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

Author: MyGinevra

Story: The Hog's Head

Part: 08: A Summer of Peace

Rating: Teens

Setting: Pre-OotP

Status: WIP

Warning: Extreme Language, Sexual Situations

Reviews: 12

Words: 5,777

Updated: March 16, 2008, 9:16pm

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08: A Summer of Peace

A warm breeze carried the aroma of a baking peach pie out the open kitchen window of the Burrow and into the pleasant early August afternoon. The fragrance wafted across the garden, where a dozen very ugly gnomes looked up from their grubbing and began to salivate. They gazed mournfully at the house, around which, they knew, lay a highly unpleasant — to them — anti–gnome jinx, cast by the Burrow’s newest resident, a very talented young wizard with a tricky wand. They smelled and they yearned, but they could not have it.

The fruity fragrance drifted on its tantalizing way past the garden and the drooling gnomes, over the lawn, and into the nostrils of that young wizard. Harry was lying on a plastic Muggle–made lawn chair recliner in a sunny spot near the very tree from which, that morning, Ginny had picked the peaches — while being levitated by Harry — that were now baking in the kitchen.

The chair in which Harry was sleeping on his stomach had been plucked a few days ago from a rubbish bin in front of a nearby Muggle house. Arthur Weasley had thought, when he picked it out of the heap of trash, that it would prove a handsome example of traditional Muggle furniture that he could proudly display in the Burrow’s parlor. But Molly had forbidden its presence anywhere inside her house, and Harry had told him that it was supposed to be used outdoors, anyway.

Harry was dressed the way he had been dressed for most of the summer: in a pair of cut–off jeans, shirtless, and barefoot. His hands dangled down off the chair onto the ground; his wand was tucked through the back of his belt. He was occasionally aware of voices coming from the kitchen, but the warm sun on his back and the indolent mood of the day — in fact, of the whole summer — kept him from waking up completely. He turned his head toward the house when the smell of the peach pie reached him, but only to get a better sniff at it during the brief moments when he drifted up out of his nap. He sighed, and began snoring quietly into the webbing of the chair.

The voices from the kitchen stopped, and for a while there were no sounds but the peaceful rustling of trees in the light breeze, the buzzing of small insects outside the repellent spell Harry had cast around himself, and the bird songs from the woods near the house. Then something began to tickle his left hand, and he reluctantly opened one eye and peered down. A fuzzy, green caterpillar was inching its way up his wrist, looking fuzzier than it really was because he did not have his glasses on. He casually flicked his hand, turned his head, closed his eye, and sighed again.

He felt the tickling again, looked, and flicked the insect off his hand once more. But before he closed his eye, he saw, even without his glasses, the caterpillar rise through the air and disappear over his head. He felt it land in his hair, and at the same time someone behind him giggled. He reached up and took the caterpillar out of his hair, picked his eyeglasses off the ground and put them on, and sat up. Ginny, wearing shorts and a halter top, was peeking out from behind the peach tree, a grin on her face and a wand in her hand pointed at the fuzzy bug. She was barefoot like Harry, and her hair was pulled back and gathered with a red and gold clip in the shape of a griffin.

“You’ve got a hair–piece now,” she said.

“You’re not supposed to be doing magic,” Harry wagged his finger at her and stood up, trying to look stern. “Your birthday’s still a week away. Levitating insects will get you six months in Azkaban, and no time off for good behavior. As if you knew what that was.”

“Why don’t you come and arrest me, then?” She put her hands on her hips and wiggled seductively.

“I’ll do better than that.” He put the caterpillar in the grass and started walking toward her, grinning.

“Catch me first!” she laughed and turned and ran. She went flying around the garden, past the house, and down the lane. Harry went after her, but as he turned into the lane he suddenly yelped and pulled up, hopping on his left foot and holding his right with both hands.

Ginny came running back. “Stub your little toe?” she was still laughing as Harry hopped around the lane, swearing and trying to rub his foot.

“I stepped on a rock. Dammit.” He fell over and Ginny knelt next to him.

