PhoenixSong.net :: A Harry/Ginny Fanfic and Fanart Archive

Author: GovCampbell

Story: Defining the Relationship

Part: Chapter Eight

Rating: Teens

Setting: Pre-HBP

Status: Completed

Reviews: 30

Words: 4,642

Updated: August 29, 2005, 8:59pm

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Chapter Eight

A/N: Disclaimer in Prologue.

Thanks to my beta, Arnel (who has a great story out, Vigil, go check it out!) for her work in keeping me in line.

Thanks for my fiancée for her input, and just for being her.

Virtual house points to the first person to find a little ironic Latin.

A special request from the author: Before you read this story, or after or even whenever, please take a minute to pray to your particular deity, or even just think special thoughts about all the folks who will be affected by Hurricane Katrina. My own thoughts and prayers are with all of them, especially all the friends I have down there.

-- -- -- --

Pain. Intense Pain. I’m being tortured.

Harry woke up with a start, grappling for his wand. The pain in his head was excruciating. A moment later, he realized he was not being tortured, and in fact, this pain was self-inflicted.

Oh man, why did Moony let me have that much to drink? What time is it? Harry looked over at the clock, which showed it was a bit before seven in the morning. Harry’s stomach was protesting greatly. Oh, bugger…

As rapidly as his unsteady legs would allow, Harry headed for the loo.

-- -- -- --

Several long minutes later, the contents of his stomach now discharged, Harry was feeling a tiny bit better. He took an inventory of himself in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. His eyes were bloodshot, with dark circles around them, and he hadn’t quite lost the rosy colour to his nose and cheeks. Damn, I really tied one on last night.

Harry headed for the kitchen to find a glass so he could start knocking back some water. He also wanted to see what he had available to take for his head. He’d made it to the living room when he heard the popping sound of someone Apparating into his flat, and he spun wildly, flailing about himself in an attempt to locate his wand.

His still-not-quite sober state did not allow him his normal grace and balance. Harry toppled over the living room couch with a thud. While he’d landed on his back, the jolt from impact sent fresh spasms of pain through his head, and he was temporarily blinded. When he finally blinked away the coloured spots, Remus was standing over him.

“Are you all right, Harry?” Remus asked, with concern.

“No,” Harry replied, trying his best to glare at Remus. His position – flat on his back on the floor – really made the effort ineffective. “And it’s all your fault.”

“I fail to see how it’s my fault,” Remus said. “You didn’t have to drink that much.” Remus held out a hand to help Harry up.

“At the moment, I’m comfortable on the floor,” Harry said, waving off the hand. “And it’s your fault for not stopping me. Where’s my wand?”

“It’s on the kitchen table. I took it away from you last night before you hurt yourself.”

“Gee, thanks. I wouldn’t be this way if it wasn’t for you.”

“Well, if that’s how you’re going to be, I won’t give you what I brought.”

“Did you bring a Hangover Potion?” Harry asked eagerly. “I take it all back.”

“Well, it’s not exactly a Hangover Potion,” Remus said, helping Harry to his feet. “There really is no such thing, but it will help cure the cause of a hangover.”

“Oh?” Harry sank into the couch.

“It’s a Water Absorption Potion. It was originally developed for people who were dehydrated in the desert. It allows a rapid absorption of water into the body. Since a hangover is pretty much the same thing as being dehydrated, it works fairly well. It takes some time for the headache to go away, but you’ll be feeling fit by mid morning, rather than sometime this evening.” Remus paused. “I debated whether as your guardian, I was supposed to tell you it was your own fault and let you suffer the consequences, or if I was supposed to bail you out. I decided to bail you out, this time.”

“Thanks, I think,” Harry said.

“You’re welcome,” Remus replied. “I was going to just leave it with a note. I assumed you would still be passed out. I’m on my way into the office.”

“I woke up a few minutes ago to visit the loo,” Harry said sourly.

“Ah, well, a bit too late for this then,” Remus held out a small bottle. “I brought some anti-nausea stuff, too.”

“Definitely too late,” Harry agreed.

