Chapter Ten

Romy and little James were fast asleep. Harry collapsed at the kitchen table next to Hermione. Ginny bustled out of the pantry with bottles of butterbeer and a few more packages of biscuits. She looked dead on her feet, but she served everyone and then started to go back upstairs. Harry stopped her.

"Gin! Get back here and have a butterbeer!" He patted the bench next to him and smiled welcomingly to contradict his commanding words.

"Oh, no I can't. I have to…" she began to object.

"Nonsense. You have to come and sit with me and have a drink. Romy and James are fine, and you're knackered. Take a break, Superwoman." He grinned in challenge. She rolled her eyes.

"Fine, I'll sit for a few minutes. But then I have to get back upstairs."

"No, after that you have to take a nap. Dumbledore is still here. If there's any problem, I'm sure he'd be happy to handle it." She sat next to him and opened her bottle. Harry watched her for a moment, swigging his drink and wondering if she was going to fall asleep where she sat.

"Ginny," he said at last. She jerked her head toward him as if his voice had surprised her. He grabbed both of her hands and wove his fingers through hers. "Thank you," he said simply.

"For what?"

"For what?" he echoed. "For delivering my son. For being willing to take on so much responsibility and being so great at it." He kissed her forehead and hugged her tightly. She sat back and put her head on his shoulder.

For a moment, Harry wondered what it would've been like if he and Ginny had stayed together. He couldn't picture it. Despite all he had felt for her at school, he didn't see them spending their lives together anymore. She was a huge part of his life, but not like that any longer. He felt more brotherly towards her than anything else.

That's how he felt about all of his friends. Hermione was Harry's sister in every way but blood. The Weasleys had been his parents and their children all counted Harry as a brother. He had never really stopped to think about it, but Dumbledore's blessing had brought it to the front of his mind. He had no family to offer his son, and Romy was an orphaned only child as well. But because of their friends, James would grow up in a full and exciting home. It pained Harry to think that James would never know his uncles Ron, Fred, and Neville, but he would be brought up on stories of what his extended family had accomplished. That was a small amount of comfort at least.

Harry finished his drink and yanked at Ginny's wrist. She was indeed asleep where she sat. At his touch, she jerked awake and looked around in confusion before realizing that she had dozed off.

"Come on, Gin. You've got to get some sleep."

"Yeah, just a short nap. Someone wake me up in about an hour, alright?" Everyone in the kitchen nodded and waved as Harry guided Ginny up the stairs. He walked her to her bedroom door and then went in to check on Romy.

She was still sleeping peacefully. James was wrapped in blankets and lying in a basinette, also asleep. Harry pulled the covers back a little and slipped into bed next to Romy, brushing a tendril of hair away from her face and spooning behind her. She sighed in her sleep and whispered his name. He kissed her cheek and sank into the first deep sleep he'd had since Halloween.

Harry woke suddenly when the door to the bedroom opened slowly. He lay still for a moment, not knowing who was coming in the room. He watched the door with heavily lidded eyes and was rather shocked when he identified the intruder as Draco Malfoy. However, Malfoy didn't spare Harry or Romy a glance as he crossed the room on silent feet. He stood over the basinette with an unreadable expression on his face. He reached out and touched the baby's face once, then turned again to leave. Harry sat up.

"Malfoy." Malfoy jumped a foot off the ground. He obviously had thought Harry was asleep. "What are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to see the baby," he said quietly. Harry looked around guiltily. He hadn't exactly been keeping his voice down. Thankfully, he'd woken neither mother nor child. Harry thought for a moment, and felt something like pity for Malfoy rising in his throat.

"Where is your son? His mother?" Malfoy looked startled at the question.

"If we're going to have a heartwarming sentimental conversation, Potter, I suggest we take it elsewhere. Your wife and kid are sleeping." Harry rolled his eyes and climbed out of the bed, following Malfoy into the hall. Malfoy turned to face him once they were a good distance from the doorway.

"If you're really interested, my wife is in hiding with our son. Even I don't know where they are. I owled them as soon as I'd left the Dark Lord's forces and told them to leave our flat. My wife owled back and said they had found a place to hide, and I haven't heard from her since. Happy now, Potter?" Bitter pain oozed from every syllable. Harry could hear it underneath the hard exterior of tight anger that Malfoy put forward. Harry never thought he would feel sorry for Malfoy. He would never in a million years have thought that he would've been thinking of ways he could help his old enemy.

"Do you miss them?" Harry's heart twisted in sympathy. He couldn't imagine not knowing if Romy and James were alright. And living with that for six months! Unthinkable.

"No," Malfoy snapped. "I miss him. Not her."

"You don't miss your wife? Why the hell not?" Harry was dumbfounded, partly at Malfoy's answers, and partly because he was getting answers at all.

