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Author: Aibhinn Story: Heal The Pain Rating: Teens Setting: AU Status: Completed Reviews: 7 Words: 198,021
Harry stared at Mrs. Weasley, mouth dry, mind awhirl. Of all the things he might have predicted, seeing Ginny's bottle of birth control potion in front of her mother was at the extreme bottom of the list. "I..." Ginny stammered. "I…" "I must admit, I'm not entirely surprised," Mrs. Weasley said. "I've had my suspicions of Ron and Hermione for some time. And I am pleased that you're taking precautions, Ginny dear." She turned her gaze on Harry, who flinched. "I suppose you knew about this?" She tapped the bottle with a forefinger. Harry was tense but he answered with a credible attempt at calm. "Yes, I did. And if she hadn't already been taking the potion, I would have insisted on it." Her mother nodded. "Well," she said, "I suppose I don't need to ask what your intentions are, the way I had planned—" He felt a stab of anger and hurt shoot through him. "I hope," he said in that same quiet tone, but with a note of steel behind it, "that my intentions toward Ginny have never been in question, Mrs. Weasley." Mrs. Weasley's expression softened slightly. "Of course not, Harry," she said. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to doubt you. But it was quite a shock." She gave a small half-smile. "While I am overjoyed to learn that you two wish to marry, I must admit that I had hoped to be made a grandmother by my eldest first, not my youngest." Oh, God. Harry's heart skipped a beat and Ginny froze, gripping his hand. "You are planning to wait until the end of the school year before your wedding, aren't you?" Mrs. Weasley asked. "Yes," Harry said firmly as Ginny swallowed convulsively. "Yes, of course." "I promise I'll have my N.E.W.T.s done first, Mum," Ginny managed to get out, the first coherent sentence she'd managed since her mother had brought out the bottle. Stay calm, Gin, he pleaded internally. Stay calm. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders protectively, sliding his chair closer to her while still holding her right hand in his right. She leaned into him. "Mrs. Weasley, I know you think we're young, but we have every intention of doing this properly," he said earnestly. "I care far too much for Ginny to ruin her future by having her leave school early, even if she'd agree to it." Mrs. Weasley smiled sympathetically. "I understand, dears," she said. "Arthur and I were married young ourselves. But that's just why I want to speak with you. Starting a family is such a responsibility, and I wanted to be certain you knew what you were getting into." "We're not planning to—" Harry began, but Mrs. Weasley interrupted. "I know, dear, but—well, things happen. I just want to make certain that you're aware of what it entails." Ginny looked down at the table and took a deep breath, as though trying to settle herself. Harry's heart twisted, and he tightened his arm slightly. Please, Mrs. Weasley, he begged silently, please don't. Her mother leaned forward. "Ginny, darling," Mrs. Weasley said, "I'm not trying to embarrass you, honestly. It's just that so few young people understand what's involved in having a child unless they've helped to raise one. Bill and Charlie helped enough with you and Ron, and even the twins, that I never worried about them, but you're the youngest, dear. You've never had that experience." She turned to Harry, stretching a hand out toward him on the table. "And you haven't either, of course, Harry dear. I know how much you've always wanted a family, and I know how much you love Ginny and want to have a family with her, so I think it's important that I make certain you understand. Believe me, it'll be more work than you've ever imagined." Harry could feel Ginny trembling and knew he had to do something to head Mrs. Weasley off. "We're not thinking of starting a family any time soon," he said in what he hoped was a reassuring voice. "Honestly. We're taking all the precautions we can." "Not all of them," Mrs. Weasley said significantly. She tapped the bottle again. "This isn't perfect; it can fail. The only foolproof method to avoid conceiving a child is not to have sex in the first place. It only takes once, don't forget. None of my children came when I was expecting them, and I took all the precautions there were at the time. I've been pregnant six times, and only once was I aware that I'd successfully conceived—that was with you, dear," she said looking at Ginny. "Your father and I had planned to wait several years before we had children, but it never worked out that way. Things have a way of happening despite our best intentions. Girls have even been known to get pregnant the first time they had sex, and sometimes they don't even realise they've conceived until it's too late to do anything." A small, choked sound came from Ginny, and her mother's brow furrowed in response. Harry could tell that Ginny was fighting with everything she had to keep from bursting into tears. "I understand your concern, Mrs. Weasley," he said, releasing Ginny's hand to touch her mother's, and bringing her mother's scrutiny back onto himself, "but I promise you, I would never, ever do anything to hurt Ginny. If it meant that we would no longer, er, need that—" he nodded at the bottle "—until our wedding, well, I'd be willing to do that. Please, don't worry yourself." Yourself or Ginny. Please, just let it go. Mrs. Weasley took a long look at him, and he forced himself to look back, knowing that he was blushing furiously at even that oblique reference to sex. She