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Author: Tarkas Story: Hunter and Maiden Rating: Teens Status: WIP Reviews: 6 Words: 204,697
[The disclaimer may be found at the start of the story, before the Prologue. It still applies, though I will repeat here that The Walrus and the Carpenter was written by Lewis Carroll, and I believe it ought to be out of copyright by now.] Harry and Ginny spent much of the morning in quiet, relaxed talk about anything and everything. The topics of conversation ranged far and wide -- at one point, Ginny even quoted part of a Muggle poem of which she was fond that could have served as well as anything else to describe what they'd been doing: "The time has come," the Walrus said, "To talk of many things: Harry laughed and asked her if she was calling him a walrus. Ginny giggled even as she blushed, and quipped that no, she meant his uncle; he didn't have the proper moustache for it, and she hoped he never would. Harry burst out laughing, but managed to recover long enough to ask Ginny if that meant that his ambition to grow a beard like Dumbledore's was doomed, then cracked up again at the shocked look on her face... which, via a convoluted train of thought, led to reminiscing about pranks they'd been involved in -- either as perpetrator, spectator or victim. And so the morning went. And yet, had anyone later asked them what they'd spent so much time discussing, they'd have been hard put to remember. The over-riding impression of that morning that remained in their memories was not what they'd spoken of, be it silly or serious, but of a deep tranquillity and of shared companionship. For all the things they talked about, there were also long periods of quiet when the conversation would lapse and both of them were content to have it so -- until one or the other thought of something to say or ask, and they'd be off again. When the sun started to become really hot, they moved from the middle of the field to the shade of a group of trees and settled down to continue their conversation and enjoy a small breeze that had sprung up. Harry relaxed against the trunk of one tree with his eyes closed; he could tell that Ginny, who was sitting curled up a few feet away, was watching him intently, more than half-expecting him to fall asleep, but there was no chance of that happening. Although he felt more relaxed than he had been for a very long time, if ever, he was also alert -- and the focus of that alertness was Ginny. The more he saw of her with his new awareness, the more she fascinated him. He felt he could spend hours -- days, even -- just looking at her, watching her, learning to appreciate every facet of the incredible person that was Ginevra Weasley. She was beautiful, she was kind and caring, she was brave, funny, smart... simply wonderful in so many ways. More than that, there was something about her -- he wasn't sure what, but was becoming more and more inclined to think that he didn't need to be -- that... fit. She... matched him in a way that was unlike anything he'd ever seen or even heard of between two people. She was... right for him -- his complement -- and it was astonishing to realise this and to see everything about her that made her that way. The problem was, he thought, that she didn't realise this -- and why should she after so many years of not quite neglect, but certainly not much more? And while she was everything he might want in a girl, he knew that he needed to discover what she wanted and needed, and then take steps to ensure that he became that -- before anyone else did! Well, she was worth it, and he had an advantage now that no-one else could match, so he vowed that this year, he was going to treat Ginny the way she deserved to be treated. He opened his eyes and smiled at her, which brought both a sudden blush to her face and an answering smile that made his heart leap. They said nothing, sharing a moment of quiet togetherness that was the fitting culmination of a morning full of an all-too-rare peace, and delighting in the then-and-now and each other, until Molly's voice rang out, calling them to lunch. Harry rose in one smooth motion and held out his hand to assist Ginny in getting up. He didn't let her go once she, too, was on her feet, and the two friends strolled back to the Burrow hand-in-hand. And if Ginny was startled and more than a little confused by this, and blushed furiously as they approached the house, she also made no effort to get him to release her hand from that firm, comfortable grip. ***** Harry peered out past the bathroom door, which he held almost fully closed and was ready to slam in an instant. He had just had a shower after spending most of the afternoon in an energetic scratch game of Quidditch with Ron and Ginny, but, when he had stepped out of the bath to dry and dress himself, he could only find a large towel and a terry-towelling dressing gown. All his clothes had vanished. This made