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Author: jadzialove Story: The Art of Healing Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-HBP Status: Completed Warning: This chapter contains age appropriate sexual references and/or activity. Reviews: 14 Words: 47,842
Disclaimer – I do not own nor would I presume to lay claim to anything in any way associated with the wonderful world of Harry Potter. It’s all Jo’s. (I do presume however to refer to her as Jo.) A/N – This chapter contains age appropriate sexual references and/or activity. For those outside the US or unfamiliar with it, the chapter title refers to a rhyme, the exact significance of which will become readily apparent soon enough. The full rhyme, customized for Harry, can be found at the end of the chapter. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ “Wake up wittle Harwee. Wakey, Wakey ickle Harweekins.” Icy fear gripped Harry at the sickly sweet mock-baby voice of Bellatrix Lestrange in his ear. Before he even had his eyes fully open he’d grabbed, twisted and pinned her beneath him. One of his hands held both of hers over her head while the other had his wand, which is always under his pillow, at her throat. It was a maneuver that seemed practiced but was born of excellent reflexes, instinctive self-preservation and pure terror. Because his glasses were still on the bedside table, he had to work to focus and found to his shock that the woman currently pinned beneath him was not, in fact, Bellatrix Lestrange. “Wotcher Harry! That was brilliant! Where’d you learn to do that?” “Tonks!” Harry’s voice was rather higher pitched than he would have liked. He jumped off of her after realizing the position they were in. He was wearing only a ragged pair of boxer shorts. He reached for his glasses with a shaking hand and, putting them on, he saw her smiling up at him. Her normally colorful hair was a spiky mop of almost-black that rivaled his own and framed a lovely heart-shaped face. Harry was not won over. The rush of adrenaline that the terror had created was still pumping violently in his veins. “Tonks what the hell are you playing at?” “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone I saw Harry Potter’s knickers,” Tonks chuckled. “It will remain my cherished secret.” Harry worked hard to get himself under control. He grabbed the closest pair of jeans and stalked towards the door. “I’ll be right back.” When he returned from the loo he found Tonks standing at the window looking out. She turned to him; her face was contrite – apparently she’d figured out there’d been more to his present mood than being caught in his underwear. “I’m sorry Harry. I didn’t mean to scare you like that.” Harry dragged a hand through his hair and exhaled loudly. He sank to the edge of the bed and replied, “You sounded like her, like Bellatrix. That’s how she talked to me at the Ministry. In that baby voice.” Truly distressed now, she sat down next to him and gave him what he imagined to be a sisterly squeeze. “Blimey Harry! I had no idea. I’m sorry I sounded like her. I’m sorry I’m related to her for that matter.” A pained expression crossed her face before she brightened and said, “That was really good, that move you did. You had me pinned before I even knew what happened. How’d you move so fast from a dead sleep?” It dawned on Harry: he’d pinned an Auror. “I pinned an Auror,” he repeated, only this time out loud. Genuinely baffled by the accomplishment he said, “Tonks, how did I pin an Auror?” “Because you’re taller than me?” The answer was more of a question. Harry just raised a skeptical eyebrow at her knowing full well that had nothing to do with it. “Oh, all right!” she huffed. “I didn’t have my guard up, okay? And don’t look so bloody proud of yourself – I could have gotten out of that if I’d wanted to and not with just a little bit of pain for you, mate.” She scowled at herself. “Constant vigilance! I’ll never hear the end of it that I let you best me. Who expects to be pinned by a mostly naked, sound asleep teenager? If you don’t say a word to Mad-Eye, I won’t tell anyone about your sad undies. Deal?” Harry smiled for the first time that morning. “Deal.” They shook on it to make it official. Now that he’d calmed down he found the whole situation sort of funny. “They’re Dudley’s you know. Around here, hand-me-downs means hand-me-down everything.” “I figured. I guess none of us get to choose who we’re related to.” Sirius’ words from last night came back to him then and he said, “You can pick who is family though.” Tonks beamed at Harry in pleased comprehension and gave him another squeeze. They sat in a companionable silence until Harry said, “Tonks?” “Yeah, Harry?” “What’re you doing here?” Tonks blinked before giving herself a soft slap on the forehead. “Oh! Remus told me you wanted to get some new clothes and such. I’m here to get your measurements.” She unrolled a tape measure with a flourish then muttered a spell and it hung in mid-air waiting for further instructions. “C’mon, up you get.” Harry did as he was told, feeling self-conscious wearing only his oversized jeans. “I’m afraid we’ll have to have those jeans off as well.” At the horrified look on Harry’s face she said, “Honestly Harry, I’ve already seen everything anyway. In action no less. We need to get proper inside leg and hip measurements don’t we? Those jeans are the wrong size from start to finish and will interfere.” He reluctantly complied. He felt ridiculous standing there practically starkers while the tape measure followed her instructions. Even worse was the mini war he was battling with his body. It took every ounce of his self-control not to think about what it’d felt like lying on top of her. Only the potential for absolute mortification by the result of such thoughts kept him in check. Barely. To distract himself he tried to make idle conversation. “So, uh, how’d you draw this duty?” “Remus asked me to help him get you some stuff. Shoulders,” she