And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums are beating
Funeral marches to the grave."
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: "A Psalm of Life"
The ever-darkening myriad of blues and indigos entangled themselves lazily as they swirled through the evening sky. Stars seemed to blink and stretch themselves awake, glowing gently above the castle and the breeze that stirred trees within the grounds. The wind whipped around the building, lightly rattling the window frames of the Gryffindor common room, and making Harry glance up from inventing his Divination homework.
Scanning the last paragraph he'd written on the parchment before him, Harry threw down his quill in exasperation, scattering splots of ink across his work. Perhaps he had been listening to Hermione a bit too much recently. Not even Trelawney was going to believe his ludicrous Tarot Card predictions for the coming week; he was extremely unlikely to starve to death following a House Elf revolt about pay in the Hogwart's kitchens. He wondered briefly if he could somehow build up the anguish a bit by describing the horrible suffering involved in more detail, but decided he'd be better off predicting a chance romantic encounter with his small, red-headed and rather attractive girlfriend.
Ron was looking equally bamboozled by his homework, and pulled a face at Harry.
"Do you understand any of this?" he asked, poring over the picture cards strewn over his table. "I mean, what on earth are they supposed to mean? I can't even make stuff up from this rubbish."
"From what?" Ginny suddenly appeared beside her brother's chair and smiled apologetically over at Harry. "Harry, we're going to have to get going soon. McGonagall's expecting us at seven for this detention."
"Things just keep on getting better and better," Harry groaned, beginning to gather together his Tarot Cards. "Ginny, can you think of a horrible fate I can suffer?"
"I can't, but I'm sure McGonagall can if we don't get a move on," she chuckled. "Let's see." She spread his cards out once more and frowned heavily at them, pushing her long hair back out of her eyes. "Looks like you're in for a bit of a time of it," she grinned and switched to her misty version of Trelawney's voice. "A door you have always had open to you is about to close, leaving you with two paths to take. Beware of the one that tempts you most, and make choices with your head and not your heart. Mortal peril is near and gloved fingers wait to snatch you from safety and lure you to your doom."
"Really?" Harry gasped, as Ron sat in open-mouthed amazement at his sister.
"Nah," she giggled wickedly. "Made it up!"
"You…" Harry grabbed her and pulled her onto his lap, tickling her until she begged for mercy. Tears of laughter streamed down her face, as she fought to catch her breath, wriggling away from him, and finally falling onto the floor with a very audible thump. Harry looked at her dishevelled form and burst out laughing. "Come on," he chuckled, getting up and extending a hand down to her to haul her back to her feet. "Let's go and see what McGonagall has to say."
Clambering through the portrait hole, they strolled companionably down the dimly lit and completely deserted corridors, wending their way towards Professor McGonagall's office a couple of floors below. The figures in the portraits lining the hallway took little notice of the two students as they passed by, with the single exception of one rather extraordinary gathering, which currently consisted of a Wimborne Wasps Quidditch player, a former headmaster of Hogwarts, an elderly witch in scarlet robes, and a handsome young knight who winked at Ginny as she went past. Ginny blushed and giggled. He smiled winningly, and bowed low before her, the blue plume of his helmet sweeping the ground.
"Do you know him?" Harry paused and looked at her in surprise, whilst the tiny knight fixed him with a very suspicious stare.
"Yes," Ginny admitted, growing even redder. She waved at the portrait, and then tugged eagerly at Harry's hand to draw him down the stairwell. "He's called Gawain," she muttered in an undertone. "He's not as mad as Sir Cadogan, but he fancies himself a bit. I met him on detention earlier this term when I was wiping down the picture frames for Filch."
"Ah!" Harry chuckled, unable to resist the opportunity to tease. "Another member of the Ginny Weasley fan club. I can see that I'm going to have to keep you locked up in your room if you keep flirting like this with every male being within the castle walls."
"Flirting?" Ginny responded, sounding totally horrified by the suggestion. "Me?"
