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

Author: MyGinevra

Story: The Hog's Head

Part: 05: The Light

Rating: Teens

Setting: Pre-OotP

Status: WIP

Warning: Implied sexual situation

Reviews: 6

Words: 4,313

Updated: March 9, 2008, 3:36pm

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05: The Light

Harry and Ginny followed the rest of the family into the house and found everyone gathered in the parlor. Several witches and wizards from the Ministry had also come inside, along with Lee Jordan, Minerva McGonagall and Filius Flitwick. Aunt Muriel was ensconced in the middle of the sofa complaining to everyone about George’s “disrespectful prank.” When she saw Ginny walk in with Harry, she stopped and called loudly, “Ginevra! Come here!”

Ginny either did not hear or pretended not to. She hugged George, then went to stand with her parents in front of the fireplace. Molly was saying to Arthur, “I knew he would do something, but I suppose it could have been worse. That firecracker could have exploded.”

“Father!” Percy called; he was looking out a window into the front yard. “The Muggle police are coming up the lane.” He scowled at George. Two of the Ministry wizards hurried out, and everyone watched through the window as they waved to the officers in the car, which had stopped in front of the gate.

“They’re from the Muggle–Worthy Excuse Committee,” Lee said to Mr. Weasley. “I asked Minister Shacklebolt to bring them along, just in case. I told them what we were planning and they said they could pass it off as a weather anomaly, whatever that is.”

“Humph!” Percy grunted, and peered out the window again, but everyone else turned and took up their conversations. Molly was now looking out a different window toward the back yard. People were standing in knots or gathered around the food tables. “We should go out,” she said reluctantly. “We shouldn’t leave all those people for Kingsley.”

“Ginevra!” Aunt Muriel called again sharply, and this time Ginny couldn’t pretend not to hear. “Yes, Aunt Muriel?”

“When you marry that young man there — it’s Harry Potter, isn’t it? We meet at last, Mr. Potter — you will have my tiara. It’s goblin-made, you know.”

Percy turned from the window and stared at Muriel; George and Charlie exchanged glances and then grinned at Harry, as did Fleur; Bill shook his head; Hermione poked Ron who was about to say something but instead cleared his throat; Lee noticed that the ceiling was very interesting; Molly pulled on Arthur’s elbow and he sighed. Everyone else — the Ministry wizards and witches, and the Hogwarts professors — appeared bemused. Harry didn’t dare look at anyone, so he let his eyes un–focus on the blank wall behind the sofa above Muriel’s head.

Ginny smiled sweetly. “That’s very kind of you, Aunt Muriel. We have no plans to get married, though. I’m still a little young, and I have another year of school left, so —“

“I know all that,” Muriel snapped. “But it’s quite obvious that you two will marry, whether sooner or later. And do you understand my meaning? You shall have my tiara and then you will pass it on to your own daughter when the time comes.”

“Let’s go back outside,” said Arthur. He took both Molly and Ginny’s arms and led them out. Bill put his hand on Harry’s back, waking him from his trance, and steered him toward the door; Fleur trotted after them. “Au revoir,” she trilled to Aunt Muriel. “See you at ze wedding.” Everyone else quickly left. Only Percy stayed behind; the police car had driven off, and he sat down next to Muriel and they began discussing wedding logistics.

The family moved out among the guests. Some had already departed, others had wandered back to the chairs or to the grave, carrying their plates of food and goblets of drink. Harry, still a little stunned, didn’t know what to do; he did not really want to mingle with celebrity hounds, and he wasn’t sure what to say to Ginny after Aunt Muriel’s pronouncement. He sought out his friends from school; Neville introduced him to Keesha Baker, and everyone pulled chairs around and talked about Kingsley Shacklebolt’s eulogy.

Ron and Hermione joined them, and Ron sat next to Harry. “Sorry about the old bat,” he apologized. “She says all kinds of crazy things.” Harry was afraid of protesting too much or too little, so he took refuge in silence.

Parvati Patil was describing the repairs to the roof of the Gryffindor tower, and how house–elves had been climbing on the outside and startling everyone who happened to look out a window, when Harry saw Ginny staggering into the house under a load of dirty dishes. He got up, intent on helping her; if she couldn’t do magic herself, then at least he could do it for her. But as he made his way through the crowd, ignoring all the curious looks sent his way, he had another idea. He looked for Bill and saw him off to one side talking to a witch Harry did not know; Fleur was standing next to him, attracting the surreptitious glances of all the wizards in her vicinity. She saw Harry approaching.

