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Author: Musings Story: The New Professor Rating: Teens Setting: AU Status: WIP Reviews: 4 Words: 160,238
I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord; He that believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live; And whosoever liveth and believeth in Me shall never die. Ginny stood motionless as the vicar droned the opening words for Sammie's funeral. The coffin lay within a few feet of her, its shining cherrywood surface now covered with a deep purple pall as prescribed by the Church of England. The sound of weeping surrounded her, yet she remained stoic – Sammie's mother needed her to be strong. Sammie's murder had struck hard at the heart of the Bales family, all of whom were relieved to have seen Ginny on their doorstep a week ago. The sadness that had permeated the Bales home in the days preceding the funeral was smothering in its weight. Neighbors had streamed in and out of the house, bringing covered dish after covered dish until the icebox was overflowing. The sheer number of sympathy cards that had arrived by owl and Muggle post had been overwhelming, and Ginny had gladly offered to assist Mrs. Bales and her only remaining daughter, Crista, in sorting them for personal replies once the funeral had passed. Ginny had also been able to help Mrs. Bales when the MLES officers – led by her brother Ron – had arrived with additional questions. When the officers had finished with the family, Ron had pulled Ginny aside for a private word. It was the only time she had allowed herself to drop her guard, to stand supported in her brother's embrace. "Gin, I'm so sorry," Ron said, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I'm so glad you're here, Ron," Ginny said, muffled against his broad chest. "It's been horrible. Simply horrible." "Well, we're making a little headway, but it's been near impossible given the lack of evidence," he said, holding her at arm's length, his expression more serious than she'd ever seen him before. "But we'll find whoever is doing this, Gin. I promise." She nodded. "How is Hermione?" He smiled for the first time that day. "She's fine, although she keeps muttering something about looking like a Hildieburg or something like that." Ginny snorted, shaking her head. "She means the Hindenburg, Ron – a giant airship from the early part of the 20th Century. You really should have taken Muggle Studies." He winked. "I know it's the Hindenburg, Gin – I just wanted to see you smile. Anyhow, little Matty can't wait to meet his new brother or sister and the mediwitch said we've only a few more days to wait – perhaps All Saints' Day." "That's wonderful news, Ron," Ginny said, feeling a spark of happiness for the first time in days. Then, after a pause, she plunged ahead. "I've a little news of my own." "Really?" Ron said, arching a brow. "Tell me – something to do with Christopher, perhaps?" She blinked. "Um…no, actually. With Harry." She could feel Ron starting to close himself off and placed her hand on his forearm. "Ron, you encouraged me to talk to him about Sammie, remember?" There was an uncomfortable silence until Ron nodded sharply. "Yes, I did, didn't I?" Ginny nodded. "I have to thank you for that, Ron. We shared a long talk the night I received your letter." She paused, making certain that she had his full attention. "He told me what happened nine years ago." Ron's face paled. "You mean he told you why he left?" "Well, not in so many words, but he told me what happened the night before the Battle of Hogsmeade," she said, choosing her words carefully – he didn't need to know about what had happened between her and Harry the night on the Astronomy Tower. "He wasn't the same after that night, Ron, you said it yourself. Anyway, he told me what happened and asked that I tell you that he intends on speaking with you about it soon." "How –" Ron said, his voice rough, "—how are you feeling about all of this, Gin? Are you ready to forgive him the last nine years?" She thought about Harry's fumbling attempts to scrub away the curse that had been flung from his hands the night on the tower; thought of how she'd wanted – no, needed—to be close to him again after Charlie's death and how he'd held himself at arm's length, distant and troubled. She remembered their final argument at Burrow, the desperation in his eyes. If she had known then what she knew now, would her decision have been different? "I'm not saying I am, Ron" she said frowning pensively. "I'm still a bit confused and I know we still need to talk about it further, but it was a good first step. A much-needed first step. Just promise me that when you hear from him you'll listen this time." Ron was silent for several moments, pacing back and forth, his hands clasped behind his back. "Both Dad and Sirius said they thought he was trying to come home." He turned to face her, concern clearly etched on his face. "But I'll do as you ask