"She's a stupid bitch. I never even liked her, let alone loved her enough to miss her while she's gone," he explained with a sneer on his face.

"Then why did you marry her?"

"I should think that would be obvious. Because the Dark Lord wanted me to. He wanted to do something for her father, and a marriage with the son of one of his biggest supporters seemed like the thing to do. Don't get me wrong, she's not a Death Eater, or really even sympathetic to the cause. She just liked me because I had money and a bit of power. Our marriage isn't some great romance, it's merely convenience for both of us. Satisfied now?" Malfoy turned on his heel and stalked down the stairs.

Harry was struck by a flash of disappointment that, during his one opportunity to hit Malfoy, he didn't particularly feel like it.

Harry made a point in talking privately to Dumbledore before he left for Hogwarts again. He asked the headmaster if he could look into the situation with Malfoy's family. Harry didn't know why he was doing anything for Malfoy, but he knew he had to do something. It wasn't right for Malfoy to have to miss his son's childhood, and it was worse for the boy to be without his father. Dumbledore said he'd do what he could. Harry had to content himself with that.

It was past midnight and the curious feeling of…well, feeling hadn't quite passed yet. He had hugged everyone in sight at least three times (not including Malfoy, he had only hugged Malfoy once) and he had spent as much time as possible sitting in bed with one arm around Romy and the other cradling baby James.

He thought maybe that the sensation was fading a little. Here and there, little patches of skin had begun to tingle and prickle like they were falling back asleep. This was perhaps more distressing than not feeling anything at all. Time was precious, he realized. He ran downstairs and downed his last butterbeer ever, then sprinted back up to the bedroom.

By one in the morning, he had given the baby back to Romy, who was struggling to stay awake. He didn't want the baby to get a nasty shock when his father suddenly became completely intangible and dropped him.

By two, Romy was asleep and Harry had lost feeling in all but his hands. And even those would pass through objects if he moved too suddenly. He gave his son one last light caress and left the bedroom.

The next afternoon, he still had some vestige of feeling in his hands. He could still touch things lightly and pick up light objects. The strength of the feeling waxed and waned, but it remained for longer than Harry had expected.

Two days after James' birth, Harry's hands still had feeling.

A week later, Fawkes appeared at the safe house with the customary note from Dumbledore. New arrivals today. One woman, one young child. Dumbledore always warned them a few hours in advance when people were coming to stay at the safe house. That gave them a chance to bring in a few more food items and prepare enough beds for the new guests.

Hermione and Ginny set out fixing up one of the spare bedrooms for a woman's comfort. They added smelly soap, hair potions, and fluffy towels to the bathroom, knowing that most women who were forced to stay at the safe house had long been deprived of a luxurious bath.

Right on schedule (exactly three hours after the note had arrived), they heard the familiar whoosh sound of an approaching Portkey. A dark haired woman landed on the living room floor with a child no more than two years old strapped to her back. Ginny rushed forward to help her up, but Malfoy pushed her aside and reached the pair first.

"Melaney! Tom…how did you find us? Where have you been? Are you both ok?" He was shouting joyously, and everyone else in the room hung back in confusion. Malfoy's family. Here. Harry glanced at Ginny, George, and Hermione. They seemed to be thinking the same thing. None of them had ever seen Draco Malfoy in this kind of state. Cold, calculating Malfoy, hugging and laughing and grinning like an idiot. What alternate dimension had they slipped in to? Harry tuned back into what the Malfoy family was saying.

"We've been at my grandmother's old place in Wales for the past six months!" Draco's wife, Melaney, said. "It was terribly boring, and the Welsh branch of Gringotts wouldn't let us transfer money from the London branch, so we had to live off of what I had brought with us. It was only a few thousand Galleons, and we had a terrible time. I sent you at least a dozen owls, but they all came right back!" She had tears in her eyes and Harry felt a little guilty for watching, but neither she nor Malfoy seemed to notice them there.

"I tried to send you as many owls, but they all ended up back at Hogwarts," Malfoy explained. "Your grandmother's place must have protection on it."

"Oh yes, I hadn't thought of that," Melaney said with a surprised look on her face. Harry sniffed, remembering Malfoy's assessment of his wife. Apparently he had sniffed too loudly, because all three Malfoys turned to look at them.

"Oh. You're still here," Malfoy said coolly. "Melaney, this is Potter, Granger, and assorted Weasleys. I still don't know which ones they are. Potter, Granger, Weasleys, this is my wife Melaney and my son Tom."

Harry caught Hermione's eye and mouthed "Tom". Her eyes widened a little, but she plastered on a false smile and shook Melaney's hand. She ruffled Tom's cornsilk hair and gave him a real smile.