considered for a moment, then nodded once. "All right," she said. "You've always been a truthful boy." She smiled. "I won't ask you to make that sacrifice," she said, "not because I doubt you would, but because I don't think it's a fair thing to demand—and Ginny's at Hogwarts so much of the time anyway." She rose as if to leave. Harry felt the tension drain out of him as though someone had pulled the stopper in a bathtub. It was over. Ginny'd held on. It was going to be all right. He pressed a kiss to her temple, and he felt her sag against him in relief. Thank Merlin, he thought. I'd hoped I'd be able to deflect her attention enough to let Ginny get through it. "But, Ginny, dear," Mrs. Weasley added, walking around the table and taking Ginny's other hand, "if anything happens, anything at all, I do hope you'll come to me. I love you, darling, and if you're ever in any kind of need, you do know that I'm here for you, don't you?" Harry's mouth dropped open in shock, and his stomach lurched. It was like being blindsided by a train. Ginny raised her eyes to her mother's, and Harry felt her start to shake again, violently this time. "I—" she said shakily. "I—" "Because I am," Mrs. Weasley said in the gentlest voice Harry had ever heard her use. "Always." Ginny stared for a moment, then suddenly burst into sobs. Mrs. Weasley jerked back, shocked, as Ginny turned to Harry and buried her face in his shoulder. He squeezed his eyes shut in despair and wrapped his arms round her, caressing her hair with one hand. "Shh," he whispered. "Shh. It's all right, love. It's all right." "Wh—what is it?" Mrs. Weasley sounded stunned. "Ginny? Ginny, darling, what's wrong?" "I'm s-sorry, Harry," Ginny whimpered through her sobs, her hands clenched into fists against his back. "I'm s-sorry… I have to tell her, I have to, I can't do this any more…" "Shh. Shh, love, it's all right. It's all right." Despite Mrs. Weasley's presence, he gently lifted Ginny into his lap and let her hide her face in the crook of his neck as he rubbed his hands up and down her back. I had a feeling it would come to this, he thought as Mrs. Weasley moved into Ginny's chair, her own hand sliding back and forth across her daughter's shoulders. As soon as I saw that bottle, I had a feeling. "Tell me what?" Mrs. Weasley said softly, her eyes filled with worry. She met Harry's gaze, silently pleading for an explanation. "Harry?" Ginny's sobs were subsiding, though she still trembled. Harry didn't answer her mother; instead he reached up to cup Ginny's cheek, leaning back slightly so he could see into her face. She raised her head. "Do you want me to tell her, love?" he asked. "Or do you want to?" She sniffled slightly, and he reached into the pocket of his jeans to pull out a handkerchief. Her face was streaked with tears, blotchy and swollen, and she was still the most beautiful creature he had ever known. She sat up a little more fully and wiped her face. "I will," she said, very quietly, and turned to face her mother, who was waiting anxiously. Harry shifted on his chair so they could see each other more easily, and Mrs. Weasley shifted her own as well. "I—" Ginny began, then stopped, swallowed, and tried again. "Mum," she said in a voice almost too hushed to hear, "there's something we never told you about the night of the Battle." -------------------- "Counsellor?" Colonel Massey asked, sticking his head in the doorway. Major Miller turned slowly in his chair. He'd thought the building was empty by now and the fireplaces turned off, but that wouldn't stop an individual with enough determination or the proper clearances. He looked at Massey without recognition, until the part of his brain that associated faces and names kicked into gear and he leapt to his feet. "Sir!" "As you were, Major. As of half an hour ago, I'm Mister Massey again. I'm on leave." Taking him at his word, Miller sat back down in his chair and put his feet up on his desk. "So, sir, if you're on leave, what the heck are you doing here, talking to me?" "Just wanting to wrap up some loose ends, Counsellor." Miller shrugged, sweeping his hand to indicate Massey should enter. "Wrap away. I'm all ears until I fall asleep – my wife is out tonight and the kids are with her mum, so I'm good for a few more hours." Massey chuckled briefly. "I don't think I'll need that much time," he said, picking up a stack of paper that filled up the big client chair and setting it down on the floor, then sitting in the chair. "Did you practice the Pensieve with your client before the hearing?" "Yeah. I had to look up the charm—it's been a while since I've touched one—but we practiced." "You'll want to keep that Pensieve under tight security," Massey warned. "It's in the same safe I use for my classified materials, and the lid has a layered charm that's blood sealed to me – if anyone else tries to take the lid off, a gossamer ward breaks, igniting a Salamander Special." "Salamander Special?" Massey's eyebrows rose. Miller smirked. "It's a toy from one of my special ops clients – think firecracker with liberal amounts of finely shredded metallic magnesium. Goes off with a bang and burns like uncontrollable hellfire for about ten minutes, incinerating the contents of the Pensieve in about seven seconds." Massey gave a low whistle. "I think that'll do for security – I hadn't thought about booby trapping the Pensieve itself." "Yeah, well, I've been hanging out with criminals for the past ten years. I have a pretty low view of human nature." Massey chuckled again. "I imagine that you do." He tapped the arm of the chair idly. "I've submitted the Potter report