and listen, Gin. I know it's what ‘Mione wants, what Mum and Dad want. And it's what I want as well." Into Thy hands, O merciful Savior, we commend Thy servant Samantha. Ginny's thoughts snapped back to the present: the service would be ending soon. Acknowledge, we humbly beseech Thee, a sheep of Thine own fold, a lamb of Thine own flock, a sinner of Thine own redeeming. Receive her into the arms of Thy mercy, into the blessed rest of everlasting peace, and into the glorious company of the saints in light. Amen. As the final hymn rang through the church, Ginny tucked an arm through Mrs. Bales' arm and gripped Crista's hand, turning to follow the coffin out of the building to the churchyard where Sammie would be laid to rest. Glancing up, Ginny felt a jolt of surprise as she saw Christopher standing towards the back of the church. The sadness of the day only intensified as she felt a sudden disappointment and realized she was wishing he'd been someone else. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Christopher fidgeted as he stood next to the fireplace in the Bales' parlour, watching as people gathered in twos and threes, their muted conversations creating a blanket of tense civility enough to make anyone nervous, let alone a man virtually unknown to the crowd gathered there, save for one person. That person was sitting next to Samantha's mother, her body language clearly reading ‘stay away'. He'd given little thought to his decision to see Ginny at the funeral. All thought had focused upon the letter she'd sent him. He wasn't naïve: he knew what usually happened when the words "we need to talk about us" were spoken within the context of a relationship. He was not prepared to go down without a fight, which was what had driven him to ask his uncle for a few days off so he could attend to the problem. He hadn't counted upon being as big as intrusion on this day as he managed to be. He'd been struck by how pale and thin she'd appeared to be at the church, although after the week she must have had he shouldn't have been surprised. The severe cut of her black robes and gown accented the whiteness of her skin and the autumnal tones in her hair. The shadows under her eyes were noticeable, even though he was certain she had used glamours to make them less conspicuous. She just doesn't take care of herself the way she should .The way I could. He shook his head. Focusing on her frail appearance was causing him to forget about why he was here: re-establishing himself in her affections. He thought about the article about Potter that had run in the Daily Prophet at the beginning of the week. The writer had gone on and on about his rescue of a student using, if the rumors were true, wandless magic. The photograph that had run alongside the article had done nothing to ease Christopher's mind. Clearly taken early in September, it had showed a laughing Harry Potter amidst several of his flight students. Hands on his hips with robes flapping in the breeze, he'd looked larger than life or, at the very least, much more robust than the last time Christopher had seen him – the night of the fight. He'd looked every bit the conquering hero who had defeated Voldemort nine years before, and the image had turned his heart cold. Someone like that was certain to turn heads, and apparently Ginny was no exception. The crowd began to thin as the afternoon stretched into the evening. As the vicar made his goodbyes to Mrs. Bales, Christopher noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye: Ginny was rising from the sofa and heading towards the kitchen. He caught his breath as their eyes met, only to feel the beginnings of fear when she looked away uncomfortably. He couldn't take this any more. He had to do something. Now. He set his cup of tea down on the mantle and followed her into the small room. "Ginny," he said to her back, "I had to come." He watched as she jumped in alarm, spinning to stare into his eyes. The circles were darker than they had appeared in the parlour. "Are you all right?" he asked, even more concerned than he had been. "I'm fine, Christopher. As fine as can be expected after the week I've had," Ginny said wearily, pressing a hand to her temple. She closed her eyes for a moment. "I am very sorry for your loss, Ginny," he said, taking a step towards her to reach for her free hand. She moved it quickly to toy with the collar of her gown and he felt a chill of dread. "I gather you received my letter," she said, her eyes remaining focused somewhere around the vicinity of his cravat, and his dread increased. "Yes, I did, and you must have expected me to have some questions about it," he said, glancing over her shoulder towards the remaining group of mourners gathered in the parlour. "I realize the timing is dreadful, but we need to discuss this. Is there somewhere we can speak privately?" She was silent for several moments, then nodded. "I need to let Mrs. Bales know so she