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Author: Aibhinn Story: Heal The Pain Rating: Teens Setting: AU Status: Completed Reviews: 14 Words: 198,021
The hospital wing at Hogwarts was just as Ginny remembered it: surprisingly bright, lots of windows, and rows of beds neatly made and ready for the next magical accident or student mischief. She'd lost count of the times she'd had to be in here--all of them, with the exception of last March, to visit Harry. Some things never change, she thought, smiling down at her boyfriend. Madam Pomfrey let her wand hand fall back to her side, apparently through with the last of her diagnostic charms. "Well, Potter," she said, "I'd say this has healed enough for us to take care of this scarring." She nodded at the Healer who stood on the far side of Harry's bed. He was a shortish, intense man of indeterminate age, but the very fact that Madam Pomfrey had allowed him in her hospital wing told Ginny that he must be someone to be reckoned with. The nurse had introduced him as "Healer Stone, from the Ministry." Ginny and Harry had exchanged glances, and she'd read between the lines to come to the conclusion that he was probably from the Department of Mysteries. I'm sure they want to be certain anything done to their recruit is acceptable, since he's to go for training in a month. She felt a small twinge at that--she'd be back here at school then, and he'd be off in training, separated not only by distance, but by "security concerns." Wonder if they'll even let us owl each other? "Indeed," said Healer Stone. "After reading the reports from Madam Pomfrey here, and from your examination last month, I wasn't sure you'd be ready for this so soon. But it seems you have remarkable powers of recuperation, even without magical assistance." He smiled slightly at Ginny. "Not to mention a very effective reason to be certain you do recover completely." Ginny blushed and squeezed Harry's hand. He smiled up at her, squeezing back. She'd insisted on accompanying him back to Hogwarts, partly because she wanted to be with him when he got his scar removed, but mostly because she didn't want him to face Hogwarts--and his memories--alone. "I warn you, though, Potter," Madam Pomfrey said sternly, drawing Harry's and Ginny's gazes, "this is not likely to be a pleasant experience. Are you certain you want to go through with it?" "Can't be worse than getting it in the first place, can it?" Harry said, shifting on the bed slightly to get into a better position and looking between the nurse and the doctor. Madam Pomfrey's face softened. "Given the circumstances of the time," she said, "I suppose not." She looked pensive for a moment, and for the first time, Ginny saw indications of grief on her face. She'd never shown it before where Ginny could see, and it had been easy to forget, in Ginny's own grief and pain, that she had been affected too. But the pensiveness passed, replaced by the nurse's usual severe expression. "Miss Weasley," she said crisply, "I advise very strongly that you not be present for this procedure. It will be--unpleasant." Ginny's hands tightened again on Harry's and her jaw set. She'd known they would try to separate her from Harry, and she wasn't going to let them. "I want to be here," she said mutinously. Harry rubbed his thumbs across the back of her hands reassuringly, but she was in no mood to be reassured. "Miss Weasley, the circumstances surrounding Potter's injury were quite injurious to yourself as well, if you recall," the nurse said patiently. "There is a very real chance that some of your own limits will be sorely taxed by proximity to this spell." Healer Stone broke in. His tenor voice was surprisingly compassionate. "There is really nothing you can do but watch Harry suffer even more, Miss Weasley," he said kindly, "and I doubt that such an experience would be conducive to your own recovery. I must agree with Madam Pomfrey: it would be much better for you both if you were not present." Ginny opened her mouth to argue some more, but Harry stopped her. "Ginny," he said, drawing her gaze as he raised himself up on his right elbow, "if Madam Pomfrey and Healer Stone say you should go, I think we should listen to them." Harry, too. I had a feeling. Ginny shook her head stubbornly, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. "I don't want to leave you," she said in a tight voice. He's not facing this alone. He's not. I won't let him. "I know, love. But if this is going to be as--er--uncomfortable as it sounds--" He raised an eyebrow at Madam Pomfrey, who nodded soberly. "--then I don't think you should watch." He touched a finger to her cheek. "I've watched you suffer more than once," he said softly, and she could see the pain in his eyes. "It nearly broke me to see it and be utterly helpless to stop it. I couldn't bear knowing you were going through that, watching me." Ginny met his gaze, and knew the memories to which he was referring. The night of the Battle, when he'd had to leave her there in his dormitory. Watching her after she'd come down to Hogsmeade as she'd tried to fight Voldemort's control, but couldn't. Holding her as she'd wept on his shoulder after she'd told him about the baby. The pain in his eyes twisted her heart, and she felt the budding irritation flow out of her, replaced by guilt. She was causing him pain herself by insisting on staying--creating the very pain she had come here to prevent. She hung her head and bit her lip. "All right, Harry," she said. "I'll go." Another voice sounded from the direction of the door. "An excellent choice, Miss Weasley." All four of them jumped. Professor McGonagall had come into the room so quietly, Ginny was tempted to believe she had been in her Animagus form. "For heaven's sake, Headmistress," Madam Pomfrey said in a breathless voice, her hand pressed to her chest, "don't sneak up on me like that in my own infirmary!" "Forgive me, Poppy. I didn't mean to startle you." McGonagall looked at Ginny again. "Perhaps you'd be so kind as to accompany me to my office, Miss Weasley," the headmistress said in a tone of voice that made it clear she was not precisely asking. "I have something I would like to show you, in regard to your studies this next year." Ginny turned back to Harry, who kissed each of her hands, then released them. "Go on," he said. "I'm sure they'll let you know when I'm finished." I really don't want to leave him. But she didn't want to put him through any more pain because she insisted on watching, either. With a wan smile, she dropped a small kiss on his forehead and said, "I'll be waiting." Professor McGonagall nodded in that abrupt manner of hers--though Ginny thought she might have seen the flicker of a tiny smile beneath that stern exterior--and turned, leading the way out of the hospital wing. Ginny forced herself not to look back. It wasn't going to do any good--and besides, she would be seeing him very shortly, anyway. And of course she trusted Madam Pomfrey--and Madam Pomfrey apparently trusted Healer Stone. "All right, Potter," she heard Madame Pomfrey saying, then, just as the hospital wing door closed, a sudden hush fell over them. Ginny halted, startled at the abrupt silence. "What happened?" she asked, hesitating on the threshold, ready to turn around and go back in if Harry needed her. "I expect Madame Pomfrey has cast a Silencing Charm. Really quite sensible of her. Now do come along, Miss Weasley. We only have an hour and a half or so until Potter will be ready to go, and I want to give you your basic grounding before then. It will give you a chance to do some research on your own." "Research? For what?" McGonagall started walking again; Ginny, perforce, followed. "I shall be happy to explain when we reach my office. I would much rather wait until that time, as it will make things easier on both of us if I am able to start at the beginning." Ginny was at a complete loss to understand what it was McGonagall could possibly want with her. She knew she'd performed well on her end-of-year exams--had scored top of her class, as she'd told Harry the day he'd got his N.E.W.T. scores--so it couldn't be anything to do with her marks. I wonder if it's to do with the Death Eaters' attack on the Burrow. Since they had come home from school, there had been a handful of Death Eater