tears had stopped, but his eyes were still wet. The funeral of Cranston Gold had finished just a few minutes prior.

"Are you okay?" asked Ginny, gently squeezing his hand. She had decided to attend the funeral with him after discovering that he'd lost his starting position on the National Team the previous day. She'd told him, 'That's what couples do. They support each other – especially when they're down.'

He swallowed and then pulled his eyes away from the statue. He peered at his fiancée and gave her a sad smile.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," he answered with a small nod. "The funeral…Festus talking about his father…it just got to me a little bit. Growing up…I had nobody, Ginny. Nobody. Nobody that loved me. Nobody that I could rely on. Nobody that I could turn to when I was frightened. You can't imagine how lonely and empty and scared I was as a little kid. And sometimes - even now, as an adult - I can still sense those feelings lurking, down deep."

After a long sigh, he added, "Hearing Festus talk about his dad - all those great stories - I just wish I'd had a father like that."

"You had one for a little while, right? With Sirius?"

Harry let out a small laugh.

"He tried, but he acted more like a teenager than an adult. So, he was more like an older brother than a father-figure. Besides, he was barely in my life. He and I may have only spoken a dozen times or less in those two years before he died. And Dumbledore…" Harry shook his head, "…he could've been a father-figure, but he seemed to care far more about the wizarding world, at large, than for me as an individual."

"Well, there's my father. You know he cares for you."

Harry smiled warmly.

"Yeah, he's great. And you're mum, too. But it's different. They're your parents, not mine. When we broke up, they supported you. They and I hardly spoke while you and I were split up. And I don't blame them for it. That's what they should've done."

"I'm sorry, Harry. I'm sorry that you had to go through that as a child."

"Yeah. Me, too. It's why I try to be there for Teddy as much as I can. I know it's not the same as having a real father, though. But, at least, he's got Andromeda there with him every day."

Harry then squeezed her hand.

"Thanks for coming with me, Ginny. I know that church and everything that goes with it isn't your scene. So, I'm fully aware that you're only here for me. And I appreciate it."

She reached up and tenderly wiped the last remnant of tears from his cheek.

"You're welcome, Harry. And I'm glad I came. Because I wouldn't want you sitting here all alone."

After they kissed, he asked, "So, what did you think – about the funeral?"

A strange look came to her face.

"I know you like Festus – and I admit that he does seem like a nice person – but it all seemed a bit weird to me."

Harry nodded.

"I agree. Why'd you think it was strange?"

"The entire part when he was reading out of the Bible - talking about Jesus coming down out of heaven, and dead bodies rising out of the grave, meeting up with him in the sky. It all sounded like a weird fairy tale. Like something Beedle the Bard would make up. Do Christians really believe all of that?"

"Apparently so," said Harry with a shrug.

"What about you? Is that what you thought was strange, too?"

"To be honest, no. Not really. I mean, all of that pretty much sounds like everything else I've been reading for the past week."

"So, then, what did you find strange?"

"All the rest of it."

"What do you mean?"

"Didn't you notice how everyone was acting in the middle of a funeral? I wouldn't go so far as to say that they were a happy. I mean, I saw a lot of tears, but - I don't know - they didn't seem that sad."

"There were a lot of smiles and laughter," agreed Ginny. "Especially when Festus was telling stories about this father."

"Right. And I just keep thinking about the funerals I've been to – Fred and Tonk's, among others. And I remember when I buried Dobby and also how I felt after Sirius died. And I couldn't find it in myself to laugh or smile at all during any of those times. I was completely gutted. Could barely even breathe."

Ginny nodded. "Me, too."

"And, yet, there they were today - somehow finding a way to laugh and smile through their tears."

Ginny nodded again. "I noticed that, too."

"And all I can think is that it goes back to those verses from the Bible that Festus read at the beginning. When he read that Christians, while they do grieve when loved-ones die, they don't have to do so like everyone else – like those who have no hope."

He then grabbed his Bible off the bench. He was still carrying it with him everywhere – even shrinking it down so that he could put it in his pocket when necessary. He opened it to the page that he'd bookmarked during the funeral, to a section in 1st Thessalonians 4.

