Chapter Fourteen: A Vision in Sakura

Tink. Harry opened his eyes, confused for a moment. Then he smiled. Tink. Plip-plop. Tink. Takashiro was making morning tea in the kitchen. Harry stretched, yawned and reached for his glasses, before rolling over and making his way down the dojo's hallway to join the old man.

He was bent over the oven – he seemed permanently hunched to Harry, more waddling than walking as he painfully manipulated the tea leaves and water as well as the rice for breakfast. While he work, he sang, more under his breath than anything else. "Sakura sakura yayoi no sora ha…"

"James is going to know more Japanese than he knows English by the end of this," Harry said, pausing in the doorway.

To his credit, the old man didn't jump, he just smiled. "It is an old and noble language. Your son could do worse, Potter-san."

.The tiles on the kitchen floor were cold, but Harry hardly noticed them as he gratefully took the cup Takashiro offered. "Thank you, Takashiro-san."

The old master's smile let him know he'd at last managed to find the right suffix. Japanese was a complicated language, Harry thought ruefully, though he'd had more than one argument with the old man about which language was harder to learn, English or Japanese.

"I was singing of the cherry blossoms," Takashiro said, seating himself on the floor. "I am hoping to see them bloom one more time before I die."

Harry nodded, more familiar with that feeling than he would have liked. "I remember when I thought I had seen my last Christmas."

"It is the thought of mortality that makes men foolishly sentimental," Takashiro said, sighing. "In my younger days I promised myself I would not linger over the golden times. I suppose one cannot help it when you get to be my age."

"Young men aren't immune to it either," Harry muttered, staring out the window at the house's lawn. Takashiro lived simply, and in his yard he kept a few animals. The grass moved softly in the early morning breeze as late autumn swept over Japan.

"We linger too long on evening-thoughts for so early in the morning," Takashiro said brightly. "Come, share my tea with me, Potter-san, and we'll talk of this dragon you met when you were fourteen."

Harry laughed. It was nice to remember something of Hogwarts, of his time there that wasn't painful. He was so engrossed in the conversation that he hardly noticed Ginny entering the room, carrying a fussy James in her arms.

"Good morning," Ginny said, eyes bleary and tired. "Your son is awake. And I need coffee." She had a tendency to speak in short, declarative sentences first thing in the morning.

"Here, let me take him while you do that," Harry said, holding out his arms. The moment James settled in his arms, he felt a sense of peace come over him. James made everything he and Ginny had gone through the last few months worth it.

Ginny poured a mug of coffee as she exchanged morning pleasantries with Takashiro, her voice low and soothing to both Harry and James. Harry ran his finger down his son's cheek wonderingly. He never quite got used to this strange blending of himself and Ginny. Often, he found himself wondering what his son would be like when he got older – which personality traits he would take from Ginny or Harry, what gestures he would pick up.

Takashiro assisted Ginny while they talked, helping her assemble a breakfast, moving in that slow manner so characteristic of him. There was a certain economy of movement to him, though. Harry noticed, with his Auror eyes, that Takashiro never did anything that wasn't absolutely necessary and did things in ways that were certain to cause him the least amount of pain.

"Do you want to change him later this morning?" Ginny asked, sitting down next to Harry a bit awkwardly.

Harry grinned. "All right, Ginny. I'd love to do that."

"I know," Ginny said smugly and sighed into her tea. "I am going to miss the tea here, Takashiro-san. Everyone says there's nothing like English tea, but there's something about the way you make it."

"English tea," Takashiro said, shaking his head slowly, settling into his spot on the floor next to Ginny. "Flavorless and bland like so many things English. Japanese tea will wake you in the morning and put you to sleep at night. Like it should." He nodded his head once, firmly, and Harry and Ginny exchanged amused glances.

"Your brothers should be making progress," Harry said, his eyes still on James, even though the motions of caring for a baby were becoming second nature to him. "Weasleys never move slowly or subtly towards a goal." Ginny coughed. "Except for you, dear."

"Thank you," Ginny said primly.