won't worry. Come with me." She turned and led the way towards a small room next to the kitchen. "Wait for me here – I won't be long." With a flick of her wand she lit the fire in the hearth of what appeared to be a small study and left the room. Christopher looked at the books lining the walls and the computer sitting on the desk by the window. He noticed that many of the titles were Muggle books, confirming his suspicions that the Baleses were a Muggle family. He was flipping through an atlas when the door opened and Ginny walked in, carrying a small tea tray. He jumped to his feet to take the tray and set it on the desk. She sank into the chair at the desk with a sigh filled with sadness and poured two cups of tea, silently offering one of them to him. "I'd hoped to speak with you about this after I'd returned to Hogwarts for Halloween, Christopher," she said, looking into his eyes for one of the first times that afternoon. He flinched at the chill he saw in her eyes and felt a surge of anger. "I'm not stupid, Ginny – I know what ‘we need to talk about us' means. And as I said, I do realize this is an awful time to do it, but must we wait for another week or so before we address this?" "I'm very, very tired, Chris," she said, cradling her head in her hands, the tips of her fingers massaging her scalp through her hair. "But I love you, Ginny, and I want to be there for you," he said mortified by the desperation he heard in his own voice. She raised her head to look at him, and the pity he saw in them caused him to forge ahead. "Ginny, my uncle and I made some decisions about the business. I'd wanted to surprise you with this the night of the dance, but we're going to open a small shop in Hogsmeade in the spring." His voice broke off as he reached over to clasp one of her hands in his. "I wanted to propose to you on Halloween, Gin. I want to share my life with you. Please… marry me." He watched as tears filled her eyes, tears of despair, not of joy as he had hoped to see when he proposed. Her free hand came up to swipe at her cheeks. She tugged her other hand out of his grasp. "Chris, I'm sorry," she said, a sob finally escaping her throat. "I can't accept, not now." She covered her face, her shoulders shaking as she wept. "Why, Ginny?" he said hoarsely, his own throat feeling constricted, the blood roaring in his ears. No, he wasn't naïve, but to have his deepest fears confirmed was even more staggering than he'd imagined. "We love one another, I know we do! Why would you want to throw that away?" "I need time, dammit!" she shouted, her eyes flashing through their tears. "I've just lost one of my best friends, Christopher! On top of that, I'm working on resolving –" He narrowed his eyes. "Resolving what? Is it Potter? What has he done, Ginny?" Have you lost your mind, Ollivander? This isn't the way to get back into her good graces! The tiny voice of reason screamed in his brain in alarm, yet he found himself stumbling down a path towards failure—the thought of her with Potter was infuriating and heartbreaking, all at the same time. "He hasn't done anything," she said. He noticed that her hands were clenched into the folds of her skirt. "If you must know, he's been a perfect gentleman. But we've begun to talk about what happened between us, why he left, and it's made me…" She stopped, her eyes cast towards the ceiling as though she were searching for something. "It's made me think about my own actions back then." "You were completely justified for ending things with him, Ginny," Christopher shouted angrily. "But I MAY NOT HAVE BEEN!" Ginny cried. Her words fell like blows, turning his blood to ice. He rose from his seat, moving to stand next to the mantle, turning his back to her. He stared blindly as his eyes filled with tears, his plans for the future slowly crumbling to dust in front of him. His hands gripped the marble mantle. "Since the night I learned of Sammie's murder, everything has changed," she said from behind him, her voice sounding as though it were coming from far away. "Everything that I had built my anger and resentment upon was shattered." He felt her hand softly touch him between his shoulder blades; a touch that he would have given anything to have felt from her on any other day than this day. He turned to see her standing close behind him, her brown eyes searching his, filled with anguish. "Don't you see? It's not fair to you to pretend that things haven't changed between Harry and me, because they have." "Gin, please don't do this," Christopher said, his voice thick with despair, gathering her against his chest. "I'll wait for you, I will!" "Please Christopher, don't. Let me go!" He felt her twisting to free herself from his embrace, and clung tighter. "I don't know how long it will take me and you've been too good to me for me to string you along." He shook his head, again tightening his arms around her. "Ginny, please just listen to me. You're my life – I