Chapter 15 - The Broom & Badger
June 18, 1998
The scent of dust, old parchment, and lingering spell residue became almost familiar—though not quite welcome—over the next few weeks. Grimmauld Place was still far from hospitable, but it was no longer actively trying to kill them, which Harry considered a success.
In that same stretch of time, they had received another letter from Ron, updating them on the situation in Australia. Hermione's parents had been found, but the process of restoring their memories was proving more complicated than anyone had hoped. Hermione had been able to remove the block on their memories, but the presence of the false memories made it difficult for Mr. and Mrs. Granger to trust anything they were being told. It wasn't anger, exactly—just deep uncertainty, an unavoidable suspicion that kept them from fully accepting what was happening and reconciling real and fabricated memories.
Adding to that the lives they'd built in Australia over the past year, and it left them deeply upset. Hermione was struggling under the weight of it all, throwing herself into research, as if sheer effort could bring them back to her. The healers at Lorien House—the Australian equivalent of St. Mungo's—were working carefully with the Grangers to help them separate and compartmentalize their identities, but it was slow, slogging, suspicious work. Ron, for his part, was doing his best to be there for her, but even he admitted he wasn't sure how to help.
Harry had read the letter more than once, unsure of what to say in reply. He wanted to reassure them, to tell Hermione that it would all work out in time—but what did he know about repairing fractured families? All he could do was hope that, like Grimmauld Place, time and effort would eventually make something broken feel whole again. In the meantime, he was almost grateful for the endless work the house demanded. Scrubbing away the remnants of the Black family's influence, undoing curses, and peeling back decades of neglect gave him something tangible to focus on—something he could fix with enough effort. Unlike Ron and Hermione's situation, this was a problem with a clear solution, even if it took time.
Fleur stood nearby, arms crossed, surveying the latest cleared section of the house with a critical eye. They'd made more progress than he had thought possible, but the work had been slow, tedious, and at times, downright disgusting.
He leaned against the drawing room doorway, watching as Ginny tied her hair up, her face streaked with dust. It had been more than a week since the last grimy, greasy residue from curse-breaking had filled the air, but it had settled over most surfaces of the house and was irritatingly resistant to cleaning charms. Fleur had explained it as one of the less dangerous—but more irritating—consequences of curse-breaking.
The three of them had taken the lead on the restoration. Harry and Ginny would meet with Fleur nearly every day after their morning workouts and Quidditch practice. While Mr. and Mrs. Weasley helped when they could and Bill popped in to tackle the worst of the curses that he'd missed during the initial pass-through. Though between Mr. Weasley's work at the Ministry, Mrs. Weasley divided between the Burrow, watching Teddy, and helping George as well, and Bill's work at Gringotts; it was mostly left to Harry, Ginny, and Fleur.
They had started by purging the worst of the house's lingering curses from their first visit. Fleur had taken the lead, ensuring every hex, ward, and lingering Death Eater trap was neutralized before they touched anything. Luckily that had only taken an additional few days and they'd emerged relatively unscathed aside from a few easily-remedied blisters.
After securing the house itself from dark magic, they had tackled the overwhelming problem of aesthetics. That had taken far longer, and was far more difficult, than Harry had anticipated. Though the level of danger had been set mostly back to where it had been during Harry, Ron, and Hermione's stay at Grimmauld Place through their time on the run, the house had seen better days.
The wallpaper was first to go, and that had been its own special kind of horror. Some of it peeled away in long strips, revealing layers of older, equally revolting designs underneath. Other parts seemed to fight them, curling back onto the wall or disintegrating into foul-smelling dust the moment they tried to scrape it off.
Then there was the carpet. Or what was left of it. Harry had made the mistake of ripping up one of the first sections without checking it for pests. He would never forget the absolute wave of doxies and spiders that came skittering out from underneath. It had taken nearly an hour to clear them all, and in the end, they had simply vanished the rest of the carpeting rather than risk any more surprises.
Ginny had taken special pleasure in banishing the dust-choked emerald rugs embroidered with elaborate, slithering snakes. Beneath the rotting carpet, the wooden floors were warped and damaged, but with a few solid Reparo charms, Fleur had led them through restoring most of the floorboards.
With the house finally clear of its worst offenders, they moved on to fixing what was actually broken. A few walls had cracks running so deep Harry was half-convinced the house was on the verge of collapsing in on itself. Mr. Weasley had assured him that ancient wizarding homes had their own kind of resilience, but even so, they reinforced the weaker spots with magic and repaired where necessary.
The staircases had been another issue—one of them had given out completely when Ginny stepped on it in the wrong spot, sending her tumbling halfway through the step in a shower of dust and splinters. After that, they stopped cutting corners and checked every single step, floorboard, and railing before declaring it safe.
The fireplace had been unusable, packed with soot and the remnants of some horribly toxic-looking concoction that a Death Eater had apparently spilled inside it. Fleur warned against lighting the fireplace until it could be properly cleaned, as there were some potions and poisons that could be activated by the heat and dispersed throughout the house. So Kreacher had spent an entire day scrubbing it clean with elvish magic while Harry worked on fixing the Floo connection.
It had required a trip to the Ministry with Percy and a lot of paperwork, but after quite a bit of effort, however, they finally had a working fireplace and a direct line to the Burrow, which Fleur had immediately tested—just to make sure they weren't about to get stuck mid-travel. He hadn't yet set up its connection to the rest of the Floo Network, but he was already planning to set up a connection to Shell Cottage so they weren't using so much Floo powder—a huge bag of which was already number one on his shopping list.
"I 'ave heard quite a few stories about your, ah…misfortunes with ze Floo," Fleur said teasingly as she stepped gracefully back into Grimmauld Place after that first successful trip. "If I were you, I would not 'ave wanted to be ze first to test a new connection either."
Harry had wanted to retort, but she wasn't wrong, and she was also helping him without any expectation of payment or reward. So he gratefully held his tongue, trying to ignore the pained look on Ginny's face as she struggled not to laugh.