directed the tape before returning her attention to Harry. “I think it was rather wise of him to consult someone with some fashion sense.” Harry cast a wary eye at her ensemble, which consisted of low-riding, leggings of purple, pink, orange and green in a violently bright plaid, the bottoms of which were stuffed into some heavy white socks which disappeared into Military-style black boots that laced up to the middle of her shins. The look was topped off by an acid-green, cropped t-shirt sporting the logo for a place called ‘Spike! Piercing & Tattoo Emporium’ worn under a black leather vest with pockets all over it. He did find the look of her belly with the ring in her navel extremely fascinating though. “D’you reckon I can have some…er…sort of plainer clothes?” She feigned an insulted look then said, “Don’t get cheeky with the woman who’s going to be choosing your underwear.” Harry backpedaled quickly. “No! No, I mean not everyone can pull the looks off that you can. I’m not nearly cool enough.” Tonks hooted with laughter. “Very good Harry! Very good. I’m impressed. I almost believed you. Just trust me okay? I won’t let you down.” Harry smiled and nodded his assent but he was becoming increasingly impatient with the process and self-conscious about what he must look like: skinny and wearing dingy, threadbare boxers. Tonks finally had to admonish him. “Stop fidgeting, Harry, or we won’t get the right numbers.” Correctly diagnosing his discomfiture she added, “You don’t have anything to be ashamed of you know.” Harry blushed and looked away as she continued. “No, I mean it. Molly is always going on about you being too skinny. You’re lean for sure but filled out right nice. I think it was those baggy clothes making you look so skinny.” Harry’s blush deepened but he couldn’t help being pleased by the comment. “Okay Harry, one more thing and we’re done.” She unfolded a square flat silver sheet and put it on the floor. “Step on that. First one foot then the other.” He did as she said and watched an impression of his foot appear and then disappear each time. It didn’t give any indication of size or measurement but Tonks seemed satisfied so he didn’t question it. Finding it too late for modesty he didn’t bother pulling on the pair of jeans again. As she was packing up to leave he knew he had to say something. “Tonks?” he asked. “Yeah?” “Thanks. You know, for everything. This isn’t exactly what I imagined it would be like, the first time I spent a morning nearly naked with a girl but I had fun, except for the heart attack bit, and I appreciate what you’re doing for me.” “Don’t mention it Harry. It’s my pleasure. Especially the tumble.” She winked then and Harry blushed bright red at the reminder of their compromising position. “Not a bad way for me to spend the morning, with a bloke in his altogether. Don’t worry- we’ll get the underwear sorted out. Ginny will swoon when she sees you in your smart new clothes.” She gave him another sisterly squeeze. “I’m off. I’ve got loads of shopping to do before I go on duty later this afternoon. I’m dragging the werewolf with me. He’s got a surprise coming if he thinks he’s leaving without getting some new togs of his own. He’ll be bringing your stuff with him when he comes this afternoon.” Harry smiled, remembering Sirius’ comments about her and Moony. She refused to take the contents of Harry’s money pouch to exchange for Muggle currency, saying they would settle it all later. As she moved away from him she tripped over nothing in particular, caught herself, and then muttered, “Damn, I nearly made it the whole time without doing that once.” With that and a wave she Disapparated, as Aurors do, without a sound. After she’d gone, Harry decided to get on with the day and started with a shower. It took him a bit longer than normal as the new information from Sirius merged with the very real memory of a woman pinned beneath him, then joined the war of discomfort his body and mind were already waging on him. The fantasy they created together proved to be too much and Harry gave into it without resistance. He’d tried very nobly to keep the fantasy girl anonymous, but Ginny’s image was – like the real girl – tenacious and won the struggle. He felt only slightly guilty; Moony had assured him it was normal, after all. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Harry went downstairs, after once again donning his hand-me-downs (for what he hoped to be the last time). Much to his chagrin he realized that it was Saturday; this astounding revelation was made plain to him by the presence of Uncle Vernon in the lounge with his nose buried in the paper. Harry, who usually went out of his way to avoid the man, felt doubly inclined to do so today after what had happened following his talk with Moony. When Harry had said his good-bye to Moony, he’d turned toward the doorway to the kitchen and had been confronted with the purple, apoplectic face of his uncle. Although it had been clear that Vernon had been shouting at Harry and Moony (his arms had been gesticulating wildly as well) not a sound could be heard from the man despite the fact that the door had been opened. In addition, he’d appeared to be pushing against the air in front of him, which for some reason had resisted his efforts. Harry had looked at Moony in confusion. The older man explained that he’d been casting a blanket Imperturbable Charm each day so they would not be disturbed or overheard. Remus had ended the spell and they’d suddenly heard Harry’s uncle shout “… AN OUTRAGE!” He’d been cut off abruptly: he’d fallen forward when the doorway resistance had given way. Harry had slapped a hand to his mouth, torn between laughing at the spectacle and dread. His uncle, after a floundering for a moment, had righted himself with as much dignity as he could muster. He’d turned his heel and stalked back into the house, slamming the French doors behind him. Harry had correctly surmised that he’d locked the doors