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Author: TheGov Story: Defining the Relationship Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-HBP Status: Completed Reviews: 32 Words: 162,112
A/N: Okay, first off. I got a lot of responses for the “subtle TV reference” mentioned in the previous chapter. Some good answers, stuff I didn’t even think about when I wrote it. All the Law and Order comments were good, and even probably true. Not the one I was looking for. It was really subtle. I mean really subtle. “Harry watched him stop in the hallway and consult briefly with an older Healer who leaned heavily on a cane and walked with a pronounced limp.” So subtle in fact, nobody came up with House, M.D. Oh well. If you’re wondering who to blame at the end of this chapter, blame my wife, who suggested that the original draft of this chapter was too long, and suggested a new breaking point. I love her, even if y’all won’t after this. Thanks to Arnel for being a splendiferous beta! -- -- -- -- “Someone here to see you, Inspector,” the patrolman said, sticking his head in Chris’s office. Chris was trying to catch up on some long overdue paperwork. He waved at the patrolman to send the person in. “Chris Collins!” a familiar voice boomed. Chris looked up in surprise. “Ned!” he exclaimed, rising from his chair to give the man a back slapping hug. “I had no idea you were in London! Let’s be having a look at you.” Chris ran a finger along the fresh stripes on the side of Ned’s uniform. “Your sins have caught up with you, I see.” Chris said. Ned Sharpe had been one of the corporals in Chris’s unit when Chris was a sergeant in the Army. From the look of things, Ned had received a well deserved promotion to sergeant himself. “Well, I couldn’t hide forever, unfortunately,” Ned said, taking off his uniform cap and draping himself across one of the chairs in front of Chris’s desk. Chris took the other one. “I’m in London on leave for another 72 hours, and then I’m off for a rotation with the Falklands Garrison.” “A garden spot of the world, if there ever was one,” Chris commented dryly. “Have fun with that.” “Oh, I’m planning on it,” Ned said, with only a light touch of sarcasm. “So how have you been? I see the name plate on the door says Chief Inspector. Moving up in the world, aren’t you?” Chris shrugged. “I had some good breaks here and there.” “How’s the leg?” Ned asked. Chris shrugged again. “Still there. Pain comes and goes. Using the cane pretty much all the time now,” he said. Ned’s sharp eyes focused on something behind Chris’s head, and Chris turned to see what he was looking at. It was one of Arthur’s drawings. Chris turned back to find Ned’s questioning eyes on him. “What?” Chris asked. “Well, you didn’t have a kid the last time I saw you, and that drawing’s a little sophisticated for a one year old. So what’s the story? Did you find out you had one and didn’t know it?” Ned asked. “No,” Chris chuckled. “No, not like that. Arthur is my girlfriend Penny’s son. Her husband was killed in the line just before Arthur was born.” “Poor lass,” Ned said immediately. “Where’d he buy it?” Chris thought quickly. Ned’s automatic assumption was that Penny was an Army widow. The Army was a tight fraternity, and he didn’t want Ned wondering why he hadn’t heard of someone being killed while on duty. “Here in London. He was with Special Branch.” “Ah, I see,” Ned said. “So, is it serious?” he asked. “Must be, if the boy’s sending you pictures to hang on your wall.” “I guess it is,” Chris allowed. “It’s hard on Penny. She’s still pretty fragile.” “I can only imagine,” Ned replied with a shake of his head. There was a moment’s pause, then Ned grinned, changing the subject. “So what’s this I hear about the eccentric inspector with an interest in unexplained phenomena?” “Good Lord, where did you hear that one?” Chris asked, alarmed. “Oh, word gets around,” Ned said, tapping the side of his nose. At Chris’s horrified expression, Ned continued. “Oh, don’t worry, it isn’t that bad. I just was asking after you at Bow Street Station, trying to find out where you had an office. The patrolman there said, ‘Oh, you mean the one who takes all the unexplained cases?’” Chris shook his head. “Don’t believe everything you hear,” he told Ned. “Oh, it’s all right mate,” Ned told him. “I’m used to strange things.” “Oh?” Chris asked. “Why’s that?” “Oh, the village I grew up in has a history of weird things going on. We’ve got a haunted house.” “A haunted house?” Chris said, cocking an eyebrow. “The old Riddle Place. Years ago the family was murdered. Folks thought the gardener did it, but they couldn’t prove it. Then the old gardener died a few years ago from the same thing that killed the family. All kinds of strange noises and lights up there. I hear it’s been active again recently.” “Recently?” Chris asked, sitting up and grabbing a pencil. “Where