P.S. Again, a difficult chapter to write ran into a severe case of writer's block halfway through, but someone helped me immensely. So, Kathy, thank you very much. And I love you.
P.P.S. Made some tiny revisions for spelling and stuff.
CHAPTER 5: Christmas at the BurrowIn the attic that Ron Weasley and Harry Potter used as a bedroom while staying at The Burrow, Harry slammed his head sharply on the desk in front of him.
"Ow!"
Gingerly, he rubbed his forehead as he sat up again, wincing a bit as his vision took time to clear. He looked down at the mess before him and sighed.
Why was this so difficult?
It was a question that he had been asking himself for the better part of an hour. He was Harry Potter, hero of the wizarding world, the boy who lived through Voldemort attacks, Basilisks, Dementors, Dragons, werewolves and so much more… and he could not accomplish this one, simple task. He hadn't even come close.
Spread out before him was a mass of parchment and catalogues, 36 in all, each coming from a different order-by-owl wizard store. Most of them were filled with bright moving pictures of some of the most fetching women he had ever laid eyes on, each suggestively begging him to order their clothes. Others were laden with images of so many sparkling jewlels that his eyes hurt. And others yet were plain and simple Muggle magazines, with names like Harrods and Marks and Spencer.
He had been collecting these catalogues all throughout the term, hoping that by the time Christmas had come along, he would have finally made his decision. Leave it to him to leave things to the last minute…
He ran a hand through his shaggy hair in frustration and leafed through them. Madam Nancy's Emporium, Van Outen's Dress Shop, A Very Pretty One Dresser… Harry had never seen so many clothes in his life. How in heaven's name could he pick one? Does he pick that shiny silver gown thing with the diamond things? Does he pick that green number with the white gloves and long tail thingy? Or what about going casual and choosing that… that pinstripe-y t-shirt thing with all the buttons? Or perhaps he should pick that…
And what about all those jewelry? They all look the same! Tiaras… rings… necklaces… bracelets… anklets… Bloody hell!
Why was it so difficult? All he had to do was pick the one Christmas present… the one outfit or the one piece of jewelry that would…
That would what? Make her forget about Dean? Make her want him so bad that's she'll just drop her boyfriend for him? Huh? Is that what he wanted?
Harry smashed his head into the desk again.
"Ow."
Hedwig, stowed away in her cage, hooted reproachfully at him.
"I know, I know," he muttered. He leaned back in his chair and looked around the room, hoping for some flash of inspiration… something that would make everything just… right.
And then he heard it.
Gentle laughter drifted up through the open window in front of him. It was a sweet, high laugh, one that was filled with promise and hope, and in turn filled him with an unfathomably comforting sensation. There was only one person he knew could make him feel like that.
He stood up eagerly and gazed out of the window that overlooked the garden. In the blossoming sunlight of the Christmas dawn, Ginny Weasley squealed with laughter as she pranced around the lawn hurling great globs of snow at her brothers Fred and George. Harry smiled as her fiery red hair danced about, enticingly alive with each step she took. Her eyes glimmered with that mixture of mischief and delight that he had come to… that he had come to… well… best not to think of her that way…
Pausing in her merriment, she glanced up at Harry's window and smiled shyly. Harry tried to grin back, but as always happened when she looked at him now, he found that he couldn't move. His stomach clenched in a close approximation of pain, his muscles locked agonizingly, and he felt his heart beat just that much faster.
Then she looked away, and he silently cursed himself for his hormones. But he still couldn't move. Even from so high up, he could still see the soft curve of her cheek… the way the corner of her mouth twitched right before she smiled… the slender lines of her neck as they disappeared into her jumper…
"She ees very beautiful, ees she not?" A soft voice came from beside him.
Harry gasped and threw himself back from the window so quickly that for a moment, just a moment, the world seemed to sway. He blinked and stared at the tall, willowy woman standing beside him. She was looking down at him with an unreadable expression in her large blue eyes, silvery blond hair framing her elegant face. Her full lips were turned up in a smile so bewitching that Harry forgot to breathe.
One would think that he'd be used to her by now.
"Oh," he said trying not to stutter. "Hi Phle… er… Fleur. What are you… er… talking about?"
"Aree," she said as she bent down to him. She stopped just inches from his face. Her breath was warm and her skin smelled of slightly musky vanilla. Her eyes, deep and luminous, bore into him. Her lips were bright pink and looked very, very moist.
He gulped. "Y-yes?"
"Aree Potter… why are you looking at women's clotheeng?"
Her voice was the sunrise itself.
He shook off her spell and hastily tried to cover the catalogues with his arms.
"I am not…"
She cooed, an ethereal noise which made Harry want to sit up and beg. Think of Ginny, he told himself. Think of Ginny. He squeezed his eyes shut as Fleur gently touched his hand, tracing delicately long fingers down its length, and slowly nudging it aside.
Think of Ginny.
He risked a peek as she stood beside him for a very long time without saying anything. She stared intently at the catalogues for a long moment. Then, she shook her head slowly, allowing her hair to dance in the stillness of the air. She looked at him languidly through a shimmering curtain of silvery blond.
"Thees weel not do, 'Aree," she said in dulcet tones.
He shook his head quickly. "Wh-what?"
"For Ginny. Thees weel not do at all…" And when she smiled, her ravishing smile of unearthly beauty, all Harry could think about was the twitching, laughing, smiling corner of Ginny's mouth. The world came back sharply into focus and Fleur, with another smile, drew back from him, a catalogue grasped in her hand.
Then the room filled with the scent of Mrs. Weasley's pot roast, drifting in from the open door. As she glided about the room, running her fingers disdainfully across dusty wardrobes, Harry heard the clamor of the Weasleys below… the banging chairs, the clanging silverware, the sizzling of the food… and that sweet, sweet laugh which he had come to… well… best not to think about that.