can't imagine living it without you. I'll be good to you, please, just give me a chance…" She shoved hard enough to make him stumble backwards, catching himself against the mantle. She stared at him, her eyes glistening with tears. "Please, Christopher, just leave." He stared at her, barely even aware of the throbbing in his shoulder from the impact against the mantel. The pain in his heart was too strong. "Ginny," he said, openly pleading. "Ginny, please..." "Just LEAVE!" she shouted, her voice breaking. He stood stock still for several moments, her rejection crushing the air from his lungs. As he turned to leave, the door to the room burst open, Mrs. Bales standing in the threshold. "You heard her, as did the rest of us," she said, holding out Christopher's cloak. "Leave my house." Shaken, Christopher reached for the garment. "I'm very sorry for your loss –" "Just go," she said. Defeated, he nodded and, with a final look at Ginny, donned his cloak and moved silently towards the front door. He was amazed to realize his body could still function, though his heart felt like it had been ripped from his chest. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Tom polished a glass and glanced at the clock over the fireplace. It was close to midnight. Business at the Leaky Cauldron had been unusually slow that night, with only three customers for dinner. He was thankful the stew they'd made would be just as good the following day, since they'd made gallons of the stuff. He glanced at the two customers at the bar and shook his head. Young Christopher Ollivander was sitting towards the end of the bar putting away quite a bit of Firewhisky, and had been for several hours. Tom had managed to get him to eat a little something midway through his binge, but was certain that young man would wake up with quite the head the next morning. "Another, Tom," Christopher slurred, slamming his glass upside down onto the counter. "Now, young Ollivander," Tom said, "I'm not so certain you need anymore." "I'll have another, Tom," Christopher said again, sending the glass sliding down the bar in Tom's direction with enough force to do some damage. "It's not every day that a man gets tossed over for another." Tom winced – so that's what happened. He frowned as he tried to remember who it was that Ollivander had been tied up with as he reached for the bottle of Ogden's and poured another shot. Ah, yes – Miss Ginny Weasley. He'd remembered seeing the two of them in the pub for lunch on several occasions, always thinking they made a handsome pair. He'd never known Christopher to be a drinking man. Ordinarily, he would come in for lunch and have a pint of ale or some cider at most. He shook his head and walked over to where Christopher was seated, setting the glass down in front of him. A wave of concern washing over him as he noted Christopher's eyes - though bleary from drink, the heartbreak was there for the entire world to see. "There now, lad," Tom said, placing a hand on Christopher's broad shoulder. "One more, and then I'm cutting you off." "I wanted to marry her, Tom," Christopher said, fuzzily. "I wanted to make a life for the two of us, to have children and grow old together. I was going to move the business up Hogsmeade, so she could keep teaching if she wanted to, for Merlin's sake. But not now," he said, grabbing the glass and taking a healthy swing from it. He coughed, blinking as his eyes watered. "Not now…not after bloody Potter's come back!" "Harry Potter?" Tom said, automatically, wincing as he caught the ferocious glare on Christopher's face. "'Course it is! The Great Harry Potter," Christopher spat, draining his glass and slamming it down onto the counter. "Savior of all of wizarding kind! He's up there," he said, swinging an arm towards the door, "up at Hogwarts, teaching with her. Weaseling his way back into her life. Taking advantage of her, just like he did when they were at school, but she doesn't see it." He shook his head, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Women are contrary creatures," a voice said. Tom glanced at his other customer, seated three stools down from where he stood across from Christopher. He looked a little familiar, but Tom had unsuccessfully wracked his brain for most of the evening to try to remember his name. Christopher wiped his eyes on his sleeve and jerked his head in the direction of the voice. "Hear, hear!" Tom watched as Christopher picked up his upside down glass and raised it in a toast. "Let me buy you a drink," the man said, rising from his stool to take the one next to Christopher. Christopher slid a watery glance towards Tom. "You heard him – I'm cut off." "Tom, I'll be sure to get him home safe and sound," the man said coolly. He slid several golden Galleons across the bar. Tom's eyes widened – that would go a ways to make up for the lack of business that evening. He glanced back at the man and, with a frown, pushed back all but one of