Disclaimer: Well, its not mine, though admittedly the plot is. And Phil is! So there! I own Philian Davis, though half shares go to phantom. Grr.
This is… Well… You'll see how it is. I love it, but will you? (Excuse all my spelling errors, it was late.)
~*~
There were times, when Harry wished more than anything else in the world that he was not himself. This was one of those times. Guilt was swamping him in powerful currents, the voices in his head taunting. He should have been faster, or should have practiced the flenderall more often. He could have been here earlier, or taken less time asking about the man. There were dozens of ways in which Harry could blame himself.
He hardly noted the deep, sorrowful brown eyes that were focused on him, or the way that the matching pair of eyebrows were drawn down in some version of anxiety. Harry didn't notice, caught up as he was. Not a tear fell from, for Harry hadn't cried since... Well, since Hermione had found him visiting Ron. Not to mention the fact that he had been drunk at that point in time. The lack of liquid on his face made him stick out. Only 'Sir', Ginny, and the mediwizard were not crying.
Drawing himself slowly back to the present, thrusting aside the grief and guilt, Harry finally heard the calls of spells. Water spells, fire extinguishing spells, and various fire walls were being called in the rooms in the back, heard through the open doors. He considered going in to help, but the use of powerful wandless magic in one of his weaker fields had sapped a deal of his strength. Harry expected that he would only get in the way.
Sighing, he ruffled his hair, ignoring the particles of ash that coated the ebony. The wait for the firefighters to return seemed endless, as Harry stood staring silently at the floor. The only time that his gaze shifted was when a black robed wizard came to collect Spade, Harry watched as the white sheeted figure disappeared from view.
When the fire had finally died, the four men, and one woman, who had been battling it returned. Harry was unsurprised to find that he recognized none of them; this was the Department of Mysteries. However, he was more surprised when one barely battered man approached. "Mr. H. Potter, I presume?"
Harry wondered why they even bothered to ask. He was the only one in the bloody mob to have a scar still prominent upon his forehead. "Yes, can I help you sir?" He responded calmly, voice taking on typical auror tone--none.
The man gave a slight nod, not bothering to offer a hand. Common courtesies weren't needed. "Can I see your I.D. codes?" he asked, clearly expectant.
Harry obliged, the series of letters and numbers emerging from the tip of his wand for the second time today. Weary and unfocused as Harry may have been, the codes still flowed with brilliant ease. The Unspeakable nodded, satisfied with the spell.
"Very well, Mr. Potter. My name is Scope; I need to run a full background check on you." Harry was not at all shocked with the request. A man had just been killed while Harry was attempting to save him; a background check had to be run to be sure that he was really The Boy Who Lived, and not a clever impersonator. "Toad will look after that, I'm sure." The Unspeakable raised an eyebrow as he turned towards Ginny, smirk crossing his handsome features.
If Ginny paid any attention to the slightly too inviting smirk, she made no show of it. Instead, her head dipped in a clipped nod, eyes out of focus. "C'mon, Potter." She beckoned him to follow her, and he obliged.
~*~
Hermione didn't know why it was, but she was having the most unsettling feelings about Phil. Within the past hour, since Harry had mentioned it, she couldn't help but note that he stayed firmly clear of any hint of his personal life. They discussed history and current affairs, but never a breath or Ireland, his family, or his work ever escaped the man's lips. It was certainly curious.
As they were heading back to her office, conversation dwindled. Hermione took the opportunity to find out if Phil would tell her anything; outside of his political views, of course. "So," she began slowly, drawing out the o.
"Don't tell me," Phil stated, turning his head to grin at her, "You want to know if Potter's right, aye?" His grin widened when she blinked, momentarily dragged out of her 'subtlety'. After a pause, Hermione nodded. She offered no explanation. "He's got a good eye, and a sound reputation. But to tell you the truth, I don't think this had anything to do with... well, how fast I draw my wand or dangerous my aim is."
Hermione wasn't expecting him to stop, so it was several moments before she realized that he wanted some sort of reaction. Looking away from his friendly, cheerful eyes, she considered her words carefully. She had the lurking feeling that whatever Phil said next would not be to her liking, or that it would really stay on the current topic. It was a time when she needed Ron, to either answer bluntly or use a masterminded chess move to get a direct answer. He had always been better at chess. Thrusting aside the mental image of Ron's injured form, laying by a giant chessboard in first year, she tried the direct approach. "Then what, exactly, do you think is creating Harry's dislike of you?"
"I think he's jealous."
The answer surprised her, and she answer without a breath of thought, turning to focus brown eyes on his face once more. "Jealous of what?"