attacks around the country. Surprisingly, though, they seemed to be almost random in their targets. The worst by far had been the horrific one the day Harry, Ron, and Hermione had become official members of the Department of Mysteries, where two Muggles and their two small children had been apparently tortured to death--but not with the Cruciatus Curse. She didn't know exactly what had happened, of course, but the Daily Prophet and the WWN had both reported a lot of blood at the scene. Ginny rather suspected both the paper and the wireless had been kept from the entire truth, though, or else had toned down the story for the general public. The way Bill and Charlie had each spent what seemed like hours in the shower afterward, as though trying to wash themselves clean of what they had presumably seen, spoke volumes to her. A line from Shakespeare, her favourite Muggle author, surfaced briefly in her brain. Out, damned spot! Out, I say� But despite the widespread fear that bloody and horrifying attack had raised, the ones following had seemed half-hearted, at best. In fact, some had been downright bizarre. In one of them, two men who had been positively identified as Death Eaters but remained unnamed to the general public, had been found dead. They had apparently been killed with Avada Kedavra, and then left suspended in midair outside a small woodsman's cottage that had reportedly been vacant for some years. In another, several Dementors had converged on an old, run-down estate house outside a small town in Derbyshire and were seen by a few Muggles, who had needed both Memory Charms and a good deal of time in a Muggle hospital for mental injuries after the fact. And an event that the wizarding press had completely ignored had got the close attention of her father, brothers, Hermione, and Harry: a huge pile of rat carcasses, drained of blood, had been discovered near a Muggle garbage dump. The story had been followed closely in the Weasley household, even to the point that Harry had gone out among the Muggles, searching for clues from those at the Ministry of Health who had dealt with it, but he had returned frustrated. She and McGonagall reached the stone gargoyle. Ginny faintly heard the password--it sounded something like "tartan boxes," but that couldn't be right; why would anyone paint a box in a tartan plaid?--and she and McGonagall stepped onto the moving staircase together. She barely even noticed; she was too caught up in her thoughts. She knew that Harry, along with the rest of the family and Hermione, assumed that the rat carcasses had something to do with Wormtail. But what? If Wormtail had died, surely he would have transformed back into his human form, as Sirius had done. But had someone purposely gone out looking for him, trying to kill him? And if so, why just start randomly targeting rats? There were millions of rats out there, all looking exactly alike. Someone would have to be daft to think just killing all the rats he could get his hands on was a reasonable way of flushing out Peter Pettigrew. Unless, she thought suddenly, it wasn't meant to find him. Maybe it was meant as a warning. But most puzzling of all, in many of these cases the Dark Mark had been nowhere to be seen. There were two attacks where it had, indeed, been conjured. It had been seething ominously in the air in full view of the Muggle police (who had been called by a neighbour) when they had arrived at the house where the children had been killed--the Ministry'd had a time Obliviating that lot--and it had been glowing in all its sickly green strength when Susan Bones' parents' house had been targeted, though, thankfully, they had been out of town at the time. Susan was still pretty shaken about it. But it had not been in evidence for any of the other attacks--including those odd ones. The moving staircase reached the top, and Ginny stepped out into Dumble--no, not Dumbledore's office, she reminded herself firmly, though her heart gave a small twitch of pain at the thought. McGonagall's office. Headmistress McGonagall's office. The interior was much different from the last time she'd been here. It was still covered in portraits of former Headmasters--not Dumbledore's yet, she noticed, though all the others remained--but the walls were now a restful bluish-green, and many of the fascinating bits and baubles from Dumbledore's tenure had been removed. It looks so bare, Ginny thought. But of course, there had been a great deal too much for McGonagall to do in the months since Dumbledore's death for her to have worried too badly about decorating her office. "Sit down, please, Miss Weasley," the headmistress said as she took her seat behind the great desk. Ginny sat in a plush velvet chair and tried to focus on McGonagall, not on memories or on her thoughts of Harry, enduring who-knew-what a few floors down. "I must confess I had been hoping that you would be accompanying Harry to the hospital wing today," McGonagall said, resting her elbows on her desk and steepling her fingers. "There is something that I wished to discuss with you before the start of term, as I believe the extra time will be beneficial to you." "Discuss with me, Professor?" "Yes, Miss Weasley." A small smile crooked a corner of her mouth. "I believe we should make some changes to your classes for your final year." Ginny frowned. "I don't understand." And she didn't. What on earth was McGonagall on about? "Miss Weasley, after the events of last March, it occurs to me that your skills in Defence Against the Dark Arts have been clearly displayed, and that putting you through a year dedicated to that class would be a foolish waste of time. In addition, I believe I have mentioned to you that your skills at Transfiguration have been rather above average as well--in fact, and I have no concern with telling you this now, since I am no longer teaching that class, you are the most skilled student in your year. I believe, had Hermione Granger not been only a year ahead of you, you would have been the most skilled student in the school last year. You certainly will be this year." Ginny felt herself blushing. McGonagall didn't give out compliments like this lightly. If she said you were good, you were good. "With those two facts in mind," the headmistress went on, "I have decided to offer you a considerably advanced course of study for this year." She reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a large, old textbook. Ginny took it. Embossed in gold on the front cover was the title A Beginner's Guide to the Animagus Transformation. Ginny looked up, stunned. Does she mean what I think she means? McGonagall smiled, a true smile this time. "Yes, Miss Weasley," she answered the unspoken question. "If you would like, I would be happy to help you to become an Animagus yourself." Ginny's breath caught in her throat and she stared at the headmistress, excitement building in her chest. It was a moment before she could speak. "I--" she finally managed to get out. "I--thank you, Professor! I'd love to!" McGonagall chuckled. "I rather thought you might," she said. "I had thought about offering the subject to Miss Granger last year, but circumstances being what they were--" She sighed and looked down, and Ginny thought she saw the glimmer of a tear in the corner of her eye. "Still," the headmistress said, a bit more briskly, "this course of study will take the place of your Defence Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration courses. "I will not hide from you, Miss Weasley, that this will be a very demanding course of study. You will find yourself working harder for this than you have in the past for the other two lessons combined. It is physically and mentally draining, and you will not be able to succeed if you do not put forth every ounce of effort you can. In fact, it can be very, very dangerous if you are not fully prepared." Her dark eyes glittered over her square spectacles. "Do you think you can do all that, Miss Weasley? Can you devote yourself to something that demanding? If you do not believe you can, tell me, and we will go back to your original timetable and no harm done. But do not indulge in wishful thinking or an attempt to impress me--or anyone else," she added. "Think about it carefully before you give me your answer." Ginny looked down at the