"That was always the problem with Weasley-san," Takashiro said, deftly maneuvering some of his morning rice between two chopsticks. "He never took the time to fully investigate the situation. Just rushed in and handled things as he came. He took many more burns than he should have."

"Charlie always was a bit of an idiot," Ginny said, though Harry could hear the affection in her voice. There was a moment of silence before she continued. "Ron promised me an update later, when it's not so early in the morning here and it's in the early evening there."

"He sounded excited about something the last time we spoke," Harry said. "Part of me is glad we're here, safe, but another part of me wants to be back in England going after this guy personally."

Takashiro hmphed. "It is a lesson we all must learn, Potter-san, that sometimes we must put our trust and our lives in the hands of others. It is an exercise in faith. When given freely, faith is rarely betrayed, especially at the hands of friends and family. It is best that you are here, where the ocean can protect your wife and your child. Patience, Potter-san, is always rewarded."

Harry nodded. He oftentimes caught hints of the type of wisdom Dumbledore had possessed in the ancient Japanese man. Ginny shot Harry a look full of meaning, and Harry quelled his rising impatience and itching feet. Just as Ginny had waited for him years ago, Harry could wait until he would be useful again.

James finished the bottle and gave a happy sigh. Harry lifted him to his shoulder and began the process of burping him, rising to his feet and patting the baby's back rhythmically. Though he was still dressed in his typical pajamas, a simple white t-shirt that he often abandoned in the night and plaid flannel pants, he stepped outside the dojo anyway, letting the sun warm his feet, which grew cold from sitting on the floor. He paced along the porch of the house, absorbed in his thoughts and the feeling of his son settled securely on his shoulder.

Eventually, James gave a satisfying belch, and Harry grinned. "We'll work on it, James. That was about a 4.5, I'd say."

"Is the Russian judge out today?" Ginny asked, sliding the door to the house shut as she stepped outside.

"I've heard Ron belch. James can do better, given his genetics," Harry said with a wink. "Are you wanting your son back?"

"No, I just thought I'd come out here and enjoy my two men," Ginny responded, wrapping an arm around his waist.

Harry felt a shudder dance up and down his back. "There were days when I was sure I would never survive to see you again," he said softly, "let alone have children together. Everything from this point on is just icing on the cake."

Ginny smiled. "That's a very positive way to look at midnight feedings."

"Just so long as they're midnight feedings in-between uninterrupted hours of sleep," Harry said. "You're still dream free, right?"

Her smile grew sad for a moment, then she nodded. "I sort of miss your mum. I mean, mine's great. I can Floo her anytime and ask her questions and she's got answers, but…"

He swallowed and nodded, surprised at the dull pain in his chest. "I miss her too."

"Oh, Harry," Ginny said, her voice breaking, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be insensitive…"

He shook his head strongly. "You're not. It's nice to know… It's nice to know there's somebody else who can understand."

"They were special people," she said softly. "To sacrifice so much…"

"I understand it now, I think," Harry said. "Now that I have you and James. I understand why my dad stood up to Voldemort without a wand, why my mum never thought twice about it. I understand because I'd do the same."

Ginny absorbed that for a moment, then laid a gentle kiss on Harry's shoulder, since that was as high as she could reach without going on tip-toe. "Me too."


Ron slammed open the door to his office, cursing under his breath. It was 4:30 p.m., and he wasn't any further along with getting permission to cast Surveillance Charms on Corwick Creevy than he had been at 9:00 a.m. when he'd rolled in to work. He had a few of his Aurors watching him, but until the meeting with Percy, during which they hoped to catch him saying something incriminating, the Ministry officials had been steadfast on their claim that he hadn't enough evidence to waste resources "babysitting" a Muggle.

"This is the problem with the bloody world," he ranted, pulling open a file case with a bit more ferocity than it probably deserved. "We keep underestimating the bloody Muggles and it comes back to bite us on the…"

"Ronald Weasley," the voice of his wife cut through his tirade like a knife through butter. Ron turned and faced Hermione, who appeared to be mostly amused, though she was holding Andrew's hand.

"Hi daddy!" His son greeted him, pulling free of Hermione's hand and running to wrap his arms around Ron's leg.

