Book II
Small Gods Chapter 10
(see your face again)

"III"

April 26, 2008

"This is Anne. Want to say hi to your Aunt Ginny, dear?"

The little girl remains hidden behind her mum's skirts. Percy's wife, Audrey, smiles down at her shy daughter. Ginny stands there, with an awkward smile pasted on her face. She doesn't know how to talk to kids. She doesn't know how to do this.

"Alright, dear, run along and play with your cousins."

Little Anne perks up and sprints off across the backyard to the cluster of other children down by the stream. And it feels rotten, like rotten work for her to just stand there and watch it happen as she tries to fit back in with her family.

But then Audrey smiles at her with something like pity and Ginny hates that even more.

"She'll come around. They all will," she says. And Ginny can only nod tightly in return.

"III"

May 3, 2008

"Can you hand this to Remy, dear?"

Ginny takes the plate from Molly, her face flushing as she falters. Her mum looks at her, pausing in between scooping food onto plates for all of her grandchildren.

"Ginny, dear?"

Ginny squeezes her eyes shut. "Which— which one is Remy," she whispers.

She hates that she has to ask after all these weeks. She'd met all of her brothers' partners and children a few weeks after coming back to her family and it's been a study in self-hatred and loathing as she tries so, so hard to fit back in with these people who mean so much to her, but whose lives have steadily been ticking forwards as she's lived apart in a world of her own.

Molly gives her a small smile and pats her hand, "don't fret, dear, you'll get there. Remy is George's youngest, he's sitting next to Anne there."

Ginny gives her mum a shaky smile and brings the plate over to her nephew. He perks up at the food and quips out a quick Thank you, Aunt Ginny, and her heart yanks even harder in her chest and she wonders how she can even possibly feel ever worse than this.

"III"

May 5, 2008

Harry continues to meet her at the coffee shop quite regularly.

About once a week, whilst she drinks a cortado and sits on the comfy brown leather couch in the front window, he'll walk in and sit next to her and drink his tea. He doesn't always say much and neither does she but after a while she realises it's nice to have something dependable, so reliable and predictable in her life like this.

It feels the same as the Sunday dinners she's now expected to attend every week at the Burrow.

So he sits there, with his paper, and her with her book, and she feels steadiness seep into her life slowly, one day at a time.

Somedays, they get lunch together, walking from the coffee shop to the cafe on the corner, or to the kebab place across the park, or to get curry. They sit on a park bench or in the restaurant and share their food and she gets him to talk about her family, something that he is always so eager to do. She can tell how much he loves her family, how much they all mean to him. His face always alight as he tells her a story about something funny all of her nieces and nephews got up to or an anecdote about one of the parties he attended in the Burrow's backyard.

He likes to gesture as he talks. And she watches with a growing grin as his fork flails about as he tells her about the time George turned Fred into a canary and little Arty, Fred's oldest child, burst into tears and Molly set about setting all of the cutlery on the table to chase George around until he turned Fred back.

She begins to expect these little lunches as well. And before she knows it, her days are full of Harry.

Other days, they have tougher conversations.

Well, she finds them tougher, but she's never been great at approaching opening herself up, has she?

"So," he begins one day as they sit on the leather couch in the coffee shop. She doesn't know when it happened, but he's begun sitting next to her on the couch instead of across from her on the wooden bench. She doesn't mind, really. She quite likes his weight next to her on the sofa.

"So, how was it that you were able to split my spell?"

"What?" she asks, mostly as a way to delay the answer. "When?"

He rolls his eyes at her, used to her evading by now. "In the cave." He pokes her in the arm.

She swats him away and smirks. "It's not my fault your spells are so weak."

He rolls his eyes again, "that's not how magic works, and you know that. We both had lessons from Dumbledore, you dolt."

"Then you should know how I did it."

"Well… to be honest we never got to that part in my lessons, we mostly focused on how to counteract and negate a spell, not overriding like you did. I didn't even know that was possible."

She pauses. "You never covered Authem?"

"Authem?" he tries the word out, saying it slowly and carefully. "No. What's that? A spell?"

She sighs and breaks into a very brief explanation of authem and will.

He stares through her as he contemplates her words.

"So— so your will, your authem, is stronger than mine?"

She nods, slowly, staring at him carefully.

He thinks about that for another moment, then grins at her, "well, you have been practising with it for much longer than I have!"

She should have known he wouldn't care about something like that. She grins back at him, "Suuuure, that's the only reason I was able to do it. Practice."

He pokes her in the arm again. "Can't have you getting too cocky now, can we?"