book in her hands. "May I have a few moments to look this through first?" she asked tentatively. Transfiguration had, indeed, been her best subject since her first year, but she had heard all her life how terribly difficult the Animagus transformation was, and wanted to be certain it wasn't beyond her reach. Though, if McGonagall thinks I can do it, I must be able to, she thought--but the small seed of doubt was there, all the same. "Take all the time you need. As I said earlier, Harry will likely be--indisposed--for the better part of another hour at the least." McGonagall rose and moved toward a door on the far wall, beckoning Ginny to follow her. It opened, and Ginny could see comfortable overstuffed chairs and a sofa inside, with a large window behind the sofa, letting in a great deal of light. "Perhaps you would be more comfortable in here," the headmistress said. "You can read through the book and make your decision when you're ready. I was going to send for some sandwiches. Are you hungry?" "Yes," Ginny said, suddenly realising she was. She hadn't been this morning; she'd been too nervous and excited for Harry. "Thank you, Professor." "I'll have the house-elves bring you something as well, then. When you're ready to make your decision, you will find me in here. If for some reason I am not, touch this plate--" McGonagall indicated a rectangular brass plate on the wall next to the doorway "--and a house elf will answer. Now, is there anything further you need, besides your lunch?" "No, thank you, Professor." Ginny stepped inside the room. It looked incredibly wonderful, the kind of sitting room she had always dreamed of having. "I'll do quite well, I think." She closed the door carefully behind her and looked the room over, deciding where to sit. On the sofa, she thought finally. The light's good there, and I can get comfortable. Suiting action to thought, she walked over toward the sofa, kicked off her shoes, and curled up against one of the big, soft arms, tucking her robes around her feet (which were encased in a pair of Harry's sport socks she'd nicked while he'd been showering that morning). Propping the book on her knees, she opened it and began to read. She was barely aware of the house-elf bringing a tray of sandwiches and pumpkin juice. She must have eaten automatically, because when she was finally brought back to herself by a light, sharp rapping on the door, the tray was empty and she was nearly three-quarters of the way through perhaps the most fascinating book she had ever read. "Yes?" she called. Professor McGonagall stepped in the door. "Mr. Potter is ready to leave, Miss Weasley," she said. "Oh!" Ginny turned and glanced out the window. The sun was more than halfway down the western sky; it had to be close to five o'clock. "That took rather longer than it should, didn't it?" she said, a sudden stab of worry lancing through her. "Nothing's wrong?" "No, he's perfectly fine," McGonagall reassured her as Ginny stood up, sliding her feet back into her shoes. "I do wonder, though, Miss Weasley, whether you've made your decision." Ginny saw the older woman's eyes flicker toward the book still in her hands, and a small smile quirk the side of her mouth when she saw that Ginny's finger held a page nearly at the end. "Though I believe I know what your answer will be." Ginny smiled back. "My answer is yes," she said, holding out the book for McGonagall to take. "I believe you when you say it will be terribly difficult, Professor, but I also think it's the most fascinating subject I've studied in a long time." "And so it is, Miss Weasley," McGonagall said, obviously pleased at her reaction. "And the book is yours to take for the summer. One read-through won't be enough to get the concepts fully into your head. This is more of a theory book, of course, as you've realised; the practical application of method will be the more difficult--and draining--part of your studies, so I'd prefer you get the theory learnt before term begins. The more time I have to help you with your actual transformation, the better off you'll be." "I understand." Ginny tucked the book in the crook of her arm, after making sure she remembered which page she'd been on. "You said Harry's ready?" "Yes. He's waiting at the foot of the moving staircase." A look of sadness overcame her features. "I don't believe he felt--comfortable--coming back up here so soon after...." Her voice trailed off. After the Battle. Ginny nodded as she stepped onto the moving staircase. "Thank you, Professor," she said as she began to descend. "I'll see you at the start of term, then." "Indeed, Miss Weasley. I look forward to it." Harry was waiting, as the headmistress had said, when she stepped off the staircase. He looked a little bit tired, but smiled at her, one eyebrow rising. "McGonagall had you up to your eyeballs in work already?" he teased. "She's getting worse. Used to be she just gave us homework on the first day of classes." Ginny laughed. "Actually, she's offered me an alternative to what the rest of the seventh years will be doing." As they headed back toward the kitchens, where they'd Flooed in, Ginny showed Harry the book and told him about McGonagall's offer. "Wow," Harry said as they stopped in front of the painting of the bowl of fruit. "An Animagus! That sounds incredible, Ginny." He reached up and tickled the pear, grinning as it began to wriggle and chortle before turning into the green door handle. "I always get such a kick out of watching a piece of fruit giggle," he said in a confidential tone of voice as he hauled the portrait open. He gestured her through ahead of him before adding, "It sounds so very like someone else I know when I tickle her." She felt him give a quick pinch to her bum and giggled before she could stop herself, skittering forward out of his reach. "Now you stop that!" she said, turning to face him with a mock frown. He laughed, shutting the portrait hole behind him. "See?" he said. "You sounded just like that pear." "Harry Potter!" said a familiar voice in an unusually-severe tone. They both turned to see Dobby the house-elf standing there glaring--glaring?--at Harry, his fists on his hips. "You is ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir!" Dobby said. Harry gaped. "I--ashamed?" he managed finally. Ginny rather felt like gaping herself. Dobby was the last person either of them would have expected to have chided Harry. "Yes, sir!" Dobby said. He pointed at Ginny. "Your Miss Wheezy doesn't not at all resemble a pear, Harry Potter!" They both stared at him for a moment, then dissolved into helpless laughter. They had to lean against each other, they were laughing so hard. "I--know--Dobby," Harry gasped at last, raising his head from where he'd leaned it against the top of Ginny's, while she'd rested her forehead on his shoulder. "I was--just teasing. But if it'll make you feel better, I'll apologise." He pushed back from Ginny slightly, taking off his glasses to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand. "I think Harry Potter should apologise to his Miss Wheezy," Dobby agreed firmly, watching Harry with narrowed eyes. Clearly, Harry was supposed to do it right then and there. Harry shook his head as he replaced his glasses on his face and grinned down at Ginny. "All right," he said. She grinned back up at him. She loved the way his eyes sparkled when he was in a mischievous mood, like now. She'd seen that expression on his face far too rarely of late. He captured her hand and pressed it to his heart in a melodramatic manner. "Prithee, fair maiden," he said, obviously struggling to keep his countenance, "I pledge that I am most heartily sorry that ever I likened any portion of thine angelic self to any inanimate object, let alone a piece of fruit. Verily do I deserve to be put out for my decidedly ungallant behaviour. But I would worship the ground thou dost walk upon, if thou couldst find it in thy heart to forgive this poor, humble man and give him one more chance to show thee how very marvellous thou art." Oh, very nice, Harry! Impressive! But despite her appreciation for his delivery, she couldn't resist. Tilting her head to the side, she widened her eyes in a parody of innocence and said, "But, Harry, I thought you already did worship the ground I walk on!" Harry's face twitched, and