Fleur turned to him again.
"Mon Dieu… my sister Gabrielle weel be so very much disappointed… Oh the sorrow we weel 'ave to endure…" she raised a slender hand to her forehead in an affected hopelessness.
Harry frowned. "What do you mean?" Now that she was away from him… now that he had the image of fiery red sunsets and bright brown eyes locked into his mind… somehow he could think clearly again.
"Why 'Aree, Gabrielle 'ad 'oped that by next summer, she could come here and… what ees that English word… oh yes, 'snog' you."
Harry blushed a deep scarlet and found that he couldn't meet her eyes.
"Well… um… that is…"
"But of course," she said, approaching him slowly. "That ees impossible now." She cocked her head and smiled at him. On someone else, the smile could be called mischievous. "Why… you are een love!"
"L-Love!" he sputtered. "I'm not… no…"
She leaned in and placed a finger to his lips. "Shhh," she said softly. "'Aree, I think I know something about love. So do not argue weeth me. Oui?"
Harry scowled at her for a moment, then sighed and slouched back in his chair. "Okay… okay." He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. "It's just that… I can't be in love with her…"
"Why not?"
He opened his eyes. She was perched on the edge of his bed, her long legs tucked beneath her, her head cocked slightly, and her hands clasped on her lap. She had a bemused expression on her face.
He scowled.
"She's with someone else."
"So?" she asked, matter-of-factly.
He couldn't believe his ears. "So?" he said incredulously. "So? So… I can't be in love with her!"
"Why?"
"Because! If I were…?"
"Yes?"
"Well I…"
"Well you… what?" Her voice was light and airy.
"I just…" he fumbled.
"Just…?"
"If she…"
"If she… what?"
"SHUT UP!" He roared at her as he leapt up in frustration. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"
She stood up slowly and began to walk to him. He turned away from her, his blood roiling with a surprising mixture of anger and fear. Fleur, who was a bit taller than him, bent down a little so that her face was right in front of him. No matter how angry he was at this moment… well, there was something calming in those luminous eyes of hers.
"'Aree," she said warmly when she reached him. She reached up and cupped his face with her soft hands. "Eet ees ok, you know. Eet weel all be alright."
He stared at her petulantly. "How can it, Fleur? Every time I think of her… every time I see her… I … I…" His voice caught in his throat.
"Shh," she said. "Do not give up." Her eyes suddenly lost a bit of that incandescent glow, replaced by something he had never seen in her before… a kind of gentle sadness, tinged with regret and hope. "I 'ave not given up yet."
"What do you mean?"
To his horror, a large sparkling tear slid gently down her cheek. "I love Bill," she said in a voice softer than twilight. "I love him… but eet ees so hard when nobody else loves me. I try and try… but eet ees only Bill of course who loves me. Ginny, Mrs. Weasley… everyone. No one. They don't love me. They do not accept me."
She sniffed.
"But I keep trying, 'Aree." She smiled grimly. "I keep trying because I love Bill. And I 'ave to believe that… someday… eet weel all be alright. That ees what love ees, after all. Eet ees an effort. But eet is worth eet. I made thees choice… and I belive I chose right."
The tear reached her chin and pooled there for a moment, dangling in the scant hope of survival, before dropping down into oblivion.
As Harry and Fleur stared at each other for a long moment, Harry began to feel something stirring in his heart. It was unexpected and strong… trembling in excitement and renewed hope. The silence surrounded them, engulfed them…
Harry gently reached up and wiped her cheek. He felt a warm rush for her that had nothing to do with hormones as she gently closed her eyes.
"I like you," he said. "I accept you."
"Merci, 'Aree." She said. "Merci beaucoup." And then she stood up, her face still radiantly sad. She shook her head. "But enough about me and my leetle problems." She fanned her face with one delicate hand. "Now eet ees you who desperately needs my help."
Harry smiled uncertainly. "I really don't see how you can…"
"Oh, nonsense!" she said, her voice light again. She guided him back to his chair and forcefully shoved him down. She leaned over his shoulder and peered at the catalogues before him."
Harry became uncomfortably aware that her cheek was pressed to his.
"Now, 'Aree. I know you 'ave not gotten her a gift yet. And I know she won't tell you this… but she ees really sad that you 'aven't! Eet ees already day after Christmas, 'Aree, you should already…"
"I know, I know!" he said. "It's just so…"
Her breath was warm in his ears. "But now you 'ave Fleur to 'elp you, you dear, dear boy. Now, first thing you 'ave to do is think really really hard about what she likes…"
"Harry! I…" A strong, clear voice rang out from behind him. He leapt up with a yowl, instinctively shoving Fleur away from him. Please let it not be her, please let him be wrong just this once…
But when he turned around, he saw her… all fiery haired and fiery faced.
Ginny Weasley stood in the doorway, the light of the hallway silhouetting her lithe figure. She was standing with her feet spread apart, and her arms crossed at her chest. Her expression, perhaps because of the light, was dark and unreadable.
"Fleur."
Fleur glided over to Ginny. "Oh, good morning Ginny!" she said brightly as she kissed her on the cheek. "I was just… talking to 'Aree."
"Oh," Ginny said in a low voice. "Were you now?"
Harry cringed inwardly as Fleur just made it worse.
"Oui, 'E ees a very, very sweet boy."
"Oh," Ginny said in that same low voice. "Is he now?"
"Very," she said, tossing Harry a wink. And with a flash of her silver blond hair, Fleur danced out of the room.
Harry shifted uncomfortably as Ginny glared at him.
"Um… we were just…"
"You don't have to explain anything to me, Potter." Ginny's voice was low and dangerous.
