Arthur opened his mouth to continue speaking, but the twins were faster. The precious few seconds that it took to marshal his thoughts had cost him.
"Dad, you can't say that," said George.
"It isn't fair," agreed Fred.
"If Harry hadn't..." George's voice trailed away, and he suddenly looked much younger... more like a teenager than a man in his twenties. As Arthur watched, George raised his hand to the scar that used to be his ear, and scratched at it.
Both of them, Arthur noticed, stared uneasily at his wand, and he felt a pang of hurt deep inside him. This was furthered by Bill's quiet, "Dad, that isn't the best idea." Arthur forced his constricted chest to relax. This isn't about me, he told himself firmly, consciously echoing Harry's words. Harry, however, was wrong. Instead of erupting at his family and forcing them to acknowledge that he wasn't the monster they apparently thought he was, Arthur turned his attention on Harry.
Ron stood in front of his best mate, and from the mulish, horrified look on his face, Arthur felt as though he'd grown several additional heads, all of which bore significant resemblance to enemies. "What the he-hell is going on, Dad?" Ron asked forcefully.
"Ron," Harry said quietly. His face was hidden from view.
Arthur knew he was lucky that he had some inkling of the truth. He'd been composing a letter to Harry in his head for the last month. Weeks of trying to find words -- the perfect words -- had led Arthur to almost having it figured out. It was only slightly different, now that he had to say it out loud, without the comfort of hiding behind the written word. Red blurred out the corner of his eye; Ginny had shifted, but Arthur resolutely did not look at her.
"Step aside, Ron," Arthur said tightly.
"Like hell," Ron said immediately. "I'm not going to--"
"Ron," Harry said, louder this time. "He can -- he's allowed to say what he wants."
A little coil of anger unfurled in Arthur's belly as Ron moved, and it only grew when Harry briefly closed his eyes and turned to Arthur. His coloring was high, and his jaw was clenched. Harry looked as though Arthur had hit him, or done him some grievous injury. Wariness had crept into his green eyes, which were red and bruised around the edges. It was clear that not only did he expect Arthur to blame him -- to yell at him or curse him or kick him out of the Burrow -- but Harry also wasn't going to say one word to defend himself.
"Ginny," Ron turned to look at his sister, exasperation written clearly on his face. "Harry's completely mental--"
"I agree that Dad should be given a chance to speak," said Ginny, voice formal.
"Ah...oh...well, thank you," he stammered, thrown by her unexpected support.. Her apparent faith in him confused him. In his family, he thought that she'd be the one least likely to want to listen to him. Especially since she was apparently in love with Harry, after all. After he realized that too much time had passed, he shook his head, trying frantically to remember the exact way that he worded it. But the silence stretched on, and nothing coherent seemed to be jumping out at him.
"How did you hurt yourself?" Arthur asked, because everything he wanted to say was rolling around in his head, and he couldn't quite grasp it.
"Dad, I really don't think--"
"Harry wouldn't hurt her--"
"Dad!"
Fred, Hermione, and Ron all took offense at his words. Lips flattening grimly, Arthur raised his wand. "Silencio," The Silencing Charm would bind everyone except Harry and himself; even in this crowd, they would have a chance to speak without interruptions. This further outraged them -- Arthur noted the angry glares and red faces -- but he ignored them.
"How did you hurt your arm?" Arthur asked again.
"Oh..." said Harry, as though this was the last question he'd expected. He held his bleeding arm up and glanced at it, as if surprised that he was still bleeding. "Well, I had to get Fawkes, you see, sir, and Dumbledore said that -- that it was the only way to call him. Blood, and the tail feather from my old wand."
In truth, Arthur had expected something like this. But frankly, it drew too close to Harry sacrificing himself for Ginny, and Arthur found his words clogged up. Gesturing wordlessly at the arm, Arthur pointed his wand. Harry regarded him warily, but did as he asked.
The cut was not quite as deep as Arthur had feared, though blood still came out of it sluggishly. "The best way to heal this is the Flesh-Binding Spell, right?" Arthur asked, looking over at his wife. She was unable to speak, but gave a short little nod.