to the Court Martial Convening Authority." "And?" "And an unsigned copy may get left in your office today." Massey's expression was bland. "That's nice, sir, but until the Court Martial Convening Authority takes action, it's just a recommendation from a very clever barrister." "Yeah, yeah, yeah," Massey smirked. "I've recommended that they solve the multiplicity problem by dropping both the Unforgivable charge and the Torture charge, offering your client an opportunity to plead on a misdemeanour assault charge. I don't think they're going to snap on that bait though. I expect that they're going to drop the Torture charge and just go forward with the Unforgivable charge alone." "That's what they should have done in the first place, isn't it?" "It's what I would have done." Massey sighed, rubbing his eyes with a weary hand. "I've been mystified from the beginning as to what's going on with this case – I could almost believe, from the way it's being handled, that Fudge was still Minister. I haven't seen such shoddy work since his tenure." Miller knew the answer to this one. "Mrs. Bones is still Minister for now, but she's let it be known in certain circles that she's going to be stepping down." "So?" "The career employees may be trying to curry favour with the new government. Or whomever they expect—or want—the new government to be." Massey looked at him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "That would explain a lot of things," he said, running his fingers through his thinning white hair. Miller nodded. "And besides all that, for reasons that escape me, there are plenty of people apart from the known Death Eaters that hate my client's guts." "Yes, odd thing, that, especially given his actions of the past year or so. He really is a nice chap—" Massey's eyes met Miller's "—but when all is said and done, he needs to leave the Unspeakable Corps." Yes, he does—but I won't admit anything of the sort until we've talked and he's agreed. Not even off the record. "We'll discuss that when we chat next week," he said offhandedly. "Anything else, sir?" "Yes." Massey leaned forward, his gaze suddenly intense. "Your client has been withholding information on you, Counsellor." Miller nodded; he'd been expecting this. "Yeah, I figured that out before the hearing. I know about the missing name on his family tree. Anything else that's going to come back to bite me?" One of Massey's eyebrows went up. "Take a look at the scene in the Pensieve on the Death Eater attack in the Weasley orchard and ask yourself how Potter got there in time." Oh? Miller resisted the impulse to turn and look at his safe. "I don't ask myself questions," he hedged. "I ask my clients questions." "Ask yourself this one. The answer is hot – very hot. Umbra hot." Umbra? About the attack in the orchard? "What, his girlfriend's a Seer or something?" he joked. A muscle twitched in Massey's jaw. Miller blinked, bringing his feet down and turning to fully face his superior, all humour gone. "Suffering Shiva," he whispered. "That's it, isn't it? Ginny Weasley is a Seer." Massey stood, pulling a hat out of his satchel. A thin folder remained in the client chair. "Good night, Counsellor," was all he said. Miller nodded, his mind still whirling. "Good night, sir. Thanks for the chat." "What chat, Major Miller? I was never here." He nodded again distractedly. "Right, sir. It was still lovely – drop in again the next time you're not here." "You're not making any sense, Major. It's time for you to go home." "Soon, sir, soon." Massey departed, closing the door quietly behind him. Miller leaned his elbow on his desk and rubbed his forehead, trying to fit the information he'd just gleaned into the chessboard that represented Ministry of Magic v. Potter. The pieces didn't make sense today, but he was sure that sometime tomorrow morning, in the hours that he spent waiting for his alarm to go off, the lucidity would come and he'd see the patterns once again. He'd write them down in the notepad he kept beside his bed, and then he'd roll over and spoon into his wife until the alarm rang. He did his best work in bed, a secret he'd never shared with any other attorney. His wife knew it, though. She'd lived through seventeen years of trial work, putting up with a restless partner. Maybe he'd swing by and pick her up from her meeting and they'd go out for dessert, just the two of them, before they picked up the children. Yeah, that's a plan. He picked up the folder and set it in the document safe, leaning it up against the small Pensieve. Tomorrow, Harry, he promised his client silently. I'll figure it out tomorrow. --------------------- And now Mum knows. Ginny twisted Harry's handkerchief in her hands nervously, looking down at it. Harry had his arm around her again. They'd moved to the small sitting room off the dining room, where there were more comfortable chairs and more privacy, should anyone come unexpectedly through the kitchen doors. She and Harry sat on the sofa, her mum on one of the two Queen Anne chairs across from them. Telling Mum was nearly as difficult as telling Harry, she thought, then reconsidered. No. Much more difficult. Even though I'd really thought Harry would blame me for the baby's death, at least he doesn't see me as a baby myself. For she knew her mother did. Not in the sense of being immature and "babyish," but in the very real sense of being her baby—the youngest of her children and the only daughter she had. Ginny sniffled slightly and pressed closer to Harry, who tightened his arm briefly around her in a hug. Thank God for Harry. Thank God I told him. He was right—I