“‘Arry, Ginny says zat you will be coming to stay wiz us. I am so ‘appy. We can remember Fred wiz a bottle of ze best Bordeaux gold can buy.”

Harry grinned at her, then put his hand on Bill’s arm. ”Sorry, can I ask you something?”

Bill stepped away from the witch, who stared at Harry. “What’s up?” Harry explained what he wanted to do. Bill thought for a moment, then nodded. “Sure, I don’t see why not. It’s only for today, right? Go ahead.”

Harry went around to the front of the house and out the gate. He walked down the lane until he was out of sight of the house and stopped. “Kreacher!” he called. “I need you!”

The house–elf appeared with a loud crack! He bowed low to Harry and his locket on its chain dangled to the ground. “Master Harry Potter, it’s so good to see you well. How may Kreacher be of service?”

“Kreacher, I need a big favor.” He explained what he wanted, and Kreacher smiled.

“It will be an honor to help the noble Weasley family in their hour of need. Kreacher lives to serve.”

Harry led Kreacher into the kitchen. Ginny and Charlie were piling fruit into a large bowl, but they stopped when they saw Kreacher. “Merlin’s beard!” cried Charlie. “Who brought a house–elf in here?” He looked at Harry. “What’s he doing here?” He sounded a little hostile, and Ginny frowned.

“It’s Kreacher,” Harry said. “I asked him to help out. He’ll be happy to, won’t you?” He looked down at the elf.

Kreacher bowed to Charlie and then to Ginny. “Kreacher has heard many tales about the brave and honorable House of Weasley. Kreacher considers it a great honor to serve them, as he does Harry Potter and also the House of Black, rest in peace.”

Charlie and Ginny looked at each other. “We’ve never had a house–elf,” Charlie said. “We don’t really want one.”

“But I asked Bill. I don’t understand,” Harry felt annoyed. “It’s just for the day. I saw Ginny carrying all those dishes, and I thought she could use some help.”

“Harry, it’s okay,” Ginny said before Charlie could answer. “Kreacher, you’ll be a big help. We really appreciate it.”

“Ginny Weasley is a beautiful and perceptive witch,” Kreacher croaked. “Yes, Harry Potter has done the correct thing.”

Ginny took Harry’s hand and pushed Charlie out of the kitchen in front of them. They avoided the parlor where Percy was holding forth with Aunt Muriel about the best source of wedding invitations, and went out back. She pulled Harry to the garden where no one was standing, and she turned to him. “That was nice, Harry. I know you were trying to help, but I really didn’t need it.”

Harry felt deflated. “But I saw you with those dishes. I wanted to do something.”

“Remember I asked you not to smother me? You need to ask before you do something like this.” She saw his crestfallen look. “It was really sweet, Harry. Just ask me first.” She took his hands and glanced around; several people were watching them. “I shouldn’t kiss you now,” she whispered, “but I really want to.”

Harry perked up. “I just thought it would help.”

“It will. But the other thing is that we never wanted a house–elf. Mum doesn’t believe in using them the way most people do. She’s a little like Hermione.” Ginny giggled. They stood holding hands. “What is it?” Ginny asked when she saw a hesitant look on Harry’s face.

“I wanted to ask you something. When we were walking away from the grave you kind of held me back. You had a weird look on your face, too. Happy. It was strange.”

Ginny smiled. “I remember. One minute I was so sad, and the next minute we were walking together in front of all those people and I had my arm in yours, and it just felt so good!”

Harry couldn’t help himself; he kissed her. She pulled away, startled, and looked around quickly; more people were staring. “Harry! What was that for?”

“You said the same thing once before, remember?” He laughed. “In the hammock.”

Ginny blushed. “Oh. Yes. I remember.”

“I’m sorry I just kissed you. I hope I don’t need permission to do that.” He didn’t really look sorry, and Ginny laughed.

“Never.” She kissed him quickly, and then they both turned as Ron and Hermione approached.

“Don’t let us interrupt anything,” Ron said, “but we’re cutting out soon.”

“How come?” Harry asked. “I thought you wouldn’t be leaving until this evening.”

“Hermione’s parents are coming back today, and we want to meet them at the Muggle portair. Then we figured we might as well just pop back down to the flat. We’ll see you tomorrow at the Tonks’s.”

