ACT 3: The Plot Thickens…Heck, it Practically Coagulates!
Diagon Alley,
23 December.
"That Weasley harlot is getting married to the Boy-Who-Lived," yelled the young woman, "and I'm left out here in the lurch!"
The witch paced around the dusty flat, noting with distaste the dirty dishes in the sink, the bills on the kitchenette and the dirty, unmade bed. Freelance reporting for the Daily Prophet had hit a new low, as that infernal toe-rag the Quibbler had beaten them soundly the past few months, riding a wave of publicity following the now-infamous 'Potter interviews'.
Why Harry continually gave reports to the Quibbler and not to the far more reliable Prophet, the witch was certain she would never know. But the question now was, how to stop the impending disaster that was sure to interfere with her own plans for the Boy-Who-Lived?
The witch stopped pacing for a moment, and plucked a false ruby from her fashion faux pas eyewear, and laid it on the table, weighing down the bills. This shoddy piece of workmanship was only good for a couple of Galleons, but hopefully it would stave off the bloody landlady until her big scoop came in.
If it ever did.
There was at least a few thousand Galleons in a vault buried far below Gringotts, but only accessible to the witch if she got her claws into Harry Potter…and now that Weasley woman had gotten the bloody grand prize!
If this kept up she might even have to woo Malfoy. Ugh.
Unless… Unless she, the greatest Prophet reporter of all time, could somehow seduce Harry away from making the biggest mistake of his life. Yes. He would be far better off with her. She could cook, she was a great typist…and…and…and her skills in bed were definitely far more advanced than that Weasley girl! Pah!
So for Christmas this year, her present to Harry would be to show him how well she kissed…amongst other things.
Looking out the window, she saw Harry Potter walk briskly past her and enter a shop further down the street. That was it then. Time to get the boy, she thought grimly, as she hurriedly changed into what she nicknamed her 'seduction suit'.
"Merlin," said Fred, ruefully rubbing his neck where a well-placed Stinging Hex had made him experience a world of pain that would have matched Nearly-Headless Nick's not-so-final moments. "Ever seen Harry blow up like that?"
"You might even have thought that Harry hated us," said George, pulling on his socks gingerly over a massive blister.
"Bet you looked funny though, when he hit you with that last jinx. Who ever thought his Furnunculus Curse was that good?" chuckled Fred.
"It was his favourite back in fourth-year, nitwit. You might try and help me get rid of these boils instead of bouncing around," muttered George darkly. "Can hardly piss without having to…"
"Okay, okay," said Fred hastily, drowning out the rest of his twin brother's words. "I'll look up the counter-curse."
"Blast and bebother the counter-curse! Cho Chang will find him and renew the Imperius or whatever it is she's doing on him. She's supposed to be dating Roger Davies. Maybe if we snap a few photos of him and her together, we'll be able to enlist him to…"
But Fred's hurried flight out of the shop was already announced by the frenzied slamming of doors.
The Leaky Cauldron.
"An astute choice, Mr. Potter," nodded Griphook.
"Please, Griphook…call me Harry."
He watched as the goblin raised the ring to catch some of the light from the fireplace; snarling in satisfaction, Griphook nodded as the twin ruby and emerald jewels threw dazzling red-and-green light over the table.
The two friends sat in the Leaky Cauldron, a goblet of pumpkin juice for Harry – Griphook had gone for redcurrant rum – and two recently-cleared plates that had once contained leg of lamb in black pepper sauce.
The goblin had decided to spend his off-day in the Leaky Cauldron, and Harry, Apparating to Diagon Alley, had spotted Griphook there. He wanted his friend's appraisal of the ring, and entered the pub immediately.
"But something is lacking, Mr. Potter…Harry," said the goblin.
Harry froze, his goblet in mid-air. "What's wrong?"
"The emerald and ruby represents the union of Miss Weasley and yourself. Green and red, correct?"
Harry nodded. "Yes."
"But that is merely the centerpiece of the ring. What about the band of gold? What unique addition can you make to set off the ring, complement its exceptional design?" Griphook traced the ring with a gnarled finger to emphasise his words.