the Galleons. "I'll give him one more, but that's the limit," Tom said with some reluctance. He turned to pour half a glass of whiskey, topping it off with some water. He turned to face his customers, slid the glass in front of Christopher, and topped off his other customer's glass. "We bachelors had a good run on the lasses while Potter was out of the picture," the man said, sipping his glass of whiskey as Christopher tossed his down. "Now he's back, he's bound to turn their heads." "Ginny's different," Christopher said, slurring. "At least I thought she was different." He turned to face Tom, his eyes bloodshot from drink and tears. "She's so beautiful. Every time she would come into the shop, I'd have to stop and catch my breath, she was so beautiful. And she chose me," he said, thumping a hand to his chest. "The Minister of Magic's daughter chose me!" He leaned in close, and Tom had to force himself not to wince as the smell of Firewhisky tainted the air. "She was so tiny standing next to me, so delicate. I just wanted to take care of her forever. I was so sure that she'd marry me that I told her to store some of her things with me while she was at the school. Now, I've got all of these reminders…" His head fell against the bar as he began to weep. Tom decided there would be no more Firewhisky for Christopher tonight. "OK, lad, let's get you a nice cuppa," he said, taking his wand from his apron and whisking away the barware. "I'm sorry," Christopher said, "I didn't mean to get so carried away. Please forgive me, Tom." Tom shook Christopher's outstretched hand with a smile and watched as he extended his hand towards the other customer. "Thank you for the drink, Mr…" "Flint. Marcus Flint." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Harry frowned as he looked at charts from his 5th year Astronomy class. He'd asked them to chart the stars along the autumn ecliptic and was concerned by the results he'd received. He'd heard quite a bit of grumbling when he'd given the assignment the week before. However, a veiled comment about its inclusion on their O.W.L.s had brought the grumbling to a screeching halt. Now, as he looked at their charts, he had to wonder if he was missing something. If they think they'll be able to pass their O.W.L.s with charts like these, they'd better think again. He was missing something. Or someone. Ginny had been gone for close to two weeks and he'd thought of her at least twenty times each day. He'd thought about writing her a note to see how she was doing, but he'd had a pretty good idea how she was. She'd been devastated that night, and he wasn't at all certain she would have found a note from him a comfort rather than a reminder of what had passed between them. He'd missed her sitting next to him for meals, missed hearing her laughter. Most of all, he'd missed the feel of her in his arms. The night before she'd left for her friend's funeral had reminded him of all that he had missed being away from the wizarding world for so long. He'd missed her softness and warmth, the smell of her hair, the way her body fit so perfectly against his. The need for her rose in him so quickly it took his breath away and he forced himself to think about something else. Anything else but her. He'd written two letters the day after Ginny left. The first had been to Sirius. Harry had known after he'd shared the details of the Malfoy's deaths with her that Sirius would need to know. The Order had moved mountains to keep the details of what had happened away from the press. Harry wouldn't have been surprised if some of what they'd done in order to protect him had been on the wrong side of legal. Sirius' letter had confirmed just that. Dear Harry, First, let me say that I am very glad you've chosen to confide in Ginny. Remembering how close the two of you once were (and, for that matter, how close you were to all of the Weasleys), your decision to share what happened that night at Malfoy Manor shows me that you are opening yourself to trust again, and that makes both Remus and I happier than you can know. I am, however, more concerned about the rumors of wandless magic up at Hogwarts. Harry, one of the reasons we have been able to keep what happened that night quiet is because you've been careful not to use your skills at wandless magic in public. We were able to pass off your use of it at the Three Broomsticks as ramblings from a slightly dotty old woman, but enough young people were present on the pitch to have noticed it. I don't want you to worry about it – we'll do what we can to minimize the risk of confirmation,-- but you need to be careful. All right – end of godfatherly advice… The second letter he'd written had been to Ron. In it, he'd detailed the events that had taken place at Malfoy Manor. He hadn't sent it, though – it sat on the corner of his bedside table, the first thing he'd seen every morning since Ginny had left. The exercise of writing it had helped