suddenly they fell into each other's arms yet again, howling with laughter. Dobby watched with a perplexed look on his face, until finally, apparently deciding that the two of them holding each other was good enough, he left to continue with his work. At last they sobered enough to pull apart again. "Poor, humble man?" Ginny repeated, incredulously and unable to contain a last snort of amusement. "Oh, all right," Harry conceded magnanimously, eyes twinkling with mirth. "Well-off, humble man. Is that any better?" "Oh, much." Ginny rolled her eyes, dragging the sleeves of her robes over her cheeks to wipe away the tear-tracks from her laughter. "Come on, Harry," she said. "Let's go home before anything else happens to us. Besides," she added, looking at him sidelong with amusement in her voice, "you wouldn't want to be late for your own birthday party, would you?" "Anything but that," Harry said vaguely, as a house-elf came running up to them, a container of Floo Powder in its hands. He took a pinch and tossed it into the huge fireplace in front of them. The flames flared green, and he stepped into them. "The Burrow!" he said, and as he started to whirl, she threw a last comment at him in a wicked voice: "Oh? Anything?" ---------------- By the time the sun was setting that evening, the party was ready. Harry and Ginny had been chased out of the house during the preparations, and so he had no idea what to expect, though from the way Ginny was grinning, Harry knew it was going to be something special. When they were finally called back in, Harry stopped three steps into the kitchen, staring about him, utterly stunned. A huge, triple-layer chocolate birthday cake sat on the kitchen counter, with unlit candles running around its edge and the words "Happy Birthday, Harry" written with a flourish across the top. Someone had charmed the icing so that the words changed colour, a rainbow shimmering across the chocolate frosting. More candles hovered above the dining table, which was loaded to groaning with more food than Harry had ever seen in his life, except at Hogwarts. Somehow all of his favourite foods were there: lamb chops with mint sauce, roast goose, steamed broccoli with cheese, mashed potato with garlic, shepherd's pie, steak and kidney pie, bubble-and-squeak--. I think I detect the hand of a certain red-headed git I shared a dormitory with for seven years. But the thought was more affectionate than not, for he was really, truly touched by the effort that had gone into this, his first real birthday party. And in the corner--his eyes widened--a huge stack of wrapped presents was waiting for him, more presents than he had ever got for his birthday. A discreet throat-clearing caught his attention, and he turned to see the whole Weasley clan, including Percy's wife Penelope and Hermione, arrayed behind him, all grinning. Ginny, who had come in with him when they were called, tightened her arm around him. "Like it?" she asked. "It's--" He closed his mouth, shook his head. "It's brilliant," he said finally, unable to find any other words for it. "It's about time you had a proper party," Charlie said, his eyes crinkled with his smile. "After those relatives of yours--" "Oh, don't spoil the day by talking about them!" Mrs. Weasley said. She stepped forward and hugged Harry. He surprised himself by hugging her back. Always before, being hugged like this had made him somewhat uncomfortable, but somehow it felt right this time. "Happy birthday, Harry," she said, pulling back to look up into his eyes and smile. "Happy birthday!" the family more or less chorused. That seemed to be the cue for the unaccustomed quiet to end, and they all surged toward the table, talking and laughing loudly and pulling out chairs. Harry, to his great embarrassment, was seated at the head of the table, where Mr. Weasley usually sat. Ginny sat at his left, with the others arranged as the fancy took them--though, Harry noticed, Ron and Hermione's chairs seemed to be a tad closer to each other than was strictly necessary. Grinning, he inched his own chair a bit toward Ginny, whose eyes twinkled back at him as she did the same. Once the food had been passed around the table and everyone's plates were full, Mr. Weasley stood up and raised his glass. "A toast!" he said expansively. "To Harry--who has always been a Weasley at heart, whether he knew it or not!" "To Harry!" everyone echoed, standing up with a great scraping of chairs and a rousing cheer from Fred and George. Harry felt prickles at the back of his eyes. A thought came unbidden to his mind: So this is what having a family is really like. "Speech!" George called as they all sat down again. "Speech, Harry! Come on, don't be shy; that's not allowed if you're going to live at the Burrow." "Merlin, no," Fred agreed. "If you're going to be shy, you might as well give in now, because you'll never get a word in edgewise round here." "George," Percy said as a ripple of laughter flowed around the table, "don't pressure him. Public speaking isn't for everyone, you know. Some people are perfectly content to work behind-the-scenes to make sure the important tasks get done quickly and efficiently, and you'll only embarrass them if you insist on dragging them into the limelight. If he doesn't want to make a speech--" "Shut up, Perce," Fred said amiably. "If he doesn't want to make a speech, he doesn't need you making one for him." Harry looked around the table at the faces bathed in flickering candlelight, the friends who meant more to him than anything. This was nearly perfect. There was only one thing he would change, if he could-- "No, that's okay, Percy," he said, suddenly realising he did have something he wanted to say. He stood up slowly, picking up his glass of butterbeer and fingering it pensively. The talking round the table settled into silence as everyone looked at him expectantly. At last he looked up. "Thank you," he said, meeting each person's gaze. "Thank you for everything. Not just this birthday party, though this is--amazing, really. Thank you for bringing me into your home. Thank you for your friendship. Thank you for being there for me when I was growing up, when I had...." He trailed off, though the words nobody else echoed in the silence anyway. After a moment, he continued, "I don't want any of you to think this isn't enough, because I don't think that at all. But if I could change anything, anything at all about this night, it would be to have the other people I loved here with us. All the ones we've lost over the past few months. This is their celebration, too." He raised his glass, feeling a lump forming in his throat. "To absent friends," he said hoarsely. Quietly, seats were pushed back and glasses raised again. "To absent friends," they said in a soft rumble, and more people than Harry brushed away a stray tear. Ginny's hand found Harry's, and he gripped it tightly, knowing that she was thinking of their baby, just as he was. He sat back down, and the others followed suit. Silence followed. After a moment, Mr. Weasley cleared his throat. "Well," he said hesitantly, "let's eat." Conversation started again as they picked up their forks. It was a bit tentative at first, but gradually picked up strength and volume until it was a normal Weasley family dinner again. Harry picked up what looked like a stuffed mushroom and bit into it, only warned that something was going to happen by the sudden tingling feeling that shimmered through him, and the overly-innocent expressions on Fred and George's faces as they looked intently toward his end of the table. Suddenly, he felt himself shrinking until all he could see was the tablecloth and the chair seat he stood on. He looked down at himself, taking in the green, clawed toes and the scales on his forelegs, then looked up at Ginny, who was staring down at him in shock, her jaw open. She rounded on the twins. "You've turned him into a newt!" she accused. "A newt?" Hermione repeated in a horrified voice. He saw the top of her bushy head and her eyes, as she apparently stood up to get a good look at him. He heard Ron's snort of laughter and saw Hermione's shoulder jerk. She must have smacked him on the arm, he thought, a bit amazed that his brain still seemed to be his own. Fred shrugged. "He'll get better," he said carelessly. "We