"No, I do…"
"Breakfast is ready," she said brusquely. "I suggest you get down there before…"
"Ginny, wait…" He had to make her understand that nothing had happened. If only she would just listen…
"Now if you'll excuse me, I have to… I have to go."
And with that, she turned sharply away and stalked down the hall.
Harry sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose again.
Women.
He stared down at the catalogues. Fine… if she wouldn't let him tell her…
Fine. He would show her.
He sat down and leafed through the catalogues. Figure out what she likes. Silly clothes. Stupid trinkets. Baubles of no importance. "No," he muttered. "These really won't do at all, will they?" What he was looking for was not here.
And then he knew what he had to do. He would have to go where the cowardly could not. He would have to face the sort of danger and peril that no amount of spellcraft could prepare him for. He would have to gird up his loins and become the legendary boy who lived, bold and daring, once again.
He would have to go shopping.
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Harry pushed back from the table and patted his painfully, but gently, swelling belly. Pot roast, pancakes, bacon, porridge… what a feast! At least all this food would help give him the strength to…
"Ooooh, Harry," Ron, seated to his left, moaned. "Please… don't let me eat like that ever again…"
Across from him, Fleur twittered. "Oh Ronald, you are so adorable!"
Ron immediately perked up. "You think so? 'Cos I can…"
"Aw, shut it Won-won or Lav-lav's gonna have your head." Ginny, seated beside Fleur, said peevishly.
Ron turned scarlet. "I was just… just…"
Harry caught Ginny staring at him. She turned away quickly, a sour expression forming on her face.
Right.
He stood up.
"Well," he said. "Thanks Mrs. Weasley… that was a wonderful meal!"
Mrs. Weasley, who had been staring at Fleur contemptuously, turned to Harry and beamed. "Oh, your welcome Harry dear."
Harry cast one last glance at Ginny, who was determinedly looking everywhere but at him, and walked out the room.
How dare she? She had no right at all to be so angry. First of all, she was with Dean. Second of all, nothing happened. Third of all, she was with Dean. Fourth of all, he was about to go breaking all these rules to go shopping for her. Fifth of all, she was with DEAN! Why does she care so much…
"Trouble, Harry?"
Harry whirled about to find Professor Lupin lounging easily by the fireplace. His face was long and haggard, but he looked a great deal healthier than he did the night before.
"No Professor," he said glumly.
Lupin smiled. "My dear boy, you know you can't lie to me. You're too much like James."
Harry sighed and joined him by the fire.
"Why is it so hard, professor?"
"What is?"
"Life."
"Ah, Harry." Lupin beamed at him, a fond expression on his face. "Nothing is ever as bad as it seems. You're father had to go through hell before Lilly fell for him too."
Harry jumped up in surprise.
"It's not… wait… no… I…"
Lupin chuckled. "I'm a werewolf, Harry, not an idiot. Ginny and Dean won't last forever…"
Harry's mind raced.
"Then help me Professor!"
"How?"
"Can you… can you take me to Diagon Alley? I need to buy something for her…"
Lupin frowned. "You know I can't Harry. Dumbledore left specific instructions not to let you out of this house."
"But I…"
"No buts, Harry. It's too dangerous, even with me there."
Harry scowled at him. They sat there for a while, listening as various footsteps ran up and down the crooked stairs of The Burrow.
"I'm sorry, Harry," Lupin said firmly. "There's nothing I can do. Perhaps you can order-by-owl…"
"No… no that's okay. Thanks anyway Professor."
And with that, he trudged up the stairs. Fine. If Lupin wouldn't do it, then certainly Mr. and Mrs. Weasley wouldn't either. But there had to be some way to get to Diagon Alley… some way. Flying by broomstick would take too long and he couldn't apparate yet, but maybe…
And then Ginny ran down the stairs. She stopped just a few feet from him, surprise etched on her face. She flushed red, was about to smile, and then quickly let her face slacken.
"Oh," she said. "It's you."
Harry licked his lips nervously. "Yeah Ginny, I, uh…"
"Mum's taking me out for a bit," she said lightly. "I need new potions ingredients for next term."
Harry brightened. "Oh, can I come with you then?"
She narrowed her eyes dangerously. "Why? Fleur's not coming. Wouldn't you rather stay here with your precious French flower?"
"Hey! Ginny, look…" He said, frustrated. "I keep trying to tell you, what you saw wasn't…"
"And I keep trying to tell you Potter… what you do is none of my business. You do not need to explain anything to me."
And with that, she tried to brush past him. But he reached out and grabbed her gently, but tightly, by the arm.
"Let go of…" she said as she tried to shrug him off.
"No," he said firmly.
She stood there, on the same step with him, her head bent. She looked up slowly, her hair falling limply down her face. Her eyes, normally so fiery, were guarded… hidden in the shadows.
"Let me go…" she whispered.
"No."
"Please…" Her eyes softened.
"Tell me what I can do to show you…"
"Show me what?" she asked with a resigned air. "Just what do you want to show me?
She gripped his fingers and pried them off of her with surprising strength. "Harry, I'm with Dean. You know that. No matter how…"
"What about the other night?" he said softly.
"What other night?"
He raised his hand up to her cheek and stroked it gently. "Slughorn's party, Ginny. What was that?"
She pulled away. "I don't…"
"Something happened Ginny… surely you felt it too."
She stared up at him then, and brushed back her hair from her suddenly warm eyes.
"Yes…"
"Then why…?"
"Because I can't, Harry." She said softly. She reached up and stroked her hand across his cheek as well. "I can't. I made a promise to Dean…"
"Break it."
"You know I can't do that," she said gently. Her voice hitched in her throat. "Harry… sometimes we make decisions… choices… and we just have to… to live with them… I can't just break it off simply because…"
"How do you know?" He said firmly.
She stared at him.
"How do I know what?"
"That you made the right choice?"