Phil tucked his hands into the pockets of his robes, meeting her gaze. The grin was gone, his expression solemn and slightly curious, almost as if hunting for a secret. "Well, you, I would think. I mean you are quite... quite beautiful, and intelligent, and--"
He was cut off as Hermione bust into a fit of laughter. She stopped walking completely, tears soon streaming from her face. "Me and Harry! Me and Harry! Oh my gosh--" another stream of giggles erupted. He stopped beside her, both eyebrows raised and a mildly baffled glint claiming his eyes. When Hermione finally managed to control herself, she had a hand to her stomach from laughing so hard. Swiping away tears, she answered with a broad smile. "I'm sorry Phil; the idea was just so funny! I know it's been suggested before, but not since... Oh, I don't know, our fourth year? Then you just said that, and I couldn't help it. I mean, really, I love Harry like a brother, but the idea of dating him disgusts me. It always has."
"Maybe he thinks otherwise." Phil suggested, still a bit put out by her obvious belief that he was a bit on the slow side for his suggesting the two of them together.
"Harry? Really, Phil, he has other things on his mind. Harry hasn't dated since he became an auror, right after seventh year. Believe me, there is no chance of Harry liking me." She giggled again, covering her mouth in an attempt to stop the fits of laughter. "We're siblings, or as close to it as you can get without blood."
He sighed, and ran a hand over his chin as if thinking. "So then, Hermione, is not Harry Potter, then who do you fancy?"
"No one," she stated automatically, remembering only too late of the picture on her desk. "That is, no one who's reachable."
Was that hope in his eyes? Hermione wondered, watching as his face resumed the calm expression. The blank mask settled coolly on to his features, and he gave her a small smile and a nod. "Well, I think this is where I leave you."
They had stopped before the plain door, tiny gold lettering proclaiming it as Hermione Granger's office. She smiled, resting her hand on the doorknob. "Yes, well, thanks for the laugh." The corners of her lips twitched, suppressing another chuckle. "And I'm sorry I didn't get around to translating. You could come by tomorrow, around ten? It shouldn't take me very long, Threstian's one of my favorite languages."
He smiled slowly, nodding in reply. "That'd be a good time for me, though I'll be disappointed if it only takes a bit."
Hermione was about to ask him why, when his face descended, brushing a quick kiss on her lips. "Goodbye, Hermione." Philian said quickly, stalking calmly back towards the main part of the Ministry, apparently unperturbed by the sign of affection.
She gaped after him, pushing the door to her office slowly opened. What the hell was that? Hermione wondered, too caught up in confusion to remember that she still knew nothing of Philian Davis's past, present, or future.
~*~
Ginny led the way into a small, nearly empty office, Harry following dejectedly behind her. After shutting the door behind him, Ginny took a seat in one of the two lonely chairs. "Sit down, Harry." She commanded gently, watching him with worried eyes.
Harry sat slowly, clutching the arm rails of the chair until his knuckles grew white. Ginny sat in silence for some time, contemplating how best to go around this. Harry was staring at the ground, dark hair falling to mask what little of his face she might have seen. She kept her hands clenched tightly in her lap as she studied his, her mind drifting semiconsciously to thoughts of Spade's death.
He had always been a kind man, jovial and well spoken. However, Ginny had never thought that he was quite the man for the job. Their department was reclusive, normally of the quiet, sympathetic bunch. Spade had always simply been too... happy. But for him to be dead. It was such a strange feeling, to know he would never again enter the office with his broad grin, asking about this and that. The feeling of loss, of despair, was one Ginny knew all to well. The harshness of it came from the fact that someone she knew hadn't died in nearly two years. That was the longest period of time since her third year at Hogwarts that she'd gone without the pain of dying. It was utter anguish to feel it again. She could only imagine how Harry must be doing, though she doubted it had been two years since he lost someone.
Thoughts drawn back to Harry, she disrupted the still silence with a soft tone. "Harry, I have to I.D. you." She didn't even know why she said it. Ginny was sure, absolutely positive that it was Harry before. But she doubted that her superiors would believe that, Harry and she weren't listed for having such a bond. They didn't have that bond at all.
He nodded, without looking at her, gaze focused firmly on the toes of his combat boots. Ginny sat back, deciding to attempt lightness. "Alright then, Harry. Tell me... who's favorite phrase is 'hem, hem'." She mimicked so like she had done back in the days of the DA.
Harry looked up, the tiniest smile on his lips. "C'mon, Ginny, everyone knows that's the old toad. Give me a hard one."
