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Tell All Confessions
Ron watched Hermione take a sip of her cold tea and laughed. Cold tea was one of her pet hates and she'd spit it out if they were home.
"Ok, now that's an impressive expression," he told his partner while Harry pulled his hands free to pat her back anxiously and get up.
"I'll reheat it," Harry was muttering when Hermione pulled out her wand and hit the cup with a quick heat spell. Her eyes widened a moment later and Ron watched her pale and stammer in horror. He looked at Harry anxiously, who was staring at Hermione's wand with an unreadable expression.
"Oh Harry, I'm so sorry! I didn't think!" she reached a hand to him, and Harry took it, leaning down to kiss her cheek absently. He sank into his chair again, and Ron reached for his free hand once more. Would this reminder of his loss upset the former Boy Who Lived, or would Harry be ok with it all?
"It's not like I'd forgotten you were a witch, Hermione," Harry sighed, "And I've even got my wand packed up in the box fro m Ollivanders and hidden in my sock drawer. Please don't worry about it. If we can't be ourselves in front of each other, you two might as well go home and obliviate yourself."
"Not going to happen," Ron said firmly, "Don't even think about it."
"I just…" Hermione trailed off and leaned over to peck Harry on the cheek, wisely dropping the subject for now. They'd have to talk to Rose about magic at some point, because Ron assumed that Harry hadn't told her all about Hogwarts or his own time as a Wizard. Harry met his eyes and smiled, something in his expression telling Ron that they were thinking along the same lines. Ten years apart and that skill hadn't been lost - the knowledge let something in his chest ease, a tension that Ron hadn't been aware of until it was gone.
"So, changing the subject," Harry said lightly, winning smiles from the Aurors that once more held his hands, "What have you two been up to lately?"
They took it in turns to tell Harry about what they'd done. Hermione started, with Ron coming to get her the moment he woke, and waiting outside the hospital wing. They saw Dumbledore go in and Professor McGonagall caught them outside, arguing about eavesdropping. She walked them to the common room with a hand on each shoulder and the next day, Harry was gone.
"They took me to St Mungo's to confirm the diagnosis," Harry interjected there, his voice quiet, "Professor McGonagall went with me. She cried with me when they told her the truth."
The trio sat in silence for a moment, contemplating a crying Minerva McGonagall, who had always seemed so strong and controlled. Ron took up the tale about waking three days later and finding Harry's things missing from the dorm, and how he and Hermione had run to see the Headmaster. The gargoyles wouldn't let them in, and when they'd gone to the Great Hall there was pandemonium.
"Fudge had announced it to the papers," Ron said heavily, "And the Daily Prophet was being as dramatic and disrespectful as it possibly could. It was a nightmare, Harry, all your friends demanded we tell them the truth, and we didn't even know. I went to send Pig with a letter to you, asking where you were and if you were ok, but Pig couldn't find you."
"The Headmaster put a charm on me that would prevent owls from tracking me," Harry sighed, "He thought that the Death Eaters would come after me, like Sirius did."
Ron squeezed the hand he held, though it was evident that Harry had recovered some from the loss of his godfather. Perhaps the fact that he'd lost so much more and had to overcome that had helped him put away some of his grief. Hermione took up the tale, explaining how they'd worked hard in seventh year for NEWTs, and that Ron had been Head Boy and Quidditch Captain. Harry shot him a look, and Ron grinned. The Mirror of Erised had actually told the future the one time Ron had looked into it. She told Harry about graduating, and that they'd made marks good enough to be accepted for Auror training.
"That's why you're here?" Harry pulled his hands free, his quick temper coming forward suddenly, "They sent you to check up on me?"
"No!" Ron lunged and grabbed Harry's hand again, shaking it to get his friends attention, "We're here on a job Harry, that's true, but we found you because the Muggle authorities had you listed as a witness in our case. They didn't even have your name down, just the IT Professor. It's why we looked so surprised!"
Harry looked at them both hard, examining their faces for any sign of a lie. Ron could understand it - Harry had been lied to by people in authority until he'd left the Wizarding world. People he'd trusted had used and abandoned him in a world were nothing was as it seemed to be. He had no reason, not even their years of friendship, to trust them now. Ron let Harry see that he meant what he said, his fingers rubbing and tangling with his friend's once more, until Harry's breath whooshed out of him with a great big sigh and he slumped in his chair, temper over.