as well. “I’ll come in with you to make certain they don’t give you a hard time.” Moony had said with some concern in his voice. “No,” Harry had said abruptly. “I think having another wizard in the house might make it worse,” he’d explained in response to the questioning look on Remus’ face. “Right then,” Remus had agreed reluctantly. “Let me unlock the door for you.” He’d pointed his wand at the door and uttered a quiet “Alohomora” to release the lock. “I am going to stay out here and watch for a little while, just in case.” The warm feeling of having someone care about him swelled up in Harry again. He smiled his thanks at his guardian and went inside to face whatever was coming. It hadn’t turned out to be as bad as it could have been. His uncle had decided his course of action was to not address Harry directly. He would bellow statements to Aunt Petunia for her to relay redundantly to Harry. Harry was made to sit at the table and eat the meal that they’d already finished. “Tell him, Petunia! Tell him that we will not have him starving himself to make us look bad to those freaks that threatened us. Tell him we know what he’s about and we won’t have it.” His aunt had dutifully repeated the information. The meal itself, though it was room temperature, had not been half bad. Harry had actually been quite hungry after the emotional conversation and the bout with the tree, although he would have enjoyed it much more if his aunt and uncle hadn’t loomed over him like prison guards until he’d finished every bite. He’d escaped to his room shortly after doing the dishes and had remained there the rest of the evening. Despite the fact that he thought he’d gotten off easy last night, by Dursley standards, he wasn’t at all eager to press his luck by attracting his uncle’s attention this morning. He crept as silently as possible past the lounge and headed for the kitchen. It appeared his luck had run out as far as avoiding his relatives went. When he entered the kitchen he found his aunt mercilessly scrubbing the cooker top, though how it’d offended her was a mystery to Harry. It appeared quite clean to him. He was at a loss how to proceed since he’d not yet shared the kitchen while preparing the meals he’d eaten since he’d returned from school. With some trepidation he started gathering the makings for a sandwich. His aunt, though, continued to ignore him. Maybe she was at a loss for words without her husband to feed them to her? No matter: he fixed two sandwiches for himself and carefully cleaned up the mess he’d made. Then he went out to the garden to eat his lunch and wait for Moony. His mind wandered, as it often did these days, to Ginny. He again found himself wishing he could see her. It didn’t feel quite real. On the one hand, it did feel like they were on the edge of something really big. Only, they were just letters, notes. What would happen if, when they saw each other, it was different? What if he was reading into things that she didn’t mean? What if she changed her mind? What if she took one good look at him and realized it was all a mistake? How in the world could he foil Voldemort four times and still be so insecure? That was another thing; would Ginny be in danger just for knowing him? Damn, he thought. What if Voldemort used her to get to him like he did Sirius only this time he really took her? Why didn’t I think of this? I don’t want to give her up – I’ve only just found her! And I don’t even really have her yet. Buggering bloody prophecy! Is it so selfish of me to want a life? And that’s how Moony found him, lost in dark thoughts. He startled Harry out of them by unburdening himself of the many shopping bags he carried. Harry looked at Remus and couldn’t help but grin at him. The older man was wearing Muggle clothes, a light colored pair of trousers and a midnight blue shirt. He appeared to have had his hair cut professionally. He also looked ten years younger and somehow taller. Still beaming Harry said, “Well, she said she was going to make you get some things for yourself. She didn’t say she was going to turn you into a different person.” Remus looked sheepish but pleased. “You shouldn’t talk so soon. You’ve not seen what she’s picked out for you yet have you?” Harry couldn’t believe all the bags. Remus started unloading them onto the table. There had to be at least six pairs of jeans – some blue, some black – several different styles of shirts in various colors, a couple pairs of dressier trousers with shirts to match, shorts, t-shirts, two pairs of trainers, a pair of black, thick-soled, blunt-toed shoes that he could wear at school as well as with the jeans, brown shoes to wear with the dressier items, bunches of socks, sweat pants and work out clothes. It just kept pouring out of the bags. This was all for him? He didn’t know the Galleons to pounds exchange rate but he was fairly certain that what was in his money pouch would not cover it all. He’d have to have Remus make a withdrawal for him. He said as much as he tried to give Remus the money he did have with him. Moony just waved him off. “This is a gift from me and Tonks. Call it an early birthday present since I’ll be, uh, indisposed that evening. Full moon.” Harry was stunned. Receiving gifts was still a new thing for him. He’d exchanged small gifts with his friends of course, for birthdays and Christmas and he cherished his Weasley jumpers but apart from Hedwig and his Firebolt, he’d never received a gift of this magnitude. It wasn’t even so much the obvious cost but rather that someone would care enough about him to not only pick this all out with him in mind, but to not expect anything in return. Harry was speechless. Remus saw his young charge fighting the inner battle for composure. It hurt his heart a little to think that this gift of basic items, of things that he should just be able to take owning for granted, was overwhelming to Harry. It made him wish – as many things had over the past few days – that he’d thought