"A Most Ingenious Paradox"
[A Harry Potter Fanfiction by Penpusher]
Chapter Six - A New Beginning
Harry put down his copy of the Daily Prophet with a sigh, noting that his cup of coffee was stone cold. For the second time. He was about to use a heating charm on it again, when it occurred to him that the house was extremely quiet. Too quiet for a Saturday, particularly when he himself was gathering dust in Hermione's study.
The events of the previous weekend had been almost too much, but like the children they no longer were, the gang had bounced back. Fred had moved into his old room and place in Harry's House as though he'd never been away, George had gone home to Ron's flat, and Hermione had continued slaving as though there was no tomorrow during working hours and collaborating with Lee when off-duty. Ron had taken a few days leave to assist Harry in his research on the cup they had taken from the temple.
~ooOoo~
On returning to the World Wizarding Library, Ron and Harry had entertained the vague hope of finding Professor Radcliffe still there. On enquiry of Reception, it appeared he had returned to Florence to write up his notes and was not expected back for several weeks. Undaunted, the two wizards tackled the catalogue themselves for information on the Holy Grail, but they found little of any help.
Ron took a breath, pointing at a passage in a huge leather-bound book. "Look, it says here: 'Holy Grail, The: artefact, believed to be magical, beloved by several pagan Muggle religions during the Dark Ages in England. Close association with the Muggle King, Arthur. Once the property of Merlin (unsubstantiated), it was recovered by the knight Sir Galahad, the only Knight of the Round Table (the entourage of King Arthur) who was pure in body and spirit and therefore worthy to handle it.' Does that mean I'm pure in body and spirit, since I'm the one who took it out of the temple?"
"That sounds about as useful as the stuff I'm reading here," laughed Harry. "Listen: 'The Holy Grail is believed to have been another name for the Cauldron of Ceridwyn, a magical artefact with no physical substance, which could be summoned under certain circumstances to give healing, well-being and great joy to all who desired it.'"
"Harry, what makes you so sure that what we've got is the Holy Grail?" Ron was frowning. "We can't find out anything about it - it could be any old chalice."
"I strongly suspect that it is the Holy Grail, Ron, for several reasons." Harry paused, tapping his fingers on the tabletop. "Firstly, it is without doubt a very powerful magical artefact, one of the most powerful I have ever encountered. Its aura alone, when it's not stifled in your pocket, Ron, is really quite disturbing in its intensity.
"Secondly," Harry scratched his head and gave a perplexed smile, "I can't identify it as anything else, and my speciality is just this sort of thing. Thirdly, putting numbers one and two together, the chances of something as powerful as this being totally unheard of are very slim, and from all we can find out, the Holy Grail is the only possible match. Fourthly, well I just feel it in my gut."
"So, if you're honest, you really have very little to go on, apart from intuition?" Ron smiled sympathetically as he spoke.
"That's about the size of it, Ron," Harry sighed. "There are simply no hard facts. I think we're going to have to go to Florence you know - to tackle the Professor."
"Better take Hermione then," Ron said, drily. "My guess is she'll get more out of him than anyone else!"
Nevertheless, Ron and Harry kept their noses to the grindstone for the rest of the week, and had precious little to show for it by the weekend. It was like old times back in the Hogwarts library. But inwardly, Harry knew that the battle with Voldemort had taken more out of him than he cared to remember, and time spent quietly researching was also recovery time.
~ooOoo~
Harry brooded darkly and in silence. One of the worst things he had ever had to do in his life was tell his friends the bitter truth about Voldemort. He would never forget Hermione's look of hurt betrayal or Ron's ashen-faced dread. Harry hated himself and cursed whatever malign fates there were for consigning him to such terrible times. It was indeed Voldemort who had attempted to materialise on the stone plinth, his faithful servant Wormtail waiting to welcome him, his ranks of Deatheaters ready to protect him. Harry and Ginny's prompt action had thwarted him this time around, but Harry seriously doubted whether Voldemort could be despatched in the same manner again.
Harry stretched, wincing as he activated muscles that were still sore, and got up to pace around the study like a restless panther. At least Fred had been very little affected by his period of incarceration with Voldemort. Most prisoners of the dark side were badly treated, Alastor Moody being a prime example, but Fred seemed to have been reasonably well looked-after, at least physically. He had been held under Imperius for most of the time and his mind had wandered, but aside from that, he had come out of a dangerous situation remarkably unscathed.
So far, Harry had carefully refrained from public speculation as to why Fred had been kept in such good condition, but the other man was not in Ministry Intelligence for nothing. In his usual abrupt style, Fred came upon Harry alone in the kitchen early one morning and stated his conclusion entirely without preamble.
"He was going to use me as a host body, wasn't he? Voldemort, I mean." Fred's voice was remarkably calm. Harry stared for a moment, then carefully swallowed his mouthful of coffee and placed the mug down on the table.
"I think that was his intention, yes," Harry replied, seriously. "I believe complete physical materialisation on this plane would use up too much of his power to be effective. Total possession of your body, plus access to your own powers, knowledge and memories would be more than sufficient for his purposes. My guess is he'd be able to fight off anything we could throw at him."
Fred nodded, pursing his lips in a serious manner.
"Is he likely to try again?"
"Yes, Fred," Harry replied simply. "I think it very likely that he will try again. Very likely indeed."
Returning to the present, Harry shook his head, trying to fit the pieces of information together. In addition to all this, there was also the matter of Hermione's research on the stone with Professor Radcliffe. That had been a real facer.
~ooOoo~
It was several days before Harry could persuade Hermione that he was strong enough to cope with what she had discovered. Unable to snatch even a glimpse of her notes, he fumed in silent frustration, haunting her study until she could stand it no more.
"Alright, I'll tell you. Just let me get the others together first!" Hermione took her hands out of her hair and glared at the bespectacled face peering hopefully around her study door. "I can see I'm not going to get this Opinion finished until I come clean. Ginny's off house-hunting this afternoon, so I'll have to tell her about it later. Honestly, Harry, you can be a right pain at times!"
Ginning disarmingly, Harry resisted the temptation to cheer loudly and dance around the room. He was less than enthusiastic, however, when he found himself unwillingly ensconced on an overstuffed sofa twiddling his thumbs while the others perched on chairs around him and Hermione lectured them on ancient Aramaic.
"It's not a very idiomatic translation," Hermione said finally, shuffling her pages around, "but it's as accurate as the Professor reckoned we could get. It seems to be some kind of - revelation: a prediction or forecast. Anyway, it goes like this."
She cleared her throat.
"'When the dead one returns to claim his own, the living boy and the .. ' well, the nearest we could get was 'dryad' or 'spirit of nature' 'must unite in care, and take the cup of plenty from the hands of the pure one to return it to its rightful place.' That's not exact, and there are a number of anomalies, but I think it's good enough to be getting on with."
"'The Living Boy,'" mused Ron, rubbing a finger pensively down the side of his nose. "Do you think that might be 'The Boy Who Lived'?"
The others smiled at the old name coined for Harry when he was a baby. Hermione chuckled.
"It sounds rather likely, doesn't it?" she replied, as though this had already occurred to her, "And "the dead one" is therefore going to be You- Know-Who, but what about the dryad, or spirit of nature?"
"Aren't dryads something to do with trees?" put in Lee, tentatively. Hermione nodded.
"Yes that's right," she said. "In Muggle mythology, the spirits of trees were depicted as beautiful young maidens. They could leave their trees for a limited amount of time, and were sometimes quite mischievous, leading young men astray and getting them hopelessly lost in deep forest."
"Hang on a mo'," George shifted restlessly in his chair. "I don't want to put a damper on your enthusiasm or anything, but who's to say this revelation, or whatever it is, has anything at all to do with us? For all we know, it might already have come to pass. That is, if it's genuine in the first place."
"That's a very good point, George," replied Harry quickly, before anyone else could jump in. "However, I anticipated someone would ask just that question, so I got Ron to do some research for me in Ministry archives, in the Prophesies Section."
"Yes," Ron pulled a lugubrious face. "And a fun afternoon that was, I can tell you! Well, according to Ministry Records, not only has this prophecy (if that's what it is) not yet been fulfilled, it has never even been recorded. In other words, no one's ever seen it before; this is its first appearance." There was a pause as the group digested the information.
"So what you're saying," put in Lee slowly, "is that as far as we know, if this prophecy has neither been fulfilled nor recorded in any way, it must be genuine. Is that about right?"
"If you care to put it that way, Lee, yes, I suppose it is." Harry was amused. "Although I wouldn't like to put money on it until it's been verified by experts."
"Pshaw!" Hermione made a rude noise. "By 'experts' I suppose you mean that charlatan, Trelawney. Frankly, I wouldn't trust her as far as I could throw a manticore!"
"What about the 'cup of plenty'?" Ron interjected quickly to forestall any further ranting.
"Oh, that's obvious," scoffed Fred. "It's that grail thing you've got in your pocket, Ron; the thing you won't let out of your sight; the thing we've all been gassing about ever since you found it. Wake up! Even if it isn't the Holy Grail, it's got to be the cup mentioned in this prophesy lark. After all, the stone led you to it, didn't it?"
They all agreed that Fred was most likely right.
"In fact," added Harry, seriously, "the appearance of the cup in response to the stone's summoning power is one of the major pieces of evidence for the validity of this prophecy. Prophecies are strange things. Sometimes they can hang around for centuries in plain sight until they're almost forgotten, and people only realise they've been fulfilled in retrospect. Others emerge from the depths of history at the eleventh hour and seem to serve no useful purpose whatsoever apart from to confirm what's already happening."
"In other words, they're about as useful as yesterday's Daily Prophet," Fred replied ironically. "Is that what you're saying?"
"I'll second that!" added Hermione, above the general laughter, eyes flashing dangerously.
"What about the pure one?" Lee asked, looking around at the others. Blank faces greeted him. Harry raised a hand.
"Ron and I found out that during the reign of the Muggle English King Arthur, during the Dark Ages, the Holy Grail was recovered by a knight called Galahad," Harry told them. "He was apparently the only one of Arthur's knights who was pure enough in body and spirit to take the cup and bear it back to Camelot, where it was used to heal Arthur of the wounds he had received from his half-sister, Morgan le Fey. Also, the same idea of purity and healing crops up in the German legend of the Perfect Fool or Parsifal."
"But who can it refer to in our present time?" asked Hermione. Fred gave a mocking laugh at Harry's bewildered shrug.
"Well, I'm afraid none of us here is exactly innocent in spirit," Fred put in, sardonically, "and as for bodily purity - well, I think we all gave up on that one a long time ago. Unless Ron's holding out on us, of course. What about it, Ronnie-boy?"
"Shut it, Fred," Ron growled, his ears turning red. Fred's grin widened as he noticed Hermione's eyes slide away.