Remus pulled out another bottle and set both on the table. “The green one is the one you’ll want to take now. You can save the other one for some other time.”

Harry nodded. “Thanks, Uncle Moony.” Harry picked up the green bottle. “Is there anything special I should take with this?”

Remus shook his head. “Just drink it down, and start guzzling water.”

Harry opened the bottle and gunned it down. He gagged. “Merlin! That stuff tastes awful!”

“Yes, well, that’s what I told Sirius the first time he gave it to me, too.” Remus grinned.

Harry shot him a dirty look. “You could have warned me.”

“And miss that look on your face?”

“You know, Professor Lupin, I used to wonder how on earth you ever kept up with the other Marauders. I don’t wonder anymore.” Harry got to his feet and headed for the kitchen. “You want anything before you head in?” he asked Remus. “I might have some Danish or something in the fridge.”

“No, thanks, Harry. I ate before I left my house.”

“Okay.” Harry grabbed his wand off the table and stuck it in his pocket.

“Oh, by the way, Harry,” Remus began. Harry, in the middle of chugging a glass of water, turned around and narrowed his eyes at Remus. There was something about Remus’s tone that made Harry wary.

“What?” Harry demanded, refilling his glass.

Remus removed that morning’s Daily Prophet from under his arm, and opened it up to an inside section. Harry recognized it as the gossip column.

Romance for Potter?

Laxi Litteras, Gossip Columnist

Patrons of the Leakey Cauldron were abuzz this past Friday, as they got a glimpse of Harry Potter on his way for a night on the town. The Boy Who Lived was seen headed out into Muggle London with a stunning redhead on his arm. No one could identify the beauty in the scarlet dress, but witnesses told this reporter that she and Potter looked mighty cozy as the left. Late night patrons claim to have seen Potter and his latest flame return in the wee hours of Saturday morning. Who is this auburn-haired creature who has ensnared the heart of the hero of the Wizarding world? Never fear, gentle readers, Laxi is on the case and will find out who might be taking the Hunk Who Lived off the market.

“Oh, God,” Harry groaned. He peered out the kitchen window. Sure enough, a large group of odd-looking characters were gathered on the sidewalk across the street, drawing odd looks from the Muggles passing by. “Remus, what do I do?”

Remus shrugged. “I suppose you could call Kingsley or Ron. Those folks out there are skating dangerously close to the edge of a Secrecy Violation.”

“I could,” Harry sighed. “They’re not hurting me at the moment, however.” He filled his glass again, and began taking large gulps. “Where’s my newspaper, anyway?” Harry wondered allowed.

As if on cue, the owl delivering his copy of the Prophet appeared at the windowsill. Harry took the paper and opened up to the front page. “Still harping about Malfoy, I see.”

Remus frowned. “Yes. The whole thing is getting out of control. I’m afraid that the Ministry may have to do something about it soon. Some kind of hearing, to prove that he’s sane enough to be executed.”

“You know what the worst part about this is?” Harry said, looking up sharply.

“What’s that?” Remus replied.

“The whole situation is turned upside down. Now we’re the ones who come off looking like bastards, just because we want to see justice done.”

“You’re absolutely right, Harry. In fact, somewhere in that article on the front page, it says that a delegation from America, comprised of wizards from Amnesty International and the American Wizard Civil Liberties Union, is coming over to petition Arthur to commute Malfoy’s sentence.”

“Bloody hell,” Harry groaned. “And I thought the trial was a circus.”

Remus checked his watch. “I’ve got to be going. I can see you’re going to be all right.”

Harry nodded, sipping at more water. “I’ll be okay. I’m meeting with McGonagall later today, so I owe you a big one for the potion.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Have a good day.”

“You too, Uncle Moony.”

Remus Disapparated away, leaving Harry alone in his flat once again. Harry sat down at the kitchen table, and scanned through the articles.

…“This is an important case for the future of the death plenty,” AWCLU spokeswizard E. Danforth McAllister told reporters in Philadelphia yesterday. “That’s why we must present a strong argument to the British Ministry.”