They finally moved on to more of the aesthetics. Every room had been drowning in Black family influence, from snake-themed candelabras to portraits of scowling ancestors. The hideous snake carvings along the staircase banisters had to be transfigured into something else entirely, as every attempt to remove them manually had been met with biting and hissing. The proud Slytherin influence had been vanished or removed, much to Kreacher's chagrin.
The old house-elf had swallowed his suffering as the portraits, elf heads, and tapestries were pulled down and set into the basement storage room behind the boiler—which, honestly could have been turned into another bedroom or office if it didn't feel so much like a dungeon. Harry finally noticed the elf's misery and had given him permission to express himself freely…and then Kreacher pitched a hell of a fit, bellowing and sobbing in the back room, surrounded by portraits, serpent-shaped sconces, and other remnants of the Black family's legacy. He wailed about his old Mistress's honor, about the desecration of a noble house, and about the shame of serving such ungrateful masters.
Harry, Ginny, and Fleur had left him to it, exchanging glances but deciding it was best to let Kreacher vent. Kreacher had earned that much trust from him over the years, and they knew the elf would come around in his own time. Sure enough, after what felt like an hour of muffled curses and dramatic lamentations, Kreacher had emerged, his eyes red-rimmed but his posture straight. Without a word, he had scuttled off to brew tea, as if the whole ordeal had never happened.
From then on, he had worked with them rather than against them—though he did insist on salvaging a few heirlooms that "were not too disgraceful to be kept." He had been the only one able to fully eradicate the last remnants of the moldering wallpaper, muttering about the foolishness of his "young Master" who didn't appreciate a "proper house."
Though he blushed and was furiously beside himself when Harry thanked him and praised his work.
By the end of it, the house felt different. Not quite warm, not quite welcoming—but no longer oppressive. The air felt lighter without the heavy green drapes, finally allowing natural light to spill into rooms that had long been cloaked in gloom. Fleur had found a set of elegant, enchanted sconces in one of the less-damaged storage rooms, and with a bit of charm work, they provided a warm, golden glow instead of the eerie, flickering greenish hue left behind by the Black family's preferences.
There was still plenty to do. Furniture needed replacing—Harry wasn't exactly certain what his preferred style might be, but he knew it wasn't "amputated troll feet"…or anything that looked like it might belong to the Dursleys. Harry hadn't even touched the restoration of Sirius's and Regulus's rooms. The Black Family Tapestry was still an eye-sore tribute to blood purity, and Walburga's portrait was still causing issues, but for the first time, Harry could walk through Grimmauld Place and see the possibility of a home instead of a tomb.
"I think we've finally convinced this house we're not leaving," Ginny said, wiping her hands on her jeans.
Fleur huffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Perhaps. But I am not so sure it 'as forgiven us for even making ze attempt."
Harry smirked, pushing off the doorway and stepping into the drawing room. "It'll just have to get used to it." The room was clean and bright, lit by the new sconces and the sunlight streaming through the large—and now grime-free—windows.
"Ah, yes, well, zere is still much zat must be replaced," Fleur said with a delicate sniff, casting a disdainful glance at ze moldering couch cushions before nodding toward ze piano. "I am no expert, but I would say zat piano needs far more zan just tuning."
Harry nodded, remembering the curse Bill had removed from it—he'd explained that it was an animated snare curse that would have caused the piano's strings to ensnare and suffocate anyone who happened to sit at it and attempt to play.
Ginny slung her bag over her shoulder and stretched. "Might want to hire some sort of decorator," she said offhandedly.
Harry frowned. "That would mean telling someone else where this place is," he said, grumbling. He wasn't exactly sure why that thought worried him, but hoped it was just a leftover reflex from the war, like sleeping with his wand within reach.
"You should just ask Andi," Ginny said. "Her house looks great. I bet she'd know what to do with this place."
"She's a full time healer with a baby grandchild," Harry countered. Adding more to Andi's plate was the last thing he wanted to be doing.
"You should at least ask," Ginny said. "Maybe she knows someone who can help."
Harry shrugged, still not entirely convinced. He didn't see why he couldn't just go into some Muggle furniture store and buy whatever was cheapest. One glance at Ginny, however, told him she knew exactly what he was thinking, and she fixed him with a terribly unimpressed glare.
"If Ginny is going to be living 'ere after 'Ogwarts, she should 'ave a say, non?" Fleur added casually.
Harry's snapped around to Fleur so fast he made himself dizzy. "How did—Ginny isn't—we're not…"
Fleur fixed him with a second, terribly unimpressive glare. "Everyone who sees ze two of you know you're in love," she said, her gaze softening as she did. "You don't do things 'alfway, 'Arry. So when we see you do something, we know it is something you believe in. 'Fixing up ze 'ouse' and 'aving a future'—zere are only a few things zat can get a man thinking zis way." She gave him a knowing smirk before turning to Ginny. "And Ginny is 'ere, 'elping you clean zis 'orrifying 'ouse instead of being out wiz 'er friends or flying on 'er broom."
Harry half expected his face to start burning with embarrassment, but strangely nothing happened. He broke into a wide grin and glanced at Ginny, whose red-cheeked grin mirrored his own.
"You're right," he said, fighting down his grin. "We'll talk to Andi and see if she has any ideas. I guess it's kind of her family home, too."
Ginny cocked an eyebrow. "You also haven't done anything with the top floor yet," she said.
"I know," Harry muttered uncomfortably. "But it feels wrong to ask you two to help me with that kind of a mess." He rubbed the back of his neck self consciously.
Ginny put a hand on his arm, and his heart swelled at the tender gesture. "You heard Fleur," she said with a soft grin. "It's basically my room, too."
Harry nodded, grinning back. She always knew what to say.
"Although I can't believe you gave up the master bedroom," she teased, poking him in the chest.