exactly is this?” Ned laughed. “You going to go check it out? You won’t find nothing, probably just kids.” “Seriously, where is it, Ned?” Chris asked. “Humour me.” “It’s in Little Hangleton, Mate. The Old Riddle House. Up on the hill, you can’t miss it.” “Right,” Chris wrote down the information. He glanced at his schedule. He couldn’t get the for another day or two anyway. -- -- -- -- Harry was trying to finish the paper work he’d abandoned to go to lunch with Hermione the day before, preferably before the Express arrived. The only problem was his eyes kept drooping shut, and the words kept swimming out of focus. He hadn’t slept a wink the night before, laying awake, listing to the sounds of Ginny’s apartment around him. Ginny had gone off to school, happy and chipper, leaving Harry to drag his sorry arse up to Hogwarts. He tried to stay focused on his paper work, but it was difficult. He reached for another piece of parchment. “Harry?” He looked around. There was no one there. He continued to scribble. “Harry?” Still no one. “Harry!” With a jerk, Harry’s eyes shot open, making his arm twitch, sending papers, ink, quills and other things on his desk flying into the air. Hermione was standing next to his desk. He’d fallen asleep and had been dreaming he was doing his paperwork. Oh great, I can’t even have fun dreams, he thought. Well, at least it wasn’t a nightmare… One had to look at the bright side of these things. “Harry, are you all right?” Hermione was looking at him with deep concern on her face. “Yeah,” he groaned, wiping his face with his hands. “I just didn’t sleep too well last night…” Hermione was giggling. “What?” Harry asked. “What’s so funny?” Without a word, Hermione pulled out a mirror. He looked into it. Black streaks covered his face. He blinked and looked at his hands, which were covered in spilled ink. His face had an slowly fading red splotch on it where it had been resting on his arm. He looked at his arms, and the undersides bore the ink marks of the papers he’d been working on. In short, he was a genuine mess. “How much time do I have before the Sorting?” Harry asked quickly, seeing that the sun was low in the sky outside his window. “Not much,” Hermione admitted, “Hurry.” Harry disappeared into his rooms, leaving Hermione chuckling in his office. -- -- -- -- Harry, freshly scrubbed and cleaned, slid into his chair at the head table just as Professor Sinistra was leading the first years into the Great Hall. The old Sorting Hat lay on the table in front of McGonagall, and she looked ready to begin. Harry was actually pleased that the timing worked out that way, because he was able to slip in unnoticed in the commotion from the arriving first years. The Sorting Hat sang its song about the four houses, actually not much different from the one it sang his first year. Obviously, it felt no further need to comment on the politics of the time, with Voldemort gone. Sorting proceeded apace, until Professor Sinistra had called out Zachary, Nathan, and sorted him into Gryffindor. McGonagall stood. “Good evening, and welcome to Hogwarts everyone. It is a pleasure to have new friends with us, and old friends return to us. I hope that you will make the best of your year here, study hard, and do well. “I have several announcements to make. First of all, we would like to thank our distinguished guest, Deputy Minister for Magical Education, and former Hogwarts professor, Remus Lupin, for joining us here this evening.” Remus waved from his seat, which was, unfortunately, on the other side of McGonagall from where Harry sat. “And now for our beginning of term notices. The Forbidden Forest, remains, just that. Forbidden.” Harry smirked. That joke must be older than McGonagall. “Secondly, Mr. Filtch, our caretaker, has reminded me to tell you that the use of magic in the corridors is not permitted, and that the list of forbidden items is now 537 items long, and is posted outside his office.” Harry leaned over to Hermione, who sat next to him. “He ought to just post the twins catalogue and save himself the parchment,” he whispered. Hermione stifled a chuckle. “I would also like to announce a staff change,” McGonagall said, and tittering began running through the Hall. It was time for the eagerly anticipated announcement of their Defence professor. Harry looked out over the Hall, and could see students, in groups of one and two, pointing and gasping in recognition. “I am pleased to announce that your new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher is Professor Harry Potter,” McGonagall smiled, gesturing at Harry who waved and nodded, acknowledging McGonagall. There was a beat of silence, before the mild applause began, but it was drowned out by the much louder exclamations of disbelief and excitement. “Professor Potter will also be replacing Madam Hooch, teaching first year flying lessons, as well as