Although the rest of his family had relaxed somewhat, Harry did not. "You don't have to--"
"Yes, I do," Arthur said gently. "I really do." And without waiting for permission, he gripped Harry's elbow, and set the tip of his wand against the very outer edge of the wound. Whispering the spell, he watched as the flesh began to knit together. "Tergeo," he said, and the blood siphoned off. Harry's stance was rigid, and his arm trembled in Arthur's grip. Neither Arthur nor Harry said a word as the wound shrank and then began to stick together.
Harry took a deep breath, and pulled his arm away. "You didn't have to--"
Arthur cut him off. "Yes, I did have to," he said. "I needed to." The feeling of helplessness had only intensified since the night Harry had rescued his daughter from Malfoy Manor. And it didn't dissipate at this small healing. "I wish," said Arthur, speaking past a sudden, horrible lump in his throat. "I wish that I could just as easily heal the wounds left on you... and my daughter... by Voldemort, and"--Lucius Malfoy--"his Death Eaters."
"But," Harry said, looking completely confused. "But -- you -- I know that," he tried to force out. The words seemed to cause him physical pain. "I know that you..." a horrible flush spread on his cheeks; the fury that had accompanied Harry since Arthur had first seen him arrive in a blaze of phoenix fire was still etched clearly on his face, but now the pain was just under the surface threatening to break free. "You just said... I think it's -- I know that Ginny was taken because of me, and..."
Arthur tightened his grip on Harry's forearm; he looked as though he wanted to Apparate away and escape. "I did not say that I blamed you," he said more forcefully than he intended. Even though his focus was almost entirely on Harry, he noticed that Ron, at least, had relaxed. The tension from the onlookers relaxed by a degree.
"But--"
"I said that I understand why you blame yourself," Arthur said as clearly as he could. He'd planned to mention that while Arthur had grown up in a loving home, some of his cousins had not. And when parents treated children like commodities, the children were invariably more vulnerable. Harry's situation with the Dursleys had been even worse. But there was no time for relating personal experience. Not now.
"I'm not sure I understand, sir," said Harry.
"You were never loved the way children should be," Arthur said simply. A tug at his robes caught his attention: Ginny smiled up at him, brown eyes clear of fear and disgust. She cocked her head as though to say keep going. So he did. "The Dursleys were cruel and unkind and never offered you the affection you deserved. And I think that when you finally met us -- Molly and I -- and we began to love you as a son, you couldn't accept what we offered freely."
Harry mumbled something and ruffled his hair, face still bright with color. It seemed to take quite a lot of effort for him to keep his shoulders square. He pulled his arm out of Arthur's grip and scratched at it, holding it close to his body.
"You never had to earn our love," Arthur said, hoping he was making sense. "Had you not been in time to save me from Nagini back in your fifth year, Molly and the others would've carried on thinking you were still a part of the family. Had you not thought of the bezoar in your sixth year, and Ron had died, we would've loved you anyway."
A small hand tucked into his, squeezed, and then retreated. Arthur closed his eyes briefly, knowing that he had another reason to thank Harry. "And even if..." he said, voice raspy. "Even if you had been too late at Malfoy Manor, I would never have blamed you."
Harry's brows slammed together. "How can you, of all people, say that?" he asked accusingly, as though Arthur had betrayed him somehow. The waves of accidental magic had died down, but Arthur wondered how long he could keep up his rigid control.
"Very easily," said Arthur. "I think I'm the most grateful for what you--"
"Don't," Harry said sharply, eyes glittering strangely. "Don't. This isn't -- we should be helping Ginny, she was hurt, and--"
"I'm not blind," Arthur cut him off. "Today, my daughter has fought off an attacker, laid to rest some of her demons, hasn't retreated, and"--his voice broke a little--"touched me willingly for the first time in over four years. As much as it amazes me to admit it, Ginny is fine. It's you who--"
"I am fine," Harry said insistently; Arthur knew he was lying through his teeth.
Ginny skirted around behind Harry, wrapping her arms around his middle. Harry entwined his fingers with hers and stared down at their clasped hands. Arthur waved his wand and lifted the charm off of his family, the Lupins, and the Minister of Magic. Hopefully, I've made myself clear enough, he thought, feeling a little bubble of bitterness burst inside of him.
No one said anything.
