AN: Aloha! Thanks for the encouraging reviews. I'm going to blast a couple chapters in short order, then try to get back to twice a week where work allows. Personal life requirements are a bugger when you're trying to keep up with your story (snort * ha-ha!) ~ Mahalo, everyone!
CHAPTER 10 – ENDINGS AND BEGINNINGS
The morning sun filtered through the golden sheers that lined the windows of the master bedroom of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, sheltering Harry and Ginny from the outside world. Before opening his eyes, Harry breathed deeply, filling his senses with the same enticing aroma he had smelled in the Amortentia during his first Potions class with Professor Slughorn. Although he was usually not much of a morning person, on this particular day, Harry could hardly wait to open his eyes. With his back turned to their front window, his eyelids parted slowly, allowing him to drink in the brilliance of Ginny's fiery tresses as they were softly kissed by the sunlight. He had never realized there could be so many distinct shades of red, each adding appreciably to the beauty of the others.
Harry's morning erection throbbed fiercely – a condition that was only exacerbated by the overwhelmingly powerful sight of Ginny sleeping next to him in their bed. However, as he thought back over the time they had spent together throughout the preceding night, he decided it was best to let her rest. She looked so peaceful – so beautiful – that he couldn't justify the thought of disturbing her, no matter how much he wanted to. Being careful not to wake her, Harry rolled quietly – reluctantly – away from her naked body and picked up his wand from the bedside table. He hesitated only long enough to make sure that Ginny's wand was easily within her reach. To some it might have seemed excessive, but to a friend of Alastor Moody, it was nothing other than constant vigilance.
The polished hardwood floor felt cool to his feet, emphasizing the loss he experienced just by stepping away from their bed. The feeling only intensified as he moved into the master bathroom and the flooring transitioned from soft, cool oak to hard, cold marble. Kreacher had outdone himself in the bedroom, using gold materials for the sheets and sheers, while the draperies both on the bed and the windows had been constructed of a rich crimson fabric. It reminded Harry of the bedroom at the top of the stairs – the bedroom in which Sirius had been raised before running off to live with the Potters, the bedroom in which Harry had found the first page of his mother's letter thanking Sirius for the birthday present he had sent to Harry – the bedroom in which Severus Snape had ripped Lily's image away from those of her husband and son.
Sirius had been the only Gryffindor in a family of Slytherins, and he had boldly decorated his room in the colors of his Hogwarts' House – undoubtedly making a rebellious statement in one of the few ways he could. Harry chuckled softly at the realization that Kreacher had replicated that look in the master suite now occupied by Harry Potter and his chosen one. But the polished black marble floor and the silver and green hardware of the master bath had not been dealt with as easily. Even with their considerable magical powers, it had required quite an effort on the part of Kreacher and the other house elves to make the decrepit old house habitable for the young couple. It touched Harry to see how Kreacher had come full circle and now enthusiastically embraced a half-blood master and his blood-traitor of a bride.
Harry pulled a thick crimson towel from the rack and placed it in the handle of the shower door. As he stepped in the massive shower stall, he noticed a multitude of silver showerheads and matching handles, each accented with a rich green stone. While he was no expert in such things, Harry felt relatively certain that the stones were genuine emeralds. He turned on the water, which was instantaneously hot, adjusted several of the showerheads, placed his wand in the proper receptacle, and stepped into the luxurious warmth that immediately began to soothe his tired muscles. It was almost perfect and would have been had he not left Ginny sleeping soundly in the bedroom.
A soft pop announced the arrival of Minerva McGonagall on the outskirts of Godric's Hollow. Although magical families had called the area home for more than ten centuries, the majority of the population was still comprised of Muggles. For that reason, the Headmistress of Hogwarts took care to Apparate along one of the smaller roads leading into the community. It was a beautiful morning, so she enjoyed the short walk into the town square, arriving twenty minutes in advance of her appointment with the Vicar of St. Andrew's Church and allowing herself to take advantage of the opportunity to meditate before the statue that, for magical eyes only, commemorated the events of October 31, 1981.
Despite her reputation for cool efficiency, Professor McGonagall felt overwhelmed with affection for the young man who had been denied the presence of a loving family throughout his formative years, yet had maintained such purity of spirit that he had been willing to sacrifice everything for those he cared for, indeed for all of the Wizarding World. She fought against the lump rising in her throat and wiped away the tears slipping from her eyes.