"The last verses that he read were, 'And so we will be with the Lord forever. Therefore, encourage one another with these words.' I guess that's why Christians can smile through the pain. Because they believe that this world and this life isn't all that there is. That they'll spend eternity with Jesus. So, for them, death isn't a goodbye. As Festus said, for the Christian, death is actually a good thing – because it means that they get to go home and be with their Lord."

"Do you really believe that?" she asked, motioning her chin towards the Bible in his hands.

"I don't know. But they believe it – that's for sure."

"Well, they can believe whatever they want. Like I said, it sounds like a fairy tale to me."

"You might be right. Maybe the stuff in the Bible is nothing but a myth, but…" He then let out an exasperated sigh. "…but I've thought about this a lot in the last week, and I keep coming back to this question. If the Bible is a myth or a fairy tale – as you say - then why was it written? For what ultimate purpose?"

"To fool people."

"Okay, maybe. But, if that's true, then what did the writers of the Bible get out of it? What was their motivation? Why would they even want to fool anyone?"

"For power - to gain control over the gullible masses. Maybe to swindle them out of their money."

Harry shook his head.

"I thought that, too, at first - until I did a little research a few days ago. I wanted to know more about who actually wrote the Bible so I went onto the internet to see if I could find out. And I honestly don't know if what I read was true – it's one of the many things I want to discuss with Festus – but, if what I read is true, then it completely contradicts the idea that the Biblical writers were trying to manipulate others, trying to gain control over them."

"How so?"

"If the men who wrote the New Testament – the letters that are specifically about Jesus and his teachings – made it all up in order to gain wealth and power, then they failed miserably. Because from what I could tell, they weren't about acquiring wealth at all. Instead, they gave it away. They were all about helping those in need by selling their own property and sharing the profits. And they had absolutely no power. In fact, it was just the opposite. They were the constant objects of persecution from those who actually were in power. They were imprisoned, beaten, tortured, and even killed. I read about one guy in particular – a Roman emperor named Nero – who loved killing Christians. Feeding them to lions or covering them with wax and setting them on fire, like candles. Based on what I read, virtually all of Jesus' apostles and nearly all of the men who wrote the New Testament letters were persecuted. And most ended up as martyrs. So, they didn't get rich, and they certainly didn't obtain power."

"Well, maybe it's like you said. Maybe gaining wealth and power was their original motivation for writing the Bible, and they were just lousy at it."

"I guess, maybe. Except that they knew what was in store for them. They knew that they were going to be persecuted."

"How? How did they know that?"

"Because Jesus told them that they would be. In fact, he promised them that they would face incredible hardships and trials because of him. He told them that the world would hate them. Just like it hated him. And all of the New Testament letters were written after he'd been crucified on a Roman cross. So, they knew what was in store for them if they called themselves followers of Christ. And they did it anyway. Think about that. They knew that they were going to face intense suffering – and possibly death - and they did it anyway. Ginny, I know first-hand what it means to lay down your life for those you love. That's plausible. But you'll never get me to believe that a bunch of guys would willingly lay down their lives for something that they knew was an outright lie – a myth. That's completely illogical. It completely goes against human nature. I'll never believe that."

"Okay, so maybe the guy that wrote the Bible wasn't motivated by power. Maybe he was just insane, and he wrote down this crazy fantasy about God that was going on in his head."

Harry shook his head.

"That might be believable if only one man wrote the Bible, but that's not the case. It was actually written by dozens of writers over the course of a thousand or more years. And there's no way you can convince me that every single one of those writers was delusional with the exact same delusions. Heck, believing that takes more blind faith than to believe that Jesus actually rose from the dead."

Ginny suddenly looked pensive.

"Maybe."

"And there's more."

"Like what?"

"None of the New Testament letters about Jesus were written hundreds of years after the fact. They were all written between twenty to sixty years after Jesus' death. They were written by men who either actually walked with Jesus – lived with him, spoke with him, saw his miracles – or by men who interviewed Jesus' apostles. But the bottom line is that they were written and disseminated during a time when others could have easily contradicted their claims. If what is written in the Bible about Jesus isn't true, then where are all the letters and books from that same time period written by people who refuted it. Right? Shouldn't there be at least one scroll stating, 'No, no, no. I lived in Jerusalem during that time period. Jesus never did any miracles, and he certainly never came back to life after he was crucified.' But as far as I know, there's nothing like that. There's nothing from that time period that refutes the claims of the Bible. At least not that I could find. Why not?"