"Yes, you," Harry laughed. "Those poor smitten second years, and now that portrait, and that's not to mention what you do to me." She stopped abruptly, and Harry swiftly turned to see what was wrong. She remained standing on a step higher on the staircase, and looked him directly in the eye.
"And what do I do to you, exactly?" she whispered, dark brown eyes locking with his. Harry's heart pounded erratically against his ribs.
"Ginny," his throat seemed suddenly dry. He cleared it and reached out for her, his breathing seeming inexplicably uneven. "You… you're… it's…" She chuckled, her laughter seeming deeper than normal, and slid her arms around his neck.
"It's…?" she prompted, her eyes sparkling with entertainment at his lack of loquacity.
"You know exactly how I feel about you," he responded quietly, drawing her into a kiss. "I love you. I belong to you." Without a word, her fingers reached up and lightly traced the path of his scar from his hairline down his forehead, sending a shiver of delight down his spine.
"I'm already part of you," she whispered thoughtfully, becoming suddenly serious. "Joined our fates together with this charm; made a bond between us that not even Voldemort can break." He sensed her hand move against his forehead, and suddenly a shock wave of magic crashed down upon them as her scar connected with his. Their gasps intermingled. Harry instinctively tightened his grip around her waist, pulling her to him. Breath seemed almost to cease as he was willingly engulfed in the dark liquid pools of her eyes, aware only of her, and the magic suddenly surging powerfully between them.
"All that I am is yours," she breathed. "Now and always. I love you."
"Ginny," he whispered in response. "I'm yours, totally and forever; body and soul."
Lips met with loving passion, somehow seeming to complete the bond they had created so long ago. The magic ebbed to a tingle, as the contact was broken in the embrace. They sank unsteadily down on the stairs, breathlessly clinging together, and kissing desperately.
"Harry," Ginny was the first to speak, her eyes looking abnormally bright with unshed tears.
"I meant every word of it," he whispered in her ear, hugging her tightly to him. "That was incredible, Ginny. It was…" Words failed him.
"I know," she said beneath her breath. "I don't know what made me do that just then. I've never connected our scars before, and you've only done it that one time. I just felt like I needed to be…to be part of you. I can't explain it."
"You were right," he murmured softly, kissing her again. "Another week or so and we'll be married; bonded then in every possible way."
"I can't think of anything better," she beamed at him, and reached up to kiss his scar, caressing his cheek lightly in her hand.
"Potter!" A mocking voice drifted down the stairs towards them, making them turn shakily to see the speaker. "I might have guessed. Normal school rules evidently do not need to be obeyed by the famous Harry Potter, and I see you have dragged Miss Weasley along with you. I would have thought that she was getting into quite enough trouble of her own these days, without any intervention from you."
"We're not out of bounds," Harry commented, getting to his feet, slightly unsteadily, and looking up at Snape.
"It was not your location I was objecting to," Snape said silkily. "However, as both of you are prefects, I would have thought that you would have understood how to set an example of appropriate behaviour in the corridors, and that was most certainly not appropriate by any stretch of the imagination. I shall have words with Professor McGonagall about her choice of prefects. Detention for both of you on Monday night."
"But," Harry began, and felt Ginny's hand grasping his arm. He glanced over at her and she shook her head. He fell silent. With a final sneer, Snape swept past them on the stairs, and disappeared through a small doorway.
"Great," Harry muttered despondently. "Typical of him to come and spoil things. Looks like he's gone straight to McGonagall as well."
"It'll be OK," Ginny reassured him. She giggled mischievously. "I mean, what's the worst they can do? They can hardly expel us for it."
"True," Harry agreed, taking her hand in his and heading slowly towards the doorway. "Come on. Let's get this over with."
With a final exchange of glances, Harry knocked firmly on the heavy wooden door of Professor McGonagall's office, and let go of Ginny's hand.