"What would you suggest," asked Harry. He put down the goblet.
"I do not know, Harry. Perhaps an inscription on the inside? Some loving words, maybe "semper fidelis," or "draco dormiens numquam tittilandus?"
"The Hogwarts motto? Never tickle a sleeping dragon? Surely you can do better than that, Griphook," laughed Harry, as he drained his goblet of pumpkin juice. "What's semper fidelis anyway?"
"Always faithful. Another popular saying is semper paratus."
"Which is?"
Griphook paused for effect before answering. "Always ready, which would give a different connotation altogether."
It's a record. I'm listening to goblin locker-room jokes, thought Harry wryly. "Okay. I think I'll spend the next day or two thinking about it. But if I can, I want to propose before Christmas."
Griphook shrugged.
"How goes it between you and Arachnea?" asked Harry.
Griphook grimaced. "I am none too sure about that end, Harry. Arachnea is going more and more insane by every passing day, speaking of elopement, hunger strikes, and the like. However, at least her father is not unwilling to hear my plea."
"I'm sorry," said Harry. He knew how it was, having a loved one and unable to do anything with her. Forced to watch by the sidelines.
"I have to go, Harry," said Griphook, as he called for the bill. "I only took half the day off, and Gringotts has a shipment of rubies coming in from Ophir, as well as several thousand Galleons' worth of star sapphires from Atlantis. They will need my assistance in certifying the valuer's figures."
"Let me get the bill," said Harry.
"Thank you. It was a fine luncheon."
Harry strolled out to Diagon Alley, and decided to head to Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour after taking leave of Griphook.
The elderly wizard welcomed Harry profusely as he walked in. Florean Fortescue insisted on pressing a free peppermint and chocolate-chip sundae into his hands.
"After all," said Mr. Fortescue, "you did save me from those awful Death Eaters."
"Err…yeah…thanks," said Harry, trying to avoid a scene in the crowded shop. Luckily no-one saw the exchange, and he managed to find an obscure booth in a corner to think out his plans.
Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour.
Twenty Minutes later.
Lost in his thoughts concerning the ring, Ginny, and the bloody Weasley twins, he failed to see the witch's approach until she was sitting across the table from him.
"Hello, Harry," she cooed in what she imagined was a sultry tone of voice.
The sundae spoon clattered to the table, sliding from nerveless fingers. Harry quickly shut his gaping mouth and picked up the spoon hastily.
"Hi."
Cho Chang wore a spaghetti-strap tank top that bared an impressive expanse of cleavage, the bottom hem reaching to a point just under her breasts, exposing a flat, tapered stomach, all the way to the top of her tight, low-cut, form-fitting jeans. The outfit was somewhat marred by the butterfly glasses that reminded Harry forcibly of Rita Skeeter's eyewear, complete with fake jewels, but it didn't stop male passers-by from doing a double-take.
"I was passing by," she continued, tucking a lock of hair behind an ear. "So, Harry…how's your life lately? Got a girlfriend yet?"
Merlin, she gets down to the bottom of it real fast doesn't she, thought Harry. "Er, ya, sort of," he said. "Ginny." He began eating his sundae quickly.
Diagon Alley.
"Look, mate, they're in that shop over there," pleaded Fred Weasley. "Just snap a pic of them both, and make sure we get a good one."
"You sure you're not putting me on?" growled Colin Creevey suspiciously. "I'm quite busy you know. There's a photo montage the boss wanted of Diagon Alley, for a Christmas write-up. I only freelance for the Prophet, I can get fired if I'm late…"
"Don't worry. I'm quite sure they're at Fortescue's," said Fred grimly.
"What if Harry finds out?"
"There is no bloody way he could know. You could simply say you were taking pictures of someone else."
Walking swiftly past, his camera slung carelessly beneath his arm, Colin took a couple of discreet shots, pretended to survey the menus and signboards before turning back. The magical Polaroid camera printed out the photos happily.
Fred waited impatiently as the blackness cleared, blowing on the Polaroids constantly. When he got the pictures, he whistled inadvertently.
"Whoa," he said reverently. "You are one heck of a clandestine reporter."