needed someone to try them out on. Newt Nuggets--look just like stuffed mushrooms." "We've decided to branch out a bit from sweets," George added, as though this were the most ordinary business discussion one could have. "Get into the hors d'oeuvres market. Liven up cocktail parties! Let your boss know what you really think of him!" "FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY!" their mother roared over the scattered sniggers around the table, obviously just finding her voice. But before she could say anything else, Harry felt a sensation as though he were Apparating--not a common sensation yet, though he, Ron, and Hermione had got their licences earlier in the summer--and abruptly he was back in his seat, his glasses askew but otherwise perfectly normal. "Yes, Mum?" Fred said innocently. Mrs. Weasley was huffing, her face red, obviously just about to thoroughly lose her temper. "I've TOLD you not to bring those--those--TRICKS into this house!" she shouted. "And on Harry's birthday, too! This is his PARTY, you don't do that kind of thing at birthday parties!" "Actually, Mum, you do," Ron put in, but subsided when Hermione dug an elbow into his side. "Ouch!" He glared at her and rubbed his ribs. "It's okay," Harry put in, trying to head off a lecture and get Mrs. Weasley to calm down, if he could. "Honestly, Mrs. Weasley, it's fine. I think it's kind of funny." He adjusted his glasses, risking a glance at Ginny, who seemed as incensed on his behalf as her mother. The expression on her face was so much like Molly's that he couldn't hold in the snort of laughter any more, and that set Ron off as well. After a bit, Charlie and Bill joined in. Percy sat stiffly, though Penelope's mouth twitched slightly at the corners. "Now, Molly," Mr. Weasley said in a placating sort of voice, "the boys were only having a bit of fun, and as Harry isn't upset, why don't we just let the whole thing go, hm? I'm sure that Fred and George were intending to help you with the washing up, too, so that you can have the fun of helping serve Harry's cake. Right, boys?" "Oh--er--right, Dad," Fred said as Mr. Weasley fixed him with a significant look. "We'll do the washing up tonight. Absolutely." The rest of the meal was slightly less exciting, but still highly enjoyable, and Harry even watched with fascination as the twins got the dishes to rise up from the table and line up in a neat queue before the sink, each waiting its turn to be cleaned and dried before it flew to its proper place in the cupboard. Summers at the Dursleys would have been so much easier if I'd been allowed to do my chores this way! he thought as he marvelled at the efficiency of the assembly line that had formed. "Come along, Harry, dear," Mrs. Weasley said at last, putting a hand to his shoulder and gently guiding him back to the table. "Time to blow out the candles." The cake was now in front of Harry's place at the table, and Mr. Weasley had just lit the last candle. "Eighteen of them," he said proudly as Harry came up beside him. "That's right, isn't it? One candle for each year?" "Yeah, that's right, Mr. Weasley," Harry reassured him. He knew the tradition, even if he'd never been allowed to do it himself. He leaned forward, getting close enough to blow the candles out, and shut his eyes to make his wish. An image of red hair and twinkling brown eyes filled his mind, and he grinned before opening his eyes again and blowing out all eighteen candles with one breath. The family applauded, the twins even throwing in a whistle or two. "So what did you wish for, Harry?" Fred called as Harry straightened, grinning. "He can't tell you that, Fred," Mr. Weasley said importantly, looking at Harry for confirmation. "The tradition is that if he tells, it won't come true." Harry caught Ginny's eye and his grin softened into a small smile. "It already has," he said before he could stop himself. Ginny blushed but smiled back, her eyes shining. Ron gagged, and Hermione thwapped his arm again with the back of her hand. "Now, now," Mrs. Weasley said in a warm voice, bringing a knife to Harry so he could cut the cake. "Here you are, Harry dear. Go ahead." It was both odd and wonderful to be able to participate in the kind of birthday rituals he had watched for years but never been allowed to do himself. Even just cutting a cake and putting slices onto plates took on a whole new meaning when it was his cake and his birthday. When everyone else had been served, he took his own, and no cake had ever tasted so delicious--not even the ones that had been sent to him the summer before his fourth year, when Dudley had been on a diet and his aunt and uncle had forced him to follow it as well. After the cake was done, the twins set their cleaning charm again, and all of them went out into the garden, where the evening had turned comfortably cool. Presents were next, of course, Summoned out to the garden to stack themselves neatly next to Harry. From Hermione, he got a book ("What else?" Ron had muttered under his breath, low enough that only Harry heard) of curses and counter-curses, something he thought would likely be very useful in the Department of Mysteries; from Ron, a book as well ("Ron! A book for Harry? Are you sure you're feeling well?" Hermione had said, shocked), Seeker Strategies: A Handbook. Mrs. Weasley gave him a tin of fudge, which was very good, and a new money pouch that she had obviously made herself; it was quite handsome and magically charmed to appear almost empty even when it was full, to discourage pickpockets. Fred and George presented him with a sample pack of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, complete with a small booklet describing the effects of each one. Not that Harry was planning to believe the booklet, of course; it would be just like the twins to write a joke booklet and laugh themselves sick when Harry tried to pull a trick, to find that it backfired or something. The real surprises came from Charlie and Bill. He opened Charlie's first, and pulled out a black vest. It felt like extremely supple, strong leather--more like alligator skin, really, as it had a sort of scaly finish to it. There were all kinds of pockets and loops on it, as though it were meant to hold a great deal of small objects. "Dragonhide," Charlie said with a grin. "You might find it useful once you're out of training and in the field. I never go anywhere without mine, personally." He tugged on the vest he wore, which was brown, not black, but otherwise looked nearly identical to Harry's. "Oh, wow," Harry said, lifting it up and angling it toward the candles that had followed them outside and now hovered above them, looking it over carefully before excitedly exploring all the pockets and attachment places. "Oh, Charlie, this is brilliant." "Glad you like it," Charlie grinned. "Take a look at Bill's; you'll like that just as much." What can I possibly like as well as this? But
obediently he laid the vest down across his lap and opened Bill's gift, which
was much bigger and heavier than Charlie's. The box came open easily under his
hands, and then-- "Oh." Harry
couldn't manage more than that as he pulled the dragonhide boots out and looked
them over. They had low heels and a high-traction sole that virtually
guaranteed he'd be able to walk on nearly any surface without slipping. The
tops had a cuff that folded down, but when Harry pulled off his trainers and
slid his feet into the boots, wrapping the legs of his jeans tightly around his
calves so they'd fit inside, he realised the cuffs could actually be unfolded
to tie around his knee and lower thigh. He promptly did so, marvelling at the
way this gave his legs added protection, as well as adding support to his
knees. "With
the vest and the boots, it should be hard for any curse to hit a vital
area," Charlie said. "If they can't kill, attackers tend to aim for
the knees to disable; if you've got the cuffs tied on properly, the dragonhide
will deflect the curse and give you that couple of seconds you need to either
get your attacker, or get into cover." Harry
nodded as he slid the vest on over his t-shirt, buttoning it up the front. It
fit well, though it was a tad loose. "I
bought it a bit big," Charlie said, "since you'll fill out more than
a little at training camp. But don't worry; it's charmed to fit to you.
