Disclaimer in Chapter 1.
Chapter XVI: A Mutually Beneficial Arrangement
Dear Ronald,
We have reviewed your request for assistance in the matter previously discussed, and after much (very little, actually) deliberation we have decided not to embark on what is most certainly a suicide mission in the making. We also fully intend to have your mental stability examined by the first competent medi-witch we can find.
If you are dead-set (emphasis on the 'dead', mind you) on getting in Harry's way, then I'd suggest you talk to that girlfriend of yours before you do something irredeemably stupid, like actually get in Harry's way. Honestly, Ronald, how daft can you be?
With love and the promise of flowers (sunflowers) at your funeral,
~Twin 1 and Twin 3.14159
Ron crumpled the parchment angrily, tossing it in the bin as he bit off a few choice curses. He didn't expect them to come straight away to help him, of course, but this was definitely not the sort of letter he thought he'd have gotten from his older brothers. They were the ones who taught him everything he knew about intimidating Ginny's boyfriends, after all.
And they knew he hated it when they called him Ronald. That was just uncalled for.
Scratching his head irritably, Ron leaned back against his pillow and waited for sleep to claim him. It didn't help that Harry hadn't yet returned from his twice-weekly study session with his sister.
Studying, was it?
"I believe Edwards is well-equipped to handle this mission, Sir." Harry looked up from the mission docket and nodded to his Godfather. Sunlight filtered through the charmed glass behind Sirius' chair, illuminating the bright red cover of the docket that read simply, "CLASSIFIED – EYES ONLY"
Sirius' eyebrows rose until they were hidden behind his bangs. "Of course he is," he said in a measured, calculating voice, "I just wanted you to have first crack at it, that's all. Is something important going on at Hogwarts tonight, then?" A mischievous twinkle lit in his eyes as he took the file back from the green-eyed Gryffindor.
"Nothing you would call important, just a small meeting." Harry said, his eyes roaming around his Godfather's office.
The twinkle in Sirius' eye grew as his mind spun with the possibilities. Turning down a mission for a 'small meeting', when he's never turned down a single mission in his entire life. Avoiding eye contact. That means... Harry Potter is lying to me and it's about a girl! Yes!!
Without warning, he enveloped his Godson in a tight hug. "Oh, Prongslet, I never thought I'd see the day..." He sniffed theatrically, squeezing the Boy who Lived as tightly as he could manage.
Harry, who felt his bones creaking under the stress of his Godfather's hug, said in a defeated voice, "It's not what you think, Sir."
"It's exactly what I think." Sirius said with a soft chuckle. "Your father would be proud, Harry."
The Boy who Lived just sighed softly, patting Sirius on the back awkwardly as his godfather pretended to cry. Sirius was so melodramatic sometimes, honestly. It was just a recon mission, and an easy one at that. It confused him, though. He'd never turned down a mission before. If he had to choose between life and the mission, it had always been an easy choice to make. The mission came first, every time. But he wanted out of this one. A hundred excuses popped up in his head the minute Sirius handed him the mission docket, and he'd never made an excuse for anything before.
Surprisingly, Harry realized that he felt relieved when his Godfather happily (too happily, he thought) agreed to pass the mission off to Edwards. More than that, however, he felt like he had let himself down.
When Hermione finally agreed to go out with Ron in 4th year, a few concessions had to be made. Chief among them was that they were from this point on forbidden from shouting at each other. When they needed to disagree vehemently, it was done on scraps of parchment. It was silent, which saved them from the embarrassment of other people hearing about their issues, it took time, which allowed them to fully articulate their points, and you had to look at what you wrote before you sent it, which prevented them both from saying things that they'd later regret. All in all, it was a very effective method of arguing. Effective for them, anyway.
After proofreading what she had written on her scrap, she balled it up and tossed it to Ron, who was waiting impatiently on the couch across from her in the Gryffindor Common Room. He snatched it out of the air and flattened it out hastily, then almost immediately began scribbling a reply in his tight, messy scrawl. She sighed contentedly. Fighting with him had lost much of its sting when it was done this way.