can't do this alone. "Ginny?" She looked up at her mother. Her mum's eyes were bright, her expression haunted. "Why didn't you tell us before?" Ginny looked down again at the handkerchief, guilt twisting her heart. "I didn't tell anyone at first," she said quietly. "I didn't even tell Harry until after we came home from Hogwarts this summer. I was…" She swallowed. "I blamed myself. Even though I didn't know I'd been pregnant, I blamed myself for the baby's death, and I thought Harry would blame me." She took hold of Harry's right hand with her own, and he pressed his lips to her temple reassuringly. "And then, after I told him, I…" She paused again, fighting back still more tears, and looked up to meet her mother's eyes. "I was afraid that if I told you, I'd just hurt you. You couldn't do anything about it and… and we all lost so much… lost so many people we loved… I just… I couldn't hurt you any more." Despite herself, two big tears ran down her cheeks. Her mother fumbled for a handkerchief of her own and wiped her eyes. "Well," she said hoarsely, "I'm very glad you have, love." She stood and held out her arms. Heart near to bursting, Ginny released Harry's hand and rose, stepping into her mother's embrace and clinging tightly. She hadn't been held like this since her first year, when Harry had brought her up from the Chamber of Secrets and her parents had been waiting, worried sick for her. She rested her head on her mother's shoulder and let comfort wash over her. "Do you want me to tell your father for you, sweetheart?" her mother's voice whispered. "Or would you rather?" Startled, she jerked back so quickly that she nearly fell backward onto the love seat. "Dad?" she said, fear beginning to rise again. "Tell Dad?" "Of course." Her mother's expression was determined. "I can't keep secrets from him, especially not about his own daughter." "But—" She tried to take a step backward and this time, did fall onto the sofa. Harry steadied her. "I didn't mean—" "Ginevra Molly Weasley, you can't mean you expected me to hide this from him," her mother said, shocked. "I—" Ginny looked at Harry. "I don't—I guess—" "Because it doesn't work that way," her mother went on, drawing Ginny's gaze again. She crouched down in front of Ginny and took her hands. "Ginny, if you don't know this already, it's best you learn now, especially since you and Harry have decided to marry." Her mother's gaze was sober and intent. "There's no room in a marriage for secrets of this kind. Love is all well and good, but the core of marriage is trust. If you don't have trust, you don't have anything; and if I didn't tell your father and he found out anyway, he'd lose his trust for me. I can't do that to him. Neither can you." Ginny stared. Her mind was awhirl. Tell Dad… tell Dad that he lost a grandchild… that I was pregnant and lost the baby… "She's right, Gin," Harry said, softly and unexpectedly. "If I were in his shoes, I wouldn't want you to hide it from me." She looked back at him, her heart in her throat. "I don't know if I can, Harry," she said very softly. "Then I will, if you can't." He shifted slightly, turning to face her a little more as her mother levered herself upright again and moved back to her chair. "They both deserved to know a long time ago. I understand why you didn't say anything before, but I think it's time now." "Time for what?" came a voice from the kitchen. All three of them jumped and turned to look toward the source of the noise. Ginny's heart pounded as her father stuck his head in the door from the kitchen. "You're being very selfish, Molly, hiding these two away from the family after that announcement they made," he said jovially, coming in with a cup of tea in his hand. "The others are wondering where you've been." Nobody responded, and his face grew pensive. "Is something wrong?" he asked quietly. Ginny could feel all eyes on her, and knew that Harry and her mum were waiting for her to make the first move. She looked up at her father. "Dad, come sit down," she said. "There's something Harry and I have to tell you." Expression becoming more and more concerned by the moment, her father sat in the other Queen Anne armchair, placed his tea on the end table, and leaned forward, elbows on knees, looking her straight in the eye. "What is it, Ginny?" he asked. Harry was still a warm, solid presence at her side. She spared a moment to be grateful for that before taking a deep breath. "How much do you know about the Fynalle Strykke?" He blinked, obviously a bit taken aback. "I know that it's a very powerful spell," he said slowly. "I know that you used it to destroy He-Who… destroy Voldemort. I know that it nearly killed you in the process—and Harry as well." "It should have killed me, Dad," she said soberly. "It would have killed anyone else. The only reason it didn't was that last March, at the Battle, I was…" She faltered, and felt Harry take hold of her hand and squeeze it. "I was pregnant." Her gaze fell to the floor and she waited, tense, fearful. In her peripheral vision she saw her dad jerk violently in reaction and her mother reach for him, holding his hand as Harry was holding her own. "P-pregnant?" he stammered. "Y-Yes." Shouldn't this be easier the third time telling it? Her heart was hammering in her chest, and her eyes prickling again. "I d-didn't know it, though. I had no idea. But the spell didn't have to take m-my life when I cast it. It took the b-baby's. I m-miscarried while I was unconscious." He stood suddenly, releasing his wife's hand and pacing over toward the fireplace on the far wall. Ginny didn't look at him. She couldn't. Her