Family Ties

It had happened. Harry had been living a life of leisure at the Burrow for only one week, and already the Ministry had shown up demanding payment for his protection.

Sort of.

It was payment in the form of an award. But from everything Harry had heard so far, it sounded like it was to be quite the affair.

The new Minister of Magic, Henry Whitmyre, had glided into the Weasley home an hour ago, and informed Harry that the Ministry had decided to bestow upon him one of the highest honours: the Order of Merlin, First Class.

Whitmyre was a tall, good-looking man, and he didn't remind Harry of Fudge in the slightest. Rather than presenting himself as a kindly, fatherly fellow, he was much more an elder statesmen. He had a courtly courteous nature. Very posh. Being different than Fudge could only be a good sign, in Harry's opinion. But the fact he was receiving this particular award at all, told Harry that Whitmyre was still a politician at heart.

Once he had delivered the grand news, Whitmyre had quickly made his exit, his robes billowing behind him.

Now Harry was left in the kitchen with Michael Buzzbee, apparently the Head of Ministry Affairs. Though in Harry's opinion, he seemed like a glorified event co-ordinator. He was supposed to be filling Harry in on all the wondrous details.

So far he had caught that the ordeal was to take place at Hogwarts, immediately following Gryffindor's first Quidditch match. "The perfect setting considering your recent history, don't you think?"

Harry merely grunted. He wasn't really listening. Ginny was sitting beside him, openly glaring at the man, and Harry assumed she was paying rapt attention on his behalf. He had other things to think about.

Harry wasn't certain how he should feel about this whole business.

The Order of Merlin, First Class.

It was an honour that was supposed to be reserved for people that had demonstrated particular devotion to the principals of wizards living harmoniously with Muggles. It was true that perhaps it had lost some of its prestige over the years. Pettigrew had been given the award "posthumously" for his alleged confrontation with Sirius. Even Lockhart had fallen into it somehow. But in both cases, that was only Third Class.

The nagging thought that Harry couldn't escape was the idea that this was one of the accolades that had distinguished Dumbledore from other ordinary Wizards. And HE had dedicated decades of his life to the relations between Muggles and Wizards - both in battle and politics. He was an intellectual, a powerful wizard, a great man.

All Harry had done was kill someone. And he really didn't see how murdering a man, even a madman, made him worthy.

Maybe if he'd had some choice in the matter. But he hadn't. Voldemort had chosen him. Harry hadn't faced off with the Dark Lord because he had wanted to. He had spent two years resenting the fact that it had to be him. Furious with destiny for putting him in this position.

And when it came right down to it, it was kill or be killed. Didn't survival reek of his own self-interest? It certainly wasn't nobility.

How did that make him as great as Albus Dumbledore?

Then there was the slight detail that Harry didn't think this award was really about him at all. It was a rather extravagant way for the Ministry to give the all-clear to the rest of the Wizarding World. A signal that dark times were officially over and it was time to celebrate and move on. Also, and more disgustingly, the Ministry was buying back their own reputation. Outwardly showing they recognized Harry as a bonafide hero - hoping everyone might forget the smear campaign launched against him under Fudge.

"Have you gone completely mad?" Ginny's confounded voice broke into Harry's thoughts. And the way her mouth was hanging open, completely agog, Harry could tell he had missed something important.

"What do you say, Harry?" Buzzbee asked jubilantly. "People still talk about how fantastic you were last time. How about a rematch? See if she remembers you. Find out if she holds a grudge."

"It's lunacy!" Ginny stood up out of her chair. "Of course he doesn't want to do it. He was scared out of his wits last time, but he had no choice. He could be killed. Ripped apart. EATEN!" There were few moments when Ginny reminded Harry of her mother, this was definitely one of them.

"Um, I'm sorry," Harry said awkwardly. "What?"

Ginny only rolled her eyes at him, obviously not too surprised his mind had wandered off. "This nutter wants you to fight the Hungarian Horntail from the Triwizard Tournament for your medal."

"Brilliant show, don't you think, Harry?" Buzzbee interjected.

Struck a little dumb by the mere suggestion, Harry weakly offered, "Ah, no, I don't think that sounds like a particularly fantastic idea, actually."

