He wasn't sure what he would need on his short journey. He grabbed his father's Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder's Map that he had inherited and stuffed them into his backpack. He didn't really feel he would need them, but just in case. With a twinge of longing, Harry tucked his Firebolt under his arm, in the event he found an opportunity to get some flying in while away.
He hurried downstairs and into the basement kitchen. Remus had left for his day at the Ministry already. Harry prepared a quick sandwich, wrapped it up and placed it in his bag. Returning upstairs, he grabbed a quill and a spare bit of parchment from the Drawing Room and scrawled a quick note to Remus, telling him of his daytrip, asking him not to worry, and that he would return before bed.
He wrote a separate note to Ron and Hermione telling them much the same and shoved it into his pocket before he Disapparated away from Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.
Harry had been keen to avoid certain places in Hogsmeade the evening he met Olivia for dinner at the Three Broomsticks. He had seen the pictures of the Memorial in his scrapbook from Hermione, Ron and Ginny, but had yet to visit it himself. He truly hadn't wanted to. There was so much pain, pride, and emotion surrounding that one monument. He would have to walk past it to get to Hogwarts, which was one of his destinations that day. The Memorial itself was his journey's end, he definitely hoped that would be his last stop of the day before returning home to Number Twelve. With a sigh and a heavy heart, Harry strolled into the Post Office in Hogsmeade.
Dozens of Owls sat on wooden perches, waiting for an assignment. Harry chose a rather unique looking Barn Owl, its large, dark eyes and heart shaped face made it look very inquisitive and eager for the job. Harry learned, as he paid for his postage, that the owl's name was Margaret, but was often called Peggy. Peggy sat perfectly still as the witch behind the counter at the Post Office tied Harry's letter for Ron and Hermione to the owl's leg. She let out a screech, which quite surprised Harry, as he was used to Hedwig's hooting, and flew off through an open window to deliver the letter. Harry quickly left the Post Office and began the walk up toward Hogwarts. He would have to pass the memorial on his way, but he steeled himself not to look directly at it, and not to stop or stall for any reason. He had allowed himself plenty of time to stop after his other destination.
The dirt road curved a little as Harry neared the Hogsmeade Station. The Hogwart's Express sat idle, it's ruby red paint as shiny and polished as ever. Harry began to wonder what teachers did on Holiday. Did they lie about the lake picnicking and throwing their crusts of bread to the Giant Squid? Harry doubted it. The thought of McGonagall tanning herself in a bikini by the lakeside was not a comfort either. Ugh. Harry hoped he would never think of that again.
Harry had averted his eyes long enough and now he could see the black stone obelisk up ahead of him. He took a deep breath and cast his eyes downward. He could see the bed of flowers surrounding the obelisk, there were bouquets of roses, teddy bears, cards, all left near the memorial by the family members who lost someone they loved in the second war. He willed himself to think of something else besides that monument. Maybe the thought of McGonagall in a bikini wasn't so bad after all.
The castle loomed over the countryside and Harry decided he would fixate on that instead. The towers and turrets stood out against the blue sky behind them. The two winged boar statues guarding the front entrance were slightly different than they had been when he had attended Hogwarts. He remembered them being blasted apart during the final battle, their dust and bits of stone blasted everywhere. Harry looked down where a small daisy grew up out of the patchy grass. Ginny had been standing right there when those statues had blown apart. That was fairly early on in the battle. She had been hit with a large amount of debris from the demolished stone boars and he had run off to her aid. Bill, or was it Charlie, they were both there with the Order had intercepted him, pleading with him to return to the battle, that Ginny was fine and he would tend to her. Harry had hesitated but when he saw Ginny's partial smile that was all he needed to forge on. He wondered if daisies were still her favourite flower?
Harry continued up through the gates, up the winding path marked by years of wheel tracks from the 'horseless' carriages. He wondered how many of his fellow students would be able to see the Thestrals now that the war was over. Thankfully he did not see anyone lounging lakeside as he rounded on Hogwarts' Castle. The heavy oak doors finally came into view as Harry panted upon reaching the castle at the top of the hill. He could have easily flown his broom up to the castle, but felt the walk did him some amount of good. He hesitated and reached up for the large brass doorknockers. Should he knock? Would anyone be around to hear him knocking anyway? Technically it was a public building, he had an appointment, couldn't he just walk right in?
Harry felt that familiar feeling as if a snitch was zooming around in his stomach as he pushed the door open with all his might and stepped across the threshold of the rambling castle. A flood of emotions washed over him: the relief he felt as an eleven year old boy that a place like Hogwarts existed, the companionship he quickly found, not ever having made friends before, and the first time he noticed, really noticed that mysterious redhead he'd known, but not known, for years.
The large marble staircase that would take Harry upstairs to Headmistress McGonagall's office was straight ahead. Seemingly nothing about the atrium of the castle had changed. The doors to the Great Hall were closed, but Harry was sure the four house tables lay behind those doors. The stairway down to the Dungeons and the stairs leading down to the kitchen were in their respective places on the left and right side of the marble staircase. With an audible sigh, Harry began his climb up the stairs. He passed the first floor which, if he remembered correctly was the Defence Against the Dark Arts Classroom in which he had spent seven years with a variety of teachers. As former Deputy Headmistress, McGonagall's office was on this floor too, Harry shuddered to think of the current Deputy Headmaster, wondering if his office had been moved or not.
Finally Harry reached the Second Floor, home to the Defence Professor's Offices, Moaning Myrtle's Bathroom and the Headmaster's office. How many times had he been in each of these locations throughout his tenure as student? Dozens? Harry was beginning to wonder how he would enter McGonagall's headquarters as he turned down the empty hall with the stone gargoyle which served as the entrance to the offices, but upon closer inspection, a brown tabby cat sat at the foot of the statue, eyes wide, awaiting his arrival.