"I think you may be barking up the wrong tree, Fred," said Harry, adroitly interrupting him. "I don't think we're talking purity as in virginity, or even innocence of mind here. If the prophecy is as old as Professor Radcliffe seems to think it is, then I think it means morality in the wider sense: decency, honour, integrity and honesty of motive. The putting of the greater good before personal well-being, if you follow me."
"What does it mean to 'unite in care'?" asked George. Hermione frowned over her notes.
"Well, that's a rather moot question actually," she admitted. "There are several meanings to that particular figure, and 'care' seemed the most appropriate translation, but it really depends on the overall meaning of the prophecy which way it could swing." There was a pause. No one seemed to have anything more to add.
"It doesn't look as though we're going to shed any further light on this thing tonight," Harry said presently. "Let's sleep on it and see what we come up with."
But after several nights' fitful rest, Harry himself was no further forward
~ooOoo~
Harry paused in his pacing by the window and gazed unseeingly into the garden. He needed to go through all this with someone completely fresh and objective, he told himself. To his surprise, he found he wanted Ginny, but he hadn't seen anything of her since the previous weekend.
Harry sighed and, suddenly making a decision, he strode across the room and flung open the door. Padding out into the corridor, he went in search of anyone who felt like another cup of coffee, but tracking down prospective company proved less than easy. The kitchen was empty; so was the drawing room, the dining room, the West Room, the library, the guest bathrooms, the utility and, so far as he could guess, the cellars, the attics and the garden. Mystified, he moved to the unfinished west wing where his own bedroom and bathroom were situated and was rewarded by the faint noise of activity and muted conversation. He followed these sounds and emerged into a large, bright room, the existence of which, until then, he had been almost totally unaware.
Hermione was at the top of a stepladder. She was wearing scruffy paint- stained overalls, and her rich brown hair was carelessly piled on top of her head so that several strands were hanging over her face. She grinned broadly.
"Hi, Harry. Come to give us a hand?"
Harry returned her smile.
"Certainly - if you tell me what you're doing."
"Redecorating, mate, what does it look like?" answered someone nearer the floor.
The other voice, Harry noticed, belonged to Fred who, equally dishevelled, was making passes with his wand over several buckets of water. Harry paused to glance around the room. It had a very pleasant aspect, looking out over the overgrown garden, with huge sash windows and French doors leading on to a balcony. He nodded at a further door over to one side.
"What's in there?" Harry asked curiously.
"Bathroom," replied Fred, shortly. "Or, rather, will be when we've built it."
Harry crossed the room and opened the door to the potential ensuite. Fred was right: it certainly needed some work, but the basics were all there. Closing the door thoughtfully, Harry went back to the entrance, intending to go change into some less important clothes. He was struck by a sudden thought.
"Hermione, who is this bedroom for?" Harry looked up questioningly at the girl on the ladder. Hermione stopped washing down the walls and exchanged a swift glance with Fred.
"No one, really," Fred answered for her, with a disarming grin. "Just part of the general renovation." Harry came back into the room and pointed a finger at Fred.
"The truth, Weasley - or you're toast!"
Fred shrugged in defeat and opened his mouth, but Hermione interrupted. She was about to speak, then seemed to change her mind. She stared at Harry critically, with narrowed eyes.
"Harry, you're dark again." Hermione pointed a finger accusingly. "When did that happen?"
Harry ran a hand shyly through his thick hair, fighting against embarrassment.
"Oh, it was you girls really," Harry said with a disarming grin. "I didn't particularly notice, everyone's sun-bleached in California, but you seemed so shocked I thought I'd, well, repair the damage, that's all. And stop trying to change the subject!"
If Harry were to be totally truthful, he would have to admit that Ginny's opinion the previous weekend had really tipped the balance. But he would cheerfully swallow glass shards before confessing such a thing to his housemates. Hermione made a sour face and turned back to the subject in question.
"It's my fault, Harry, but you know you always intended your house to be full of your old friends, so I don't feel too guilty about it."
"About what?"
"And it's not as if you'd need references for her. After all, she's family."
"She? Hermione, just who are we talking about?"
"And it could be said that - well, really, you, Harry, are to blame for making her homeless."
"Hermione," Harry took hold of the stepladder. "Start talking sense, or I will shake this ladder until you do. Whom have I made homeless?"
"It's Ginny," explained Fred, when Hermione's nerve failed her. "You know she's been living with that Muggle guy who was here that night when the temple went boom. Well, they've been together three years, and he knew nothing about magic. Had no idea she was a witch - can you imagine?" Fred was shaking his head in disbelief.
"She's got to move out of the flat, Harry: the lease is in David's name." Hermione took up the tale. "She's really cut up about the split, and I felt she'd be better among friends than trying to find somewhere on her own."
Hermione stared at him anxiously, trying to gauge his opinion and, finding no appreciable reaction, launched herself into unplanned explanations.
"This guy has been really bad for her. Did you know he's her agent as well as her ex-boyfriend? Well, she's been trying to live all this time without using magic - can you believe it? Pretending she's a Muggle, for Merlin's sake, just to keep that preppy idiot happy, and now the cat's out of the bag, he's dumped her." Harry's expression darkened.
"Harry, please say something." Hermione was really apprehensive now. "I was so sure you'd be happy for Ginny to come and live here ."
"Eh? What?"
Harry seemed to return to earth, and his face cleared.
"Of course I don't mind. Why on earth did you think I would?" Harry replied in surprise. "Just because my name's on the deeds of this mausoleum doesn't mean I'm the only one who calls the shots around here, you know. I'd be absolutely delighted for Ginny to come live here. Couldn't think of anywhere better." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I was just wondering - about her magical talents, I mean. If she hasn't been using them to any great extent for three years, she's probably going to need some help from the rest of us to get back to her former level. From the events of last weekend, I'd say that none of her raw power has gone, but she must have forgotten a great deal of what we learned at school."
"We can do that!" smiled Hermione, continuing to wield her sponge with renewed vigour. "We can do anything!"
"Except devise a charm to wash down walls, so it seems!" Harry was amused.
"Okay, wiseass: you think of one!" Fred frowned. Harry backed off, hands held in front of him, shaking his head.
"I think I'll just see what can be done with the bathroom."
"Coward!"
Later that afternoon, the trio surveyed the results of their labours with true satisfaction. Walls in a pale eggshell blue with white gloss skirting, bare sanded floorboards, Chinese rugs and a quilt matching the curtains; it looked cool, light and airy. The curtain material was Hermione's own design. However, as she said, it was no trouble to change the colour scheme, in fact, it might give Ginny some well needed practice.
Harry's domain, the ensuite bathroom, required a longer look. Originally a dressing room and therefore not exactly huge, Harry had managed to squeeze into it not only a shower cubicle but a corner bath so luxuriously large that it resembled nothing so much as a small swimming pool. The smooth grey marble floor and the pale rose colour-scheme made the overall effect nothing short of beautiful.
"Harry, I didn't know you had it in you - she'll love it!" Hermione was absolutely entranced, turning round and round, gazing at the room until Harry went pink with embarrassment.
"Well, like you said," Harry mumbled, "she can always change the colour scheme if she doesn't like it."
"Just one thing." Hermione's brow creased slightly. "The windows are enormous. I know she's not going to be overlooked from the road but, well, this is a wizarding house and people do arrive on broomsticks fairly frequently. Much as I hate the things, I really would put at least half- nets at the windows." Harry shrugged.
"She could always use an opacity charm. I know a good one which makes the windows let in light, but you can't see in from outside. I don't want to do any more now, I'll ask her later if she wants to use it."
It was early evening before Ginny arrived in a taxi containing all her worldly goods. As Fred and George made trips to and from the car, piling her cases and boxes in her new room, Ginny herself stood rather forlornly in the hall, clutching a cardboard box containing some books, an old set of scales and a full set of Gryffindor Quidditch robes. Seeing she was close to tears, Harry slid a gentle arm round her and pulled her head onto his shoulder.
"It's alright, sweetheart," he murmured. "You're moving house - that's a bit of a wrench under any circumstances, but you've got the added heartache of leaving a relationship as well as a place. You're allowed to be sad, you're even allowed to cry if you want to!"
Ginny smothered a sob in Harry's shirt, but gamely rubbed the tears away with her fists: a curiously endearing, childlike gesture.
"I've cried a river already, as the song goes," she told him. "I knew it couldn't last forever, but I refused to admit it. Now I've got to make my own way." He squeezed her shoulders.
"We'll help you." Pausing to peck her briefly on the cheek, Harry released her and went to supervise Fred and George with the rest of the removals.
Ginny's reaction on seeing her room for the first time was everything Hermione could have wished. The cardboard box slipped from her nerveless hands as she stared around her with delight.
"Oh, Hermione, it's just beautiful!" she whispered, running to the window to look out over the garden, then back to admire the paintwork and the new bedcover.
"You can always change anything you don't like," volunteered Fred. "We won't be offended or anything. We'll just make you do it the Muggle way!"
"Just you go and see what Harry's been doing this afternoon," Hermione smiled, taking her by the hand and leading her to the bathroom door. Ginny peered into the room and gasped in amazement. She moved around turning on the taps, exclaiming at the size of the bath, demurely casting an opacity charm of her own on the window. Then she turned to them all with tears in her eyes.
"Oh thank you!" she sobbed, leaning on Hermione's shoulder. "I don't know what else to say, just - thank you!" Harry felt the lump in his throat begin to ease a little.
Fred and George had volunteered to produce a celebration supper for Ginny's arrival at Harry's House. As it happened, both Ron and Lee turned up later, on spec, but were immediately invited to stay in return for a trip to the local off-licence. This event left the communal wine cellar a good deal better off than it had been for years.
Early on, Hermione retired diffidently to the kitchen in an attempt to restore some order to the proceedings, but Ron eventually plied her with so much good red wine that Fred and George were allowed their head. As it happened, they produced an extremely passable pasta with chicken and wine sauce, followed by fruit salad in champagne (the bubbles disappeared very quickly, so Harry used an enchantment to keep it sparkling until it was eaten).
Many evenings spent in congenial company result in a pleasant feeling of wellbeing, of all's right with the world. Of contentment, if you like. Some occasions go a little further, into the realms of genuine happiness. And one or two, the really memorable ones, have everyone so high on good humour it seems that nothing can ever go wrong again.
The gang had not really partied since long before Harry's return.
The food was a mere memory and the stack of empty wine bottles grew steadily towards the ceiling. Several silly party games were suggested and played amidst increasingly hysterical laughter. When they could finally stand no more rounds of "Truth or Dare" or "Post Owl's Knock", Fred went upstairs to fetch his eclectic anthology of dance music. Soon the "Weird Sisters" were shaking the walls of Harry's House, intermittently drowned by George's guffaws of laughter as he and Lee examined Fred's collection.