It was quite possibly the best idea she'd ever had. And that, Hermione thought with a self-indulgent smirk, was saying something.
She deftly caught Ron's reply and unfolded it.
R: I'm not trying to prevent my baby sister from being happy! I just want what's best for her, even if she can't see it at the time.
H: And you'd know what's best for her?
R: Yes! I'm her older brother, and it's my perogative to decide if a bloke is up to scruff.
H: Prerogative, dear. Good word choice. Are you telling me that Harry Potter (he's the Savior of the Wizarding World, remember? Just in case you somehow forgot that since the last time we had this conversation) isn't 'up to scruff'? You're barking mad, Ronald.
R: Don't call me Ronald, Hermi! And I'm not saying that Harry isn't a great bloke, I just don't know if he's the best fit for my baby sister!
H: Honestly, Ron, it's not your decision to make anymore. She's serious about this, and you need to respect that. If they're not a good fit, they'll decide that on their own.
R: But what if he hurts her?
H: You've hurt me before. I got over it, so will she.
R: You know I'd never hurt you on purpose. It was an accident, and I'm sorry. I don't know how many times I need to say that before you believe me, but I swear it.
H: I know, Ron. I was just using it as an example. I'm just saying if I can get over it, so can she. Besides, if anyone gets hurt out of this, I'd think it would be Harry. She's a very strong girl, so have a bit more faith in her. Just let them figure out where they want to go with this, and support them in their decision. That's all I'm asking.
R: I don't have to like it, though, right? I mean, I don't have to act like I enjoy what they're doing?
H: Thanks. I love you too.
R: I just wish I knew what they were doing up there...
H: Hush, Ronald.
Ginny cleared her throat and started, "Okay Harry, tonight's lesson is the second in a series on 'Nonessential Dialogue', the focus will be on the suitable application of 'tacit social contracts'. Any questions on the previous lesson before we begin?" Once again, the diminutive redhead thanked Hermione for helping her outline these lesson plans. She would never have put together such long strings of words on her own, after all. Whatever helped Harry 'integrate on a fundamental social level' with the rest of wizardkind, she would do it happily.
And yes, getting to spend two nights a week completely alone with the Boy who Lived had everything to do with it. She'd given up on lying to herself. Fighting a battle with one's inner monologue, which by default already knew when one was lying, was downright depressing.
After Harry shook his head and prepared himself for note taking, Ginny cleared her throat and read directly from the outline Hermione had prepared for her. "Tacit social contracts are primarily related to two important factors: circumstance and motivation. What circumstances affect an interaction before words are spoken? What motivation does the other party have to behave a certain way towards you, and how strong is that motivation?" Bless that brilliant, bushy-headed angel.
After speaking for nearly twenty minutes on the subject, it was time for Ginny's favorite part of the evening: class discussion. It consisted of her laying face-down on the ever-so-comfortable massage table and getting a world-class back massage while Harry picked her brain on the night's lesson. If giving massages were an Olympic event, Ginny had no doubts that Harry would walk away with a gold medal. Or he would have walked away with it, if he were ever allowed to keep any of the medals he had earned.
She was quite bitter about that, despite his continued insistence that the physical tokens of his already impressive list of deeds were meaningless to him. Poor, silly Harry. He actually believed that load of rubbish. Ginny had never received a medal for anything in her entire life, which might have been part of the reason she was so fundamentally opposed to the idea of Harry's ambivalence towards all things bright and shiny.
It was worth noting, however belated the fact may have been, that she was almost completely naked while these back massages were taking place. A towel was draped over her bum, but that was more for her sake than Harry's. Other than that, she was as bare as the day she was born. Ginny recently realized how much of her modesty had been lost simply by being around Harry. The Boy who Lived was easily more comfortable in his birthday suit than anyone she'd ever met.