See?" And
indeed, after only a few seconds on him, the vest was suddenly fitting snugly,
but not too tight. He ran his hands down the front of the vest, taking in the
texture of the dragonhide, then looked up at Bill and Charlie. His mouth
opened, but he couldn't quite manage to get anything to come out. Bill and
Charlie seemed to understand, though. A
little dazed, Harry sat back down on the ground, still in his dragonhide. He
glanced over at Ginny, who was staring at him, her jaw hanging open.
"What?" he said, brow furrowing. She
didn't respond for a moment, then she swallowed, looking at him.
"Harry," she said softly, "you probably should put that
dragonhide away now." "It's
fine, Ginny," Charlie said, chuckling. "That stuff will turn away
anything but an Unforgivable. It's not going to be hurt from being out in the
night air." Ginny
flushed, still looking at Harry. "That's not what I meant," she said,
and her voice had definitely taken on a lower timbre. Almost a growl. Huh? Oh! He
felt himself blush as he looked into her desire-flushed face, his own body
starting to react to her expression. Without a word, he turned away,
unbuttoning the vest and sliding it off, making sure to put it carefully back
into the box. The boots were next, unlaced and slipped off and folded carefully
away. He was very aware of the strange looks he was getting from the family--and
the knowing ones from a few pairs of eyes, including Fred's and George's. Don't say anything, he pled silently
as he tugged the boots off. Please don't say anything. And for once,
they didn't. Once
he was back in his trainers, he turned to her. "Better?" he asked.
Her face was still flushed, but she no longer looked as though she wanted to
attack him. Which is good. I think. "Much."
She reached over to the last present and held it out to him. "Here, Harry,"
she said, smiling at him. "This is from me." "Gin--"
he breathed as the wrapping came apart and he opened the dark blue cover. It
was a picture album of his years at Hogwarts. There he was in his first
Quidditch game, on his old Nimbus 2000--there he sat with Ron, learning to play
wizard's chess--a picture of him at the Burrow in the summer before his second
year, the old Ford Anglia sitting quietly in the background--him in the
hospital wing, his boneless arm bound up, his face relaxed in sleep, the
singing Get-Well Card Ginny had given him propped on his night table (he
chuckled at the sight)--Ron and him by the fire in their third year, glowering
into their copies of Unfogging the Future--himself on the shoulders of
nearly all of Gryffindor House, holding the Quidditch Cup aloft for the first
time--Buckbeak by Hagrid's cabin--the World Cup stadium--the Durmstrang ship in
Hogwarts' lake--the great, powder-blue coach from Beauxbatons-- There
were more pictures, but he couldn't go on. He looked up at Ginny, his eyes
prickling with tears. "Ginny," he whispered, touched. "How...when...where
did you get all these?" She
grinned at him, obviously very proud of herself. "Colin," she said.
"For the most part. But I got the ones from your first year from a few
other Gryffindors before we left school." Her grin turned a bit shy.
"I thought you might like it. You know...the way it used to be." Again,
he was struck speechless by a gift. Setting the album down, he reached toward
her and wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug, clutching her to him. The
twins made their obligatory "Awwwww!" sound, but he didn't even care.
"Ginny,"
he whispered into her hair, "you are absolutely unbelievable. Thank you.
Thank you." He
loosened his hold after a moment, and she dropped a small kiss on his mouth as
they parted. Their eyes met, and she smiled as she reached up to push a lock of
hair off his forehead. There
was a pause, as nobody seemed to want to break the mood. Certainly Harry
didn't. He almost couldn't process it, the marvellous day it had been and the
unbelievably wonderful sight of Ginny beside him, smiling at him, loving him. "How
about some music?" Mr. Weasley said tactfully, and with a wave of his
wand, the wireless came on. The mood dissolved gently, not abruptly, and Harry
was able to look away at last, to join in with the laughter and the talking and
enjoy the rest of his party. But he didn't release Ginny's hand; and she didn't
release his, either. ------------- Without a doubt, this
was my best birthday ever. Mr.
and Mrs. Weasley had been the first to call it a day, and had gone upstairs
about an hour ago. Bill and Charlie had Disapparated back to the flat they
shared not long thereafter, followed shortly by Percy and Penelope. The twins
had hung round for another half hour or so, trying in vain to slip another Newt
Nugget to Harry or, failing that, to Ginny, but finally they had given up and
returned home to their flat above their shop. Now
it was just Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione, sitting on the grass outside the
Burrow, talking in muted voices and looking up at the stars. Harry tilted his
head forward and dropped a kiss on the top of Ginny's head. He was sitting with
his knees pulled up and his forearms resting on them; she sat between his legs,
her back to his chest. Ron and Hermione were in a similar position, the two
couples angled toward each other, looking out over the fading lights of Ottery
St. Catchpole. "One
more month," Ron sighed, resting his chin against Hermione's temple. "It
feels like forever." "'Till
I leave for Hogwarts, you mean?" Ginny said with mock indignation.
"What a thing to say! Do you really want me gone that badly?" "That's
not what I meant and you know it," Ron said mildly--surprisingly mildly,
Harry noticed. He'd expected a bristly, defensive retort. Even Hermione seemed
surprised; she turned her head and raised her eyebrows at her boyfriend.