"I…I don't know."

"Me neither. And there's one final reason that makes me doubt that it was just made up."

"What's that?" she asked.

"If I was going to make up a fake religion, for the purposes of becoming some kind of cult leader so that I could deceive others and gain power over them, then I'd make darn-well sure that I made myself look good. But that's not the case at all. Granted, I've only read one of the letters all the way through at this point – John's – but he made himself and the other apostles look like absolute bumbling fools throughout. They never understood what Jesus was trying to teach them – even though he spoke to them clearly and repeated himself multiple times. They were constantly misunderstanding him and getting things wrong. They also come off as really unfaithful – at times, turning their backs on him, denying that they even knew him. And after Jesus – their leader - was crucified, they weren't bold and courageous at all. They didn't go and confront his killers and exact justice for his murder. No, they were terrified and went into hiding. And, then, when he was resurrected and finally appeared to them again, some of them were initially full of doubt - refusing to believe it was him. I'm telling you, Ginny, the apostles – Jesus' inner circle – do not come off as impressive men in John's letter. So, again, it just doesn't add up. It doesn't make any sense that, if they were making the story up, they'd make themselves look so bad."

Ginny didn't say anything. She was just gnawing on her lower lip.

"Look, I'm not saying that I actually believe that Jesus was God. But what I am saying is that the more I read this book, the more I research it, the more that I think rationally about it, the harder it is for me to just dismiss it as being complete nonsense. And, yes, I know the idea that some Jewish carpenter that lived two thousand years ago was actually God is really far-fetched, but…I've also seen and experienced some really unbelievable things in my life. Finding out that magic actually existed when I was eleven is just one of many. So, I'm not just willing to dismiss this out of hand. Not yet."

Ginny still remained silent.

"I know this isn't your favorite topic," said Harry, "so why don't we just drop it. You ready to go home?"

"I thought we were going to Festus' father's house."

Harry furrowed his brow.

"You really want to go?"

"Well, he did invite us. It'd be rude not to go – especially given the circumstances."

"Okay. Great."

"Just promise me you won't leave me alone with any of them."

Harry smiled. "Of course not."

"And I guess I need to come up with some kind of backstory if they ask me what I do for a living."

"Yeah, because they probably will ask."

"What did you tell them?"

Harry frowned.

"Well, I hated lying to them, but…" and then his frown turned into a smile, "…I told them that I work for a broom company, in the Quality Assurance department, ensuring that the brooms are up to standard."

Ginny laughed.

"Works for me, too, then. If they ask, we can tell them that's how we met."

oOo

Harry's life was a whirlwind over the next three days. Quidditch practice became even more intense – with Bulldog pushing the players to their limits. When he wasn't on the pitch, Harry was doing his best to avoid Beekman and the other reporters. Not surprisingly, his demotion to the reserve unit had somehow been leaked to the press and so they were all clamoring for, if not a full interview, then at least a comment or two. It took all of his restraint to keep from telling them all to 'sod off.' In addition, he made sure to spend each evening with Ginny. Even though they'd reconciled, he knew that their relationship wasn't on the firmest of foundations at the moment. Thus, he'd taken her to the movies one night, went on a double-date with one of her Harpy teammates and her boyfriend on another, and brought her along during his visit with Teddy on a third.

He'd also had to visit Tracey's office that week to look over some contracts. While there, he'd asked her for a favor.

"I need you to arrange for an international portkey for me back here to England for Sunday morning."

Given that England was scheduled to play the late game on Sunday, the plan was for the entire team to return home Monday morning.

"Why?"

"I've got to go to church."

Tracey laughed out loud.

"If you don't want to tell me, just say so."

Harry didn't smile. He simply cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Wait, you're serious."

He nodded.

"I know I could pull some strings and arrange it myself," he said, "but I've got a lot on my plate right now. Plus, I'm paying you a ridiculous amount of money to be my agent so I'll let you take care of it."

"You're seriously going to church? Did someone else die?"

He'd already informed her about attending Cranston Gold's funeral on Tuesday afternoon.

"Yeah. A Jewish carpenter about two thousand years ago," he answered with a smile. "But don't worry. The rumor is that he made a full recovery."