Harry had entrusted her with the final arrangements for the burial of Severus Snape, and she intended to ensure that everything was handled properly. Her slender fingers clasped the official paperwork that Harry had given her – documents that would allow Professor Snape to be buried in a plot in the section of the church graveyard known as Peverell's Rest. According to the map she had obtained from Gringotts, this plot was located some twenty-five yards uphill from the grave of Harry's ancestor, Ignotus Peverell – a place within eyeshot of, yet a respectful distance from, the graves of Lily and James Potter. It was the best way Harry could think of to honor the bravery of Severus Snape without endorsing the obsessive way in which he had pined for his mother.
Ginny rolled over, opening her eyes in the hope of seeing Harry beside her. Instead she saw only the crumbled golden sheets and the crimson drapes that hung from their massive four-poster bed. She let out a small huff of frustration, sat up, and took stock of the situation. The door to the master bathroom was slightly ajar, and Ginny thought she could hear water running in the shower. All things considered, she would have preferred to find Harry still in their bed, but the shower held new and inviting possibilities. Remaining unclothed, Ginny rose quietly from the bed and began to move toward the shower. She stopped suddenly, returned to the bedside, and picked up her wand. The sudden appearance of Draco Malfoy at her brother's funeral had shown her the importance of remaining prepared at all times. Even then, when her heart had felt beyond the point of breaking, Ginny had been ready for the unexpected.
Having chosen to spend the rest of her life with Harry Potter, she figured they might never be entirely safe from the reach of evildoers. She knew full well what that choice entailed, but a life with Harry was what she had wanted since she was ten years old, and the price seemed miniscule in comparison to the joy of being his – of him being hers.
Passing the toilet, a wicked grin passed over Ginny's lips. Surely this massive home would have better water pressure than she had grown up with at the Burrow. The temptation to find out was too much, however, and she giggled slyly as she reached for the handle and flushed.
"Ginny!" screamed Harry indignantly as scalding water blasted at him from all directions.
"Yes, love?" she replied, opening the shower door with a thoroughly innocent look anchored firmly on her face. Growing up with six older brothers had given her plenty of practice.
She kept her eyes latched onto Harry's until he looked away. She could tell that he had been a bit annoyed at first, but his expression changed dramatically as his eyes separated from hers and began to trace their way down her naked body. In a matter of seconds, Ginny found herself in his arms, their lips locked together, with warm water streaming upon them from eight showerheads.
Ginny parted her lips eagerly, inviting Harry to taste her, wanting to taste him. The touch of his hard, masculine body felt wonderful. The feel of the hot water, coming simultaneously from so many directions was luxurious. While they had taken only a short break for some much needed sleep, it felt as if it had been years since they had last made love, and Ginny wanted more.
Wanting almost desperately to hold him in her embrace, she managed to slip her wand in the receptacle next to Harry's. It had been far less than eight hours since they had last made love, so there was no need to worry about casting another contraceptive charm.
Ginny groaned audibly when Harry's hands broke contact with her back, causing her to pull him even more forcefully against her. She knew it was ridiculous, but the loss of contact left her feeling almost alone. God, she loved this man and wanted to show him in every way possible.
Then, as suddenly as his hands had left her, they returned, intertwining in her hair. Since their first kiss, Ginny had been thrilled with the fascination Harry displayed with her long, bright red hair. The feeling sent a raw thrill through her body which only intensified when she realized he had taken some of her shampoo and had begun to caress her scalp tenderly. It was yet another first in a remarkable series of first-time experiences she had shared with Harry in such a short period of time.
At last he finished washing her hair, and she bent backward to allow the streaming water to rinse away the shampoo. As she leaned back to place her head in the proper position, Harry began sliding his hands down her body, trailing kisses along where he had just washed her so affectionately.
Soon his fingers found her auburn curls, where she knew he found her soaked with fluid that was most definitely not coming from the shower.
She felt him trembling slightly while a contented rumbling escaped from his chest. Ginny closed her eyes momentarily, relishing his touch and losing perception of everything except his fingers, so she was quite surprised when next she felt his tongue sliding over her opening until he found her clit. She shuddered, almost losing her balance until she could brace herself against the wall of the shower. Ginny felt her orgasm building rapidly and wondered how she had ever managed to feel like she had lived before this.
"Oh God," she whispered. Or was it something louder? Her legs began shaking, as all strength seemed to be fleeing up her legs and pooling in the center of her being.