"I meant until we go to training camp. This waiting around is killing
me." "I
daresay two days into it you'll be remembering the summer with longing,"
Hermione grinned. "From what Charlie and Bill were telling us yesterday,
it's not going to be a picnic." Harry
nodded emphatically. Ron's two eldest brothers had taken the three of them
aside the day before and given them some stern advice for the last month of
summer. "You've
had your holiday," Bill had said quietly. "It's time you start taking
this seriously." "Taking
what seriously?" Ron had asked. "The
Department. Training camp will be the toughest thing you've ever experienced,
and they won't be taking it easy on you lot just because of the "So
what are you saying?" Harry had said, half joking. "We should go out
running every morning?" "Wouldn't
hurt," Charlie had said soberly. They'd
all stared at him. "Believe
me," Bill had added, "you'll be glad of it if you do." Coming
back to the present, Harry glanced over at Ron. "So what do you
think?" he said. "Do we want to take their advice?" He was
inclined to do so; he couldn't imagine Bill and Charlie leading them wrong. Ron
groaned and flopped backward, lying on his back in the grass. "I really
don't fancy the idea of getting up just to go running," he said. "You'd
better start fancying it," Hermione said severely, turning to face him
fully. "'Binding, magical contract,' remember? I'd be very surprised if they
didn't haul us out of bed for a good run every day, the entire time we're in
training camp." She leaned over Ron, propping herself on one arm. He let
his bent leg slide down to lie flat on the ground as she leaned forward to
brush a kiss against his lips. "And you wouldn't like to have me
outdistancing you every morning and making you look like anutter idiot, would
you, O Great Gryffindor Keeper?" Harry
chuckled and turned back to grin at Ginny. Ginny craned her neck around,
looking up at him, her eyes twinkling. "And another great Ron and Hermione
row begins," she whispered. He chuckled again and kissed her. "Outdistancing
me?" Ron repeated, leaning up on his elbows to glare at Hermione. "My
legs are longer than yours. There's no way you'll outdistance me." "Not
in a sprint," she agreed. "But on a long jog, you'll use up all your
energy and end up in my dust." "I
most certainly will not!" he huffed, scooting out from under her to sit up
and glare. "Which of us was in Quidditch training the past three years?
You spent the entire time with your nose in a book!" "You
sat on a broomstick and waited for a Quaffle to come hurtling your way!"
Hermione snapped, obviously stung by his last comment. "Sounds much the
same to me, except I was actually learning something!" "Fine!"
Ron snapped back at her, his face gone red in the light from the kitchen door.
"We'll just see tomorrow, won't we? I'll go running with you and we'll see
who eats whose dust!" It
was all Harry and Ginny could do to keep their laughter more or less silent.
"Harry," Ginny said in a strangled sort of voice, trying to keep her
giggles from coming out, "maybe you should go with them to keep them from
killing each other. Or from killing themselves out of sheer stubbornness and the
inability to admit the other was right!" "I
wouldn't--“ Hermione began hotly. "Harry
doesn't need to--" Ron started to say, at the same time. "Yeah,
I think I will," Harry said loudly, drowning them both out. "I need
to make sure I'm in shape for September, after all." Ron
turned to glare at Harry, then turned his glare on his girlfriend as he
struggled to his feet. "I'm off to bed," he said. "If I'm to get
up at an ungodly hour just to prove that Hermione can be wrong about something,
I'm going to get some sleep. Coming, Onyx?" Harry
rolled his eyes--when Ron started in with the code names, especially in front
of Ginny, Harry knew better to argue with him--and started to stand up, but
Ginny put her hands on his knees to hold him still. "Ron," Ginny said
in a patient tone of voice, "It's Harry's birthday." Ron
rolled his eyes. "Yes, Ginny," he said in an exaggerated parody of
her own tone. "I figured that out when we had the great huge party for
him. Actually--" he glanced at the position of the moon in the sky. “--it was
Harry's birthday. It's got to be after "Ron,"
Ginny said, her voice rising slightly, "it's his birthday." "I'm
not deaf, Ginny. I--" "I
still," Ginny said, a bit more loudly, "have a present to give
him." Ron
froze, and Harry had to bite his tongue to keep from commenting as her meaning
finally dawned. Poor Ron was nearly glowing with his blush. "Er--"
Ron said, fumbling for words. "Oh,
Ron, honestly!" Hermione said exasperatedly, getting to her feet.
"This is Harry and Ginny we're talking about. It's not like this is
news to you! Come on, let's go. Good night, Harry. Happy birthday. Night,
Ginny." "Good
night," Harry said, watching with ill-repressed amusement as Hermione took
Ron's arm and all but dragged him inside. "Well," he said in a much
lower tone, "at least we know they'll each get roughly the same amount of
sleep." Ginny
burst out laughing, turning around to face him. "I suppose that's a good
thing," she said. She sat back on her heels, still between his thighs, her
hands resting over his diaphragm. She tilted her head to the side and cocked an
eyebrow, grinning mischievously. "You know," she said in a
would-be-innocent voice, "since you're going running with them in the
morning, perhaps it'd be best if you went on to bed too. I mean, I can give you
your present any--" Harry
slid his hands around her waist and pulled her to him, claiming her mouth for a
deep, rich kiss. Her hands slid upward to curl around the back of his neck, one
twining itself into his thick hair as their tongues met and caressed. Harry
could feel his breathing growing ragged as she pressed herself against him, and
he let himself fall gently backwards, pulling her with him until he was lying
on the grass and she was atop him. The kiss ended, and she raised her head,
looking into his eyes. Her lips were parted and swollen, her own breath coming
in short pants. God, she was beautiful. "I hardly think it's fair that I
get more sleep than my best friends, do you?" he whispered, and was
rewarded with a brilliant smile. "I
think you're right," she purred, sliding her hands up under his shirt and
wrenching a groan from him. "Bad form and all that. We can't have you
accused of chea--" She stopped, her hand having encountered something it
didn't expect. He
sighed, closing his eyes briefly as his rapidly rising passion abruptly thumped
back to earth. He hadn't found the time to tell her about this. He'd meant to
as she'd come down from McGonagall's office, but the news that she would be
studying to become an Animagus had eclipsed it. He opened his eyes again and
gently took hold of her hands, pulling them out from under his shirt as he sat
up, bringing her with him. She
looked puzzled. "Harry, what's--didn't Madam Pomfrey and Dr. Stone--?" "Yes,
they did." He released her hands, leaned forward to drop a soft kiss on
her lips, then reached over his head and grabbed hold of his shirt collar,
hauling the garment over his head and tossing it aside. He was facing the
house, so the light from the kitchen door fell across his body; he knew Ginny
would be able to see the burn scarring that still marred the outer edge of his
left pectoral muscle, about an inch wide and about four inches long. She
touched it gently, then ran her hand down the now-unmarked skin that had been
repaired that morning before returning to the scar. "Did you ask to keep
this?" she asked softly. "Yes." "Why?" Harry
hesitated, looking for the words. "I'm really not sure," he said
slowly. "I'd always intended to get the whole scar removed. But somehow,
once I got there today..." He paused. "It felt like getting rid of
the whole thing was--I don't know--forgetting what had happened, or trying to.