"Hey!" shouted Lee, furiously waving a CD. "This is a karaoke disc - where did you get that?"
"So that's where it got to!" exclaimed Hermione, who was dancing contentedly with Ron. "I asked Ginny to get it from Wizarding Radio. It's great, but I still can't sing, whatever she says!"
Lee stuffed the disc into the machine. The sultry tones of a saxophone floated into the room, lazily accompanied by a muted double-bass, brushes and a liquid piano.
"Oh, man!" murmured Fred, stretching out in one of the armchairs. "This is real late-night music!"
Ron took the opportunity to draw Hermione against his chest so that her head fell naturally on to his shoulder. Unprotesting, she swayed in his arms to the music, her eyes closed.
Harry sat in an armchair, silently enjoying the atmosphere, taking the occasional sip at his glass of wine. Unlike everyone else, he had drunk very little and his appearance of relaxation was just that - an appearance. Inside, Harry Potter was one very worried wizard.
Much of the information he had absorbed over the past few days had at first gone over his head. He had been bone-weary after the confrontation with Voldemort, wounded and aching in body and spirit, and his deductive powers had taken a vacation. His hurts, both physical and mental, had healed leaving his body in need of exercise and his brain on overdrive. Somehow he couldn't seem to take his mind off the hook, no matter how hard he tried. He kept making connections, possible scenarios seemed to fly ahead into the distance, 'what ifs' haunted his every waking moment.
Harry glanced towards a small figure sitting cross-legged on the hearthrug, playing absently with her wine glass. By contrast, Ginny had drunk everything emptied into her glass, determined to thoroughly drown her sorrows. What she didn't know was that Harry had charmed out most of the alcohol and replaced it with a relaxing charm that made her sleepy, but without the threat of a hangover. The languorous saxophone tones changed into a recognisable jazz classic. Outwardly serene but still raw inside, Ginny started to sing.
"Stormy Weather" was one of the numbers Harry had heard at Ginny's gig last weekend, and he admired the way she had adapted an old and well-tried number to her own style, fresh and clean and melodious. But her singing of the same song now was quite different. Previously, he had appreciated the purity of her tone, the cleverness of her variation on the melody and her unerring sense of pitch and rhythm. Now, her voice harsh from crying, the real heartache of the song came through, the pain and the loneliness. Harry felt his eyes mist over, and glanced round to see if any of the others were listening.
Fred and George were both dozing, tumbled bonelessly in armchairs. Hermione and Ron had finally collapsed on to the sofa Lee was occupying. Hermione seemed to be falling asleep, until Ron poked her unceremoniously in the ribs. She made a face at him, took a sip of wine and leaned back casually against his shoulder, eyes closing irresistibly. Ron affectionately ruffled her hair before burrowing his way deeper into the sofa cushions. He gave a deep sigh of contentment and closed his eyes. Harry smiled. It was good to see those two getting along again.
The CD came to an end, the music stopped and all that could be heard was the ticking of the clock. Ginny's head drooped and her shoulders sagged as she lost the battle against the sleep that had eluded her for many weeks. Harry looked at the deep shadows under her eyes and decided that it was probably quite some time since Ginny had had a proper night's rest. Placing his glass carefully on the coffee table, Harry slid an arm round her shoulders and another under her knees. Taking care not to disturb her slumber, he lifted her against his chest, raising his eyebrows at her lightness, and carried her up the sweeping staircase into the West Wing and her new bedroom. He left her tucked up under the new bedcover, having removed only her shoes for comfort, coming back downstairs to strengthen the magical wards protecting the entry/exit points of the house.
Harry was not entirely sure why he chose to make a domestic check at this time, but when he had finished he was very glad he had done so: several of the wards were weak, and the one on the vulnerable garden door had faded away altogether. Grimly, he made a mental note to bawl George out for that in the morning. He made his way towards his bedroom, pausing only to peer curiously back into the West Room.
The twins were still out for the count, and Lee, Ron and Hermione were sound asleep, tangled together on the large sofa. Ron's arms were around Hermione's waist as she leaned against his chest, Lee's head cradled in her lap. Harry smiled, lowered the lights with a gesture and closed the door softly.
~ooOoo~
They were back in the temple, that - thing was materialising on the altar, the weird red light was beginning to engulf them all. Harry rose dizzily to his feet. A beam of silver frost had sprung from the end of his wand, encircling the figure, holding the sickly red light contained, and he had begun the Incantation. Strong magic was pulsing through the air, the thing on the pedestal gave an unearthly scream and flickered, writhing, in and out of existence. Suddenly, she froze in horror as it turned its face straight towards her: it was David.
Ginny awoke with cold sweat trickling down her face and leaped out of bed, instinctively reaching for her wand.
"Lumos!" Ginny all but shrieked as the room came into focus: still half- dreaming, she reeled into immediate panic at the unfamiliarity of her surroundings. Heart beating loudly enough to rouse the entire house, she sprinted to the door and stepped out into the corridor, breathing heavily and unevenly: still nothing made sense. She was about to continue down the corridor in search of a staircase, when someone turned on the electric light. Ginny whirled, terrified, bringing her wand reflexively in front of her face then sagged with relief as she saw that it was only Harry.
Harry had obviously been sleeping; his wayward dark hair was on end, and a hastily fastened towelling bathrobe covered his modesty, but for all that his eyes were cool and alert and his stance was anything but sluggish.
"Great Merlin! You startled me," Ginny burst out, all but collapsing on the floor.
"I could say the same," Harry shrugged. "Did you know you were virtually screaming in your sleep? I was already on my way to shake you awake if necessary, but then you shouted for light and started running, so I thought I'd better make sure it really was only a nightmare."
"Only a nightmare!" repeated Ginny feebly, wiping the sweat out of her eyes. "Oh, Great Powers of Light, I hope I never see another one like that!" Harry regarded her critically.
"That bad, huh?"
Ginny nodded feebly, not having the strength to answer.
"Okay." Harry looked at her seriously. "I think some kind of restorative and a little talk are both in order, before either of us attempts to get any more sleep. Ginny, I suggest you go put on the nightclothes Hermione left for you, and I'll meet you in the kitchen in about five minutes: I need to get something a little more decent than this to wear."
Harry grinned mildly in her direction, and Ginny suddenly realised that his meagre bathrobe was likely the only thing he was wearing. Her cheeks flamed and she turned quickly back to her bedroom.
Harry had been right about her need to change clothes, Ginny thought as she stripped off the black jeans and skinny teeshirt she had thought so cool. Now they looked like rags: soaked with sweat and creased beyond redemption. She shook her head; this would never do. Ten minutes later found her swiftly showered and dressed in one of her own nightshirts and Hermione's spare bathrobe. Curled up on the kitchen sofa in front of the warm range drinking Harry's cocoa, Ginny didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed to note that Harry's legs were now covered by striped pyjama bottoms. As warmth flooded through her, she began to feel more human.
"Now," said Harry, placing his mug down on the table. "What caused such a violent nightmare, Ginny? Are you able to tell me?" She nodded.
"I think so, but I don't suppose you'll learn anything useful from it." With that rider, Ginny told him as much as she could remember about her dream, including the horror of seeing David's face at the top of the pedestal on the altar. Harry pondered briefly, then shrugged.
"Ginny, I'm almost positive that Markland is Muggle through and through - he's not even a sensitive." Harry paused to gather his thoughts. "I took a mental reading on him when I first met him." he continued. "I wondered whether he was a latent, and if so, whether your problems with your relationship could be solved that way. Perhaps by trying to shock his abilities into focus. However, I'm afraid he's as psychically dead as the proverbial dodo: absolutely no response, no talent. But," and here he held up a hand to forestall her interruption, "I have been known to be wrong. On occasions, that is." His eyes twinkled. "David Markland's talent may be too deeply buried even for me to uncover."
There was a slight question-mark in Harry's voice, but Ginny shook her head.
"I gave up hoping he was really a wizard deep down a long time ago." Ginny propped her chin in her hands thoughtfully. "It's like - like living with someone who's blind or deaf and pretending you can't see or hear too, just to keep them from realising that there's a whole different world out there that they're never going to be able to experience."
A tear rolled slowly down her cheek, unchecked.
"I wish I could have helped him," Ginny sighed, "or at least have been able to keep my two lives separate." She made a small impatient sound. "I should have stopped deceiving myself. I couldn't make myself into a Muggle any more than I could make him into a wizard."
Harry didn't react immediately, but instead seemed to ponder for a while before answering. Then he leaned forward and took both her hands in his.
"You are a very powerful sorceress," Harry began earnestly. "Minerva McGonagall told me you were way ahead of the rest of your family, including Molly and Arthur, by the time you were sixteen. I think at the time she had a family alliance in mind, but this was before she was aware of, well, of my understanding with Cho." A shadow came over his face momentarily.
"Anyway," Harry continued, making an effort to shake off the past. "Quite apart from the mental misery it must have cost you to suppress your powers over these past three years, it's positively criminal to waste such an ability." He reached out to take her small hands in his larger ones.
"Ginny," Harry said gravely, "you've lost crucial time in the development of your powers by pretending to be something you're not, and you've exposed yourself to psychic suffering of a very acute kind. I know the particular nightmare you experienced tonight had its roots in last weekend's traumas, but can you look me in the face and swear that you have had a dream-free night since you first started trying to deny yourself? Well, can you?"
Harry ducked his head as Ginny looked away, trying to catch her gaze. Forced into a confrontation, the girl stared back boldly and shook her head.
"It's been hell on earth," Ginny stated quietly. Harry gave a slight nod.
"And if you want to sleep peacefully again," Harry added with a grim smile, "I suggest you start giving your powers a regular workout."
Ginny sipped her cocoa thoughtfully, hugging her knees. After a pause, she looked up at him curiously over the rim of her mug.
"Harry," Ginny began, cautiously, "what exactly happened last weekend? In the temple, I mean?"
Harry sighed and looked away, running a hand through tousled hair. Irrelevantly, Ginny noticed how much better it suited him dark, despite his deep suntan. He looked straight at her, his startlingly green eyes bleak.
"Well," Harry began, "the plain facts are as I told you then: Voldemort is alive and powerful, but he exists in a parallel dimension. He still seems to be obsessed with conquering our world, and he's now trying to break through the barrier between planes to materialise physically here. I believe he kidnapped Fred in order to try to use him as a host body."
Ginny shivered.
"Quite," Harry agreed, nodding seriously. "Fred's physical youth and strength, together with his magical powers, knowledge of Ministry secrets and unassailable position with us here make him the front runner. The only better target would have been me: Harry Potter himself." He made a disgusted noise then shook his head. "But Voldemort would never have tried it on with me. It would have meant showing his hand too soon." He reached forward to push a wayward strand of hair away from Ginny's face and smiled.