“Right,” Harry nodded. “We’re going to Shell Cottage for a couple of weeks, so I guess we’ll be going to the other funerals from there.”

“Listen,” Ron looked down and scuffed the ground with his shoe. “There’s another room over the shop, so if you guys feel like it... I mean, we could have a good time in town together. What d’you think?”

“Sure,” Harry mumbled, and he stared at Ron’s scuff mark. “That would be great. Maybe we’ll do that.” Ginny and Hermione grinned at each other.

Ron and Hermione said goodbye, but as they were walking away Kreacher came trotting around the corner of the house carrying, somehow, three large serving dishes filled with dessert cakes, fruit, and whipped cream; a case of butterbeer; and two full pitchers of pumpkin juice from which not a drop was spilling. Hermione’s mouth fell open. “What on earth! Kreacher! What are you doing here?”

The house–elf nodded to her and said, “Good day to you, Miss Hermione Granger,” without breaking stride and continued on into the back yard.

Hermione watched him go, then turned to Harry. “Where did he come from?”

“I thought he could help out,” Harry said defensively. “Bill said it was okay.”

“It’s a great idea!” Ron exclaimed. “Now no one in the family has to clean up. I’ll even bet he knows how to get rid of two hundred eighty–five useless umbrellas.”

Hermione laughed. “I think it’s a good idea, too. Your mum will have one less thing to worry about.” She and Ron hurried off to say goodbye to the others.

Harry glanced at Ginny, who looked at him wryly. “I guess it is a good idea,” she admitted. “Thanks, Harry.”

“Well, it’s not me, it’s Kreacher. Thank him.”

“I will. We all will.”

More people were leaving, and Harry and Ginny went to say goodbye to the Hogwarts students, who were Portkeying back to school together. They also agreed to have a Dumbledore’s Army reunion later in the summer. “I can’t wait,” said Luna holding up her message Galleon. “I’ll have Dad print up the owls, and we’ll make it a memorial service for Colin, too.” She suddenly started crying, and both Neville and Dean put their hands on her shoulders.

“She’s been kind of weepy,” Dean said to Harry, “but it doesn’t last long.”

“Why should it?” Luna looked puzzled. “I’ll be able to cry again any time I want.”

“That’s true,” Dean agreed. “Everything you say is true, Luna.” She stopped crying and beamed at him.

Harry told Ginny that he had to find Professor Flitwick before he left, and he went to look for him. The Professor was usually hard to locate, being so short, so Harry listened for his squeaky voice and looked for anyone who was peering at the ground. But he found him sitting on a stool talking to a Healer from St. Mungo's who introduced herself as Hestia Derwent, an old friend of the Weasleys’. She thanked Harry for helping at the funeral service, then left him with Professor Flitwick.

“Now, Harry,” Flitwick began, “If I understand what you want, I’ll be tutoring you in Charms on an advanced level.”

“That’s what I’d like. Can you do it?”

“The question is, can we do it. I can’t very well leave the school, even on weekends.”

“Well,” Harry looked around; no one he knew was near. “I’m planning to live in Hogsmeade, at least for the school year, so I could come up to the castle pretty much any time.”

Flitwick was surprised. “You’ll be letting a house or a flat?”

“No,” Harry looked around again and lowered his voice. “I... I bought the Hog's Head Inn, and I’m going to fix it up. But please don’t tell anyone.”

Now the Professor looked very surprised. “Aberforth sold it? Why? Well, I don’t’ mean to pry. I’m sure he had his reasons.”

“He just wanted to get away from... from things. I think he’s going abroad for a while. Actually, he sold it back to some goblins who used to own it, and then I bought it from them.”

“From goblins...” Flitwick gave Harry a thoughtful look. “Have to be careful when you’re dealing with goblins, but I heard you have some experience.”

“I do, but it didn’t help very much. I’m sorry Professor, but I’d rather not talk about it now. Can we start the lessons, say, around the middle of September? I should have the inn up and running by then.”

“That’ll be fine, Harry. And I’m looking forward to it.”

They shook hands and Harry went through the thinning crowd looking for Ginny; he found her sitting with her family in a circle of chairs near the garden. They were talking, and also watching Kreacher who was clearing off the serving tables.

“I understand that is your house–elf,” Aunt Muriel said to Harry; he wasn’t sure if she was angry or not, her expression was always so stern.

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered, sitting next to Ginny. “He was my godfather’s family’s elf, and I inherited him.”

