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Author: Adeline Avin Story: Après La Vie Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-DH Status: Completed Reviews: 2 Words: 31,941
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his universe all belong to J.K. Rowling. I only own it in my dreams. “Miss Lynn is going to be alright, Mr. Smith,” said the medical witch, a young woman with curly hair and a starchy, white uniform, “We managed to successfully negate the effects of the spell before it reached her vital organs. It was complex, Dark magic, though, that caused this. Would you happen to know how your friend might have come into contact with this curse?” Harry shook his head. He couldn’t reveal what had happened to Ginny to this woman, even if she was a professional Healer. No one could be trusted. He couldn’t even give her Ginny’s real identity or medical records. “May I go in and see her?” Harry asked. He had to give Ginny another dose of her Polyjuice Potion. The witch nodded and told him Ginny’s room number. Harry walked down the white halls of the Swiss Magical Injuries Hospital as quietly as possible. He didn’t like hospitals. They were cold and almost too clean. They reminded him of his Aunt Petunia’s kitchen. He also had so many bad memories of hospitals. He had watched most of his peers die in hospitals like this. People with great potential and futures ahead of them and loved ones who were hoping they would pull through. He did have one good memory of a hospital visit, though. The day he had met his godson, Alphie, always stuck in his mind. He had been a happy-go-lucky baby, Harry recalled. There had been a point where the medical wizards and witches hadn’t thought he was going to make it into the world alive, but with the typical Weasley stubbornness, Alphonsus Arthur Weasley had come into the world a handsome, happy baby. Harry could remember the first time he had seen his godson. He had gone into Hermione’s room to see her with the baby wrapped tightly in her arms, tears of happiness streaming down her face, and Ron had to have been the proudest father ever witnessed by St. Mungo’s hospital. Alphie had Hermione’s curly, brown hair and Ron’s light blue eyes. The memory helped him to push all the bad ones out of his head. Someday Hermione and Ron would tell Alphie about all those brave people who had died to keep others safe, and so the memories of those people would live on through Alphie. It was a nice thought. He hoped to share some of his own stories with Alphie when the boy was older. It made Harry wonder if Sirius had loved him as much as he now loved his own godson. Whenever he babysat Alphie he always made it a game for them to find Sirius, the Dog Star, together in the night sky. Alphie never tired of the game, he always played along. Somehow, Alphie must have known how much it meant to Harry. “Ginny?” Harry said, walking into the room and stopping by her bedside, “Are you awake, Ginny?” “I am now,” she grumbled. The Polyjuice Potion had already worn off. Ginny’s red curls stood out against the white backdrop of the hospital. Her face was very white though, Harry noticed. Even her freckles were a bit paler than usual. “Do you feel alright?” Harry asked concernedly. “I feel very cold,” Ginny replied, snuggling down further into the blankets on the small bed, “It’s as if someone froze my heart.” “I’m sorry, I should have got there sooner,” said Harry, “I should have backed you up.” Ginny scowled at him. “I never did like that about you, do you know that?” she remarked. “Never liked what?” asked Harry, bewildered. “The way you’re always blaming yourself,” she replied, “As if you could have done anything about it. You’ve been that way for as long as I’ve known you. I almost thought that you might have outgrown it.” She was staring at him with those eyes he recognised from so long ago, the ones that had a fiery power behind them. It was so… familiar, he realised. “You haven’t changed as much as I thought,” she whispered. It amused him how he was thinking exactly the same thing. “Here,” he said, handing her a vial, “You need to drink more of the Polyjuice Potion, and then you can get some rest.” Ginny nodded and downed the liquid in one gulp. Harry smiled at her. “You wouldn’t make such a bad Mole,” he remarked. “And you…” Ginny yawned, “You’re not… such a bad partner.” Then she fell asleep, completely exhausted. Harry watched as her features transformed. Her round nose became slightly more squared and long. Her freckles faded away completely. Her hair became straight and blonde. Her lips shrank to fit her new face. It was strange to see how different this person’s face was in comparison with Ginny’s. “Ah, good, she’s asleep now,” said the Healer who had told Harry Ginny’s room number. She came through the door quietly wheeling in a cart covered with different coloured bottles of potion. “Do you know what the curse was?” whispered Harry, “She said she felt cold.” “Cold, you say? Well, we’re not thoroughly sure. A more perilous form of a Freezing Charm, I suspect,” she