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Author: Musings Story: The New Professor Rating: Teens Setting: AU Status: WIP Reviews: 8 Words: 160,238
Fred and George Weasley, purveyors of the delightful and mischievous, toiled away in their back room (affectionately known as "The Lab"). They were currently experimenting on a new treat inspired by their nephew Patrick (‘they look like owl treats, but once the owl eats one it turns them into a toucan!') when they heard the front door of their shop crash open, hard enough to shatter the glass in the door. Cautiously, Fred and George headed towards the front, Beater's bats cocked and ready, when they heard a voice uttering a stream of obscenities that would make a shipload of sailors blush. Their bats hit the floor as the twins charged through the doorway – they knew that voice well, and pitied the poor soul who had caused the fury in it. They found Ginny pacing back and forth next to the barrel of Filibuster's Fireworks as the anger came off her in waves. For a moment, the twins wondered whether the barrel would explode from being in such close proximity to the legendary Weasley temper. "Ginny, love," Fred began, approaching with more than a little apprehension, "what on earth happened up there?" George muttered a quick spell to repair the door glass and positioned the "closed" sign smartly in the middle of the window. "Bastard!" Ginny growled, causing both twins to turn as red as their hair. "The sodding arsehole…miserable…addlebrained…pitiful excuse…" "Good lord, Gin, my innocent ears!" George said, trying not to beam too proudly at her. "I don't think I've heard more colorful language since the Cannons came within a goal of winning the British Cup year before last." He chuckled and wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. "Ron could have stripped paint off the walls that night with what was coming out of his mouth, eh, Fred?" "Did you run into Snape?" Fred asked, ignoring George and scratching his head while he watched her rage around the room. "I know he was a first-class git while we were there, but you would think he'd be a little more civil to a fellow teacher." "NO!" Ginny roared, causing the twins to jump back several paces. "It wasn't Snape, although he's as slimy as ever. Never in your wildest dreams will you imagine who I ran into today. Never!" She continued to pace around the room and directed an errant kick at the Canary Creams bucket, wincing with pain and cursing some more. "Well, for Merlin's sake, who did you see?" George said, catching several creams before they splattered onto the floor. Ginny turned to them, her eyes filled with fire and rage. "Harry Potter!" she bellowed. Fred and George stared, jaws hanging open, unable to speak as she stormed back to their office, slamming the door shut behind her. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Ginny leaned against the door, pressing her hands to her eyes. The tears were there, only temporarily held at bay by her fury. Now the reality of the situation began to seep past the ramparts her temper had built. She walked towards the twins' office couch, a gift from Percy and Penelope only a few months earlier (expecting her second set of twins, Penelope had insisted on getting a larger couch for their growing brood), and collapsed into its overstuffed arms. He was back. Harry had returned to their world as suddenly as he had left it nine years ago. It had taken her years to get over the devastation his leaving had caused, and she had only begun to see the possibilities for a happy future without him upon her return from France three years ago. And for the past year, those possibilities had included not only her work, but also the attentions of a gentleman named Christopher Ollivander. Last summer, she had been working on a particularly difficult case of Cruciatus Curse at St. Mungo's when the patient had lashed out at her, hitting her wand and sending it crashing against the stone floor. Upon close inspection, she'd found a hairline crack that ran from handle to tip, and sparks of red had begun to seep out. As a result, she'd had to make a trip to Diagon Alley's famous wand shop to have it repaired or, as a last resort, replaced. She'd seen Christopher for the first time that day. Leaning against the overstuffed cushions of the couch, she let her mind drift back to that first meeting. As she entered the shop, she noticed a tall, fair-haired young man stacking boxes of wands onto the counter. He glanced up as she closed the door. "Good afternoon, miss," he said, his voice pleasingly deep. "Welcome to Ollivander's. May I help you?" "Er…yes, thanks," she said, removing her wand from her knapsack. "I seem to have rather badly cracked my wand at work today, and I hope it can be repaired." She paused. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but where is Mr. Ollivander?" He smiled nervously. "I'm so sorry, I've forgotten to introduce myself. Christopher Ollivander at your service, miss." He held out his hand to shake Ginny's. "My uncle is at a symposium in Greece this week. I'm his apprentice." Ginny smiled and shook his hand. "Oh! I'm Ginny Weasley – very pleased to meet you!" They stood for a moment, smiling into one another's eyes, until Ginny shook herself. "Er…do you think the wand can be repaired?" Christopher, whose ears had turned slightly pink with embarrassment, picked up her wand from the counter and held it under a magnifying glass. She'd never seen anyone else with ears that blush, other than Ron, and found that trait more than a little endearing. "Hmmm…" Christopher muttered, frowning. "It looks like the crack has split across several of the wood grains. It's a difficult fix, but it can be done. It will take me at least an hour or so, however. Will that suit you, or should we schedule an appointment for later in the week?" "Oh no," Ginny said, "that will be fine. I have some errands to run, so today would be perfect." "I'll see you around half past five, then," Christopher said, smiling, his deep blue eyes lingering on Ginny's face. When she'd returned, he had suggested they have a bite to eat at the Leaky Cauldron and, although Ginny was usually reticent in accepting dinner invitations from strange men, she decided to take a chance. It had turned out to be a truly delightful evening for both of them and the start of more to follow. They had now been dating a year, and serious talks about the future were becoming the norm for their evenings out. Christopher, she thought to herself, picturing his lean features, his smile and his gentle, graceful hands. She loved him, she knew she did. Only problem is, not once have any of the kisses we've shared over the course of the last year made me feel as wanted and wanting as Harry's single kiss this afternoon did, Ginny realized, a sickening jolt lancing her stomach. That thought was all it took for Ginny's restraint to crumble apart and, grabbing a pillow from the couch, she began to sob into it. A knock sounded on the door. "Gin?" Fred's voice said quietly, and she heard the door creak open. "Oh, Gin, don't cry. We're here, little one." She heard the sound of two sets of footsteps approaching the couch slowly, as if hesitant to disturb her, and felt one of the twins sit next to her and stroke her hair. She sobbed into the pillow until it had turned from its original pale green to a rather squishy-looking lump of spinach. Her sobs began to diminish, and finally, looking over at her seated brother—it was Fred—through red, puffy eyes, she took his proffered handkerchief and blew her nose. "Harry was up at the castle?" Fred said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders while George lit a small fire in the fireplace and poured her a glass of water. "Why would he be there?" Ginny took a shuddering breath and, setting her thoughts of Christopher aside, took a sip of water and tucked her hair behind her ears. "He was there because he's going to be teaching Astronomy and Flight next year," she said, hoarsely, now-silent tears still trickling down her blotchy cheeks. She gave a shaky sigh: she'd hated crying ever since she was a tiny toddler and saw her reflection in the hallway mirror after a particularly nasty bout with Ron. Never would she be one to cry elegant, solitary tears down her cheeks, the kind of tears you see portrayed in films and adverts. No, Ginny Weasley was blessed with the Weasley coloring, which meant that, following a good cry, her face and eyes always looked like she'd been someone's punching bag. George sat down on her other side with a thud. "Teaching? Harry…teaching at Hogwarts?" "After everything he did to drop off the face of the earth, he's coming back now?" Fred said, the color rising in his cheeks. "That's exactly what I said!" Ginny exclaimed vehemently. "Why him? Why now?" She blew her nose heartily, reducing Fred's handkerchief to little more than a manky piece of cloth. Ginny winced. "Sorry about that, Fred." "Don't give it back to me – you keep it," he said, slightly green around the gills and rummaging around for another hanky for her to use. "Did you ask McGonagall why they chose him?" Ginny paused. No, of course she hadn't asked McGonagall the most pertinent question of that moment. All she'd wanted to do was to escape from that place before she'd completely lost