refereeing the Quidditch matches this year,” McGonagall said. “And now, let’s enjoy the feast.” McGonagall nodded, and the feast appeared, but Harry watched as it took a full minute for anyone to start eating. “Did they do this for you?” Harry whispered to Hermione. “No, but I didn’t kill Voldemort, either,” she whispered back at him smiling. “So how’s Charlie doing?” he asked. “I haven’t been by to see my favourite nephew lately.” “Still drooling up a storm, you’re not missing much,” Hermione told him. “Sleeping better though, thank Merlin. Pass that plate of broccoli, will you, Harry?” -- -- -- -- “So, you’re feeling all right then,” Harry said, opening the door to his quarters. Remus had followed him back for a butterbeer. “Just fine, Harry,” Remus said for the tenth time. “Hullo, Ginny.” Harry turned in surprise to see Ginny sitting on his couch. “Gin!” Harry smiled. “How are you?” She stood up and kissed his cheek, before going over to get a hug from Remus. “I’m good Harry,” she said. “Good to see you back on your feet, Remus.” “Well, the Healer did an excellent job on me, and I’m as good as new,” he said. “But I think I will take a pass on that butterbeer, if that’s all right with you Harry?” Remus asked, giving Harry a significant look. “What? Oh sure, some other time then,” Harry said. “I’ll see you around.” “Good luck tomorrow, Harry,” Remus said, stepping over the fireplace. “Have a nice evening Ginny.” “Good night, Remus,” she said, and with a whoosh, he was gone. “Hi,” Harry gave her a goofy smile. “Hi yourself,” she replied, and then leaned in and gave him a smouldering kiss. “Mmm…” she sighed, breaking the kiss and settling down on the sofa. “How was the feast?” she asked. “Fine,” he smirked, sitting down on the sofa with her. She crawled into his lap. “I was fairly successful in keeping my new job a secret,” Harry said. He related the story to her. She giggled. “You’re going to have classes full of students wanting stories of your own Hogwarts time,” she told them. “Yeah, they’ll ask me, ‘Did you really know the famous Ginny Weasley?’” Harry smiled. “No, they’ll ask you, ‘Did you really know Fred and George? Were you there when they rode out of Hogwarts on their brooms?’” Harry chuckled. “They probably will, at that. So how was your day?” he asked. “Oh, it was fine,” she said. “Fairly normal. Introductions to students, getting to know you games, that kind of thing. Tomorrow, we’ll work on our letters. Fortunately, my group is young enough that they don’t really understand who I am. So at least I don’t get questions about my love life. Although I expect I’ll get a few at Parent’s Night.” Harry nodded. “What about you? What does your schedule look like?” “I have Second Years first thing tomorrow, with the First Years just before lunch,” he said. “I’m nervous.” “You’ll be fine, Harry,” she promised. “You’re going to be the best Defence teacher in years.” “Or at least since Remus,” he smiled. “At least since Remus,” she agreed. “So what brings you over here?” Harry asked. “I thought I’d come see how the day went,” she replied. “I would have thought that was obvious.” Harry shrugged. “I figured you were going to go straight home.” “No. I wanted to come see you. Is that a problem?” “No, not at all,” he laughed. “I’m always happy to see you.” She smiled. “Good.” The clock chimed just then, and Harry groaned. “It’s getting late, we should get some sleep. Or try to anyway.” “I should get on home then,” she said, rising. “Home?” Harry asked. “Why don’t you stay here? McGonagall won’t notice one night, and after that, maybe I can get permission.” She sighed and looked at him. “Harry, you know I’d like to, but I can’t Floo to work in the morning. There’s too much risk that I’ll get covered in ash or something.” “Oh,” Harry said. “Why do you want me to stay?” she asked, looking at him sideways a moment. “Because I thought you might be safer, here,” he blurted out before thinking. “Safer?” Ginny’s eyes flashed. “Because I can’t take care of myself in my own house?” “No, Gin, that’s not what I meant,” he protested. “I just thought that with Malfoy out there, Hogwarts is probably the safest place for you to be. Except maybe the Burrow,” he admitted. “So I either have to hide behind you, or hide behind my parents?” Ginny asked. “Am I still a little girl?” “Ginny, I’m just worried about you! He got to Hermione for God’s sake! He can get to any one, I’m not trying to imply anything! Honestly! I just think that under the circumstances, you’d be safer here.” “So you want me to take away my freedom because of some madman?” “Well, I would think you wouldn’t mind staying here with me, but obviously, I miscalculated that particular equation,” he said angrily. “I don’t mind staying here with you, Harry, I mind the implication that I can’t take care of myself!” “I never said that!” “But you did, by saying that I would be