Chapter 1
Summary: Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley are two different people, living two different lives at two different times. But when they both find a mysterious mailbox that allows them to send letters to each other, they find their lives were always entwined. AU Harry never went to Hogwarts. Slightly based on the South Korean movie, Il Mare and the American movie, The Lake House.
Ginny sighed as she magically levitated the last of her things into her old Hogwarts trunk and shrunk the bulky trunk so it would fit in her coat pocket. She had spent her last few days packing her things as she was moving out of this old cottage. For the past year, Il Mare cottage had been her home, but now she was moving on. The war was over, Voldemort was now dead, and the last of Voldemort's followers were either dead, caught or simply switched sides. So it was time for Ginny to start her life again.
A black ball of fur brushed past her leg, bringing Ginny back from her thoughts. She smiled and knelt to pat the soft hair of her dog, Snuffles, who had been left at this cottage by the previous owner with only a collar around his neck. The dog was immediately smitten with Ginny and had kept her company when she felt alone in this isolated cottage.
"Okay, Snuffles," Ginny said sadly to the panting dog, "It's time to go."
Snuffles licked Ginny's hand and barked happily at her. Ginny smiled and reached a letter she wrote last night to the next owner of the cottage. She walked outside and placed the letter in the ornate wooden mailbox that stood proudly in front of the cottage. Without another word, she and Snuffles flooed out of the cottage, unbeknownst to her, the letter she slipped into the mailbox had already disappeared.
"Potter!"
"Moody," Harry greeted with a grim look on his face as he faced a good friend and mentor, Alastor Moody. He had cast warming charms on himself but hours of standing in the cold dark rain were bound to freeze him to death. He had been waiting for Moody to come home from the Ministry, knowing that the man would never directly apparate or floo to his own house.
Moody raised his wand to point at the younger man, "Who was Padfoot?"
"My godfather, Sirius Black. The man framed for my parent's murder." Moody lowered his wand and limped forward towards Harry.
"What are doing here?" Moody spat out, his mechanical eye spinning around to check for any spies around the area, "You should be in hiding! The Ministry is in a mess. Everyone has gone underground!"
"I need help," Harry said desperately. "I have nowhere else to go, Grimmauld Place is flooded with Death Eaters and Aurors."
"What about Dumbledore? Hogwarts?" Moody asked, dragging the soaking wet Harry Potter into his house.
"Vold-"
"Don't!" cried Moody, waving his wand to dry Harry's clothes, "He's already started the taboo. Don't say his name."
"He sent the Carrows and Snape to watch Dumbledore. He knows that Dumbledore is weakened," Harry explained as he huddled by the fireplace, sighing in relief as the heat spread to his body. Moody summoned a glass of firewhisky for Harry who gulped cautiously.
"Damn!" cursed Moody as he paced his living room floor, "We need to get you into hiding."
"I want to fight!" Harry answered angrily. He had spent his entire life fighting to survive, he didn't want to hide any longer."
"Don't be stupid, Potter!" spat Moody, "The Ministry's been taking over! Dumbledore is too weak to help. Most of the Order has gone into hiding."
"But-"
"There are no 'buts'! You-Know-Who has won today. Now, is there anywhere you can hide?"
Harry swallowed the lump in his throat as fought the urge to retort back. He know that Moody was right but it didn't make it any easier to swallow. And it wasn't because of the firewhisky.
"There's a cottage I know of, Il Mare," Harry answered, "My father bought a cottage by the sea for my mother before the First War before they went into hiding. It was supposed to be a surprise for her."
"Where is it?" Moody stopped pacing, both of his eyes looking directly at him.
"Cornwall, just on the coast in a muggle village called Tintagel. Sirius told me about it before he died," Harry answered as he stood up, his body no longer cold from the freezing weather.
"Does anyone else know about it?"
"Besides the two of us, the only ones who knew about it are dead."
Silence filled the living room as Moody thought the idea through. After a minute, Moody limped out of the room.
"Good. That'll do."
"What are we going to do?!" Harry asked, hurrying after the man. "What's the plan?"
"'We' aren't doing anything," Moody answered smiling slightly, "I'll be your Secret Keeper."
"What?" Harry asked.
"You're going to Cornwall."
Harry gritted his teeth as the salty wind blew in his face, the motorbike that Sirius had left him was the only way of transport that both Moody and Harry could decide upon. Originally, Moody had wanted him to take the train but the reminder of possible Death Eaters at King's Cross was all too eye-opening. So Harry opted to fly there, either on a broom or on the motorbike but Moody noted to him that all magical transports are being tracked so he could only travel the muggle way.