Harry smiled bashfully and shifted his backpack slung over his shoulder. "Morning Professor."
Before his eyes Headmistress McGonagall transformed from the tabby with the black markings around her eyes, to the Headmistress of Hogwarts with a stern smile and dark, square glasses.
"Good morning Harry." She replied, reaching out and patting his shoulder, she seemed almost sympathetic. "I'm sorry about the Daily Prophet and about Ms. Weasley."
Harry felt his insides lurch. A part of him couldn't believe he was really here, ready to question McGonagall, ready to question himself. "Erm, yes Professor, could we talk about that upstairs?"
She nodded. "Of course Potter." She turned to the stone gargoyle and muttered the password, "Felis Silvestris Catus" and the gargoyle sprang to life.
Harry stepped behind the Headmistress on the spiralling staircase and rode it to the top before following McGonagall into her office, which had once been Dumbledore's. He found the office to be quite similar to the way Dumbledore had kept it. There was no perch for Fawkes of course, but the circular room still held the enormous claw footed desk. Behind it, on a shelf, sat the Sorting Hat, looking as rumpled as ever. The sunlight flitted in the windows and cast a warm yellow glow on the silver instruments sitting on the desk and on various tables throughout the office, instruments that hummed and emanated a thick, grey vapour. Two burgundy chairs sat in front of the desk that McGonagall had stepped behind. Harry was beginning to comprehend that five years had passed, but it truly felt like it was only yesterday- the night before the final battle, the last time he had spoken to Dumbledore. He could still remember the last bit of advice the kind old wizard gave him. Harry wished for a moment he could see his mentor once again and was caught quite off guard when McGonagall spoke his name.
"Harry?" Her voice was polite and there was a smile on her face. "He's just sleeping now, but he's asked about you several times. It's not the same, but I can't help but feel comforted by his presence. I myself have asked him for advice countless times." Her hand was pointing toward the cabinet that Harry had remembered contained the pensieve. He turned and gasped as he moved to stand before the painting of his former Headmaster.
Dumbledore was slumped over in a large golden throne-like chair. His elbow was propped up on the arm of the chair and he rested his chin on the palm of his hand. He wore a soft smile, though his eyes were closed and his glasses rested on the very end of his long, crooked nose. His robes were a majestic purple and contrasted with his long silver hair and beard. He looked more at peace than Harry had ever been witness too. For a moment, Harry felt as though he were the source of all one man's grief.
"He would have been proud of the way you saw your commitment to it's end, Harry. You did what no one else could have done. It all fell onto your shoulders, it wasn't Dumbledore's fate, it wasn't mine, it wasn't Remus, or Sirius, or your father's, it was yours and you triumphed."
Harry pushed his glasses up on his forehead and covered his face with his hands. "I just can't help but think if I'd done some things differently he would still be here, Sirius would still be here, and countless others as well. Maybe if I'd accepted help earlier on, or spent more time learning technique then I wouldn't have spent the last five years at St. Mungo's. Maybe I wouldn't have lost Ginny to Dean in the first place." He crossed the room to one of the chairs and slumped down into it.
McGonagall shook her head slightly as she sat down behind the desk and put on her sternest face, she sighed, not sure that she should reveal the information she knew. "Harry," she began hesitantly, meeting his gaze with her own intense eyes. "You haven't lost Ginny. You never did."
"Yes I did." Harry contradicted sharply.
McGonagall looked pointedly at him.
"Sorry Professor, but I lost Ginny the day I fell into that coma, I know I did."
Harry looked about the office. The House Cup sat on a shelf behind McGonagall's desk, the Quidditch Cup sat nearby, as well as the jewelled sword of Godric Gryffindor. Harry remembered plunging that sword into the basilisk down in the Chamber of Secrets, in effect saving his and Ginny's life. Unbeknownst to them, they had sealed themselves in a Wizard bond. It hadn't occurred to either of them at the time, until Dumbledore had pointed it out after Harry and Ginny began dating each other. Harry realized, that regardless of their feelings toward each other, they would be bonded forever.
McGonagall spoke again. "Potter, I don't know how much she's told you, and that is her place and her privilege, but I'll tell you the same thing I told her the afternoon I first saw you at St. Mungo's. Follow your destiny Harry. If you think it's your place to leave Ginny and move on, then do it. However, if you believe your fate is intertwined then you need to look within your heart and decide what is most important to you."
"She was the love of my life Professor. I'll never be able to really move past that. No matter what I'll never love anyone again like I love her!"
McGonagall smiled. "Then you've just answered your own question, haven't you?"
Harry shook his head and rose from the chair to look out of the window. "It's not that easy. I can't just forgive her. She broke so many promises, lied for weeks on end, moved on without me!"
It was McGonagall's turn to contradict him. "Who said she moved on?"
"I know it!"
"What do you know?" McGonagall countered. "Yes, tell me what you know, what you assume, and what you've heard through hearsay. Have you spoken to Ginny? Have you heard the words from her yourself?"
Harry was speechless. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound emitted. Nothing. He tightened his jaw and stared out the window.
"It's not fair Harry. I realize that. Growing up is not easy and everyone has expected you to do it in the last 2 months. Your peers are twenty three and you don't yet feel it. Ron and Hermione are married, have children, and have moved on. You, on the other hand, have made decisions that affected the entire Wizarding world. Truly selfless decisions. I would imagine that being back at Hogwart's today has resurfaced a deluge of emotion. Your parents, Remus, Sirius, Ginny."