"You aren't fine," Arthur said finally. It was obvious that Harry didn't want to come out and say that he was hurting, that old wounds that had never fully healed were bleeding again. But everything about him, from the way he stood to the look on his face, made it apparent that he was the furthest thing from fine that a person could be. "Voldemort hurt you, and I don't think you've ever really come to terms with that."
"Ginny was hurt worse," Harry said, lips barely moving.
"Is that why you haven't dealt with this?" Arthur asked. "You think that because Ginny was -- raped and tortured, you aren't allowed to feel wounded too? Voldemort raped you--"
"I wasn't raped--"
"Maybe your body wasn't, but your mind was," Arthur said sternly, ignoring the way his eyes stung and the lump in his throat. "And you need to acknowledge that, otherwise you're going to carry that weight for the rest of your life."
Harry glanced up at the ceiling, then down to where the pygmy puffs were playing, and then shrugged his shoulders. "It'll be fine," he said stubbornly.
"No, it won't," Arthur countered. "You'll always be expecting one of us to finally blame you, won't you? You'll think that I'll come to my senses, that you'll feel like you owe us something for loving you."
Harry's shoulders slumped, and Arthur knew that he was finally breaking through to him. He took a step forward. "You don't owe us anything," he said thickly. As much as he was trying to push Harry, he realized that he was pushing himself, too. "None of us dreamt of blaming you four years ago. And knowing what I do now of what happened, what you did for her, for my daughter, I'm... humbled."
"Please don't," Harry breathed.
"Humbled," Arthur repeated firmly. "Humbled and grateful, and I will be until the day I die. That is never going to change. You died for her."
"Not really."
"But you meant to. And as much as I've wanted to thank you -- ever since you brought her home -- it still... it kills me that you -- both of you -- were placed in that horrible position."
"I didn't save her life, she saved mine," said Harry, in an anguished voice.
"Had you actually died, how long do you think she would have survived?"
Harry appeared to have run out of arguments. Silence hung in the air, making it heavy and thick. It was almost unnatural, how quiet everyone else in the room was; strange enough that Arthur wondered if his spell had failed. His eyes caught Fred's, who gave him a surreptitious thumbs up. He looked back at Harry just in time to see him stumble forward (Arthur suspected that Ginny had given him a little push). Arthur caught him, and didn't let go.
He gathered him up in exactly the same way he'd done with all of his children, when they'd been young and frightened or hurt. For a moment, Harry was tense, and then... he broke. Tentatively, Harry hugged him back, and rested his head on Arthur's shoulder. "It's okay, it's all right," Arthur murmured.
Harry's shoulders shook, and hot tears wet Arthur's shoulders. He mumbled; Arthur couldn't understand the words, but he knew enough that the four year old wound was finally being lanced. He glanced over at Ginny, who also had tears sliding down her face, but she managed a smile at him nevertheless.
"It's all right," Arthur said again, certain, for once, that it was true.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
Harry wasn't alone for very long before Ginny came to find him. The moonlight flickered over the pond; it felt much later than it actually was. It was hard to believe that it had only been a few hours since Stuart Method, Elizabeth Barnett, and Aisling Powell had come banging on his door. Muted anger made his belly twinge. But even that was fading. Ginny and Arnold were fine. In some strange way, Ginny was even more than fine.
Harry had no clue whether it was the fact that he'd cried (which was sort of embarrassing), or Mr. Weasley's words (which had been incredibly humbling), or Arnold's recovery, or just a combination of everything that had happened tonight, but Harry hadn't felt this unburdened since Cedric Diggory's death. It was startling to realize that he wouldn't find the question "are you all right?" to be so intrusive and jarring. He could answer in the positive.
Her light steps crunched the rocks beneath her feet as she made her way to the boulder upon which he sat.
"Ask me if I'm all right," he ordered.
"Are you all right?" she asked, only a hint of wariness in her voice.
"I am," he said.
Ginny didn't say anything more, just came to stand in front of where he sat on his boulder. Up close, he saw that her face was still swollen and blotchy. But he only had a brief impression before she wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly. Harry returned her embrace, kissing the top of her head, and resting his cheek against it. They didn't really need to say anything; more than enough had already been said, and Harry wanted to savor how he felt. Ginny didn't need him to explain it to her; she already understood.