"Since this is for Harry's own good, I'll only charge you a Sickle per shot," muttered Colin.
"You push hard, but it's a done deal. Just make sure Ginny doesn't know that Harry…"
"Doesn't know that Harry what?" came a suspicious voice from behind.
Fred and Colin whirled around, identical guiltily-nonchalant looks on their faces.
"Nothing," said Fred quickly. "Harry just…uh…smashed his Firebolt in a fit of temper…" he said, as Colin tried to put the glossy photographs back into his knapsack.
He fumbled one of them, muttered "Damn!" as a glossy five-by-five dropped to the floor. Fred wasn't helping things by constantly speaking in loud voices at Ginny to ensure she didn't see anything.
"Look, Ginny, dragon liver for eleven Sickles only," said Fred, too loudly, pointing in a random direction.
Poor Colin reached for the Polaroid, but Ginny hadn't been the brightest witch in her year for nothing. Quick as a flash, her wand was out.
"I don't want to hex you, Colin," she murmured. Her eyes flashed dangerously. "Let me see that!"
"Damn," muttered Fred. "Oh, damn…" He fumbled in his pockets for a Dungbomb or Decoy Detonator, but he remembered belatedly that he'd left them all on his dresser.
When she looked up, Ginny's bottom lip was trembling. Fred put out a hand to comfort his sister, but she ducked and ran down to Florean Fortescue's, dashing her right cuff angrily across her eyes.
"What have we done?" whispered Colin.
"So, I told Romilda, 'well, Harry and I used to date,' and she was like, 'No bloody way!'…and then I…"
"Look, I'm sure you'll get along great with Romilda, but I really have to…" Harry tried to take his hand off the table, but Cho grabbed it with a fervent look in her eyes. Her other hand came up to stroke it gently.
"I have to…" began Harry again, racking his brains for something he had to do.
She pretended not to hear. "You know, Madame Puddifoot's has an offer right now. Five-course Turkey a la king set meal for only five Sickles per head. You want to go for it?"
"Later, thanks," said Harry, extricating his hand as she skilfully tried to intertwine her fingers with his, hastily finishing his sundae with his other hand and dropping two Sickles on the table. "Uhh…I have to go meet someone." He rose and tried to evacuate before anything happened.
"Hey, don't go so fast, Harry," chided Cho Chang mockingly. "It's very rude to abandon a girl you know, especially when she's your ex-girlfriend…"
She had a hand on his arm now, and he tried angrily to shake it off. What in the world did she think she was doing? His face burned with anger and embarrassment.
"Let…go…of…me…now!" he hissed.
People were starting to look around now. Harry swore, tore his arm loose and made for the door, only for his entire world to collapse around him.
The hurt look on Ginny's face was unmistakable. Her chocolate eyes were drooped and moist, but the fact that really tore Harry's heart to pieces was the fact that she wasn't mad, wasn't angry, wasn't pissed off…just disappointed and heart-broken.
Then she Disapparated.
Harry reached out an arm, as if to follow her, then stopped. He swore as he shot a furious glance at Cho and stormed out of the shop, Disapparating from the sidewalk outside.
Cho, finally understanding the enormity of the situation, thoroughly regretted her hasty, impassioned actions. This was not what she wanted to do to Harry. She didn't want to leave a bitter after-taste in Harry's mouth as to who or what Cho Chang was. She wasn't a vengeful slut who intended to ruin Harry's life for her own selfish needs. She wasn't!
Almost close to tears herself, she Disapparated too.
The entire exchange had taken place without a word, and it was thirty-eight seconds exactly since Harry had risen from his seat.
No. 3, Godric's Hollow.
Marble monuments dotted the landscape, each a testimony to the fallen witch or wizard who lay beneath. Ordinary people, they were businessmen, merchants, engineers, artists, Ministry employees, people from all walks of life…who had banded together under the aegis of Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix to combat the menace of Voldemort and his Death Eaters.
The private cemetery was heavily-warded against Muggle or wizard intrusion, and only accessible to certain people through a footpath.