“Yes, the Black family. A very mixed bag, politically. I’m sorry about your godfather, though.” Harry nodded.

Aunt Muriel went on. “And you brought him here to help with the catering and cleaning. That is a very thoughtful gesture.” She turned to Ginny. “Ginevra, this one’s definitely a keeper,” she pointed at Harry.

“Actually, Aunt Muriel, he’s a Seeker,” Ginny said before she could stop herself.

When everyone had stopped laughing, even Molly and Aunt Muriel were smiling. Only poor Harry didn’t know what to do with himself; he sat looking befuddled and wishing he was someplace else. Ginny took his hand, and Charlie, who was sitting on his other side, put his arm around his shoulder and said sympathetically, “Welcome to the family, Harry.”

By noon all the guests were gone. The house and the grounds seemed very quiet. George and Lee were sitting by the grave; Bill and Fleur had gone up to their room; Percy was organizing the condolence cards that people had left; Charlie was sitting by himself near the garden looking toward the grave; Aunt Muriel was asleep on the sofa; and Ginny and Harry were sitting in the kitchen with Ginny’s parents. Occasionally they heard sounds from around the house, and Molly glanced at the stairs.

“What is he doing?” she asked. “I thought he would leave when everything was cleaned up.”

“I think he’s straightening up the house, dear,” Arthur replied.

They heard furniture scraping the floor above, and Molly looked at the ceiling. “He cleaned off the pudding!” she exclaimed. “There was a big stain after we got it down, but it’s gone!” They all stared at the ceiling, and at that moment Bill came down the stairs and stopped as he saw them looking up. “What is it?” he also peered up.

“Kreacher’s sanitizing the house,” said Ginny.

Bill chuckled and sat down. “Well, Dad, what did you think of Kingsley’s speech? It was pretty political for a eulogy.”

“That it was, and deliberately so,” Arthur said. “He asked me before we left Hogwarts if I minded. He’s saying more or less the same thing at all the funerals.”

“What’s he up to? It was a lot different from what Rufus Scrimgeour would have said, let alone Fudge.”

Harry spoke before Arthur could respond. “I’ll tell you something. Everyone from school was talking about it, and everyone thought it was brilliant.”

Arthur looked pleased. “That’s also his idea, or maybe I should say his hope. He wants to change things, Harry, but it’ll take a long time. It’s going to be up to you and your friends to see it finished.”

“That’s great,” said Harry, “but all I want to do right now is recover from sleeping for a year in a tent.”

“You’re staying here,” Molly declared as though it had been decided long ago. “You’ll have Ron’s room all to yourself. The house will be too empty.” She stared at the wall, lost in her thoughts; Arthur took her hand, but then she stood up. “It’s all right, Arthur. This day has been too long. Let me be alone for a while.” She went into the parlor but almost immediately came out and went upstairs.

“I wanted to leave for the Cottage right after Remus and Tonks’s funeral,” Bill said to his father. “Are you sure Mum’s okay with it?”

“She will be, She really wants all of you to get away from this for a while, and she needs some quiet time for herself, too. She has other things on her mind besides Fred,” he added grimly.

Bill nodded and Harry looked at Ginny; in his mind he saw a green flame pass within an inch of her head, and then he saw her mother’s face with a look of murderous fury on it. Ginny stared at her father, then she stood up, too. Before Harry could say or do anything, she was gone up the stairs after Molly. Harry rose half–way from his seat.

“Leave her be for a bit,” Bill said. “She’ll be okay. She’s the strongest one in the family, you know. She had to be to survive us.”

The rest of the day passed very slowly. Harry managed to avoid Aunt Muriel and any more comments about him and Ginny by spending most of his time in Ron’s room getting ready to leave for Shell Cottage. When he wandered downstairs again Muriel was gone, escorted home by Charlie and Percy. Arthur, Molly, and Ginny were at the grave and Harry went out to join them; they were sitting on a blanket between the grave and the oak tree. Ginny had picked a bouquet of wild flowers that lay in front of the headstone. Harry sat next to her and they stayed there until the sun began to set beyond the river.

They walked back to the house in the dusk and found Kreacher standing in the kitchen; Bill and Fleur were sitting at the table. Kreacher bowed to Harry and then to Molly. “Kreacher’s work here is done,” he said. “He must return to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to help finish what was begun three days ago.”

“Thanks, Kreacher,” said Harry and Ginny at the same time; Ginny giggled. The elf bowed to her, then Disapparated.