She turned away from him carefully, her red hair swishing in the morning light that streamed through the staircase window. "I… I don't…" Her voice trailed away.
"I made the wrong choice, once, with Cho," Harry said softly as he stepped closer to her. She slid away, hugging her arms as if for warmth, still hiding her face. "I know that now… but…"
"But what, Harry?" She whirled on him, eyes ablaze once again. "You think I'm making the wrong choice? Huh? Is that it? Do you want me to go back on my decisions… go back on my loyalty… go back on my…"
"No," he cut her off firmly. "I want you to be happy."
"But I am happy," she spat.
"No you're not."
"I'm not getting into this with you now. Just… just go away. We don't have enough time for…"
"Ginny…"
"No! It's done. It's over, I…"
"GINEVRA WEASLEY!" Ginny's mom's voice rang out from below. "I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU FOR TOO LONG! COME DOWN AT ONCE!"
In the silence that followed, Harry and Ginny stared at each other… neither one speaking… neither one moving…. Just staring. Harry felt his heart clench as she quickly looked away, angrily wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
"Please, Harry," she sniffed. "I…"
"Okay," he muttered, his throat dry and his voice cracked. "Okay… I will…"
"Please. I can't… I can't DO this anymore… all the uncertainty… all the… It's just too… With Dean, I know…"
"I never meant to hurt you, Ginny," he said. "I never…"
"Please… I don't want to fight anymore… Can't we be just…"
"Okay, okay," he reached out and patted her shoulder softly. She shrank away from his touch.
"I just…"
Then she ran down the stairs. "I just… I need to go…" Her voice trailed away, leaving an empty silence filled only with the lingering summery scent of a flowering field.
And she was gone.
Harry stood there on those lonely, lonely steps for a long while, his head bowed and his fists clenched. He tried to control the roiling emotions that seemed to large for his body and felt himself slowly losing that battle.
He hurried up the stairs before he could meet anyone else.
As he made his way up to his room, he railed at himself… at his stupidity and his ego.
What was he doing? All he wanted was for Ginny to be happy, preferably with him, and all he was doing was making it worse! Why did he keep having to make things worse?
He flopped back on the bed and covered his face.
He remembered the look in her eyes as she stared at him… that shadowed, guarded glare that he knew masked something deeper… something cutting. She would never say it, but she was hurting… and he was the cause of it. If he really did feel for her the way he thought he did… maybe… maybe he should just leave her alone…
He felt a great wracking sob surge through him as he imagined a life where Ginny stayed with Dean, whom he knew now was not right for her. Ginny, trapped in a relationship where love was not the focus… where emotion stepped aside for image. Ginny, she of the radiance and overreaching potential, stifled. Stifled by lies, stifled by pain, stifled by choice…
But was she really?
The thing in his chest growled, and he sat up slowly.
By choice. She said it herself. With Dean, she had said, she knew. With Dean, she was certain. But that was a lie, wasn't it? That night in Slughorn's office, that night when he had dared hope… dared dream… that night there was a certainty in those eyes… but he knew that that certainty wasn't for Dean. He knew…
But she didn't. He had been too cowardly to do anything more than give her a chaste kiss. He had been too stupid to notice her when she was right there. He had been too indecisive to make the most important choice he would ever make.
And so she didn't know. She never had.
She had no choice because he had never given her one.
She thought she was choosing what was right for her… she thought she had no choice but to choose Dean. But making that choice was no choice at all. She was just falling for the very terror that Voldemort had worked to cause: the terror of uncertainty… the terror of not knowing… the terror of emptiness.
He thought of that night by the lake, her head pressed against his chest… against his heart. He thought of that day in the library, sharing chocolate richer than sin, her eyes twinkling as they raced out of the room being chased by Madam Pince. He thought of that night in the hospital, her ashen face smeared with yet more chocolate, gazing up at him with pain and… and hope.
"Next time, I get to save you," she had said.
Harry stared down at his hand and clenched his fist.
He thought of her in the corridor, smashed up against Dean. He thought of her face, lit up and shy, when he leaned in to kiss her cheek under the mistletoe. He thought of her voice… a voice so full of light that no darkness could hold sway while she spoke.
"Next time, I get to save you."
He nodded grimly. He had been a broken man for far too long, mostly against his wishes and his decision. He had suffered, he had triumphed, he had failed, he had succeeded…
But he was broken.
No more.
She was a haven… a calm port in a swirling maelstrom of evil and fear. She was stronger than him in many ways… and weaker too. He would not lose her. He could not.
She was peace.
There were some truths to life that he had ignored… truths so fundamental and elemental that to make choices before knowing them could only lead to despair. The first step for him was to accept those truths for himself… truths that he was hiding behind images of Cho and Dean and Voldemort and his parents, and so much more.
The second step was to make her see… make her know. She was too important to leave to chance.
If she wanted to make a choice…
He would give her a choice.
"Next time, I get to save you."
No Ginny, he thought grimly. We get to save each other.
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Diagon Alley has served as the shopping bastion of the Wizarding world for many years now. Filled with stores advertising the finest goods any wizard could ever want, it is often filled with people of all shapes and sizes, searching and seeking for anything and everything they could possibly need. Even now, the day after Christmas, Diagon Alley does not rest. It is teeming, crowded, chaotic, and covered with snow. But people still come, spurred on by either a sense of duty… or perhaps a sense of madness.
And it is into this madness that Harry Potter and Fleur Delacour apparated into.
It had not been very difficult for Harry to ask for Fleur's help. After making up his mind, he had ran into her room. And with one look at his pleading eyes, Fleur had leapt up and vouched her support for her only other non-Weasley compatriot. Harry was quite grateful for her assistance, as, seeing how he could not apparate yet, he had not been relishing a cold, long flight on his broomstick.