him nervous, to say the least; when a young man's clothes disappear in a wizarding household -- and one to which Fred and George Weasley are frequent visitors, at that -- it is not unreasonable for that young man to feel distinctly uneasy. Harry regarded the towelling robe with a dubious expression, though he didn't appear to have a lot of choice in the matter: it was either wear the dressing-gown, wear the towel... or wear nothing at all as he sprinted for Ron's room. Great choice... he thought as he stood there trying to work out what was going on, and to decide what he should do about it. Was this one of Fred and George's pranks? He hadn't seen them today, but that meant nothing; all they'd have had to do is Apparate in from their shop in Diagon Alley -- hardly a long trip -- as he was fairly sure that they would be doing later that evening. Had they come early? And if they had, had they grabbed his clothes and perhaps planted a gimmicked towel or robe (or both!)? Harry's anxiety was not helped by a sudden burst of giggling from a nearby bedroom. Never mind Fred and George, he thought in sudden panic, What about Ginny?! To make matters worse, his keen hearing detected more than one voice in what was a chorus of feminine hilarity, and he realised with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that he recognised them -- all of them! Ginny... Hermione! And Mrs Weasley?! What's going on here? He was about to find out. He focused his awareness on Ginny's room and the current inhabitants as the giggles died away, to be replaced by a hushed conversation which mostly seemed to involve the older two exhorting Ginny to do something that she seemed uncomfortable about. "Go on, Ginny! You know you'll wish you had..." "I... I couldn't. Not to Harry..." Harry frowned. Ginny was obviously horribly embarrassed, and not just for herself; she was just as unhappy, if not more so, about how he'd feel than she was in herself. The frown deepened as he began to plan how to deal with this; a joke was one thing, but he would not let Ginny suffer like that. Even if it meant revealing certain things that were probably better kept secret for now, he could not and would not stand by when he could help her... Fortunately, Ginny's mother had mercy on her blushing daughter, though she apparently didn't intend to extend that kindness as far as Harry. "All right, dear," she murmured, "If you really don't want to..." A wicked smirk entered her tone as she addressed the other girl in the room. "That leaves it up to you, Hermione..." More giggles greeted that, though Harry noticed that Ginny didn't join in this time. He could tell that she was feeling a little better, however, so he decided to wait and see what this female conspiracy was up to. "Oh, Har-rr-ry..." came a familiar, lilting voice, pitched to carry to the bathroom -- though not quite loud enough to cover Molly's quiet laughter behind it. "Yes, Hermione?" Harry answered grimly. He grinned to himself at her reaction; she was surprised that he knew she was there, and un-nerved somewhat by the tone of his reply. I can play mind games, too, you know... "Uh..." was the soft reply as she tried to remember what she had been going to say next. "You... you might have noticed that something is missing from the bathroom..." "Yes, Hermione, I noticed that my clothes are gone," he said, maintaining the severe tone and effectively taking control of the conversation. "You wouldn't happen to know where they are, would you?" "Uh..." Hermione began, now completely unsettled. "They're... they're in your room. You can wear the robe we left for you." She began to recover some of her usual poise and finished in a more confident manner with, "Don't worry; we won't look..." She dropped her voice to a level that was supposed to be inaudible to Harry but, now, wasn't. "...much." More laughter came from the bedroom at that, and Harry joined in quietly. No, you won't, he thought to himself, and moved. His steps were light, fast and soundless, and he was past the bedroom door before the women had recovered from their mirth. He slipped into his own bedroom... and came to a sudden halt at what he saw there. "What in Merlin's name...?" came an astonished cry, and three female heads immediately whipped around to look in the direction from which it came. How did he get up there? was the unspoken, and unanswerable, query that could have been read from their perplexed faces, had there been anyone else there. They gave up on that and leapt up to follow their quarry up the stairs with glee; for he may have got past them, but they knew what was waiting for him in his room... Sure enough, when they got there, Harry was staring around him in amazement at piles of clothing, both Muggle and wizarding, resting on his bed and trunk, and at a new wardrobe that had somehow been fitted into the small room, inside which were hanging several robes and a long coat and cloak. That wasn't