There and Back Again Lane

Ch. 9 – The Warden of the Tomb

London

---(Angelina's POV)---

I should have known the berk would've tried something like that. I can't believe that I actually let Fred attempt to 'help' Ginny tell Harry she and the rest of the family are part of a wider wizarding community. Only a single tumbler, and a small one at that, of drink passed these lips. I've no excuse. Would, however, the Wizengamot really try me for hexing the little cretin with an especially vile assortment of curses and jinxes considering my mitigating circumstances? I think not. 'My Lord, I was simply expressing my exasperation for my moron of a husband's efforts to disrupt the impending marriage of his sister to the man who killed Voldemort once and for all.' They'd make me a member of the Order of Merlin, First Class, faster than Krum catching a snitch. After I'd explained Harry's still among the living... I've been telling the exact same things at Fred for a good thirty minutes, quiet enough so as to not wake the neighbours, but I think my rather complete vocabulary of insults, curses, and threats has been exhausted. He hasn't been able to move more than two feet from the door.

Perhaps I don't know Ginny as well as I should. Sure, she was a great Seeker during my regrettably short stint as captain at Hogwarts, and I knew she had a natural aptitude for Quidditch, but during the two-and-a-half years she stayed in the bedsit above the store, she kept mostly to herself. Don't get me wrong. She did convey to us her gratitude for providing a not-too-inquisitive home and to me the pleasure for making Fred happy again. I did discern that she and Fred are very alike in their response to dire circumstances, that neither of them considered such matters worthy of much concern beyond a modest challenge to be either confronted headlong where possible or flanked if necessary. Even so, Harry was, is a special case.

She'd invested everything in the boy after his rediscovery, and, from the little I'd allowed Fred to speak, probably believed she had lost him after this late night, particularly after my imbecilic husband kept Harry out until the wee hours. If Harry'd come back after the pubs had closed, she would have cast a few sobering charms on him before dressing him down. But no. Fred had to keep him out until two. Maybe she imagines her fiancé enveloped by the thighs of some common or garden strumpet he found in a pub, trying his buggering best to wipe Ginny from his memory. Not that I believe Harry to be that type of bloke, even after the Obliviation. But Ginny has six straight years of well-remembered disappointment with the lad so likely expects the worst. In any case, she would want some time on her own to think about what to do next. So she waits as long as she possibly can for him to return, ensuring she can Apparate without incident back to Edinburgh if he doesn't, collects her things, and Knight Buses it to who-knows-where. Worst case. Best case would be that she's so tired after tonight, she sleeps it off, planning to leave before the first trains come in from London. That's what I'm counting on when I send Bertie off to find her.

Fred better hope that owl gets there in time, else that marriage won't be the only thing cut off.

---(Hermione's POV)---

Our bad situation just became worse.

Angelina flooed this morning with word of what Fred's late night exploits. After the argument last night, I ought to have expected him to try to tell Harry despite my admonition. She, however, is angrier that he kept Harry out so late, worrying that Ginny might have returned to Edinburgh in the belief Harry had left her. Though that seems quite unlike Ginny, Harry has often had a peculiar effect on her behaviour, as Ron occasionally has on mine. Ron's groans on hearing this possibility and his subsequent inability to finish his breakfast indicate he concurs. A telephone call to the hotel confirms our suspicions: Harry checked out at around four in the morning without accompaniment.

Honestly, I don't know what I want to have happen now. It was I who advocated (all right, demanded) that she reveal her nature to Harry as soon as possible, particularly after hearing about their engagement. The declaration, I hoped, would spur a reawakening of his old memories that would make his integration into the wizarding community that much easier. Perhaps he might even produce some accidental magic. But there is much I fear beside those increasingly vain wishes.