Harry smirked. "I suppose if you really want to live in the same room that Walburga conceived her children and probably died in…"
"Of course you're fine sleeping in Sirius's room with the Muggle girls in swimsuits," Ginny pointed out with a mocking roll of her eyes. "No telling what he got up to in there, but I'm sure—knowing Sirius—that it was entirely harmless."
Harry scoffed. "Oh please, one look at this place and any girl Sirius brought back here would run screaming for the hills," he said.
"Given it a lot of thought, have you?" Ginny asked, a triumphant smirk on her face. She thought she had him.
He fought a smirk of his own. "Sirius told me so," he said. He chuckled as an adorable look of mock frustration. His grin softened. "And of course I thought about it. I would never ask you to live somewhere if it wasn't something you could stomach."
Ginny looped her arms around the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. "Somehow you always know what to say, Mr. Potter."
Harry grinned into the kiss. "Well, as much as I hate to convince you otherwise," he said, pulling back. "Would you help me clean, disinfect, and scour Sirius's childhood-and-teenage bedroom tomorrow?"
"I think you mean your bedroom," Ginny said, kissing him again.
"Our bedroom," he said, before he realized the implication of the words.
Ginny's eyes widened warningly, and his mouth snapped shut with an audible click. They both shot a cautious glance at Fleur, whose knowing smirk told them everything they needed.
"If anyone asks, I was in ze ozer room when you said zis," she said coyly.
A funny look crossed Ginny's face, but she nodded and said, "Our bedroom." She squeezed his hand. "But before we do anything I need to get something to eat. I haven't eaten since lunch."
Harry found Fleur's gaze and they rolled their eyes together.
"Ze legendary Weasley stomach," Fleur teased affectionately.
"Should we try and meet Bill in the Alley for something to eat?" Harry asked, glancing down at his watch. It was closing in on five o'clock. "My treat. As a thank you," he insisted.
Harry could see Ginny start to formulate an objection, but Fleur was right; the legendary Weasley appetite was a difficult opponent to overcome.
Ginny acquiesced with a reluctant sigh. She really hated even the perception that he was spending too much money on her. And—to her credit—he supposed he had been a bit carefree with his newly won financial independence; buying her a new broom, taking her out to dinner. But honestly, what was the point of all the money if he couldn't spend it on the people who meant most to him? He—Harry James Potter, who spent the first eleven years of his life unwanted and living in a cupboard under the stairs with only overly-large hand-me-down clothes—was wealthy.
That thought alone was almost mind-boggling.
And sure, he hadn't done anything to earn it beyond being born "lucky"—an absurd thought in itself given the last seventeen years—but it wasn't like he was spending it on himself, or even spending all that much. It was dinner, for his girlfriend and her family.
Guilt gnawed at him suddenly, and he found himself wrestling with the idea that he should do something more productive or worthy with what he'd been left. But he stuffed the worry aside as they packed up and closed the house down for the night. Harry called Kreacher to him before they left, and the elf appeared with a bow.
"We're done for the day," Harry told him, to which Kreacher replied with a nod. There was still an uncomfortable stiffness to Kreacher when Harry communicated things to him, but Harry could tell the stodgy old elf was trying. "We might not be back until this weekend. We have our usual dinners with Andi tomorrow."
Kreacher visibly flinched at the name, grinding his teeth. The first time he mentioned Andi around Kreacher he'd been treated to an impassioned grumbling about traitors to the House of Black and "what would the Mistress say?"
Until Harry had reminded him that the Mistress was dead and that it was his house now. He'd stressed Andi's importance to him—much to Kreacher's dismay and revulsion—and had asked Kreacher to treat her with respect.
It was clearly a struggle for Kreacher to unlearn decades of repeated ideology, but he was coming around. He only jolted and snarled to himself now whenever Harry mentioned anyone who had been blasted from the Tapestry.
Said tapestry was actually what Harry was hoping to talk to Andi about at dinner. He had no attachment to it, but he wondered if there was maybe some part of her that wanted to keep it, maybe as something to show Teddy when he was older. Harry relished every story he could find about his parents, but he'd grown up knowing nothing about them and having nothing to tie him to that part of his family. He would have given anything to have something that proved he'd belonged somewhere other than his spot under the cupboard.
One thing was certain, though: Harry wanted the Tapestry gone. He didn't want to see the faces of blood-purity fanatics every time he walked into the drawing room.
And anything that would remind him of his time at the Dursley's in even a roundabout way had to go. Harry had barely spared them a thought in the month-and-a-half since he'd stopped running for his life. He'd received an owl from Dedalus Diggle a few days after returning to the Burrow letting him know that his…family was safe and their return home was being arranged. Harry had read the letter, given the own a treat, written a quick "thank you" return note, and then sent the owl off so he could help the Weasley's prepare for Fred's funeral.
It was hard to believe it had been a month since then. Things were still raw sometimes, if he found himself thinking of Fred, and he had learned quickly exactly what it looked like when Fred crossed Ginny's mind. But strangely enough he didn't feel the same sharp grief in his chest when he thought of Sirius or Remus. He still felt the heaviness of it, but the pain was…less somehow. Scabbed over. Healing.
He glanced around the old house, raw and heavy itself, and rolled his eyes. Ginny caught this, and gave him a questioning look.
He shrugged. "I hate metaphors," he grumbled.
Ginny looked at him like he'd cracked, and somehow that made Harry just love her more.
Harry turned back to the elf. "Kreacher, we've cleaned up the house pretty well. Would you like to stay here again?"
"In Kreacher's space?" the elf asked, his eyes gleaming.
Harry frowned. The idea of Kreacher making another nest next to the boiler was far from appealing for many reasons, not the least of which was the fact that it reminded him all too much of his cupboard at the Dursleys. Kreacher deserved more than that. But getting into that with Kreacher could take a while to get through and convince him of, and he'd promised Ginny…
"Temporarily," Harry cautioned, hoping to placate the elf, to reward him somehow. Until the possibility of returning to his space came up, the happiest Harry had seen him was when he'd dragged a battered Mundungus to him and when he'd led the house elves of Hogwarts against the army of Death Eaters.