all he'd been doing, though; for, much to the disappointment of the conspirators, he was no longer wearing the dressing gown (or the towel). Somehow, in the few seconds between that surprised outcry and their arrival, he'd managed to put on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Amazement quickly became amusement as Harry saw the three women crowd into the doorway, and he turned a look on them that was trying to be stern, but couldn't manage to do that because of the laughter in his eyes and the half-smile quirking one side of his mouth. "All right, you lot," he greeted them, "What's going on here?" It took his audience a moment to catch their breath, another moment to fight the urge to laugh, but they eventually recovered enough composure to chorus, "Happy birthday, Harry!" And then they saw his face and dissolved into laughter yet again. Harry waited them out, his arms crossed in annoyance and one brow raised disapprovingly -- or so it was supposed to appear; in truth, he was trying to suppress a snicker of his own at the antics of the "girls" -- for Mrs Weasley was giggling as hard as either her daughter or Hermione. Eventually, the three of them sobered enough for an explanation to be forthcoming, albeit between quiet (and not-so-quiet) chuckles. "You see, Harry dear," Molly began, "the disgusting things those horrible Dursleys forced you to wear all these years have been a sore point with a lot of people for some time, so some of us have had plans to do something about it for quite a while. "This is the result. We clubbed together to get you some proper, decent things to wear -- all sorts, Muggle and some nice robes -- to replace those dreadful rags. Now that you're seventeen and have escaped from the Dursleys' clutches, you deserve good clothes, ones that reflect your new status as an adult. And I'm going to take great pleasure in burning those awful--" "Hey! I want to do that!" Harry interjected, half laughing. "I've dreamed of burning Dudley's junk for years!" His voice dropped to an almost inaudible level as he muttered something that no-one could make out properly about also having dreamed of burning Dudley... "Oh, well then, you must," Molly quickly replied, smiling in a way that might have sent a shiver down the spine of any of the Dursleys, had they seen it. "I'll just watch. I look forward to seeing it. Perhaps tonight, on the bonfire?" Ginny and Hermione shot her a questioning look that Harry couldn't have missed even if he'd wanted to. Molly kept smiling, though now it was mischievous in a way that suggested that Fred and George came by their penchant for joking honestly. "Oh, don't worry, girls. Harry's clever enough to have guessed that we have plans, aren't you, dear?" "Well... I suspected something was going on, but I didn't say anything because I didn't want to spoil the fun..." "There, you see?" The girls seemed at least slightly less anxious, and Molly went on blithely, "We're having a few people over for an impromptu party for you, and I know that several of them are going to want to see you in your new things, so we thought we'd better give you this present beforehand." "Hold on a minute," Harry said worriedly. "All this stuff is mine? A present? But... but... there's so much of it! Robes, jeans, shirts... underwear?" He blushed a shade of red worthy of his adopted family at the sudden realisation. "All this must have cost a small fortune... I can't accept this! It's too much." Uproar ensued -- the amount of uproar to be expected in a small, crowded bedroom when a mother and two teenage girls must deal with a teenage boy who is refusing to go along with their plans... which can be quite a lot, especially when two of the people involved bear the name Weasley. Harry remained adamant, however. "No! How can you possibly justify spending this much money on me, birthday or no birthday, Mrs Weasley?" he snapped angrily. "What about Ron and Ginny? How am I supposed to look them in the face? Are they getting entire new wardrobes for their next birthdays? Ron didn't when he turned seventeen!" Nobody seemed to have an answer to that -- or, rather, Hermione looked to Molly to answer, while the Weasleys, mother and daughter both, were staring at Harry, stunned at the vehemence he'd put into his objection. After a few moments, Molly smiled; now that she knew the real reason for Harry's protest, she couldn't help but feel touched by the care for her children that the young man had shown. Fortunately, she could now reassure him, she hoped. "Harry, there's no need to worry about that," she began, "I appreciate your concern, but really, we haven't been extravagant. I told you, these clothes are a gift from a lot of people -- all the women members of the Order, in fact, and a few of your school friends like Hermione here -- and they each contributed what they could comfortably afford." Her smile broadened as she regarded her daughter fondly. "When we added