She still didn't know quite what to make of his complete and utter indifference towards her state of undress, but she did know that it was maddening to spend an hour nearly naked in front of a bloke and not have a reaction to show for it. Not even an 'accidental' slip to show for all her hard work. Damn frustrating, that.
While she still didn't feel like he was captivated by her sex appeal, she did feel completely comfortable with her own body now. Yes, totally comfortable. He had certainly rubbed off on her.
Well, that wasn't an indicator of some serious, pent-up sexual frustration... She buried her head in her pillow, trying in vain to hide her rapidly blushing face. Okay, so she wasn't quite as comfortable as she thought. It was just the two of them alone in the Room of Requirement, she was so close to naked that it was more a philosophical debate than anything. She was 15, and her hormones were raging. There was a golden snitch thrashing madly about in her stomach. She wasn't expecting some scene out of a trashy romance novel, but was it too much to ask for him to be just a little more interested in her body? Honestly, what was she supposed to think in a situation like this?!
It wasn't bloody fair that she could get so worked up over a situation that consistently failed to even elevate his pulse. Damn him and his eunuch-like fortitude!
Harry, sensing Ginny's rising tension, gently rubbed circles with his thumbs at the base of her neck. With a sigh, she melted back into the pillow. Good. Perhaps now was a good time to start asking questions. "You described the levels of intimacy as acquaintance, mate, girl or boyfriend, best mate and spouse, in ascending order. For me, what would be the difference between a girlfriend and a best mate?"
Ginny's pulse shot upward again. Damn, just as she was getting calmed down... Did he actively search out the most embarrassing possible questions, or did he just have a talent for doing it accidentally? "Well, for one thing a best mate is usually going to stick around for as long as possible. For the rest of your life, even. They are genuinely interested in your success as a person, they support you in the decisions you make and they go out of their way to help you when you have a problem. Best mates will get up at 3 in the morning to comfort you after a breakup, and they won't care that you waste their time sobbing into their shoulder about things you can't change." She didn't mean to draw parallels between her and Ron, or at least how they used to be. They'd been getting distant since she'd started spending her evenings with Harry. Well, it was a suitable definition.
She continued on, "A girlfriend is more like a mate that you can kiss. You can do other things, too, if you've been together long enough and she's okay with it." Ginny's face was burning. This wasn't as awkward as she thought it would be, but it was so embarrassing... "Basically, a girlfriend is a very good mate that might be considering you for a spouse."
"What other things?" Harry interjected, honestly curious.
"Erm... what?" Ginny didn't know quite what he was talking about, but was already dreading his explanation.
"You said that a girlfriend is like a mate that you can kiss and do other things with. What other things can you do with a girlfriend?" He had lost some of his signature monotone, something that Ginny had been working very hard on achieving. If only he weren't using his newfound linguistic skills to ask such horribly blunt questions. It was so much easier not to be affected by the questions Harry asked when he sounded completely detached from the situation. Now that he sounded a bit more like everyone else, she was starting to treat his questions as if they came from anyone else. Not good.
"Well, Harry, there are quite a lot of things so I'll just touch on a few." After taking a few moments to collect her thoughts, and recover from yet another unintentional double entendre, she explained, "Let's use the baseball metaphor. You've heard of baseball, right?"
Harry nodded in affirmation.
Ginny continued, "Right. We'll go with bases. First base is just kissing. If you've been together for a while, you might get to second base with your girlfriend. Everyone has a different opinion of what the bases are and when you should reach them, but every relationship is different. Second base is more physical, with some touching being allowed but no clothes taken off."
The Boy who Lived nodded, taking in every word with the same attentive seriousness he usually showed in a mission briefing. Ginny used to find it unnerving, but now she simply felt self-conscious. She wasn't really that great of a teacher, he shouldn't take her too seriously. What did she know, after all?