So, here he was, Harry Potter, The Chosen One, riding a motorbike, that could fly, on a highway to nowhere. About to hide in a little cottage by the sea, away from a magical war that started because of him and a deranged, snake-like psychopath.
Stopping at a local shop on the road, Harry brushed his glamour-charmed brown hair back with his fingers and dismounted. Letting out a deep breath that he felt he had been holding since he left London, he walked in.
Inside was a little shop, the young shopkeeper was watching some muggle soap opera on the small screen on the counter and had no interest in anyone who had walked in. Clearing his throat, Harry grabbed a bottle of water from the fringe and walked up to the woman who'd paid no attention to him.
"Um… Excuse me?" muttered Harry politely. The woman paused to at looked up at Harry. Harry knew he wasn't a bad looking guy but handsome, he never thought he was. With the ugly red scar on his forehead and the lanky look he had as a teenager he never thought he would render a person speechless with his looks.
He had outgrown his lanky look and had grown to a handsome twenty-five-year-old that had shocked the twenty-year-old shopkeeper to silence. Or that his glamour charms, that hid his famous hair and scar, had improved so much he had made himself too noticeable.
"Hello?" asked Harry. The shopkeep blinked a few times, as to take in the overwhelming presence that was Harry.
"Y-Yes?" She stuttered, blushing slightly.
"I'm looking for this cottage by the beach," Harry stated, smiling politely, "I was wondering if you would point me in the right direction? It's called Il Mare."
"Uh, yes!" She exclaimed, "Of course. It's just a ten-minute drive up the main road and take the left fork in the road towards the cliff roads. It's the cottage with the wooden mailbox at the front."
"Ah, thank you," said Harry, dropping some muggle money on the counter and turning around to leave, "Keep the change."
"It's an old house, there's no one living there," the shopkeeper said loudly, in hopes to keep Harry from leaving
"Oh, yes," Harry answered, nonchalantly, "I just bought it."
Harry nodded goodbye and hurried out of the store glancing around at the small village before him. There was a small town centre with a stone fountain in the middle acting as a roundabout. People were bustling about and Harry could see that they were whispering about him.
Harry ignored them and jumped onto his bike. Starting it with a roar of the engine he raced off down the main road. As he rode along the country roads, he took in the secluded nature that surrounded him. The village was a fully muggle, there weren't any magic folk since perhaps the Arthurian times. And the village had no known connection to Harry Potter so it was perfect for Harry to go into hiding.
Up ahead, Harry saw the small cottage that stood surrounded by wet green grass that was saturated by the sea breeze. The cottage faced the cliff that stood high on top of the waves. There was a large oak tree that stood behind the one-story house with a rope swing tied to one of its branches.
"I guess this is home," muttered Harry to himself. He glanced at the corroded brick that looked as if they were barely holding up. If he listen carefully, Harry felt he could hear the house creaking against the wind. Sighing, Harry silently hoped that the house would not collapse during the night.
Harry turned to the mailbox that stood lonely on the grass lawn. The box was built as a wooden replica of the cottage with 'Il Mare" engraved cursively in the wood. Lifting the flap, Harry expected it to be filled with spiderwebs and dust but it was clean, except for one sealed letter, address to the tenet of the house. Picking up the letter, Harry frowned, it was written on parchment, not paper and the delicate cursive writing was from a quill. Curious, Harry ripped the letter open, wondering who had left it there.
Dear New Tenet,
You may be wondering why I am writing to you but there are a few things about the cottage I wish for you to know. I was told that this cottage is owned by a magical family so I assume that you are either a witch or a wizard. If not, I've charmed this letter with a slight muggle confusion charm.
The wards on the house were also here before I moved, they are mostly protection charms left from the war but feel free to remove them or cast new ones. Also, sorry about the paw prints on the porch they were there since I moved in. Along with the box in the attic.
I have also sent letters to the Ministry about my change of address but all this confusion at the Ministry it might have been lost in the chaos. Please owl my letters to the address I left below:
89 Richmond Rd, London
Anyway, I welcome you to your new home and wish you all the best.
Ginny Weasley
21 September 1999
Harry blinked a few times, hoping he wasn't seeing things. He knew that the cottage has been vacant since his father bought the house twenty-six ago. Harry skimmed the letter again, reading each word carefully.
"Paw prints?" Harry slowly walked up to the porch, glancing down at the smooth wooden porch, unmarked with any animal prints.
"What is she talking about?" muttered Harry. He could feel that there were no wards on the house, new or otherwise.
Harry glanced at the date at the bottom.
21 September 1999
A/N: Hi, please leave a review. It's been a while since I've written anything but I had an idea about this story and I couldn't help myself. I'll try to update soon but there is no definite schedule. Thanks!