of it sooner. He had a lot to make up to Harry. He ventured to break the tension of Harry’s struggle by presenting him with the bag he’d saved for last. Harry opened it not knowing what to expect. Inside he found several pairs of cotton drawstring pants and another bag. “Oh, hang on, Tonks wanted me to tell you, and I quote, ‘The jeans will make your bum look dishy’. And in regard to those,” Remus gestured to the sleep pants, “‘the pants are for sleeping in because you never know who’ll visit unexpectedly.’” Harry blushed but smiled at the memory of his morning before opening the mysterious bag within the bag. In it he found a large quantity of boxer shorts. The top most pair was a simple, solid dark green and, as it turned out, a red herring. Underneath rested some of the most ridiculous underwear that Harry had ever seen. There were cartoon characters, playing cards, mermaids (the Muggle sort), the British Flag, smiley faces, hearts, frogs, fish and chili peppers. He thought he even spotted the Queen. He’d never be able to wear all of them – there were so many. He laughed out loud. Remus cleared his throat to contain his own mirth and then continued his recitation, “Hope the clothes are plain enough for you. The undies – again, her words not mine – are for the cheek and so you can’t possibly take yourself too seriously.” This set Harry off again into a fit of laughter that Remus could no longer resist. Harry was at a loss for words but somehow managed to convey his very heartfelt thanks to Remus. He continued to sort through the new clothes. As he looked he found more and more that he hadn’t noticed before. There was a black leather belt adorned with big metal studs that he found particularly interesting. He reckoned Tonks picked it out as a lark but Harry really liked it. “Moony, d’ you think you could enlarge the inside of my trunk before you leave today? I don’t want to have to leave any of this behind.” Remus readily agreed and offered, “Why don’t we do it now?” They completed the task without incident and without interference from the Dursleys who appeared not to recognize Remus and were almost, but not quite, civil to the man. When they had once again taken their customary seats in the garden, Harry broached the subject of the prophecy. Remus was surprised that Harry seemed confident of his knowledge of it and said so. Harry replied hesitantly, “Well, Sirius told me that you knew.” It took Harry a little while to convince Moony that he actually had talked to Sirius the night before. From the apprehensive look on his guardian’s face Harry could tell that Remus had talked to him too but didn’t believe or want to believe that it had been real. Harry finally had to resort to repeating part of the conversation he’d had with Sirius. He flushed lightly at using the terminology, which he’d been desperate to avoid, but he was also a little put out that Moony had left this seemingly important information out of his talk. “Look, Sirius said that you didn’t tell me about women having…er…multiple…you know,” he blurted, feeling his face flood with color. He wanted nothing more than for the Earth to open up and swallow him; he forged on though, determined to make Moony understand. An idea struck him. “Sirius called a woman’s…er…bits ‘her Heavenly Nexus’.” A look of utter shock crossed Remus’ face as it drained of color. He didn’t say a word for several moments but he seemed to be considering what Harry had just said before lifting his eyes once more. “I believe you Harry,” Relief seemed to replace the look of shock on Remus’ face, “I don’t know how it’s possible, but I believe you.” Remus didn’t have a lot to offer regarding the prophecy. He did introduce the subject of Harry’s damaged relationship with Dumbledore though. “I don’t want to talk about him.” Harry knew he was being stubborn but he was reluctant to give up his anger about the situation as a whole and about Dumbledore in particular. Remus persisted. “Harry I want you to think about it from his perspective for a moment. Also take into account your own experience. Do you suppose you would have lived the life you have up until this point if you’d had the burden of that prophecy on your shoulders at the time? Do you suppose you would have made friends with Ron and Hermione, or cared enough to go into the Chamber to save Ginny? Dumbledore needed to keep the information from you for a little while if only to let you have a life. “He did wait too long – he agrees with that as well. However, even that was done because he cares about you and wanted to protect you from it just a little bit longer. Can you forgive him for that? For caring too much?” Harry wasn’t giving in without a fight. “I needed him, more than once last year and he avoided me. He wouldn’t look me in the eye, much less speak to me. Does that sound like someone who cares? Which part says that he cares: the part that has him keeping secrets from me or the part that has him turning his back on me when I need him the most?” “I can’t make you forgive him, Harry,” Remus said softly. “You’ll have to do that on your own. I can’t very well make excuses for the man either, and I’m certain he wouldn’t want me to. I just want you to think about the situation from a different angle. You might be surprised by what you find. If you’re willing, I can arrange for Dumbledore to meet with you so you can talk it out with him directly.” Remus looked hopeful as he said this. “Fine, I’ll talk to him.” Harry acquiesced. Maybe he’d be able to get some of his answers from the old man himself. Admittedly, he was in no frame of mind to gather and process information the last time they’d had a conversation, neither before nor after he’d trashed the office. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ As he was leaving, Remus took hold of Harry’s chin and turned his face gently to the side. “I’ll be damned. She’s right.” “Er, Moony?” Harry muttered, completely baffled. “What’re you doing?” Remus just smiled fondly at him as if Harry had done something to be really proud of. “Tonks pointed it out to me that I need to teach you how to do a hair removal charm. I thought she’d exaggerated since I’ve seen you everyday but there you are.” An amused look crossed his face. “Harry my friend, you will find there are many, many fine reasons to have a woman in your life. One of which, is that they always notice the details. The little things that men never see.” He finished his inspection of Harry’s face and said, “You’ll be just like James no doubt. A full beard by seventeen and never a single hair on his chest.” Remus chuckled. Harry felt a little indignant that his potential manhood had been slighted. He had hair. Okay, so it wasn’t on his chest; it was on his belly around his navel and down but he wasn’t hairless. Remus seemed to read Harry’s mind. “Don’t be insulted Harry. I turn into a large hairy monster once a month but I can only grow a patchy beard at best.” He was rewarded with a sardonic snort from Harry. “Would you like to learn how to do it the Muggle way until you can do the charm without getting a letter from the Ministry? It’s likely you won’t have to do it every day for a while.” Harry nodded and grinned truly thankful that Moony had chosen to come back and talk with him, and to be a part of his life. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Molly Weasley sat in her old wooden rocking chair – the same chair in which she’d rocked all of her babies. She sighed deeply. The rhythmic clicking of her knitting needles worked to sooth her as nothing else ever could. Her grandmother had taught her to knit the Muggle way. She had said it was too easy to say a spell and that it wasn’t truly your work unless you used your hands to do it. Molly had to agree. The results of her efforts were so much more satisfying for the work she put into them. It was extremely gratifying to make something beautiful or something practical or something warm with her own two hands and it only added to the love that was poured into each project. Although the Christmas jumpers took months to complete, she’d turned to her knitting this July evening to calm her nerves. She had plenty to worry about with more than half of her large family deeply involved in the Order and a second war on the horizon. She’d lost two brothers to the first one and she knew a family the size of hers would be very lucky to survive intact. Though tonight’s anxiety was specifically for her babies, her two youngest. Despite her best efforts to keep them sheltered, they had somehow managed to end up in the thick of things once again. Death Eaters! I ask you! And now they were doing something that, although expected at some point, was causing their mother no small amount of heartache. When the children had gotten off the train from school, just over a week ago, she’d been forced to do something she had dreaded with each child. She’d taken one look at her youngest son, tallest of all the Weasley men, and had known that he was on the edge. It’s not a physical thing though she could see it in the way he carried himself, in the way he was so attentive to Hermione and by the care and concern he’d had in his eyes for Harry. It was something that spoke from within him. He was a man and, in that moment of realization, she had quietly watched the last of his childhood float away from him. It had been difficult with each of the children. Her beautiful first baby Bill and her charming Charlie had been the easiest in a way. The house was still full then and they seemed to need her less and less as the others seemed to need her more. Her quiet baby Percy, who’d always done everything right, had still ended up breaking her heart. She pushed those thoughts away for now. She had faith in Percy. He would redeem himself in the end. Fred and George – what a handful they’d been. They, more than any of the others, reminded her of her brothers Fabian and Gideon. They were the merry pranksters, quick of wit and sharp of mind. She’d been so worried about them – being so very clever and not doing anything useful with it. She’d been forced to let them go their own way but she was very glad for it now- and quite proud of them as well. They seemed well suited for their chosen path and were successful at it. Now, so quickly on their heels, her baby boy was taking that big step away from her. The children never knew what she was going through and the difference they felt was subtle. That didn’t make it any easier on their Mum. This evening, she’d been forced to look at her daughter with the same eye that she’d used on her youngest son at the train station and found that somehow she’d also blossomed while Molly hadn’t been looking. Ginny had already possessed the lovely feminine curves at fourteen – or very nearly fifteen – that she herself had to wait for well into her sixteenth year, but it wasn’t that. There was something centered about her; something wise, something strong and poised. A woman on the brink. Oh dear. She thought that she’d have another year at least with her baby girl. She should have known better. She should have taken into account that girls mature faster than boys. She should have realized that her baby girl had bucked against her mothering harder than any two of her boys put together. Including the twins. Ginny had always done things her own way in her own time; a pattern established by her somewhat early entrance into the world. Molly had waited so long for a girl, with no real hope of ever having one. Generations of Weasley males had backed that up, but the hope lived. Finally having a girl had had her envisioning dollies and tea parties, pink tulle and fairy tales. Her daughter had had other ideas. Climbing trees, catching frogs, and throwing garden gnomes, desperate to keep up with the boys. She’d watched silently as Ginny broke into the broom cupboard every day and finally taught herself to fly on one of her brothers’ old brooms. Her