“Here, let me see it,” she said. Harry lifted his foot and watched as she brushed his sole off and examined it. “Whatever you stepped on wasn’t sharp. There’s just a little bitty mark here.” She pulled her wand from the waistband of her shorts and touched the ball of his foot. “Livor est,” she said softly.

“Hey, what did you do?” he exclaimed. “It stopped hurting!”

“I’ve got the magic touch,” Ginny laughed. She stood and took Harry’s hand and pulled him up.

They walked fifty yards down the lane, then Ginny pushed aside the branches of the thick hedgerow that lined it. They bent low and came out the other side in a large, overgrown field. They walked into the middle and Harry conjured a blanket and they sat down in a small cleared space, surrounded by waist high grasses and flowers; they were invisible to anyone who was more than a few yards away. While Harry lay with his head in her lap, Ginny wove a garland of grass and flowers; she did not use magic, but made it with her own hands. For a while they talked, but when Ginny leaned over to kiss him, he pulled her down and they made love under the open sky with a gentle breeze whispering around them.

Molly Weasley and Saliyah Ushujaa stood at front door of the Burrow, watching as Ginny and Harry disappeared down the lane. They had stepped out of the parlor where they had been sitting when they heard Harry’s cry as he trod on the stone. When she saw Ginny touch the sole of Harry’s foot with her wand, and the smile on his face that followed, Molly sighed.

“I wish she wouldn’t do that. Arthur gets a note from the Improper Use of Magic Office every time she does magic here. Well, it’s only for another week.”

Saliyah had a smile on her face. “I’ve never seen two people their age like that,” she said. “They’re always together, and they’re always having a good time. Ginny’s aglow every time I see her.” Molly glanced at her, then her eyes went back to the empty lane.

“So how’s the party coming along?” Saliyah asked as they returned to the parlor. Preparations were almost complete for a grand bash on the Saturday after Ginny’s seventeenth birthday. The guest list was long, and included all the Gryffindor students from last year, all the members of Dumbledore’s Army, and everyone from the Order of the Phoenix.

“Well,” said Molly, “I hope the house is still standing the next day. And it’s going to be a problem keeping the Muggles from noticing. Someone’s bound to use some kind of loud magic. I’ve warned George, but you know him.” She thought about his parting farewell to Fred.

“It’ll be fine,” Saliyah assured her. “Kingsley and I will help keep it down to a dull roar.”

“That will help, I suppose. But you know that Ginny invited the entire Order, and that unfortunately includes Mundungus Fletcher. I don’t like the idea of him wandering around the house with those sticky fingers.”

“Why don’t you get Harry to put a spell on everything lighter than the sofa,” Saliyah laughed. “I heard that he can do some interesting things with his wand.”

“I don’t want to bother Harry,” Molly waved her hand. “It’s as much his party as Ginny’s. We gave him one last year, but things were so unsettled and uncertain. Alastor had just been killed, and Harry’s poor owl. Ginny’s going to want him to be with her most of the time.”

“Yes, it’s like they’re Spellotaped together.”

Molly looked out the window which gave a view down the lane; Harry and Ginny were nowhere in sight. “Sometimes I think they’re too close. She’s still so young...”

“But Molly, they’re in love. What were you and Arthur doing when you were seventeen? It’s sweet and its beautiful. And I’ll bet you ten Galleons that the next big to–do you have here will be a wedding.”

“A wedding? We just had one last year.” Molly pulled a lace handkerchief out of the air and dabbed at her eyes. She cried easily these days. The weeks since Fred’s funeral had been hard ones, and the house felt empty even with Ginny and Harry spreading their feelings of young love. George had decided that he needed to stop spending hours every day at Fred’s grave, and went back to work; Charlie had left for Romania for a few weeks and would return for Ginny’s birthday; Percy was in London, his career apparently rehabilitated under Saliyah’s sponsorship; Ron had left home right after the funeral and seemed to have time for nothing but Hermione, his job, and the joke shop; and Bill and Fleur came to visit only on weekends. Molly was coping, but barely. Saliyah tried to come down to see her as often as possible, but her duties were heavy and her free time scarce. Moments like these were when Molly missed Tonks the most, when an empty nest loomed and the only child left at home would be the one in his grave.