I was concerned that Harry might not take the news of Ginny's nature well. After all, he recently graduated with a degree in the natural sciences. He might be terribly sceptical of anyone, especially his prospective wife, announcing she can manifest metaphysical – or is the going term 'paranormal'? – abilities. It would be difficult for any Muggle to accept. My parents had a difficult time believing their beloved, swotty, nearly friendless only daughter was a witch. It took some convincing, but thankfully they accepted the truth. I had hoped Harry would be equally accommodating as my dentist Mum and Dad. Close-minded little git. Maybe Ginny told him a little more...

Ginny, whatever her faults, is a sensible woman, even around Harry since her third year at Hogwarts. Thus, if she did tell him more about his past, I assume she must have had good reason. The possibility that he had displayed instances of accidental magic, to which she has given me only vague hints, would certainly provide her with sufficient cause. If such occurrences are becoming more frequent, or if other examples of magical talent or nature are reappearing – his hair did seem somewhat messy yesterday – it would be best that he acknowledge such outward manifestations for what they are rather than conceal them behind a convenient fiction. Otherwise, he would be posing a danger to himself and others. She may have, however, simply wanted to guide him further down memory lane. Possible, but unlikely.

The important questions are not simply precisely what Ginny told Harry last night, but what exactly was his reaction, and what will it be in the long term. After ringing the hotel, it seems he reacted poorly, but conventionally: row and out to the pub. Ordinarily that wouldn't have posed my sister the least difficulty. I would be much more concerned about his condition after he returned. Fred's intervention, I sincerely hope, simply delayed their reconciliation, or I might feel some pity for my husband's idiot brother. There was the fear that the impact of all these truths might send him into catatonia or induce a paranoid episode. Obliviation is scarcely an exact science, despite what the Ministry says. It is also possible he might suffer from both conditions later on if pressed to remember. No matter how patient one is – and, regarding Harry, Ginny nothing if not patient – it must be unbearable seeing someone one loves struggling and failing to remember even the simplest thing. The temptation to prompt the person must, almost inevitably, become irresistible. This worry leads to my greatest fear.

Harry and Ginny have been though too much to deny them a chance at happiness, but I'm still not certain whether it's best or even possible at the present time for them to attempt it together. She might act as a catalyst for his degeneration into the shrieking, struggling catastrophe he was at St Mungo's after the last battle, the one so blinded with rage he would have killed us all given the opportunity. It is categorically impossible that he will ever be able to revert to the Harry we knew before the last battle. Too much has intervened in the succeeding half-decade. At best, we can hope he will become an amalgam of whom he was and whom he is. Whether he will be able to become part of wizarding society again is also debatable. Does he or will he possess any magical ability, or were all those pseudo-examinations and fabrications hidden within St Mungo's archives unintentionally revealing the bitter truth, that he will remain a Squib? If the latter case is true, it might be better to keep him somewhat in the dark. If the former, it is unlikely he would regain the powers he had before the final battle, though if what Remus and Headmaster Flitwick say about Lily is true and if Harry's talent recovers fully, he will be a force with whom to be reckoned. Still, contrary to my heart's wishes, I am pessimistic.

Yet it is essential that Harry knows at least some of the truth.

---(Lupin's POV)---

Here I am, an English werewolf in London. If I was American – and Hollywood films could be believed – I might be in a delightful flat enjoying wanton, passionate sex with a young Jenny Agutter. Yet 'no' on both counts. Curse Dumbledore for suggesting that film. Instead, visitor pass firmly affixed to my stylish but modest lapel, I'm travelling down to the arsehole of this festering sewer of a Ministry of Magic on a potentially hopeless errand for a file that has likely been 'lost' between a requisition order for fresh quills and another for more memorandum stationery.

Don't misunderstand me. I love Harry like a son. But how those two evil little trolls embroiled me in this devilishly insane scheme I have very little idea. Ignore the whinging voice, Remus. Couldn't I at least wait until it's almost a full moon so that I might be armed with something more than these weighty, clanking robes? No, they insisted. Insisted that they were too well known in Ministry circles to be able to carry out such a mission. Bollocks. If anyone is 'well-known' to the Ministry it would be a werewolf. Maybe a vampire. Perhaps a hag. Scratch that last category.