Kreacher bowed deeply and skulked off, muttering soothingly about "Kreacher's space" under his breath as he headed down into the basement.
Harry did his best to put that out of mind, then headed out onto the stoop with Ginny and Fleur. They Apparated to Diagon Alley from within the bounds of the Fidelius and Unplottable enchantments, ensuring that no passing Muggles would see. Arriving at the designated Apparition point for Gringotts, Fleur entered the bank quickly to find Bill while Harry and Ginny waited outside. It had been a month since he'd made his amends with the bank, but he didn't exactly feel welcome inside.
"I can't believe you're just still Apparating around the country without a license," Ginny teased. She'd had to Apparate with either her brothers, Fleur, or her parents, and she made a point of needling him every time she did, since she couldn't Apparate with him if he were doing so without a license like some sort of delinquent.
He shrugged, like he did every time, and tried to play off some nonchalance. "I'll do it eventually." It wasn't like Kingsley was going to send Hit-Wizards after him for Apparating without a license. Then again, it wouldn't look great for one of his new Aurors to be breaking the law…
Bill and Fleur emerged a few minutes later, thankfully distracting Harry from his worries. Bill pulled Ginny into a hug and patted Harry's arm roughly; in the same affectionate way that he'd greet Ron, George, or Charlie—Percy's greeting was always a solid, enthusiastic handshake.
"Already sent a Patronus to Mum and Dad letting them know you'll be having dinner out with us. And so they don't worry," he said, nudging Harry gently.
Harry grimaced; he wasn't used to checking in with people.
"So where are we going?" Bill asked as they headed down the steps from Gringotts and into the Alley. "Obviously nowhere with a dress code…" he gave them all a wary glance up and down, "or appearance code."
Harry glanced down and grimaced for the second time in as many minutes. He was covered in sweat, grime, dust, and…he didn't want to know what else, from the work at Grimmauld.
"No need to scrub up for little ol' me," Bill teased with a grin. He slung his arm around Fleur's shoulders and pulled her close to him. "House still giving you trouble?"
"A lot less than last time you were by," Harry said, brushing some of the residue from his clothes self-consciously. "We still haven't gotten around to the top floor…Sirius's—err," he spared a glance at Ginny, who shook her head in warning. He settled on a half-corrected, "my room. And Regulus's."
"Not a fan of the big green snake decorations?" Bill asked with a crooked grin.
Harry chuckled and shook his head, remembering the basilisk, Nagini, and all the hissing snake decorations. "Had my fill of giant snakes, thanks."
"Bad time to mention the housewarming pet I got you then?" Bill asked with a laugh. "You're a fan of boa constrictors, right?"
"Only the one I accidentally sicked on my cousin at the zoo," Harry muttered, which only made Bill laugh more.
They chatted a bit more about their week, but Harry quickly realized that Fleur had kept Bill well-informed about everything happening at Grimmauld Place. He supposed he shouldn't have been so surprised. Now that he was paying attention—now that he had a reason to pay attention—he noticed the small but telling details about other couples. How Mr. Weasley, despite being gone all day, was never out of step with what had happened at the Burrow. By breakfast the next morning, he would be discussing everything with them as if he had been there himself.
That…hadn't been what he'd seen growing up. His aunt and uncle had traded gossip, but very little about their daily lives ever seemed to stick with one another. Uncle Vernon would grumble about work, Aunt Petunia would complain about the neighbors, and Dudley would boast about whatever he'd done that day, but none of it ever felt like a real conversation—just noise filling the gaps between meals and television. There was nothing real, no sense that they were working together, just three people orbiting around one another in the same house.
But with the Weasleys, with Bill and Fleur, even with Hermione's stories about her parents, Harry saw something different. Something he hadn't quite grasped before: the quiet, unconscious way people in real partnerships stayed woven into each other's lives. They listened, they remembered, they carried pieces of each other's days even when they were apart. It was something built over time, with care and intention, and now—standing in Grimmauld Place, watching Bill nod along as Fleur filled in the gaps of his absence—Harry realized just how much he wanted that for himself.
"Well, if you're up for trying something new," Bill said with a grin, "a place called the Broom & Badger just opened last week. Supposed to be very fun—I've been hearing about it nonstop at work."
Ginny gave him a skeptical look. "In a good way, right?" she asked carefully, shooting Harry a worried glance.
"Yeah, of course," said Bill, feigning offense. "It's apparently modeled after a new Muggle thing called a 'gastropub,' which—when Sampson explained it—just sounded like the Leaky Cauldron. But he also said the words 'butterbeer-braised lamb shank' and…" he turned to Harry and put his hands on Harry's shoulders, looking at Harry with a solemn intensity that made Harry's stomach drop.
"It would make knowing that you and my sister sneak around our parents' house at night—sharing rooms and beds—a lot easier to ignore," Bill said gravely. "And a lot harder to talk about."
Harry's brain stuttered to a halt, and he struggled to form a coherent thought. Suddenly, the people around him seemed impossibly loud and entirely too tuned in on their conversation. He opened his mouth, utterly lost for a response.
Then the corner of Bill's mouth twitched, and Harry let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.
"The…err…'Broom & Badger' sounds great, Bill," he said lamely.
Bill nodded in exaggerated approval, as if to say finally, you're catching on, and pulled Harry into a side-hug. Over Harry's head, he shot Fleur a pointed look and gestured at him, as if to silently ask can you believe this one?
"If it's so new do you think we'll be able to get a table?" Harry asked as they set off down the Alley.
Bill laughed and ruffled his hair. "You're Harry Potter," he said with a teasing shake of his head. "If a restaurant had to choose between sitting you, Merlin, or Dumbledore they'd sit Merlin and Dumbledore together and give you your own table."