Buzzbee looked dejected, frowning as though to suggest Harry was a terrible spoil-sport. "Alright. How about something a little simpler. We get a more docile breed, a Common Welsh Green, maybe. And have you ride it into the stadium."

Harry just stared.

"Come on, Harry," Buzzbee encouraged. "You're the conquering hero. You need to make your entrance in style. People will talk about it for years. Promise me you'll at least think about it."

Harry swallowed. His palms felt sweaty. Somehow he was coming to the impression this wasn't something he could get out of easily. "I'll think about it."

Ginny scoffed, threw her hands into the air and stormed from the room - obviously disgusted with the pair of them.

Buzzbee nodded towards the door and winked conspiratorially. "Real firecracker, eh? Good luck with that one."

Harry glared. And crossed his arms for good measure. "Don't think I need your luck, thanks."

Realizing he had crossed a line, Buzzbee nodded. And amazingly a bit of the glamourous facade seemed to come down as he leaned forward and said, "Look, I understand you want out of the spotlight. I don't really get it, but I understand that's what you're aiming for. Here's my advice: if you lock yourself away, make yourself into a mystery, it's the same as inviting the press to invade your privacy."

Intrigued against his will, Harry said, "Go on."

Buzzbee smiled. "Think of that chap Lockhart a few years back. Sure witches loved him, but no one was digging through his trash trying to find his underwear. Why? Because he was everywhere. He probably would have Owled out a pair of skivvies to anyone who asked him."

Harry's mouth went dry in horror. "I'm not giving out my underwear to anyone."

Buzzbee held up a hand. "I'm merely saying, put yourself out there, be amenable, let your picture be taken occasionally, and you become less valuable. When Witch Weekly calls, and they will call, do the interview. Make sure it includes a few photographs of you looking handsome." He grinned wryly. "And though I suspect it may come naturally to you, don't look broody. Smile. Smile until your teeth hurt. Don't sit in the back of the restaurant, hiding in the shadows. Get a table out in the open. And if anyone asks for an autograph, chat them up and give it to them."

As though it all made perfect sense, he continued, "So do this thing with the dragon for me. And the press conference afterwards."

"Press conference?" Harry blurted.

But Buzzbee was already standing and fastening his robe. "It may take a year or two, but believe me, Harry, people will get bored of you."

After a firm handshake and a further promise from Harry that he would think about it, Buzzbee was gone.

Left alone in the kitchen, Harry wasn't sure what to think. Maybe it was the glimmer of hope that people might get bored of him, but suddenly, riding a dragon didn't seem quite so terrible.

On impulse, he dashed up to his room and started tearing through his trunk. Now that the twins had their own place above their store, Harry had been given their old room. It was an interesting space, filled with oddly coloured scorch marks of varying sizes, and Harry hadn't fully moved in yet.

Ginny came in behind him. "What are you doing?"

His head fully shoved inside the trunk as he pushed things about, he answered, "Looking for my dragon."

"Your dragon?" She sat down on his bed.

"Yeah." Harry leaned back on his heels and started dumping stuff out on the floor. "For the Triwizard Tournament we had to pick a little statue out of a sack to determine which dragon we would face."

Ginny frowned. "Why do you want it?"

"For luck." Harry grinned, a little embarrassed. "I know. It seems silly. But I'll have you remember I not only survived, but I also scored fairly well, so it seems like it might be lucky." Ginny just stared at him. "What?"

"You're actually looking forward to this, aren't you?" She actually sounded a little hurt.

Harry instantly knew the correct answer was no. And while that was true, he wasn't really looking forward to it, he was starting to suspect he wasn't dreading it nearly as much as Ginny. He remembered how he had felt the night of the first task. "Dragons aren't so bad, Gin."

She stood up. "Are you kidding me?"

Harry tried to reason with her. "Look at your own brother, Charlie."

Ginny looked at him as though he were deeply stupid. "Charlie studies dragons. He works on a dragon reserve. He doesn't try to ride the bloody things."

"Really?" Harry asked. She nodded. "Not ever?"

She answered with a resolute, "No."

"Huh. Well someone must have at some point." He would have to get Hermione to look that up for him - dragon riding techniques. "And the Ministry isn't going to do something to get me killed at their own event." That was hardly the publicity they were looking for.