"As it is," Harry said in a lighter tone, "Voldemort has been forced to change his plans materially. If he had succeeded in taking possession of Fred's body, we would have been hard put to it indeed to stop him. It was purely down to your talent and grit, Ginny, that he hasn't already begun his reign of terror."
Ginny shook her head, unwilling to accept the tribute, then looked up again.
"But how did we do it, Harry?" Ginny asked. "I mean, what happened between us back there? What did we do? I've never heard of any two wizards being able to, well, join. To merge their power in that way before."
"To be totally honest, Ginny, neither have I." Harry favoured her with a wry smile before frowning in thought.
"All I know," Harry continued, "is that I was so sickened by the sight of my worst nightmares becoming real that I couldn't even move, never mind work out a defensive strategy. You were the one who spotted the weakness - how did you do that, by the way?"
"I've really no idea." Ginny responded pensively "I just remember seeing everything tinted in red, and I seemed to know that the brightest object was the one I had to hit - in whatever way was most appropriate!"
"Yet another mystery," Harry shrugged. "You know, I'm beginning to feel a little out of control, like I'm working to someone else's agenda, even when I'm fighting back." He sighed. "I'd really like to be able to return to some kind of normal existence, you know. Preferably while I'm still young enough to enjoy it, but there you go: life is seldom what you would wish."
"But Harry," persisted Ginny, "how did we manage to pool our power like that?" .
"I wish I knew, Gin," Harry frowned, scratching his head. "It's a formidable weapon, you know, particularly if we could expand the pool to include other wizards. Pouring a large amount of magical energy through one outlet must pretty dangerous though, if my physical reaction to the exertion is anything to go on, but we really ought to ask someone a little more adept than we are. How about Sirius?"
Ginny shrugged then bit her lip as though she was debating whether or not to say something.
"It was more than a pooling of power, Harry," Ginny said finally, in a low voice. "I could feel your thoughts, your - emotions."
Harry didn't speak for a while, but his gut twisted. He had suspected, feared that she had also experienced the strange melding that had rattled him so badly. In fact, he had been so unsettled by the experience that he had tried not to examine it too closely, and here she was forcing him to drag it back up for analysis.
"Ginny, I ." Ginny held up a hand to silence him.
"Please, don't speak yet, let me finish."
Ginny swallowed on a dry throat and tried again.
"Harry, you were always aware of the childish crush I had on you when I first met you, weren't you?" Ginny began with a wry smile. "Harry the Hero, the Boy Who Lived! What red-blooded Hogwarts witch didn't fantasise about going out with you? Unlike the others, I got to know you for yourself through your friendship with Ron, and my crush didn't die. It just changed and got stronger; grew up with me, if you like. But I had assumed all the time that it was completely one-sided; that you were so wrapped up in - in Cho, even now, that there could never be anyone else."
"Ginny, please." Harry's face twisted as if in pain. Ginny's knuckles whitened as she gripped the edge of the table.
"I'm sorry to talk about her, Harry," Ginny continued doggedly. "But life has to go on, and you can't ignore the fact that she isn't here any more." Her eyes held nothing but desperate sorrow. Harry shook his head, violently but did not speak.
"This is difficult for me too, Harry, but it's got to be said." Ginny was unconsciously lacing and unlacing her fingers.
"I felt your emotions, Harry," Ginny said in a very low tone without looking at him. "I heard your thoughts. Until now I had no idea that any feelings I had for you might be returned, despite Cho."
Harry looked up sharply, piercing her with the directness of his gaze. Unreasonable anger threatened to spill out of him.
"Well, now you know, don't you?" Harry snapped back. "Much good it'll do either of us."
"I don't understand!" Ginny cried, shaking her head in confusion. "What's stopping you, Harry? I know how you feel, I was there, with you, in you. And it's not as though you could ever have had any doubts as to my feelings, so why did you keep away from me? Why are you holding back even now?"
Harry did not respond or even look at her; his face could have been graven in stone. A long moment passed. Ginny's shoulders sagged and a deep sigh escaped her. She uncurled her legs from the sofa, placed her mug carefully on the coffee table, and stood up.
"I'm sorry, Harry," Ginny whispered. "I just don't understand. But it hurts anyway."
Ginny laid her hands on Harry's shoulders and pressed her lips lightly to his cheek. He made a harsh, painful sound deep in his throat and wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face in her abdomen, breathing in the fragrance of her skin.
"Oh, Ginny, if you only knew ."
Harry's voice was harsh, tight. He raised his head to look at her. Tendrils of long red hair brushed his face as she tentatively angled her head towards his.
For a moment, just for an instant, it seemed that Harry would surrender. They were so close Ginny could feel his breath on her lips; smell his hair, the heat of his flesh. She closed her eyes in anticipation then with a groan, Harry turned and almost fell away from her, his breathing harsh.
"I can't do this to you." Harry whispered. "The risk to your safety, and you're on the rebound anyway. How could I even think of ..." He trailed off, shaking his head and started to walk towards the stairs.
"Harry."
Harry stopped dead as Ginny spoke. He didn't turn round. He heard her footsteps, felt the warmth of her body as she drew near to him, placing a hand on his arm.
"I'm not on the rebound, not with you," Ginny told him quietly. "I've always known that David was no good for me, but I refused to believe it until you came back. Then as soon as I saw you in the Green Room of the Café Royale, I knew it was all over between David and me. I stayed with him so long because I couldn't have you, because you'd left me here in England, because I believed you never cared for me. How could you deny me for so long?"
Ginny's eyes were bright with anguish.
"Deny you?" Harry blurted, incredulously. "Deny you! Ginny, don't you understand? Voldemort kills people who are close to me - my parents, Remus, Albus, Cho - I couldn't risk any of your lives by close association with me, I had to go away, pretend I didn't care. I didn't dare have any sort of romantic liaison - I've been celibate since Cho! - even friendships were out of the question. I gambled on Voldemort's weakness for a whole year in London, while I found this house and started to renovate it, but when you graduated and it looked as though you would be moving in with Hermione, I knew I couldn't risk it any longer. That's when I decided to take the job in LA."
"And I moved in with David," mused Ginny, stroking her bottom lip with her index finger. Harry shook his head.
"Even then, the fact that you and I were close - I've coped with a lot of grief and pain in my life, Ginny, but losing you to Voldemort's evil would have broken me wide open." Harry put a hand to his forehead in frustration.
"I feel as though I've been living in a vacuum," Harry finally burst out. "Any sort of emotional involvement on my part exposed the other person to danger. Ergo the only kind of relationship I could form was with someone I didn't care about. And even then, if I caused the death of an innocent person, the guilt would destroy me. Why try? It's a Catch 22 situation, just like the fiction the world believed about Voldemort."
He paced the room, flailing his hands wildly in agitation.
"Harry Potter destroyed Voldemort when he was still at school, so now the world is free," Harry began breathlessly. "Consequently, no one keeps a watching brief on his possible return - because he's not going to come back. Nobody bothers correlating all the pointers, large and small, which have been building up over the years - because he's been neutralized. I'm one of the few people who know that isn't the case, that it'll take more than a sixteen-year old schoolboy, however special, to rid the world of that menace, but I can't ask for help BECAUSE VOLDEMORT IS DEAD!"
Harry practically shouted the last four words, hands tearing at his wayward dark hair. He paused for breath.
"And I couldn't explain," Harry continued tightly. He was shaking his head over and over again. "I had to leave you, all of you, my family - and I couldn't even tell you why." He stared at the floor. Gently, Ginny pushed his hair back from his forehead.
"'A paradox, a paradox, a most ingenious paradox,'" Ginny sang quietly almost to herself then tilted Harry's chin up to meet her eyes. "Let me help." He looked at her uncomprehendingly.
"Harry, you can't live your life like a clam," Ginny continued. "You can't foreswear all emotional relationships for the rest of your life for fear of the unknown." Harry merely continued to shake his head, beyond words.
"I'm supposed to be some sort of wizkid sorceress, aren't I?" Ginny smiled wryly, the light of challenge in her eyes. "Well, use my powers, take me on to your team. Let me into your life."
Harry stared with wide eyes. He seemed temporarily robbed of speech.
"Harry," Ginny said uncertainly. Tentatively, she reached for him. "Harry?"
Time stood still. And then, hesitantly, Harry extended a shaking hand. Slowly, slowly his fingers traced the contours of Ginny's face, down to her neck and shoulders, never quite touching the skin. Motionless, her breathing quick and shallow, Ginny made no sign of protest or assent, no move either to check or to encourage his actions. Trancelike, Harry continued his lingering exploration, moving down her arms, on to her hands and fingers. She felt his wayward hair brush her ear; his breath was hot on her cheeks, lips lightly grazing her skin. Then his trembling mouth settled over hers.
The contact was so fleeting that at first Ginny was unsure whether they really had kissed. Harry's eyes snapped wide open. An expression resembling nothing so much as abject terror chased its way across his face.
"Oh, gods!" Ginny could hardly hear Harry's panicked whisper above the beating of her own heart. Their eyes met, wide and scared. He swallowed dryly, then reached for her again, his mouth firmer this time; more assured.
Harry tasted of chocolate and fear. Ginny felt his body shake convulsively against hers, his heart pounding fit to burst. He thrust her away from him, staring intensely, almost angrily into her face. Then suddenly he snatched her once again into his arms, kissing her as though he were a drowning man and she a straw in the ocean. She took a quick shuddering gasp and pulled his mouth down onto hers again, desperate to hold him, to keep him from running away from her once more. He freed his lips, burying them in her hair.
"Ginny," Harry breathed, his eyes closed. "Stop me. Please. I - I can't. Don't let me do this."
Ginny silenced his protests with another kiss, which rapidly progressed into something much more serious.
"You'll never be safe again," Harry muttered, when he could breathe. Ginny broke free and stared at him, her eyes almost black, her lips swollen and pouting. His mouth parched, dry as dust in a desert. Silently, she took him by the hand and led him out of the kitchen, upstairs into the warm, velvety darkness.
Author's Notes
The distribution of this story is for personal use only. Any other form of distribution is prohibited without the consent of the author. Disclaimer: this is a non-profit enterprise. Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling, except the plot and David Markland, both of which belong to Penpusher. Tribute to: Susan Cooper's incomparable "The Dark is Rising" sequence for use of the "High Magic"; Dennis Wheatley for a plot device; and many, many other fanfiction writers whose works of all kinds and in very differing genres have been an immense inspiration to me. The quotations used as chapter titles are too numerous to credit here. Full details available on request, but Shakespeare and The Bible should yield most of them.