cheeks blazed as shame crept through her heart. I should have told them, I should have, oh God, he must be so disappointed in me… I should have trusted them… I should have told them… "She's just told me, Arthur," her mother said softly. "I didn't know either until only a few minutes ago." He didn't answer, only rested his hands on the mantel and leaned forward, head bowed, shoulders tense. A different sort of fear began to coil in Ginny's belly. She'd never seen her father like this—never seen him so upset that he couldn't speak. Apparently her mother was as concerned as she. "Arthur?" she said in a voice that, had it been anyone other than her mother who said it, Ginny would have called timid. He drew a shaky breath and straightened up, running his hands over his thinning hair in a familiar gesture. He turned back around and returned to his seat, sitting down carefully. "All right," he said in a tone that Ginny had never heard before. "All right. Let's take this one step at a time." He leaned forward again; she could see the movement in the corner of her eye. "Ginny, look at me." Unwillingly, she did. His gaze was penetrating, but there was no censure, no fury. She allowed a small flicker of hope to flutter in her breast. "You were pregnant last March?" he asked. His voice was not condemning, but neither was it sympathetic. It was—distant, almost. As though she were not his daughter, but someone at the Ministry from whom he needed a report. She swallowed. "Yes." "And the father of your child was—?" "Me," Harry said firmly. She glanced at him, happy to look away from her father's piercing blue gaze. He was looking steadily at her dad, not angrily, but with an expression that said without words that he would not shirk this duty, would not try to hide his responsibility. His jaw was set, his whole body tense. His arm tightened around her protectively. But it was my responsibility as much as his… Arthur turned that gaze on him. "And did you know about this before you let her go down to the battle in Hogsmeade?" he asked, a note of frost in his voice. Ginny opened her mouth to interject something, but Harry pulled his hand from around her and firmly rested it on her knee, signalling her to wait. His other hand released hers as he leaned forward, mirroring her father's body language and looking straight into his eyes. "Ginny didn't know she was pregnant herself," he said, "so I couldn't have anyway. But no; she didn't tell me anything until after we'd come back from Hogwarts and I was back here at The Burrow. And I didn't let her go anywhere the day of the Battle," he added, one eyebrow raised. "I was already in Hogsmeade when she appeared. I had nothing to do with it." There was a short, intense silence as her father met Harry's gaze, then, after a moment, gave a small nod and turned his gaze back to her. "So you went to Hogsmeade," he said, "intending to cast a spell that you thought would kill you?" No, Ginny thought, I knew it wouldn't kill me because I Saw that it wouldn't. I just didn't question why not. But she didn't respond—just dropped her gaze and let the silence stretch out. She didn't dare tell anyone she was a Seer, not yet. Not even her parents. Besides, this is a big enough revelation on its own—I don't need to be adding to it. Apparently her father took her silence as assent, because he folded his hands and leaned his lips against them, looking down at the floor pensively. "So the Fynalle Strykke had to take a life in its casting," he said thoughtfully. "But only one. So it took the most fragile one there." It was like a stab through the heart. Ginny flinched violently and felt tears spring to her eyes. Fragile… fragile life… a tiny, fragile life in my care, vulnerable but protected by my body until I destroyed it… She must have made some sound, for her father looked up just as Harry wrapped his arm around her again and pulled her close. Her dad looked startled for a moment, but she could tell the exact moment when what he'd said truly penetrated. "Oh, Gin," he said in horror, and knelt beside her feet, reaching up to touch her face. "I'm sorry, Gin," he said, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean that, that wasn't what I meant at all—" He sounded like her father again, not like some cold Ministry official taking a report. She looked at him, at his stricken expression, and shifted forward to hug him tightly. He pulled her head down to his shoulder and caressed her hair the way he'd done when she'd been a child frightened by nightmares. "I'm sorry, love," he whispered over and over into her ear. "I'm so sorry. I don't blame you, Ginny. Truly I don't. You didn't know. You didn't know. It's not your fault, Gin-Gin." "I didn't want to tell you," she sobbed into his shoulder, smelling the warm, spicy scent that had always been Dad and feeling somehow comforted by it. "I didn't want to tell either of you. I j-just didn't want to hurt you any more. But I should have told you, I should have, I'm so sorry, I should have told you—" "Shh. You're telling us now. It's all right, love. It's all right." He stroked her hair until her sobs shuddered to an end, then gently drew her head upward, wiping the tear-tracks from her face. "Better?" he asked softly. "Yeah." She sniffled. He smiled at her and kissed her forehead. "You're exhausted," he said softly. "You should get some sleep. We can talk more tomorrow, but you've had quite a long day." He looked up and met Harry's eyes, and Ginny saw something in that gaze, some understanding passing between them. "So have you, Harry," her dad said, resting a hand on Harry's shoulder. "You two