it. She was still horrified at her reaction to seeing Harry standing in the doorframe of the Charms classroom, deep red robes firmly held in Snape's pale fist. He'd looked stronger and healthier than she'd ever seen him before, a light tan coloring his face and hands and bringing the green of his eyes into sharper focus and attention. The streak of white in his hair was a vibrant reminder of the final battles, yet one that suited his now-adult face and demeanor. She'd been overwhelmed with emotions. And while she realized in hindsight that she should have expected to feel sadness and shock at seeing the first man she'd ever loved so suddenly back in her life, she did not expect to feel longing—a longing deeper than any hunger or thirst she'd ever experienced. Well, I'm going to do my best to squelch that ill-placed desire into an early grave. It was his demeanor in McGonagall's office that haunted her now – cold, aloof, impersonal, as if he had never seen her before, never shared the history they had together. The display of power he'd unleashed (unwittingly, she was willing to wager) had been the only hint of the passion that he had always held in close check when they were young. That passion had been amplified ten-fold beyond anything she remembered witnessing before. She paused, flushing. She was wrong about that. She had witnessed his capacity for passion before, and the memory of it burned. Hastily she turned her attention back to Fred's question. "No, dammit," she said aloud. "I didn't ask, but I've a mind to when I go back tomorrow afternoon." She nodded once and stubbornly set her jaw. Mopping her eyes once again, she glanced up just in time to see George raising his eyebrows at Fred. Narrowing her eyes, she glared at Fred as he nodded at his brother in complete understanding and agreement. "What?" she asked irritably. I hate it when they engage in Weasley Twinspeak. "Right, then, that's settled," George said to no one in particular and apparently apropos of absolutely nothing, surging to his feet and tossing a bit of floo powder onto the fire flickering in the huge fireplace. "What are you talking about?" Ginny said, blowing her reddened nose one last time and frowning at George. Fred casually tossed George's cloak across the room into his brother's outstretched hand. "We're taking you home," Fred said. "Now." He grasped her upper arms and hauled her to her feet. Ginny blanched in panic and struggled against his hands. "God, not now," she said. "Mum will have kittens if she sees me like this!" She scrambled through her pockets, digging for her wand. "Just give me five minutes to pull together a decent glamour to cover up the worst of this, please?" "Nope. Sorry Gin," George said. "This calls for drastic measures." He looked over his shoulder at Fred as he bundled a vigorously protesting Ginny towards the hearth. "Good thing Mum and Dad are expecting all of us for dinner, eh, Fred?" "Right-o, mate," George said. "Nothing like a little Weasley family meeting to pull together a bit of strategy to deal with this recent development!" "But…but…" Ginny said, trying to grab hold of the edge of the fireplace as Fred picked her up, tossed her unceremoniously over his shoulder and stepped in. "Put. Me. Down!" George climbed in behind his two siblings. "Tuck your arms in, miss," he said, added another pinch of powder, just to be sure, and bellowed, "The Burrow!" ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Molly Weasley watched her two grandchildren, Patrick and Phillip, race around the large oak tree at the end of the garden as she washed up following their tea. She remembered having that kind of mindless energy once upon a very long time ago. Not too long ago, her own herd of redheads had raced around the yard amidst squeals and shouts of joy and mischief. Why she was feeling so melancholy this afternoon she had no idea. They were planning a family dinner to celebrate Arthur's birthday, which meant all of her children would be here. She stopped suddenly, feeling chilled. Not all of her children. During the passing of these nine years, new hands had been added as Percy and Penelope had presented them with grandchildren. Two hands, however, remained still and silent: Charlie's, which rested upon "With the Angels," and one belonging to a black-haired boy who had been as good as family. Harry's hand pointed to the word "Lost". Molly sighed, tears forming in her eyes. In the days and weeks after Charlie's death, her world had been in a fog so deep, many had been afraid it would never lift. She had been only vaguely aware of Harry's departure from their midst, her first clear memory of his disappearance