it all up, we had more than enough. Ginny and I did most of the selection and buying, and I've got pretty good at finding good quality bargains over the years, even if I do say so myself." Harry looked stunned. "All-- all the Order?" he stammered. "All the women, yes. Arabella, Tonks, everyone you know and a few people you don't -- even Professor McGonagall!" Harry's brows shot up at that, as did Hermione and Ginny's; somehow, they hadn't expected that. "I'm not sure what the men have in mind, but I dare say we'll find out later," Molly went on serenely. Harry was taken aback somewhat by what Mrs Weasley had said. He'd been horrified at the thought that her family had spent so much on a present for him, especially on top of whatever they had arranged in the way of a party, but it appeared that they had simply been the organisers, and most of the money had come from friends and colleagues in the Order -- among whose ranks were people who were considerably more affluent than the Weasleys. In that case, he didn't see how he could refuse such a thoughtful and meaningful gift from so many people; though it still bothered him that he was being given so much when he was more than comfortable financially himself. That thought gave him an idea: he was well off, and maybe he could repay a little of what he owed to so many people. "All right..." he said, "I won't argue about this any more -- on one condition: I want a list of everyone who contributed towards my present. I don't care how much they contributed, just that they did; I'm going to make sure they all get something really nice for Christmas or their birthday, whichever comes first." "You don't have to do that, Harry," Molly said. "Yes, I do! I appreciate the thought that everyone put into this, but I can't just take it and not give something back. This is the best way I can think of at such short notice, and I'm going to do it!" Realising that he was not going to be talked out of his plan, Molly gave in, saying that she'd write the list for him. She went to leave, but he signalled to her that he wanted to say something to her in private and she waited until Hermione and Ginny had left and headed back down the stairs. "One more thing," he said firmly, but quietly, "Ginny is going to get some new clothes for her seventeenth birthday. I'll pay for them, but I'll need your help in choosing and buying them." Molly didn't waste time arguing -- if anything, Harry sounded even more determined about this than he had been in the earlier discussion -- and simply agreed that she'd help, then left to join the girls in the kitchen. Once out of the room and, she thought, out of sight, though, she smiled to herself. She'd seen Harry and Ginny holding hands as they came in for lunch, and now he wanted to buy clothes for her? Well, well, well... ***** Harry looked over the seeming mountain of new clothing that he'd been given, trying to decide what to wear to this "impromptu party." Somehow, he didn't think that it was impromptu at all; if Mrs Weasley had been arranging this huge gift for him for long enough to collect all the money and buy the clothes, he was certain that the party would have been arranged at the same time. He snickered to himself as he remembered that she'd told him that she hadn't been certain whether Dumbledore would let him come to the Burrow this year; he'd be willing to bet that, regardless of what the Headmaster might have said about the rest of the holidays, the Weasleys would have descended en masse on Privet Drive this evening to carry him off to the party! The Dursleys didn't know how close an escape they'd had from another Weasley visitation... But back to the task at hand: deciding what to wear to the party. He felt rather silly spending so much effort on this -- he wasn't a girl like Lavender Brown or Parvati Patil, whose main concern in life was her appearance (and especially at parties) -- but he had to admit that, this once, for this party, he wanted to look good. For his friends and adopted family, for the people who had gone to so much trouble to welcome him to adulthood, for those who had and would soon face dire peril from Voldemort and his followers -- for all of these people, he wanted to show that he appreciated their kindness and thoughtfulness, and this was the most immediate way he could do that. And, if he was going to be truly honest, he wanted to impress a certain redhead, too. Which admission made up his mind for him: Ginny had said that morning that the Transfigured clothes he'd been wearing then had really suited him, and that she hoped he'd be able to get something like them when he went shopping. Well, now, it looked as though he didn't need to go shopping -- or did he? Was there anything like the outfit that Ginny had liked amongst his new stuff? He rooted around in the stacks of clothes and, sure enough, there were a pair of black jeans and several shirts in different shades of green in one