And all the thanks in the world to Becky (aka williara) for being a superb beta.
Chapter Six - A New Beginning
Harry put down his copy of the Daily Prophet with a sigh, noting that his cup of coffee was stone cold. For the second time. He was about to use a heating charm on it again, when it occurred to him that the house was extremely quiet. Too quiet for a Saturday, particularly when he himself was gathering dust in Hermione's study.
The events of the previous weekend had been almost too much, but like the children they no longer were, the gang had bounced back. Fred had moved into his old room and place in Harry's House as though he'd never been away, George had gone home to Ron's flat, and Hermione had continued slaving as though there was no tomorrow during working hours and collaborating with Lee when off-duty. Ron had taken a few days leave to assist Harry in his research on the cup they had taken from the temple.
~ooOoo~
On returning to the World Wizarding Library, Ron and Harry had entertained the vague hope of finding Professor Radcliffe still there. On enquiry of Reception, it appeared he had returned to Florence to write up his notes and was not expected back for several weeks. Undaunted, the two wizards tackled the catalogue themselves for information on the Holy Grail, but they found little of any help.
Ron took a breath, pointing at a passage in a huge leather-bound book. "Look, it says here: 'Holy Grail, The: artefact, believed to be magical, beloved by several pagan Muggle religions during the Dark Ages in England. Close association with the Muggle King, Arthur. Once the property of Merlin (unsubstantiated), it was recovered by the knight Sir Galahad, the only Knight of the Round Table (the entourage of King Arthur) who was pure in body and spirit and therefore worthy to handle it.' Does that mean I'm pure in body and spirit, since I'm the one who took it out of the temple?"
"That sounds about as useful as the stuff I'm reading here," laughed Harry. "Listen: 'The Holy Grail is believed to have been another name for the Cauldron of Ceridwyn, a magical artefact with no physical substance, which could be summoned under certain circumstances to give healing, well-being and great joy to all who desired it.'"
"Harry, what makes you so sure that what we've got is the Holy Grail?" Ron was frowning. "We can't find out anything about it - it could be any old chalice."
"I strongly suspect that it is the Holy Grail, Ron, for several reasons." Harry paused, tapping his fingers on the tabletop. "Firstly, it is without doubt a very powerful magical artefact, one of the most powerful I have ever encountered. Its aura alone, when it's not stifled in your pocket, Ron, is really quite disturbing in its intensity.
"Secondly," Harry scratched his head and gave a perplexed smile, "I can't identify it as anything else, and my speciality is just this sort of thing. Thirdly, putting numbers one and two together, the chances of something as powerful as this being totally unheard of are very slim, and from all we can find out, the Holy Grail is the only possible match. Fourthly, well I just feel it in my gut."
"So, if you're honest, you really have very little to go on, apart from intuition?" Ron smiled sympathetically as he spoke.
"That's about the size of it, Ron," Harry sighed. "There are simply no hard facts. I think we're going to have to go to Florence you know - to tackle the Professor."
"Better take Hermione then," Ron said, drily. "My guess is she'll get more out of him than anyone else!"
Nevertheless, Ron and Harry kept their noses to the grindstone for the rest of the week, and had precious little to show for it by the weekend. It was like old times back in the Hogwarts library. But inwardly, Harry knew that the battle with Voldemort had taken more out of him than he cared to remember, and time spent quietly researching was also recovery time.
~ooOoo~
Harry brooded darkly and in silence. One of the worst things he had ever had to do in his life was tell his friends the bitter truth about Voldemort. He would never forget Hermione's look of hurt betrayal or Ron's ashen-faced dread. Harry hated himself and cursed whatever malign fates there were for consigning him to such terrible times. It was indeed Voldemort who had attempted to materialise on the stone plinth, his faithful servant Wormtail waiting to welcome him, his ranks of Deatheaters ready to protect him. Harry and Ginny's prompt action had thwarted him this time around, but Harry seriously doubted whether Voldemort could be despatched in the same manner again.
Harry stretched, wincing as he activated muscles that were still sore, and got up to pace around the study like a restless panther. At least Fred had been very little affected by his period of incarceration with Voldemort. Most prisoners of the dark side were badly treated, Alastor Moody being a prime example, but Fred seemed to have been reasonably well looked-after, at least physically. He had been held under Imperius for most of the time and his mind had wandered, but aside from that, he had come out of a dangerous situation remarkably unscathed.
So far, Harry had carefully refrained from public speculation as to why Fred had been kept in such good condition, but the other man was not in Ministry Intelligence for nothing. In his usual abrupt style, Fred came upon Harry alone in the kitchen early one morning and stated his conclusion entirely without preamble.
"He was going to use me as a host body, wasn't he? Voldemort, I mean." Fred's voice was remarkably calm. Harry stared for a moment, then carefully swallowed his mouthful of coffee and placed the mug down on the table.
"I think that was his intention, yes," Harry replied, seriously. "I believe complete physical materialisation on this plane would use up too much of his power to be effective. Total possession of your body, plus access to your own powers, knowledge and memories would be more than sufficient for his purposes. My guess is he'd be able to fight off anything we could throw at him."
Fred nodded, pursing his lips in a serious manner.
"Is he likely to try again?"
"Yes, Fred," Harry replied simply. "I think it very likely that he will try again. Very likely indeed."
Returning to the present, Harry shook his head, trying to fit the pieces of information together. In addition to all this, there was also the matter of Hermione's research on the stone with Professor Radcliffe. That had been a real facer.
~ooOoo~
It was several days before Harry could persuade Hermione that he was strong enough to cope with what she had discovered. Unable to snatch even a glimpse of her notes, he fumed in silent frustration, haunting her study until she could stand it no more.
"Alright, I'll tell you. Just let me get the others together first!" Hermione took her hands out of her hair and glared at the bespectacled face peering hopefully around her study door. "I can see I'm not going to get this Opinion finished until I come clean. Ginny's off house-hunting this afternoon, so I'll have to tell her about it later. Honestly, Harry, you can be a right pain at times!"
Ginning disarmingly, Harry resisted the temptation to cheer loudly and dance around the room. He was less than enthusiastic, however, when he found himself unwillingly ensconced on an overstuffed sofa twiddling his thumbs while the others perched on chairs around him and Hermione lectured them on ancient Aramaic.
"It's not a very idiomatic translation," Hermione said finally, shuffling her pages around, "but it's as accurate as the Professor reckoned we could get. It seems to be some kind of - revelation: a prediction or forecast. Anyway, it goes like this."
She cleared her throat.
"'When the dead one returns to claim his own, the living boy and the .. ' well, the nearest we could get was 'dryad' or 'spirit of nature' 'must unite in care, and take the cup of plenty from the hands of the pure one to return it to its rightful place.' That's not exact, and there are a number of anomalies, but I think it's good enough to be getting on with."
"'The Living Boy,'" mused Ron, rubbing a finger pensively down the side of his nose. "Do you think that might be 'The Boy Who Lived'?"
The others smiled at the old name coined for Harry when he was a baby. Hermione chuckled.
"It sounds rather likely, doesn't it?" she replied, as though this had already occurred to her, "And "the dead one" is therefore going to be You- Know-Who, but what about the dryad, or spirit of nature?"
"Aren't dryads something to do with trees?" put in Lee, tentatively. Hermione nodded.
"Yes that's right," she said. "In Muggle mythology, the spirits of trees were depicted as beautiful young maidens. They could leave their trees for a limited amount of time, and were sometimes quite mischievous, leading young men astray and getting them hopelessly lost in deep forest."
"Hang on a mo'," George shifted restlessly in his chair. "I don't want to put a damper on your enthusiasm or anything, but who's to say this revelation, or whatever it is, has anything at all to do with us? For all we know, it might already have come to pass. That is, if it's genuine in the first place."
"That's a very good point, George," replied Harry quickly, before anyone else could jump in. "However, I anticipated someone would ask just that question, so I got Ron to do some research for me in Ministry archives, in the Prophesies Section."
"Yes," Ron pulled a lugubrious face. "And a fun afternoon that was, I can tell you! Well, according to Ministry Records, not only has this prophecy (if that's what it is) not yet been fulfilled, it has never even been recorded. In other words, no one's ever seen it before; this is its first appearance." There was a pause as the group digested the information.
"So what you're saying," put in Lee slowly, "is that as far as we know, if this prophecy has neither been fulfilled nor recorded in any way, it must be genuine. Is that about right?"
"If you care to put it that way, Lee, yes, I suppose it is." Harry was amused. "Although I wouldn't like to put money on it until it's been verified by experts."
"Pshaw!" Hermione made a rude noise. "By 'experts' I suppose you mean that charlatan, Trelawney. Frankly, I wouldn't trust her as far as I could throw a manticore!"
"What about the 'cup of plenty'?" Ron interjected quickly to forestall any further ranting.
"Oh, that's obvious," scoffed Fred. "It's that grail thing you've got in your pocket, Ron; the thing you won't let out of your sight; the thing we've all been gassing about ever since you found it. Wake up! Even if it isn't the Holy Grail, it's got to be the cup mentioned in this prophesy lark. After all, the stone led you to it, didn't it?"
They all agreed that Fred was most likely right.
"In fact," added Harry, seriously, "the appearance of the cup in response to the stone's summoning power is one of the major pieces of evidence for the validity of this prophecy. Prophecies are strange things. Sometimes they can hang around for centuries in plain sight until they're almost forgotten, and people only realise they've been fulfilled in retrospect. Others emerge from the depths of history at the eleventh hour and seem to serve no useful purpose whatsoever apart from to confirm what's already happening."
"In other words, they're about as useful as yesterday's Daily Prophet," Fred replied ironically. "Is that what you're saying?"
"I'll second that!" added Hermione, above the general laughter, eyes flashing dangerously.
"What about the pure one?" Lee asked, looking around at the others. Blank faces greeted him. Harry raised a hand.
"Ron and I found out that during the reign of the Muggle English King Arthur, during the Dark Ages, the Holy Grail was recovered by a knight called Galahad," Harry told them. "He was apparently the only one of Arthur's knights who was pure enough in body and spirit to take the cup and bear it back to Camelot, where it was used to heal Arthur of the wounds he had received from his half-sister, Morgan le Fey. Also, the same idea of purity and healing crops up in the German legend of the Perfect Fool or Parsifal."
"But who can it refer to in our present time?" asked Hermione. Fred gave a mocking laugh at Harry's bewildered shrug.
"Well, I'm afraid none of us here is exactly innocent in spirit," Fred put in, sardonically, "and as for bodily purity - well, I think we all gave up on that one a long time ago. Unless Ron's holding out on us, of course. What about it, Ronnie-boy?"
"Shut it, Fred," Ron growled, his ears turning red. Fred's grin widened as he noticed Hermione's eyes slide away.