The footpath wound its way through an impressive garden of lilies. In spring, a shimmering golden carpet of tiger lilies streaked with black spots covered the fields, and shady trees lined the footpath.
Harry walked through the field, now covered with snow. He knew very well what the tiger lily connoted, and his destination was the grave of one Lily Evans Potter, which was at the end of the footpath, amongst the cluster of Order of the Phoenix tablets that surrounded it.
Tiger lilies, he thought. They meant "I dare you to love me", he remembered. He shook his head to clear his head of random thoughts, glancing at the graves along the path.
On each and every headstone of white marble, a phoenix was etched in and coloured a brilliant fiery red, streaked with orange and yellow. The artist must have done them magically, for the symbol looked almost alive, so realistic it was.
Harry glanced at the first grave. A golden legend read "Benjy Fenwick", along with a picture of a smiling man with a blue bowler hat that had a feather perched in it. The next grave was the same, phoenix and all. Only the picture changed and the name was different. Dorcas Meadowes. A black woman wearing a blouse, golden hoop earrings and a scarf tied around her pigtailed black hair stared back at Harry and waved happily.
Harry passed more names, then stopped at a monument that marked the halfway mark on the park's winding footpath. Tears stung the back of his eyes, but not for the man that this monument marked, no. He had accepted his death and moved on already. But still he lingered at this memorial.
A square block of white marble was the roost of a gigantic phoenix, huge, fiery, orange and red feathers swept back, two clawed feet standing protectively on either side of a nest of eggs. Four eggs.
He knew that on each of those eggs was etched a crest. The Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and – yes, that too – the Slytherin coat of arms. Very few people knew this. Even fewer knew that on the inside of the nest was emblazoned the Hogwarts crest, while upon the inside walls were carved the words, "Draco Dormiens Numquam Titillandus."
Four animals adorned the four corners of the block of white marble. The first was a realistic lion, crouched ready to spring on the north corner of the block, regal golden fur topped with a beautiful brown mane. Four cubs, two male and two female, stood protectively about the lion. A yellow eagle on the west corner spread its wings, about to take off, beak stretched open in defiant cry, egrets between its legs.
The south corner was guarded by a ferocious badger, claw raised in mid-air, killing-stroke frozen and memorialized forever, while its offspring clustered about its flanks. The east corner sported a cobra, hood raised, fangs extended, coiled protectively about a clutch of eggs, one of which had cracked open and exposed a baby snake.
The north-west face of the marble block had gold lettering on it. "The Garden of the Phoenixes. In Memoriam: Albus Dumbledore."
But Harry knew the august Headmaster's body did not lie here. The founder of the Order of the Phoenix lay on the lawns of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where he had given his life to safeguard Harry, Draco Malfoy, Snape and the rest of the school.
He thought back to the final battle as he continued the walk down the path, which circled the grave and led to the very center. Malfoy, Snape and Peter Pettigrew had turned on their master. Wormtail, who finally redeemed himself as a Marauder, giving his life to weaken Voldemort. Snape, who lived up to the dead Headmaster's expectations, together with his protégé, Malfoy, passing on secrets to the Trio, revealing the Horcrux locations time and time again.
Harry sighed, as he passed by the graves of Malfoy and Snape. As he squatted down in front of Malfoy's grave, the square-jawed wizard in the picture scowled, then relaxed his features to almost benevolence. Harry still remembered his last words.
"…forgive me, Harry…"
He looked to the other grave, on the right. Severus Snape stared back at him calmly, giving a curt nod. Harry could remember his last words too, as the Half-Blood Prince died in his arms, delivered calmly, with a complete lack of anger or mockery. Full of peace, calm…and an adoration equal, if not more, as that shown by his godfather Sirius.
"…James saved my life, but you saved my soul. How I hate you Potters…" And his finger traced Harry's scar with exact precision, recalling the great skill of the Potions master, strength now dwindling with each millimetre travelled. At the tip of the lightning-bolt the finger fell away, and Severus Snape exhaled his last.
Harry blinked to clear away the memories, pulled his winter robes tighter around him to clear the sudden chill, and continued down the winding path that led to the epicentre of the entire park. Finally, he reached it. Set like a bulls' eye in the center of the circular cemetery.
