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Author: CJS Story: Harry Potter and the Ghosts of the Past Rating: Teens Status: WIP Reviews: 4 Words: 39,145
It took a while to repair the damage to the drawing room; it was early evening by the time the tired but jubilant trio returned to the Burrow. The sheer number and variety of spells that they had employed had left Harry feeling both emotionally and physically drained. Not eager to face Mrs Weasley’s accusatory stares, or the questioning glances from both Mr Weasley and Lupin, Harry elected for an early night. He was so tired that he fell asleep almost as soon as his head had hit the pillow. It seemed barely seconds later that he was woken up by a blast of sunlight as the curtains in Ron’s room were pulled back. “Wake up, Harry. You really need to see this.” Hermione’s voice, thought Harry irritably. Squinting furiously as he groped for his glasses, Harry made a mental note to ask someone if there was a spell for tinting windows. Finally managing to bring the world into focus, he glared at Hermione, who was perched on the end of Ron’s bed, a large envelope in her hand. “Don’t you ever knock, Hermione?” He scowled. Hermione smiled apologetically. “Sorry, Harry.” She nodded towards Ron, who was still fast asleep. “Ginny assures me that Ron could sleep through a giant attack, so I didn’t think it was necessary.” “Well, you should still knock,” Harry grumbled. “I mean, what would you have done if I’d been standing here naked?” To Harry’s surprise, Hermione didn’t blush or turn away, but merely arched an eyebrow. “Sent Ginny up?” she suggested. Grinning at Harry’s shocked expression, she leaned over and held out the envelope. “Hedwig just arrived with this. I’m not really sure what to make of it.” Harry took the envelope and looked at it curiously; it was immediately clear why Hermione was puzzled. His name and the Burrow’s address were written in the thin, loopy style that Harry recognised as Dumbledore’s, but scrawled on the back, in a different hand, was a short message: Dumbledore wanted you to have this. The writing was Aunt Petunia’s. Not for the first time, Harry marvelled at how Hedwig was able to anticipate when she was needed. Carefully, he opened the envelope and extracted an old, dog-eared Muggle photograph. It showed a small cluster of cottages nestled in a picturesque valley. Grassy, rock-strewn slopes towered above the houses, and a narrow road wound through the middle of the village. A church and a small graveyard were just visible at the very back of the picture. Harry turned the photo over, and his heart suddenly started hammering in his chest as he read the faded writing on the back: Godric’s Hollow, Snowdonia, Wales. His throat went dry as the significance of what he was seeing hit him. This was where it had all begun; this was where his parents had gone to hide from Voldemort, to try and protect their son. Or perhaps they had always intended to live there. As he found himself doing increasingly often these days, Harry wondered what his life would have been like if Voldemort had never heard the prophecy. He could imagine exploring these hills, perhaps with his dad or a pet Krup for company. Flying would have been fun as well, he mused. The rocky outcrops scattered across the hills would provide plenty of obstacles, perfect for a Seeker to hone his flying skills. As Harry continued to study the picture, he felt an anger growing inside him. Here was yet another example of a possible life that had been denied him. “Harry, are you okay?” Hermione asked in a concerned voice. Harry realised that his hands were shaking furiously. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “Sorry, Hermione,” he said. “It’s just, when I see things like this, when I think what could have been....” He looked up at his friend with a determined expression. “If I ever lose heart, if I ever need motivation to carry on, just show me this picture again.” For once Hermione didn’t say anything, but merely nodded in understanding. _______________ With a definitive destination on which to focus their efforts, the last few weeks of the holidays passed in a blur as Harry, Ron, and Hermione concentrated on preparing for their search for the remaining Horcruxes. Whilst Hermione persisted in looking for information on Horcruxes, as well as researching new spells that might come in handy, Ron and Harry had concentrated on the more practical details. After a couple of false starts, Harry succeeded in transfiguring their school trunks into large, Muggle-style hiking rucksacks, whilst Ron managed to retrieve the magical tent that they had used during the Quidditch World Cup. Accompanied by Lupin, he had also made a number of trips to wizard camping supply shops, purchasing items that both Harry and Hermione suggested. Hermione and Mrs Weasley were both nervous about Ron and Lupin going out alone, but since Dumbledore’s death there had been surprisingly little Death Eater activity. Harry privately suspected that Voldemort wanted to allow some time for the reality of Dumbledore’s death to sink in before resuming his reign of terror. Harry hadn’t realised quite how much work there was to be done, and he was grateful for the assistance that Lupin provided. True to Mr Weasley’s word, the members of the Order hadn’t tried to intervene, but then they hadn’t provided any help either. All the same, Harry couldn’t help wondering whether the werewolf was simply helping in order to keep an eye on him, and as they worked together one afternoon preparing a list of spells for Neville and the rest of the DA—Harry couldn’t get used to thinking of them as being the HA—he decided that he couldn’t keep his suspicions to himself anymore. “Remus?” Lupin looked over the top of the book that he was perusing. “Yes, Harry?” “Why are you helping us?” Lupin’s brow furrowed in puzzlement for a moment before he put the book down on the arm of his chair. “You mean, ‘Why is nobody else helping