him to confront many of the feelings he'd had the night he'd shared what had happened with Ginny. The panic was still there, but not as vivid as before. And for the first time since it had happened, he'd found himself capable of focusing on details from the days that had followed, specifically Charlie's death and its impact on the Weasley family. For nine years I've felt like a monstrous failure to the Weasleys. Some Heir of Gryffindor I turned out to be. Harry remembered the look on Ginny's face after they'd laid Charlie to rest. She'd been devastated and had needed him so much. He knew now that he hadn't been capable of being as attentive to her as he should have been. After everything the Weasleys had done for him, he'd been unable to cope with their grief, just when they'd needed him the most. When he thought of Ron, he heart clenched even tighter – he'd not only lost his brother, but Hermione had also been injured during the Battle of Hogsmeade, and left in a coma. Then, that last night at the Burrow, a month after the final battle. Hermione was still in hospital but had come out of her coma. Ron had returned from St. Mungo's, a smile on his face for the first time in weeks: Hermione had accepted his proposal. Harry remembered smiling, feeling genuinely happy for his two best friends, but felt the guilt of his failures gnawing at his insides. He'd noticed Ginny's furtive glances in his direction throughout dinner and knew what she'd wanted. Since the night on the Tower she'd hinted that she'd like to make love again. Harry had been able to avoid her, citing his concern for Sirius who, like Hermione, had been hospitalized at St. Mungo's after the Battle of Hogsmeade. However, with news of Ron and Hermione's engagement and with Sirius' eyesight recovering with each passing day, he'd run out of excuses. It wasn't that he didn't want her – no, he wanted her with an intensity he hadn't known possible. He just couldn't bear to touch her with the hands of a murderer. They'd fought that night, and the overwhelming feeling of panic had risen within him so quickly that he'd spoken without thinking, begging her to leave with him that night. And when she'd said no, he'd felt as though the world had fallen down around him. He turned and looked at the letter sitting on the nightstand. Fury the likes of which he hadn't felt in years rose within him as thoughts of his hesitancy chased one after another through his mind. I am the Heir of Gryffindor, he thought to himself. It's time I started acting like it. He rose from his desk and, snatching the letter from the table, strode over to Hedwig's perch where she was sleeping. "Hedwig," he said brusquely, tapping her on her foot. She opened one of her great golden eyes with a look that told him he'd better watch his tone. "I'm sorry to wake you, girl, but I need for you to take this to Ron Weasley. There's some pretty sensitive stuff inside so I want you to be fast and careful where you fly. Can you do that for me?" She opened her other eye and, with a stretch of her wings, snapped her beak at him and thrust out one of her legs. He tied it on, careful to double knot it. "I'm going to charm it so that only Ron can open this, just in case. Hold still now." He touched her leg and whispered "Cautus Tabellae". The parchment heated under his fingers for a second. He held out his arm so that she would step down onto it from her perch and walked over to the window. "Thank you, Hedwig. Be safe." She nipped at his finger affectionately and flew from the window into the early evening sky. He dug his pocket watch out of his waistcoat: he had an hour before the Halloween dinner and dance started. As he headed towards the en suite to get ready, he heard a knock on his office door. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Ginny raised her hand to knock a second time as the door swung open. Although she was exhausted after her two weeks away and had had a pile of parchment a foot thick on her desk, she knew she needed to come here to see the person now standing in front of her. "Hello, Harry," she said quietly. She watched as surprise shimmered in the green eyes she'd known so well. "Gin – Ginny," he said, clearing his throat and sending a hand up to the shock of his hair, which was messier than she'd seen it since his return to their world. "You're…you're back." "Apparently so," she said, feeling a smile tip the corner of her mouth. "May I come in?" "Yes! Yes, of course," Harry said, shaking his head and opening the door, he stood aside to let her pass. "I'm just a little surprised to see you here, Gin." He closed the door and turned to her, sweeping both of his hands around the back of his head to gather up his hair, tying it back with an elastic. Ginny found herself wishing he'd left it alone; it didn't make him feel as much of a stranger to her when it was left free. "When did you return?" "About an hour ago," she said, walking over towards the