coming after she'd heard the anguished sobs of her daughter coming through her bedroom door. Deep, maternal love and instinct had brought her out of her own bleak thoughts enough to console her youngest child. "Ginny darling," she'd asked, quietly pushing open the bedroom door to find Ginny curled up on her side, rocking back and forth in time with her cries. Molly curled up behind Ginny, bringing her back against her chest and stroking her tumbledown hair. Molly was shocked to feel the sharpness of Ginny's shoulder blades under her hands. a small, yet shapely young woman only a few months earlier, Ginny's figure had withered to frightening thinness as she'd closed herself off from her family following Charlie's death and Harry's disappearance. Molly felt a momentary twinge of guilt, realizing that she'd been so absorbed in her own bereavement that she hadn't seen her daughter slowly wasting away. "Mum," Ginny sobbed, "oh Mum, why did he have to leave? We all loved him soooo…" Her sobs cut off all other coherent words. At first, Molly was confused – was she talking about Charlie or Harry? But at this point, it didn't matter. What mattered most was letting her get this out. "Darling," Molly said, her voice soft in her daughter's ear. "You need to talk about this. You can't keep all of this bottled up inside of you. You'll make yourself sick." "Mum," Ginny said, turning in her mother's arms until she lay nestled against her chest. "I thought we had a future, but he's gone – he's just gone." She gazed up at her mother, tears shining on her eyelids. "They're both just GONE…" Tears began to fall unchecked again and Molly wrapped her arms around her daughter, her own tears falling from her eyes into Ginny's hair. Shaking herself out of her grim memories, Molly swiped at the tears on her cheeks and turned her attention on her grandsons, who were now winging water jets back and forth at one another with their wands. She sighed – if they kept that up, they would be seeing owls from the Misuse of Magic office in record time. "Boys!" Molly shouted out the window. "You will bring those wands in here RIGHT THIS MINUTE!" She watched as a stray water jet flew straight into Phillip's eyes, causing his brother to shriek with laughter. They looked up at her, waved in acknowledgement, then began to trudge towards the house, looking waterlogged. "Gran, can't we play a little while longer?" Patrick said, his trainers squidging noisily as he walked across the floor. "First of all, young man, you know better than to play around with those wands away from Hogwarts," Molly said, plucking their wands out of their back pockets and putting them up on the counter. She faced them, her hands on her hips and a frown on her face that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I want you both to go up to the guest room and change your clothes. It's almost time for everyone to arrive for dinner." Phillip shot a familiar conspiratorial glance at his brother. "And if I hear one smidgen of mischief out of either of you while you are changing clothes, you will spend some time with the garden gnomes out back AND forfeit your dessert." Both boys looked at Molly, twin expressions of horror written all over their faces. "Do I make myself clear?" "Yes ma'am," they chorused sullenly. "And leave those shoes down here – I've just cleaned the floors!" With a moment of muttering and scuffling, they toed their shoes off their feet and stomped up the stairs. At that moment, she heard a pop in the living room. "Molly? I'm home," Arthur Weasley said, hanging his summer cloak in the closet and kissing her on the cheek. "Gads, what a day this was!" He sank into a chair at the kitchen table, Molly following close behind to rub his neck and shoulders. "We had meetings with the US Secretary of Magic and the Minister of Magic from Japan this morning to discuss their trade sanctions against Bulgaria, and got absolutely nowhere until half past two, when the Bulgarian Minister finally agreed to crack down on the shipment of substandard Baltic Black owls." "Well, you aren't to trouble yourself with any of that now, dear," Molly said, giving his shoulder a final squeeze as she turned to start working on the roasting potatoes. "Besides, you've yet to give your gift from the Grangers a try, right? Tonight's the big night!" Arthur beamed as he leapt to his feet and pulled the leg of lamb he had started marinating the night before out of the icebox, which was nothing more than an oversized closet which was bewitched with a perpetual Cooling Charm. Ron, Hermione, and the Grangers had given Arthur an early gift this year: a Muggle rotisserie gas barbecue grill. Early