Saliyah wanted more details about the party, and Molly described the food, catered by Madam Rosmerta from the Three Broomsticks; the entertainment, supplied by a band that had been started up over the summer by a group of Hufflepuffs, the lead singer of which was a friend of Neville Longbottom’s; and the present they had bought for Ginny. Molly had tried to restrain her husband, but Arthur would not be denied the pleasure of completely spoiling his only daughter one last time.

“I think he’s afraid that Harry will outdo him,” she smiled, adjusting the knitting needles that were hovering next to her; they had just begun the first of a platoon of maroon sweaters for this year’s Christmas presents. “His little witch has found her wizard.”

“Well, here they come,” Saliyah glanced out the window, and a few minutes later the front door opened. They could hear a chair being pulled up at the kitchen table, and then Ginny poked her head into the parlor.

“Is it pie yet?” she asked. “We’re hungry.”

“Goodness, you just ate lunch,” declared Molly, getting up from the sofa. “What on earth were you doing to give you such an appetite?”

“Absolutely nothing, Mum.” Ginny turned away so that her mother wouldn’t see her roll her eyes. Molly looked at Saliyah, who just shrugged.

Saliyah and Ginny joined Harry at the table; he was wearing a garland of yellow flowers on his head. Molly peered into the oven, then, with her wand, directed the pie off the rack and onto a trivet in the center of the table. A knife cut it into slices that then whisked themselves onto plates which had flown out of a cupboard to a spot in front of each person. Saliyah observed Harry’s crown of cowslip, but took her cue from Molly and did not remark on it; it seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary to Mrs. Weasley.

Molly watched approvingly as Harry immediately dug in. Her supreme and distracting pleasure of the summer, in addition to observing the happiness of her daughter, had been feeding Harry. Harry, for his part, was enjoying the bounty of Molly Weasley’s home cooking as his second–most pleasurable part of the summer, the first being the company of Molly’s daughter. He finished his piece of pie and waved his hand at the dish in the middle of the table; another slice floated to his plate. Saliyah observed with professional but slightly awed interest. “What was that, Harry? How did you do that?” she asked.

Harry grinned. “Magic.”

“But your wand is... Where is it?”

Harry pulled his wand from his belt. “As long as it’s touching me I can do things. It’s very convenient,” he smiled. “I think Dumbledore could do it.”

“And Voldemort. But how did you learn it.”

“When Riddle used the Killing Curse on me in the forest, he transferred some of his power to me again, like when he gave me my scar.”

Harry was not telling the truth. Even though he didn’t mind if people knew that he had acquired some unusual powers, he did not want anyone except Ron, Hermione, and Ginny to know the real reason. He had begun to notice earlier in the summer that his wand could do some interesting magic. It had first happened when he and Ginny encountered the six unfriendly Muggles on the beach. Harry had only pictured in his mind a shower of beer, and the bottles had risen into the air and burst, seemingly of their own accord. The only reason he could come up with for it was that his wand had been repaired by the Elder Wand. And even though many people were aware that there was something unusual about the wand that Harry had taken from Riddle, he did not want to advertise it and give people reason to think about it.

Saliyah frowned. “Really? So what can you do besides summon a piece of pie?”

Harry grinned mischievously. “So far that’s the most important thing.” He summoned a third piece as he finished the second. “So,” he changed the subject, “how are the Death Eater trials coming along? By the way, Mrs. Weasley, this pie is beyond delicious.” She smiled appreciatively.

“They’re coming along,” said Saliyah, but she was still looking at his wand. “They’re all claiming Imperio of course. And we don’t — Merlin’s belly! That’s your fourth piece, Harry! Where are you putting it?”

“It’s those new powers I was talking about,” Harry said. Ginny, whose mouth was full, burst out laughing and had to catch chewed up peach pie in her hand to keep it from splattering all over herself and the table.