replied, uncorking a small red bottle and pouring some into a goblet. The potion steamed and hissed and emitted a cloud of purple smoke. “Some extra-strength Pepper-Up Potion ought to make her feel better, but we’ll just have to wait and see,” said the Healer. “Thank you,” said Harry as the witch left the room. She smiled at him and nodded. *** She realised as she crept down into the dungeons of Hogwarts that what she was wearing was probably a hand-me-down. It must have belonged to Bill once, she thought to herself. It was a red, plaid shirt that came down to her knees and the sleeves of it came down over her hands. She had been using it as a nightgown. It couldn’t have been Charlie’s, she reasoned to herself. Charlie was shorter than Bill. It made her feel guilty to think of whom she was meeting in her favourite brother’s shirt. She had a fear of dark, wet places. The lighting in the dungeon was eyrie. It reminded her of the Chamber from her first year at Hogwarts. She wondered briefly why she had agreed to meet him here, of all places. That was, until she saw him, and he made her stop in her tracks. His hair was sleep tousled, but his eyes were alert. He was wearing a pair of long, grey, silk pyjama bottoms and his chest and feet were bare. It was then that she realised her own feet were bare, as well. Why was it, then, that she felt so warm? “You came,” he whispered huskily, “I didn’t think you would.” She realised he was staring at her. It made her flush pleasantly. “Someone knows about us,” she whispered back, “It won’t be long before everyone knows our secret.” “I’m tired of hiding,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist. She put her head against his bare chest, breathing softly against his skin. “I want to marry you, Ginny,” he said, “I never want to have to let you go. You’re all I have left.” It wasn’t a question, or a request. It was a promise. She nodded, and knew that he understood completely. She never wanted to let him go, either. He held her closer. She thought she saw a flicker of movement over his shoulder. Ginny awoke to the smell of strong coffee. She noticed Harry sitting next to her in the armchair by her bedside. How long had she been asleep? She couldn’t remember taking her Polyjuice Potion and yet her freckles were not visible as she looked at the skin on her arms. “Coffee?” Harry asked amiably. He looked as if he had gone back to the hotel to get a shower. His hair had a slightly damp look to it. It made her long for a hot bath. “Mmmm, yes please,” she murmured agreeably, taking the Styrofoam cup he offered her. Now that she thought about it, she did have the funny taste in her mouth that could only be Polyjuice Potion. She washed it down with the steaming coffee, not minding that it scalded her throat slightly. “I think I’ve got us a lead from Mr. Kraft,” said Harry. “The old man, you mean? He remembers something?” asked Ginny. “He works for the Ministry,” said Harry, “and apparently he came in to do a property analysis in the fort that day. He saw a man crouching by a fire in one of the rooms, talking to someone by Floo about an art exposition that’s being held tonight. When the man realised he was being spied on he set the whole place on fire.” Ginny sipped her coffee thoughtfully. “Any chance he got a good look at the man?” “Mr. Kraft says the man was wearing a hood and a mask,” said Harry, “A former Death Eater, possibly?” “There’s a good chance that it was D.F. himself,” replied Ginny, “Now, in all likelihood, is there any way that Mr. Kraft himself could be a former Death Eater?” “Anything’s possible, I suppose,” said Harry, “Too many of them went free. But is he still a Death Eater? I’m thinking not.” “Alright. Then our next step is to get into that art exhibition,” said Ginny, “If you know where it is…” “Already covered,” said Harry, seeming very pleased with himself, “It’s at the Louvre.” “The Louvre?” said Ginny incredulously, “We’ll never get in.” “Well, it is a very private function,” Harry conceded, “It’s invitation by donation, only. Unless you’re on the VIP list of the art world.” “Makes me wonder how D.F. has enough money to snag himself an invite,” said Ginny, “But how are we going to scavenge up a donation? The Ministry’s funds are dry. I mean, there’s no way we can get in without an invitation.” Then seeing the glint of mischief in Harry’s eye she added, “Is there?” Harry grinned. “Let’s just say I have an idea,” he said, “But first, we’ll need to go back to the hotel. I think we’re going to need something a bit more fancy to wear for this event.” *** “Harry Potter!” Harry could hear Ginny yell and she banged on the door of his hotel room, “I know you bought that dress with your own money! What do you think you’re playing at?” Harry opened the door with a guilty look on his face. Ginny was glaring straight at him. He hadn’t meant to make her angry. The dress was supposed to be a present, a peace treaty of sorts between them. “I don’t know what you’re so angry about,” he said, trying to sound pleasant, “That dress that I sent to your