or other of the piles. He got the jeans out and laid the shirts on his bed to make a final choice. He stood there, scrutinising them intently for a minute or two before shaking his head; they were all good shirts, but not quite what he had in mind -- not for tonight. Well, now that he was an adult, there were alternatives, and one struck him at that moment in a flash of inspiration and made him grin. This should make a few heads turn, he thought to himself, and one in particular... ***** The guests were gathering, filling the back yard of the Burrow with the buzz of conversation and the many and varied sounds of laughter -- but where was the guest of honour? No-one had seen Harry since Ron had come downstairs after getting changed for the party, and people were starting to ask where he was. Finally, Molly could stand it no longer; she'd have asked Ron to go and roust out Harry, but he had disappeared, probably with Hermione, whom he hadn't seen for a month and who he had been in extremely close proximity to, ever since he realised she was here -- it was quite touching, really -- which left only... "Ginny! Go and see what's keeping Harry, please." Ginny couldn't help herself; she flinched. Her mother wanted her to go and find Harry... who was up in his bedroom... possibly getting dressed... perhaps without a shirt... or worse... or was that better? Stop, stop, stop! she told herself desperately. Her imagination wasn't listening, however, and neither was the huge blush that was threatening to make her face outshine her hair. Fortunately, the sound of footsteps on the stairs saved her from actually having to do what her mother had asked, though the thought of Harry seeing her so red was almost as bad. He came into the kitchen with a large plastic bag slung over one shoulder; once there, he put it down and greeted her with a smile that seemed unusually warm -- or was it her that was warm? "Hi, Ginny." He paused for a moment to look at her in that odd, intense way that he'd been doing on and off all day, before saying softly, "You look nice." "S--so do you..." she managed to reply, lying through her teeth. "Nice" was totally inadequate to describe him at that moment; the trouble was, she couldn't think of an adequate superlative. She decided that the only truly appropriate verdict that she could render was to drool heavily, but she didn't dare do that. Once again, he was dressed in green and black, a combination that always suited him, but this time he was in much fancier clothing than he had worn that morning: a belted emerald green tunic that looked to be made of silk, black trousers, and knee-high black boots that had to be dragonhide, they shone so. He looked... dashing was the only word that came to mind; in that outfit, he looked every inch the story-book hero he was made out to be so often -- something she knew he hated, but right now, he really looked the part... She dragged her eyes away from him by a force of will that she didn't know she had, desperately trying to think of something to distract herself from the sight of him. Luckily, he'd brought a suitable distraction with him, if only she could get her mouth to work rather than drool as it so badly wanted to... "Wh--what's in the bag?" she asked eventually, praying that he wouldn't notice the effect he was having on her. "All of Dudley's old stuff," he replied calmly -- and, somehow, calmingly. Ginny felt her nervousness fade somewhat, though she still didn't dare to meet his gaze. "Your mum wanted to see me burn it, remember? Well, here it is, ready to go. I thought it'd be fun to start the party with a bang -- and the bonfire." "G--good idea," Ginny mumbled, not knowing what else to say. Fortunately, her growing mortification was interrupted by the reappearance of her mother from outside. "Ginny, have you-- oh, there you are, Harry dear! Come on, come outside; everyone's waiting for you." She paused for a moment, suddenly noticing the plastic bag. "What's in the bag?" Harry laughed. "That's exactly what Ginny said," he explained, grinning. "And to answer your question... fuel for a fire." Molly understood immediately, raising her brows above eyes twinkling with merriment and a smile that, once again, showed an indisputable resemblance to her twin sons. She said nothing, but waved the two teenagers towards the door. Harry slung the bag over his shoulder again and let Ginny precede him outside. ***** The back yard of the Burrow was crowded with familiar faces standing around talking. Harry caught a glimpse of several long trestle-tables over by the fence and a gap in the crowd in the middle of the yard which looked to contain a pile of wood -- presumably where the bonfire was to be. He'd wondered about having a fire going in the middle of summer, but the perfect weather of the day was becoming a cool, clear evening with the promise of low temperatures after dark, so it could well be a good thing after all. It certainly