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

Author: MyGinevra

Story: The Hog's Head

Part: 09: The Heirloom

Rating: Teens

Setting: Pre-OotP

Status: WIP

Warning: Extreme Language, Sexual Situations, Violence

Reviews: 12

Words: 3,246

Updated: March 19, 2008, 8:28pm

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09: The Heirloom

Arthur lay awake most of the night, thinking about Ginny. He had decided to talk to her in the morning — he knew that Harry would not be there — and the more he thought about the list of illegal magic, the more he realized that it was silly to think that he could keep it from Molly. She was bound to find out, and it was wrong anyway to keep her in the dark about something so important. But he was unsure of what to do about the birth control charms. So, at three–thirty in the morning, after endless tossing and turning, he lit a candle and woke Molly. After she finished grousing about the hour, he showed her the parchment from the Improper Use of Magic Office; next to the first “medical charm” he had written “birth control.”

To Arthur’s surprise, all Molly did was sigh and hand the parchment back to him with barely a glance at it. “It’s what I expected,” she said. “They spend so much time off by themselves. How could we not expect something like this to happen? Although, so many...” She took the parchment back and counted the charms, then put her hand over her mouth and suppressed a giggle. “Thank goodness they teach that at school. They certainly didn’t when we were there.”

Arthur snatched the notice back. “That’s fine,” he said peevishly, “but what do we do now?”

Molly shrugged. “What do you think we should do? What would you do?”

“It can’t continue,” he grumbled. “They can’t use our house for this.”

“For what? Don’t you remember what we did when we were seventeen?”

“As I recall, we were both seventeen.”

“That’s a technicality. The issue is...” She paused. “I don’t know, what is the issue? That it makes us uncomfortable? That it’s wrong? How can it be wrong for two young people who feel like they do, as long as they’re careful? I don’t know what the answer is, Arthur.”

“Well, the magic has to stop. At least admit to that.”

Molly pushed the covers back and sat on the edge of the bed. “Yes,” she said with her back to him, “I agree. It’s a violation of the law, and it’s embarrassing you. But,” she turned to face him, “we’ve known about it for weeks and haven’t done anything. If we don’t handle it right, she’ll just throw it back in our faces.” She got back into bed. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I was about to get up and make breakfast, so how can I know what I’m saying? I’m half asleep. It’s way too early or late or whatever it is to be talking about this.”

She lay down and yawned, then looked thoughtfully at Arthur, who still had a small crease on his brow. “There’s something about them, something different.” She put her hand on his. “I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s some kind of magic there. I don’t mean just the romantic kind. Ginny acts like a giddy teenage witch, but there’s a power underneath it. Sometimes it frightens me, but it’s a wonder to behold.” She squeezed his hand and pulled the covers up. “Dearest, she’s your own little witch, but now she’s about to become a grown–up witch, and someone else’s grown–up witch at that. I know how hard it is, believe me. I nursed her, I changed her nappies, I watched her grow. But just think of who she chose, and how happy she is.” She yawned again and smiled, then reached up and put her hand on Arthur’s face. “They make me feel good.”

Arthur put out the candle and sat in the dark, letting the images of Ginny that Molly had evoked run through his mind. He turned to her and was about to speak, but she was asleep.

He settled down and dozed until the sun came up. Molly awoke and went downstairs to make breakfast, and Arthur followed a few minutes later; Molly was clearing Ginny and Harry’s breakfast dishes. “They’re already outside,” Molly said as she dunked two small bowls in the sink. “He’s leaving.” She nodded her head toward the window over the sink and Arthur joined her. Ginny and Harry were standing near the gate. Ginny had her hands on his chest, and Harry was holding a tiny silver cylinder that was hung by a silver chain around his neck. He pressed the cylinder to his lips, then closed his eyes and smiled. Ginny kissed him, and they talked for a moment, and then Harry said something that made Ginny grab his hands and jump up and down while her face broke into a gleeful grin.

Arthur turned from the window. “He’s wearing it,” he said to Molly as he sat down. He took the parchment from his shirt pocket and placed it on the table, and looked up. Molly was watching him. “I don’t know what to do,” he muttered.

“You’ll do the right thing. You always do,” she said. Arthur smiled wanly and gave her hand an appreciative pat as she sat down next to him. The minutes passed and they waited silently for Ginny to come inside. He gazed at the door, and remembered the first time he had shown the silver cylinder to Ginny, almost seventeen years ago....

The little cylinder was an ancient and magical heirloom, the Bouquedelle of the Weasley family. It had been passed to Arthur from his father, and he had given it to Ginny, as was the tradition, on the day she was born. He had put it, along with the other family heirlooms that would be hers, in a magical chest that was kept under her crib and then under her bed. It was to be worn by her beloved, but only when they were separated, and whenever he pressed it to his lips, it gave off her unique scent. Since no female had been born into the family for hundreds of years, the Bouquedelle had not been used for scores of generations, and it carried no scent since the aroma always faded away upon the death of its wearer.