"The Ministry might not," Ginny allowed. "But I don't like this Buzzbee guy. He seems twitchy. I don't think he would mind if the dragon did eat you, provided it was a spectacular affair."

"Believe me," Harry said, turning back to his task, "he would lose his job if I got eaten."

"Maybe." Ginny sat back down, apparently giving up the fight. "But I still think he'd find it thrilling if you were at least chewed on a little for extra drama."

"Damn it," Harry muttered, finally reaching the bottom of his trunk.

"What?"

Harry ran his hands through his hair, frustrated. "I think I know where it is?"

As he had acquired more things from his time at Hogwarts, Harry had taken to hiding rarely used items under the loose floor boards in his room in his Uncle's house, leaving his trunk for the things he wanted to use on a daily basis. His last departure from Privet Drive had been a little abrupt, and he hadn't exactly packed with much care. Of course, the same could be said of several of the previous years, but this last time had been even more stressful than usual.

On a hot day in the second week of July, Pig had arrived mid-morning with a letter from Ron. All it had said was, "Percy's gone. He was killed last night."

An hour later, Errol had appeared at his window. The small piece of parchment tied to his leg had merely asked, "Harry?" in Ginny's hand. Harry had imagined he could almost hear her voice, and how lost she sounded.

He had sat in his room waiting - wishing that he knew how to Apparate and hating how unfair it was that he was stuck there. He had known that someone must be coming to get him. No matter what protection his Aunt's home offered him, surely Dumbledore and the Order would have the decency not to keep him there under those circumstances. But that small bit of faith had done little to help him through the wait.

He had been anxious to go to both Ginny and Ron, but at the same time he had been terrified of what he would be walking into. All too well he remembered the terrible night Mr. Weasley had been hurt, and Mrs. Weasley's Boggart. The time had finally come when the family he loved so much had actually been broken. Permanently.

And he had no idea what he was supposed to do for Ginny. No one had been able to help him in the days following Sirius' death - not the people closest to him anyway. He was finally given a glimpse from the other point of view. It was terrible to want so much to help, when really, he could do nothing. There were no words. He felt a little paralysed by his own inadequacy.

He had spent most of the day in a daze, absently putting things in his trunk - until finally, around midnight, Lupin and a few others had shown up to escort him back to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black. For the very first time Harry hadn't even been able to produce an internal smirk at the aptness of the name.

Now, a year later, he was realizing there were a few things he had left behind. And he hated the idea of any part of his new life being hidden away under his Aunt and Uncle's tyrannical roof.

But he wasn't sure he wanted to make the trip alone.

He looked up Ginny. "Would you come with me?"

She nodded, stoically. "Alright."

Harry gave her a grim smile. It was time to say goodbye to number four, Privet Drive.

Three days later, Harry was standing with Ginny in front of the large square house with the low garden wall. It was just as immaculate as it had ever been, now with the pristine addition of a perfectly trimmed white rosebush on either side of the front door.

They hadn't called ahead. Their visit would be a surprise. And Harry had decided it was best to arrive in the middle of the afternoon. This way Uncle Vernon should be at work. And Dudley, well, where Dudley may be was anyone's guess, out carousing with his friends, work, possibly prison, but Harry figured it was most likely he wouldn't be at home. Meaning he would only have to contend with his Aunt Petunia.

Ginny squeezed his hand. "Ready?"

No. Not really. "I guess," he said and they walked up to the door and rang the bell.

A few moments later the door was yanked open by his Aunt. There was no polite pretence. She obviously expected to find someone trying to sell her something and she fully intended to run off whoever had dared to interrupt her cleaning.

The moment Petunia's eyes fell on them she let out a horrified gasp and dropped the vase she had been holding. It landed on the floor with a thundering smash. Harry was surprised at his Aunt's unusual reaction, but when he caught a glimpse of Ginny and himself in the hallway mirror, he supposed he could figure it out. He knew that his mother and father had visited with the Evan's family at least once, after all.

The three of them stood there, staring at each other, Petunia's horse-face as pale as Harry had ever seen it, for what seemed like hours.

Finally, Ginny stepped forward. She took her wand out of her back pocket, muttered a quick, "Reparo," and returned the vase to Petunia's hands. She smiled prettily. "There you go. No harm done."