should get some rest. Time enough for anything else later." He kissed Ginny again, then stood a bit shakily and held out his hand to his wife. "My years of tucking you into bed are unfortunately past, Ginny love," he said, smiling a bit sadly. "It's Harry's job now, so I'll leave it to him. Come on, Molly, let's get rid of the rest of that lot and let Harry and Ginny get some rest." Mrs. Weasley smiled and bent to hug Ginny again. As she pulled away, she pressed something hard and vaguely cylindrical into her daughter's hand. Ginny glanced down and was startled to see her bottle of birth control potion. She looked up at her mother, mouth open in shock, and saw a warm smile and a nod of understanding. Taken completely aback, Ginny stared after her parents, the bottle in her hands, then looked at Harry, eyes wide. He seemed to be just as confused as she was. "Harry," Ginny said, "did they just give us permission to—sleep together?" Harry nodded slowly. "I think he did, Gin. And I know your mum said earlier she wasn't going to try to stop us." He caressed her cheek. "Not that she could," he added. "Parents or no parents, I'll be there for you as long as you need me—even if I have to Apparate back to my bedroom at six o'clock in the morning to keep from being discovered." Ginny smiled tremulously as the sounds of friendly arguing and complaining came from the lounge, and the telltale popping sound of Apparition indicated the departure of her brothers. "Still," she said, "it's nice to have their permission—even if it is a little bizarre to think of them knowing we're—well." Unaccountably, she blushed. Harry laughed. "More than a little. But yes, I agree." He kissed her hand. "Shall we go, then?" Her smile grew broader. "Yes," she said softly. "I think we should." ----------------------- Wednesday was Bill's day for paperwork. The Goblins thrived on paperwork – there were times that he wondered if they'd lost sight of what Gringotts was all about, they were so crazy about paperwork. Bill snorted to himself as he brought the coffee cup back to his tiny office; he'd heard from one of the visiting curse breakers that the German branch was even worse. Yeah, right, nothing's worse than this. He still had a Gringotts ID card, and from time to time he'd visit his old office and see what useful information he could sweat out of the Goblins. Today was the day that he paid for all of that useful information by sacrificing yet more paper to the insatiable bureaucracy of Gringotts. The things he did for the Unspeakable Corps. He stiffened as he approached the door to his office. He distinctly remembered the lights being out when he left, but as he approached the tiny office at the end of the narrow twisting hallway, his office lights were on again. His nostrils flared, and he picked up a tantalizingly familiar scent, not a pleasant one by any means, but one with pleasant associations: French cigarettes. Entering the small office, he saw a familiar flash of silver-blonde hair. His stomach tightened pleasantly. "Fleur?" "Non, Monsieur," she replied, looking up into his face. It was not Fleur, but another Delacour, Babette, her mother. "Madam Delacour, how pleasant to see you," Bill said, trying to remember if Fleur had said anything about a visit this month. "Est-il vrai que tu as une grande bite comme un cheval?" she asked. "Pardon?" he replied. "Parles d'une facon salle et je te donnerai mon pantalon," she stated with some vehemence. Bill flushed, feeling more than a bit stupid. "I'm sorry Madam Delacour, but my French is not up to this." Madam Delacour's eyes flashed and she stood up, stamping out her cigarette in an old coffee cup on his desk. Picking up her gloves, she smacked him soundly with a backhand swipe and began to laugh, but not with Babette's laugh--with a deeper, more familiar tone. When Bill blinked his eyes again, Fred Weasley was standing where Babette Delacour had been standing moments earlier. "The look on your face, Bill!" Fred whooped. "Whoo! I'd trade a month's rent for a picture of that, I would." He flipped the gloves back to the desk, sitting down again. "Good prank, Fred!" Bill said appreciatively, rubbing the side of his cheek. "Short-term Transfiguration?" Fred turned serious in an instant. "New product – I don't think we'll ever sell it. We call it Polyjuice Gel – extremely stable, and depending upon dosage, it lasts anywhere as short as ten minutes and as long as a week. It's a little like drinking unset gelatin. Unfortunately, we haven't been able to get rid of the disgusting taste." He pulled a face. "Trans-gender, trans-species Transfiguration. Nice piece of magic, that," Bill said, sitting down at his desk and putting his feet up on the pulled-out drawer. "Yeah, and to think that the highest mark we ever got from McGonagall was E for exceeds expectations in our last term." "Yeah, imagine that, Fred." Fred craned his neck to see if there was anyone standing outside the door, then dropped his voice until he was hardly speaking at all. "I've found out who's trying to put the screws to Harry." Bill's eyes widened. He pushed the door shut and his wand flashed briefly. They were now as secure as could be expected outside of the Sanctorum. "Do tell, I'm all ears." "Arnold Perskey." "Who?" "Acting head of the Military Justice division of the Minister of Justice's office." Fred shifted, leaning his elbow on his knee. "The regular head of the division took retirement about a month before Harry whacked out on that Death Eater. The Judge Advocate of the service is disqualifying himself from the case because he's a distant cousin of the