you?’” he asked sagely. Harry nodded as Lupin settled back in his chair, a thoughtful look on his face. “Well, unfortunately most of the Order think as Molly does, that regardless of what you, Ron, and Hermione have achieved, you are still kids and have no place in this war.” He smiled wryly as Harry snorted in disgust. “Dumbledore’s death rattled them,” he continued sadly. “Even his political opponents accepted that he was the greatest threat to Voldemort. If Dumbledore couldn’t defeat Voldemort, then what can three seventeen-year-old wizards do? And those that do accept that you will have to face him want to leave it as long as possible, to give you as much time as possible to prepare.” “But you don’t agree with either of those views,” Harry pressed. “No, I don’t,” Lupin agreed quietly. “I may have been your teacher for less than a year, but that was still enough to show me both how well the three of you work as a team and just how much potential power you yourself have. I couldn’t produce a corporeal Patronus in the face of one Dementor, yet you managed it surrounded by a horde of them.” Harry could feel himself glowing with embarrassment at Lupin’s praise. “Yeah, well,” he muttered, “I didn’t exactly have a lot of options at the time. If it had been a year later, I’d have just summoned my broomstick and legged it.” Lupin smiled. “That reminds me, Harry,” he said, leaning forwards in his chair. “Have you given much thought as to how you are going to be moving around when you’re doing this task that Dumbledore set you?” “Well, we can all Apparate legally now,” Harry pointed out. “Yes, that’s true,” Lupin replied. “But there are such things as anti-Apparition Charms.” He nodded as realisation rolled across Harry’s face. “And I wouldn’t recommend Portkeys either. Apart from the fact that the creation of them is strictly regulated, they are relatively easy to trace.” Harry slumped back in his chair thinking furiously. If Apparition wasn’t possible, then the only other option was broomsticks. Harry and Ron were both pretty good fliers, but unfortunately Hermione, in addition to not being a confident flier, also didn’t own a broom. Harry groaned as the only realistic option presented itself to him. “Lupin, can broomsticks carry passengers?” _______________ It was as a result of this conversation that just days before the end of the holidays, Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Ginny were all to be found in the orchard. In late August the orchard was usually either peacefully quiet or full of the boisterous sounds of a Quidditch game. On this particular day, however, it was playing host to a different sort of confrontation. “Bloody hell, Hermione,” Ron scowled, rubbing his neck furiously. “When I said hold on, I didn’t mean strangle me.” “Well, you needn’t think I’m putting my hands anywhere else,” Hermione replied tartly. She cast a furious glance at Harry and Ginny who had collapsed against each other in laughter. “You could give me some support, Harry,” she snapped. “This was your idea.” Sitting up, Harry forced his face into a ‘Who, me?’ expression. “I said I thought we should see if Ron’s broomstick could carry a passenger,” he replied, radiating innocence. “I never said you should throttle him if he goes too fast for you.” Unable to maintain a straight face, Harry dissolved into laughter again. Despite the confrontational stance that Ron and Hermione had both adopted, Harry knew it wouldn’t last. Since they had started going out, their arguments had taken on a very predictable pattern. They still rowed just as regularly and vociferously as ever, but without exception, they always ended up making things up in a thoroughly non-verbal manner. It had got to the point where Harry wondered if bringing them together had been the right thing to do. Still, he and Ginny hadn’t exactly been inactive in the snogging department themselves. Apparently copying her mum’s stance, Ginny had made no mention of Harry’s impending departure and had carried on as if their break-up had never happened. While he had felt rather guilty about it, Harry had taken full advantage. He enjoyed being with Ginny, whatever they were doing, but part of him, the bit he thought of as his Inner Hermione, had pointed out that the future was still uncertain and he should make the most of their time together. Still, he knew that there were things he wanted to say, things that he had to say to her before he left, and as Hermione and Ron’s voices died away, to be replaced by a sound like a blocked sink being cleared, he made his decision. He turned to look at Ginny. “Shall we leave these two to it?” he suggested. Ginny nodded. “Yeah, we’d better. If I have to keep watching that I’m going to throw up. I mean, I thought Bill and Phlegm were bad....” Returning her grin, Harry took her hand, and they started walking off towards the house. The protective spells still in place around the Burrow meant that they were limited in where they could go, so they headed towards the small pond that lay off to one side of the garden. Harry sat down by the faded Age Line that Mr Weasley had placed around it years before. Ginny sat down next to him, leaning her shoulder against his and gazing blankly off into the distance. “You’re leaving soon,” she said quietly after a moment. It wasn’t a question, and Harry nodded slowly. Ginny clasped her hands nervously in her lap. “Do you... do you think you can beat him?” She asked the question hesitantly, almost as if she didn’t want to know the answer. Harry felt his stomach sink. He had never been able to lie to Ginny, and now she had asked the one question that he didn’t want to answer. “I really don’t know, Ginny,” he replied eventually. “I mean, everyone says that Dumbledore was the only one he was ever really afraid of, and I’m nowhere near as powerful as he was.” “So then why are you so determined to face him alone?” Ginny responded, turning her head to look at him. “You tried to cut me off, and Hermione