Harry scoffed and rolled his eyes, prying himself from under Bill's arm and finding Ginny again. She grinned up at him, her eyes dancing with amusement. He knew they were right and it infuriated him.
If he thought the looks and whispers sent his way when he was "the Chosen One" were bad, the ones he received as "the Man Who Won" were ten times worse.
The Broom & Badger was packed. The moment they stepped inside, the scent of roasted meats, butterbeer, and something faintly smoky filled the air. Golden candlelight flickered off polished wood, and the steady hum of conversation and laughter rolled through the room, occasionally punctuated by the clatter of cutlery and the cheerful pop of a cork being pulled from a bottle.
Harry had to admit—it had a cozy charm. He might have actually liked the place if he didn't feel like half the patrons were already trying to steal glances at their group.
The host, a young man in crisp robes and a harried expression, barely looked up from his ledger when they approached. "Evening," he said briskly. "If you're looking for a table, we're fully booked for the next—" He flipped a page with a sigh. "—hour and a half, at least. Bar's open, though."
Bill leaned in with an easy smile. "Any chance you could squeeze us in?"
The host barely glanced up. "Not unless someone suddenly decides to drop dead."
Ginny arched her brow. "Charming."
The host still wasn't paying them much mind as he scribbled something in his ledger. "What name should I put you down under? If something opens up, I can—" Then he finally looked up. His eyes flicked from Bill to Ginny to Fleur…and then landed on Harry.
His quill froze mid-stroke.
"Oh." The host swallowed. "Oh."
Bill, to his credit, managed to suppress a smirk. Fleur simply arched a perfectly unimpressed brow. Harry managed something between a friendly smile and a grimace. He forced out an awkward "hello."
The host's demeanor shifted so quickly Harry almost felt bad for him. Almost.
"I—er—perhaps I could find something sooner," the host said hurriedly, snapping his ledger shut. He turned to scan the dining area, gaze landing on a cozy corner booth. "Give me just one moment."
Harry could hear the barely-contained whispering from a few nearby tables, but before he could even start to feel uncomfortable, Ginny leaned in and whispered, "Should've led with Harry Potter."
He gave her a dry look.
Moments later, the host returned, beaming a little too eagerly. "Right this way," he said, gesturing toward a table that had seemingly cleared itself out of nowhere. "Enjoy your evening."
Harry slid into the booth, trying to make himself smaller by hiding behind his menu in the corner beside Ginny. Somehow that made the eyes on him feel even worse.
Fleur looked around, pointedly unafraid to make eye contact with the gawkers from the nearby tables. They at least had the presence of mind to look away. "Usually, it is me who gets all ze attention," she said, nodding thoughtfully. "Zis is a nice change."
"Bully for you," Harry grumbled.
Ginny smirked and leaned into him, her voice low enough that only he could hear. "Should've worn your Invisibility Cloak."
"Remind me next time," Harry huffed a quiet laugh, but before he could say anything else, a waitress appeared at their table, balancing a tray with four glasses and a bottle of deep ruby wine that seemed to shimmer under the dim lights.
"Compliments of the house," she said with a bright smile, setting the bottle down with a flourish. "Finest Elf-Pressed Starfire Reserve."
Bill let out an impressed whistle. "Blimey, they don't mess around here, do they?" Harry wasn't sure what amused him more—the free wine or Harry's discomfort.
The waitress beamed, but her gaze flickered to Harry. "Would you like to try a taste before I pour?"
"Oh, no really, I'm sure it's fine," Harry started to say. But Fleur cut him off by nodding graciously.
Fleur took the offered glass and swirled the liquid before taking a delicate sip. She considered it for a moment, then gave an approving hum. "C'est magnifique."
The waitress practically glowed at the praise as she poured generous servings into each glass. "I'll be back in a moment for your orders," she said, before bustling off, sparing Harry one last, not-so-subtle glance over her shoulder.
Harry groaned, tipping his head back against the seat.
"I am sure we could ask for somezing else if you do not like ze wine," Fleur said gently.
Harry shook his head furiously. "No, that's not—I…" he said, trailing off with a sigh when he saw the teasing gleam in Fleur's eyes as she took another sip of wine.
Bill chuckled, lifting his glass. "Oh, come on, mate. It's not every day you get free wine just for existing."
Ginny frowned at her brother. "Well you're not the one watching the waitress try and make eyes at your boyfriend."
Bill cocked an eyebrow, then glanced pointedly at Fleur and back to Ginny. "Yeah. I'm sure I have no idea what that's like," he deadpanned.
Fleur sipped her wine with a knowing smile. "And yet, I suspect 'Arry would gladly pay for his own drinks if it meant no one stared at 'im like a particularly rare creature at ze zoo."
"Exactly," Harry muttered. For the second time that night, he remembered the boa constrictor and eleven year old Dudley banging on its enclosure.
Bill grinned. "Let them get it out of their system." He motioned to the pub around. "This place can only exist because we won. Do you think Voldemort would let a Muggle-style pub open in Diagon Alley?"
Harry grunted his acknowledgement.
"There's only so many ways a place like this can thank you," Bill continued. "You did something important. You're stuck with people knowing it—and with this very expensive, very free wine. So drink up, mate."
Harry sighed, but as he took a sip, he had to admit…it wasn't bad. And, if he were being honest, it was nice to be able to get Bill a table at a place he'd clearly been excited to try. That was the whole point of the gesture, he reminded himself; to show his appreciation for what Bill, Fleur, Ginny—all the Weasleys really—had done for him.
That was what adults did, right? They ignored things like bills and receipts and took their friends and family out to dinner to thank them. He sat a little straighter and set his jaw. He'd endure the public spectacle of it if it meant they could all have a good time. This was…normal.
"Well dinner is on me then," Harry said. He stopped Bill and Fleur before they could object. "I mean it. I would have had no idea where to start with the house if it weren't for you, Bill. I don't know what the going rate is for a privately-hired curse-breaker, but I'm willing to bet it's more than just dinner at a pub."