Petunia glanced down at the magically repaired vase, back up at Ginny, and her usual look of revulsion quickly returned. She glared at Harry. "I suppose you are back here to stay. You know very well I have no intention of putting up one of your peculiar little friends."

"No, Aunt Petunia." Harry answered, as politely as he could muster. "The man that was after me, Voldemort, he's gone. Gone for good this time. You can tell Uncle Vernon that I won't be coming back here. I won't be bothering you and your family anymore."

A strange look flickered across her face. "You - you're safe now?"

Harry smirked. He couldn't help it. "As safe as I'll ever be, yes. You are free of your promise to protect me."

As though viewing the long ago agreement as a hideous weakness and resenting Harry for bringing it up, Petunia narrowed her eyes at him and huffed, "What do you mean by showing up here, then?"

This would be the hard part - having to ask for one more favour. "The last time I was here, I left a few things behind. If you let me come in to get them, you won't ever have to hear from me again."

Petunia gripped her vase possessively; possibly debating the safety of allowing two wizards into her home against the obvious benefit of never having to see any of their kind again. "Very well," she muttered, stepping aside and granting them entrance.

Before Harry and Ginny were even fully inside, Petunia was already striding down the hall. "You know the way," she called out, before disappearing behind the kitchen door.

Ginny was staring after the older woman's departure, appearing a little stunned.

Harry tried to make light of the situation. "So that was my Aunt Petunia. A charming woman, really." Ginny turned to him, not looking any less aghast. He coughed awkwardly. "Well, then, it's ah, it's upstairs."

The room was just as he had left it. Apparently the Dursley's had kept it, convinced that he would descend upon them at any minute. If he didn't hate them so much, Harry might have felt guilty for not keeping them appraised of his whereabouts.

Harry immediately made his way over to the bed, and the loose floorboards underneath. Hiding below, he found text books from his first years at Hogwarts, a few chocolate frog cards, his Omnioculars, and kept safe in an old sock, his miniature Hungarian Horn Tail. He watched the dragon, with the number four on its side, walk around his hand and roar ferociously a few times, before stashing it in the bag he had brought.

He could feel Ginny looking about the room, eyeing the locks on the door, and discreetly glancing at the cat-flap every now and then. He knew that the twins had regaled Ginny with the tale of his rescue with the Ford Anglia and how he had been starving in a locked-up room. But he could tell from her quiet demeanour that seeing it all in person was a little different than she had anticipated. He was glad the bars were long gone from the window.

Neither of them spoke a word as he made his way around the rest of the room, checking his desk and his bureau drawers.

After a few minutes, they silently walked back downstairs. But rather than going out the door, for some reason, Harry found himself turning back towards the kitchen. Towards the small door under the stairs.

He had never told anyone, not even Ron and Hermione, about his cupboard.

It was possible that Dumbledore and McGonagall may have known - his first Hogwarts letter had come addressed to "The Cupboard Under The Stairs" after all. But Harry wasn't really certain how the addressing system worked - maybe it was some sort of Charm. Neither professor had ever mentioned it.

And so it had been his secret, and one he had intended to take to the grave. He knew it wasn't right, but he felt ashamed of the fact he had spent ten years living in the small dark space. Locked away by the grown ups who had controlled almost every moment of his life. It made him feel less than human. Unacceptably vulnerable. And certainly less than the capable Wizard he had become.

Even so, confronted by the door in front of him, he felt inexplicably drawn to it. He was overwhelmed by the need to open it up, and see how he fit inside.

Harry opened the door and stepped into the tiny area. He was happy to see that just after the first couple of feet by the door, he to stoop. He had definitely outgrown his childhood home. He bent down, pretending to look for something. He felt naked. Even more exposed than the first time Ginny had actually seen him starkers. And he was desperately trying to resist the urge to stand upright and stretch his arms out from his sides.

Ginny was watching him carefully, and eyeing the door. There were two locks. The deadbolt Vernon had used when he had kept Harry's school things impounded for the summer. And an older one. A simple sliding latch - obviously designed to keep something in, instead of someone out.

Ginny fingered the tarnished device curiously. "Why do the Muggles have so many locks on their cupboard door?"