"Huh?"

"Never mind."

"But what if you win, Harry? What if England beats Russia on Sunday and you make it out of Group Play?"

He looked at her with a furrowed brow.

"Well, that would be great. And?"

"Well, there'd be tons of post-match interviews and celebrations. Everybody – including potential sponsors - would want to talk with you. Think of the leverage that we'd have at that moment. And you'd what – just miss all of that?"

"Yeah, I would. Besides, I'd only be gone for a few hours."

"Harry, I don't think you should do this. I mean -"

"Tracey, who's the boss here?" he interrupted. His jaws were clenched because he hated that word – 'should.' He despised it when people told him what he should do. He wasn't a minor anymore, forced to submit to the unreasonable and capricious rules of guardians and headmasters. He was a grown man, and he was fully capable of making decisions about his life. He tolerated taking orders when it came from Bulldog. The man was his coach and held a position of authority over him, after all. But he had no interest in hearing it from anyone else – particularly his agent. She wasn't his parent. Nor was she his employer. In fact, it was the other way around.

"You are," she said after swallowing hard.

"Right. So, can you do this for me or not?"

"I can."

"Thank you. Now, I've got to go. I'll see you in Russia."

That conversation had taken place on Wednesday afternoon after practice. The next day, he'd sent her flowers with a card saying his was sorry for being short with her. It seemed he was having to apologize a lot lately. His lack of sleep was definitely affecting his patience-level with others, he thought. Flowers had worked with Ginny so he hoped they'd work with Tracey, as well. But frankly, he didn't have the time or energy to worry about it, he told himself. He was already stretched to the limit between trying to keep his coach, his fiancée, and his godson all happy…and keeping the press at bay. And that didn't even mention the hours he was spending each day reading the Bible. His legal pad was spilling over with verses, notes, and questions. He read whenever and wherever he could, but it seemed as if he did his best reading at night, after Ginny fell asleep. He'd carefully slip out of bed and head down to the drawing room where he'd read until exhaustion finally overtook him.

It was Thursday night, well after midnight – which meant that it was actually Friday morning - when he came across a verse that made him stop. Earlier in the week, after finishing the book of John, Harry hadn't been sure which book/letter to read next. But he'd then recalled that Festus had mentioned a verse in his 'Parable of the Lost Sheep' sermon regarding the church in Ephesus so he'd decided that he'd read the book of Ephesians next. Verse 3 of chapter 5 read: 'But among you there must not be even a hint of sexual immorality, or of any kind of impurity, or greed, because these are improper for God's holy people.'

He underlined the words, 'sexual immorality.' This was the first time that he'd come across anything in the Bible addressing the issue of sex, and it made him immediately think of his conversation with Barnabas from Monday morning, when his friend had said that Christians were barmy when it came to the topic. Maybe this was what he was talking about. Unfortunately, though, Paul – the writer of the letter – didn't define what he meant by 'sexual immorality.' Did he actually mean any type of sex that wasn't done for the purpose of procreation? Certainly not, thought Harry. That would be crazy. He continued reading, hoping that Paul would go into greater detail in later verses. But while the apostle did go on to discuss Christians living as children of light – which, again, reminded Harry of the war-memorial outside of Hogwarts - he didn't give any clarification on the topic of sex. Harry turned to the concordance in the back of the Bible and found about a dozen verses that included the words 'immoral' or 'immorality.' He was hoping that perhaps he could find a definition or explanation in one of these other verses of Scripture.

It was then, though, that he yawned deeply. So, he shut his Bible, deciding that he'd continue his research later. At the moment, it would be best if he tried to get some sleep since he had to be up in a few hours to head to the National Team stadium. The team would be taking an international portkey to Russia later that morning in order to play against New Zealand in that day's afternoon match.

"Doesn't really matter, though," he mumbled to himself as he headed for his bedroom. "Won't be playing anyway."

To his frustration, he had been unable to win back his starting seeker position that week. For the first time in his life, he was now relegated to a back-up role, forced to ride the pine as a spectator, watching others play the game he loved. He couldn't believe how much had changed in less than two weeks – from playoff MVP to a bench-warming reserve. And, frankly, he didn't like the way it made him feel – as if his life was untethered and adrift, like he'd been torn away from an anchor that had been holding him in place.