The delegation from America is expected to arrive in London via Portkey sometime today…

“Keep your bloody noses out of things which bloody well don’t concern you,” Harry muttered under his breath. The American wizarding community, with only a few exceptions, had steered clear of the war with Voldemort, and had not been subjected to the kind of tragedy that had plagued England in the past several years. Harry got up to refill his glass, shaking his head in disgust. He ripped the front section off the paper, crumpled it up and threw it towards his trash, looking into the paper for the Quidditch training camp reports.

-- -- -- --

Remus had been entirely correct. By mid-morning, his headache had faded significantly, and his muscles were aching less. He felt well enough to attempt a short run, and he changed into workout clothes, and exited the building.

The collection of characters camped out across the street from his building exploded.

“Mr. Potter!”

Harry groaned. He would have thought they would have had better things to write about. Forcing a smile for the cameras, he gave a wave, and took off up the street at a brisk clip. The more adventurous souls attempted to follow him, but his pace soon forced them to drop out. The solitude of the run gave Harry the time to think about some of the things he and Remus had talked about the night before.

Fact: Harry thought, trying to marshal his thoughts. Ginny, did not have a boyfriend during my seventh year at Hogwarts. She did not have one during her seventh year, because I would have found out about it. Supposition: at some point, she stopped going out on dates. Remaining question: why?

Could that have been deliberate? Harry wondered. Could it be possible that she was waiting on me? Several times during school, Harry had felt that Ginny suspected his hidden fancy of her. Could she have reciprocated that feeling even at that early stage. Ron obviously had suspected since he insinuated as much on their ride back from America.

How much time have I wasted? Harry wondered. It was a question he didn’t have an answer for.

-- -- -- --

“And how is the mystery woman?” Hermione asked Ginny. Hermione had brought Charlie over to see his grandmum, and Ginny had been at the Burrow, flying in the orchard.

“Doing mysteriously, thank you,” Ginny giggled. “I have to admit it’s a bit of a turn-on to think of myself as a woman of mystery.”

Hermione laughed. “Ron says that there are reporters flocking around Harry’s flat. The Ministry had to go corral them because they were attracting too much attention.”

“When did you talk to Ron?” Ginny asked.

“He stopped by the Haven for a bit of an early lunch; he had a meeting at noon time,” Hermione explained, rubbing Charlie’s back. Seeing he was asleep, Hermione set him gently down in the cot that Molly had found in the attic after Fred’s twins were born, and never bothered to put back away. “So have you talked to Harry at all?”

Ginny shook her head. “I was going to see if he was around this evening. I think he was at Remus’s when I stopped by last night, since there was no one home.”

“Generally speaking, if Harry’s not at his flat, at the Haven, or here, that’s where he can be found,” Hermione agreed. “Why did you stop by?” she asked.

“Well, I thought maybe it was time we had a talk,” Ginny answered.

“About,” Hermione prompted.

“Things,” Ginny shrugged noncommittally.

“Ginevra Molly Weasley,” Hermione said sternly. “Don’t make me drag it out of you.”

Ginny sighed, and leaned back on the couch. “I thought maybe we could come clean with each other,” she said. Absently, Ginny picked at a loose thread on the throw pillow. “I was going to tell him that I never stopped waiting for him to make the first move, never stopped hoping that he would love me. And that I’ve been waiting for him all this time.”

Hermione looked at Ginny in surprise. “Ginny, are you sure you want to do that this soon? I mean, I wouldn’t want to scare him off.”

Ginny shook her head. “I don’t think he will be scared off, Hermione.” She sat up. “I don’t think you’re giving Harry enough credit. He seems…I don’t know…eager?” She paused, shaking her head again. “No, not the right word…longing. Yes, that’s it, longing. He’s not going to be afraid of the implications of what I have to tell him. If anything, I think he’ll be relieved.”

“Well, it’s your decision, of course,” Hermione said, shrugging a little. “Just…well, try to catch him in a good mood.” Hermione leaned back into the armchair and let her eyelids droop a little.