would be good to burn Dudley's junk! As soon as Harry came through the door, a cry went up: "There he is!" and he was surrounded by well-wishers. They were mostly friends and classmates from Hogwarts and members of the Order, but there were even a few near-strangers -- people like Hermione's parents and other close family of one or other guest. Harry would normally only see them once or twice a year -- usually at King's Cross -- but they had been invited to the Burrow tonight and, judging by the numbers, very few, if anyone, had declined the invitation. The Weasleys were there en masse, of course -- with the sole exception of Percy. Bill and Charlie were easily spotted, and it would have been harder to miss Fred and George than to find them; their tastes in clothing had only become more flamboyant, if that was possible. But where was Ron? And Hermione, for that matter -- or was asking that question the answer in itself? Yes, there they were, coming around the corner of the house, hand-in-hand and ever so slightly dishevelled -- and smiling at one another in the private way they had, and that Harry had seen so much of in his sixth year at Hogwarts. Well, good for them, he thought, turning his attention to everyone else around him. It was quite a crowd; almost all of the non-Slytherins in his year at school looked to be here, as was almost everybody else he knew and liked. There was Tonks over there with Remus, and Fleur with Bill -- that unlikely pairing had stood the test of time, so far -- and Angelina, Alicia and Katie were chatting with the twins and Lee... No sign of Oliver Wood, but wasn't he in Denmark at the moment for a pre-season friendly game with the Malmö team? Shame he couldn't make it; it would have been nice to reunite their Cup-winning squad... These musings, if that was what they were -- to Harry, it was more like a vain attempt to keep track of all the familiar faces that flashed past his eyes -- were interrupted by the arrival of Ron, forcing his way through the crowd with characteristic determination, Hermione following in his "wake" until there was no-one else between herself and Harry, and then she shot around Ron to hug her other best friend as only she could -- or would. "Happy birthday, Harry!" she cried, and was echoed by everyone who heard her. "Thanks, Hermione," he said softly, and then raised his voice to carry to everyone else: "Thank you all. Now, let's get this party started--" He lifted the bag into the air. "--and I know just how to do it!" "Now then, all of you, give Harry some room," Molly called out from somewhere in the crowd -- Harry couldn't see her, but no-one had any trouble hearing her. "He's going to start the fire for us." People backed away as best they could and Harry emptied the contents of his bag onto the pile of wood. He smiled slightly as he heard muttered questions like, "What's all that stuff?" and the buzz of whispered answers; what really made him grin, though, were the reactions of most of the questioners to the answers -- groans, cries of "Yuk!" and even one or two angry exclamations. He stepped back and stood still for just a few seconds with his eyes closed, savouring the moment. He couldn't do anything to the Dursleys to repay them for all the years of neglect and cruelty without becoming as bad as they were, but he could take a certain pleasure in destroying the disgusting cast-offs that had been all that they had deigned to give him for clothing. He had left the Dursleys for good that morning; now, he was going to get rid of the last visible trace of that part of his life... and he was going to enjoy it! Perhaps more than he should, but he didn't care; there were too many horrible memories tied up with those rags, and it was past time that they were gone. He opened his eyes, raised his wand, concentrated... and cast the spell. "Incendio!" There was a loud WHOOMPH! as the pile of rubbish exploded in flames. Those closest to it -- even Harry -- threw up their hands to shield themselves from the heat and glare of the fire and stepped back a few paces; the people further away merely looked impressed. "Bloody hell, Harry," Ron said, "That was quite a blast. You're good at that spell!" He was echoed by several others, all equally impressed. Harry smiled slightly. "I think it's one of those spells that react to the caster's intentions -- you know, how badly they want it to work. That junk used to be Dudley's; I've dreamed of burning it all for a long time..." "Well, that's one dream you realised tonight," said Mrs Weasley from behind Harry, a certain satisfaction distinctly evident in her voice. "Let's hope the next one is nicer. Now, come on, all of you, and have something to eat." That was voted an excellent idea by everyone (not least by Ron) and they all headed for the nearby tables, which were now groaning under the weight of a feast worthy of Hogwarts. *****
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