so-called victim. The Minister of Justice has refrained from making an appointment, because she expects a change of administration soon, so the senior lawyer became the acting head of the division." "Hm." Bill leaned back in his chair. "So where did they dig up this Perskey fellow?" "Oh, that's the best part. He's a holdover from the prior administration." "He's a politician from Fudge's time?" "That's right, brother dear." Bill ran his hand through his hair. "Let me get this right. The shots are being called by some lawyer who got dumped into the least harmful branch of the Minister of Justice's office after Fudge got tossed out on a no confidence vote, because all of the responsible adults have either retired or are disqualified?" "That's not how I'd put it," Fred said, reaching over to pull a long sip out of Bill's coffee. "But you have the gist of it." "So, what's Loki going to do with this information?" Bill cocked his head to the side and regarded his brother. "Loki's not going to do a damned thing," Fred said soberly, "but I may discuss this with dear old Dad. He may have some insight, and since Harry's case is officially a matter for the Corps, not the Ministry as a whole, he doesn't have to worry about a conflict of interest." Bill nodded thoughtfully. "You eating at home tonight?" he asked. Fred shook his head regretfully, sliding off Bill's desk. "Nah, I've got to meet with our accountant; quarterly books are due. Bugger, Mum was going to make pie tonight, too. I don't suppose that you'd save me a piece?" He batted his eyes in what Bill assumed he thought was a winsome manner. Bill grinned. "Did I ever save you any of Mum's pie?" "No." "So why would I start now?" Fred yawned and picked up the gloves, turning his cheek to his brother. "I suppose a kiss for your soon-to-be mother-in-law is out of the question?" "Not at all," Bill said, raising an eyebrow. "Bring her here and I'll kiss both of her cheeks." Fred grinned and tapped the door with his wand, pulling the door open on silent hinges. "So, what were you saying to me when I got in here? I could only pick out a few words," Bill said. "It's amazing that you've got as far as you have with a French lass and you can't speak the language worth spit." "Her English is much better than my French, that's for sure." Fred winked. "Bye, Bill. See you back at The Burrow this weekend – if you're late, don't expect any pie." "Thanks, Fred." ----------------------- The office was quiet, but then again, it was early. There were no client appointments, the day having been cleared for writing a pre-hearing brief on a case that would probably plead out and never go to trial. Without the motions, however, the Prosecution would not realise that a plea on the lesser-included offence was better than a dodgy case on the charges that stood today. Miss Levine was not in, and probably would not be in for many weeks. Major Miller bustled around, trying to remember where she stored the coffee filters. Miss Levine was very particular about her duties in the office. She made the coffee not because she was the secretary ("office manager, please!") but because she usually arrived first, and it was important to have a full pot at the beginning of the day. Miller pulled a comb from his pocket and put a few strands of salt and pepper hair back in place. He was due for a haircut soon. Whatever else he'd gained in bad attitude in his time as a military attorney, he kept a regulation appearance at all times. The pot began to burble and the smell of coffee spread from the outer office to his inner sanctum. He decided to wait until it stopped dripping before he charged up his mug. The front door clicked and opened. He heard hesitant footsteps on the thin carpet in the outer office and saw a nearly bald man appear in his office door. He had a familiar face, but was not one of the regulars that darkened his doorway with any frequency. "Major Miller?" the stranger said hesitantly. "May I have a word with you, sir?" "And you would be?" "Arthur Weasley." Miller blinked, three times. Arthur Weasley, a career employee, now serving as Assistant Secretary to the Minister of Magic, thought by some as being a possible replacement for the outgoing Minister; father of the girlfriend, no, fiancée of his very high profile client, Captain Harry J. Potter. Oh, shit. "Good morning, Secretary Weasley," he said, standing and offering his hand. "In what capacity are you visiting a lowly barrister this morning?" The Secretary hesitated as he withdrew his hand after shaking Miller's. "Probably as Harry's surrogate father," he said after a moment. "I see. And what can I do for you, sir?" "How's the case coming?" Arthur asked, eyes scanning the walls of the room as he sank into the big client chair. Miller, too, sat. "I'm afraid I can't tell you any more than I can any other person who walks in off the street, sir. That black framed certificate next to the door, the one that has the oath I took when I got admitted to practice? Line four: 'I shall maintain inviolate the confidences of my client.' Not a lot of room to negotiate that one, sir." "So what can you tell me, Major?" The Secretary's eyes bored into Miller's, and Miller realised how such an unprepossessing man had risen to his current job in the Ministry—and why he was being considered a contender for the office of Minister itself. Miller thought for a long moment before deciding what was safe to tell him. "We did the Article 32 hearing for Captain Potter, and Colonel Massey wrote up his recommendation. The General Court Martial Convening Authority will be evaluating what to do in response to