“Yeah, I guessed that much already. Maybe I should owl him, see if we can set something up?”

“Ginny, honey,” Hermione said, sitting up and giving her a look. “Let me give you a piece of advice. Never, ever, owl a boy telling him, ‘we need to talk’. It’s a recipe for disaster. They always interpret it the wrong way.”

Ginny nodded. “Duly noted. Yeah, I can see where Harry would pretty much interpret that as the end of the world.” She grinned a little in spite of herself.

Hermione nodded vigorously. “Harry? Definitely.” She paused. “Maybe you could invite him over to dinner?”

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Ginny replied. “I could make up something nice for him…hmm…what could I cook?” Ginny closed her eyes and considered the contents of her pantry. “I don’t have anything. I’d have to go shopping. So I could invite him over for tomorrow, or the next day.”

“That sounds like a good plan,” Hermione agreed. “But you’ll want to be careful with the wording on the invitation. There can be…implications…of inviting him over to your flat.” Hermione cocked an eyebrow.

Ginny laughed. “Weren’t you the one telling me Harry was a gentleman?”

“Yes, but, aside from anything else, Harry is, after all, a man, just as you are a woman.” Hermione grinned at Ginny.

Ginny rolled her eyes at Hermione. “I swear, you’re having more fun with this than I am.”

“Oh, of course,” Hermione said immediately. “I’m an old married now, with a newborn. I have to live vicariously though my friends.”

“Oh, right, I forgot,” Ginny said sarcastically. “Well, stop making insinuations for now, and help me decide what to cook for dinner.”

-- -- -- --

Harry’s headache was gone completely by the time he got back from his run, around half past eleven. He showered, made a spot of lunch, and prepared for his meeting with McGonagall. He spent some time thinking about what to wear, before putting on his best black robe and his school tie. Nervous for some unaccountable reason, Harry restlessly flipped channels on the telly, watching the clock. When it finally read five minutes to one, he gripped his wand, concentrated, and Apparated to the main gate. Quickly scanning his surroundings, he determined that he was in no danger, and slipped his wand back in his pocket before starting the long walk up to the front door.

Harry paused at the large front door, and took a moment to drink in the surroundings. The grass all around was a deep green with the mountains in the background. He could see the Forbidden Forest beyond Hagrid’s hut. The Quidditch stadium loomed on the horizon, its tall towers beckoning him. He realized he was stalling and turned back to the door.

Harry took a deep breath and opened the huge door into the entry hall. It was time to get this over with. The familiar smells assaulted his senses, the must of the castle, the scent of parchment, the acid snap of ink, and the ever present slightly burned odour that accompanied cast spells. His memory took him back to the good days here.

Not all of them were good, he remembered. He’d been quite sulky fifth year, and the years following had been difficult as he’d tried to come to terms with the prophecy and what it meant. But the good memories outweighed the bad, and he was determined to leave the sulky, brooding, Harry Potter behind.

McGonagall was standing on the main stairs, waiting for him. She smiled as she checked the clock. “I’m impressed, Mr. Potter. You weren’t always this prompt in school.” Harry blushed a little, and she chuckled. “Harry, it’s good to see you again.”

“And you, Headmistress, although it hasn’t been long,” he replied, stepping towards her and shaking her hand.

“And how is your honorary nephew?” she asked, as they turned to walk up the main staircase.

“Keeping his parents up at night, but otherwise healthy,” he replied, waving at the portraits as they walked.

“You’re looking well, Harry. Perhaps as healthy as I’ve ever seen.”

“Well, better food, and a lot of sleep in the last several days has a lot to do with it.”

“I’m sure Miss Weasley’s attentions can’t hurt either,” McGonagall said wryly.

Harry pretended to look surprised. “I’m sorry?” He grinned.

“Come now, Harry, who else on earth could have been the ‘stunning red-head’ you were seen with Friday night,” she said, chuckling. They turned the corner at the top of the stairs towards her office. “My only question is why the Prophet didn’t figure that one out.”