safer here, you implied that I can’t be trusted to take care of myself in my own home.” “Ginny, there’s a reason Dumbledore made me stay here over breaks. This is the safest place in England! I can’t think of a better place for anyone hiding from someone.” “I’m not hiding from anyone!” she roared. “And Draco Malfoy is not Lord Voldemort. I think the wards that Bill put up will be sufficient to keep a school yard bully out of my house.” “So you’re not going to stay, then? Is my bed not good enough for you anymore?” “Goodnight, Harry,” Ginny said, heading for the fireplace. “Ginny, honestly…” Harry pleaded. “I sleep better knowing your safe.” “I’m sure you do, Harry. But if we keep arguing, we’re only going to say things we’ll regret. I’ll see you tomorrow night, and we can talk more reasonably about this. I’m not in the mood right now. Goodnight,” she said, and with a flash of green fire, she was gone. Harry gave the sofa a swift angry kick, and then proceeded to hop comically around his room, holding his foot. “Ow! Damnit!” he swore. He considered going after her, briefly, but realized she was probably right. A cool off was probably in order. He ran the conversation back over in his head. Why did he let his mouth run away with him like that sometimes? -- -- -- -- “You have a shadow,” Chris commented, sitting down at the table he and Penny usually occupied in the bookstore near Diagon Ally. They had begun to make a habit of meeting for coffee just around dinnertime. Arthur paused from his colouring long enough to give him a hug. Penny waved a hand over her shoulder at the man who was failing miserably to blend into the coffee house crowd. The purple bowler hat had something to do with that, most likely. “New security procedures,” Penny explained. “The Minister insisted.” She sighed and then leaned in and whispered conspiratorially. “There are downsides to having relatives in high places.” She gave a half smile and then leaned back. “The truth is, with the attack on Hermione, Mr. Weasley is petrified. Again.” She shrugged. “I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever have anything remotely related to a normal life. Ever.” Chris’s heart went out to her and he reached across the table to take her hand. “It’ll be okay,” he promised, the words sounding silly to himself. What did he know, anyway? It wasn’t even his world. “Ron’s a good guy, and he knows what he’s doing.” “I know,” she sighed, squeezing his hand. “I just wish…” she let her voice trail off into silence and used her other hand to stroke Arthur’s hair. “I wish I didn’t feel like I was running all the time. I want to be normal.” She turned to him. “Can we ever be normal again? After everything?” “Someday,” Chris promised, swallowing the lump that had appeared in his throat. “Someday soon, Penny.” -- -- -- -- He can be so infuriating sometimes, Ginny thought, preparing herself for bed. She couldn’t understand why he couldn’t see that he was telling her that he didn’t believe she could take care of herself. She’d gotten enough of that from her older brothers. She wanted him to be supportive, not protective. Well, that’s not strictly true, she thought. But I certainly want him to be more supportive than protective, rather than the other way around. She drank some warm milk, and crawled into bed. She felt restless, but the exhaustion of her first day back soon put her to sleep. -- -- -- -- Harry awoke the next morning after a troubled nights sleep. He had tossed and turned much of the night, replaying the conversation with Ginny in his mind, trying to determine where it had gone wrong. You put your foot in it, that’s where it went wrong, Potter. I know. Shut it. The end result of the interior wrangling was a pledge to himself that when Ginny got back from school that evening, he would listen carefully to what she was saying, and try to understand her point of view. His restless night had caused him to linger in bed, and he only had time to grab a quick breakfast of toast and jam before class. He chatted with Hagrid at the staff table and then and then made his way to his classroom for his first class. He could hear the second years chattering loudly as he approached his room, but the room fell silent when he swung the door open. The Hufflepuff Second Years all had their eyes on him as he made his way to the front of the room. “Good morning,” he said. “I’m Professor Potter.” He paused here, feeling a bit ridiculous. Of course they know I’m Professor Potter. He quickly recovered and launched into the rest of the introduction he had mentally prepared on the walk from the Great Hall. “I’m looking forward to working with you this year, I’m sure we’ll all have something to learn from the experience. This is my first year teaching, and I hope to be here a long time.” Harry picked up his class list began to call roll, filling in a seating chart as he went. When