Melaney shook hands with everyone but Harry, then leaned over to her husband and whispered rather loudly, "Darling, is that the Potter?" Malfoy nodded. "Why is he glowing?" she asked. Malfoy's face reddened a little and he shook his head to stay any other questions his wife might have had. Harry quelled his desire to burst out laughing.

"Ghosts tend to glow, Mrs. Malfoy," he said with laughter in his voice. She looked scandalized.

"Goodness me, I was wondering why I could see the wall behind you through your…" she was cut off by a sharp elbow to the ribs from her husband.

"Melaney, dear, why don't we go upstairs and get you settled in our room?" Malfoy asked her through clenched teeth. He dragged her up the stairs by her elbow, the smallest Malfoy trailing slowly behind them.

As soon as they heard the bedroom door close, all four of them burst into unrestrainable giggles.

-Ten years later-

It was Halloween again. The ten year anniversary of Harry's death. It felt odd to be counting off years since his own death. It seemed wrong somehow, but he always treated Halloween as a special day, no matter where they were or what they were doing. He used the day to remember not only his own death, but those of Arthur, Neville, Molly, Ron, Fred, and everyone else who lost their lives on that horrible Halloween night.

Over the years, they had been moved from house to house and all sent on one assignment or another. After the first year, the nine of them (including Malfoy's family) were rarely all in the same place at the same time. They had come to regard themselves as a large family, so the times when they all were together were made into unofficial celebrations. Little Tom doted on baby James and once James started walking, the two of them were always off getting into some sort of trouble. Draco and Melaney never really got friendly with anyone, but they seemed to accept the fact that their circumstances were permanent and made the best of them. Draco and Harry often had long discussions about strategy and planning that usually ended with Draco telling Harry that he thought like a Muggle and Harry countering that Draco thought like a Death Eater. It usually wasn't a good idea to point out that Draco's thinking was likely an advantage for them.

Ginny had taken it upon herself to teach Melaney how to cook and keep house. Gin had become the unofficial mum of the house. She reminded everyone to change their sheets and rinse their dishes, cooked for them, and took loving care of the weary refugees who came into their house. In the past few months, a rather charming young man named Connor had shown up every couple weeks, supposedly looking for a few days of rest, and spent the entire time making cow eyes at Ginny. Harry sometimes felt the urge to punt him out of the house, but Ginny seemed to like him, so he curbed the impulse.

Oddly enough, Harry still retained feeling in his hands. It seemed that something in the spell hadn't worked quite right, because even ten years later, Harry could turn the pages of books himself, and ruffle his son's hair, and touch his wife's face.

He regarded Romilly as his wife, though the ceremony they had was hardly legal. A wizard who had formerly worked for the Ministry had declared them man and wife, and Harry held that as the truth. It was better for James to grow up knowing that his parents were married, even if they hadn't been when their son was born.

James (Jamie, they called him), was growing up wonderfully. He was a bright and happy child who brought noise and happiness into whatever house they might be staying in. His hair was as black and untidy as his father's, but his eyes kept the blue of his infancy. Romy had hoped they would turn green like his father's, but he undoubtedly had his mother's eyes. Harry wondered if, a year from now, teachers at Hogwarts would be telling him that he looked just like his father, except for the eyes. His mother's eyes. Harry could recite that litany from memory, he'd heard it so many times. He hoped that Jamie wouldn't get too much unwanted attention because of who his father was.

This particular Halloween morning, Harry had woken from a restless sleep hours before dawn, feeling like something was about to happen. He slept very rarely lately, so he had been surprised to discover that he had dozed off in a chair the night before. The disquieting feeling of foreboding lingered until the sun rose and then spiked to an alarming peak. Harry sat up straight in his seat at the kitchen table and looked around in distress as the walls of the kitchen began to melt away. He was being pulled somewhere, as if there was an invisible cord wrapped around his waist. Something was very wrong here. He wasn't dreaming. He hadn't had a dream since before his death. Something was very wrong.

The melting sensation stopped and Harry looked around, gasping and gaping at his surroundings. He had been here before. He was in the Ministry of Magic. The Department of Mysteries, to be more specific.

In the Death Chamber. Staring at the archway and veil that had taken Sirius from him.

What was he doing here?

The question was answered before he could really ask it. He couldn't explain how he knew, but he did. He could go through the veil. He could go on to where ever it is that people go when they die. He could end this half-life and do the easy thing for once.

No. Not now. I'm not ready, and they still need me.

Nick's voice echoed in his head. Stop lying to yourself. Before it's too late. Have the courage to go on when it's over.

It's not over, Harry told himself firmly. I'm not done here. Voldemort is still alive.

"No," he said out loud. The sound of his voice echoed all through the Death Chamber and the walls began to fade. He was back in the kitchen of the safe house. The sun was up now.

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AN: Sorry for the huge time jumps here, people. I hate doing it. But it needed to be done. blush