Daylight flooded Harry’s room when he awoke. It hurt his eyes, but that feeling was nothing compared to the painful emptiness next to him.
“Ginny!” he called out, trying to sit up too quickly and getting light-headed. Harry re-closed his eyes and squeezed his head, hoping to stop the vertigo. He could hear movement and through blurry eyes, he saw a woman in the chair next to his bedside move to sit next to him.
“It’s all right, Harry; it’s Hermione. Sit back now.”
“Hermione?” Harry mumbled, clutching his head, trying to gauge how Hermione had got here. “Where’s Ginny?”
Hermione fluffed the pillow up and helped Harry to lean back. “It’s ok, she just went home to shower and change her clothes. Ron and I insisted she go.” She carefully handed him his glasses and watched him put them on.
Harry didn’t really want to lie back down, but seeing as how Hermione was pushing on his shoulders rather firmly, he resigned himself to the fact. A part of him was crushed that Ginny was not here to chase his fears away, her safe, warm arms to protect him. In another respect, he understood why she was gone, and it helped that Hermione was here to watch over him.
“Oh? Where’s Ron, then?”
Hermione rose from the bed and crossed the room to the small table where a pitcher of water and several glasses sat. She poured a glass of the cool liquid and gave it to Harry. “Ron insisted on being here early, fathom that,” she teased with a smile, indicating to Harry that he should drink up. “I’ve just sent him out for some tea, and he’s stopping in at the Ministry to inform them of his absence today.”
“That isn’t necess—” Harry had started to say before Hermione cut him off.
“Oh nonsense, Harry. We’re thrilled for you, and there was no chance that the two of us wouldn’t be here today. As much as I hate to share my time with you, there’s someone else who’s dying to see you.” Her dramatic pause gave Harry a moment to take further stock of his surroundings now that it was light enough. There was no one else in the room, and he couldn’t quite see out into the corridor. He raised his eyebrows expectedly at Hermione.
“Remus is out pacing the hall.”
Harry only vaguely remembered telling Hermione to send Remus in. The werewolf would be the last true remaining connection to his parents, and to Sirius, for that matter. Harry had been truly surprised to hear that the man had survived at all.
If Harry had been surprised to awaken after 5 years of slumber, it was nothing compared to seeing Remus limp into the room. Harry’s heart rose at the sight of his old professor.
“Remus?” Harry croaked as he saw the grey-haired man enter the room.
He walked slowly, as though in pain, and it took Harry a few seconds to realize that Ginny had mentioned there had been a full moon the night before.
“Good morning, Harry,” Remus whispered in a hoarse voice that seemed to match Harry’s. His intonation was brimming with emotion. “Ginny’s owl arrived this morning with the best news I’ve had in 43 years.”
When he was standing close enough, Harry could see that his eyes were rimmed with tears. He also noticed Lupin’s grey hair, but his brown eyes held no less sparkle. His clothes weren’t the threadbare garments that Harry remembered either; on the contrary, his attire was much more stylish and obviously new.
Harry smiled and tried not to stare while Remus took the chair that Hermione vacated at Harry’s bedside.
“I believed every day that you’d wake up and continue your life, just as James, Lily, Sirius, and I had always wanted for you.”
Harry reached out to the man who had given him so much: personal memories of James and Lily, the understanding and the ability to forgive himself for Sirius’s death, a wealth of knowledge, sage advice about Ginny in the early days of their relationship, and most generously, almost sacrificing his life for Harry.
The older man slowly reached out to grasp the pale hand of the young man he no longer knew. “I’ve missed you, Harry.” When their hands clasped together, Remus was flooded with a tidal wave of old emotions. Oh, how Harry resembles James. Memories of the Marauders always haunted his mind. James and Sirius with their pranks. Good times always abounded when they were near. Sure, Remus had been a bit shirty with them at times, but it had been only for their own benefit, hadn't it? And now it didn’t matter how much or how little they’d studied. Sirius and James had known how to live their lives to the fullest. More importantly, Sirius and James were together, as they always should have been. And then there was Peter. Peter always lurked in the corners of Remus’s mind. When Harry was strong enough, he would tell them about the fate of the man who had senselessly murdered his parents.