“I’m not really complaining. They’ll figure it out fast enough, and then they’ll be even more of a nuisance.”

McGonagall rolled her eyes and nodded in agreement. “Just so.”

“So what is it you wanted to see me for?” Harry asked, as they arrived at her office.

“All in good time, Harry,” she said. She turned to the gargoyle guarding the entrance to her office. “King side castle.”

The gargoyle stood aside and the staircase appeared. Harry followed her up.

Harry hadn’t been in the Headmaster’s office since before Dumbledore died. He was surprised to see it hadn’t changed much since the last time he’d been in, surrounded by portraits of former headmasters. There was a blank spot on the wall, behind McGonagall’s desk, and he arched an eyebrow.

“After much delay, Albus’ portrait will finally be ready before the school year begins,” McGonagall said tiredly. There was a story there, Harry could tell, but decided not to press the question.

The personal decorations were different. Where Dumbledore had kept a table full of delicate instruments, McGonagall had placed a pair of wingback chairs, and between them was an ornately carved table with a chessboard set in the top. The playing pieces, Harry noticed, were the same style as had been on the giant board his first year.

In the corner Harry spotted a perch. “Fawkes!” he cried, and the phoenix lifted off his perch to settle on Harry’s shoulder, singing lightly. “I wondered if you’d still be around.”

McGonagall smiled, sitting down at her desk, and gesturing for Harry to have a seat across from her. “I tried to make him understand that he was free to leave, but he doesn’t want to.”

Harry grinned, and Fawkes flew back to his perch. Harry sank into a chair and looked at McGonagall. “So now that we’re here, what is it you wanted to see me for?”

“Harry, as you well know, we’ve started to see some turn over in the faculty. This year, there will be several vacancies.” She conjured a teapot. “Tea, Harry?”

“No, thank you.” Harry replied. “Who’s leaving now?”

“Well, as you might guess, we still can’t seem to hold down a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.” McGonagall poured herself a cup and began to stir in cream.

Harry snorted. “Still can’t keep someone?”

“Well, you know we had Kingsley for a year but he took the position as head of the Aurors, and then we had Roland Wodsworth, the author. His books are excellent, his teaching method, however...” McGonagall wrinkled her nose and continued. “His replacement was an American, Amos Carrington, who decided he liked the weather in America better. Claims the weather here was absolutely unbearable. I believe he was from the American south, so this was likely a difficult adjustment.”

Harry scoffed.

“And Madam Hooch is retiring this year.”

“Madam Hooch! No!” Harry exclaimed. “Who will teach flying?” he asked, “and coach Quidditch?”

“We’re still looking,” McGonagall paused. “Harry, do you have any idea of what your plans are now that you’ve left the Ministry?”

“Well,” Harry began, wondering about sudden change in subject. “I thought I might simply take some time off, but now I’m bored. Quidditch training camps are starting up for veterans, and open tryouts are in a few weeks. I was thinking of going out for Chudley with Oliver Wood.” Harry shrugged. “I’m just starting to discover what life is like after I stop being a hero.”

McGonagall took a sip of her tea. “Do you remember the Defence study group you put together here?”

“Dumbledore’s Army? How could I forget? Everyone in it contributed to the war.” Harry shrugged. “During fifth year, it was the only fun to be had.”

“Yes.” McGonagall pursed her lips. “You were quite good at it.”

“Despite the circumstances for its creation, I actually enjoyed it.”

“I hoped you might say that.”

Harry’s eyes suddenly narrowed. “I think I know why I’m here,” he announced.

McGonagall arched an eyebrow. “Oh really?”

“You’re going to offer me the Defence professorship.”

McGonagall slid a piece of parchment across the desk at him.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress

Dear Mr. Potter,

It is with pleasure that I would like to extend to you an offer to take the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. You are highly qualified, and it is with the full backing of the Department of Magical Education and the school governors that this offer is extended to you.

The terms of employment would be…

Harry scanned past that part, he really didn’t care. He knew what being a Hogwarts professor would entail: living at the castle, having to do rounds, etcetera. He didn’t need the salary by a long shot anyway.