But they were there now, in Diagon Alley, and Harry could finally turn his attention on the task that lay before him. And all Fleur asked in return, was that she help him pick it out.
"Now 'Aree, as I was saying earlier, you must pick out sometheeng she would like, ok?"
Harry nodded, but knew that it would be no easy thing to do. As they strolled down the Alley, ducking into first one store then another, he began to think that the whole thing was going to be hopeless.
"This is hopeless Fleur!" He said an hour after their arrival. They were now sitting in the corner of a little café called Goblets R Us, sipping great steaming mugs of hot chocolate. At least the chocolate was good.
Fleur smiled daintily at him over the rim of her cup. "Do not lose the 'ope, 'Aree Potter. There are steel many, many, many shops to go."
He put his cup down and sighed, looking out the frosted window. The snow was coming down in a gentle fall, creating a hazy whiteness to the day that reflected his confusion. He watched the endless line of shoppers strolling down the alley, arms laden with all sorts of packages.
He envied them. His own arms were notable in their emptiness, although Fleur had managed to purchase ten different dresses already… and she said she was just getting started.
"I don't know," he said, taking a sip of his chocolate. "I just can't seem to find anything that I think she will like."
She peered at him in the soft firelight. "Why not? As you can see, I 'ave already found so many beautiful theengs…"
"Yes, yes," he said irritably. "I know that. But I'm not you, okay? I just have no experience at this. I don't know what I'm doing…"
His breath caught as he saw a streak of red pass the window. He looked harder through the haze and caught the unmistakable sight of Ginny Weasley walking with her mother.
She did not look happy at all as she trudged through the snow.
He stared after her for a while. What did she want? What would make her happy? What would touch her fiery little heart the way she had touched his?
"'Aree," Fleur said gently, taking his hand. "Maybe we are going about this wrong, no?"
He shook his head and looked back at her. "Huh?"
"Look at theese." She dumped her shopping bags on the table. "I bought all theese because they are beautiful and I am beautiful too. We go together very well, and I wanted them very much."
She smirked a very un-Fleur like smirk. "But I do not need them at all. As Bill keeps trying to say, I do not need so much clotheeng. Oh, I protest so much, but I know…"
She squeezed his hand. "I know I do not need them. I am beautiful no matter what I wear."
He had to give her that…
"You see? I do not need them… I just am liking them. So for me… I get what I want."
She let go and ran her hand through her soft hair. "But Ginny is very much not like me, is she not?"
"Hey," he protested. "She's every bit as beautiful as you…"
"Oh of course… of course you believe that, so I weel not argue weeth you. No 'Aree, what I mean ees that Ginny ees so much more… 'ow do you say… sensible than I."
Well, he had to give her that too…
"Go on…"
"Well… maybe we should not get 'er what she wants." She leaned in and Harry smelled that musky vanilla over the chocolate. Her eyes bored into his, piercing him with their azure sharpness. "We should get 'er what she needs."
"Needs?"
"Oui, 'Aree," she said decisively. "Theese sensible girls… they are not wanteeng theese theengs that I want. No… they are wanting theengs that they need. The… 'ow do you say… practical things. Sensible things. Useful."
She cocked her head and thought for a moment. "Maybe you can theenk of what she needs most?"
Well, Harry thought. He certainly knew what she needed. But there was nothing he could buy that would solver her problems for her. But maybe…
His eyes sparked. "Yes… YES!" He leapt up, almost knocking the table over. "I got an idea!"
He grabbed her hand and dragged her out of the café.
"But where are we going, 'Aree?"
"To the Quidditch store," he said, a lightness in his voice reflecting his renewed hope. "I'm going to get her a Firebolt."
"But what ees thees Firebolt?"
"You'll see…"
And, hand in hand, they made their way through the throngs of wizards and witches at an alarming, for Fleur, speed. Harry ignored the horrified gasps she made as she brushed up against people. He strode on… sure in his decision. Ginny did quite well flying on her Clean-Sweep… but on a Firebolt… she would be a terror.
"Let's see if Dean Thomas can match this," he muttered. He knew he was being petty… and something inside him chided him for this… but he didn't care…
"Come on Fleur," he shouted over his shoulder. "The Quidditch store is right around the…"
Then he stopped suddenly. Nestled on a pedestal in the display window of the Quidditch store was the most beautiful broom he had ever seen. It was a deep varnished red, slender and powerful looking at the same time, with a pair of solid gold footholds. It fairly vibrated in its stand… calling to him. He glanced at the name etched in the handle.
Firebolt X.
This was it. He glanced at the price. Well… it certainly was expensive. But he could afford it. He wouldn't be able to buy anything major until next year…
But Ginny was worth it.
Fleur cocked her head. "Is thees it? Is thees what you want to get for her?"
He nodded greedily, still taking in the Firebolt's sleek lines. Maybe he could get one for himself too…
"'Aree… theenk for a moment," Fleur said into his ear. "Would she really like thees?"
"Of course she would," he snapped. "She loves Quidditch just as much as I do."
"But… but would it make 'er 'appee? Truly 'appee?"
He was about to snap at her again, when an image of Ginny forced itself into his clouded mind. She was on the broomstick, holding aloft a struggling, glimmering, Golden Snitch. She was laughing, smiling, triumphant…
But that was fleeting, wasn't it?
He frowned. Of course she would be happy… but it wouldn't solve any of her problems, would it? After the flying… after the novelty… it would still be just a broomstick… and nothing would have changed.
And if she chose him later, how could he be sure he didn't just… buy her choice.
He stepped back from the window. No… Fleur was right. He would get her a broom like this… someday. But not now… now was the time for something deeper… something else…
And then, a sparkle caught his attention. From the corner of his eye, he could see a slight blue glimmer coming from the store next door. Curious, he turned toward it, leaving Fleur to mutter softly about the stupidity of sports.