"Come," Professor McGonagall's strict voice reverberated from within. He pushed the door open, and followed Ginny into the warmth of the tiny room. Professor McGonagall sat behind her desk, staring sternly at them through her dark rimmed spectacles. "You're late," she commented crisply, looking from Harry to Ginny. "And Professor Snape has just been to inform me as to why you are late."
"Sorry," Ginny said quietly. "It wasn't quite what it looked like though."
"It never is," Professor McGonagall said wearily, putting down her quill. "Sit down, both of you." She gestured to a couple of chairs over by the fire, and with a sideways glance at Ginny, Harry obeyed. The room was warm and comfortable, the flickering flames from the fire and candles cast dancing shadows around the walls lined with hundreds of volumes of magic. She looked at them and shook her head, sighing heavily. "The Headmaster has informed me of your intentions this year, and there is much we need to discuss." She pursed her lips firmly, and looked rather disapproving. "This is not going to be easy to manage, and your cavorting in the corridors is not helpful. You are simply drawing attention to yourselves, and that really must be avoided at all costs. Equally that applies to your regime of practical jokes, Miss Weasley. I am sure that both staff and magical creatures will breathe a sigh of relief when you desist from your current course of behaviour."
"Professor," Harry objected, feeling his heart leap into his mouth at his daring. "Bearing in mind what Ginny's going to be giving up, you can hardly blame her for having a bit of fun before everything changes, can you?"
"The irresponsibility is understandable," Professor McGonagall commented firmly, conjuring up a steaming teapot, crockery and plate of jam tarts out of nowhere. "But not condoned. Do I make myself clear, Miss Weasley?"
"Yes," Ginny said, biting her lip. "I suppose I have been going a bit over the top recently."
"Indeed," Professor McGonagall said, passing them both cups of tea. She flicked her wand casually and two lumps of sugar obediently flew into her own cup. "Now what I really need to speak to you both about is… is what we might term the practical application of method."
Harry had just taken a drink when he heard these words, and choked, spraying tea everywhere. Surely McGonagall wasn't really going to talk to them about that. Was she? He didn't dare look at Ginny. There was a barely audible gurgle of suppressed laughter by his right ear. Fixing his eyes firmly on the hearthrug seemed to be a good solution. Maybe if he simply pretended that he wasn't there, it wouldn't be so bad.
"Do be careful, Potter," Professor McGonagall said crisply. "And look at me when I'm talking to you." Harry reluctantly raised his eyes, to be met with the sight of Ginny, hidden behind a curtain of hair, shaking with silent mirth. "Firstly, we must consider how things are to be achieved." She picked up the plate and offered it to Ginny. "Tart?"
Ginny let out a snort of laughter, and hastily covered it in a coughing fit. Harry felt his cheeks flame, as he squirmed uncomfortably in his chair, wishing with all his heart they were back in the common room.
Professor McGonagall paused and placed the plate back on the table, frowning heavily at her two charges.
"The method," she commented in her most formal and disapproving tone, "is perfectly straightforward…"
She was interrupted by a loud smashing noise, as Harry's hand shook and his teacup toppled out of his grasp, shattering on the hearth. Professor McGonagall tutted beneath her breath, and swiftly repaired the damaged china.
"As I was saying," she continued, pursing her lips until they went white and moving the cup well out of Harry's reach. "It's very straightforward, even though neither of you have attempted this particular variation before. It's quite simply a matter of setting things up properly to begin with and ensuring that your mind is entirely focused each time you do it, and it will need to be repeated at regular intervals." Harry cringed back in his chair, and heard a quaver of an irrepressible giggle beginning right beside him. He kicked Ginny swiftly on the ankle. "Of course the entire process is made easier by Miss Weasley's talent in this area," Professor McGonagall commented briskly, making Harry's eyes widen. Ginny's laughter could be held back no longer; it exploded and rang clearly through the room. Harry buried his head in his hands, glowing with humiliation like the embers in the fire.