Harry froze. He tried to stop the guilty look from crossing his face, but it was too late.

"Harry?" Her voice sounded small, frightened. It reminded him oddly of when she had first called his name, years ago, when she woke up in the Chamber. And he knew he had given himself away.

Harry stood up. "Ginny, it's alright."

There were tears in her eyes. "No, it bloody well isn't alright!"

The light behind her started to flicker, and Harry felt a well of panic suddenly yawn inside his belly. "Let's just go."

Ginny looked frantic. She was sucking in air in terrible gasps. He was worried she was about to hyperventilate. Just over her shoulder, a picture of Dudley rattled on the wall, the glass cracking with a hissing snap. "But you were only a little boy!"

Harry stepped out of his cupboard, grabbing her around the waist and tried to drag her towards the door. But in her rage, she was fighting against him.

As tiny as Ginny normally seemed, her weight was damn near impossible to move at that moment. Harry looked around desperately. It seemed as though the walls themselves were shaking. All the pictures were crashing to the floor, the glass crunching under their feet. The hallway mirror shattered, sending shards through the air.

Good Lord, if he didn't get her out of there she was going to bring the house down - possibly with them still inside. He seemed to recall Dudley and his friends watching a movie about that once - he really didn't want to live it.

Petunia emerged from the kitchen and started screaming at the horrifying sight of her perfect foyer being torn apart.

More afraid for Ginny than anything else, Harry shouted over the din, "Get back inside!"

Petunia didn't move - seemingly frozen in terrified awe at the picture Ginny made - clawing at Harry's arms and howling, "What is wrong with you? He was your blood!"

Finally, with great difficulty, Harry reached the door and pulled Ginny, still wrestling like a mad animal, through to the other side.

As they stumbled out into the afternoon sun, the fresh breeze wafted over them, and Ginny appeared to come back to herself a bit. She stopped struggling, stood upright and faced him. Ghastly white and sweaty, she muttered, "I feel sick." She then promptly turned and vomited into one of his Aunt's perfect white rosebushes, just outside the door.

Patting her back in support, Harry wondered if it would be wholly inappropriate to turn her around so she could also hit the one on the other side. As Ginny continued to retch, he caught Petunia peering out the livingroom curtains at them with utter loathing. Harry smiled and waved. As revenge went, it wasn't entirely without poetry.

When Ginny recovered, they ambled about the neighbourhood. Harry didn't trust her to Apparate so long as she was still shaking a bit. And it turned out he was a little happy to have the excuse to walk the familiar streets one last time, as it occurred to him that this was it - he may never have reason to ever come back here.

Eventually they made it to the play park along Magnolia Road and sat on the swings. Swaying a little back and forth, Harry mused that perhaps Dudley and his gang really were in prison. Here it was, nearly the end of summer, and the park had survived unscathed. It seemed impossible that Dudley may have merely grown up.

Ginny quietly broke the silence. "I'm sorry I made such a scene. That hasn't happened to me in years - when Fred and George shut me up in the broom shed my last summer before Hogwarts."

Harry put his feet down, stopping his swing. "Why did they lock you in the broom shed?"

Ginny shrugged casually. "I was ten, and being a pain following them around. They got theirs though. Mum nearly killed them when I blew the roof off the thing. And they never bothered me after that."

Harry pushed off again. "The last time it happened to me was when I was thirteen and I blew up Aunt Marge."

Ginny nearly fell off her seat. "Your aunt exploded?"

Harry's head was suddenly filled with the horrifying image of tiny bits of Aunt Marge plastered all over Petunia's immaculate dinning room. He shuddered. Then he leaned back, gaining more height and laughed. "God, no. That would have scarred me for life. She blew up like a balloon."

They swung for a bit, seeing who could go higher. Then Harry remembered a game he used to watch the other kids play. He told Ginny, "Go as high as you can, then right when the swing reaches the top of its arch, jump." It was satisfying, soaring through the air like a Muggle child. And Harry grinned when he touched down with a thump, a clear twelve feet away.

When Ginny landed beside him laughing, he reached out a hand to steady her.