disappointment at not producing the feminine ally, the little princess of her dreams, did not diminish the immense pride she’d felt at her little girl’s accomplishment. She also should have known because she’d already been through this once before with the girl: when she’d come out of the Chamber of Secrets at the end of her harrowing first year at Hogwarts. Now Molly wondered if her daughter had somehow intuited what it had cost her mother each time one of her children crossed out of childhood. Perhaps, knowing this would be especially hard to accept in an eleven-year-old, Ginny had played out the remaining years of her childhood for her mother’s benefit. The thought filled Molly with sadness – sadness and enormous pride in the incredibly strong young woman she’d brought into the world. She’d been thrilled when Ginny had approached her, earlier this evening, with trouble of the romantic variety. The girl was always so reserved with her about boys, about everything really, so she was glad to be invited into her world. Ginny did not realize what a resource she had in her mother. Molly had successfully guided a man of her own from teen romance through genuine courtship and into a very happy and loving marriage – within which she’d successfully raised six fine men. If there was one thing she knew, it was the male of the species. She’d been confident and ready to dispense the advice that Ginny sought. Until the boy in question had turned out to be Harry Potter. There were no objections to Harry, of course. She loved Harry like one of her own. She and Arthur would have taken the boy in long ago, if Dumbledore hadn’t insisted that he must return to those horrible Muggles each year for his own protection. Of course, she did have cause to be concerned – not only about the reckless adventures that he, her son and Hermione had gotten into over the years, but also about the mysterious prophecy the Order had been guarding most of last year. The same prophecy that was at the center of the events at the Ministry last month. She was not privy to the contents, but felt fairly certain she’d worked it out- at least in part. So she was indeed concerned for the boy’s safety – for his very life, really – but it wasn’t Harry, per se, that troubled her. The thing that had forced her to see her girl with new eyes and had driven her to her knitting was just that she – Molly – wasn’t ready for them to be them yet. That it was destined to be, she’d had no doubt. It had been the only thing upon which she and Sirius Black had ever wholeheartedly agreed. Ginny had been drawn to Harry before they even knew who he was. Molly had perfect recall of the day they’d talked him through the platform for the first time. Ginny, pulling her through after Ronnie had disappeared had said, “Hurry up Mummy!” Molly had thought she was anxious to see her brothers off to school until Ginny continued, “He’s got no one Mummy, that dark haired boy. Who will say good-bye and tell him to be good? Hurry! We have to find him!” Molly never expected to find out that lovely, lonely, polite little boy had been The Harry Potter – the legendary Boy-Who-Lived. She also had never expected he would wrench her heart so thoroughly. She paused her stitches. She hadn’t let on to Ginny that she was panicked about loosening her grip on her two youngest children simultaneously. How could you let your children spread their wings and still keep them safe, when they were both younger than any of the others had been? How could she, when the root of the early childhood shedding was very likely the precarious – and downright dangerous – situations they’d managed to get into over the years? How could she, when their destinies were written all over them, like those big, flashy-lighted signs in Muggle London; destinies that clearly put them both alongside the boy at the center of a brewing war? What was a mother to do? The answer was simple: a mother would worry but a mother would do what she had to. She would let them spread their wings and just hope, against hope, that she’d given them the tools they would need to be successful. A mother would also quietly do everything in her power to keep them safe and sound. On that front, she would have to contact Dumbledore and rectify a decision that she’d made for the little girl her daughter hasn’t been for what might be several years. So she’d listened to Ginny’s dilemma attentively, over a nice pot of tea. It seemed to involve nothing more and nothing less than a misunderstanding and an overreaction. “Ginny dear, the men in our lives, for the most part, understand that we are fully capable of taking care of ourselves,” she’d calmly explained. “Knowing that though, usually won’t override their own need to take care of and to protect the women in their lives.” “But Mum, I don’t want someone protecting me and taking care of me- leaving me behind! ‘I just want to keep you safe,’ he says, like it’s his duty. The worst part was that he had the nerve to act like he didn’t know why I was angry!” An all-too-familiar pink tinge of fury had settled on her daughter’s face. Sometimes looking at Ginny was like looking into a mirror. “I’m sure it’s not an act, love. Men, as a whole, usually don’t understand subtlety. Sometimes you have to hit them over the head with something before they understand it.” She looked lovingly at her daughter. “His need to protect you is as natural as breathing air, especially for Harry. It doesn’t mean that he’s trying to stifle you or push you away. Do you think it’s possible that you might have overreacted, just a bit?” Ginny seemed to contemplate what she’d said but remained somewhat petulant. “I don’t know…maybe.” “Why don’t you sleep on it? It might all look better in the morning. Just don’t make the boy suffer for too long.” Her daughter had seemed to genuinely appreciate their chat and had gone to bed in a much-improved mood. She also went to bed without knowing what her mother knew – Harry would be at The Burrow tomorrow. There wasn’t enough wool in England to calm Molly’s nerves tonight. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Harry couldn’t sleep. He’d been tossing and turning for the last hour and a half. He’d somehow managed to bollocks things up with Ginny. He still wasn’t sure where he’d gone wrong but he’d somehow ruined it before it ever really got started. He’d sent Hedwig back eight times with a plea for Ginny to talk to him, to tell him what he’d done wrong and Hedwig had come back each time with a note that stated with cold finality – Good Night Harry He suspected that he’d only gotten that much because he’d told Hedwig to wait for a response. To make matters worse, Ginny had the parchment that they’d used to write back and forth, so he didn’t even have that to read over and see where he’d gone wrong. He read the portion he did have over and over, to see if he could spot the problem in the earlier conversation… *********** It must have been insane growing up with so many brothers. *** Too right, but it was good as well. Never a dull moment to be sure. I don’t suppose Ron ever told you – but no, I couldn’t. He would kill me. I don’t know what made me think of it anyway. ** C’mon Gin! I won’t tell him, I swear. *** As long as you promise! Okay, this happened when I was one or so, Ron was two. We happened to start talking around the same time. Mum was working hard with Ron though – for some reason he was getting things confused. Mum would sit down with him every day, point things out, name them for him and have him repeat it back. But then later on, he’d call things by completely different names. Mum and Dad were out of their minds with worry about him. The words ‘mentally deficient’ were used. ** No! What happened? *** One day Mum came back in from the garden and found the twins with little Ron, pointing at a chair and saying, “book- book- now you say it, Ronnie” just like Mum. Ron said “book”, all proud of himself, while the twins just laughed hysterically at their joke. Mum was livid. It took her months to sort him out. He called a biscuit a wand, a table was a tree, a mouse was a chicken, a flower was a door- it was endless. I shouldn’t laugh, but oh, it’s so funny, the poor little thing! I didn’t believe it the first time Bill told the story but Mum confirmed it. ** Fred and George got an early start, eh? They were what – four years old? I wish I had some funny stories to tell you. *** It’s okay Harry. There are plenty of Weasley stories to share. Bill tells brilliant stories and Ron’s great at it too. ** I never had anyone like that, who could tell me stories, but Moony’s kind of doing that for me now, isn’t he? I’ve been thinking about Sirius a lot the past few days. I always – no, never mind. Maybe I shouldn’t. Tell me another Weasley story. *** No Harry. Please finish what you were going to say. It’s okay! ** It’s just that, Sirius was kind of – wrecked – wasn’t he? I mean I knew things were hard for him but I never thought of it that way before. Now with Moony, I know things have been hard for him too, but he treats me different than Sirius did. I know Sirius wanted to take care of me and he really never let me down but I always felt – no this is too terrible. I can’t. I’m sorry. *** Harry please just finish, it’s okay! It’s not terrible. You’re not terrible. ** Fine! I always felt like I should take care of him, rather than the other way around. See? It is terrible! *********** The page ended there, with that awful statement and now, he didn’t know what he’d said to her that had hacked her off. After Ginny had reassured him, to some degree, that he was not a horrible person for feeling that way, the statement had led to a discussion of being safe and he’d said something about keeping her safe and… He had no clue. He’d never hated the restriction on underage magic more than at that moment. He had no way to contact anyone, with the exception of Hermione, who would be completely understanding and would likely be able to explain exactly what he’d done wrong- except that it was, according to his clock, half two in the bloody morning. He beat his pillow into submission once more and tried again to catch the sleep that had eluded him thus far. It was going to be a long night. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Remus sat quietly enjoying the fire, which was casting the only light in the sitting area of his room. He’d made the room as pleasant as possible and found it a refuge now that he’d decided to stay for Harry’s sake. That decision, to stay for Harry’s sake, had been his own salvation in a way. It was hard to believe that scarcely five days ago, he had been ready to run again. Today, after seeing Harry’s powerful reaction to a gift of what amounted to nothing more than basic necessities, he’d felt something change inside of him – a wall crashing down to rubble. In helping Harry, he’d helped himself. If Harry was to be believed, Sirius had actually come to visit him as he slept last night. The idea seemed to be madness but Harry had been certain his experience was real and the logic was persuasive. After all, Harry had used a term that he’d only ever heard Sirius use, one Remus hadn’t heard used in nearly twenty years: Heavenly Nexus - Sirius’ colorful term for a woman’s center; that which connected Heaven and Earth, in his words. Then, when the boy spoke of the details he’d learned from Sirius there had been no room for any further doubt. Remus chuckled remembering his own ‘talk’ at age fifteen. The wisdom Sirius had imparted on him that day had been fascinating and often terrifying. If Harry’s crimson face was any indication, he’d been treated to the same rather thorough explanation – and amazingly from the very same source. Remus had thought to spare Harry some of those terrifying details, recalling the pressure as a novice – not knowing where in the world to begin, much less how to deliver anything in multiples! Remus had found some