"I'm sorry," his red faced friend apologised, "I should have known better."
"Yes you should," Hermione said, the sharpness of her tone at odds with the gentle expression on her face, "It's alright, Harry. We understand. The Wizarding world never did you much good, did it?"
"That's not an excuse," Harry shook his head, "I never doubted the two of you. Not for a moment. Even when we were fighting I knew deep down who you were to me. I know you don't have any reason to believe that after I just disappeared without a goodbye or even an explanation…"
The partners got up and hugged him. They were all silent for a long moment, breathing unevenly and trying not to let this discussion dissolve into a sobbing mess. Hermione broke away first, dashing her fingers under her eyes and taking a deep breath. Harry burrowed closer to Ron for a second and then let go as well, gathering the empty mugs and taking them to the sink to be rinsed. Ron took the teapot over and they adjourned the to front room, sitting on the lounge with Harry once more between them, holding their hands. The contact was as vital as air at the moment, and Harry was holding on to them just as hard as they held him.
"Well," Ron took up the tale once more, "We worked our arses off in training. We were an unbeatable pair, and when we graduated it was as first and second in the class."
"I knew you'd do well," Harry mumbled and grinned at the red head, "You were determined from the moment Moody mentioned it to become an Auror."
Ron stared at his friend and wondered how the hell he'd missed it. When they'd met, he'd been a little boy desperate to stand out from his brothers. Harry had distinguished him from the rest of the class in the first hour of their meeting. In their fourth year Harry had finally met all of his older, smarter, stronger brothers, and envied him for them. How had he missed that the one person who wanted him for himself had been right in front of him all along? Hermione cleared her throat and broke Ron's chain of thought.
"Yes well, thank you Harry," she smiled, and continued where Ron had left off. She explained that each partnership developed a speciality over time, one that allowed them to play to their strengths and clear cases for the department more quickly. Their speciality was hunting down rogue Witches and Wizards.
"Former Death Eaters mostly. Fudge was forced to put in some pretty harsh penalties for the Death Eaters after you battled Voldemort. He managed to get elected again, for another ten year run just after you… left the school, but I don't think he'll manage a third term in office. People are getting sick of his lies and grandstanding," Hermione shook her head. She'd been furious when Fudge was re-elected on the principal that he'd saved them from Voldemort by helping Harry. No one had dared speak to her for days, not even Ron.
"There are no Death Eaters in Cambridge," Ron hastened to add when Harry tensed up, "We're looking for an unknown rogue."
"How can you tell the difference?" Harry frowned and Ron grinned. It was a fair question.
"Every magical school records the magical signature of its students. When they graduate that signature is transferred to a register at the Ministry. This happens world wide, Harry, and the Aurors use that register to trace crimes and misdemeanours back to their source," Hermione's voice had taken on a faint lecturing edge, but Harry didn't seem to mind, "Let's say that someone goes completely off his nut and starts hexing people left right and centre in Diagon Alley. A second Wizard decides to use the chaos to hex someone they hate. We can sort out who cast each hex, and that way the nutty Wizard only gets tried for his hexes, and the sneaky one gets caught."
"One Wizard with a wand can do more damage, more quickly, than a whole crowd of Muggles," Ron put in, "And get away a lot faster. Our job is to find their signature and pin it to them."
"But I thought the explosion at the craft fair was done by one of us, not a Wizard," Harry frowned, "The authorities said that whoever did it wasn't very good with explosives because the bomb didn't detonate properly. Otherwise the hall would have collapsed completely."
"A Muggle planted the bomb, Harry," Ron nodded, "But it went off properly. A rogue Wizard cast a very powerful repair charm to stop the building falling in."
"Rose and I were in that building. Whoever it was saved our lives. How can they be a rogue?" Harry looked at Ron in confusion and Hermione leaned in to kiss his cheek in comfort.
"Their magical signature is not on our register Harry," she explained, "It's standard procedure for us to then check the international registers. When a Wizard or Witch travels legally, their signature is collected at the borders. Only someone who was in the country illegally would avoid having that signature collected. People who come to the country illegally are usually up to no good, or fleeing from crimes committed in their own country."