Harry finally spoke through a clenched throat, “I’ve missed you, too, Moony.”
The two spent a good part of an hour in heavy discussion. Remus told Harry how the new Minister of Magic had turned out to be very progressive in regards to magical creatures and half-breeds. Lupin had been asked to accept the position of Liaison from the Department of Magical Creatures to the Minister herself. He informed the public about critical facts regarding magical beings and misconceptions of others. Remus spent most of his time co-ordinating information for Minister Amelia Bones on progression of the rapport between magical creature and humans. He did plenty of research and visited the different groups of magical creatures often.
There was little talk of the final battle, which both men were thankful for. Harry prefaced the talk by asking for the truth when he was ready to hear it. He was rather glad he didn’t remember committing murder.
Harry was saddened when he learned the fate of his first wand. Remus informed him that whatever spell he had used to destroy Voldemort had ruined his wand. Harry didn’t remember anything after he uttered the words that rid this world of his nemesis. He only saw a bright light and a cloud of dirt or ash or something similar. Remus told Harry that when they found Harry amongst the settling ashes, he was already unconscious and his hand was burned and still formed as though he were holding his wand, but that it was gone.
Harry had never thought about or anticipated needing a new wand. He just figured he would keep his forever. He remembered that Ron’s had been broken once at Hogwarts, so he reckoned it must happen at least occasionally.
Remus still lived at Grimmauld Place—the house that Sirius had left to him and Harry. Remus had felt a duty and obligation to live there, complying with the Last Will and Testament that Sirius had made.
Hermione finally rejoined the two men in Harry’s hospital room, and at Lupin’s urging, took the seat by Harry’s bedside once again.
“I’ve spoken with Healer Greene, who is the Healer on duty this morning, and she said you shouldn’t push yourself, Harry, but you should try sitting on the edge of your bed and, if you feel OK, try standing. Even though they performed a spell on you to prevent your muscles from atrophying, you’ll still be a bit weak and shaky.”
Harry nodded affirmatively. “Yeah, I’m rather dizzy at times, too.”
Hermione reached out and patted his leg. “You’re trying too hard Harry. Don’t worry, I think the worst is over now.”
Harry slept the better part of the late morning, vaguely aware that there were other people in his room at times. He recognized the tones but only heard hushed, angry, voices and never understood any of the words.
He didn’t have any idea what time it was when he felt the space on the mattress next to his body sink, but he knew instantly who had returned.
“Hi, sleepyhead,” Ginny whispered, nuzzling her nose against his ear. “Aren’t you going to open those beautiful eyes and see me today?”
Harry was sure he was blushing, but he fulfilled her wishes and opened his eyes anyway. “I missed you; where were you?”
Ginny drew her knees up and rested her stockinged feet on Harry’s bed. “I went home to change and pick up a few things.”
Harry wrapped one arm around Ginny’s legs and clung to her almost desperately. “It scared me that you weren’t here. I thought I was dreaming. I thought I was still asleep.”
Ginny reached up to caress Harry’s cheek; he closed his eyes, relishing the feel of Ginny‘s hand on his skin. “I’m sorry, love. My, er, plans took a little longer than I’d expected. I had every intention of returning before you awoke. How was your visit with Remus?”
“Surprising. He looks older. Then again, I haven’t seen a mirror in 5 years so I’m not altogether sure I don’t look horrid.”
Ginny slid down so her head rested next to Harry’s on the pillow. She spoke from her heart, spoke without rationalizing, “You look as handsome as the day you left me.”
His eyes shifted downward. “I must look a fright, then.”
“No,” Ginny began, inching even closer to Harry. “You’re as beautiful as ever.”