“It’s all right, dear,” Molly said to her. “There are plenty of peaches left. Harry, would you like another pie?”

“Mrs. Weasley, you are spoiling me rotten,” he sighed. “Not now. I’m stuffed.” He sat back in his chair and looked at Ginny. “You woke me up from my nap with your bug trick. Peach pie must make me sleepy, I think I’ll go lay down again.” He stood up, but Ginny pouted and folded her arms on her chest, although there was a glint in her eye.

“You’re no fun. All you do is eat and sleep, eat and sleep. You’re turning into an old man.” She stood up, then bent over from the waist and moved haltingly across the kitchen. “Old man wizard, that’s you, Harry Potter,” she said in a cackling, screechy voice. “I guess I’ll have to become an old hag meself before you’ll pay me any attention.” She took out her wand. “Now, what was that spell to turn me into a hag? Oh, dearie me, my mind must be going, I can’t remember a thing.”

Harry and Saliyah were roaring with laughter at this performance, and even Molly was smiling. “Okay, okay,” Harry wiped his eyes. “Don’t turn into a hag, at least not yet. I want to waste my youth on you first.” He turned red, and glanced at Mrs. Weasley, whose eyebrows were raised, “Uh, I mean, we mustn’t waste our youth on... uh... Sorry.” He ducked his head at her, then took Ginny’s hand and pulled her out the door. Saliyah and Molly soon heard their laughter as they headed down the lane again.

“Give it up, Molly,” said Saliyah, “They’re both happy, and isn’t that what you want? What we all want, a little bit of normality?” Mrs. Weasley nodded, but her eyes teared up as she waved her wand and the plates and dishes floated off the table and into the sink.

* * * *

A hundred and fifty miles away in London, on level two of the Ministry of Magic, Arthur Weasley sat in his cramped, cluttered office, frowning at an official Ministry of Magic parchment that had just been handed to him by the short, stout wizard standing in front of his desk. The wizard was nervous, and had an apologetic smile. Arthur was reading the parchment, on which was written a long list of magic that had been performed illegally at the Burrow in the last two months by an underage witch.

The wizard was Ferdinand Forthfield. He was the same age as Arthur, and in fact they had been classmates at Hogwarts and had entered service in the Ministry at the same time. He worked in the Improper Use of Magic Office, on the same level as Arthur Weasley’s Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. After the death of Tom Riddle, Arthur had returned to his old job, but had kept his higher salary grade at the insistence of Kingsley Shacklebolt.

“I’m really sorry, Artie,” the wizard said, and brushed his hand over his nearly bald, sweating head. “Everyone knows who she is and who she’s with, and that her birthday is next week, but sixty–one violations in seventy–nine days — we just couldn’t ignore it. I was able to get Hopkirk to let me hand it to you in person, rather than send an official owl to your home. She’s sympathetic, too, but it wouldn’t look good, it would seem like we were playing favorites, and...” He trailed off, and his apologetic smile took on a pleading quality.

“Of course, of course, I quite understand, Ferdie, it’s quite understandable, and I appreciate your handling it this way, I really do.” Arthur shook his head as he ran his finger down the list. “You know how kids are these days. And she... well, she had a rough year, you know.” He looked up, hoping for sympathy, and Ferdinand nodded in agreement.

“Like I said, Artie, everyone understands, but we had no choice. Sixty–one in less than two months!” He chuckled. “Rather extraordinary, actually. She’s quite a talented witch already, judging from this, uh, this activity,” he indicated the parchment in Arthur’s hand.

Arthur was frowning again as he re–read the list. “What are these, here at the top? ‘Medical charms?’ What exactly does that mean? My goodness, there are more than a dozen of them. I know she’s used a few healing spells, she’s quite good at them,” he added proudly. “I mean, in the proper context, of course. Certainly not outside the confines of Hogwarts.”

“Well, those, Artie, those are something we usually let the parents deal with. I, uh, I don’t know much about it.” Ferdinand had suddenly turned red, and became interested in a poster hanging on the wall only inches behind Arthur’s head. The poster showed a man with a moustache, wearing a band–director’s hat, and the entire poster was in numerous garish colors. Across the top were the words, “Sgt. Pepper.”