Bill sighed in defeat and looked at Fleur, who just gave him a knowing look and smiled proudly.
"Without Fleur I'd be…I dunno—stuck between the floors somewhere," he said, thinking back over the last two weeks. "Or still dealing with that ensnaring jinx on the wallpaper."
Fleur hid a laugh behind her hand. "It would 'ave been funny if it was not also trying to strangle you."
Harry grimaced. It had not felt funny at the time at all. "And Ginny," he said, turning to her. She fixed him with the look that set his heart hammering in his chest every time. His mouth hung open as he tried to say just how much she meant to him, but finding words for that…nothing seemed to do it justice.
He grinned and settled on, "Have I told you how much I love you?"
"Not since we sat down," Ginny said with a matching grin.
"Oh," Bill said, looking pointedly between Harry and Ginny. "We're using the big-L-word, are we?" He exchanged glances with Fleur and some quiet understanding passed between them. He turned back to Ginny. "How long have we been doing that?"
Ginny looked thoughtful for a moment. "Since that trip to the Alley with Ron and Hermione."
"Oh, when he bought you the broom?" Bill asked teasingly. Fleur smacked his arm admonishingly. He sighed. "I'm kidding. I'm obviously happy for you both."
"It's been a month," Harry said quietly as the realization dawned on him. A month—to the day. A month of him saying "I love you" to someone, and meaning it with every fiber of his being. A month of Ginny saying it back—of feeling loved. As far as months went, it was as close to perfect as he'd ever had.
He must have been silent for a while, because when he shook himself back to the moment, he found Fleur looking at him and Ginny proudly.
"It is a wonderful thing, to be loved by zis family," she said knowingly, sparing a glance at Bill.
Harry felt Ginny's hand squeeze his on their side of the booth. He squeezed back. "It's bloody brilliant."
Their meal passed in a lively mix of conversation and laughter, with Bill grinning like a satisfied Kneazle when his butterbeer-braised lamb shank finally arrived, ordered rare just as he liked it. Fleur made a point to sample everyone's food, declaring each bite acceptable in a way that left Harry suspecting her standards were far higher than she let on. Ginny spent most of the meal stealing chips off Harry's plate without even pretending to ask, flashing him a cheeky grin whenever he caught her.
"If you wanted chips why didn't you order them?" Harry asked after
Despite the pleasant atmosphere, Harry never quite shook the feeling of being watched. Every so often, he'd glance up to find a few patrons quickly looking away, some whispering behind their hands. He did his best to ignore it, though the creeping awkwardness never quite left him.
Toward the end of the meal, just as Bill was theatrically savoring the last bite of his lamb, a hesitant voice spoke up beside their table.
"Excuse me, Mr. Potter?"
Harry turned to see a small boy—maybe ten or eleven years old—standing beside their booth, practically vibrating with excitement. His parents stood just behind him, both looking slightly embarrassed but determined.
"I—er, I hope we're not interrupting," the father said, shifting nervously. "We just…wanted to say thank you." He glanced at his wife before continuing. "For everything you've done. For all of us."
Harry felt his stomach twist with discomfort, as it always did when people thanked him like this. He sat up a little straighter, rubbing the back of his neck. "Oh—er, well. I didn't do it alone," he said quickly. He glanced to Bill, Fleur, and Ginny. "There were a lot of us fighting for the same thing."
The boy, undeterred, beamed up at him. "Are you going to be at Hogwarts next year?"
His mother smiled fondly but gently corrected him. "No, sweetheart. We read in the Prophet that he's going to be an Auror."
Harry blinked. That's already public? He hadn't even officially started training yet. It was strange—unsettling, really—to realize that even his career plans were being reported on.
The boy didn't seem to notice Harry's hesitation, his excitement only growing. "That's so cool," he breathed. "But I still wish you'd be there! I'm starting next year, and I really want to be in Gryffindor—just like you!"
Harry felt something tighten in his chest. He'd never really thought about it before—what it would mean to younger students, growing up in a world after the war, looking up to him the way he'd once looked up to Dumbledore. The idea of kids wanting to follow in his footsteps, seeing Gryffindor as something to aspire to because he had been in it…It was overwhelming in a way he wasn't prepared for. His mind suddenly flashed back to that first ride on the Hogwarts Express when he'd met Ron; their Sorting, their uncertainty.
"Well," he said, clearing his throat, "Gryffindor's a great house. But, you know, the Hat sorts you where you're meant to be. It doesn't matter what house you're in as long as you're yourself. I have friends from every house."
"Even Slytherin?" the boy asked, wide-eyed.
Harry gave him a long look, his gaze flitting briefly towards the boy's parents to gauge their reactions. But they, too, were looking at him intently. He squashed down his own conflicted feelings on the Slytherins that had shaped his early time in Hogwarts and instead thought of Slughorn, who had stood with them against Voldemort and his Death Eaters; of Snape, who had given his exceedingly complicated life in service of the cause; of Andi, who had accepted him as family.
"Even Slytherin," Harry said after that long moment. He nodded thoughtfully. "Professor Dumbledore once told me that it's our choices that show us who we really are, not our abilities or what house we're in."
"Wow," the boy whispered before nodding, as if accepting a great truth.
The mother then turned to Ginny with a warm smile. "And you must be Ginny Weasley," she said. "I just wanted to say, we don't believe a word of what those gossip articles say about you."
Ginny blinked, caught completely off guard. "Gossip articles?" she repeated, looking between Harry and Bill in confusion.
Harry shrugged helplessly, though he noticed Bill and Fleur look a bit more uncomfortable, as if they already knew what the woman was talking about.
The woman grimaced. "They can't seem to decide if you're a heartbreaker or planning a wedding already."
Ginny's mouth fell open slightly. "You're joking."
"Well…" The mother suddenly began rifling through her bag. "I actually think I have the latest issue in here somewhere. My sister sends them to me—mostly for a laugh."