In addition, we are extending to you the opportunity to serve as first year flying tutor, as well as school Quidditch coach.

We eagerly await your reply,

Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Headmistress

Harry looked up from the letter, feeling a thrill rush through him. This was exactly what he wanted. It would be rewarding, it would be fun, and he could be with bright young minds. The future, he told himself. And best of all, you’d have the same holidays as Ginny, a small voice told him.

“I’m honoured…” he replied, knowing his answer. He looked up at to meet McGonagall’s penetrating stare. “When do I start?”

-- -- -- --

Harry and McGonagall spent some time catching up on the Hogwarts goings on, and she insisted on giving Harry a formal tour of his classroom, office and quarters. By the time he left, it was dinnertime. He Flooed from Hogwarts over to the Haven, wanting to share the good news with Ron and Hermione, but no one had been home, save for Crookshanks. The big cat had been quite put out when Harry had disturbed his nap in the sunny spot on the fireplace hearth. Harry Apparated from the Haven to the Burrow, figuring they’d gone there. He found Ron and Hermione in the living room, waiting for Molly to get dinner on the table. They were talking with Ginny, and Harry shot her a winning smile as he strode into the room.

“Well, hello,” Ginny said. “I was looking for you last night. Where were you?”

“I was up at Remus’s,” Harry replied, his good mood stalling slightly, and a red blush creeping up his face.

“Remus said you tied a good one on last night,” Ron grinned. “Way to go, bro.”

“Harry!” Hermione scolded. “Drunk on a Sunday night?”

“I didn’t have anywhere to be ‘til afternoon,” Harry said, defending himself.

“Where were you this afternoon?” Ginny asked.

“Hogwarts,” Harry replied, his good mood returning.

“How was Hogwarts, Harry?” Ron asked. “Haven’t been up there since before the end of the last school year.”

“It was great!” Harry replied, feeling positively giddy. “McGonagall, asked to be remembered to all of you.” He ticked little Charlie’s tummy. “Especially you, you cute little thing you.”

“So did McGonagall tell you who they’ve got to teach Defence?” Hermione asked. She was curious who would be joining her on staff next term.

“She did, indeed.”

“Who is it?” Ginny asked.

Harry turned and caught her eye, grinning from ear to ear. He winked at her.

She gasped. “Harry! She didn’t!”

Hermione caught on. “Harry?” Her eyes were wide, and she was smiling.

Ron, his back to the exchange, looked confused. “So, who is it Harry?”

Harry turned to Ron and smiled, feeling light-headed. “Me.”

“You?”

“I’m also taking over for Madam Hooch,” Harry said excitedly, unable to stand still and leaning from side to side eagerly.

“Harry, that’s wonderful!” Ginny got up and gave him a big hug.

“Professor Potter. That has a nice ring to it,” Hermione agreed, handing Charlie to Ron, and giving Harry her own hug.

Ron began to laugh.

“What?” Harry asked his best mate.

“I was just thinking…Harry Potter, greatest wizard of our age, defeater of Voldemort, done in by the Hogwarts Defence Against the Dark Arts curse!”

Harry grinned and chuckled, patting Ron on the shoulder. Ginny scowled at him, hands on her hips, looking eerily like her mother.

“Ronald Weasley. Nothing is going to happen to Harry, but thank you for giving me something else to have nightmares about.”

“It’s okay Ginny, except for Quirrell and Lockhart no one’s come to any permanent harm.”

Ginny scowled at him, but he leaned over and kissed her solidly on the lips, leaving her, Ron and Hermione slightly stunned. He took her in his arms, and began to waltz her around the living room.

“Harry!” she shrieked.

“Dance, Ginny! I’m as giddy as a schoolboy. I can’t wait to start. This is the best job I could have asked for!” He leaned down and planted another kiss squarely on her lips, and her eyes widened in surprise as she tried to keep up with his awkward dance steps. Ron’s jaw dropped open and he put a hand over his eyes. Hermione laughed. They could get used to the new Harry Potter. They certainly could.

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