“Well, what do you tell the parents to do?” Arthur asked, a little annoyed.

“They, uh, they usually contact a Healer. It’s a medical charm, you see.” He pointed to the parchment. “Well,” he looked quickly around the tiny office, “I’ve got to run. That’s a nice poster you’ve got, but I never heard of that wizard. It’s been brilliant talking to you again, Artie. Must try to stay in touch a little more, righto?” He backed out of the door — there wasn’t enough room to turn around — and was gone before Arthur could open his mouth.

He sighed and looked down the list of violations again. There were two at the bottom that were dated today, just this afternoon, in fact. One was a levitating spell and the other a healing charm, but the latter was different from the dozen–odd ones listed at the top. They had a strange name that he had never seen before, and there were one or two of them each day for the first week and a half that Ginny had been home after she got back from Shell Cottage. After that, though, they did not appear on the list again. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, sighed again, then stood and peered out the office door to a wizard sitting at a desk in a room across the hall that was even tinier than his.

“Perkins!” he called to his assistant, and the wizard looked up. “Send an owl to St. Mungo’s for me, will you please? Send it to Healer Derwent, and ask if I can come see her this afternoon, preferably right now.”

Perkins departed, and Arthur gazed at the parchment and shook his head. But he couldn’t help smiling a little. He went down the names of the magic Ginny had done: levitating, vanishing, transfigurations, tickling, a few healing ones. It was the record of a young witch having a good time — except for the mysterious “medical” charms at the top. He couldn’t figure those out. Well, he thought, how bad could they be? Obviously, no one was hurt.

In a few minutes Perkins was back and handed him a small parchment. “Come any time,” it read, “my office is on the fourth floor. Just come right up.” Arthur thought for a moment, then got up and took his hat from a hook on the door. “I might not be back today,” he told Perkins. He put the parchment from the Improper Use of Magic Office inside his robes and left.

In fifteen minutes he was standing in the waiting room of St. Mungo’s. There were only a few people there, and only one of them had a particularly bizarre affliction — a witch who was barking loudly and whose bushy tail was wagging vigorously as she scratched herself behind the ear with her foot. Arthur went up to the Welcome Witch’s desk.

“I’m here to see Healer Derwent,” he announced when the witch failed to look up from her magazine. She waved vaguely at the doors to her right. “Fourth floor,” she said.

“Thanks,” Arthur muttered as he walked away. He went up to the fourth floor. It took him a minute to find the room with a metal nameplate announcing “Healer Hestia Derwent.” He knocked and entered when the witch inside called out, “Come in.”

Hestia Derwent was sitting behind a desk in her Healer’s robes studying a medical chart. She was an attractive, motherly, middle–aged witch, an old friend of the Weasleys’. She rose with a smile and came around her desk. “Arthur, it’s good to see you. How is everyone? How is Molly doing? I hope this isn’t a medical visit.”

They shook hands and Hestia led him to a sofa under a window, and they sat down.

“We’re all fine,” he said. “All of the boys have gone, but Harry Potter’s staying with us. It’s been a real boon, especially for Molly after... after what happened to Fred.”

“Yes. That’s a wound that may never heal, unfortunately. But it sounds like she at least has something to distract her a bit.” They talked for a few more minutes, exchanging gossip about witches and wizards they both knew. Finally, Arthur drew the parchment from his robes.

“We’ve been having sort of a problem with Ginny this summer. Not really a problem, she’s just been a little rambunctious with her magic. She’ll be seventeen next Tuesday, but she’s been doing some extra–curricular magic at the house. Nothing serious, but quite a bit of it.” He laughed nervously. “I actually just got handed this at the office. Oh, I don’t think there’ll be any trouble,” he assured Hestia, who looked concerned. “But there is something on the list... The wizard who gave it to me, someone from the Ministry, seemed reluctant to explain it. Here, these,” he pointed to the charms listed at the top of the parchment as he handed it to her.