Harry did not look away from the window but simply nodded. Why was McGonagall so intuitive? She was just like Dumbledore.
"Your more than welcome to wander around Harry. I see you've brought your Firebolt, feel free to visit the Pitch. I wish I could join you, but I have some matters to attend to with the Deputy Headmaster." She said the words with a smirk in her voice. "While I have you here, however, I have a proposition for you."
Harry spun around and looked directly into McGonagall's eyes. "For me? What is it?"
McGonagall invited Harry to reseat himself with the sweep of her hand. Harry obliged, sitting in one of the overstuffed chairs. "I would have approached you sooner, but I only just found out for sure myself today. Susan Bones has been our resident Defence Professor for the last three years, however she has been accepted into the Auror Training Program and will depart almost immediately for London. The position is vacant." She paused dramatically, letting Harry's mind catch up with the words she was saying. "While you are not authorized to teach yet, you are more than qualified for the role. Testing you for the position would be a simple formality."
Harry was flabbergasted. He wasn't entirely sure he had heard the Headmistress properly. "What?" he asked, gaping openly.
"The Defence Against The Dark Arts position Potter. Are you interested? Of course I wouldn't have to know right this second, you could think about it for the day, but I gather you'd want to meet with Ms Bones to discuss curriculum and you'd need to take a test at the Ministry Offices."
Yes. Harry had understood the words correctly, he just wasn't convinced this wasn't a dream.
A large grandfather clocked chimed loudly in the Headmistress's office. "Oh bother, I must be getting downstairs. Harry, take a tour of the Castle and grounds. The password to enter Gryffindor Tower is Snow Angel. Do stop in before you leave and let me know you've made a decision."
McGonagall opened her office door and gestured for Harry to follow along. He hastily grabbed his backpack and his Firebolt and hurried after the Headmistress. She left him at the stone gargoyle, departing quickly to meet with the Deputy Headmaster, leaving Harry to explore his environs. Of all the things he had imagined happening that day, a job offer was definitely not in the realm of things he had pondered. But as he started off to the marble staircase, he felt a sudden swell of pride. Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, thought he was qualified in teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts. He had been struggling in finding himself these last few weeks, choosing a fate in the midst of his despondency had been a burden he didn't want to consider. Finally he had a choice, not something forced like Ginny's revelation had been, but someone believed enough in him to trust him to make the right decision.
Harry ascended the marble staircase and climbed up to the fourth floor to the library. His thoughts instantly drifted to Ron, Hermione and Ginny- how many times they'd come here during Harry's sixth and seventh years to research charms, hexes and spells for the D.A. meetings that continued with Dumbledore's permission.
Harry wasn't sure if he welcomed these thought or if they hindered him somehow. He strolled into the library, surprised to find it illuminated and heard the sound of books being stamped and checked in.
"Erm, hello?" He called out hesitantly, peering up toward the check out desk.
A plump, petite witch, who looked to be about forty-five or fifty popped up from the stool she'd been sitting on.
"Well hello!" She called out in a thick Scottish brogue. "I don't believe we've met, I'm Bonnie Jean Campbell the Librarian."
Harry smiled at the woman in front of him, Madame Pince must not be here anymore. "Good morning, I'm - "
"Ooh, I know who you are dearie. You're Harry Potter, it's good to see you alive and well. Have a seat." Bonnie Jean Campbell levitated a stool across the reference desk and set it before Harry.
Harry obliged and sat down in front of the new librarian. "I haven't been here since June of 1998, I just thought I'd come back and visit."
Bonnie Jean clasped her hands together and made an exaggerated 'o' shape with her mouth. "Oh, now isn't that lovely? I'd imagine you've got lots of things to catch up on, don't you?" Her voice was so cheerful and genuine, and her demeanor just seemed to match it, Harry instantly decided that he liked her.
"Yes, sort of. I guess I just have some important things to decide and I was hoping some time away from home and a visit to Professor McGonagall would help things." Harry shifted his eyes downward, he had no idea why he was telling all this to a witch he hardly knew, but she seemed caring and motherly, she reminded him quite like Mrs. Weasley.
"I'd guess it has to do with a certain redhead you've been known to be in the company of." Her eyebrows were raised high over her circular framed glasses and her mouth was twisted into a knowing smirk. "Am I right?"
Harry only nodded.
"I knew it! A romance, how lovely."
"How'd you know?" Harry asked finally, shifting his gaze upward.
"Oh dearie, it's all over the Prophet! Not that I believe one word of that rubbish, mind you, but they're running that friend of yours all through the mud." Bonnie Jean replied, nodding vehemently and double checking that the books were still hard at work.
"Ginny?" He wondered aloud. "Why's Ginny been in the Prophet?" Bonnie Jean had said enough to peek his curiosity.
"Well didn't you know? Since the two of you had such a visual, ahem, breakup, well, the Prophet has been all over Ginny Weasley. All sorts of scoundrels have been coming out of the woodwork claiming they dated Ginny and she left them high and dry. Rubbish if you ask me, I don't believe a word of it."
Harry found himself instantly not believing a word of it either. He knew Ginny better than that, but a tiny voice began to speak up inside his head. You never thought she'd cheat on you either, but she did, didn't she? Ginny seemed to have a difficult enough time manipulating the two men in her life, Harry couldn't imagine her juggling any more.
Bonnie Jean reached across the desk and patted Harry's hand. "Don't worry dear. Now, what brings you into my library? Is there a matter I can help you with?"
Harry shrugged his shoulders and offered the librarian a slight smile. "No, not really. I just came in to look around, to find some good memories, instead of all the bad ones that seem to be surfacing."