"To be perfectly frank, I would have expected you both to take things a little more seriously," she said scathingly. "This is hardly a laughing matter. It could cost you your lives if things go wrong. It's a very simple spell you need to perform to conceal this pregnancy, but unless you can take a more mature attitude, I fail to see how you are going to learn how to perform it this evening."
"Spell?" Harry found his voice, and tried to regain some semblance of composure.
"Yes. The Charm of Illusion," Professor McGonagall responded tartly. "What did you think I was talking about? Hippogriff talon clipping?"
Harry blushed furiously, and stared at the coals glowing in the hearth, the redness burnt through the dark surroundings suddenly reminding him of Voldemort's eyes fixed mercilessly on Ginny. Harry's stomach gave a violent lurch, and he swung back to face his teacher, instantly sober from the intoxicating fits of laughter.
"Show us," he said urgently. "Please. You're right, we can't take any chances with this."
"Very well," Professor McGonagall said gravely, getting to her feet. "We will work on getting the illusion set up this evening, and I will teach you both how to maintain it. Beyond that we need to discuss regular medical check-ups, Miss Weasley, and some necessary domestic arrangements for the remainder of this year."
"We said we'd stay in our dormitories," Ginny said quietly. "So as not to arouse suspicion. We know we can't be together like we are married, or not yet anyway."
"Obviously you will need some time alone," Professor McGonagall said, her stern face relaxing into a suppressed smile. "I do, however, presume that you have no need of me to go through the, shall we say, finer details of the procreative process."
"No," Harry and Ginny asserted vehemently, with a swift exchange of horrified glances.
*****
Halloween grew ever closer, and Harry found his mind whirling with everything that was going on. Since their detention with Professor McGonagall, they'd been diligently practising the Charm of Illusion to ensure that they could use it flawlessly well before they actually needed to. Ginny had been highly entertained when she had laughingly shoved one of Professor Flitwick's summoning cushions down the front of her robes, and watched it vanish from view, her silhouette remaining entirely unchanged to anyone who looked.
"Totally cool," she'd giggled, patting the thin air above her stomach. "Imagine all the chocolate I could eat with this charm, and not have to worry about it."
Anticipation was building up throughout the castle as the day approached, so Harry and Ginny's excited behaviour was nothing out of the ordinary. As ever, Halloween was to be a day of festive celebration, the older students desperate to stretch their wings in the freedom of Hogsmeade for the first time since term began. Combined with the feast, which was invariably held the same evening, it was highly unlikely that anyone was going to miss them too much, if at all. All the same, an excuse had been formulated to explain their absence to those who were most likely to notice.
"His Godfather's really ill," he heard Ginny explaining earnestly to Alana O'Donnell, who shared a dormitory with her. "Harry's so worried about him, I mean, he's all the family he's got left now. Dumbledore's been lovely about it. He's given Harry permission to travel through and see him, as long as he's back sometime on Sunday, and I can go as well, just to make sure that Harry's OK."
There were sympathetic nods and murmurs, and to their total relief, everyone accepted their story without question. After all, similar arrangements had been made for Parvati and Padma last term, after a particularly vicious Death Eater attack had left their younger brother so badly maimed that they feared he would not survive. It was not an entirely fabricated excuse, either. Hedwig had arrived one morning with the welcome news that Sirius had returned to England, but he had been hurt in his struggles against the Dark Forces. Harry had seen him for a few fleeting moments in Dumbledore's office one evening, when Sirius' head had appeared amidst the flames in the fireplace, desperate to speak with him. Harry had been alarmed at how ill Sirius looked, his face worn into deep fissures of fatigue, and his hair matted and filthy as it had been upon his escape from Azkaban several years before.
Their conversation had been brief, but reassuring. Ginny had shyly greeted his Godfather for the first time, half-hiding behind her wave of hair, and clutching at Harry's hand. Sirius' face cracked into a grin at the sight of this, teasing them mercilessly about being mere babes themselves, incapable of wiping their own noses. He chuckled, clearly approving wholeheartedly of Harry's choice of bride when she giggled, proclaimed him to be as bad as her brothers and unceremoniously told him just where he could stick that particular idea. Before he'd disappeared from the fire, Sirius had left him with a surprisingly heartfelt comment.