Her hands stroked his back. For long moments, he drew comfort from her touch. And even when they slid under his sweatshirt and shirt and caressed him, he didn't think about sex. Not until her fingers dipped into his trousers and boxers and curled around his hips did his body feel very hot all of a sudden. "Here?" he said in a higher voice than normal. He couldn't really deny that she was deliberately arousing him. Gooseflesh erupted on his stomach and chest and he hardened further when her hands came up, and her thumbs rubbed against his nipples.
Instead of answering him, she pulled back a little, and murmured two spells. The boulder was suddenly much warmer -- almost hot -- and much softer. Ginny leaned over, and her breasts brushed against his thigh. Unfortunately, Harry couldn't forget exactly where they were. It wasn't like making love to her around Hogwarts, her family was--
"Don't think so much, Harry," she said softly. Her hands were at his belt, tugging on it, undoing it. "They won't come out here. They'll give us privacy, after what happened."
Yeah, but if they knew what was happening, they probably wouldn't be so happy with me, Harry thought darkly. She must have guessed at his thoughts, for she distracted him by rubbing his penis through his trousers. Sucking in a breath, he allowed her to pull his trousers down his hips and free him before he fully realized exactly what was happening. Her thumb circled the head of it, and her other hand stroked his sides. "Ginny, that's"--he intended to tell her that they couldn't do thishere--"wonderful. Don't stop."
For she had just gripped him tightly, slowly moving her hand up and down. He squirmed. "We're pretty far away from the Burrow," he said, convincing himself. "And we'd hear them," he added. There would be no way that any of the Weasleys could make it close enough to see anything without them knowing it. He hissed when she withdrew her hand. "And even if they do see us, I'll Obliviate them, I swear I will," he vowed earnestly.
Instead of replying, she reached out and cupped his neck with her hand and pulled him closer, giving him a kiss so heated that he thrust against her stomach. Given his position, this almost made him topple off the boulder. She pulled back a little, resting her head on his shoulder, and caressing his sides. He brought his own hands up to her back, rubbing it, and then moved to stroke her breasts.
"Not yet," she said shakily, moving slightly, until she was crouched a little. "I've been reading your book," she admitted.
Harry stared at her. Her bright hair was spread out over his legs, now, and her head and her lips were so close--
"I know exactly where I am," she said, flashing a grin at him. And then she gripped him in one hand, and kissed the tip of his penis. Her tongue flicked out and licked him, and before Harry could respond to the sensations, her mouth closed over him.
It seemed to last forever, but not long enough. Harry couldn't decide what was his favorite part: the suckling, the licking, the stroking, or just the way she combined everything to make it completely brilliant. He tangled his hands in her hair, helping her move her head up and down on his penis, but trying to go slowly. "You amaze me," he mumbled; her hand squeezed his thigh in reply. It was almost too much to concentrate on at once.
His toes curled in his shoes, and dimly he was aware that whenever her mouth enclosed him fully, he groaned. Loudly. His orgasm rushed toward him, starting in the small of his back, tightening the rest of his body, and it took all of his effort not to thrust into her mouth. "I'm close," he said, not really knowing what he should do. "I'm going to -- Ginny -- I'm about to--"
She didn't pull away, but redoubled her efforts until Harry absolutely couldn't hold it in anymore. He flooded into her mouth, and lay back against the boulder, hips involuntarily jerking. Her hand pumped him gently, and her mouth remained locked around him. He panted for breath, unable to focus his thoughts, except to be aware of how incredible that had been. Almost without thinking about it, he reached out for Ginny and pulled her toward him until she was half-leaning, half-laying on top of him.
She nuzzled him and sighed.
Harry tilted her chin up and kissed her slowly, hardly moving his mouth and tongue. She was content to keep the kiss languid and soft. "I keep thinking I can't get any happier," Harry admitted.
"If I'd known that oral sex would make you this happy, I would've done it sooner," she said impishly. But then she raised her eyes to look at him, and he was surprised by the intensity of her expression. "I wish you could see yourself the way we see you," she said.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
It was strange to be back in Ron's bright orange room, gazing up at the ceiling, trying to fall asleep after the events of the day. A horrible day. But... a good day, as well. Harry was still angry, yes. Furious, even. But the sense of coming home overshadowed those negative feelings.