Bonnie Jean rose from her stool and removed the stack of books that had been stamping themselves. "You go right ahead Harry Potter. If I can help you out in any way you speak right up. It was nice to meet you. I hope we meet again."
Harry grinned. "We very well may."
He perused the library for a short while before looking down at his growling stomach and deciding it was lunchtime. He couldn't eat in the library, of course, he'd been reprimanded for that several years ago with Ginny while eating chocolate Easter Eggs from Mrs. Weasley.
Curse her! Did she always have to invade his brain? Harry wondered as he waved goodbye to Bonnie Jean Campbell and returned to the marble staircase. Harry knew where he was headed without even having to pause and think about it. He set his course for the seventh floor.
Before he knew it he had climbed the final step and was standing nervously before the portrait of the fat lady.
"Hmmph! Haven't seen you in a while." She chastised Harry, carefully inspecting him as she fanned herself with a broad white, feathered fan. "Where's your partner in crime?"
"Er, partner?" Harry asked, searching the corners of his memory.
"Yes, the redhead. You two were never apart. I suppose she's off making trouble somewhere else then?" Asked the lady in the pink dress.
"Um, no. She isn't here. I'm alone." Harry answered, feeling rather stupid for talking to a portrait.
The fat lady nodded. "Well, I'm sorry to say I can't let you in without a password."
Harry didn't think she looked very sorry, no, in actually she looked quite smug. Little did she know that McGonagall had told Harry the password. He racked his brain for a moment trying to come up with the phrase. Snow ball, no. Snow flake, no. Aha! Snow- And then the full impact of such a simplistic word struck him.
"Snow Angel."
"Oh you do know the password? Nice password for a warm summer's day, don't you think?"
"Snow Angel." Harry replied, more forcefully than the first time, wondering if anyone knew about that precise moment in his life, or if it was just a coincidence.
"Oh fine, fine." The fat lady mumbled as the portrait swung open revealing the Gryffindor Common Room before Harry's eyes.
Harry stepped inside, immediately noticing he had to duck a little further than he remembered. The round room was dim and dusty, having had no use over the long summer. Harry set his Firebolt and his backpack down on the thick Persian rug. He turned around to see that the portrait had closed before making his way deeper into the room. As he stood surveying his surroundings the memories of the snow angel filled his conscious.
It had been an enjoyable but tiring day in Hogsmeade. Ron and Hermione had bickered the whole day like cats and dogs, but Harry and Ginny had felt as if they were in a world of their own. The snow was thick and blanketed everything in a layer of clean, white frost. Harry and Ginny had spent their day grasping hands through their warm, woolen mittens, following Ron and Hermione around the village, trying not to listen as they argued. There had been dozens of stolen kisses, nuzzling of cold, red noses, and plenty of shopping that all concluded with Butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks.
Ginny and Harry had slid into a booth together, their shoulders and thighs touching through their layers of warm clothing. Hermione and Ron sat with a meter between them, their arms folded tightly across their chests, refusing to look at one another. Harry had reluctantly slipped away from Ginny and returned with Butterbeers for the four of them (although he debated whether Ron and Hermione actually deserved them). Ginny had taken the first sip of her Butterbeer and it had left her with a sudsy layer of froth covering her lips. Ron and Hermione were too busy shooting daggers at each other to care. Harry on the other hand thought it was one of the most endearing things he had ever seen and felt an instant desire to kiss the froth off her lips.
He reached over, taking Ginny's mug from her hands and setting on the table with a loud clunk! She tried to ask Harry what he was doing, but he quickly silenced her protest, licking the crease of her lips with his tongue. Ginny instantly knew that Harry could make her feel warmer than any mug of Butterbeer ever had. She opened her lips, enticing him into kissing her more fervently. Harry soon brought his hand up to Ginny's face, caressing her cheek slowly with the pad of his thumb. He broke the kiss quickly, whispering against her soft, pink lips. "C'mon, let's go."
They called out a hasty goodbye to Ron and Hermione and rushed from the Three Broomsticks, running all the way from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts grounds. She would often laugh, protest and wonder what they were doing but truly she didn't care as long as Harry tightly clasped her hand. They past skaters on the lake, past students having snowball fights and building snowmen, over to a secluded area near the Greenhouses.
"What are we doing here?" Ginny asked, breathlessly, trying to control her laughter.
"Making snow angels!" Harry replied with an actual excitement in his voice that had been absent for so long.
"Snow angels? What are they?" Ginny's enthusiasm had spread to her eyes and were currently twinkling brightly. Her voice sounded so child-like, naïve and curious.
"You know, snow angels." Harry replied, mimicking the broad flapping motions with his arms.
Ginny mittens covered her mouth, but a smile soon peeked around the corners and she doubled over in laughter, slapping her knee. "Oh Harry!" she snickered.
He wore a look of mock indignation and Ginny quickly straightened up but refused to stop giggling. His mouth was open wide, his green eyes were bright and round and Ginny saw them briefly before Harry put his hands on her shoulder and pushed her down into the snow. Ginny shrieked as Harry flopped down a few feet from her and started fluttering his arms up above his head and down to his sides as his legs simultaneously swept outward and back.
"See." Harry demonstrated, looking over at Ginny marvelling at him. "Snow angels."
They had both made several snow angels until they each deemed one perfect and sunk down into the snow admiring their fun.
"One more?" Ginny pleaded, clasping her hands together and closing her eyes tightly.