They were eye to eye, their noses almost touching. “No, I’m not beautiful,” he contradicted her, staring at her full, pink, slightly parted lips. He twisted a finger in her coppery-red hair. “You are. More so than ever.”
Ginny impulsively kissed him, quickly parting his lips with her tongue, enticing him into her mouth. Harry wove his fingers deep into the forest of red hair, drawing her closer, pulling her down onto his body. She slipped her leg between his and ran her hands up Harry’s ticklish sides, causing him to smile.
It was true; Harry had no memories of the last 5 years, but he was sure that Ginny had been in his every thought.
Harry consumed Ginny’s thoughts as well, and though her life had changed, the part that was Harry remained the same.
While the two of them ground their bodies together with a primal urgency, neither one heard the door open.
“Ginny!”
Three voices all shouted her name, instantly freezing her and Harry to the spot, eyes wide open, lips still touching.
Ever so slowly, Ginny turned to see who’d entered the room. Holding her breath, she plastered a fake smile on her face as she blushed to the roots of her hair. “Mum, Ron, Hermione, it’s um, good of you to come back this afternoon.” Her voice was falsely sweet, and her mischievous eyes swept back to Harry’s.
She climbed off the bed and began straightening out her rumpled clothing as all eyes darted around the room toward one another’s faces.
Ron and Hermione each stood, slightly open-mouthed, exchanging glances that they hoped Harry didn’t notice.
He did.
Mrs. Weasley stood with her arms folded tightly across her chest. Angry, red splotches coloured her face and her eyes scrutinized Ginny viciously. “Ginevra Molly Weasley, I would like a word with you outside of this room. Now.”
Ron’s mouth made a tiny ‘o’ shape as he nervously locked his arms behind his back. Hermione took the seat by Harry’s bed, her eyes cast downward. Mrs. Weasley made no eye contact with anyone but Ginny. In all truth, their eyes burned into one another’s.
Harry watched Ginny’s face fall for only a moment before she tilted her head up staunchly. She let her mother follow her from the room.
Harry’s head was swimming. It was if they were 13 year old children caught snogging, not adults. Granted they were in public and that was slightly inappropriate, but Harry had been asleep for 5 years. Didn’t that make rash behaviour a little more acceptable?
Harry’s mind travelled to the only thing that seemed likely to him. His health.
“I’m dying, aren’t I?”
“What?” Ron and Hermione shouted in unison, staring at Harry in shock.
“That’s it, isn’t it? I’m dying, right? Don’t think I haven’t noticed the tension when all of you are in this room. I’ve heard the angry voices; I’ve noticed the odd glances.”
His jaw was clenched, and his eyes didn’t move from those of his two friends.
“Harry—” Hermione began delicately, but she was interrupted.
“Mate, you’re not dying. You’re as healthy as a horse, well except your mind—that’s always been a bit dodgy.”
Ron was smiling, but Harry’s eyes shifted to Hermione, as if for confirmation.
She grasped his hand, letting it rest on the bed, and tried weakly to smile. “You’re fine, Harry.” She began, not very convincingly, as she cast a glance out into the hallway through the window on the door, wondering if Harry could see or hear the row Ginny and Mrs. Weasley were having at that moment.
“Ron is right, Harry,” she continued, turning back around to face him. “Beside the lingering effects of the coma, you’re just fine; I promise.”
Harry scowled. “Well what is it, then? Ginny and I have kissed hundreds of times; what’s wrong with kissing my girlfriend?”
Hermione seemed to have been thinking already. “Harry, remember how odd it was for you to see Ron and I together at first? Well, as horrible as it sounds, we’ve grown used to seeing you sleeping. It’s just a little odd to see you and Ginny resume your relationship.” Hermione blushed furiously. “And besides, it did look a bit, er, intense.”
Harry rested back against the pillows. It felt intense too. He thought, but that can’t be what’s upset everyone.
Outside in the hall, Ginny was praying that Harry couldn’t hear her mother’s ranting.
“Ginny, what did you think you were doing? Were you even thinking at all?”