Pushing her doubts aside, she kept talking. She was becoming painfully aware of the fact that not only had they kissed, but she was talking to him at this very moment with her clothes off, and he had been touching her for the past half hour. But that didn't mean... no, of course not. "Third base involves the removal of clothes, but no ... penetration. And fourth base is ..." She mumbled the last bit incoherently, hoping he'd let her get away with it.
"Ginny, I could not understand the last words you said, defining fourth base. Please repeat yourself." Psh. Of course he wouldn't. How perfectly irritating, that he would hang on her every word.
"Shagging, okay?! Shagging!" She didn't mean to shout, of course, but it was so ... damn irritating! I mean, couldn't he tell how incredibly awkward it was to talk about this sort of thing while he was massaging her naked back?
No, of course he couldn't. He was, after all, irredeemably dense. What were we talking about, again?
Harry interrupted her thoughts, "By your definition, then, are we are at third base?"
If there were a good, thick wall nearby, Ginny would have been banging her head up against it just now. She would've settled for anything harder than what she was burying her face in yet again. He was so damn abrupt! Where was his subtlety? Where?!
"Also, on the scale of intimacy, where do we fit?" He added, as if it were really necessary.
Her blood pressure spiked. Rage. Apoplectic, fatalistic rage. It had to happen, she knew it would happen. She just knew.
Damn him. Damn him and his abrupt questions, and his amazing back massages and his ridiculously comfortable pillows. She was trapped. Letting out a defeated sigh, she tried to keep the hate out of her voice as she responded. It wasn't like he did it on purpose... right?
"Well, Harry, it's hard to say. I mean, we're definitely mates. Maybe even best mates, maybe we're something else. It's up to you, really..." and if you value your life, you'll think hard before you open that mouth of yours and say something stupid! Ginny knew she shouldn't get her hopes up and expect him to make her his proper girlfriend, the man was just learning, after all. But it was so hard not to be hopeful.
"Can we..." Harry said, much too quickly for her liking, "can we be best mates?" His voice was tentative, hesitant.
With a muted sigh, she let her hopes crash. Of course he wouldn't say anything romantic. He had the potential, his flowers told her that much, but trying to guess when that romantic side would appear again was like trying to guess the exact date of the apocalypse. It would be on about the same epic scale, too.
"I don't think I've ever had a best mate." Harry said quietly.
Her heart broke for him yet again. It was too easy for her to forget just how tragic his childhood had been, since he never complained about anything. He'd been denied so much over his short life... She was suddenly filled with the urgent desire to hug him, and never let him go. In some ways, he was still so small and vulnerable...
He continued, "From what I understand, most girlfriends will leave you. Best mates can last a lifetime, and I would like you to have a permanent place in my life. I ... don't want you to leave." If she didn't know any better, she'd have said he sounded scared. Contorting her neck to look back at him, she saw that he had tears forming in his eyes.
Harry Potter was no stranger to pain. Ginny had seen examples on a near-weekly basis. She'd seen the intricate network of scars etched into his intensely masculine body that no healer could fully remove. She knew his tolerance firsthand, having watched him get shot at point-blank range with an assault rifle whilst rescuing her. He'd regrown the bones in his shoulder that night without so much as a grunt.
But in all the time she'd known him, she realized suddenly that she'd never once seen his tears.
Without preamble or warning, she twisted under him and launched herself at the Boy who Lived, wrapping him tightly in her arms. He needed a hug, consequences be damned! She didn't care how embarrassing it might have been in any other circumstance, hugging a bloke whilst topless, it was something she couldn't wait another moment to do. He was so ... Harry. How could she have resisted?
His arms came up and enveloped her securely, filling her with a type of warmth that couldn't possibly be achieved with a fireplace. She felt tears stinging her eyes, rolling down her cheeks and hugged him all the more tightly for it. Her arms were trembling from the effort of clutching at him. She wanted nothing more at this moment than to take away every last ounce of his pain, to heal the emotional void he had suffered with his entire life without a single objection. "Shh... It's okay, Harry, I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you. I won't. I'll never. Shh..."