Harry laughed. "All right, one more." But as Ginny leaned back into the fresh snow, he tackled her, pressing his lips to hers and …
Harry's rumbling stomach brought him out of his daydream. He picked up his backpack and slowly made his way over to the squashy couch in front of the fireplace. He opened the closure on the knapsack and retrieved the sandwich he had made that morning. He stared into the fire grate as he took his first bite. Years ago he'd been in the common room late at night and spoken to Sirius in that fire. He snuggled with Ginny on this very couch in front of that fireplace.
Were the memories everywhere? Was life just one big memory? Would his life be doomed with images of Ginny everywhere? Would his whole life be spent in a world in his mind where Ginny was his only solace? Making sense of the madness in his own mind. Waiting until he was weary with his own confusion, when he was ready to throw in the towel and give up? Would she just appear and be his angel? Did he still deserve that? Hadn't she always vowed to be there for him? To return him to the proverbial path when he lost his way? Promises that he would never be alone? That she would always understand him?
Harry finished the sandwich and rested back on the couch. Stupid couch. Even a couch held memories. He sighed loudly and tried forgetting what it felt like the first time he had caressed the curves of her body. Rising, he walked over to the window and saw the hoops of the Quidditch Pitch gleaming in the distance. Flying had always made him feel more free than he ever had in his life, if anything could push Ginny out of his mind for only a few solid moments it was flying. Quickly he grabbed the backpack and his broom and departed for the pitch.
Halfway down the seventh floor Grand Staircase, Harry sat his backpack down and removed the Marauder's Map. He wondered if the old map would still work. He unfolded the heavy parchment, hearing the crinkle and crackle of the old paper. Before his eyes, his own name appeared on the seventh floor of the map. Harry quickly scanned the map, curious to see who else was present in the old, rambling castle.
Bonnie Jean Campbell was alone in the library, Neville Longbottom was out puttering in the greenhouses, old Mr. Filch was scrounging around in the dungeons, there was a variety of other names Harry was unfamiliar with, and he already knew where the Headmistress was.
He set off down the stairs (even remembering to avoid the trick steps) and exited the castle, crossing the sloping lawn down toward the Quidditch Pitch.
The last time he had consciously recalled the Quidditch Pitch and stands, they had been in ruins. They had been one of the first things to be destroyed, due to their high vantage point over the school and the village. The stadium had obviously been rebuilt and looked better than it ever had. This appeared to be the first thing that Harry had noticed to be truly different. He entered the stadium, imagining he could still hear the roar of the crowds and the excitement of his fellow students, and set his knapsack down on the soft grass. It finally registered that he hadn't actually flown in five years, even though it seemed like it was only yesterday. He wasn't particularly keen on the idea that he could fall to his death and set his broom down on the ground, he would try this the old fashioned way.
He took a deep breath and extended his right hand out over the broom and from the depth of his spirit, uttered his command.
"Up!"
The broom levitated off the ground and snapped into Harry's open hand. He couldn't help but smile. This was seemingly the first thing to go as planned all day. Cautiously he swung his leg over the broom and hesitantly sat astride the Firebolt. In the blink of an eye he was zooming high above the Quidditch pitch, looking down into the empty stadium. It was just like the adage he'd heard a thousand times before but never experienced, it was just like riding a bike! Everything felt so familiar and his head was dizzy with excitement as he flew higher and higher. He wished he had a snitch, or even a quaffle to play with, but the sheer joy of being in the air was enough. Harry made a small dive to re-enter the stadium and flew in a wide circle around the topmost layer of seating. Soon enough another memory surfaced and Harry's eyes narrowed at one particular stand. Sirius had sat right there, as Snuffles of course, and watched part of a game. Sirius had told him on numerous occasions that he flew just as good as his father had. Those comments had always resided in the deepest recesses of Harry's heart, it gave him the momentary elation that he shared common interests with his parents and gave him the slight insight that he actually knew a part of them. The only other thing Harry kept that deep within his soul was Ginny.
Ginny. There. She'd done it and invaded his mind again, right at the moment he was supposed to be the most free. Harry plucked up his courage and made a steep dive into the stadium, mimicking a Wronski Feint (minus the Golden Snitch, of course). He had shared his very first kiss with Ginny in the old Quidditch Stadium. They had played the game together for Harry's last two years at school. During Harry's sixth year, the first day of September, on the Hogwarts Express, Ron and Hermione had left Harry and Ginny alone in the compartment so they could attend the Prefect's meeting. Harry found himself nervous to be alone with her and quickly brought up a similar interest. Quidditch. Ginny quickly informed Harry that she was considering trying out for Chaser and asked if he would be willing to help her, if his studies weren't too demanding. Jumping at the chance to play Quidditch almost a month early was an invitation Harry couldn't say no to.
Harry had begun to spend more time with Ginny than he did Ron and Hermione. The loss of Sirius still weighed heavily on his mind, but he found passing time with Ginny to be easier than Hermione's probing questions or Ron's awkward discomfort. Ginny let him be himself and talk about it freely when he felt like it. Her presence was a comfort.
He and Ginny spent the first few weeks of school out on the pitch, practicing all kinds Chaser maneuvers. One in particular, the Reverse Pass, she was having a difficult time with and her Weasley temper was beginning to show. The premise was that Harry would toss the Quaffle over his head intending for Ginny to catch it, but of course once 14 players were zooming about on brooms, aim would not be a luxury. She missed for what seemed like the fourth or fifth time in a row, stopping play and finally shaking her head with frustration.
They hovered about 12 meters off the ground and Ginny slumped against her broom, resting her forehead against the handle. "It's no use Harry, I'll never get it. Let's just give up now." The frustration was evident in her voice.
Harry moved closer to her, grabbing the end of her broomstick and pulled her nearer to him. "No, we're going to try this again and this time you're going to do it. I know it."