The ghoul decided that the house was much too quiet, and banged on the pipes. Harry turned over on his side, wide-awake despite the late hour, and gazed at the room. Most of Ron's things were still in there -- Ron had not bothered to clean up and move things out. Neither, apparently, had Mrs. Weasley. Comic books detailing the adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle sat on a dusty shelf. Three toads sat croaking quietly in a tank.
In some ways, Harry felt like he had come back to his childhood home, even though the cupboard under the stairs was miles and miles away. And he himself had journeyed very far since he had been twelve years old. On the heels of that thought, Harry's mind strayed to Ginny, and he wondered if she was all right. He'd had enough experience that he knew that she might be feeling frightened now that it was all over.
Almost without him even realizing it, he swung his feet over the bed, stood, and was out the door. It struck him, as he made his way down the stairs, that this probably wasn't the best idea. He imagined that the Weasleys had a good idea they were having sex, but still. They might take exception to the fact that Harry was now sneaking down to her room.
I'm just going to comfort her, if she needs it Harry told himself as he passed Mr. and Mrs. Weasleys bedroom door. His feet were bare, and his footsteps quiet. However, he could not lie to himself. While it was probable that they wouldn't make love, Harry had absolutely no intention of not sleeping beside her. Not tonight. She needed him and he needed her. He paused outside her door and knocked gently. "It's me," he said quietly.
The door swung open almost before the words came out of his mouth, as though she had been waiting for him.
"I've been waiting," she said sheepishly, pulling him inside and closing the door quietly. "I was going to come to you in a minute."
"Your parents won't mind?" Harry asked as she crawled under the covers. He followed her quickly. The bed was smaller than his bed at Hogwarts, and about a quarter of the size of the bed in the master bedroom at Grimmauld Place. It was just as well. He wanted to be as close to her as possible.
She considered his question, appearing to give it a lot of thought. "I don't think they'll mind," she said finally. "I all but announced to them that we're intimate," she added ruefully. But she didn't sound upset about it, and Harry felt a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the closeness of her body. "I know that hearing about it and seeing it are two different things, but..."
Harry drew in a deep breath, and laid his cheek against hers, kissing it softly. She threaded their fingers together and stroked his hand with the pad of her thumb. "Are you all right?" he whispered.
There was a long pause. "I think so," she said. Harry shifted slightly, curling around her and tangling their feet together. "I'm a little afraid," she said.
His arms tightened around her. "You have every right to be," he murmured. "I'm a lot afraid."
She shook her head. "Not of that, not really. Not of Pollux Sennet, and what he did. I'm afraid that I'll get numb again, and... well..." her voice trailed away, but Harry sensed that she wasn't done, so he remained silent. "I feel alive again, and that I'm actually Ginny Weasley, and not -- not... someone else. I know that doesn't make any sense..."
"I think it makes perfect sense," Harry said. He thought her words applied to himself as well. "I don't know where I've been these last few years--"
"--But it hasn't been here," Ginny finished.
"And it's really good to be here," Harry added. And it was true, both physically and metaphorically.
"Really, really good," Ginny said fervently. Her head turned, and Harry could feel her breath on his chin. Moonlight streamed across the pillow, but her face was shadowed, and he could not even see her eyes, let alone read her expression. "It was very indulgent of me to be the way I've been since Malfoy Manor," she admitted.
"What?" Harry said blankly.
"Indulgent," she repeated firmly. "I forgot myself and who I was. And I'm... a little afraid that I'll let that happen again."
Harry privately thought that now that she'd rediscovered her strength, she'd not allow herself to retreat and close off. But there was a thread of genuine fear in her voice that he couldn't ignore. "I wouldn't let you," he told her, squeezing her gently. "Now that I've got you, I'm not letting go." He paused, considering. "Just like you wouldn't let me go back to Grimmauld Place and be alone--"
She stiffened and then, a moment later, relaxed. "I'd drag you back."
Harry dragged the bedclothes up until only their heads poked out, side by side on the single pillow. Now that he was here next to her, he felt sleepy, something that had seemed so unattainable up in Ron's old room. He wondered, ruefully, if he'd come down to comfort her or because he no longer slept well when she wasn't next to him. He slid his hand up under her nightshirt, and stroked the smooth, silky skin he found there.