When Ginny was seven, Arthur took the Bouquedelle from its chest and explained to his daughter that some day she would gift it to the love of her life, and he would keep it with him always, to remind him of her when she was not near. She held it up to the light, letting it swing back and forth on its chain. "What if I never fall in love, Daddy?" she asked.

"You will, darling," he smiled. "And whoever the lucky wizard is will have no choice. His heart will be bewitched, and you will give him this and he'll be yours forever. And you will be his forever." They solemnly put the silver cylinder and its chain back into the chest and put the chest back under her bed. Then, seven years later, when Ginny was fourteen and about to leave for her fourth year at Hogwarts, Arthur told her to take it out again.

"It's yours now, to do with as you please," he said. "Remember, it will be your true love's until he dies, and then it will come back to the family, and it will be passed on to the next Weasley daughter."

Ginny examined the heirloom, turning it over and holding it up to the light; she had not looked at it since putting it away seven years ago. It was made of loosely woven, finely filigreed silver threads that bent slightly when she pressed them between her thumb and forefinger. The threads were flexible, yet the cylinder kept its shape even when the threads were bent. Through the threads she could see the pink stone that filled the space inside.

So Ginny had put the Bouquedelle in her dresser drawer and left it there almost three more years, and the day after she and Harry came home from Shell Cottage at the end of June she went to her room and opened the dresser. The Bouquedelle was lying on top of a tangled pile of brassieres, and Ginny stared at it for a moment; she was sure that she had left it under the bras. She picked it up and swung it on its chain, and it flashed in the sunlight that was coming in her window. She watched it swing for a minute, then closed the drawer and went to find her father.

He was sitting near the garden reading the Daily Prophet, and looked up when Ginny stood in front of him. "What is it, honey?" he asked, putting down the paper. She glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then opened her hand to show him the Bouquedelle. Arthur leaned forward and looked at her closely. "I've been wondering when you would bring it to me. Ginny, I have to ask you this. Are you absolutely certain? The magic won't work unless you are."

"I've never been anything but certain, Daddy," she replied. "I want to give it to him on his birthday.”

Arthur looked at her intently and she met his gaze. Finally he smiled and held out his hand. "I'll take care of it. It will only take a day or two." She passed it to him, then, without thinking, she jumped into his lap and hugged him tightly. He laughed and patted her back. "Let's go upstairs," he said. "We need a few strands of your hair. I think your mum's up in our room."

Molly wasn't upstairs, but alone in the kitchen. She looked up from the bowl of vegetables she was washing in the sink, and then beamed at Ginny when Arthur held up the Bouquedelle on its chain. "Darling!" She wiped her hands on a towel that flew from a hook on the wall. "Are you sure? Oh, silly question!" She threw the towel down and pulled Ginny into a smothering hug. "Come, I'll cut a lock of your hair. Oh, my, this is wonderful. We've been talking about it for a year, at least. Some good news at last! Just wonderful!"

She bustled up the stairs, pushing Ginny ahead of her into the bedroom while Arthur trailed after them. Molly took a pair of scissors from her sewing chest and, as Ginny held up the hair at the back of her neck, snipped off a few strands at the root. She held them up, bright red and silky. She twirled them tightly around her finger, then put them into a little brass box that she retrieved from a jewelry case on her dressing table. She snapped the box shut and handed it to Ginny.

"This is so important to your father," she said, glancing at Arthur. "I know you realize that, Ginny, but your Bouquedelle has not been used for hundreds of years. This is a very special moment for the Weasley family." Ginny hugged her.

Arthur took the silver cylinder and the brass box to the Ministry the next day, and when he gave the Bouquedelle back to Ginny two days later, the pink stone inside was now darker, almost red, and the cylinder was slightly heavier. Ginny put it back in her dresser — under the bras — and left it there.

Two months later, on July thirty–first, as the sun was rising, Ginny tip–toed up to Harry’s room, quietly went inside, and awoke him with a kiss. He sat up with a start when he saw her. “Get dressed,” she said and giggled at his obvious disappointment. She waited for him on the landing, then led him outside and down to a small clearing in the woods near the river that was enclosed by thickets of yew; it was one of the many places in which they had spent hours together, hidden from the rest of the world. She gave him the Bouquedelle while they were sitting on the short grass facing each other.

Harry started to put the chain around his neck, but Ginny stopped him. "No," she put her hand on his. "It's only for when I'm not with you. Put it to your lips, you'll see."

Somewhat self-consciously, Harry pressed the cylinder to his mouth, then drew back, startled, as Ginny's magical fragrance — the one he had first inhaled in a Potions class two years ago — filled the air of the little clearing. He held the cylinder up, then looked at Ginny in wonder.

Ginny leaned toward him. "This is yours to keep forever."

"It's going to torture me. Whenever I smell that, I want you."

"Do you now?" she whispered, her eyes bright. She leaned back on her hands, and Harry came to her. "Happy birthday," Ginny murmured into his ear as he put his hand behind her back and lowered her to the grass.