She lifted her head up and looked him in the eyes. The sun was starting to fade and cast a fiery red glow on her hair. "How do you know?" Her eyes were watery with tears of personal disappointment.
Harry gave her an encouraging smile. "Because I have faith in you. That's why." He slid his hand around the back of her neck and looked directly into her eyes. "I mean it, you can do this."
Harry let go of Ginny and set the play up to try it once more before ending their practice. They zoomed one lap around the pitch and Harry tossed the Quaffle over his head and to the right, he spun around just in time to hear Ginny let out a whoop and catch the Quaffle. They both landed on the field, instantly dropping their Quidditch equipment to celebrate Ginny's victory. She jumped up and down and wrapped her arms around Harry, hugging him tightly. He complied and laughed softly, wrapping his arms awkwardly around her as well.
"See, I told you." Harry whispered in her ear, feeling a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. "I knew you could do it."
Ginny pulled away and smiled. "Maybe I just needed someone to have some confidence in me." She leaned in to plant a kiss on Harry's cheek but at that precise moment Harry had turned toward her, startled by her closeness. Their lips met in a clumsy, unforeseen kiss that instantly startled both of them. They pulled away as each of them looked at one another, eyes wide with shock, mouths slightly parted in awe.
Ginny made to apologize, as her faced reddened to match her hair, but Harry didn't want an apology, he wanted another kiss. He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her in close to meet his lips again.
She kissed him back with a hungry, wanton, need, and it scared Harry. It scared him that he might never know that level of desire again in his whole life and from that day on, Harry vowed if he ever got to kiss Ginny Weasley again he'd savour that feeling for the rest of his life…
Not realizing how much time had gone by, Harry's eyes scanned the sky and finally fell on the marble obelisk near the train station. He sighed and realized it was time to visit the memorial.
Harry carried his backpack and his broom back down through the school gates, the memorial was directly in front of him and there was no use in trying to avoid seeing it, it was much too large. A giant stone obelisk, set in the center of a small garden with benches to spend a moment in thought.
Until today he'd only seen pictures in the Scrapbook Hermione, Ron and Ginny made for him about the Memorial to those who died at Voldemort's hands, or the hands of his minions. Harry looked over each of his shoulders, watching for Rita Skeeter or her photographer, wouldn't they love a picture of the Boy Who Lived- Twice! Harry Potter, bawling his eyes out at the Memorial to the Second War? Oh yeah, that would be a great front page.
As he neared the black column he could begin to read the names engraved into the marble. He took a deep breath as the tears threatened to crest over the edges of his eyes. Names. Too many names. This was the tombstone for so many great people who lost their lives to an idiot who craved power and perfected a system of a mass holocaust in order to achieve it. Harry dropped his backpack and the Firebolt off on a nearby bench as he approached the stone. Candles flickered around it, wizarding photographs sat in frames, teddy bears and dolls bore the presence of lost children, bouquets of roses for lost spouses, and handwritten messages that served as a testament to the lives of these special people who'd be lost.
As Harry understood it the names were in chronological order beginning on the north side of the obelisk. Harry wasn't exactly sure where the names that he would recognize would be, he was sure there were many he wouldn't know but were no less important. And so he began reading on the north side of the monument. 1943- The first name was already one that Harry recognized, Myrtle. He wouldn't have recognized her last name of course, for he knew her by a nickname. Moaning Myrtle. Harry paused momentarily before continuing on and reading the next names etched into the stone. 1945- Tom Riddle, Sr. Voldemort's own father. Followed by his paternal Grandparents. There were several blank years, or years in which Harry did not recognize the names. Harry recognized the names of Mrs. Weasley's brothers, Giddeon and Fabian Prewett and Sirius's younger brother Regulus Black. He continued on until he reached 1980's, knowing who's names would appear shortly.
Yes, there they were. 1981- James Potter. Lily Potter. Harry instantly reached out, laying his hand on the dark marble. He expected it to feel cold, but found it to be pleasantly warm, having absorbed the sun's light all day. As he traced the letters of his parent's names, the tears he had bravely been holding back began to fall. Harry sat down on the ground, staring at the names of the people who had sacrificed their lives for him. Because of the events at Godric's Hollow that blustery October night, there were few names throughout the rest of the decade.
1991- Professor Quirenius Quirrell. He didn't pause long to ponder that name. Harry recognized some of the names in the summer of 1994. Frank Bryce, whom he learned was the echo of the old man he'd seen climbing out of his wand the night in the cemetery after grasping the Portkey Tri-Wizard Cup. Then there was Bertha Jorkins, the missing Witch from the Ministry and of course, Cedric Diggory. He had seen Cedric die with his own eyes, an image that still haunted his young mind to this very day. He sighed heavily, thinking of how fair Mr and Mrs Diggory had been to him even though he was responsible for their son's death. 1996- Sirius Black. The loss of Sirius still weighed so heavily on Harry's mind. Again, a death that he felt to be his own fault. His grief for Sirius was so very different than the grief he felt for his own parents. Sirius was a friend, a Godfather, one of the closest connections he still had to his own family. But Harry had done something foolish and lured Sirius out of hiding, where he was protected and safe.
Harry reached out and touched the marble again as he wiped away a tear. If only Sirius were here, things would be so different. None of this was Sirius's fault however, no Harry knew the blame laid entirely at his own feet, but since the day Harry had met him, he never imagined life without him again. He was the one person Harry never anticipated losing.