Sobering, she looked him in the eyes and swallowed. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Harry shook his head. He didn't know how to explain it. "I don't know. It's not who I am anymore." Ginny curled her arms around herself and Harry suddenly realized something. "I think maybe I wanted you to know. Maybe that's why I had to look in that cupboard today."

Ginny stepped towards him, leaning against his chest. Harry stroked her hair and whispered, "And I'm sorry. That probably wasn't the best way to share something like that."

He could feel her nod. "Not if you don't want me to lose my head, apparently." She sniffed and stepped back. "It's okay. I'm glad you did."

Harry cast a last glance around them. Goodbye, Magnolia Road. "Are you ready to get out of here?"

She gave him a small smile. "Definitely."

A few minutes later they were walking up the road to the Burrow. Harry felt the contrast between the rambling house and Privet Drive almost as strongly as the first time he had seen it. And he grinned when he saw it even came with one of his best friends standing by the gate to great them.

When they reached Ron, though, it became clear he wasn't waiting for them at all. He hadn't even seen them. He was in his own world, staring down at a small velvet box clutched in his hand.

"What've you got there?" Ginny asked, by way of a greeting.

Ron handed over the box without even making a sound. Ginny opened it and Harry looked inside. It was a shining silver band, with a tiny glimmering stone set in the middle.

Harry felt his breath catch. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yeah," Ron answered, sounding almost as surprised.

"Where did you get it?" Ginny asked.

Ron took the box back protectively. "I bought it. Today at work they gave me my first paycheck - and I went straight out and bought this."

Harry ran a hand absently through his hair. "Bloody hell."

"I know." Ron nodded in agreement.

Ginny looked at her brother in awe, seemingly impressed. "You're really going to ask her?"

Ron took a deep breath. "I think so. I mean I have a job now. And we could get a place of our own and that would be really nice. And I don't know, after everything that has happened since, well, since we met, I guess I'm just feeling pretty lucky that we're both still alive. And I don't want to wait anymore, you know?"

"Yeah," Ginny agreed smiling a little. "But I'm not sure that's the best reason to ask someone to marry you."

"Probably not. But I can't help it. I can't even imagine my life with anyone else." He smirked and joked, "And besides, she can always say no if she wants to." Ron suddenly looked dumbstruck with fear. "Wait. What if she says no?"

Harry put a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder. "She won't say no."

Ron shook his head. "I'm not so sure about that. She's awfully smart."

Harry laughed, he couldn't help it. "If she is too smart to marry you I'm sure she wouldn't have wasted her teen years dating you all this time."

"I didn't mean it like that!" Ron objected. "Bloody wanker. I meant she might want to be a career witch, you know, that sort of thing."

"You're just asking her. It's not like you're setting a date. You can still wait a few years. And besides, even after you do get married you don't have to hurry to have children or anything. It's not like it was when my parent's had me." It had only recently occurred to Harry just how young his parents had been. That perhaps the rush to be married, to have a child, had been because the times were so dark. They had to plunge into their lives, knowing, because of the risks they were taking as part of the Order, they might not have long. In a weird sort of way, Harry wondered if he would have even existed if it hadn't been for Voldemort.

Apparently heartened by Harry's words, Ron stood up to his full height. "Alright. Let's do this."

The three of them went into the house. Unfortunately for Ron, Hermione wasn't home from work just yet.

Possibly worried that her brother may start to lose his nerve again, Ginny ordered him to wait in the room she and Hermione shared. They left him sitting on the bed, looking a little as if he might throw up, and continued up the stairs.

Harry and Ginny lay on his bed, holding hands in silence - staring up at the charred holes in the ceiling and listening to the sounds of the house. They heard Arthur returning home, chatting with his wife about his day. Then the twins storming in for a visit, conveniently just before supper.

Eventually there was distinctive racket of someone arriving via Floo and Hermione's happy greetings to everyone on her way through the kitchen.

Her light steps, running up the stairs.

Her shriek of surprise and ensuing giggles upon unexpectedly finding Ron hiding in her room.

Then everything was quiet. The minutes stretched on and Ginny clutched his hand tighter.

Finally the house was filled with squeals of delight.

Ginny rolled over, on top of him. Her hair fell down, shrouding Harry's face, as her soft lips slowly moved against his own. The languid kiss deepened as the sounds of laughter and congratulations floated up to them from below.