Harry felt a deep sense of foreboding settle over him as she pulled out a folded copy of Witch Weekly and smoothed it out on the table.
"Oh, here it is!" she said quickly, tapping an article with a rather dramatic headline: The Chosen One's Chosen One—A Fairytale Romance or Headed for Heartbreak?
"'Heartbreak'?" Harry goggled, taking the offered paper.
The Chosen One's Chosen One—A Fairytale Romance or Headed for Heartbreak?
By Verena Lark, Witch Weekly's Gossip Columnist
Love is in the air—or is it? Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley have been practically inseparable since the fall of You-Know-Who, and the wizarding world simply cannot get enough of them! From strolls through Diagon Alley to intimate dinners with friends, it seems the Chosen One has given his heart away. But is this a storybook romance or a whirlwind destined to fizzle out?
Just last month, Harry—who is set to begin his intense Auror training in August—was seen broom shopping with Ginny, and, in a swoon-worthy moment, personally purchased her a sleek new Nimbus 2000! Talk about grand gestures! But while some see it as proof of his devotion, others whisper that Ginny Weasley has always had her eye on The Boy Who Lived. Was her childhood crush on Hogwarts' most famous student the beginning of true love, or just a lifelong fascination with celebrity?
Of course, Ginny isn't exactly a stranger to romance. The fiery redhead has never had trouble attracting admirers, having dated both a Pureblood and a Muggle-born in recent years. Could her newest match simply be the next name on her list?
And then there's the little problem of distance. With Harry off to train as an Auror and Ginny returning to Hogwarts for her final year, can they possibly keep the spark alive? Some close to the couple say yes, claiming their bond is unshakable. Others, however, aren't convinced. One source spilled, "Long-distance is hard enough without the added stress of hunting down Dark wizards. How many love letters can an owl really carry?"
Their recent cozy dinner at the Leaky Cauldron—joined by several Hogwarts graduates rumored to be joining the Aurors—has only fueled speculation. Are these two building a future together, or is their love already on borrowed time?
One thing is for certain: whether this is true love or just another chapter in their dating history, all eyes are on Harry & Ginny.
But perhaps the real question is this: has Ginny Weasley, after years of admirers, finally found her Half-Blood Prince?
Harry's head was beginning to spin. The food he'd eaten suddenly felt like a rock in his stomach. They had gotten so many things wrong, and people out there were reading it.
The article continued, detailing how Ginny's past relationships and the supposed "distance problem" between him and Ginny were cause for concern. Harry sat back, feeling suddenly aware of how much more the world seemed to know about him than he was comfortable with.
"Like we said," the boy's father assured, "We don't—I don't think anyone really believes this stuff. It's just…you know…gossip." He looked at his wife worryingly.
Harry nodded and swallowed hard, fighting to maintain his composure.
"Don't worry about it," Bill said, pulling the attention to himself. He forced a tight smile. "I don't think Harry spends a lot of time reading about himself. Not after all the out-there stuff they've printed about him over the years, you know?"
"Oh, of course," the woman's husband said, and Harry became very aware that he was doing a piss-poor job of keeping his cool. "Like we said—we really don't believe much of what they're saying."
Sensing the growing discomfort at the table, the boy's mother gently tugged her son back toward her. "Well, we won't keep you any longer. We just wanted to say thank you." She offered a kind smile, though her eyes flickered with apology.
Harry forced himself to push past his unease, managing a small smile. "Thanks for stopping by," he said, his voice steadier than he felt. He looked down at the boy, who still gazed up at him with wide-eyed admiration. "And I hope you have a brilliant time at Hogwarts next fall. It's one of the most amazing places in the world."
The boy beamed, nodding so enthusiastically his glasses nearly slid off his nose. "I will! And I'm gonna be in Gryffindor—just like you!"
Ginny grinned at that. "I'll see you there!"
With one last round of smiles and quick goodbyes, the family slipped away, leaving behind an awkward silence in their wake.
Ginny plucked the article from his hands before Harry could stop her. She skimmed a few lines, her face twisting into something between disbelief and frustration. "I can't believe this. They've already decided I've got some kind of…'lifelong fascination with celebrity'?"
"Hey, Harry," Bill's voice cut through the sound of his blood pounding in his ears. Harry's gaze snapped to him. "Take a breath," he instructed in that same tone he'd used when working through Grimmauld. "Tell us what's on your mind."
Harry chewed his bottom lip and gestured angrily to the article between them on the table. "How can you stand it?" he asked angrily. Ginny's hand flew to his as his voice spiked. "This stuff about you, Ginny! It's awful."
Ginny waved her hand at the article dismissively. "I dunno if it's 'awful'—it's definitely not great, sure," she said. He goggled. "Harry, they've been saying worse things about both of us all year." She shrugged. "If that's the worst it's going to be, I'm okay with it."
Harry frowned. Why wasn't it bothering her the same way?
"There were a lot of shit articles last year. 'Bout all of us," Bill confirmed with a reluctant nod. "We just did our best to ignore them."
"It is not ze articles zat bother 'Arry. It is not zat zey are about 'im, or zat zey are about Ginny. It is because zey are about 'im and Ginny," Fleur said, fixing Harry with a sympathetic look. "Zis special thing zey 'ave—new, beautiful, wonderful, and theirs—suddenly, ze whole world is talking about it, trying to make it everyone's."
Harry swallowed hard, and wondered how Fleur had managed to put it into words when he hadn't been able to.
Bill hummed thoughtfully. "Sorry, Harry, Ginny," he said. "I should have warned you both about the articles. I started getting questions about them from people at work, so I—" he carded a hand through his hair. "I just…ignored it like I always do. I figured they'd get bored and move on. I'm sorry, I—"
"Bill," Ginny reached across the table and took her brother's hand. "It's okay. I don't—Harry's not blaming you."
"No," Harry assured quickly, almost jerking to his feet. "I don't—Fleur's right." He shook his head in frustration. What was wrong with him tonight? Why was he so skittish?