Harry walked over to the store window and pressed his face against it. There was a small glass case standing there with only one thing in it: a tiny pendant, no more than the size of a thimble, suspended on a bright silver chain. The pendant seemed to be made of a clear glass, and it seemed to hold a small, swirling mist in it.
"Oh, 'Aree…" Fleur said breathlessly from beside him. He jumped a bit, startled. "That… that ees very, very rare…"
"What… what is it?" He couldn't stop looking at it. The blue mist rippled as it swirled… calling out to him in a way that the broomstick couldn't.
Fleur turned her luminous eyes on him. "That ees a Veela antique, 'Aree."
"Veela?"
"Oui… I 'ave not seen one for many years now… those pendants are very 'ard to make and only the ancient Veela know 'ow to…"
"But what is it?"
Fleur regarded him thoughtfully. Then she smiled. "Let us go eenside, 'Aree. Speak to the owner… I am sure that she weel tell you all about it."
And as Harry stepped inside with Fleur, he thought he heard her say "But I am sure that thees ees what you weel need…"
Fleur was right. When Harry found out from the owner, a Veela of exceptional age and beauty, about the unique properties of the pendant, he knew then that it was exactly what Ginny needed. It was expensive, and the Veela took great pains to discuss with him the importance and nature of the pendant… but it was right. It felt right.
And when Harry and Fleur stepped out of the store ten minutes later and thousands of Galleons lighter, Harry spared a thought for the Firebolt sitting in the window. He wondered, fleetingly, if he was truly making the right choice.
But as he gripped the pendant in his hand and Fleur prepared to apparate them back to The Burrow, he knew that, no matter how much pain the pendant would cause Ginny and him, in the end it would all be worth it.
For this, above everything else he had seen, would finally, finally, help her choose.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
That night…
It seemed that, lately, Harry was doing a lot of waiting for Ron to sleep.
As he lay on his side, his back turned toward Ron, he pleaded silently for his best mate to hop into bed. But Ron kept sighing… Harry felt that Ron wanted to talk to him about something. And he was pretty sure what it was.
After he and Fleur had returned home, it seems that Pigwidgeon, Ron's owl, had returned with a letter. From Hermione. About some muggle she was vacationing with. Who was not of her family.
From the expression on Ron's face, and the fact that he had not reacted when he saw Fleur's hand on Harry's arm, Harry knew that whatever Hermione had written bothered Ron to no end. And while he felt guilty about not helping his friend, he could not allow himself to get caught up in other people's love lives. He had his own problems after all.
And so, as the moon rose and the sun hid, he had turned in early, careful to avoid any confrontation with Ginny until he was ready. And as Ron stormed up the stairs to seek his advice one last time before bed, Harry had shifted and feigned sleep, hoping that Ron would understand.
Finally, after an hour of pacing and sighing, Ron flopped onto his bed and began to snore.
Good.
Now came the hard part.
He rolled onto his back and stared at the small pendant he held in his fist. He watched as the swirling blue mist shifted slightly, and then began to change color. The deep blue tone lightened, and kept lightening until it finally settled into a rich yellow shade.
Could he really give this to her, knowing full well what it does? Over the past few years, especially after last year, he had come to know Ginny quite well. He knew what kind of a person she was, and he knew that this gift would cause all sorts of pain for her.
Did he really want that?
The yellow mist deepened, swirling itself into a deep, dark purple. Nodding grimly, he stood up and made his way out the door. The house was silent. But he knew his Ginny… he remembered that night by the lake in the summer. She often went there when she was troubled and sleepless, she said, it soothed her and comforted her. And although there was no going to the lake tonight, he had seen her expression at the dinner table.
She would be awake.
As he padded silently down the stairs, shafts of moonlight streamed at him, casting his skin in an eerie glow. But aside from that, there were no lights; there were no candles on the shelves, no fires in the fireplace, no lamps on the tables…
But he knew she was there.
Finally, he reached the bottom floor, and heard something that confirmed his intuition. From there, from the darkness of the living room, a low, gentle voice sang in sweet dulcet tones.
It was a sad song… a song of mourning and loss and yearning… a song that played constantly in his mind and in his heart ever since the summer, even if he had not realized it.
He smiled.
But as he began to make his way through the dining area to the living room, he paused. This was his last chance to back out of this. He did not like the thought of hurting her. And, if this went as he thought it would…
Well…
He looked down again at the pendant, now a rich verdant green. Pain, as he knew all too well, is a part of life. And it is through pain that we learn so many of our most important lessons.
He made a fist around the pendant, cutting off its glow. He was right. He had to be. And if it hurt her… it would hurt him as well. But this was necessary.
This was a pain she needed. This was a pain she asked for… the pain of choosing between what was right and wrong… what was difficult and what was easy…
And if he was wrong…
He shook his head. It was time.
Keeping his fist tight over the pendant, he strode purposefully into the living room.
And there she was. Wrapped in a warm woolen blanket, she was curled up on the bench by the window looking out into the garden. Her hair was down, fanning her shoulders, glinting in the moonlight. Her face was neutral as she sang her song of loss… and her hands, her delicately strong hands, were clasped around her knees.
She was beautiful. Not in the perfect Fleur-like sense… She was just…
She was beautiful.
He swallowed nervously and opened his mouth to speak.
"I know you're there Harry," she said softly without looking at him. "I always know when you're there…"
And she turned to him, away from the window, away from the moonlight. And somehow, although her face was hidden in the shadow, he could see her clear eyes that shone like a beacon.
He steeled himself.
"Hello, Ginny," he said as he walked over to her.
"Hello yourself," she said, not unkindly. She seemed to think for a moment before drawing her legs up tighter to her body. "Here," she pointed to the bench. "Have a seat."