Here I am at level ten. The Plenary Court and Ministerial Archives. I am uncertain which destination gives me the greatest chills.

Elspeth Clarke, née Crannock, Mistress of the Rolls, Keeper of the Archival Quills and Seals. I've the sneaking suspicion, considering the dim glow the lanterns protectively cast on the wooden file cabinets and the ancient spider-strewn shelves of scrolls, she can see in the dark. I am, however, certain she does not take kindly to werewolves, even though it is a good two days after my wretched mensual ritual. The stubbornly obscurantist nonagenarian graces me with that vile little sneer her retinue of quadruped retainers get when they spy an especially succulent rat. How Fred and Angelina talked me into this, I have no idea. Oh yes; they played on my guilty conscience implying that this would finally redeem me in Ginny's estimation and that Harry, should he ever recover his memory, wouldn't regard me as such a beast. At my age, one would think I'd know better than to fall for such ploys.

A big toothy grin greets the horrid crone as I prepare to debase myself before her assumed august presence. 'Mistress Clarke.' Bow the head and tug the forelock like a good prat. 'How are you this fine morning?' Close up, she is in the same state as her realm. One would have expected her skin to be pale from all the years avoiding sunlight, but instead it's the colour of parchment, thanks in part to the materials used in preserving her charges. It might also be a touch of jaundice kept just to add to the decor. Her brittle white hair is pulled back so tightly even the stragglers conform to the shape of her cadaverous head. Engulfed within several layers of official vestments concealing her desiccated frame, Mistress Clarke gave the impression of a rather sickly whelk caught in the act of closing its shell. The mere sight of her disgusts me, though that is overwhelmingly in response to her nature than her advanced age and degenerated condition.

'I bide fine, werewolf Lupin.' Her sandpaper voice, product of the ravages of eighty years of pipe-smoking tobacco even Mundungus would have avoided, abrades much of my patience away. The sickening brownish-yellow grin that follows murders most of the rest. 'What brings you to my domain?'

Let me see. Guilt on three counts. Desertion in the face of the enemy, wilful negligence causing grievous bodily harm, and conspiracy to commit murder. Of a sort. 'Mistress Clarke,' bow and scrape, 'it is simply a great honour to be in your presence.'

She might be old, but nowhere near senile. 'Nonsense, werewolf,' she barked. 'You know materials within this archive may only be used by Ministry officials with the appropriate clearance, and you're not one and have not the other.' The repulsive smirk replaces the nauseating grin. The two two-hundred-and-fifty-year-old bottles of thirty-year Taransay uisgebeatha emerging from my robes manipulate her features to emote astonished, avaricious, almost erotic ecstasy. Frankly, I'm terrified her beady eyes will break their tenuous moorings and wind their ways into the amber nectar of cirrhosis. After the longest time, she blinks and declares in a stubborn rage revealing the temptation the bottles had educed was insufficient to grant access.

'Tut, tut,' I reply in my best professorial tenor, 'these are merely symbols of my gratitude for your kindness.' With a fluorish, I remove my reader's privilege order from my inside robe pocket and unfurl it with a casual wrist motion. 'And here is my key.'

'It's not been countersigned by the Head of Department.' You would think that the Minister's signature, as well as that of our beloved Mafalda Hopkirk – God save her from the fate that's coming to her – would be enough, particularly if the Head of Department's was enough to put Harry in his present predicament. If Clarke is a surly goblin, Perkins, even at the best of times, is a furious troll. Especially if one is a werewolf and is confronting her with a request to prove her to be the ambitious, conniving and criminally minded swine she is.

'Are you sure?' A new pair of Taransay sees the light of the flickering lanterns. 'Madam Hopkirk's signature is there...'