Colonel Massey's recommendations." "Have you seen Colonel Massey's report?" "Not officially," Miller hedged, knowing the Secretary would see right through it. "Do you know what's in it?" "I might." Weasley leaned forward. "Is there anything you need?" he asked quietly. There was a wealth of unspoken offers behind the simple question. Miller looked at his visitor carefully, blinking like mad again. Yeah, he thought, I need for you to not bollux up the last case of my career, Mister Secretary. "The Ministry leaks like a sieve, Mr. Secretary," he said carefully, "and anything you provide by way of assistance will come out eventually, which may screw up this case, and would certainly compromise your career." "I don't give a flaming Quaffle about my career right now, Major Miller," Weasley said with some sharpness. "I love Harry like a son, and I owe him a great debt for what he's done for my children." "I'll be talking to Harry next week. I will discuss this conversation with him," Miller said, a statement, not a question. "That's only fair, I suppose. Still, I repeat my question." "Harry will decide whether or not his family will assist his defence, and if so, to what extent. There is one thing, however, Mr. Weasley." "Call me Arthur." "I don't think that's a good idea, Mr. Secretary." Miller shifted, leaning forward slightly in his seat, arms folded on his desk. "During the first war, Aurors used Unforgivables with the Ministry's sanction, official or unofficial. That's a fairly open secret among anyone older than about fifteen. So given that, what's driving this prosecution?" Weasley leaned back into the big client chair and closed his eyes briefly. Miller could sense him debating with himself for a long moment before he answered. "Arnold Perskey." Perskey. I should know that name. Miller put his hands to his forehead, trying to pull up the name and face. It took a moment to come. When his memory finally cooperated and an image of the man—mousy fellow, bald with a fringe of hair, wire-rimmed specs, vacant expression—came to him at last, he pulled his hands away and looked into Arthur Weasley's penetrating blue eyes. "I know him, or at least I knew him when he was a prosecutor, many years ago. Where is he now?" "He's the acting Head of the Military Justice Division of the Minister of Justice Office within the Ministry of Magic." "Acting Head?" Miller asked, startled. "I'm told that all the responsible adults have either retired in anticipation of a change in administration, or are otherwise conflicted from participating in this case." Miller chewed his lip thoughtfully. "I have a follow up question then." Weasley nodded. "Go ahead." "I haven't looked at the order on handling classified material in Courts-Martial for about five years. Do you know who is authorized to make decisions on these matters?" Weasley frowned, shaking his head. "Off of the top of my head, no. Where do you want that authority to be?" "Above Perskey." Miller's voice was flat, and the Secretary nodded in comprehension. "I understand. I'll see what I can do. Do you go out for lunch, Major?" "Most days." "Call my wife by Floo next week. It would not be at all out of the ordinary for me to go home for lunch," Arthur said, rising with some difficulty out of the big client chair. Extending his hand, he said, "Thank you for your time, Major Miller." Miller shook it. "The pleasure is all mine." Weasley took his hand back, and Miller added, "There is one thing that I can assure you of, Mister Secretary." The Secretary raised his eyebrows. "What's that?" Miller leaned forward. "Harry will never step foot into Azkaban," he said soberly. "You have my word on that." The Secretary was silent for a long moment. "Can you deliver on that promise, sir?" he said at last. "I never make promises that I can't keep." Arthur smiled, looking five years younger than when he came into the office. "Good day, sir." "Good day, Mister Secretary. Please make sure the door closes after you." Weasley left and Miller sat back down again, swinging his chair around and putting his feet up on the credenza as he heard the door click shut. He closed his eyes. The patterns were beginning to appear and he wasn't even in bed. This was going to be a good case. It had better be; it was the last one. A/N: Once again, this chapter could not have been done without the aid of Kokopelli and his brilliant legal mind. Or legally brilliant mind—I'm not sure which. The French is his fault; I'm entirely too sweet and innocent to have come up with such phrases as "Is it true you have equipment like a horse?" and "If you talk dirty to me, I'll give you my knickers." It's just Not Me, folks. Thanks to Basil for help translating that. In addition, the song that Miller sings to Harry is I Will Survive, from Larry Norman's Stranded in Babylon album, copyright 1994. Michele was an enormous help with this chapter, beating me over the head with the Clue-By-Four to try to get things to Sound Right ™. She spent HOURS on the phone with me. Send her lots of smoochy kisses, will you? She deserves 'em. Sherry also provided wonderful pre-beta assistance, and, of course, Ahmie is a beta reader par excellence. Without them, this chapter would be far less than it is. I ended up taking the chapter we had originally written to be 14 and cutting it into 2; otherwise, you'd have had 37 pages to wade through. The advantage of having done this is that you'll have chapter 15 relatively quickly, as it's already more than halfway done. Thanks for sticking with me over the long dry spell between chapters!
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