Ginny finally felt defeated. “Mum,” she began, gesturing with open hands.
“Don’t ‘Mum’ me, Ginevra. How could you do that to Harry?” Molly’s voice was strong, and Ginny couldn’t remember seeing her mother this angry since the day Fred and George replaced some of the Floo Powder with Dr. Flea’s Magical Itching Powder, a Zonko’s product that caused the user to wriggle and itch incessantly until it wore off. Poor Arthur had already Flooed into the Ministry, squirming and scratching like crazy. Oh, the yelling that went on in the Weasley house that day.
“Mum,” Ginny cautiously began again, “Harry doesn’t know.”
Molly gasped loudly, clutching the front of her blouse. Her eyes were wide and held the same startled expression that Hermione’s had had when she’d been petrified. “Oh, Ginny.”
Tears came to Ginny’s eyes, and she clutched her face in her delicate hands. “I know it’s not right, but I can’t help it. I can’t tell him.”
Mrs. Weasley stepped closer and grabbed Ginny’s left hand.
“Where is your ring, Ginny?”
The severe punctuation of each word was like a dagger through Ginny’s heart. But all the same, Ginny snatched her hand away from her mother’s with disdain.
“I took it off before I came to the hospital the night Harry woke up!”
Molly’s mouth fell open in shock. The hallway was blanketed in a distressing, agonizing silence. Molly cleared her throat quietly and painted a scowl on her face before speaking again, “And what does Dean say?”
Ginny’s vivid hair curtained her defeated face. Her head hung so low that her chin rested on her chest. The moment had finally come; she’d done better than she thought and avoided the questions for two days.
“Dean only knows that Harry is awake and still fragile. I told him that I thought it best not to tell Harry of our engagement based on that.”
Mrs. Weasley stood in awe of her daughter. This was not a matter to be taken lightly. She adjusted the little tam on her head and fell into the nearest chair. “Oh, Ginny.” Her voice echoed with chagrin and disappointment, but not without a hint of sympathy either.
Tears spilled from Ginny’s eyes as she took a seat next to her mother. She wiped the tears away with the palm of her hand, but it was no use, as there was a flood converging behind her eyes.
“Oh, Mum.” Ginny lamented, shaking her head in disbelief of herself. “Mum, I’m so overwhelmed. A part of me always knew Harry would wake up and come back to me, but a significant part of me always feared he wouldn’t. When I met Dean a part of me was ready to move on.”
Ginny had dated Dean for a few months beginning the summer after her fourth year, after the fiasco at the Department of Mysteries. They had gotten along well, but when Harry turned to Ginny for comfort regarding Sirius’s death, the idea of spending time consoling Harry was too difficult to refuse. Harry was all Ginny had ever wanted. She and Dean split amicably, and Ginny was with Harry until the summer he defeated Voldemort and fell into his coma.
Ginny had, indeed, visited every single day. It had taken some time, but she took the job at St. Mungo’s in part to be close to Harry. She had encountered Dean the past summer in the Birthing Ward when he came to visit a friend’s baby.
He had invited Ginny on a date, and everything had just seemed right. So right, in fact, that by Christmas they were engaged. Ginny’s flat at the edge of Muggle and Wizarding London was outfitted with the latest Muggle contraptions to make Dean’s family’s life easier when they visited: a telephone, a television, and a computer. She and Dean weren’t living together, yet, but he spent the night often.
Molly Weasley could see her daughter’s agony; it was etched into her face. She spoke softly.
“Ginny, tell me something, and mind you, I’ll know if you’re telling half-truths.” She paused, gathering her bearings and meeting Ginny’s eyes with her own. “Ginevra Molly Weasley, do you love Dean Thomas?”
Ginny ran her hands through her hair, pulling at some of the roots. She nodded.
“And Harry?” Molly asked, not skipping a beat. “Do you love him?”
Ginny’s hands fell to her lap; her expression was a mixture of sincerity and reminiscence, and her voice was nothing more than a whisper.