comfort in his own dream of Padfoot, but finally accepting the idea that it had not been just a dream had caused another wall to crumble. He heard a door closing softly and then the muffled sound of somebody tripping and catching herself. Dora was back from her shift. He didn’t know when Tonks had become Dora in his mind. More importantly, he couldn’t believe what he was contemplating: crossing the line with her. Could a woman so vibrantly alive truly see something worthwhile in a tired old werewolf? She knocked softly but did not wait for an answer. When she entered and closed the door behind her, Remus could see that she was still wearing the silly outfit of this morning: military boots, plaid legs, black vest and bright green t-shirt revealing a delectable well-muscled midriff and a tantalizing piece of jewelry in her navel. Merlin she’s so alive the air fairly crackles around her. He glanced down at his own attire. She had chosen the Muggle clothes for him. Though he knew they were much more conservative than she would ever wear herself, she’d said they suited him. She was right and they were comfortable too. He’d lived among Muggles in his travels and was actually more comfortable wearing trousers than the standard wizard robes. She stopped half a room away by the chair across from him, her hand gently resting on the top of its winged back. By way of greeting she said, “Did he like everything, then?” “You should have seen him, Dora,” he sighed, unconsciously using the name he’d assigned her image. “He found the underwear particularly hilarious. We did a great thing for him; the gratitude was immeasurable. It made me want to throttle those sodding Dursleys, though.” She made a non-committal sound. It was clear she was glad Harry liked everything, but she hadn’t come here to talk about the boy – Remus knew it. He and Dora had spent the morning together shopping and talking – two things he’d never before enjoyed. It had felt like a date and it had been glorious to be in her company. Something had shifted between them and she was waiting now, for a sign from him. He could see her visibly restraining herself. He stood and said, “Tonks, listen I don’t know what I can… what I have to… bugger! What if you want babies? I don’t know if I could do that to a child, make them a werewolf.” “Babies?” Her dawning look of disappointment rapidly changed to one of amused confusion. “That’s what you’re worried about? Remus, I don’t even know if I want babies. My own gene pool is not exactly a happy place to swim, is it? I could end up making another Draco Malfoy. Right creepy, he is.” She shuddered at the thought. “Besides, you don’t know that your condition would be passed down, do you? Don’t worry about that now. Babies! Honestly!” She gazed at him intently, considering for a moment then left her post by the chair, moving toward him in a predatory manner, her hips swaying alluringly. His blood heated and surged at the sight. She’d awakened the wolf in him some time ago but he’d managed to keep it in check. Now it recognized the hungry look in her eyes and he was loath to stop it. She stumbled when she was nearly to him and he had to wonder if she’d done it on purpose because suddenly she was in his arms and he was lost in her violet eyes. He captured her mouth in a searing kiss. Not the tentative, first kiss of new lovers but a demanding, hungry, consuming kiss of experience and need, held in restraint for far too long – tongues battling and exploring, hands roaming freely. She made a noise at the back of her throat that sent delicious vibrations through him. What was that? Appreciation? Relief? He couldn’t think anymore, the only thing that mattered was that she continued to make those erotic little noises that were driving him mad. She used his shoulders for leverage and wrapped her legs around his waist. He held her easily, and with surprising strength he carried her to the bed. She broke the kiss when he gently set her down and said in a breathless voice, “Say my name again.” “Tonks,” he responded. “No, the other one you said.” “Dora?” She nodded and shivered in excitement. “Say it again.” “Dora,” he murmured, low and gruff. She launched herself at him, devouring his mouth, pulling off clothing – his and her own – at one point using her wand to impatiently vanish her boots. He looked reverently at her beautiful body and made to worship it as it deserved but she stopped him, desperate with desire, “Remus, no I need you. Now. There’s time for that later.” She grinned wickedly and he gladly complied. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ A/N ~ Re: underwear – For some reason Harry’s underwear was a prevailing theme in this chapter. Once that was established I couldn’t resist borrowing the tacky undies from madam en’s wonderful WIP “Calm Before the Storm” found on The Sugar Quill. They fit too perfectly to pass up. Thank you madam en, for allowing me to use them! Re: underwear part deux – The chapter title refers to a popular childish taunt-- I see London, I see France, I see Harry’s underpants. In the US, of course, France and pants sound enough alike to get by with. While in the UK this does not hold true; they do have their own version—Made you look, made you stare, made you show your underwear. I went with the US version because that is what I am familiar with. Re: Casey – because it’s his favorite chapter and he likes to see his name in Author’s Notes. Don’t panic! There was some tweakage but I do believe it emerged unscathed and actually, all the better for it. To Musings, the most awesome-est beta ever! – I know we’ve still got a couple of chapters to go but I wanted to say that it has truly been a pleasure working with you on this. One painful paragraph, in a rather tough chapter, became a true collaborative effort and I appreciated your prodding and poking. It drew things out of me when I thought there was nothing left. Thank you!
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