"Y'know," she begins, more seriously than the previous teasing calls for, "you've technically been practising as well. Finite Incantatem is, at its core, a pitting of your authem versus that of the caster. Dumbledore may not have explained it like that to you, but he did tend to adjust his lessons based on how he thought would best be absorbed by his students, didn't he? He liked to press my understanding of magic, pushing my curiosity in how everything works. And I bet for you he focused more on actionable things, didn't he, since you seem so unable to keep out of trouble." She nudges him with her shoulder, grinning.

"Hmm, sure, that makes sense, I guess. So every time I successfully cast finite, I'm beating out the caster's will? What would have happened if their authem was stronger than mine? Dumbledore never really posed it like that! I never even knew failing was an option!"

She thinks about that for a moment. "I'm sure that worked in your favour, Harry, by not even allowing you the possibility of realising failure was an option, he basically ensured you would succeed. I bet you even were able to cancel his spells with no trouble, right? There's a reason authem isn't taught in the general syllabus. That was something he was sure to teach me. Certain things change reality, just through common acceptance. Can you imagine how differently spellcasting would be if everyone was worried about the strength of their will all the time? Ignorance, in this case, tends to work in the favour of the ignorant. If you don't know something is a problem, is it even a problem at all?"

He sits back, looking a bit out of his depths. "So… I shouldn't add this to my lesson plan?"

She snickers, "I keep on forgetting you're a professor now. I can't believe McGonagall allows you to teachimpressionable youths."

He pokes her in the arm. Again.

"Oy! Quit it!"

"III"

March 25, 2008 [Flashback, note the date]

He sighs into his palm, his head heavy. Laesanir had been the perfect tool to finally rid his head of the fragment. Not that he would ever have just taken it from Ginny. She'd been searching for it for too long. It was the culmination of her years of research. Her years of running. Her years of hiding from her family. But at that moment, only a month ago in the cave, he'd been so tempted to finally rid himself of the bit of soul hiding out in his scar.

Ginny had it harder than he, however. The constant battle in her own mind with the vicious bit of soul was much worse than his own small struggles. Voldemort is sequestered in his scar, only able to provide him with headaches or brief twinges of emotion. Whereas Ginny spent years battling Voldemort with occlumency. He can't even begin to fathom the strength she has to keep up the continual battle.

He sighs again.

But that doesn't mean he doesn't wish for another Laesanir himself. He wishes to finally yank out the bit of shard from his own head.

Dumbledore, as he was dying, told Harry he hadn't been able to figure out a way to extract the bit of soul without Harry dying himself. He'd been extremely frail at that point, lying in the hospital wing of Hogwarts, stubborn til the last, refusing to leave the school to stay at St. Mungos. His hand shook as he grasped Harry's wrist and his voice was weak as he tried to convey his desperation.

"Harry, my dear boy, I have failed you."

"No, no Professor," he tries to console the old man.

"I've asked so much of you." His voice is filled with regret, and Harry can't help but be reminded of that moment on the island, as he forced more and more potion down the headmaster's throat. He had cried then, haunted by ghosts of his past. It seems they still follow him now.

His hand is bony on Harry's wrist, and he appears to stare right through him. "I have failed you."

Harry places his hand on Dumbledore's trying to provide some sort of comfort, but he's already gone, his last breath spent, haunted until his last moments.

Harry sighs, his chest hollow. He wishes for peace in Dumbledore's passing.

There are little slivers still, hanging around.

Harry sighs again. He feels old. And he's only in his twenties.

"III"

May 7, 2008

"Oh hello, dear." Molly greets her at the firegrate, flustered and batting at her hair. Children shout from the kitchen, a clamour of little voices yelling and shrieking over one another. "Thank you for coming on such quick notice, no one else was available."

"Sure, Mum, no problem. What is the problem…?"

"Oh I have to run down to the store quickly, and I couldn't leave all the children alone, could you watch the whole lot of them for a few moments?"

"A— alone?" she squeaks. "You want me to watch them alone?"

Molly looks at her, "yes, dear, alone."

"Mum! They barely know me!"

"Ginny," she replies, sharply, "I won't be gone more than half an hour. You can handle this. They're already occupied in the kitchen, just make sure they don't start any fires. Especially for Remy, he takes after his father, so help us all.

"Children! I'm leaving now, listen to everything your Aunt Ginny says, I'll be back before lunchtime." And she's gone, shouting out as she whirls away in a flash of green flames.

Ginny stands, a bit flabbergasted, kind of in shock, to be honest. She'll face down an army, go undercover for a few weeks, assume any identity, but kids!? What the hell does she know about taking care of children!?

You can do this! She squares her shoulders and walks into the kitchen.

"Hey guys, what're you up to?"

As one, every single one of her nieces and nephews turn around to face her. They all just sit there, staring.