"I think you may be barking up the wrong tree, Fred," said Harry, adroitly interrupting him. "I don't think we're talking purity as in virginity, or even innocence of mind here. If the prophecy is as old as Professor Radcliffe seems to think it is, then I think it means morality in the wider sense: decency, honour, integrity and honesty of motive. The putting of the greater good before personal well-being, if you follow me."
"What does it mean to 'unite in care'?" asked George. Hermione frowned over her notes.
"Well, that's a rather moot question actually," she admitted. "There are several meanings to that particular figure, and 'care' seemed the most appropriate translation, but it really depends on the overall meaning of the prophecy which way it could swing." There was a pause. No one seemed to have anything more to add.
"It doesn't look as though we're going to shed any further light on this thing tonight," Harry said presently. "Let's sleep on it and see what we come up with."
But after several nights' fitful rest, Harry himself was no further forward
~ooOoo~
Harry paused in his pacing by the window and gazed unseeingly into the garden. He needed to go through all this with someone completely fresh and objective, he told himself. To his surprise, he found he wanted Ginny, but he hadn't seen anything of her since the previous weekend.
Harry sighed and, suddenly making a decision, he strode across the room and flung open the door. Padding out into the corridor, he went in search of anyone who felt like another cup of coffee, but tracking down prospective company proved less than easy. The kitchen was empty; so was the drawing room, the dining room, the West Room, the library, the guest bathrooms, the utility and, so far as he could guess, the cellars, the attics and the garden. Mystified, he moved to the unfinished west wing where his own bedroom and bathroom were situated and was rewarded by the faint noise of activity and muted conversation. He followed these sounds and emerged into a large, bright room, the existence of which, until then, he had been almost totally unaware.
Hermione was at the top of a stepladder. She was wearing scruffy paint- stained overalls, and her rich brown hair was carelessly piled on top of her head so that several strands were hanging over her face. She grinned broadly.
"Hi, Harry. Come to give us a hand?"
Harry returned her smile.
"Certainly - if you tell me what you're doing."
"Redecorating, mate, what does it look like?" answered someone nearer the floor.
The other voice, Harry noticed, belonged to Fred who, equally dishevelled, was making passes with his wand over several buckets of water. Harry paused to glance around the room. It had a very pleasant aspect, looking out over the overgrown garden, with huge sash windows and French doors leading on to a balcony. He nodded at a further door over to one side.
"What's in there?" Harry asked curiously.
"Bathroom," replied Fred, shortly. "Or, rather, will be when we've built it."
Harry crossed the room and opened the door to the potential ensuite. Fred was right: it certainly needed some work, but the basics were all there. Closing the door thoughtfully, Harry went back to the entrance, intending to go change into some less important clothes. He was struck by a sudden thought.
"Hermione, who is this bedroom for?" Harry looked up questioningly at the girl on the ladder. Hermione stopped washing down the walls and exchanged a swift glance with Fred.
"No one, really," Fred answered for her, with a disarming grin. "Just part of the general renovation." Harry came back into the room and pointed a finger at Fred.
"The truth, Weasley - or you're toast!"
Fred shrugged in defeat and opened his mouth, but Hermione interrupted. She was about to speak, then seemed to change her mind. She stared at Harry critically, with narrowed eyes.
"Harry, you're dark again." Hermione pointed a finger accusingly. "When did that happen?"
Harry ran a hand shyly through his thick hair, fighting against embarrassment.
"Oh, it was you girls really," Harry said with a disarming grin. "I didn't particularly notice, everyone's sun-bleached in California, but you seemed so shocked I thought I'd, well, repair the damage, that's all. And stop trying to change the subject!"
If Harry were to be totally truthful, he would have to admit that Ginny's opinion the previous weekend had really tipped the balance. But he would cheerfully swallow glass shards before confessing such a thing to his housemates. Hermione made a sour face and turned back to the subject in question.
"It's my fault, Harry, but you know you always intended your house to be full of your old friends, so I don't feel too guilty about it."
"About what?"
"And it's not as if you'd need references for her. After all, she's family."
"She? Hermione, just who are we talking about?"
"And it could be said that - well, really, you, Harry, are to blame for making her homeless."
"Hermione," Harry took hold of the stepladder. "Start talking sense, or I will shake this ladder until you do. Whom have I made homeless?"
"It's Ginny," explained Fred, when Hermione's nerve failed her. "You know she's been living with that Muggle guy who was here that night when the temple went boom. Well, they've been together three years, and he knew nothing about magic. Had no idea she was a witch - can you imagine?" Fred was shaking his head in disbelief.
"She's got to move out of the flat, Harry: the lease is in David's name." Hermione took up the tale. "She's really cut up about the split, and I felt she'd be better among friends than trying to find somewhere on her own."
Hermione stared at him anxiously, trying to gauge his opinion and, finding no appreciable reaction, launched herself into unplanned explanations.
"This guy has been really bad for her. Did you know he's her agent as well as her ex-boyfriend? Well, she's been trying to live all this time without using magic - can you believe it? Pretending she's a Muggle, for Merlin's sake, just to keep that preppy idiot happy, and now the cat's out of the bag, he's dumped her." Harry's expression darkened.
"Harry, please say something." Hermione was really apprehensive now. "I was so sure you'd be happy for Ginny to come and live here ."
"Eh? What?"
Harry seemed to return to earth, and his face cleared.
"Of course I don't mind. Why on earth did you think I would?" Harry replied in surprise. "Just because my name's on the deeds of this mausoleum doesn't mean I'm the only one who calls the shots around here, you know. I'd be absolutely delighted for Ginny to come live here. Couldn't think of anywhere better." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I was just wondering - about her magical talents, I mean. If she hasn't been using them to any great extent for three years, she's probably going to need some help from the rest of us to get back to her former level. From the events of last weekend, I'd say that none of her raw power has gone, but she must have forgotten a great deal of what we learned at school."
"We can do that!" smiled Hermione, continuing to wield her sponge with renewed vigour. "We can do anything!"
"Except devise a charm to wash down walls, so it seems!" Harry was amused.
"Okay, wiseass: you think of one!" Fred frowned. Harry backed off, hands held in front of him, shaking his head.
"I think I'll just see what can be done with the bathroom."
"Coward!"
Later that afternoon, the trio surveyed the results of their labours with true satisfaction. Walls in a pale eggshell blue with white gloss skirting, bare sanded floorboards, Chinese rugs and a quilt matching the curtains; it looked cool, light and airy. The curtain material was Hermione's own design. However, as she said, it was no trouble to change the colour scheme, in fact, it might give Ginny some well needed practice.
Harry's domain, the ensuite bathroom, required a longer look. Originally a dressing room and therefore not exactly huge, Harry had managed to squeeze into it not only a shower cubicle but a corner bath so luxuriously large that it resembled nothing so much as a small swimming pool. The smooth grey marble floor and the pale rose colour-scheme made the overall effect nothing short of beautiful.
"Harry, I didn't know you had it in you - she'll love it!" Hermione was absolutely entranced, turning round and round, gazing at the room until Harry went pink with embarrassment.
"Well, like you said," Harry mumbled, "she can always change the colour scheme if she doesn't like it."
"Just one thing." Hermione's brow creased slightly. "The windows are enormous. I know she's not going to be overlooked from the road but, well, this is a wizarding house and people do arrive on broomsticks fairly frequently. Much as I hate the things, I really would put at least half- nets at the windows." Harry shrugged.
"She could always use an opacity charm. I know a good one which makes the windows let in light, but you can't see in from outside. I don't want to do any more now, I'll ask her later if she wants to use it."
It was early evening before Ginny arrived in a taxi containing all her worldly goods. As Fred and George made trips to and from the car, piling her cases and boxes in her new room, Ginny herself stood rather forlornly in the hall, clutching a cardboard box containing some books, an old set of scales and a full set of Gryffindor Quidditch robes. Seeing she was close to tears, Harry slid a gentle arm round her and pulled her head onto his shoulder.
"It's alright, sweetheart," he murmured. "You're moving house - that's a bit of a wrench under any circumstances, but you've got the added heartache of leaving a relationship as well as a place. You're allowed to be sad, you're even allowed to cry if you want to!"
Ginny smothered a sob in Harry's shirt, but gamely rubbed the tears away with her fists: a curiously endearing, childlike gesture.
"I've cried a river already, as the song goes," she told him. "I knew it couldn't last forever, but I refused to admit it. Now I've got to make my own way." He squeezed her shoulders.
"We'll help you." Pausing to peck her briefly on the cheek, Harry released her and went to supervise Fred and George with the rest of the removals.
Ginny's reaction on seeing her room for the first time was everything Hermione could have wished. The cardboard box slipped from her nerveless hands as she stared around her with delight.
"Oh, Hermione, it's just beautiful!" she whispered, running to the window to look out over the garden, then back to admire the paintwork and the new bedcover.
"You can always change anything you don't like," volunteered Fred. "We won't be offended or anything. We'll just make you do it the Muggle way!"
"Just you go and see what Harry's been doing this afternoon," Hermione smiled, taking her by the hand and leading her to the bathroom door. Ginny peered into the room and gasped in amazement. She moved around turning on the taps, exclaiming at the size of the bath, demurely casting an opacity charm of her own on the window. Then she turned to them all with tears in her eyes.
"Oh thank you!" she sobbed, leaning on Hermione's shoulder. "I don't know what else to say, just - thank you!" Harry felt the lump in his throat begin to ease a little.
Fred and George had volunteered to produce a celebration supper for Ginny's arrival at Harry's House. As it happened, both Ron and Lee turned up later, on spec, but were immediately invited to stay in return for a trip to the local off-licence. This event left the communal wine cellar a good deal better off than it had been for years.
Early on, Hermione retired diffidently to the kitchen in an attempt to restore some order to the proceedings, but Ron eventually plied her with so much good red wine that Fred and George were allowed their head. As it happened, they produced an extremely passable pasta with chicken and wine sauce, followed by fruit salad in champagne (the bubbles disappeared very quickly, so Harry used an enchantment to keep it sparkling until it was eaten).
Many evenings spent in congenial company result in a pleasant feeling of wellbeing, of all's right with the world. Of contentment, if you like. Some occasions go a little further, into the realms of genuine happiness. And one or two, the really memorable ones, have everyone so high on good humour it seems that nothing can ever go wrong again.
The gang had not really partied since long before Harry's return.
The food was a mere memory and the stack of empty wine bottles grew steadily towards the ceiling. Several silly party games were suggested and played amidst increasingly hysterical laughter. When they could finally stand no more rounds of "Truth or Dare" or "Post Owl's Knock", Fred went upstairs to fetch his eclectic anthology of dance music. Soon the "Weird Sisters" were shaking the walls of Harry's House, intermittently drowned by George's guffaws of laughter as he and Lee examined Fred's collection.