told me that you’re only taking her and Ron along because if you don’t they’ll follow you anyway. You’re stronger when you’re with your friends, Harry, when you’re with me. Surely you’ve realised that by now?” Harry stared out over the pond for a moment, steeling himself for what he knew he had to say next. “It’s not a case of wanting to face him alone,” he replied heavily. He turned to look at her. “Have Ron or Hermione ever said anything to you about the prophecy, the one Lucius Malfoy was after?” Ginny shook her head. “I heard it not long afterwards; Dumbledore had a copy.” Harry took a deep breath. “It was made before I was born. It said that a wizard child, born at the end of July, would be marked by Voldemort as his equal, and only that child would have the power to destroy him.” It took a moment for Ginny to understand what he had just said, and then her face morphed into a mixture of shock and disbelief. “Oh, my god,” she whispered. She tentatively reached out and traced Harry’s scar with her hand. “And he did, didn’t he? He marked you.” Harry nodded. “There’s more, though,” he said, swallowing nervously. “I can’t remember the exact wording, but the last line said that either I have to kill him, or he has to kill me because... because neither of us can live while the other survives.” Ginny looked at him quizzically, and then her face dropped, and her eyes took on a fearful look. “No,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “Please, Harry. Please tell me that it doesn’t mean what I think it means.” Harry gently placed his hands on hers and forced himself to look into her eyes. “I don’t know what it means,” he said softly, “but after I heard it, I....” He paused, trying to fight down the lump in his throat. “Go on, Harry.” Ginny squeezed his hand encouragingly. “I want to hear it all. No matter how bad it might be.” “Sorry,” Harry apologized. “It’s just that I’ve never even said this to Ron or Hermione.” He smiled weakly. “Once I’d had time to calm down and think about it, to try and work out what it really meant, I figured that maybe I would have to sacrifice myself to kill him. And it didn’t bother me nearly as much as I thought it should. Oh, I don’t mean that I wanted to die,” he added, seeing the look of horror on Ginny’s face. “It just didn’t seem like I had a lot to live for; my parents were dead, Sirius was gone; it seemed to me that everyone I cared for was either dead or in danger. I decided that if I did have to go down, it was worth it if I could take Voldemort with me.” “And how do you feel now?” Ginny asked after a long pause. There was a fearful, uncertain tone in her voice. “I love you, Ginny,” he responded simply, watching her eyes widen in surprise. “I’ve never said it before, but I should have, and it’s important to me that you know that.” He held up his hand as she opened her mouth to respond. “Do you remember our walk around the lake, after the Quidditch match?” he asked. He grinned as Ginny blushed furiously, and he knew he probably was as well. They’d made up for a lot of lost time during that first encounter. “Dumbledore used to tell me that love is one of the most powerful forces there is,” he continued, “but I never really understood what he meant. But that afternoon, and the ones that followed it, were when I began to realise. Being ‘The Chosen One’ isn’t enough for me anymore, Ginny. I want to be more than just ‘The Boy Who Lived.’ I want to be the boy who lived and grew up and got married and had a load of kids and did all the other things that normal guys get to do. And I’m damned if I’m going to let Voldemort take that away from me without a fight. And even if things don’t work out between us in the long run, you’re the one who made me realise that, and it’s important to me that you know that.” Ginny had been looking at her hands as he spoke, but now she looked back at him, and Harry involuntarily leant backwards when he saw the look on her face. Her eyes were soft and shiny with tears, but her face wore the ugly expression that Harry had come to associate with her infamous Bat-Bogey Hex. “You were doing so well until that last bit,” she said angrily. “Why, Harry? Why do you keep thinking that things won’t work out for us?” Unsure what she meant, Harry didn’t respond. His confusion must have been evident as Ginny gave a despairing sigh. “At Dumbledore’s funeral, you said that being with me was like being somebody else. Do you know how much that hurt me, Harry? Because to me you were saying that you didn’t think you deserved me, that you didn’t have the right to be happy.” “Ginny, I—” “Shut up,” Ginny ordered, poking Harry in the chest. “You want to know how things are going to work out between us, Harry? Because I can tell you that right now.” The anger had left her face and had been replaced by the fierce, burning look that she had worn before they first kissed. “When you finally beat Voldemort, and when you come back to me afterwards, we’re going to get married, and we’re going to build a little house in the orchard, and we’re going to have enough kids to start our own Quidditch team. That’s what you’ve got to look forward to, Harry, so don’t you dare let Voldemort take that away from us.” Still absorbing her words, Harry was only half aware that Ginny had finished speaking and had thrown her arms around him in a fierce hug. The rational part of him felt that she had only said what she had to boost his determination, but the creature inside his chest had heard sincerity in her voice and was full of elation, and he knew that he had finally found all the motivation he needed to keep him going. He had been forced to leave Ginny once, and now he was going to be forced to do it again, but as he wrapped his arms around her, reciprocating her hug, he made a silent promise to himself; no matter how long it took, no matter how hard he had to fight, he was not going to let Voldemort keep them apart forever.
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