Of course, from 1996 and onward the names were by the dozens. Half-bloods, pawns, innocents, Muggles, Witches and Wizards alike. If they stood in the way of Voldemort's rise to power, or didn't meet his standards of perfection. Harry continued reading each name until he got to the day of the final battle in 1998. Finally he hit upon several names he knew. Collin and Dennis Creevey, Ernie McMillan, Hagrid, his first real friend, Madame Pomfrey, Madame Pince.
As Harry neared the end of the long line of names, he knew whose would be last. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. The tears began flowing once again. Harry had seen Voldemort kill his headmaster, he had seen the old man go down while he was dueling a masked Death Eater, and only at that point had Harry wanted to give up. He ignored his battle and rushed to Dumbledore's side, falling on his knees he looked down at the kindly old man. With all the strength he could muster as he lay dying, Dumbledore grasped Harry's hand and whispered two words. "True love."
When the Headmaster closed his eyes, Harry stood up and faced Voldemort bravely. He had love. Voldemort did not. He had the love associated with Ron and Hermione's friendship, the love of a family that he shared with all the Weasley's, and a pure, true love that he only associated with Ginny. Voldemort could claim none of those things. The last thing Harry remembered, until waking up five years later at St. Mungo's, was seeing a flash of green light reflected in the evil one's red eyes. Dumbledore had done so much for Harry and Harry only hoped he hadn't let the old man down too badly.
The names on the Memorial had been perfectly spaced out, each name and date was in the same size script, but when Harry looked at the monument once again he saw an odd sized gap after Dumbledore's name. It was as if one name had been forgotten. He squinted through his red, blood shot eyes, at the monument wondering why professional etcher would leave an unused space, when he had concentrated so well to make the rest of the memorial so beautiful and perfect.
The realization suddenly hit Harry like a ton of bricks. The empty space was for his own name! It had been left blank just in case Harry died at St. Mungo's as Voldemort's last victim! In shock and awe, Harry staggered away from what had become the gravestone for so many of these people. It could have just as likely been his own tomb as it was theirs. He covered his mouth with his hand as he stumbled backward toward the bench where he had left his backpack and broomstick. The back of his knees connected with the seat and made him fall backward hard, down onto the wooden bench. He wanted to scream, he wanted to cry even harder than he already was, he wanted to be rid of this for the rest of his life. How many other names could have just as easily been there? Remus, his parents only remaining friend. All of the Weasley brothers who fought in The Order, Ron- how could he imagine his life without Ron? Mr and Mrs Weasley, the only parents he'd ever known. Hermione, one of his best friends and the closest thing he had to a sister since he started dating-
Ginny. Ginny's name could have been there. He could have lost her five years ago. What would he have done without her? What if Voldemort had killed her instead or left her in a coma, forcing Harry to mourn over her or wait for her to awaken. Harry tried, but couldn't imagine life without Ginny by his side.
A flicker began growing inside him. Truth? Was he being at all irrational? Caught up in himself? There were things in this lifetime that were more important than grudges or lying to protect someone you supposedly cared for. Like finally agreeing to hear someone out who had truths to tell you, even if it meant you would hurt in the process. If love was worth it, if Ginny was worth it, Harry understood he must at least allow her to explain herself.
Harry slowly returned to the Castle, the sun had disappeared behind some late afternoon clouds. Surely it had to be past tea time. Damn, he shouldn't have given Olivia that watch back. A soft breeze blew, ruffling up his hair in the process. He couldn't help but think if Ginny were here right now she'd probably be laughing at him. She'd given up long ago trying to tame that hair.
He entered the castle again and trod upstairs to the second floor, levitating his backpack and broom up ahead of him. It had been a long day, full of exhausting memories and decisions to make. He probably should have spent more time thinking of McGonagall's job offer and less time thinking of Ginny and Sirius, and the coulda, woulda, shoulda's.
Harry rounded the corner and saw the gargoyle statue at the end of the otherwise empty hallway. He had pretty much made up his mind about the job offer anyway. It was a flattering offer, but Harry just felt unworthy. He was surprised when the gargoyle sprang to life and the Headmistress met him at the foot of the spiralling staircase.
"Good afternoon Harry, I saw you coming up the path from the window. I was just about to head down to the kitchens for some tea and biscuits. Head upstairs and make yourself comfortable, I'll be right back."
McGonagall didn't wait for a response, but strode quickly away, her boot heels clicking on the stone floor. Harry stepped onto the staircase which twisted upward, taking him to the entrance to the office he knew so well. He seated himself in front of the Headmistress's desk and neatly arranged his belongings beside him. It was quiet, too quiet, and soon became uncomfortable. At times silence had been a solace, back when he lived with the Dursley's and knew nothing but constant yelling, but the older he got the more time it left for thought and reflection. Reflect about things he'd rather not think about.
The silence was suddenly broken by the sound of mumbling and coughing.
"Ahem, ahem. Lovely nap." The voiced mumbled almost to himself, finally realising there was someone else in the room.
"Harry! I wondered when I'd be seeing you in this office again."
The voice came from behind Harry and there was no mistaking it.
"Professor Dumbledore?" Harry rose hesitantly from the chair and approached the portrait of Dumbledore he'd seen earlier in the afternoon.
"My, my. Look at you, you've grown up nicely. I've been waiting - " Dumbledore stopped and reached into his pocket and looked at the pocket watch Harry had seen him carry on several occasions. Dumbledore tapped the face of the watch as if it had stopped keeping time. "Hmm, must have been five years or so, am I right?"
Harry was thoroughly startled, he'd seen Dumbledore speak to portraits before and Harry himself had conversed with portraits as well, but this was a surprise.
"Er, yes five years Sir."
"I thought so. Headmistress McGonagall informed me that she offered you a job teaching here at this fine establishment. Did you accept the position?"