Pretending it didn't exist. I...we... lost so much that day, lost so many
people we loved, that I just... couldn't let myself have the whole thing
removed." He shook his head, looking off into the distance. "A bit
silly really," he said. "None of them will ever know anything about
the scar, whether it's there or not. And I'll never forget the "It's
a memorial," Ginny said softly, and he met her gaze again. Her eyes were
warm and soft and filled with understanding. Her finger traced the scar again.
"And a tribute." Harry
blinked. "That's exactly it," he said slowly. "Exactly." He
looked into her eyes for a moment. "Since when have you been able to read
my mind?" he said, only partly joking. "Since
always, Harry," she said with a smile. She tilted her head slightly,
looking at the clean, unmarked flesh where his scar had been. "Why did
they shoo me out of the hospital wing so quickly?" she asked suddenly.
"And why didn't you want me to stay, either?" He
raised his eyebrows. He'd expected this question. "Well, unpleasant
was about the biggest understatement Madam Pomfrey could have used for the
procedure," he said dryly. "I knew it was likely to be quite nasty,
and I really didn't want you to go through all that with me. Selfish, I know,
but I really didn't." "How
unpleasant could removing a scar be?" Ginny said, brow furrowing. "Fairly,"
Harry said, still in that dry tone. "You don't want to know the
details." A
flash of irritation shone in her eyes. "Oh, I don't, do I?" she
snapped. "So glad you could read my mind for me, Harry, so I know what I
do and don't want to know. Makes things so much easier on me." Harry
glared at her. "Ginny, that's not fair and you know it." She
sighed and her shoulders slumped, the irritation clearly gone as quickly as it
had come. "Yes, I do," she said in a resigned tone of voice.
"I'm sorry. But I do want to know, Harry. What did they do to you?" He
sighed too, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes with the heels of both
hands. "All right," he said, pulling his hands away, "but it's
not pretty. Madam Pomfrey set an Imperturbable Charm, then the two of them
merged their magical signatures so that they could work together on the
surgery. Once their signatures had merged, Dr. Stone removed the skin from my
burn, down to well below the scarred tissue, and then used their combined magic
to rebuild and heal the muscle and skin so that the scarring was gone." Even
without his glasses, he could see the shock and horror in her expression.
"I told you it wasn't pretty," he reminded her. "Yes,
but--my God, Harry!" She stared at him. "And you knew that's what
they'd have to do?" "More
or less, yes. Madam Pomfrey described it for me before we left Hogwarts, when I
was still in hospital after the "And
you--you suffered all that in silence?" she asked, still in shock. Harry
snorted. "In silence? Bloody hell, Ginny, the man literally flayed me. My
throat still hurts from screaming. But it would have hurt even more," he
added thoughtfully, "if they hadn't been able to use my own magic as well,
to dampen the sensations." He grinned suddenly. "Good thing Madam
Pomfrey can set an effective Imperturbable Charm, though I really don't want to
think about why she needed to practice it so much." She
was still staring at him, and he could almost feel her growing guilt at not
having been there with him. He pulled her to him, settling her between his
knees, facing him. "Do you see now?" he said quietly, his thumbs
brushing her lower ribs through her thin cotton t-shirt. "That's why I
didn't want you there. You would have been horrified, and you couldn't have
done anything." "But
why, Harry?" she asked, looking into his eyes with a complete lack of
comprehension. "Why did you go through all that? I don't care if
you're scarred. I don't care if your whole body looks the way your burn
did! Why?" He'd
asked himself this same question for the past month, as he tried to decide
whether he was going to go through with it, and had finally come up with a
satisfactory answer. "Because just as I'm not going to forget what
Voldemort did," he said, touching the small remnant of his scar, "I'm
also not going to let his touch mark me any more than it has to. It was a huge
scar. It would have been hard to hide. And someday, in the Department, my life
might be depending on not having that identifying mark. Smaller scars can be
hidden--yes, even this one." He touched the lightning bolt on his
forehead. "But a scar stretching the whole length of my side--that's far
too much for a glamour to cover. So I had it removed." He shrugged,
smirking. "And besides," he added, "I'm vain." She
poked him in the ribs, drawing a stifled laugh. "Yes, you are," she
said severely. Then realisation dawned on her face, and she poked at his ribs
again. He stifled another laugh, batting her hands away. "You're ticklish!"
she crowed in triumph, and dived in with both hands, tickling him mercilessly. He
fell backward, twisting, trying to capture her hands, but she was too fast for
him. He laughed until he couldn't stop, laughed until no sound came out of his
mouth and his face and stomach hurt. "Gin!" he gasped finally.
"Gin--please--stop!" She
stopped, letting him catch his breath. He grabbed her hands just in case as he
panted, recovering. "That wasn't fair, either," he growled, looking
up at her. She
grinned and bent down in a lightning change of mood, lacing her fingers with
his as she lowered herself to lie down atop him. "Neither is this,"
she whispered, and fastened her mouth on his for a soul-searing kiss. Rational
thought disappeared, and he raised his arms above his head, pulling her closer
before tugging his hands free and sliding them along her back, one toward her
hips, the other upward to tangle into her hair. Her legs separated, sliding
along the outside of Harry's thighs, and he moaned as he felt her hips shifting
against his. She pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. "I think,"
she purred in a throaty voice very like the one she'd used when she'd seen him
in the dragonhide earlier, "that it's time for your other present." "'Tis
better to give than to receive," he agreed, and kissed her again. A/N: I thank my beta-readers in every chapter because honestly, every chapter is hugely improved by these folks who take time out of their day to read through my work and make suggestions. Several of them even read multiple versions and commented on each one! Every one of them has made a difference to this work, and every one of them deserves just as much recognition as I do. I provided the framework; they helped me make it sing. For this chapter, in no particular order, they are: Ahmie, Fang-Face Dreamweaver, Michele40, Noji8, Sherylyn (who came up with the idea for the photo album), ProfessorJo, Imogen, Vaughn, Sue, and Helen. Thank you all. Without you, I'd be just another writer who spent way too much time in academia and whose convoluted sentences prove it! Twenty House points to anyone who catches the hidden Disney reference in this chapter.
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