he finished he set down the roster but held onto the chart for reference. “Now,” he began in earnest. “This class is called Defence Against the Dark Arts. Can anyone tell me what the purpose of this class is?” One student raised her hand. “Yes, Miss…” Harry consulted his seating chart. “Maplebee?” “The purpose of Defence Against the Dark Arts is to teach us to recognize use of the Dark Arts.” “Wrong,” Harry replied. “The purpose of Defence Against the Dark Arts is to teach us to be prepared to defend ourselves, and to fight back. We must maintain, in the words of an old friend, constant vigilance.” There were quite a few students blinking at him, so he continued. “Just because Lord Voldemort…” here a few students flinched. Old habits of their parents died hard apparently. “…has been defeated doesn’t mean that there aren’t other Dark Wizards around. One of Lord Voldemort’s most dangerous followers is still at large. And it also doesn’t mean there won’t be another Dark Wizard like Lord Voldemort. Some of your parents, and certainly your grand parents, will remember Grindelwald, the Dark Wizard of the 1940s. And, if you pay attention to Professor Binns at all, when he isn’t talking about Goblins, he’s talking about wars against Dark Wizards. We must always be prepared for the worst.” A student raised his hand. “Yes, Mr. Kensington?” “But isn’t that what the Aurors are for?” he asked. “Aurors are all well, and good,” Harry said. “I was one myself, briefly. But what good is an Auror going to do you when a Dark Wizard, or a Dark Wizard’s follower shows up on your doorstep?” Mr. Kensington’s blank stare indicated Harry had made his point. Harry nodded curtly. “So, first off, open your books to page 23, and we’re going to begin by talking about basic shielding spells…” -- -- -- -- “Very good!” Ginny said to her students. “Your letters are looking very good today.” Ginny was browsing at a varied collection of block letter alphabets. “Ulysses, your work is very good.” “Thank you, Miss Ginny.” “All right, everyone take out your spelling book, we’re going to work on our spelling vocabulary. Who wants to spell the first word?” she asked. A dozen small hands shot up. “Persephone, why don’t you go first?” “Goblin. G-o-b-l-i-n. Goblin!” “Very good!” The door opened. “Look, children, its Mr. Byron! Can we say, hello Mr. Byron?” “Hello, Mr. Byron!” the children said. “There’s someone here to see you,” Mr. Byron said flatly, looking at Ginny. Ginny felt something was very wrong. Mr. Byron’s eyes were flat, and glassy. He had no expression on his face whatsoever. “Who is it?” she asked. A darkly familiar laugh echoed from in the hallway, and she froze. Her wand was on her desk, ten feet away. She’d never make it. “Well, well, well. How quaint. The future Mrs. Potter, acting all sweet and domestic, but poisoning the minds of wizarding youth.” Draco Malfoy stepped from behind Mr. Byron, his wand levelled at her. “We can’t have this can we? Stupefy.” There was a flash, and Ginny felt a burning sensation on her neck, and when she blinked, there was the fuzzy haze of a shield charm between her and Malfoy. The protection pendant! She took advantage of Malfoy’s momentary shock and dove towards her desk, stretching for her wand. Another spell came her way, but it bounced off her shield. Her fingers closed around her wand, and she pointed it at Mr. Byron. “Finite Incantatem!” Mr. Byron blinked, colour returning to his face, to find himself in a room with the most wanted man in England. “Help!” he screamed, “Help!” He drew his wand, but a stunner spell from Malfoy took him down. The children were screaming and crying. “So, we’re going to play hard to get,” Malfoy drawled. “Fine, we can do this your way.” He pointed his wand at the children. “I wonder how they’ll take the Cruciatus.” “No!” Ginny screamed. “Expelliarmus!” “Protego!” Impasse. “Come with me quietly, and I won’t start killing your students,” Malfoy spoke menacingly. He pointed his wand at a little girl. “Crucio,” “No!” The little girl shrieked in agony, bloodcurdling screams that would no doubt be heard throughout the school. “Stop!” Ginny cried, sobbing. She threw her wand down at her feet. “Just stop.” Malfoy cancelled the curse, and strode warily up to Ginny. She made no move to stop him, tears were dripping down her face. “A protection pendant, how sweet,” he said, spotting the chain around her neck. He yanked it, and the chain broke. He threw it to the floor. “Little good will it do you now, Weasel.” Angry voices could be heard in the hallway. Harry, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Why did we fight? Will the last thing he remembers about me be us fighting? Ginny was thinking. “Time to go,” Malfoy said. He picked up a school book. “Portus.” He pointed his wand at Ginny. “Stupefy.” The world went dark.
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