"The second way that someone can avoid having their signature recorded is to avoid being trained by a magical school. This is usually a Muggle born, who turned their invitation to schooling down. Without proper training they usually lose the ability to do magic as they get older, simply because it's something they don't want and it atrophies like a muscle that isn't used. Because whoever this was is so powerful, we need to ensure that they have sufficient training," Ron added calmly, "They could hurt themselves or others entirely by accident."
"The problem is that there was a large number of people from a Muggle assisted living house at the fair. These people all suffer from a severe intellectual disability. We'll be interviewing them starting next Monday," Hermione sighed, "If it was one of them who performed the charm…"
"What?" Harry asked anxiously, and Ron shifted, knowing that his friend would hate to hear this.
"The Healers at St Mungo's will visit them and put inhibiting spells on them. They won't be able to do magic anymore," Hermione said it baldly and Harry shuddered. He knew what it felt like to lose that ability. Ron let go and wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders. His friend was breathing hard and pale, staring at the coffee table intensely. Hermione made to put her arm around him too, and Harry leapt off the couch, his arms wrapped around his waist as he paced to the fireplace and back.
"What if there's another explanation," Harry asked in a tight voice, "Would the Healers do that to a child?"
"No," Ron gestured to Hermione for her to remain quiet. Whatever Harry was thinking, he needed to tell them in his own way, "Depending on the age of the child they'd either send them to Hogwarts for schooling or set up wards on their house to monitor and absorb any excess magic until the child was old enough to go away to school."
"No inhibitors? No tests? They wouldn't take her away? Even if her dad was a Muggle?" Harry's voice had a pleading edge, and Ron shook his head. He had a suspicion what Harry was thinking, and a glance at Hermione showed that she had a pretty good idea too.
"The Department would insist that the parents sign an agreement that the child goes to a magical school when they're old enough," Hermione said gently, "Do you think it's Rose?"
Harry nodded miserably, and slumped against the mantelpiece.
"We were in the centre of the hall, looking at one of the jewellery stalls there. I was hoping to get some ideas for her birthday present, and I was crouched behind her while we looked at some glass beads on a wire. The windows behind us blew in and the whole building shook and swayed. I thought it was coming down at one point, and when it was over there were huge cracks in the walls and ceiling. I'd curled up around Rose, and I just grabbed her and got the hell out. She was terrified," he licked his lips, and took a deep breath. Ron knew that he was about to tell them why he thought his daughter had cast that charm, "Three nights before she couldn't reach her favourite story book. I was in the kitchen de-boning chicken and she had been yelling for me to come lift it down. She gave a squeal all of a sudden and I ran into the front room in time to see the book floating down to her. It looked like Wingardium Leviosa to me."
"What did you tell her?" Hermione asked, and Harry laughed, a dry mirthless sound.
"That next time she should come and ask me for help rather than yelling from the front room. How do you explain magic to a baby?" he shook his head, "Three is about the first time they do magic, right? I remember reading that somewhere."
"That's right," Hermione soothed, "If Rose is a Witch that is perfectly normal. And there's a spell I can perform Harry, to see what her magical strength and signature is. It won't hurt and if we do it now she'll probably sleep right through it. Once we have the results we'll know what to do."
Ron got up and Harry nodded, taking a deep breath and straightening up. He reached out and took their hands again, his own cold to the touch. Ron squeezed the fingers wrapped in his for comfort and won a pale smile. Harry led them up the blue carpeted stairs quietly, passing more framed watercolours as they did.
The landing at the top of the stairs was also carpeted. There was a door at both end, and two facing them. The door to the immediate right was open a little and Ron caught a glimpse of blue and white tiles, indicating a bathroom. The door closest to that was Rose's bedroom. It had bare floorboards as well, with a large colourful rug in the centre of the room. The wall adjacent to the door had a radiator enclosed in a fancy wooden cover, with a huge pin board above it covered in childish drawings. There was a dresser in the nook opposite the door, followed by a fireplace that contained a toy box, followed by a large cupboard that filled the other nook. Mainly windows that overlooked the darkened back yard took up the wall opposite the pin board. Beneath them was a bookcase with treasured objects and storybooks on it. A small lamp rested on one corner, and then there was the bed.