window. She turned to find his face in shadow, his eyes unreadable. "It's good to be back." "How are you doing, Gin?" he said softly. She felt a tinge of sadness rake across her heart. "I'll be all right with time, Harry, thank you for asking." She paused, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. He was tugging at his waistcoat, a gesture she'd noticed him doing of late. His eyes flickered across her face and stilled. "How have you been?" He shrugged slightly. "All right. School's been a bit of a nightmare, with preparation for the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s moving into high gear. Fleur had an incident with one of the Thestrals the other day which had Madam Pomfrey wishing you'd been here to help. Nothing serious," he added, "but enough for Fleur to ask for assistance when dealing with them in future. Hard to work with an animal you can't se—" "I mean," Ginny said, moving to stand closer to him, "how are you, Harry? We'd talked about some serious things before I left. How are you doing?" A flush crossed his cheeks and he nodded. "I'm doing OK, Gin. I don't regret telling you about what happened that night at all." He pulled out a chair from one side of his desk and gestured for her to have a seat. Ginny crossed to the chair and sat, breathing in the smell of his sandalwood soap as he passed to sit opposite of her. "As a matter of fact, I just sent off a letter to Ron before you came." "Really, Harry? That's wonderful," Ginny said, clasping her hands together in her lap. "I saw him while I was at Sammie's home. He was there as a part of the investigation." She noticed Harry pale slightly. "I told him that you and I had talked and that you might want to speak with him soon." She reached out her hand to rest on the one he had placed on the desk. "I wanted to tell you that I'm glad you shared what happened with me, Harry. It helped to answer many of the questions I had had about the days and weeks around the Final Battle. I'm still in the process of sorting things out, but I wanted you to know that I'm glad you shared with me." "Gin, I felt awful about dumping all of that onto you so soon after hearing about your friend," he said in a rush, his free hand coming up to cover hers. Ginny felt a shimmer of heat rush down her spine and gave herself a little shake before moving her hand back into her lap and standing up from her seat. "I hope you will be open to talking a bit more about it with me sometime, Harry," she said, careful to look him directly in his eyes as she spoke. Harry nodded, rising from his seat. "I'd like that very much, Ginny," he said softly. "Can you stay for a while? I've got some tea from earlier that I could heat up." "No, thank you. I need to get back and change," she said, walking over towards the door. "Big dinner and dance this evening." She watched his face close up as she spoke the words. His chin came up. "That's right," he said quietly. "I gather that your friend Christopher will be attending tonight's event?" "Actually, no," Ginny said as she opened the door, "he won't be coming this evening. I'll see you downstairs, Harry." She closed the door and walked swiftly down the hall. Even seeing him for that short a time had lifted her spirits more than she thought possible. She smiled – she had just enough time to change. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ As her footsteps receded down the hallway, Harry stood with his back against the door, blinking slowly as her last words sank in. Christopher isn't coming to the dance. Smiling broader than he'd smiled in months, he clenched his fist and jabbed it towards the ceiling. "Yes!" he said jubilantly. A/N: Another chapter down and many more to go! My thanks to Aibhinn and Ahmie for all of their help on this one. Ahmie, bless her heart, did the betaing as she traveled home for the holidays, much to her stomach's chagrin, so I am very grateful for all of your help. The funeral service was taken from my old copy of the Book of Common Prayer from the Episcopal Church, the American branch of the Anglican Church. If I'd had a copy of the British version I would have used it (knew I should have picked up a copy while we were in London in the spring), so please accept my apologies if there are any substantive differences between the two services. Also, I have to list http://www.casketxpress.com in my notes as a reference for the coffin. Pretty dreary, eh? I think we're in need of a bit of cheer, so we should have some interesting times coming up for our two new professors in the chapters to come. I'm taking a bit of a break through the holiday but plan to start writing again on the 26th. Finally, for all of you who have been following along with the Plot Bunny That Ate My Brain, let me wish you the happiest of holiday seasons and thank you for your support. I really appreciate it! Coming soon -- Chapter 13: Halloween
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