Wordlessly, he joined her. And suddenly, he found he could not meet her eyes. What was wrong with him? He had been so ready just moments before…
"Harry," her voice was soft and neutral. "What's happening to us?"
He leaned back against the window and stared at her in the light. Her eyes, he noticed, were wet with moisture, and she had tear streaks down her face.
His wanted to melt.
"I don't know," he whispered. Now she looked away… she turned to stare out of the window, searching for something.
"We're supposed to be friends. You were supposed to be the one sure thing in my life… the one I could always return too…"
"But you can…"
"Wait," she held up her hand and looked at him. He caught a faint trace of amusement in her eyes. "I've been practicing this speech all day. If I don't say it now, I never will."
He nodded. Okay…
"You were," she repeated. "Supposed to be the one constant in my life. I know I Like… er… used to like you a lot. I know that I filled my head with so many silly dreams that could never come true. And I know that I'm supposed to have given up on you…"
She sighed and leaned back against the wall. "And now we're friends… aren't we? I love…"
Her voice caught on the word. "I love… I love spending time with you. I love those moments where we can just… hang out; those moments where nothing seems to bother us anymore; those moments where we can be stupid and silly and forget that we live in the shadow of Tom Riddle."
She sniffed. "Those moments with you are like burst of sunshine in my life… and I don't want to lose them. Don't you understand?"
He stared at her impassively, watching her expression change from stoic resolve to amused bitterness. "You were supposed to be that one constant. But after Slughorn's party…"
She covered her face. "I wasn't supposed to cry…"
Harry leaned over as she began to sob. His heart ached for her… ached to tell her everything… but…
"What's happening to us, Harry?" she whispered through her tears. "I'm not sure of anything anymore…"
"Ginny," he began. His heart raced. Now… he had to do it now… just give it to her…
"Wait, wait," she said urgently. She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. "Look at how silly I'm being. I almost forgot…"
Her head carefully turned away from him, she rummaged through her pockets. After a moment, she produced a small brown package, carefully wrapped in bright gold ribbons.
"Here," she said, regaining her composure. She thrust out the package toward him expectantly. "It's a 'I'm Sorry I was a Prat' gift."
He gently took it with his left hand, his right still clinging tightly to the pendant. "Thanks," he said as he peered at it. "But why…?"
She looked up at him sadly. "I got it at Diagon Alley earlier. It's for… for this morning at the stairs. I'm sorry I got all snippy about your crush on Fleur. I guess I understand… she is rather pretty and very crush-worthy, even if she is getting married to my brother"
Harry sighed. "For the last time, Ginny, I don't have a crush on her. I never have."
She cocked her head, staring at him with those stark brown eyes. She turned away after a while, sighing. "I… I know. I guess I really was just being silly…"
She gave a small laugh. "I don't know why I'm being like this…"
"It's okay Ginny," Harry said, putting aside the gift. He leaned in. He had to do it now… Just give it to her…
"Look, okay," Ginny said suddenly. "I was being silly. But the whole point of this is…"
She became very serious. She turned to look at him. "I need to know… Are we friends?"
Of that, Harry could assure her. "Of course."
She bit her lip. "Are we going to stay friends?"
"Of course."
She looked down. "Are we going to stay just friends? JUST friends?"
And silence filled the gap between them for a moment, stretching the distance between them to infinity. Outside, the snow began to fall harder, and the wind began to pick up. Harry closed his eyes as well, and gathered up every ounce of courage he could.
When he looked at her, she still had her eyes clenched. Her jaw trembled.
"Just friends?" she repeated in a whisper.
"Ginny…" he said.
"Harry, I need to know…" he eyes flew open, and her voice took on a frantic tone.
He leaned forward and crossed the chasm between them. He touched a finger to her moist lips and let it linger, cutting off whatever she was going to say.
He was going to fight.
She whimpered and trembled.
"My turn to talk," he said softly. She closed her eyes. A tear fell. She nodded.
"Ginny," he felt the thing in his chest begin to stand. He could do this… he could do this…
"Ginny," he repeated and shifted closer. She would not open her eyes, even when he pulled his finger away. He gently held her hand and stroked it with his thumb. Her skin was silk, and she was warm… warmer than the fire that burned in his heart. "I love spending time with you as well. You are a dear, dear friend to me."
She opened her eyes and risked a small smile.
"And you always will be. I treasure our time together… I don't want to ever lose this."
She smiled a little more. He swallowed hard. "I realize now that you are a constant in my life as well. Your energy, your fire, your passion… they soothe me. They fuel me." He smiled grimly.
"And I've come to respect you so much. More than Ron, more than Hermione… sometimes, more than myself."
She bit her lip again.
"And I respect your decisions as well."
She looked up at him, a sad resignation in her eyes. "Thank you," she said softly.
But he shook his head. "I respect your decisions when you make them knowingly… when you make them properly." His voice grew more forceful.
And now she narrowed her eyes. "Harry, what…?"
"I have seen too many people make too many wrong choices because of a lack of information," he said. There was no turning back now. "I do not want that happening to you."
And with that, he turned her palm upwards. His other hand, the hand that held the pendant, hovered over it.
"What are you doing?" she asked softly, uncertainty in her eyes.
"This is my Christmas gift to you Ginny." He let his hand drop, opening it up slightly so that he could clasp her palm, the pendant trapped between them.
Her eyes widened and she looked down. But, with his hand clasped over hers, she could only feel it. "Harry…" she began.
"Shh," he interrupted. He allowed himself a small smile. "I've been practicing this all day. Don't ruin it."
Already he could feel, somehow, the pendant begin to change color. And something new… it began to grow warmer. From the look on her face, she could feel it too.
He looked deeply into her eyes. "This is a Veela pendant. I can't pronounce what they call it… but I know what it does."