Harry stopped as suddenly as he had begun, practically leaping to his feet and kissing her with a clear sense of urgency while his hips thrust strongly against her. Ginny responded instinctively, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling herself up. As he pressed forward once again, she wrapped her legs around his hips. Harry's penis found her opening in one smooth motion. She wasn't sure whether he had buried it deep within her or if she had simply taken him inside herself as she tried to meld their bodies into one.
Her fingers laced through his thick black hair as his lips held tightly to hers. Ginny felt complete as he slid repeatedly into her body. It was wonderful but still she wanted more.
"Harder, Harry! Please!" she was almost begging.
"I don't want to hurt you, love," he answered, his voice shaking with passion.
"Just fuck me, Harry. Please."
Her words obviously triggered something primal within him, for Harry groaned loudly as he slammed into her in a way he had never done before.
"I love you, Ginny," he murmured as the hot water continued to pour over their joined bodies.
"Oh, Harry, I …" she began to answer before the power of speech abandoned her. The physical force of her orgasm washed over her, hotter by far than the flowing water, as she ground her pelvic bone against him, making sure that absolutely no distance remained between them.
"Ginny … Ginny … Gin …" he stammered, until his words became simple moans and his hips bucked against hers, carrying her farther up the warm, wet, and smooth marble wall of their shower.
"Our shower ... Our bedroom ... Our house," Ginny thought, overwhelmed by how easily their lives were merging together – wondering how she could have thought for even a moment that she might have been too young to marry this man. Yes, she was still a couple of months shy of her seventeenth birthday, but having lived through the things she had endured since her very first year at Hogwarts, she knew she was ready for this commitment. She had been eleven years old for less than three weeks when Lucius Malfoy had slipped that damned diary into her cauldron in Flourish & Blotts and she had survived possession by the most powerful of Dark wizards, fighting him for months and nearly escaping his clutches with nothing but her own magical power to rely upon.
After struggling her entire life to been seen for who she was amidst six highly accomplished brothers – after having gone unnoticed by the boy she could not stop loving, no matter how hard she tried to move on – after watching him walk away from her, claiming that it was for her own protection – after being torn apart from him for almost a year – after watching Hagrid carry his death-like body back to Hogwarts Castle while Voldemort trumpeted his claim of having finally killed The Boy Who Lived – after all that, Ginny Weasley was no ordinary witch of sixteen. She was no ordinary witch at all.
Eventually Ginny felt Harry's shuddering thrusts beginning to subside, although his embrace never wavered.
"Harry?" she asked. "Why don't you dry me off and let's go back to bed?"
Harry moved about his newly renovated kitchen as quietly as he could, trying not to wake Ginny, who had managed to fall back to sleep in their master bedroom. He could hardly believe it was possible for his life to have changed so abruptly and so completely. Just over forty-eight hours earlier, he had been locked in mortal combat with Lord Voldemort, bringing to a close a period of almost ten months on the run – ten months in which he and his closest friends had faced untold terrors – but this morning, his greatest challenge was to decide whether to prepare breakfast or lunch to share with his fiancée in the comfort of their own home. Then Harry realized that wasn't entirely true, for number twelve Grimmauld Place was only one of four homes they now possessed.
Over the past seven years, Harry had grown accustomed to the fact that he did not have to worry about money. However, this had only been of minimal comfort for he would have given all the money in the world to have his parents back. The previous day's discovery that his wealth was much greater than he had ever dreamed possible was an added comfort, and he had only begun to consider the ways in which he and Ginny could use their fortune to its best effect. As nice as such things were to have, however, there was only one reason for the irrepressible happiness that surged through him every time he paused. Ginny Weasley was his, as he was hers, and they would be one in less than two weeks.
Things had come together very quickly the preceding afternoon following Fred's funeral. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley approached the young couple, who had just managed to break free from a lengthy discussion with Kingsley Shacklebolt and Minerva McGonagall, and had collapsed on the living room sofa. When her mother had asked Ginny what type of wedding she wanted, she had answered, "Simple … short … soon." When pushed for an explanation for these desires, Ginny told her mum that while Fleur's elaborate wedding had been beautiful, she would prefer something more in line with the way they lived on a daily basis. Therefore, she wanted it to be simple, filled only with friends and family, and as soon as possible. She wanted to have as much of the summer together with Harry as they could manage.
Mrs. Weasley had hurriedly consulted with Aunt Muriel, Charlie, Bill, Fleur, and the Delacours. Everyone seemed more than ready to move on from tragedy, and only Molly's insistence that she needed at least ten days of preparation time kept the wedding from being held the next weekend.