Ron had lit the tip of his wand to see all this, and the pale yellow walls and dark yellow Holland blinds that covered the windows radiated the small light back to them. Rose was curled on her side, breathing deeply, a ragged bear clutched in her arms, her hair even wilder in sleep. The wall above her bed had framed photographs hanging on it, and Ron recognised Sarah, smiling shyly for the camera with her hands on her large belly. There was a photo of his family, with Harry and Hermione as well, taken in the garden at the Burrow. Ron's dad had done that the year they went to the Quidditch world cup. There was another picture of just the three of them in winter school uniform, leaning against one of the courtyard walls, and probably snapped by Colin Creevey. Baby Harry and his parents also graced the wall, as did a picture of Rose with her father, a few days after she was born.
"The Headmaster froze the pictures in my album," Harry whispered, "I had prints made for Rose petal, so she could see her family. That one with Sarah is the only one I have of the two of them together."
It was a delaying tactic, and one that Ron could sympathise with. He shared a glance with his partner, and Hermione drew her wand and whispered a spell softly. There was a quiet hum and a pale pink light surrounded the sleeping child for a moment. Her breathing didn't even change as the glow faded and the hum stopped.
"Normal," Ron whispered immediately, "She's normal, Harry. It wasn't her that cast the repair charm at the hall. You won't be hearing from the Department until she's eleven and ready for high school."
Harry slumped in relief and nodded, swallowing hard. Ron slung an arm around his waist and took him into the room next door, sitting on the bed with Harry who leaned forward and put his head in his hands.
"I'm a terrible parent," Harry moaned as Hermione closed the door, "I told myself that I'd love her no matter how strong or weak her magic is, but now I'm glad that she's just normal, not special, only normal."
"I understand," Ron patted him between the shoulders, "You were special, and it never gave you anything but trouble. It's ok to be relieved, Harry. You love her and want her life to be easy."
Harry nodded but didn't speak. Hermione was looking tearful again, and Ron glanced away to take in the room they were in. Once more the boards were bare, and a fireplace sat in the wall opposite the door. This one was like the one in the front room, with a grate and what looked like an identical pile of coals sitting in it. Harry's wardrobe was opposite the door, and a large dresser sat in the nook closest to the bay window. There were heavy maroon drapes across the alcove at the moment, but Ron would have bet a galleon that there was a bookshelf under the window, and wooden shutters across it. The bed he was sitting on was a queen size, with a simple head and footboard. Hermione had turned on the lamp on the bedside table closest to the door, revealing the picture of Harry and his parents there, and the wall adjacent the door boasted another watercolour, this time of the Hutch, framed and matted like the ones downstairs.
"Do you think the bed is big enough for the three of us?" Ron asked Hermione, "And what time does the Floo office close tomorrow? We'll put the account in my name so no one gets suspicious."
"Um, twelve I think on a Saturday," Hermione looked amused, "And the bed should be big enough if we're friendly."
"Staying over are you?" Harry's muffled voice floated up, "And what makes you think I want a Floo connection?"
"How else will you get to the Burrow for Sunday dinner?" Ron asked reasonably, "I'll shift that chest of drawers out of the fireplace in the dining room to the alcove under the stairs, and that table can go by the front door. Maybe you should put Sarah's picture on the dining room mantle? Hermione will have to enlarge the fireplace a fraction, and check your chimney, but we can put an anti-Muggle charm on it so no one will notice, or wander in."
"We'll have to tell Molly we're bringing guests," Hermione suggested, "And ask your brothers and sister to come a bit earlier. Bill and Charlie are here Harry, but they go back before next weekend, and they'll want to meet their niece."
Ron was grateful that Hermione could read his intentions so easily. Harry would know that he couldn't put off meeting the Weasley's, and if the two of them made all the hard decisions now it would be easier for Harry later. If he truly wanted them out of his life he'd say so now, before letting it go too far.
"Rose is going to squeal tomorrow. I give you fair warning. She somehow reaches a pitch that can etch glass," Harry sat up and rubbed his face briskly, "The wardrobe is mainly empty and has some drawers in it if you want to unpack. I'll go shut up the downstairs. Bathroom at the top of the stairs, and I'll get you some towels."
Ron grinned, relief making him feel weak for a moment. Harry grinned at them both and got up, heading downstairs to switch off lights and generally get his head on straight. Hermione bounced on her toes once her friend was gone and Ron snorted, shaking his head and getting up to fish the shrunken carpetbags out of his pockets.
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