'Well, according to the Minister's letter, the item may concern the possible misuse of magic,' she concedes bitterly, lamely, though half-heartedly desiring for more information to come from my mouth while licking her lips staring longingly at the four bottles. Thin claws dance upon her bureau as she ponders my request. 'Though, to my recollection, it is a very arcane document, perusable only by those of junior minister rank and above, and then only with the permission of the Minister herself.' Another repugnant smirk as her spidery hands coalesce in a distinctly perverse embrace. I feel the definite urge to be sick, though my mouth contorts to avoid conveying that impulse.

'Does Mistress Clarke think I keep six bottles of the finest whisky on me at all times?' I rally my face to portray bitter shock. 'If I did, where would I put these,' shifting the bottles to one hand and pulling out of my ever shrinking robes two exquisite goblets of goblin-wrought silver with gilt lip, trim, and base, the Black family crest emblazoned in platinum on two sides. Her jaw drops in awe and her hands collide with the top of her desk with alacrity. 'Pity that this particular beverage tastes best alone...'

'An hour,' she eventually croaks. 'Two, if you have a fifth.'

'Two it is then.' I wait until she toddles off to find the document before I fish out the fifth bottle. After a quarter-hour, she returns with the scroll in question. The bottles exchange hands immediately, but I keep the two goblets in reserve until a swift shufti of the order reveals it to be the one we require. 'My humble thanks, Mistress Clarke,' I announce with magnanimous head-bow as I gingerly place the two goblets on the bureau. She immediately snatches one of the cups and scuttles off to an even darker corner of her realm.

'All right, Rita,' I mumble. 'Time to get to work.'

Q & A Time (to questions received so far)

To gallandro-83, who proves that I should have used a beta for this story :), so many good questions... Regarding whether physical contact (their collision) was necessary for Harry and Ginny to meet, to an extent yes. Had they passed each other on the street they would have noted someone that seemed familiar, but not enough to make either of them stop as they were forced to once they collided.

Remus was involved in the decision to Obliviate Harry, but was somewhat not entirely of sound mind at the time.

At present the Ministry is unaware of Harry's recovery...

As for Ginny's backstory as a healer, that one's a bit of a logical puzzle to me as well. AsGinny takes the guise of aholistic healer, rather than a magical Healer, Harry wouldn't necessarily expect her to cure of any ailment any quicker than he would by any ordinary Muggle physician, while his ignorance of holistic medicine -- despite his interest in Ginny's career -- would be enough for her to muddle through. As for the Auror assignments she might receive, I admit I haven't come up with a convincing solution: so far, conferences to the occasional city or additional training abroad are all of the solutions that I can currently think of. Since Harry would have been studying for University, he couldn't go with her, and might be sufficiently waylaid by his workload to accept her occasional long voyages... I'm not entirely convinced by that argument, either.

On to your second set of questions (many spoilers below; you've been warned):

1)Dean's POV is the last one presented in Chapter 15 (available on SIYE)

2) Yes

3) I so wish I'd have thought ofhavingthe small mirrors as miniature foe-glasses, but instead they are similar to the mirror Sirius gave Harry in Order of the Phoenix. Now I'm kicking myself for not having thought of your idea...

4) Neville isn't dead. It could be that I erred somewhere, however, but as yet I haven't found where... In the second chapter he's stated as being in Borneo at the time Ron and Hermione are getting married. Luna has passed away, though.

5) Trying not to give too much away here: Oliver and a few others believed thatDraco had died, but instead he just disappeared owing to a last-minute warning, which will be explained somewhat in Chapter 19.

6) I decided to use the old trope that being around Hermione so long has rubbed off on Ginny, though not nearly so much as the quality time she spent with the twins. Being an Auror, she would likewise be responsible for learning about the nature and effects of illegal spells and artefacts. As for the spell's effects, it's more that one feels what the other person is experiencing, which in Harry's case was grief and misery as well as the love for those that had been lost, the weight of which was far too much forTom to bear, overwhelming the latter's defences prompting some bleedback. The purpose of the Charm will be explained further in Chapter 20, where this will hopefully make somewhat more sense... :)

7) Ginny's vision will be explored further in Chapter 19, but your second guess is closest.