Hestia began to read, and her eyebrows immediately rose and a look of surprise came over her face. She glanced at Arthur over the top of the parchment, then smiled briefly and bit her lower lip; she seemed to be trying not to laugh.

“So you don’t know what this is?” she asked. Arthur shook his head. Hestia perused the list again, counting as she read down, then took a breath and looked at him. “It’s a birth control charm. She used it fifteen times in eleven days.”

Arthur’s eyes bulged. “Fifteen?! In eleven days?! Merlin’s ba—!“ He closed his mouth and stared at her. He swallowed several times, trying to comprehend what the Healer had said. “Does that mean that she... and Harry... fifteen times in eleven days?”

Hestia nodded. “Probably. It’s a simple charm, very effective,” she added and Arthur looked relieved, “but not long lasting. It’s the one they teach all fifth–year girls at Hogwarts just before they turn sixteen. Very smart of them, if you ask me.”

But Arthur was barely listening. He looked angry, terrified, bemused, and astounded all at once. Hestia put her hand on his. “She’s not the first sixteen–year–old witch to fall in love, Arthur, and she obviously knows what she’s doing. She’s being careful. Didn’t you suspect anything?”

Arthur nodded, then shook his head. “They’re off by themselves all the time. Fifteen?”

Hestia laughed. “I’m sorry,” she patted his hand again. “I shouldn’t laugh, but it is quite something, don’t you think?”

Arthur scowled and took the parchment back. “No, I don’t think it’s ‘something.’ She’s not of age, and Harry’s our house guest, for goodness sake. How could he do this to us?”

“Pardon me, Arthur, I know it’s none of my business, although you did come here and ask me to explain this to you, but Harry didn’t do anything to you.” Her voice softened. “Think about his life, about what he’s had to do just to keep from being murdered. Now, suddenly, he’s no longer in danger and he’s found someone who’s bringing out all the love that he could never show to anyone before. It’s almost a miracle.”

Arthur looked at the parchment again. On one level he knew that Hestia was right, and that Ginny was both smart enough and capable enough to make her own choices, even if she was a week short of seventeen. But on another level he wanted to lock her in her room forever. He didn’t know what he should do. “Do you have any daughters?” he asked.

“Two,” the Healer replied. “Both married. And I have three grandchildren.”

“We don’t have any grandchildren yet,” said Arthur. “I can see them coming, though.”

Hestia burst out laughing. “I’m sorry again,” she said. “But what I see every day, all day long, is suffering. Hearing about happiness is a tonic.”

“I suppose. Still...” Arthur stood and started walking toward the door. He paused with his hand on the handle. “She stopped using it after eleven days.” He looked at Hestia, puzzled, “Surely they didn’t stop doing — I mean... what do you think happened?”

She thought for a moment. “Maybe she taught it to Harry. It wouldn’t register on the Trace if he did it.” She got a faraway look in her eyes and a small smile on her face.

But suddenly Arthur turned pale and put his hand to his head. “Good God, I just realized, what am I going to tell Molly? She’ll go berserk.”

“I can’t imagine she doesn’t already suspect something, but can I make a suggestion? Don’t say anything. In a week it won’t matter, and why ruin a perfectly good birthday?”

He stood thinking about it, and then chuckled. “That would be the peaceful way out, wouldn’t it? I don’t know though... Well,” he came back to Hestia and took her hand, “I appreciate the advice. And what are you doing a week from Saturday? It’s going to be a stupendous party, assuming we’re all still talking to each other.”

“I’ll try to be there,” she laughed. They shook hands and Arthur left.

* * * *

Since they had come back to the Burrow, Harry and Ginny had created an internal world of their own. They did not deliberately exclude anyone from it — they interacted with the rest of the family and house–guests — but things happened between them that only they were aware of, and it simply did not occur to them to tell other people what was going on.

They anticipated each other’s needs without being asked. Ginny would get up in the middle of a conversation and bring Harry a butterbeer from the kitchen, and he would take it and smile at her, and everyone else in the parlor would glance at each other, wondering how Ginny knew. Then Harry would get up while describing how Professor Flitwick was going to give him advanced tutoring in Charms this fall, and he would walk over to Ginny and start scratching her back, and when he was finished Ginny would take his hand and give it a pat.