“That was very considerate of him to help out,” said Molly. “Thank you for thinking of him, Harry.”

Bill cleared his throat. “Mum, you’ll want to take a look around the house. He cleaned everything. Every room is spotless, he cleaned all the dirty clothes and put them away, changed all the linen, cleaned all the windows, straightened up everything in the kitchen —”

Molly jumped up and began opening cabinets. “I didn’t want anything in here touched!” she said angrily. “Someone should have told him...” She stopped; she was staring into a cabinet filled with stacks of dishes. She looked back at Harry. “I’m sorry, Harry. It’s all in perfect order. Amazing. Well, time to fix dinner.”

Ginny leaned toward Harry. “That was so special,” she whispered in his ear.

After dinner Ginny went to pack for Shell Cottage, and Harry went up to the attic, feeling the melancholy effects of the day. He was tired, and the stairs seemed steeper and longer. When he opened the door, though, he wondered for an instant if he was in the right place. Kreacher had cleaned and organized it to the point of being unrecognizable. There were no clothes scattered on the floor or the beds, all the Quidditch magazines were stacked neatly on the dresser top, and all of Ron’s textbooks were put away in the rickety board–and–brick bookcase, arranged by subject and year. The floor was swept and scrubbed, the beds were made, and the windows sparkled in the dim light of Harry’s wand; gone were the streaky dust and cobwebs.

He went to the window at the end of the room and peered through it into the darkness, then he turned. As he did so he bumped his head against a chain that hung from a hook in the ceiling. He grabbed the chain to stop it from swinging, and suddenly he remembered that he used to hang Hedwig’s cage from it whenever he stayed at the Burrow.

He went back to his cot and fell onto it. He covered his eyes with his hand, and saw a still, small, white form in the falling side–car of Hagrid’s motorcycle as it explode into nothingness. He saw Fred and Dobby and Mad–Eye and Colin and Remus and Tonks, and all the others in a blur. He couldn’t remember when any of it had happened. He himself had been dead once — that sounded almost funny, but here he was, breathing, staring up at Ron’s orange walls. It could have been him in the coffin today, aware of nothing, not even the blackness around him, just not existing. He suddenly felt utterly spent, yet he had done nothing today; he had sat and eaten and wandered around, talking about dead people.

He was a wanderer, lost, rootless. He looked at Ron’s posters, Ron’s books, Ron’s furniture. What did Harry have that was his own? A run–down derelict of a house in a London slum? A filthy, rat–infested hang–out for drunks and petty criminals in Hogsmeade? What good were they? He had no home, no room of his own with garish walls and posters of his boyhood heroes. He had no boyhood heroes; he wasn’t even sure if he had had a boyhood. Maybe he should find the Dursleys, at least to tell them that their lives were no longer in danger and they could go back to their home and forget about their seventeen–year nightmare, forget that Harry ever existed.

He had just spent months and months as a fugitive, unable to stay in the same place for two nights in a row. When he had found a place with friends where he could sleep in the same room for more than one night — even if it was on a sofa — he still might have ended up being murdered on the spot if his enemy had found him. He felt like a loose stone inside a tin can that was rolling downhill, tossed and banged against the sides, never able to rest, never knowing when he would hit bottom.

What should he do? Where could he go? He couldn’t pretend, like the Dursleys, that seventeen years had not happened. Too many people were dead. There were going to be more coffins, all cold and dark inside. He didn’t know if he could face more funerals, more weeping, more grief.

He closed his eyes. He was exhausted, but he was afraid to sleep, afraid that the morning would come and those seventeen years would still be there.

There were light steps on the landing outside the door and someone knocked. “Harry? Are you still up?” Ginny peeked in. “Let’s go out.”

They walked to the tall oak out back. There was no moon, and Harry lit his wand. They stood looking at the grave for a few minutes, then Ginny turned to him and put her arms around him. “Why are you trembling?” she whispered.

Harry doused his wand and put it in his belt behind his back. When they kissed, Harry could taste salty tears mingled with the moisture of her lips. Ginny leaned her head back. “I’m not crying for Fred,” she said. “I’m crying because I’m so crazy for you.”

Harry pulled her back to him almost violently. It had been too long since he had kissed her like this, too long since he had felt her heart beating against his, too long since he had felt her body pressed to his.

By the time they left the grave the half–moon had risen, but the light that showed Harry the way was coming from the girl walking beside him.

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