Huge sobs rocked his frame, spasms that shook Ginny to her core. For perhaps the first time in his entire life, Harry Potter was crying. She didn't let him go, not for the better part of an hour while he poured out the pain he had locked inside himself for so many years. She whispered soft words of comfort all the while, stroking his back soothingly as he held her ever tighter.
When his embrace finally relaxed, he whispered in a voice hoarse from exertion, "I'm sorry, Ginny. I just-"
She cut him off immediately, "Don't ever be sorry for relying on me, Harry, and don't ever be sorry for crying. You have nothing to be ashamed of. I want to be here for you; I want to help you in any way I can. Just ... let me help."
The Boy who Lived nodded against her cheek, squeezing her tightly once again. "Thank you for being here for me." After another long while he moved to let her go, but she held him tightly in place. With a small measure of concern, he skimmed her surface thoughts.
Ginny was quite satisfied with their progress today and intensely pleased that she could be there to hold him when he needed her. She cherished the fact that he cried for her. Now she was wondering if being best mates meant that they couldn't kiss anymore. She was also looking forward to a great night's sleep, but there was the small matter of how to get her clothes back on without exposing herself to her new best mate. Yes, she was losing her modesty, but she wasn't exactly an exhibitionist like Harry was!
With a smile, Harry closed his eyes and turned around. He would have to ask Hermione what an exhibitionist was. "By the way, Ginny, is there a type of best mate that you can kiss? Because I very much enjoy that aspect of our relationship..."
He could practically hear her grin behind her as she buttoned up her blouse. "Why yes, Mr. Potter, now that you mention it, there is." She paused for a few moments, and then said in her best impersonation of his monotone, "That would be... a mutually beneficial arrangement."
She really didn't know what to call their relationship now, but it didn't matter. For now, it was enough.
Sirius Black had many moods, and all were clearly recognizable. One could tell with relative ease whether or not it was safe to approach him based on his face and his voice. If he bit off his words or frowned, he was angry. If he smiled and waved you over, he was happy. But if he was withdrawn and silent, people simply knew not to disturb him. It meant he was hiding a rage deep enough to drown in. It was how he got his best work done, and nobody dared to disturb him in such a state. Tightly controlled rage, focused determination... that was his element. And at this very moment, he was in his element.
Azkaban had been utterly destroyed. Reduced to a pile of rubble. The immensely powerful wards shattered beyond repair. Everyone was horribly mutilated, dead and accounted for, except one: Draco Malfoy. The youngest, and almost certainly the weakest inmate. Every guard, every other inmate, even the boat driver was dead, but Draco Malfoy was nowhere to be found. That alone was cause for concern, but it got worse.
When Sirius heard the news, he had used his portkey and gone there immediately. Waiting for him was a vast plain of broken bodies and shattered stone, and a single crystal laying patiently at his feet. Nobody was supposed to know that this part of the island was a designated portkey area.
He knew better than to touch the clear ball, even though it had no magical signature to speak of. But peering closely at it, he saw a symbol etched into the crystal: a single snowflake. It was the sigil of Dr. Matthias Winters, a first-rate wizard, narcissist and sociopath. He could have easily been the new face of terror in the Wizarding World, if he'd had aspirations towards anything but his research. His patients had a penchant for being completely unaware of their candidacy in his programs, and for turning up dead within the week. If Dr. Winters were responsible for this, it would have meant a powerful enemy was making his first moves towards becoming the next dark lord.
He gritted his teeth, biting back the growl that threatened to escape his throat. That was impossible. Dr. Winters had been killed over 2 years ago. He should know. After all, it was he who had received the mission from his superiors, and he who had passed it on to his godson, Harry Potter.
He had to get back to his office. Something was happening. Something bigger than anything he was prepared to handle at the moment. He twisted his portkey again and disappeared into the ether. There was much work to be done, and every minute until the next attack was merely borrowed time.