room is beautiful. It’s from a French designer. Now please, quiet down. You’re going to blow my cover. Come in here.” Harry ushered her into his hotel room. It was a mess, he realised. He had developed the bad habit of throwing his clothing on the floor over the past few years. He was so used to doing it in his flat because Dobby had always cleaned for him. That’s why he had never noticed what a pig he was becoming but Ginny noticed. She stared at his room with obvious distaste. At that moment she reminded him strongly of her mother, Mrs. Weasley. He looked at her shamefacedly and quickly muttered a spell, sending all his clothing flying into a nearby laundry basket. “You know I can’t afford to pay you back for that dress,” she said sharply, “What were you thinking? I don’t know about Moles, but most of us Aurors get paid hardly anything.” “You don’t have to. Consider it a gift,” he replied. He watched as her face went very red. “I don’t need your charity,” she said brusquely. “It’s not charity. It’s a present. To make up for all the Christmases I missed,” he said as politely as possible. Ginny heaved a great sigh of irritation and left his room, slamming the door on the way out. Harry went to the closet and took out his new, black tuxedo. The man he had bought it from had assured him that it would fit precisely but to Harry’s dismay he found upon slipping into the dress shirt that the sleeves were too long. He quickly shrank them and drank his Polyjuice Potion. “Perfect,” he mumbled to himself, glancing at his reflection in the mirror. He allowed another hour to pass while he listened to the radio before going to see if Ginny was ready. He walked down the hall to where Ginny’s room was and gave a light tap on the door. It was a few moments before Ginny opened it. “You look… beautiful,” was the first thing that came out of Harry’s mouth. It must have been the right thing to say, because Ginny smiled at him. She did look lovely. Harry had got her the most beautiful, green, silk dress he could find, remembering from years ago that Ginny looked extraordinary in green. She had paired it with a set of silver earrings, and he could see that where the dress stopped, just above her ankles, a pair of dark green, heeled sandals of the same colour peeked out. Her hair was hanging as it always did in loose, crimson ringlets around her face. “Thank you. You clean up nicely as well,” she replied, “Now, just let me take my Polyjuice Potion and we can be on our way.” She went back into her room and came out a few minutes later not looking like herself anymore. Instead, she was once again the blonde Miss Lynn. He didn’t say anything about it, but the dress didn’t really suit her as well when she wasn’t Ginny Weasley. “Do you think it would be safe for us to Apparate to the Louvre?” asked Harry, “I really don’t fancy another ride on that Magi Tram.” Ginny began to laugh and then abruptly stopped when a ringing noise came from within the purse she was holding. Harry watched as she pulled out her Witch’s Glass and opened it to find the face of Amanda Hearthrite staring back at her. Harry struggled to suppress a groan. “Hello? Are you Miss Weasley?” the girl asked, “I’ve been asked to deliver a message to you.” “Yes, I’m Miss Weasley,” Ginny replied suspiciously, “On whose behalf are you giving me this message?” “Chappy Bains, Miss,” said Amanda. Ginny groaned loudly. “And what does Chappy want, now?” asked Ginny, obviously very annoyed. “Well, he’s with me now; we’re working on the project you assigned him,” Amanda replied, her nose scrunching up as if something was puzzling her. “He says you haven’t been answering his calls, and there really is something wrong with these coordinates you gave him -” “Tell Chappy, for the umpteenth time,” said Ginny crossly, cutting Amanda off, “that there is nothing wrong with those coordinates I gave him, and even so, it is not my top priority nor is it any concern of mine right now. I am on a high-profile field assignment. Now, if he does have a problem that cannot wait until I get back, he can talk to the Junior Supervisor.” Ginny moved to close her Witch’s Glass, cutting off the link, but Amanda cried out, “Wait, just one more moment of your time, please!” “What is it, Miss…” Ginny trailed off, not knowing who Amanda was. Although, by the look on her face, Harry could tell that she didn’t really care. “I’m Miss Hearthrite. Level eight Mole and Junior Undersecretary to Mr. Harry Potter,” said Amanda, flashing Ginny one of her fake smiles that Harry had received too many times to count, “I received a tip that Harry was with you. If this is true, is there any chance I might speak with him?” Ginny glanced at Harry and he shook his head emphatically. “No,” replied Ginny, “Mr. Potter is not with me. Have a nice day, though, Miss Hearter.” “It’s Hearth-” Amanda began to correct her, but Ginny had already closed her Witch’s Glass and returned it to her purse. “New girlfriend of yours, Potter?” she asked, smiling smugly. Harry groaned.
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