Then she and Arthur took the idea of Ginny going with Harry to supervise renovations in stride, and in a flash of time they were home – Harry and Ginny – together.
Ginny. The very thought of her, the feeling of that searing birthday kiss, and the blessed relief of seeing her each night on the Marauder's Map kept him from falling into despair when things had been their darkest. Ginny – the person who inspired his last thought when he faced certain death. Ginny – who was sleeping peacefully after a night and morning he would never forget, the first in their own home. The dining decision was easy; it had to be breakfast – the meal he had cooked a thousand times in the Dursleys' kitchen. It was the only thing he knew how to prepare flawlessly and that was what she deserved – something flawless – for that was the way he thought of her.
So Harry set about doing the things he had done so many mornings at number four, Privet Drive, but the feeling was totally different. Instead of the drudgery of preparing a meal for people who could barely tolerate his existence, he was thrilled to be doing something for the woman he loved more than life itself.
He took great care, tending to every detail, turning something mundane – scrambling eggs, brewing tea, making toast and frying bacon – into an expression of love. He cooked in the tradition of Muggles, having never before used magic to prepare a meal, and the sheer physicality of the effort brought him back to what had happened earlier in the morning when Ginny had slipped into the shower to join him.
He tried to be quiet, aware that he had kept her up very late throughout the preceding night. He tried to avoid waking her but had obviously been unsuccessful, for as he looked up, she entered the kitchen wearing nothing but one of his white button-down Oxford-cloth shirts. She looked so gorgeous that the breakfast he had been trying to prepare so perfectly nearly became an afterthought.
"You look … amazing, Ginny," he stammered, moving across the room to take her into his arms.
"I'm in a shirt – hardly amazing, I'd say."
"It's my shirt, love."
"If I'd have known it would be that easy, I would have nicked one of your shirts a long time ago!" Ginny chided.
"So beautiful…" muttered Harry, beginning to lose himself in her spellbinding brown eyes.
"Hmmm, Harry? Were you planning on burning that bacon?"
"Bugger!"
Minutes later, Harry was again gazing into her bright brown eyes – this time across the breakfast table. As Ginny reached for the butter and jam, the diamond on her finger seemed to gather every trace of light in the room, reflecting it back with increased intensity. To Harry's eyes, this reflected light was then gathered in the rubies, which burned with an intensity equaled only by Ginny's radiant hair. He had to pinch himself to test if this was all a dream. It wasn't, of course, but it hardly seemed like something out of the life of Harry Potter. Dreams instead of nightmares … Harry could hardly believe it was possible. His reverie, however, was broken by a call from the floo.
"Mr. Potter … I mean, Harry?" The voice belonged to Minerva McGonagall.
"Yes, Professor?"
"May I drop in?" she asked.
Harry looked at Ginny, who looked down at her clothing, thought for a moment, and then nodded her agreement.
"Of course, Headmistress, please come in."
With a flash of green flames, Professor McGonagall stepped out of the floo and into the kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place.
"My! I hardly recognize this kitchen," she said, a look of surprise etched on her face. "It's beautiful."
"Kreacher and some of the Hogwarts elves thought the place should be fixed up a bit – make a proper home for Ginny and me."
Professor McGonagall turned her gaze to Ginny, trying hard to suppress the look of shock of seeing her sitting at their breakfast table, obviously wearing Harry's shirt rather than something of her own. Ginny smiled softly and looked perfectly at home. Harry was surprised for only a moment, for it was now, after all, her home.
"I've spoken with the Vicar," Professor McGonagall said softly, "and everything is set for this afternoon at four o'clock. I've also notified all the Hogwarts staff members, but I doubt many will attend. Professor Snape was only marginally more popular with the faculty and staff than he was with you students."
"Is the plot far enough removed from Harry's parents' graves?" asked Ginny.
"I suppose such things are subjective, Ms. Weasley, but I think so. Yes."
"What about his mother?" asked Harry. "Has anyone been able to locate Eileen Prince? We really should have her permission to do this, although it's not technically necessary."
"No, it's not necessary and would be impossible to obtain at any rate," replied the Headmistress.
"Impossible?" asked Harry.
"Impossible," she said in return. "Professor Snape never mentioned anything about it, but apparently his mother died almost five years ago."
"Died!" gasped Ginny. "And nobody knew about it?"
"Severus never said a word about it, nor did Dumbledore," Professor McGonagall continued, "but she was beaten to death by her estranged husband, Tobias Snape, who is in a Muggle prison for murder."