"What are you two doing here?" He asked, picking Andrew up and settling him on his hip.

"Your secretary sent us on through," Hermione said easily, settling herself on the desk and rubbing her stomach contentedly. "He said that you could use some positive energy."

"You could say that," Ron muttered under his breath.

"Did you catch any bad guys?" Andrew wanted to know. His dad was his hero. Everyone knew that, besides Uncle Harry, his dad was the best wizard in the whole world, though Andrew had his suspicions that even Uncle Harry wasn't quite as good his Dad. Those children that didn't know that were very swiftly corrected.

"I'm trying to. There's one out there that I'm having a bit of a time with," Ron said, jiggling Andrew a bit and making him giggle.

"Did they block the papers, then?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow.

"They say I don't have enough evidence." Ron coughed at the expression on Hermione's face. "I know they're right. If this was anybody but Harry and Ginny I wouldn't let one of my Aurors get away with it either. It's just so frustrating to know but to not have proof!"

Andrew frowned. He wasn't sure what exactly was going on, but he was his mother's child and what he didn't know, he made his mission to find out. One of the best ways to do that was to listen. So he stuck his thumb in his mouth (his mom wasn't paying attention anyway and it helped him think, so there) and paid very close attention.

"There's an ocean between Creevy and Harry and Ginny," Hermione said soothingly. "That buys you a little time and a little distance. Tomorrow's the meeting with Percy and Creevy. He's bound to slip up sometime."

"Percy threw his whole weight behind getting those papers through," Ron said, gritting his teeth a bit. "Creevy has somebody here at the Ministry trying to make things easier for him."

"Fudge is dead, so there goes the obvious choice," Hermione said, tapping her fingers on the desk.

"I thought our days of trying to root out corruption in the Ministry were long over," Ron said with a sigh.

"Where there is government, there will be corruption," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "Have you thought about calling in a favor with Kingsley?"

Ron bit his lip. "I thought about it. I want to do this the right way, but I don't want to sacrifice Harry or Ginny or James for my sense of fair play. Kingsley could sign the papers himself and he does owe me."

"He owes Harry, too," Hermione said softly. "There can't be any harm in it. All our instincts are pointing towards Creevy. Even Remus says so. If he's using a wizard to try and drain away Ginny's sanity, then they might find a way to track them, especially now that the research on Magical Tracing has come so far."

"I guess we don't have much of a choice then, do we?" Ron asked. "How do you feel about going to see the Minister, Andrew?"

With a soft pop, Andrew drew his thumb from his mouth and nodded enthusiastically.

"All right then. Hermione, you want to come too? It might as well be a Weasley family field trip."

Hermione nodded. "Kingsley will understand that it's a family decision this way. Do you want to carry Andrew through the Floo?"

"Makes more sense. You've already got a passenger." They exchanged a quick kiss and very soon after, the offices of Ronald Weasley were empty.

The same could not be said for Kingsley Shacklebolt's office. Half of Britain seemed to be seated in the lounge area, and he had three secretaries seated at very large desks, sending off messages and answering them at blazing speeds. One of them, a doe-eyed woman with oval glasses, looked up when Ron and Hermione entered the room and jumped to her feet.

They had never gotten used to getting the same amount of attention and respect that Harry and gotten all of his life, but Ron had to admit that in certain circumstances it sure made life a lot easier. She rushed forward and soon Ron and Hermione found their hands enveloped and shook enthusiastically in turn.

"Mr. and Mrs. Weasley! Oh, and you brought little Mr. Weasley, too! I saw your wedding pictures in Witch Weekly. I thought your gown was just divine. I'm getting married in June and I've gone to every shop in London trying to find something like it…"

"It's a Muggle design," Hermione said faintly.

"Oh, that's the problem! I seemed to remember reading that, but I just couldn't imagine it actually being done by a Muggle. It just seemed so well made! Not that Muggles don't know how to make clothing, but it often lacks a certain… iridescence, bless their hearts. Are you here to see the Minister?"