He would not break the stare. "It is a mood pendant. The Veela enchanted it, as only they know how, to shift colors in response to the wearer's mood. As long as it touches your skin, it will change color every time your emotions shift. When you're happy, it's one color. When you're sad, it's another."
He paused, and she took advantage of that. "Wow," she said uncertainly. She tried to pull her hand back so she could see it… but Harry held fast. "That's really…"
"Wait. I'm not done," he said firmly. "I know you need certainty, Ginny, and I know it is difficult to find. And I know you think you have it with Dean."
He lowered his eyes finally to look at their hands. "But you're wrong."
"What?" her voice rose.
"You're wrong, Ginny. You mad ea choice without knowing everything… without being sure. And I know that is partly my fault… but that is why I'm giving you this."
He looked up at her again… at the growing confusion in her eyes. He hoped that she would forgive him.
"Being Veela, the makers of these pendants added an extra enchantment to it… and this is what makes it so powerful."
He took a deep breath, aware now more than ever of the overwhelming thunder of silence.
"As long as it is touching your skin, when you come into contact with the one you love… the one you truly, deeply love… it will instantly turn into one, and only one, specific color. That color depends on the person. No matter what your mood, no matter what your emotion… it will always be that color… as long as you are touching."
She gasped and looked frantically down at their clasped hands. She tried to pull apart. "Harry…" she said.
"For me," he continued softly. "I know it will be red when I'm touching her."
And now she stopped trying. She kept staring at their hands. And then she looked up at him, her eyes a mixture of pain and betrayal. "Why did you give me this…?" she whispered.
Harry met her gaze and kept his expression neutral. "If I open my hand… if we look at it… I know what color it will be. Bear in mind… the enchantment is never wrong. It always knows the truth. There's your certainty, Ginny. There… all we have to do is open our hands…"
But he slowly closed her fist about the pendant and gently let her go. He looked at her as she looked down at her clenched fist, her shoulders noticeably trembling. "But I'm not going to ask you to. Not now. Do not look at it yet. Not yet. Wait until you're ready… I'm willing to give you…"
She slapped him.
The sound of flesh striking flesh rang out in the silence of the room.
"How dare you." She whispered angrily. Her fist still closed, she now looked at him, her eyes filled with anguish and flowing tears.
She slapped him again.
"How dare you!"
"Ginny…" he felt sick all of a sudden. Had he thought this through enough? The anger on her face… the pain…
"HOW DARE YOU!"
She slapped him again. And again. And again.
"HOW DARE YOU HARRY!" her face was red, even in the moonlight. Her features, always so beautiful, were ravaged.
She leapt up and slapped him again.
"Do you know what you're doing to me?" she shouted.
He stood up. He had to do this. He had to.
"Yes."
"Yes?" she screamed incredulously. "YES?"
She slapped him. "HOW DARE YOU!"
Harry grabbed her hand in mid swing. His cheek burned where she struck him… but the pain in his heart burned even more. "Ginny, I just wanted…"
She punched him with the fist that held the pendant.
"I hate you for this," she sobbed. Her face was screwed up in pain, her anguish as blatant as her fiery red hair. He felt his resolve leaving…
"Ginny…" he tried to draw her close… tried to stifle his own tears that were threatening to fall.
"I hate you!" She punched his chest as he pulled her.
"Ginny…"
"I hate you so much!" She punched his chest as he engulfed her in his arms.
"I hate you!"
He embraced her… and she struck him over and over and over until, after several long moments, the sobbing finally overwhelmed her. And she stood there, sobbing in his arms, her breath coming in hitches, her fist closed tightly about the pendant she could not… would not see.
"Why are you doing this Harry?" she screamed into his chest between sobs. "Why? Why? Why?"
And he just held her, stroking his hand through her hair, trying to will her pain to leave. Please, he thought, please understand…
"Please answer me… why are you doing this?"
And then, in answering her question, he finally came to accept that truth that he had, for so long, denied himself. It came to him in a flash of light, and despite the pain he held in his heart for the weeping girl in his arms, he knew that things would turn out right.
"Because," he said gently.
I love you.
"I have to."
He would not say it aloud… not yet… but the realization of his love for her filled him with a calm that nothing could shatter.
And he sat down, slowly, still holding her shaking form, allowing her to sob silently against his chest. They stayed this way for a long, long time. He looked over her head out the window as, without warning, the snow stopped. He shared in her wordless silence for as long as she needed, and when she finally looked up at him it was with eyes as red as crimson, and a face as white as the snow.
"I know what you want," she said finally, her voice cracked. She buried her face in his chest again. "I know what you want to happen… But… but… please… I need…"
He gently leaned down and kissed her forehead.
She sobbed again.
"Take all the time you need," he whispered. "For you… I will wait."
She looked up at him again, her eyes clearer, and her face not quite as ashen. "I'll never forgive you for this, Harry."
"I know."
"No matter what I decide…"
"I know."
She looked down at her fist, shaking her head.
"What's happening to us…"
He cupped her chin gently. "We're growing up."
And then she looked at him for a long, long time. Her eyes began to sparkle… just a bit…
"I just need time."
"I know." He glanced down at her fist. "Use it only when you're ready."
And she nodded slowly. "Until then…"
"Friends," he said. Just friends.
A tear streaked down her cheek. He smiled gently and wiped it away.
"Merry Christmas, Ginny Weasley."
She gave him a small, quick smile and, with a swish of her long red mane, she leapt off of him and ran up the stairs without looking back.
Harry leaned back on the bench and closed his eyes for a long moment. For better or for worse, he had done it. And now, he could wait for her. She may end up choosing Dean, or she may end up choosing him. But at least he fought.
At least, he gave her a choice.
And then, Harry Potter looked out the window and began to sing a song. It was a song of loss; a song of yearning; a song of hope. He sang on, even when he no longer knew the words. He sang…
And he waited for the morning to come.