"Beaten to death!" Harry replied. "How could a witch be beaten to death by a Muggle?"
"It's rather easy when she does nothing to defend herself as it appears was the case with her. According to police records, there was no sign of a struggle even though she was beaten terribly."
"So, he truly died alone," whispered Harry.
"Not alone, Harry," Ginny interjected. "You were there with him."
"Rather ironic, don't you think?" asked Professor McGonagall. "Of all people to have with him at the time of his death – the boy he despised above all others."
"I don't think he cared about me, Professor, but if I had to guess, when he demanded that I look at him, he was trying to find my mother in my eyes."
Ginny, Harry, and their Headmistress were suddenly at a loss for words and looked around the kitchen, searching for anything to look at rather than one another. At last, Ginny gazed up at Harry with a gentle, compassionate look in her eyes that told him she understood how horrible that final moment in Snape's life must have been for both of them. Once again, Harry gave thanks for the gift of Ginny Weasley in his life and found that ten days seemed an impossibly long time to wait until she would become Ginny Potter.
"I really must go now," said Professor McGonagall. "This is truly a great thing to do, Harry, even if he'll never know you did it." And with that, she stepped back into the fireplace, tossed down a handful of floo powder, and was gone.
Harry looked at Ginny, an expression of doubt crossing his face.
"What's wrong, love?" she asked.
"After what I've seen over the past seven years – after what I saw with the Resurrection Stone – I'm not so sure he won't know. I'll never feel warmth for him, Ginny, but for some reason, this feels right."
Hermione and Ron were the first to arrive in the graveyard beside the church in Godric's Hollow. Ron had been extremely nervous about coming to the place where Harry and Hermione were nearly killed during his absence. The feelings of guilt had been overwhelming and, truth be told, he feared that Hermione might get the urge to beat him senseless once again. He knew that the fear was irrational, but it was there nonetheless. Horcrux or not, Ron had walked out on his best friend and the woman he loved, and no amount of forgiveness from Hermione would ever completely clear his conscience.
Hermione must have sensed his distress for it was her idea to arrive an hour before the scheduled time of Snape's burial. Ron found himself most grateful for her understanding and allowed her to take him there with Side-along Apparition. He was amazed at her soft, gentle approach to things as she led him about the village, eventually leading him to the home in which James and Lily Potter had been killed and the home of Bathilda Bagshot from which she and Harry had barely escaped with their lives. Throughout the entire excursion, Hermione never lost contact with Ron, holding his hand, wrapping her arm about him, pausing to place soft kisses against his lips, his face, and his hands.
Ron wondered how she knew exactly what he needed to know – needed to hear. She never left anything unsaid; yet always refrained from telling him how much safer things would have been as a trio rather than a pair.
He marveled at her ability to discern, without benefit of words, when the guilt had built to intolerable levels and how she would then stretch upward on her tiptoes, place a kiss on his cheek, and whisper, "I love you" into his ear.
Ginny and Harry arrived in the graveyard a few minutes after Ron and Hermione had begun to wander about the village. She walked slowly with Harry, hand in hand, as they moved from headstone to headstone, seeing names such as Gryffindor, Peverell, Dumbledore … and Potter. Tears began streaming down her face as they came upon the graves of Harry's parents. She thought about how she had grown up, loved and protected – over-protected – with parents and siblings, any of whom would have died for her, but who had thankfully not been called upon to do so. Harry had been loved with equal intensity, but his parents had died for him, and it broke her heart.
Not for the first time, she marveled at the fact that he had grown up with a pure heart and an apparently unlimited capacity for love, and she thanked Merlin, Morgana, Dumbledore, and all the hosts of heaven, if such a place existed, that Harry Potter had chosen her – that he loved her every bit as much as she loved him – as she would always love him.
At last, the appointed hour came upon them, and Harry, Ginny, Hermione, and Ron gathered together beside a freshly dug grave amidst many headstones bearing the name of Peverell. They were standing slightly uphill from the graves of the three brothers with a clear view of the headstone that read Lily Potter. Ginny gained a sense of relief when she saw that James Potter's final resting place was also clearly visible. She knew without doubt how difficult this was for Harry, although he had said very little about it.
"How," she wondered, "could Harry honor the man who had always despised him, passed on the prophecy that eventually doomed his parents to death, and remained obsessed with Lily Evans Potter for the remainder of his life?"