Ron was beginning to develop the slightly nauseous feeling he had got whenever Lavender and Pavarti started to chatter a million miles a minute, like he was on a broom spinning wildly out of control with no end in sight.

"Yes, thank you," Hermione said firmly.

"He's actually in today, lucky for you! So often anymore he's out and about on field work, trying to rebuild this and that. Spends most of his time going over that Azkaban research with the Experimental Magic Division…. Oops! That's supposed to be secret. Oh well, you won't tell that I slipped, will you? I've got terrible problems saying what I oughtn't. Minister Shacklebolt says that's okay, I don't know enough to get anyone in trouble anyway. Oh dear, you both look a bit shell-shocked. I should stop nattering on and on, shouldn't I?"

"It might be a good idea," Ron said under his breath. Hermione elbowed him in the gut, but not as hard as she would have if she didn't feel the same way.

"You're just a bit nervous. It's fine," Hermione said reassuringly. "Do you think you could let Kingsley know that we're here to see him?"

"I have standing orders to bring you right on through, if you ever are to show up. Well, you and Mr. Potter. Imagine seeing him in real life! Oh, I bet you two do, though. He's probably just as gorgeous in real life, isn't he? Don't tell me. I don't want my dreams ruined. I would just be destroyed if he had an acne problem or something. I've always said Ginny Potter was a lucky woman, even when she was just Ginny Weasley. Every picture in every magazine they had of the two of them together, his eyes were always locked on her. Makes a woman a bit jealous, doesn't it? Though I don't suppose you would know, Mrs. Weasley, since Mr. Weasley's the same way."

Hermione coughed. "Yes, well. Do you think you could show us to Kingsley's office, now?"

Amazingly enough, the young woman never ran out of things to say the entire length of the corridor to Kingsley's office, and Ron was feeling thoroughly befuddled as she knocked briskly on the door.

At the sound of Kingsley's, "enter", the secretary stuck her head through the door. "Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Weasley to see you, sir."

There was a low chuckle on the other side of the door. "You'd better show them through while they still have ears, Lucinda."

She opened the door to the Minister's office and Ron, Hermione and Andrew stepped through. Ron and Hermione had been here before, but Andrew hadn't. He got the sense that the man behind the big cherry desk was very important.

"Ron! Hermione! So glad to see you! Why don't you come right on in? And you brought your son to see me. Andrew, is it?"

Sliding down his father's leg, he walked across the room and stood in front of the desk and held his hand out. "Andrew Weasley, sir. I'm three years old and I'm pleased to meet you." Since that seemed to garner his mother's approval, Andrew didn't mind so much that the big man laughed before he shook Andrew's offered hand.

"Sorry to disturb you like this, Minister, but there's some issues that need to be resolved, as quickly as possible," Ron said, seating himself on a chair that Kingsley had gestured to.

"Ah, yes. It would have to be something important for you to override the traditional process," Kingsley said, settling a pair of reading glasses on his face. "You have the appropriate documents for me?"

"I do. It's regarding casting Surveillance Charms on a Muggle who we believe is using his connections to the Wizarding world to attack Harry and Ginny Potter."

Kingsley waved a hand. "No need for the explanation, Weasley. Leave me a copy. I'll sign the paperwork and read this when I have a moment. You should know that you and your family have my complete trust. I can't thank you enough for all you've done for Britain, Ron. Signing a piece of paper is the least I can do."

With a flourish, he crossed the last "t", and Ron and Hermione and Andrew took their leave shortly thereafter.


Author's Note: Sakura are the cherry blossoms that bloom once a year, in spring. Takashiro is singing a traditional Japanese folk song at the beginning of this chapter entitled "Sakura, Sakura". Its melody reminded me strikingly of "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star"… which is a favorite of my young cousin. I decided it was perfect.

Japanese people, particularly those more traditional, do not have tables with chairs, they sit on the floor… they sit seiza. For those unaccustomed to this position, it is extremely uncomfortable.

Without the help of Kat Morning, who is something of an expert on Japanese culture, much of the beginning of this wouldn't be as accurate. Thanks to her and Daily Prophet Reporting for all their hard work