Just as he closed his eyes, preparing to sleep, she wiggled restlessly against him, adjusting her bare thigh so that his pajama-clad leg was nestled in between hers. Idly, Harry wondered if she was wearing knickers, but pushed that thought away as soon as he had it. Ginny wouldn't want to have sex right now. Not at the Burrow, and not right after the events of the day.
"I love you," he said quietly.
She didn't respond for a moment, but pressed closer, and then stroked his back with her fingertips. Even through his t-shirt, he could feel the light scratch of her nails. "I love you too," she replied. The words evidently made her want to be as close to his as possible, for she shifted until both of her arms were wrapped around him.
His penis, which had been interested in the closeness of their bodies for the past several minutes, twitched inside his pajama bottoms. It didn't help that Ginny kept up running her fingernails up and down his back. Each movement of her hand made her entire body move, and Harry was very aware of her lower body, rocking against his thigh.
"Mmm," Harry groaned, when her hand slipped under his shirt. Her hand was warm, and her thumb brushed down his spine. He couldn't help but press his leg closer.
Stop it, Potter, he told himself sternly. Now you're just being greedy, he added, remembering what had happened on the boulder.
As though mocking him, his penis hardened further. But Harry couldn't blame it entirely. Ginny's hand had given his back one final stroke, and had slid over his sensitive hip, and was now lightly massaging his belly and playing with the little hairs around his navel. His muscles quivered under her touch, and he sucked in a deep breath.
Oh. His head spun when he realized that she was deliberately trying to seduce him. He shifted his leg again, and was rewarded with another movement of her hips as she rubbed herself against him.
"Here and now?" he asked.
"I was hoping so," she said.
In response, Harry rose up on one elbow, tilted his head, and kissed her, slowly and thoroughly. At the same time, he lifted her thigh, and adjusted until his growing arousal was snug against her. He spared a thought for the contraceptive charm he'd used -- one of the many -- and decided to trust that it would, indeed, work for a week before he had to renew it.
For long minutes, Harry just kissed her, concentrating on the feel of her lips on his. He wanted to savor her the way she had savored him earlier, and he was mindful not to push too far... he wanted it to last.
Ginny moved restlessly against him, moaning loudly against his lips.
A thought struck him, and he pulled away suddenly, reaching for his wand, which had fallen to the floor. He flicked it twice, locking the door and casting a silencing charm, both of which would ensure their privacy. As an afterthought, he flicked it again, and the oil lamp beside her bed ignited. As he did so, she rustled under the covers, and a few moments later a pair of knickers sailed past his shoulder and landed on the ground.
Harry tried to return to the slow, lingering kisses, but both of them were too impatient. Ginny rolled onto her back and pulled Harry on top of her, letting out a breathy groan when his hips pressed down onto hers. Harry thrust slowly against her, content to feel her through his pajamas at the moment, and pressed kisses along her neck and across her shoulder.
When she squeezed his bum, pulling him even closer and harder against her, Harry sat back. Her face was flushed, eyes were wide, and her hair was a tousled halo around her head. Her shirt was bunched under her breasts, and her legs were splayed open. Harry let his gaze linger on her red curls. Reaching down, he stroked her with his finger, separating her folds, and was delighted at how wet she was.
"Take off your shirt," he said quietly.
She did so, not saying anything.
He could still see a thin, white scar between her breasts -- it would be gone by morning, he knew -- and he had to fight a surge of anger. Instead, he leaned over her and kissed it, tracing his tongue over it, as though he could hasten the healing. His thumb brushed over her clitoris and she gasped, arching her back.
"I love you," he said again, moving his head so he could kiss her breasts and take her hard nipple into his mouth. He looked up at her; she was watching him. "No one gets to touch you like this," he told her, sliding his finger into her and stroking her slick walls. "No one gets to see you naked, or gets to find out that you really are the loveliest witch in Britain, or gets to know how you taste, smell, and feel."
"I--"
"You're mine," Harry told her.
To his surprise, he felt her walls tighten around his finger, pulsing and fluttering as she climaxed.
"I love you," he said, right before sliding inside her.
----
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Author's Note:
An epilogue is likely forthcoming. And probably outtakes on my livejournal. But this is the last full chapter.