"Excuse me, Mr. Potter, but my code name is Toad. Is there something wrong with that? And don't call me Ginny, ministry requirements demand that I go strictly by Toad." She scrunched her nose a bit, "blasted ministry and their demented rules."
His smile grew, some of the sorrow leaving his emerald eyes. "Alright then, Toad, give me one only you and I would know."
Ginny sat back, relishing the question. There were so many things he could pick, from humorous to embarrassing to absolutely dangerous; each one as exciting as the next. "What did you give me for my sixteenth birthday, excluding those atrocious dress robes?" She shuddered, playing up the scene.
"Matching socks, of course." He stated with a real grin, as if laughing at the memory. He had forgotten to give her the socks with the robes, and had promptly proceeded to bring them to her at two o'clock in the morning. He had also spent four hours staring at her while she slept, before his crashing into her robes had awoken the exhausted redhead.
The pause that followed his words was a comfortable one, tinted with remembrance of a humorous night. Harry considered something after a moment, bringing a slight tilt to his head. "Why are you called Toad?"
Ginny laughed, having wondered when he would reach that point. When Harry responded with a lopsided grin and a quizzical expression, she explained further. "Well, I think it comes from the one piece of poetry ever written by me."
Harry frowned in concentration, and then laughed himself. When the chuckles in the room subsided, Harry, grinning mischievously, spoke. "Well, I always thought my children would be named after me; but you'll do well enough."
Ginny smiled widely, and for a moment their eyes caught, and held. In a moment of pure bliss, she found herself searching in a pool of glittering green light. A rush of warmth joined the emotion, until clouds of ebony suddenly darkened, with flashes of green light that so eerily resembled the gleam of a killing spell.
She shut her eyes tightly, gathering a breath. She didn't notice as Harry suddenly ducked his head, running a nervous hand through his hair. By the time her eyes opened, memories put aside, he was staring at the wall behind her.
"Ginny," Harry began, and she didn't bother to correct him, "the fire was set, wasn't it?"
She nodded, slowly, drawing her thoughts back to the fire. "Yes, a series of muggle bombs got in. Nobody recognized them, or at least none of our security. They were spelled, too. It wasn't until they showed them to me... Well, dad knew read about them and all, and I'm normally in charge of the muggle objects. Spade thought it was magical, so I didn't see until it was on his desk. And then they exploded... Like they were waiting for me or something." It was odd, once she thought about it. They had exploded, the moment she glanced at them. Luckily, she had been in the office opposite, and had seen them through the open door.
Harry moaned, putting his head in his hands. The faint sound of curses reached her ears, and she watched him with curiosity. He seemed to be blaming himself for not being there, something she didn't understand. "Harry, it wasn't your fault. There was nothing more you could have done..."
"Damn it, Ginny, there was! It was my job to get him out of there, and I failed! He wouldn't have died if there had been someone better going in, or if I hadn't... And what if you would have died?" He looked up at her, and Ginny was shocked to find the tears that were held back in his eyes. "You were there, right there. What if it had been you? I couldn't have lived with that, Ginny. The thought of it... Dear God." The next words he spoke were so soft, Ginny didn't pick them up. Most people would never have heard the nearly inaudible whisper of, "I can't live without you, Ginny."
Even without such words, Ginny was suddenly overcome with a sad form of content. Standing, she walked to Harry, enveloping him in a warm hug. "Hush, Harry. I didn't die, I'm still right here. It wasn't your fault. Don't worry, I'm still here." Harry, almost tentatively, crept his arms around her. She felt his face bury into her shoulder, the quiet sorrow of the embrace causing tears to leak from her own eyes. The numbness vanishing, she clung to him as her own quiet sobs began.
Eventually, Harry stopped crying and drew Ginny onto his lap, where she could sit more comfortably. The youngest Weasley leaned against him, sitting sideways as her face turned slightly into his chest. Strong arms were wrapped around her, holding her close in competent gentleness. In the normal way of things, she never would have let herself come into such a situation; but the pain seemed especially strong today.
For nearly an hour, Ginny Weasley sat wrapped in Harry Potter's arms, until she finally feel into a light, easy sleep; feeling safe for the first time in years.
~*~
Wow. I never intended for this to be a doubly fluffy chapter. Stupid characters and their ideas, wanting to go all romancey on me. Not that I mind, I love sweet chapters. And I'm certainly not going to let them off this easy. At least, the H/G action is definetly not going to suddenly blossom, indeed, I think its going to be sort of… forgotten. But that's for next chapter, aye? What did you think about this one? Oh, and I got 8 reviews last chapter. That was a record for me, but I want nine for this chapter if you expect a new chapter within a week. Otherwise I may just take two.