Moments later, the tuft-haired wizard emerged from the apse of the little church, accompanied by Minerva McGonagall and Rubeus Hagrid, who carried the body of Severus Snape in much the same way he had carried Harry from the Forbidden Forest. As they approached the open grave, Ginny heard a soft pop behind her and turned, her wand drawn instantly. The new arrival was clearly dangerous but not in the way she had feared – it was Rita Skeeter, the only journalist who had been told of the burial.
"Should we wait?" asked the liturgist. "Surely more people will be coming."
"I think not," answered Harry. "I think not."
And so Severus Snape was buried, amidst families not his own, just as he had lived among Death Eaters who never embraced him, and members of the Order of the Phoenix who never trusted him.
As they had arranged after Fred Weasley's funeral, Rita Skeeter stood within earshot as Harry repeated everything he had learned from Snape's memories of his love for both Lily Evans and the Dark Arts. Harry carefully disclosed the things that Albus Dumbledore had described as the best of Severus Snape's life, when torn by remorse, he made the terrible decision to turn spy against Lord Voldemort at great personal risk. It was a role he did well. It was a role that led directly to his death at the hand of his former master, beneath the fangs of his terrible serpent. Both McGonagall and Hagrid gasped audibly as more and more news was disclosed, and the Quick-Quotes Quill recorded every word exactly as it was spoken.
At last the simple service came to an end, and each of the attendees picked up a handful of dirt. Hagrid lowered Snape's body, wrapped only in a pall that was as black as the Potions Master's robes had been while he lived. Each person cast his or her bit of soil down into the grave, covering Snape's body with only a token amount of physical material yet an enormous quantity of symbolism. The liturgist then cast a hovering charm upon the heap of soil and dropped it with a resounding thud, burying his physical body forever.
Harry looked quietly at this tiny gathering of people he loved, cleared his throat, and offered one final observation:
"Dumbledore once told Professor Snape that only he knew whether or not his soul had been ripped by the evil deeds he had done or failed to stop. I am sure, however, that no matter what happened to his soul at the time he did those things, Severus Snape endured the most painful period of lonely remorse I could ever imagine having to endure. As such, I feel certain that his soul is whole once more."
Hermione looked directly into the bloodshot blue eyes of Rita Skeeter and raised a finger of warning.
"One false word, one misquoted phrase, one misplaced context, and I will tell Kingsley Shacklebolt everything. Do I make myself clear?'
"Indeed you do," scowled Rita in return. "Indeed you do."
Ginny turned to Hagrid, took his gigantic hand in hers, and asked, "Would you please join Harry and me for dinner tomorrow night at Grimmauld Place?"
Harry approached their new Headmistress and thanked her sincerely for making the final arrangements and for attending the burial. He knew there had been precious little love lost between the respective heads of Gryffindor and Slytherin Houses.
"We'll come visit on Friday evening to figure out how everything will work next year," Harry said, confirming the understanding they had reached the previous day. "I'll have an outline, at least, by then."
At last, Ginny and Harry approached Ron and Hermione.
"Are we still going to see you this evening?" asked Ginny.
"Of course," replied Hermione, smiling brightly. "We can't head out to Australia without saying a proper good-bye."
"It feels strange that you two are leaving without me," said Harry, although a wicked grin began to spread across his face as he looked at Ginny. "Still, I think we can all survive the separation."
"Then we'll see you at seven-thirty," said Hermione. "And, Harry, this was the right thing to do."
"Do you think we can trust Rita to play it straight?" asked Harry, a look of doubt reflecting in his eyes.
"It will be fine, mate," Ron replied. "She knows better than to pick a fight with Hermione."
"As should we all," Harry answered with a twinkle in his eye. "We'll see you tonight, but for now there are a couple of things I want to show Ginny."
Ginny and Harry walked hand in hand down the lane in Godric's Hollow. It was a beautiful spring afternoon, and the village was filled with families, young and old.
Ginny found herself taken by the atmosphere of the place, wondering what it would be like for a young witch or wizard to grow in such an environment, mixed in with Muggles as well as others of magical blood.
At last they reached the bungalow that had belonged to Harry's family, which now belonged to Harry and would soon belong to them. The building was not so vastly different from the Burrow, though somewhat smaller in size. She laughed softly, for despite the destruction of one corner of the upper level, it was still easier to understand how this home held itself together. Despite the overgrown appearance of the lawn and landscaping, Ginny could easily understand how James Potter had favored this dwelling above all others, no matter how grand they might be.
"This looks like a wonderful place to raise a family, Harry. Do you think so?"
"I know my parents were happy here," he replied. "And from what my mum put in a letter to Sirius, so was I."