A marble square, slightly smaller than the one which marked Dumbledore's passing, announced to all the four graves that lay here. This time, the face was pointed to the four compass-points, north, south, east and west, instead of the corners. Two graves lay next to each other, facing north. Two others faced west and south.
Pointing towards the north face, a magnificent twenty-point stag regally surveyed the north section of the park, while a graceful doe nuzzled its neck, flank pressed against flank. Along the rim of the north edge, a row of carved tiger lilies adorned the marble.
To the west, a great black hound was captured forever in mid-woof, joyful glee caught in every inch of the heaving flanks, a dog-collar lying broken at his feet. The south face of the marble square featured a mouse sitting on several sheets of parchment, quill in inkpot and wand in hand. A thoroughly embarassed grin was caricatured.
The east face held no grave, but Remus Lupin had already made arrangements for it. A werewolf would stand demurely, legs together like a house-trained dog, quill, wand and parchment at its feet, robes pooled about its hind legs. When the time came, a marble she-werewolf would be added to the tableau.
Harry made his way to the north face, and sat down heavily on the wooden bench that faced the marble. It was a cul-de-sac, bordered by gardens, and the bench was set at the end of the footpath.
This was the garden he, Harry, had built. The resting ground for many witches and wizards of the Order of the Phoenix. The Garden of the Phoenixes.
He sat down for a moment, staring at the stag and its doe. Then at the photographs of the two people the statues represented.
Lily Evans Potter, one read. James Charlus Potter, read the other.
His mum and dad. Harry scooted over a bit so he was perched on the corner of the bench closest to them.
"Hi, Mum. Dad. I've been having a bit of trouble, really. Y'see…there's this witch I like, you know, named Ginny Weasley…smart, pretty, all the usual ones…bit like you really, mum, she's got this gorgeous long red hair too…and, uh…I'm thinking of getting married."
Talking with his parents had become almost commonplace to Harry. He wasn't sure whether it was some form of psychosis or something, but somehow it soothed him to lay bare his feelings before the two silent marble headstones in front of him. More likely it was just that the peaceful surroundings of the park allowed him to order his thoughts properly, but…Harry didn't really know or care.
"I've got a ring already. Emerald and ruby, it's really brilliant. I'm hoping it'll be a marriage with all the joy and understanding you two had as well…I don't know…"
Harry sighed. "Sometimes I lie awake at night…and I…I wonder whether I've made the right choice. I wonder whether she's made the right choice. I wonder what peopel normally do after being married. I wonder how to propose to her. Ever have that problem, Dad? It's so scary all of a sudden, and us guys aren't supposed to be scared, and things like that…"
His voice trailed off. "And this afternoon," he said, beginning anew, "I ran in with Cho. You know who she is. Blimey, I didn't know she was…she was…so irritating. I wonder how I put up with her all fifth-year. And she wanted to have dinner, or something like that…revive our almost non-existent relationship…and I didn't want to!"
Harry's voice had almost raised to a shout. He was furious at the injustice of it all. "I didn't want to," he repeated. "I love Ginny. I love her so much I thought I would tear apart when Voldemort captured her during the battle."
He relived that nightmare again…Voldemort's cackling laughter…his casual killing of Dawlish, Sturgis Podmore and Gawain Robards, who had accosted him during the battle…Ginny's forced calm as she was bound to a wooden post…then, when the final confrontation was over, the tears as she held his battered body close and whispered, "Don't go…I don't know how to live without you…"
"And then she walked in, and saw us," he said dully. "Life is so unfair, Mum. And it's always unfair in other people's favour, not mine…but hey, I wouldn't want it any other way. If it means Neville has to have this scar and…and everything, then I wouldn't want it that way.
"I don't know whether my dreams will come true or not. I can tell you it's mighty boring waiting and waiting and waiting. But if it means someone is miserable because I have a good life, then it's just a bloody waste."
Far away, a pair of birds twittered in the branches of an evergreen. A curious squirrel ran down from one of the trees, and stared at Harry. Then, shrugging, the squirrel scampered away. The silence returned.