"Hey!" shouted Lee, furiously waving a CD. "This is a karaoke disc - where did you get that?"
"So that's where it got to!" exclaimed Hermione, who was dancing contentedly with Ron. "I asked Ginny to get it from Wizarding Radio. It's great, but I still can't sing, whatever she says!"
Lee stuffed the disc into the machine. The sultry tones of a saxophone floated into the room, lazily accompanied by a muted double-bass, brushes and a liquid piano.
"Oh, man!" murmured Fred, stretching out in one of the armchairs. "This is real late-night music!"
Ron took the opportunity to draw Hermione against his chest so that her head fell naturally on to his shoulder. Unprotesting, she swayed in his arms to the music, her eyes closed.
Harry sat in an armchair, silently enjoying the atmosphere, taking the occasional sip at his glass of wine. Unlike everyone else, he had drunk very little and his appearance of relaxation was just that - an appearance. Inside, Harry Potter was one very worried wizard.
Much of the information he had absorbed over the past few days had at first gone over his head. He had been bone-weary after the confrontation with Voldemort, wounded and aching in body and spirit, and his deductive powers had taken a vacation. His hurts, both physical and mental, had healed leaving his body in need of exercise and his brain on overdrive. Somehow he couldn't seem to take his mind off the hook, no matter how hard he tried. He kept making connections, possible scenarios seemed to fly ahead into the distance, 'what ifs' haunted his every waking moment.
Harry glanced towards a small figure sitting cross-legged on the hearthrug, playing absently with her wine glass. By contrast, Ginny had drunk everything emptied into her glass, determined to thoroughly drown her sorrows. What she didn't know was that Harry had charmed out most of the alcohol and replaced it with a relaxing charm that made her sleepy, but without the threat of a hangover. The languorous saxophone tones changed into a recognisable jazz classic. Outwardly serene but still raw inside, Ginny started to sing.
"Stormy Weather" was one of the numbers Harry had heard at Ginny's gig last weekend, and he admired the way she had adapted an old and well-tried number to her own style, fresh and clean and melodious. But her singing of the same song now was quite different. Previously, he had appreciated the purity of her tone, the cleverness of her variation on the melody and her unerring sense of pitch and rhythm. Now, her voice harsh from crying, the real heartache of the song came through, the pain and the loneliness. Harry felt his eyes mist over, and glanced round to see if any of the others were listening.
Fred and George were both dozing, tumbled bonelessly in armchairs. Hermione and Ron had finally collapsed on to the sofa Lee was occupying. Hermione seemed to be falling asleep, until Ron poked her unceremoniously in the ribs. She made a face at him, took a sip of wine and leaned back casually against his shoulder, eyes closing irresistibly. Ron affectionately ruffled her hair before burrowing his way deeper into the sofa cushions. He gave a deep sigh of contentment and closed his eyes. Harry smiled. It was good to see those two getting along again.
The CD came to an end, the music stopped and all that could be heard was the ticking of the clock. Ginny's head drooped and her shoulders sagged as she lost the battle against the sleep that had eluded her for many weeks. Harry looked at the deep shadows under her eyes and decided that it was probably quite some time since Ginny had had a proper night's rest. Placing his glass carefully on the coffee table, Harry slid an arm round her shoulders and another under her knees. Taking care not to disturb her slumber, he lifted her against his chest, raising his eyebrows at her lightness, and carried her up the sweeping staircase into the West Wing and her new bedroom. He left her tucked up under the new bedcover, having removed only her shoes for comfort, coming back downstairs to strengthen the magical wards protecting the entry/exit points of the house.
Harry was not entirely sure why he chose to make a domestic check at this time, but when he had finished he was very glad he had done so: several of the wards were weak, and the one on the vulnerable garden door had faded away altogether. Grimly, he made a mental note to bawl George out for that in the morning. He made his way towards his bedroom, pausing only to peer curiously back into the West Room.
The twins were still out for the count, and Lee, Ron and Hermione were sound asleep, tangled together on the large sofa. Ron's arms were around Hermione's waist as she leaned against his chest, Lee's head cradled in her lap. Harry smiled, lowered the lights with a gesture and closed the door softly.
~ooOoo~
They were back in the temple, that - thing was materialising on the altar, the weird red light was beginning to engulf them all. Harry rose dizzily to his feet. A beam of silver frost had sprung from the end of his wand, encircling the figure, holding the sickly red light contained, and he had begun the Incantation. Strong magic was pulsing through the air, the thing on the pedestal gave an unearthly scream and flickered, writhing, in and out of existence. Suddenly, she froze in horror as it turned its face straight towards her: it was David.
Ginny awoke with cold sweat trickling down her face and leaped out of bed, instinctively reaching for her wand.
"Lumos!" Ginny all but shrieked as the room came into focus: still half- dreaming, she reeled into immediate panic at the unfamiliarity of her surroundings. Heart beating loudly enough to rouse the entire house, she sprinted to the door and stepped out into the corridor, breathing heavily and unevenly: still nothing made sense. She was about to continue down the corridor in search of a staircase, when someone turned on the electric light. Ginny whirled, terrified, bringing her wand reflexively in front of her face then sagged with relief as she saw that it was only Harry.
Harry had obviously been sleeping; his wayward dark hair was on end, and a hastily fastened towelling bathrobe covered his modesty, but for all that his eyes were cool and alert and his stance was anything but sluggish.
"Great Merlin! You startled me," Ginny burst out, all but collapsing on the floor.
"I could say the same," Harry shrugged. "Did you know you were virtually screaming in your sleep? I was already on my way to shake you awake if necessary, but then you shouted for light and started running, so I thought I'd better make sure it really was only a nightmare."
"Only a nightmare!" repeated Ginny feebly, wiping the sweat out of her eyes. "Oh, Great Powers of Light, I hope I never see another one like that!" Harry regarded her critically.
"That bad, huh?"
Ginny nodded feebly, not having the strength to answer.
"Okay." Harry looked at her seriously. "I think some kind of restorative and a little talk are both in order, before either of us attempts to get any more sleep. Ginny, I suggest you go put on the nightclothes Hermione left for you, and I'll meet you in the kitchen in about five minutes: I need to get something a little more decent than this to wear."
Harry grinned mildly in her direction, and Ginny suddenly realised that his meagre bathrobe was likely the only thing he was wearing. Her cheeks flamed and she turned quickly back to her bedroom.
Harry had been right about her need to change clothes, Ginny thought as she stripped off the black jeans and skinny teeshirt she had thought so cool. Now they looked like rags: soaked with sweat and creased beyond redemption. She shook her head; this would never do. Ten minutes later found her swiftly showered and dressed in one of her own nightshirts and Hermione's spare bathrobe. Curled up on the kitchen sofa in front of the warm range drinking Harry's cocoa, Ginny didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed to note that Harry's legs were now covered by striped pyjama bottoms. As warmth flooded through her, she began to feel more human.
"Now," said Harry, placing his mug down on the table. "What caused such a violent nightmare, Ginny? Are you able to tell me?" She nodded.
"I think so, but I don't suppose you'll learn anything useful from it." With that rider, Ginny told him as much as she could remember about her dream, including the horror of seeing David's face at the top of the pedestal on the altar. Harry pondered briefly, then shrugged.
"Ginny, I'm almost positive that Markland is Muggle through and through - he's not even a sensitive." Harry paused to gather his thoughts. "I took a mental reading on him when I first met him." he continued. "I wondered whether he was a latent, and if so, whether your problems with your relationship could be solved that way. Perhaps by trying to shock his abilities into focus. However, I'm afraid he's as psychically dead as the proverbial dodo: absolutely no response, no talent. But," and here he held up a hand to forestall her interruption, "I have been known to be wrong. On occasions, that is." His eyes twinkled. "David Markland's talent may be too deeply buried even for me to uncover."
There was a slight question-mark in Harry's voice, but Ginny shook her head.
"I gave up hoping he was really a wizard deep down a long time ago." Ginny propped her chin in her hands thoughtfully. "It's like - like living with someone who's blind or deaf and pretending you can't see or hear too, just to keep them from realising that there's a whole different world out there that they're never going to be able to experience."
A tear rolled slowly down her cheek, unchecked.
"I wish I could have helped him," Ginny sighed, "or at least have been able to keep my two lives separate." She made a small impatient sound. "I should have stopped deceiving myself. I couldn't make myself into a Muggle any more than I could make him into a wizard."
Harry didn't react immediately, but instead seemed to ponder for a while before answering. Then he leaned forward and took both her hands in his.
"You are a very powerful sorceress," Harry began earnestly. "Minerva McGonagall told me you were way ahead of the rest of your family, including Molly and Arthur, by the time you were sixteen. I think at the time she had a family alliance in mind, but this was before she was aware of, well, of my understanding with Cho." A shadow came over his face momentarily.
"Anyway," Harry continued, making an effort to shake off the past. "Quite apart from the mental misery it must have cost you to suppress your powers over these past three years, it's positively criminal to waste such an ability." He reached out to take her small hands in his larger ones.
"Ginny," Harry said gravely, "you've lost crucial time in the development of your powers by pretending to be something you're not, and you've exposed yourself to psychic suffering of a very acute kind. I know the particular nightmare you experienced tonight had its roots in last weekend's traumas, but can you look me in the face and swear that you have had a dream-free night since you first started trying to deny yourself? Well, can you?"
Harry ducked his head as Ginny looked away, trying to catch her gaze. Forced into a confrontation, the girl stared back boldly and shook her head.
"It's been hell on earth," Ginny stated quietly. Harry gave a slight nod.
"And if you want to sleep peacefully again," Harry added with a grim smile, "I suggest you start giving your powers a regular workout."
Ginny sipped her cocoa thoughtfully, hugging her knees. After a pause, she looked up at him curiously over the rim of her mug.
"Harry," Ginny began, cautiously, "what exactly happened last weekend? In the temple, I mean?"
Harry sighed and looked away, running a hand through tousled hair. Irrelevantly, Ginny noticed how much better it suited him dark, despite his deep suntan. He looked straight at her, his startlingly green eyes bleak.
"Well," Harry began, "the plain facts are as I told you then: Voldemort is alive and powerful, but he exists in a parallel dimension. He still seems to be obsessed with conquering our world, and he's now trying to break through the barrier between planes to materialise physically here. I believe he kidnapped Fred in order to try to use him as a host body."
Ginny shivered.
"Quite," Harry agreed, nodding seriously. "Fred's physical youth and strength, together with his magical powers, knowledge of Ministry secrets and unassailable position with us here make him the front runner. The only better target would have been me: Harry Potter himself." He made a disgusted noise then shook his head. "But Voldemort would never have tried it on with me. It would have meant showing his hand too soon." He reached forward to push a wayward strand of hair away from Ginny's face and smiled.