Harry cleared his throat nervously. "No, I didn't think I was worthy Headmaster." he replied, casting his eyes downward and roughing up the carpet with the toe of his shoe.
"Why not Harry? You defeated the darkest Wizard of our time. If I'm not mistaken you always did well in Defence and you even went out of your way to start a Defence Club which you taught and planned."
Harry had forgotten about the D.A. It was he who did all the work, wasn't it? He had worked rather hard for almost three years in planning out the lessons, choreographing schedules, and mastering all the skills he taught the other members of the club. Essentially it was the same thing their more competent professors Lupin or the Polyjuiced Moody had done.
"And tell me of your victory over Voldemort, I'm sure it was splendid and I'm very disappointed I was not there to see it."
Harry shook his head and met the eyes of the old man in the portrait. "I couldn't have done it without your advice Professor."
The kindly old man in the portraiture smiled. "True love is the most amazing thing in the world. Real true love is only breakable by time. For if destined lovers do not meet in this lifetime, they will meet in the next. Nothing can stop true love. Not everyone is lucky enough to know true love in their lifetime, in fact only a chosen few experience it. Sometimes others know our fate better than we do. It is not the divine design for all of us to sustain. Some may know great happiness, but not all will know true love. Love that you'd be willing to fight and die for to protect. To give yourself selflessly for another person without hesitation. Now, tell me of your true love, the person with whom you share an unbreakable Wizarding Bond."
"Huh?" Harry mumbled unintelligibly.
"Ms. Weasley of course, or is she Mrs. Potter now?" The portrait version of Dumbledore waggled his eyebrows expectantly.
Harry felt shamed to tell Dumbledore the truth. Sure, he'd defeated Voldemort but lay in a coma for five years and lost Ginny to Dean Thomas in the process. Then there was the two months of lying about the twisted love triangle. But soon enough Harry was telling the portrait on the wall the abridged version of events. Dumbledore would nod in acknowledgement and seemed to ponder several thoughts and remarks before finally speaking.
"Harry, our lives are not preordained, we're able to make our own choices, but somewhere yours and Ginny's paths will cross again. Running from her won't help matters. She did things that seem unforgivable now, but explanations are in order. Consider listening to her justification you might be surprised by her own defence. Regardless of your choices pertaining to your occupational search or the miracle of love, I'm proud of you Harry, you've faced things no one else should have to face in this world. When you put your mind toward something your success is imminent. I wish you only the best and…" Dumbledore stifled a yawn with his fist and cleared his throat again. "I would quite like to see your portrait next to mine someday."
The 'portrait Dumbledore' fell asleep again just as the door opened and McGonagall returned, magicking a tray up ahead of her. Harry quickly looked from the painting to the Headmistress several times in succession, all the while mumbling incoherently.
"Professor- Portrait- talking- Dumbledore- advice- true love- asleep."
"What are you on about Potter?" McGonagall questioned, setting the tray down on her desk and seating herself in the chair behind it.
"Dumbledore talked to me!" Harry finally spat out, incredulously jerking his thumb back at the framed painting.
The Headmistress smiled. "Still gives wonderful advice, doesn't he?" She paused for a moment and gestured toward the plate of biscuits and tea on the tray. "Have you reached a decision on my offer?" She asked innocently as she poured two cups of tea.
Harry was amazed to hear his own voice as the response leapt enthusiastically from his mouth. "Yes, I'll take the job!"
McGonagall clapped her hands together and smirked faintly. "Excellent. You'll want to meet with Ms. Bones of course, she's done a fair job over the last three years. You could move your things into the castle or take up residence in town. Those matters are up to you. Restrictions have eased greatly on the requirements of faculty residence now that the war is over."
Harry shook his head hesitantly. "I don't know if I could move in here just yet. The few hours I've been here I was swamped with memories. I, er, just don't think I'd be at my best."
McGonagall nodded in compliance. "Potter, you've been through things no one else can imagine. Residence in Hogsmeade would be tolerated. Several of our new faculty live nearby. Longbottom and his wife live here in town. It's up to you."
Harry nodded, taking a sip of tea. "And the tests you mentioned?"
"Ah, yes, you just need to make an appointment at the Ministry's Examination and Registration Centre. I'll Owl over the appropriate papers and qualifications for you. It won't be anything you haven't already encountered in your O.W.L.'s or N.E.W.T.'s."
Harry and Professor McGonagall talked for several more minutes about the position of Defence Professor and her recommendations. When their meeting had concluded Harry saw himself from the castle and walked back into the village, he would need a flat, a house- something, and soon.
He passed the memorial for the third time that day and promised himself he would force himself if necessary to return and pay his respects on the anniversary of the final battle.
Not knowing much about Wizarding Real Estate, Harry strolled through the village, walking up and down the quaint streets looking at the houses and flats above storefronts. He was nearing Dervish and Banges on the main thoroughfare when he saw the stile at the end of the road where he had met Sirius as Snuffles after the Second Task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Where the road bent toward the mountains was a two story house, complete with window boxes full of flowers. The mountains served as a backdrop for the home, but had a large yard in front enclosed in white picket fencing. Shutters framed the windows and a trellis crawling with vines was arched over the sidewalk. A small, hand painted, For Sale sign was staked in the front lawn.
Harry returned to number twelve Grimmauld Place at twilight. He burst through the door to find Remus sitting in the drawing room reading the Prophet with a concerned expression on his face and his feet propped up on an ottoman.
Unable to contain his excitement any longer, he blurted it out. "I've bought a house!"
Author's Note: Thanks to my Beta, Karen, and to Dennis for the fluff. Thank you to all my readers and reviewers!