The sun was higher, sending flittering beams of light through the branches of the trees that sheltered them. They were lying on their backs listening to the wind in the leaves. Harry fingered the Bouquedelle, rolling the cylinder between his thumb and finger. "Where did it come from?" he asked.

Ginny told him how it had been in her family for generations, and how it had become hers. "It's yours for the rest of your life. Then it comes back to the family until the next girl is born."

"What if you have a daughter?" He gave her a suggestive grin.

"No. It goes through the male line. If one of my brothers has a daughter who isn't married when you... when you're gone, she'll get it."

"And she'll give it to...?"

"The love of her life."

Harry sat up. The breeze ruffled the hairs on his chest and Ginny reached up and ran her fingers through them. Harry took her hand and held it. "Is that what you did?" He leaned over her, and his head was haloed by the sun shining through an opening in the branches above them.

"Of course," Ginny smiled....

Now, on another early morning five days later, out in the yard, Ginny watched Harry walk through the gate and Disapparate. She whirled around, hugging herself and laughing. Not only was Harry wearing her Bouquedelle for the first time, but he had told her that this was the last mysterious trip he would be making by himself. He had gone away every Wednesday for most of the summer, without telling her where. But next week, the day after her birthday, he would take her with him and give her his birthday present. And, Ginny thought to herself, she would be able to go without asking permission; she could Apparate there with Harry, she could fly there, she could do whatever she wanted. She felt a tingling, excited anticipation, and she laughed aloud again.

Smiling happily, she walked back to the house, thinking that today would be a good time to start sorting her clothes for school to see what needed mending. She opened the kitchen door and saw her parents sitting at the table; her smile faded when she noticed the official–looking parchment in front of her father and the frown on his face. When she looked at him closely, she could tell that he had not gotten enough sleep.

She knew that the parchment had something to do with underage magic; he had yelled at her about it just yesterday. Her mind raced, and she thought back to the early summer, when in her stupidity she had done the birth control charms herself. But it didn’t matter; she didn’t care what they said, she was not going to stop loving Harry. She would be seventeen in six days, so what difference did it make? And from all the stories she had heard about her parents, they had certainly done the same thing when they were her age. She stood in the doorway, waiting for them to speak, balling her fists and clenching her jaw, her eyes shifting from the parchment to her parents. The morning’s tide of joy had receded.

Her father passed his hand over his eyes. “Ginny,” he sounded weary, “I got this notice yesterday while I was at work. It says that you’ve committed sixty–one acts of illegal magic this summer — sixty–two, counting the summoning spell yesterday evening. That’s got to stop.”

Ginny’s hands unclenched. Was that it? Maybe the birth control charms hadn’t registered before Harry started doing them. If that was all, then no big deal.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll stop. I’m sorry, Dad, I didn’t mean to cause you trouble.”

Her father nodded. “I know you didn’t, honey. It wasn’t really any trouble. But...” He looked down at the parchment, and Ginny’s insides flipped. “There are some spells on this list that your mum and I have to ask you about.”

Ginny swallowed and looked from one to the other. Her jaw tightened again, and she felt her temper rising. “Harry and I are in love,” she said defiantly, “and we’re not going to stop. It’s none of your business, anyway.”

Arthur scowled. “It’s our house and it’s our business, Ginny. You may not do —“

“We never did anything in the house!” she yelled. “What do you think we are, stupid?”

Molly spoke for the first time. “Ginny, that’s the last thing anyone thinks of you.”

“Then let me make up my own mind! Why are Harry and I different from you and Dad before you were married?” Her eyes flashed at them.

They were silent, and Ginny started to turn away and go back outside.

“Ginny!” her father said sharply. She stopped; it was rare to hear him speak that way. She turned back, subdued, and was surprised to see him looking at her calmly. “You’re not different.”

Ginny’s temper evaporated; she did not know what to say. Her father took the parchment from the table, rolled it up, and stood. “I got about two hours sleep last night,” he said to Molly. “I’m going back to bed. If I get any owls from work, write back that I’ll be in later.” He paused on the stairs and pointed his finger at Ginny. “No magic.”

After he left, Ginny came and sat across the table from her mother. Ginny waited, feeling awkward and embarrassed, but Molly just looked at her with a smile.

“I’m sorry, Mum,” she finally said as her eyes brimmed with tears. “I love him so much, I can’t help myself. When we’re — you know — together, I feel like the whole world is lit up and I’m holding the sun in my hands. I can’t explain it and I don’t really understand it.”

“I do, darling,” Molly whispered; she couldn’t control her own voice. She reached across the table and took Ginny’s hands, and both of them had tears running down their cheeks.

__________________

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

The author apologizes to all French speakers and language students for the name of the magical object which appears in The Heirloom. The object was invented and named centuries ago by an English witch who's knowledge of French was limited, to say the least. She named it by putting two French words together in a completely un-grammatical form. The author decided to keep the original name in order to avoid confusion.

BETA'S NOTE:

As a native French speaker I can only admire this word of art!

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