"Take care and be alert at all times, Harry. Take no chances with anything. Just stay safe. Ginny and the baby too. Especially them. I couldn't bear to see the same thing happen to you, not like your mum and dad. Not again."
Looking over at Ginny across the common room later that evening, Harry knew that he was doing the right thing; every element of his being told him that, but after he had gone to bed, a little demon of nagging doubt took up residence in his brain tormenting him mercilessly. They were too young, still at school; Voldemort could still kill them all whenever he chose; they were simply following in his parents footsteps, making the same choices, and inevitably would reach the same end. Harry tossed and turned restlessly, the doubt eating away at him; was this really such a good idea? With less than two days to go, he had to be certain.
He sat bolt upright, and rubbed his face in his hands, reaching for his glasses and the framed photograph, which resided on his bedside cabinet. Casting some light on it from his wand, he was soothed to see the image before him exuding happiness the way it always had. Ginny was giggling impishly in his ear at the Yule Ball almost two years before, stretching up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek for the very first time. His own expression in the photograph invariably made him laugh; it was one of stunned incredulity, overwhelmed with delight that Ginny could actually love him. He touched her animated face gently with his finger, watching the laughter and the stars twinkling deep within the russet-red of her hair. He knew. There was no turning back, and he would never want to.
Placing the photograph safely back in its place, Harry contentedly shuffled back under the covers, relaxing in the comforting darkness of the familiar tower room, gently lulled to sleep by the rhythmic snoring emanating from the direction of Neville's bed.
"Take them all," a familiar high-pitched voice commanded coldly. "Ensure nothing remains. Do not dare fail me this time, or the price you pay will be higher than you have ever imagined."
A pulsing pain. A surreal sensation of being carried on eagles' wings, wind ruffling through his hair, soothing the ache burning in his scar. Swooping lower, he could make out a green glow through the darkness, ominously lifting itself higher above the tangle of houses in the city, until it was standing out starkly against the blackness of the sky. The Dark Mark, snake protruding from the mouth of the skull as if licking its lips, relishing the glory of torture and destruction. Screams of terror could be heard across the city, not just one person this time, but a multitude of voices, crashing down upon him from all directions, deafening him with their pleas.
He dropped lower still, bringing into view a suburban home, where hooded figures illuminated by the orange glow of the streetlamps in the inky night. A small family were struggling fiercely to escape from what had once been their home, and was now their jail. They struggled against the invisible bonds of the Constrictum Spell, as the cloaked Death Eaters withdrew. A single muttered incantation carried clearly through the crisp night air.
"Incendio."
The sickening feeling of helplessness, watching as the house burned. Inhuman cries of anguish rent the air. Above all this, a cruel and merciless laugh rang out, clearly elated by the suffering before him.
"Choose," Voldemort said. And the world fell silent.
Harry leapt out of bed before he was even awake, stumbling blindly through the darkness and half-falling down the stairs in his haste. He crashed into the common room, with no coherent thought other than desperation, and collided with something soft barrelling equally quickly in the opposite direction. It thudded heavily to the ground with a familiar squeak.
"Ginny," he gasped, kneeling quickly to make sure she wasn't hurt. She looked up at him from where she was sprawled, and immediately stretched out her hand to touch his still throbbing scar.
"The dream," she whispered, her eyes filled with horror. "Harry, it wasn't a nightmare, was it?"
"No," he said quietly, helping her to her feet, and wrapping his arms securely around her night-gowned form. He rocked her gently, trying somehow to make everything all right. The admission had to come. "It was real."
"Those poor people," she said, voice quavering with emotion. "Oh, Harry!"
Wordlessly, they curled up together in an armchair, staring into the flames of the common room fire and waiting through an eternity until morning broke its terrible news.