Victoire, it seems, takes pity on her. She walks around the table and grabs her by her hand and pulls her over to stand next to her sister and brother. "Nan set up some toys for the youngers, Teddy and I are watching over. Want to help?" She looks up at Ginny, wide-eyed and earnest.

Ginny nods, silently. Then clears her throat. "Sure. I'd love to help, Victoire."

Victoire beams up at her. "Your accent is perfect!" she exclaims excitedly.

Ginny smiles down at her. "Thank you, I lived in Paris for a while."

"I've still never been! We always just visit Papy and Mémé."

The rest of Victoire's cousins have all gone back to chatting and playing around the table, ignoring them, their activities clearly more interesting than Ginny and Victoire's conversation.

Little Anne shuffles shyly around the table and holds up a piece of paper, covered in bright crayon scribbles and colours.

"Oh hello, dear," Ginny crouches down, "what do you have here."

Anne just looks back at her with her big eyes and holds it out to Ginny.

"For me?"

She nods seriously.

"Thank you Anne! It's wonderful."

She smiles shyly at Ginny and scrambles back around the table, climbing back into her seat, sticking her tongue out as she grabs some crayons off the tabletop.

Victoire goes back to helping her younger sister colour within the lines and Ginny is left staring a little lost around the table.

Anne is sitting next to Lucy, Fred's youngest child. She's so small. Roxanne and Dominique huddle together, whispering under their breath. Roxanne is George's oldest, Remy's older sister. Remy and Louis are chatting loudly to a blue haired boy, Ginny hasn't yet met, but assumes is Teddy that Victoire mentioned. Rose, Ron and Hermione's child is only two years old and not here, which, in all honesty, Ginny is grateful for. She's not sure she knows how to watch a two year old. Arty hovers around Roxanne and Dominique, as if wanting to be a part of their huddle but not knowing how to be included.

Teddy is staring at her. She waves to him, "hi, I'm Ginny."

He blushes, "I'm Teddy."

She nods, "I've heard. I like your hair."

His hair turns pink at her compliment.

"Whoa! Very cool!" she exclaims, "that's awesome!"

He beams at her, his hair drifting back into the bright blue it was before. "Thanks! I can do this too!" He scrunches up his face, concentrating hard. His skin pales slightly and freckles pop out slowly, across his face and down his arms into the classic Weasley complexion. He looks down at his arms, pleased.

"Very cool! You match me!" She holds her arm out next to his. She's quite a bit tanner from her travels. He scrunches his face up again, but nothing changes. He looks down at his arm and frowns.

"It's harder to do changes on purpose. But I've been practising more and more! I'm a metamorphmagus! Like my mum."

"Oh really? And who's your mum?"

"Her name was Tonks."

Ginny stills. "Ah, and you father?"

"His name was Remus!"

Teddy doesn't look sad, even with both of the past tenses. But she feels tense though. She's not used to being sensitive. She wonders if she should console him. She wonders if he needs it. She wonders how he fits in here as well. She doesn't know either of his parents' names. Is he just a friend of Victoire's? He looks too comfortable with all the cousins to just be a friend though, even teasing and playing with the other boys in the group.

Victoire quietly peeps up then from beside her, "Harry brought Teddy. He always has. Teddy's like family." She says this very firmly, as if expecting Ginny to push back.

But Ginny just nods, "of course. Harry."

She still feels a bit lost, but Victoire seems to be able to handle all of her younger cousins quite well. And Teddy even leads them all in a rowdy game of tag after Remy smacks him full in the face and screams, tag you're it, so loud that Ginny jumps in her seat, her hand halfway to her wand.

The kids all stream out into the backyard, screaming and shouting at each other as they sprint away from Teddy.

"Stay in the yard, kids," Ginny shouts after them, "no leaving the fenceline."

She doesn't know if they even heard her or what she would do if they decide to disobey her but Victoire clumsily pats her arm and nods at her.

She laughs to herself. Getting reassurance from a nine year old! What has she come too?

But she can't ignore the glow of pride that comes from Victoire's reassurance. She can do this.

Her mum comes home soon after that, finding her on the back porch, watching as the kids all run around the yard.

And she just smiles at Ginny, and pats her arm as well.

AN - We're getting to the wrap up of Book II! I think there will two or three more chapters. And then on to Book III, which I'm very excited about. I've always been a pantser when writing, but I've actually planned out most of Book III already, a new process for me. Mainly because I have so many storylines to close out in the whole 7o7 story.

Let me know what plot line you've been the most curious about or are the most excited to see the resolution of in the comments! I hope you enjoy this newest chapter.

It's warm and sunny in the city today, I wish good weather upon you all!

Until next time

-upstater-