"It's been heaven, Mum, Dad, these past few weeks. Everything's over, and I'm happy for the first time in my life. Soon I'll either be happier than I've ever been, or I'll have to step out of the way. I promise I won't forget you two, whatever happens."
A footstep crunched in the snow and gravel behind him. Harry whirled around, wand flipping out with practised ease into his fingers.
The sole Weasley female in generations stood before him, all traces of anger or hurt gone. Her face was blank, but a quiver in her voice told him she was fighting back the tears.
"Harry…I…I…didn't…" she began.
"Gin…I'm sorry, I…" His voice trailed off.
Harry's eyes were smarting now, and then – suddenly, like Apparating – she was in his arms, hands holding tight to his back, and kissing him…tears blinded both, and flowed freely down cheeks before freezing in the cold.
Ginny cried quietly into his shoulder, as he awkwardly stroked the hair on the back of her head, the wildflower scent roaring in his nostrils, the monster in his chest roaring approval, the ring in his pocket roaring to be set free, to sparkle in the daylight, to grace the finger of the woman he loved.
"I was so scared," whispered Ginny, wiping her eyes on Harry's chest. "I really…I mean…Fred and Colin took pictures of you two, and I…"
"Shhh, be quiet," said Harry, but he swore inwardly. He was going to jinx Fred's unmentionables off if the Weasley did not stop this nonsense. No doubt he was trying to help – that much had been made clear to Harry after the dinner fiasco – but this was twice already that such 'help' had backfired!
Never mind. Fred and George would have one more chance.
Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes
"You took your time getting the cure. I already sorted the boils out," grumbled George as Fred darted into the busy shop.
"Oh, was it Murtlap essence?" asked Fred. "Damn, what the hell am talking about!" Quickly he filled George in on everything that had happened.
"Shite," muttered George. "Where's Harry now?"
"I don't know. He's gone. Poof. Vanished. Disapparated somewhere," said Fred.
"P'raps he's at the Burrow?" pondered George.
"No. Not there, I checked. Maybe at Grimmauld Place?"
"You know he hates that place, Fred, old chap," said George. "Maybe Hogwarts?"
"Tchah, whatever for?" scoffed Fred.
"Well what other places are there? The Ministry of Magic?" George spread his hands. "The only places he goes to when he's not working at the Ministry are the Burrow or our shop…"
"No bloody idea," said Fred.
The Garden of PhoenixesThey sat together on the bench, Harry's cloak wrapped about them, their body heat creating a cocoon of warmth which the cloak helped maintain. Ginny's head rested on his chest, in the hollow his neck. His head leaned on hers, the red hair brushing delicately against his cheek and the heady wildflower-scent in his nostrils.
Her arms were wrapped around him. Her fingers on one hand was intertwined with his. Harry's right arm was wrapped protectively around her shoulder, pulling her tight and keeping the cloak wrapped tight about them. It had been an hour since Ginny had subsided, and she was sleeping, sometimes making little purring noises as she snuggled up to him.
Finally, she stirred, moulding her body even closer to Harry's, then sitting bolt upright with a jerk.
"How…how long…?" she began, then caught the grin on his face. Smiling, she pulled him into a tight embrace and kissed him chastely on the lips.
"An hour plus," he said, grinning. "You slept the whole time."
"Yeah, I…uh…" she began sheepishly, "always sleep when I'm unhappy. It's my way of getting away from it all, and I can think about the problem in my sleep and try to solve it."
"Oh?" smiled Harry. Now's as good a time as any, mate, he thought. Time to pop the question. Yeah.
"Umm, Ginny," he began, fumbling in his slacks pocket, "there's something I have to tell you…"
"Well go on," she said. "Don't keep me waiting…"
"Uh…Ginny, will you…uh…" he began, but something caught in his throat. "Uh…we've been together quite a…I mean…uh…"
"What is it?" asked Ginny concernedly. She brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. "You're so cute when you're nervous…"
The physical contact shattered what was left of Harry's courage. Shoving the ring back in his pocket, he forced himself to smile.
"Oh, nothing. It's slipped my mind."
DAMN IT, POTTER! he though wildly.