Bill grinned fondly. "Well, Harry, if it makes you feel any better, I am…touched by how much this means to you," he said, glancing between him and Ginny. "Speaking as a protective older brother, of course, it means the world to us."
Harry let out a long breath and felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. Ginny rubbed his arm soothingly, and he leaned into her touch.
"Well this feels like as good a time as ever to remind you that tonight's my…treat," Harry said lamely.
Bill snorted and hid his laugh behind his napkin. Fleur leaned back in her seat and looked away, her lips pinched shut. Ginny had her hands pressed over her eyes as her body shook with barely-contained laughter.
"You're adorable," Bill said, shaking his head. He glanced around. "You're the most famous person in the room—and maybe the country—but you've said the fewest words all night. You say 'please' and 'thank you' to our waitress. You talked to a little kid and imparted advice from Dumbledore." Bill looked at him like he'd grown six heads. "And everyone in this pub saw that happen. We'll never know it but…you might have just changed his life."
Harry grimaced. "I didn't even ask his name," he said.
"They didn't offer either," Bill said. "People are drawn to you because you don't embrace the fame and…all that shit."
Fleur sighed dramatically. "Mon petit chou, Beel 'as such a way of making zings more complicated zan zey need to be," she said, turning to Harry. "The restaurant will absolutely not allow you to pay for anything tonight."
Harry grunted in frustration and sank down in his seat.
"But from one beautifully-scarred man to another," Bill gestured between them and Harry felt a grin twitch at the corners of his mouth. He'd never had someone to joke about that with before. "We did only get a seat because of that mug of yours. So we can call it even."
Bill stuck out his hand. Harry sighed, nodded, and reached to take it, but then Bill pulled it away suddenly. "That said, you are still going to need our help with the house," he gestured to Fleur, who eyed him warily, but didn't object. "And you did stay at our cottage for quite a while. Plus you are sneaking down to her room every night and I feel that—as her eldest brother—I really should say something about that—"
"'Call it even' works," Harry admitted with a heavy sigh. Somehow, Bill had not only managed to steer the conversation away from Harry insisting on paying the bill but had also left him feeling even more indebted to him in the process.
And—even more infuriatingly—based on the small smirk shared between Bill and Fleur, they both knew it.
As their meal wound down, the conversation drifted to lighter topics—Quidditch practice, what Harry wanted to do with Grimmauld Place once it was cleared out of "all the Walburga" as Bill called it, and Fleur's ongoing efforts to "civilize" Bill's taste in wine. The gossip article, once the center of attention, lay abandoned on the table, and was eventually whisked away along with their empty plates by a discreet waitress.
As Bill and Fleur had predicted, the pub flat-out refused to charge Harry for the meal. The owner himself had come over, flustered and insistent that it was "an honor" and that Harry had "done more than enough for all of them already." Harry had sighed, realizing there was no point in arguing, but before they left, he made sure to leave a very generous tip—enough that Bill told him the staff would be talking about it for weeks. But if they weren't going to let him pay for his own dinner, at least he could make sure the people working there were properly appreciated.
When they finally stepped out into the cool night air, the streets of Diagon Alley were quieter, the earlier buzz of activity settling into a more subdued hum. They made their way toward the Leaky Cauldron, the flickering street lamps casting long shadows as they walked.
At the pub's Floo connection, they paused for a moment. Bill clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder. "We'll have to do this again sometime—under less dramatic circumstances," he added with a pointed look.
Fleur smirked. "Ah, but where would be ze fun in zat?"
With that, she took Bill's hand, and the two of them stepped into the green flames, vanishing toward Shell Cottage.
Left alone, Harry and Ginny lingered for a moment. She looked up at him, her expression unreadable. "You alright?"
Harry exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Just…still getting used to all of it." He gestured vaguely, encompassing everything from the whispers, the stares, and the headlines to the surreal experience of being thanked by complete strangers.
Ginny tilted her head, considering him. "We'll figure it out," she said simply, reaching for his hand.
His fingers curled around hers as they stepped into the fireplace together. With a whispered "The Burrow," the world spun away in a rush of green flames.
Next Time: Chapter 16 - First Testimony
Little bit more drama, and a lot more work to go on Grimmauld Place. But most importantly, Harry and Ginny are starting to figure out how they fit together, and in the wider wizarding world. For Harry, there is an entire country of witches and wizards that will be looking to him—despite his youth. They want him to be the next Dumbledore, but he most certainly isn't, so the best he can do is try and communicate the lessons he'd learned from his old Headmaster.
Hopefully that will be enough.
Make sure to drop a review if you like what you're reading!
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GinnyPotter6891: Thank you! I wanted to make sure that the emphasis was on the work and not just the magic of fixing up the place. Magic can/should be used to make some things easier, but not to remove the idea of struggle completely. Some wizards (like Dumbledore) could probably magically reverse the damage done to Grimmauld Place with a wave of his wand...and probably set it right to full working order. But for Harry to make it new and his takes more than just someone else doing the magic. As for the court summons...well, that will be a bit of a longer-term plotline...some of which you'll see in the next chapter.
Nightwing2013: I'm glad you've been enjoying! I've really enjoyed writing Kreacher, and I've got some more great bits between him and Harry coming up in a few chapters. He's got some growing of his own to do. I'm glad you enjoyed the "Hogwarts Class of '98" banter—I was trying to create characters for Harry and Ron's Auror class and I realized that there would likely be more than a few former students who joined up after the battle, and the ones who did would be more likely to come from Dumbledore's Army than not. Plus—Seamus is so much fun to write.
dianaanne: Will they get the Grangers' memories back? I'd be spoiling things if I outright said it, but...there's a bit more drama there that you'll just have to sit tight for.
flutterbye123 and scrappy8: thank you for the reviews! I'm always excited to see yours come by!
guest: "When will Percy Weasley get a girlfriend"...who's to say he hasn't?