These kinds of things went on all the time between them, and Molly and Arthur had gotten used to them. But it was new to Saliyah and Kingsley Shacklebolt; the latter had come down from London that evening with Arthur to join Saliyah as the Weasleys’ dinner guest. After the meal and after Molly’s second peach pie of the day had been devoured, Arthur and Kingsley went outside and sat near the garden, sipping butterbeers. Kingsley watched Harry and Ginny — who had gone to the field down the lane — soar above the treetops on broomsticks; their whoops and laughter could be clearly heard from the backyard of the Burrow.

“What is it about them?” Kingsley wondered aloud. “I’ve never seen a couple like that. There’s some kind of magic going on, don’t you think?”

Arthur wasn’t listening and didn’t answer. He was sitting in the Muggle lawn chair — which he had forced into an upright position after a titanic struggle — watching the two flyers. He was also thinking about what he had learned that afternoon from Hestia Derwent. He had not told Molly about the list of violations, in fact he had used an Unnoticeable charm on it and had hidden it under a pile of old work shirts in his dresser. He had trouble looking at Harry, though. He was uncomfortable, but not angry; how could he be, after all? At dinner he could see the Weasley family clock on a counter right behind Harry, with it’s hands pointed at normal activities — At Home, Traveling, At Work. He remembered that only a few months ago they had all pointed to Mortal Peril, and it was thanks to Harry that it was no longer doing so.

And if he had any thoughts at all about cracking down on Ginny, all he had to do was look at her. He had never seen her so happy in her life. Molly always liked to say that she and Arthur were made for each other, but Ginny and Harry made that observation look like an overstatement. He knew that he did have to talk to her; he was her father after all, and he had a responsibility. But then again, watching the two of them together had been a pleasure of his and Molly’s all summer. They spread good feelings, somehow; he always felt happy when he was around them.

“It’s contagious,” said Arthur, watching Ginny do three quick barrel rolls over Harry. “The boys used to bring girlfriends home, but they were never like that, and it never made me feel... well, I don’t know.” He laughed self–consciously.

“Younger?” Kingsley suggested with a smile, and took a swig of his butterbeer. He was glad to be out of town, if only for an evening. The war might be won, but the effort to move the Ministry of Magic off of its bureaucratic rear–end in the direction he wanted it to go was often frustrating and always tiring. But tonight he was relaxed; it was a beautiful evening in the middle of a peaceful summer, and he enjoyed watching Harry and Ginny together as much as he enjoyed the company of the Weasleys.

‘I heard that Ron and Hermione Granger went to France with Bill and his wife,” Kingsley said. “When will they be back?”

“Saturday. They want to be back in time for Ginny’s birthday and the party.”

“That’ll be a blow–out.” Kingsley finished his butterbeer and stood up. “Can I get you another one?” Arthur shook his head, and Kingsley walked back to the house and went inside.

At that moment Harry and Ginny appeared around the side of the Burrow with their brooms slung over their shoulders. They were both still barefoot and in tee-shirts. They stopped underneath the window of Ginny’s room, leaned their brooms against the side of the house, and then Ginny pointed her wand. Two sweatshirts flew out the window of her room and dropped into her hands. She gave one to Harry and they turned and continued across the lawn toward the woods in back of the house.

“Ginny!” barked her father. “Where are you going? Don’t stay out late! And no magic! How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Oops. Sorry, Dad,” she called as she and Harry passed the gate at the end of the lawn. “I didn’t see you there.” They now had their arms around each other, and soon they disappeared down a path that led into the woods.

“Sixty–two,” muttered Arthur, frowning.

Kingsley reappeared as Harry and Ginny were walking out the gate. He watched them go and sat down. “You’re right,” he said thoughtfully. “They make you feel younger.” They sat in silence for a moment, then Kingsley stood up again. “How about we go see what the witches are up to?” Arthur grunted, and they went into the Burrow.

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