"As it is," Harry said in a lighter tone, "Voldemort has been forced to change his plans materially. If he had succeeded in taking possession of Fred's body, we would have been hard put to it indeed to stop him. It was purely down to your talent and grit, Ginny, that he hasn't already begun his reign of terror."
Ginny shook her head, unwilling to accept the tribute, then looked up again.
"But how did we do it, Harry?" Ginny asked. "I mean, what happened between us back there? What did we do? I've never heard of any two wizards being able to, well, join. To merge their power in that way before."
"To be totally honest, Ginny, neither have I." Harry favoured her with a wry smile before frowning in thought.
"All I know," Harry continued, "is that I was so sickened by the sight of my worst nightmares becoming real that I couldn't even move, never mind work out a defensive strategy. You were the one who spotted the weakness - how did you do that, by the way?"
"I've really no idea." Ginny responded pensively "I just remember seeing everything tinted in red, and I seemed to know that the brightest object was the one I had to hit - in whatever way was most appropriate!"
"Yet another mystery," Harry shrugged. "You know, I'm beginning to feel a little out of control, like I'm working to someone else's agenda, even when I'm fighting back." He sighed. "I'd really like to be able to return to some kind of normal existence, you know. Preferably while I'm still young enough to enjoy it, but there you go: life is seldom what you would wish."
"But Harry," persisted Ginny, "how did we manage to pool our power like that?" .
"I wish I knew, Gin," Harry frowned, scratching his head. "It's a formidable weapon, you know, particularly if we could expand the pool to include other wizards. Pouring a large amount of magical energy through one outlet must pretty dangerous though, if my physical reaction to the exertion is anything to go on, but we really ought to ask someone a little more adept than we are. How about Sirius?"
Ginny shrugged then bit her lip as though she was debating whether or not to say something.
"It was more than a pooling of power, Harry," Ginny said finally, in a low voice. "I could feel your thoughts, your - emotions."
Harry didn't speak for a while, but his gut twisted. He had suspected, feared that she had also experienced the strange melding that had rattled him so badly. In fact, he had been so unsettled by the experience that he had tried not to examine it too closely, and here she was forcing him to drag it back up for analysis.
"Ginny, I ." Ginny held up a hand to silence him.
"Please, don't speak yet, let me finish."
Ginny swallowed on a dry throat and tried again.
"Harry, you were always aware of the childish crush I had on you when I first met you, weren't you?" Ginny began with a wry smile. "Harry the Hero, the Boy Who Lived! What red-blooded Hogwarts witch didn't fantasise about going out with you? Unlike the others, I got to know you for yourself through your friendship with Ron, and my crush didn't die. It just changed and got stronger; grew up with me, if you like. But I had assumed all the time that it was completely one-sided; that you were so wrapped up in - in Cho, even now, that there could never be anyone else."
"Ginny, please." Harry's face twisted as if in pain. Ginny's knuckles whitened as she gripped the edge of the table.
"I'm sorry to talk about her, Harry," Ginny continued doggedly. "But life has to go on, and you can't ignore the fact that she isn't here any more." Her eyes held nothing but desperate sorrow. Harry shook his head, violently but did not speak.
"This is difficult for me too, Harry, but it's got to be said." Ginny was unconsciously lacing and unlacing her fingers.
"I felt your emotions, Harry," Ginny said in a very low tone without looking at him. "I heard your thoughts. Until now I had no idea that any feelings I had for you might be returned, despite Cho."
Harry looked up sharply, piercing her with the directness of his gaze. Unreasonable anger threatened to spill out of him.
"Well, now you know, don't you?" Harry snapped back. "Much good it'll do either of us."
"I don't understand!" Ginny cried, shaking her head in confusion. "What's stopping you, Harry? I know how you feel, I was there, with you, in you. And it's not as though you could ever have had any doubts as to my feelings, so why did you keep away from me? Why are you holding back even now?"
Harry did not respond or even look at her; his face could have been graven in stone. A long moment passed. Ginny's shoulders sagged and a deep sigh escaped her. She uncurled her legs from the sofa, placed her mug carefully on the coffee table, and stood up.
"I'm sorry, Harry," Ginny whispered. "I just don't understand. But it hurts anyway."
Ginny laid her hands on Harry's shoulders and pressed her lips lightly to his cheek. He made a harsh, painful sound deep in his throat and wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face in her abdomen, breathing in the fragrance of her skin.
"Oh, Ginny, if you only knew ."
Harry's voice was harsh, tight. He raised his head to look at her. Tendrils of long red hair brushed his face as she tentatively angled her head towards his.
For a moment, just for an instant, it seemed that Harry would surrender. They were so close Ginny could feel his breath on her lips; smell his hair, the heat of his flesh. She closed her eyes in anticipation then with a groan, Harry turned and almost fell away from her, his breathing harsh.
"I can't do this to you." Harry whispered. "The risk to your safety, and you're on the rebound anyway. How could I even think of ..." He trailed off, shaking his head and started to walk towards the stairs.
"Harry."
Harry stopped dead as Ginny spoke. He didn't turn round. He heard her footsteps, felt the warmth of her body as she drew near to him, placing a hand on his arm.
"I'm not on the rebound, not with you," Ginny told him quietly. "I've always known that David was no good for me, but I refused to believe it until you came back. Then as soon as I saw you in the Green Room of the Café Royale, I knew it was all over between David and me. I stayed with him so long because I couldn't have you, because you'd left me here in England, because I believed you never cared for me. How could you deny me for so long?"
Ginny's eyes were bright with anguish.
"Deny you?" Harry blurted, incredulously. "Deny you! Ginny, don't you understand? Voldemort kills people who are close to me - my parents, Remus, Albus, Cho - I couldn't risk any of your lives by close association with me, I had to go away, pretend I didn't care. I didn't dare have any sort of romantic liaison - I've been celibate since Cho! - even friendships were out of the question. I gambled on Voldemort's weakness for a whole year in London, while I found this house and started to renovate it, but when you graduated and it looked as though you would be moving in with Hermione, I knew I couldn't risk it any longer. That's when I decided to take the job in LA."
"And I moved in with David," mused Ginny, stroking her bottom lip with her index finger. Harry shook his head.
"Even then, the fact that you and I were close - I've coped with a lot of grief and pain in my life, Ginny, but losing you to Voldemort's evil would have broken me wide open." Harry put a hand to his forehead in frustration.
"I feel as though I've been living in a vacuum," Harry finally burst out. "Any sort of emotional involvement on my part exposed the other person to danger. Ergo the only kind of relationship I could form was with someone I didn't care about. And even then, if I caused the death of an innocent person, the guilt would destroy me. Why try? It's a Catch 22 situation, just like the fiction the world believed about Voldemort."
He paced the room, flailing his hands wildly in agitation.
"Harry Potter destroyed Voldemort when he was still at school, so now the world is free," Harry began breathlessly. "Consequently, no one keeps a watching brief on his possible return - because he's not going to come back. Nobody bothers correlating all the pointers, large and small, which have been building up over the years - because he's been neutralized. I'm one of the few people who know that isn't the case, that it'll take more than a sixteen-year old schoolboy, however special, to rid the world of that menace, but I can't ask for help BECAUSE VOLDEMORT IS DEAD!"
Harry practically shouted the last four words, hands tearing at his wayward dark hair. He paused for breath.
"And I couldn't explain," Harry continued tightly. He was shaking his head over and over again. "I had to leave you, all of you, my family - and I couldn't even tell you why." He stared at the floor. Gently, Ginny pushed his hair back from his forehead.
"'A paradox, a paradox, a most ingenious paradox,'" Ginny sang quietly almost to herself then tilted Harry's chin up to meet her eyes. "Let me help." He looked at her uncomprehendingly.
"Harry, you can't live your life like a clam," Ginny continued. "You can't foreswear all emotional relationships for the rest of your life for fear of the unknown." Harry merely continued to shake his head, beyond words.
"I'm supposed to be some sort of wizkid sorceress, aren't I?" Ginny smiled wryly, the light of challenge in her eyes. "Well, use my powers, take me on to your team. Let me into your life."
Harry stared with wide eyes. He seemed temporarily robbed of speech.
"Harry," Ginny said uncertainly. Tentatively, she reached for him. "Harry?"
Time stood still. And then, hesitantly, Harry extended a shaking hand. Slowly, slowly his fingers traced the contours of Ginny's face, down to her neck and shoulders, never quite touching the skin. Motionless, her breathing quick and shallow, Ginny made no sign of protest or assent, no move either to check or to encourage his actions. Trancelike, Harry continued his lingering exploration, moving down her arms, on to her hands and fingers. She felt his wayward hair brush her ear; his breath was hot on her cheeks, lips lightly grazing her skin. Then his trembling mouth settled over hers.
The contact was so fleeting that at first Ginny was unsure whether they really had kissed. Harry's eyes snapped wide open. An expression resembling nothing so much as abject terror chased its way across his face.
"Oh, gods!" Ginny could hardly hear Harry's panicked whisper above the beating of her own heart. Their eyes met, wide and scared. He swallowed dryly, then reached for her again, his mouth firmer this time; more assured.
Harry tasted of chocolate and fear. Ginny felt his body shake convulsively against hers, his heart pounding fit to burst. He thrust her away from him, staring intensely, almost angrily into her face. Then suddenly he snatched her once again into his arms, kissing her as though he were a drowning man and she a straw in the ocean. She took a quick shuddering gasp and pulled his mouth down onto hers again, desperate to hold him, to keep him from running away from her once more. He freed his lips, burying them in her hair.
"Ginny," Harry breathed, his eyes closed. "Stop me. Please. I - I can't. Don't let me do this."
Ginny silenced his protests with another kiss, which rapidly progressed into something much more serious.
"You'll never be safe again," Harry muttered, when he could breathe. Ginny broke free and stared at him, her eyes almost black, her lips swollen and pouting. His mouth parched, dry as dust in a desert. Silently, she took him by the hand and led him out of the kitchen, upstairs into the warm, velvety darkness.
Author's Notes
The distribution of this story is for personal use only. Any other form of distribution is prohibited without the consent of the author. Disclaimer: this is a non-profit enterprise. Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling, except the plot and David Markland, both of which belong to Penpusher. Tribute to: Susan Cooper's incomparable "The Dark is Rising" sequence for use of the "High Magic"; Dennis Wheatley for a plot device; and many, many other fanfiction writers whose works of all kinds and in very differing genres have been an immense inspiration to me. The quotations used as chapter titles are too numerous to credit here. Full details available on request, but Shakespeare and The Bible should yield most of them.
And all the thanks in the world to Becky (aka williara) for being a superb beta.