because they had been certain Arthur would want to "tinker" with it a bit before trying it out. However, Molly had insisted that Rupert, Hermione's father, come over a week before to show Arthur how Muggles used the grill before he did anything to it. "You might blow yourself to smithereens, Arthur," Molly recalled saying as she'd gazed with worry at the grill's sleek aluminum lid and pictured it splintering into a million pieces. What had followed were several days of late-night puttering in the shed behind the house. Despite Arthur's assurances that nothing would go wrong, Molly had still dreaded the moment when they headed across the lawn where "the beast" gleamed. "Arthur, what did you do to that machine?" she asked he flipped up the lid and started spearing the lamb onto a spit. "Charmed it to turn on its own, not to mention setting up a self-regulating thermometer and a self-cleaning cycle," he said, grinning from ear to ear as he pulled out his wand. "Adustum! Incohare Cuspis!" he said, tapping the side of the grill. Molly closed her eyes, steadying herself for an explosion. Several seconds passed, and she opened her eyes. The lamb turned happily over a carefully regulated flame. "Brilliant job, Arthur!" she beamed and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you!" he said proudly, his ears turning pink as they headed back into the kitchen. "According to the gauge on the lid, the lamb should be cooked to perfection in no time at all. No muss or fuss needed!" Molly was about to ask Arthur what time she should put the potatoes on the grill when another pop sounded from the living room. "Hi, Mum," Fred called. "Fred, have you seen Ginny? She was supposed to come over early to help get rea…" Molly stopped, seeing Ginny standing between the twins, looking as though she'd been clobbered by a train. "Ginny! Good heavens, dear, what happened?" Ginny shook off her "escorts" with a furious twist of her arms and stomped up the stairs to her old bedroom. Fred, George, and Molly looked up at the ceiling as if following her footsteps until they heard the crashing of the door as it slammed shut. "Boys," Molly said warningly, turning her gaze back to her sons. "What on earth did you do to your sister?" "What have WE done to our sister?" Fred said, appearing to be outraged. "Mum! For Merlin's sake, we didn't do anything to Ginny!" "Yes, we did," George corrected, dusting off his cloak. "Saved her from being splinched into the middle of Leeds, I'd say. Ginny came back from Hogwarts fit to be tied like a Christmas goose, Mum." "And you'll never guess why," Fred said bitterly, grabbing a pint of butterbeer from the countertop and performing a quick freezing charm before taking several swallows and passing the bottle to George. "What. Happened?" Molly said, looking from twin to twin before finally thwacking her skirt with her wand. The glare she turned onto the boys had a slightly feral edge to it and they flinched under its intensity. "Mum? Dad?" George said seriously, "you'd better sit down." Molly and Arthur, their looks of anger changing to concern in seconds, sat in chairs across from the twins. "Son, what happened today?" Arthur said, clasping Molly's hand in his. Fred sighed. "Harry's back." For several moments, the only sound in the room was the tick-tick-tick of the kitchen clock while Molly and Arthur stared dumbstruck at their twin boys. "What do you mean, back?" Arthur said cautiously, his voice pitched a few tones lower than normal. Molly simply stared. "Boys," Molly said, turning tear-filled eyes to face the twins. "If this is some idea of a joke, I will hex the both of you until you are permanently Transfigured into pigs." "Mum, we would never joke about something like that," George said. At that moment, a chime rang out in the kitchen, heralding the movement of one of the hands on the clock. Every eye turned to it, watching. Harry's clock hand twitched slightly, as if being woken from a long, deep slumber, and slowly moved to "Traveling". Arthur and Molly gasped, and despite their news, the twins' jaws dropped open at the sight. "As a matter of fact," George continued, glancing nervously at the clock, "I am still in a bit of shock myself about the whole thing." George and Fred launched into a description of the events of the day. A half an hour (and two pots of tea) later, the twins finally fell silent while Arthur and Molly sat ashen, absentmindedly turning their now-empty teacups round and round. Arthur's eyes looked suspiciously damp as he patted Molly on the hand and excused himself. "Need to check on the lamb," he said gruffly, softly closing the back door behind him. George looked concerned. "Mum? Should I go after him?" Molly sighed, wiping her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief her daughter-in-law Penny had given her for Mothering Sunday that year. "No dear," she said. "Leave him be right now. He'll be back as soon as he's ready, and I'm sure we'll have many more questions later." She glanced towards the stairs. "I think I need to talk with Ginny for a little while." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Ginny sat on her childhood bed, staring out the window into the back yard. She'd taken the time to charm some of the puffiness from her face, but what she really wanted to do was stick her face into a ice-filled basin for several hours. The numbing effect such an act would have was what she was seeking: numbness from the emotions she had experienced in the last several hours. Life was much simpler when I lived here, she thought, moving aside the stuffed animals that gathered around her pillow and laying her head against its comforting softness. She remembered the summer before her fifth year at Hogwarts, when Hermione and Harry had come to finish up the holidays with their family. She and Hermione had truly become best friends that summer, writing to one another often before her arrival at the Burrow. It was nice having a girlfriend you could talk to about things best left unsaid in a household full of boys. It had been that summer that Harry had first taken notice of some of the changes that had occurred with Ginny over the years. Or, at least, that was the way it had seemed to her. She would catch him looking at her across the kitchen table for a moment too long, only to turn away sharply with a tinge of pink riding his cheekbones when he realized she'd noticed. An accidental collision during water fight in the pond on a particularly hot August day had had both of them stammering apologies, much to the delight of Hermione, the amusement of the twins, and the befuddlement of Ron. By the time the four of them were to return to Hogwarts, Harry and Ginny's tentative friendship had begun to hint towards the beginnings of "something more." Her eye caught a flash of movement on her nightstand. She reached down to pick up the green enameled frame that held a magical photograph of her and Harry at the Easter Ball her fifth year at Hogwarts. Looking resplendent in a new set of azure blue dress robes, Ginny's picture-self smiled up cheekily at Harry and snuggled closer into arms that flexed around her waist. The look in Harry's eyes was one she had cherished, for it was a look he had seemed to share only with her when they were together. Ginny's eyes filled with new tears as she heard a knock on the door. "One moment," she said, knuckling her eyes and, with a deep breath, rose from her bed and opened the door to see her mother standing on the threshold. "May I come in, darling?" Molly said, her eyes appearing to be a little damp from her own tears. Saying nothing, Ginny stepped aside and closed the door behind her mother. "I assume Fred and George told you what happened," Ginny said gruffly, setting the photograph face-down on her nightstand. She couldn't help but notice her mother's raising her eyebrows in response. "Yes, they did," Molly said, settling down on the end of the bed. "Just before they did, Harry's clock hand moved." Ginny gasped at the news, easing back down onto the bed and staring at her mother with incredulous eyes. "First time in nine years. Fancy that." "I always said we should have taken his clock hand off that thing," Ginny said bitterly. Her mother grabbed the end of her chin, turning her eyes to face hers. "Ginny Weasley. I am ashamed of you," her mother said, her voice trembling with anger. "Yes, I know Harry hurt you unspeakably. Remember, I was there when you grieved for him." She sighed, releasing Ginny's chin and gazing at her youngest with sympathetic eyes. "And as hurt as we were by his actions, there has always been a chance that we would be able to see him again. Hear his voice, his laughter." Her hand fell back into her lap. "That's more than we'll ever be able to have from our Charlie, rest him." "Mum, I'm not so ready to forgive him after nine years of neglect," Ginny said, getting to her feet and pacing in front of the window. "But I've got to figure out a way I can at least be at Hogwarts with him. I'm not going to miss out on this opportunity to teach just because of my past relationship with Harry." Molly smiled sadly. Her daughter was as stubborn as they came. "Well," she said, rising to her feet and walking to the door, "if Harry should choose to talk about what happened, try not to shut him out too quickly, dear. It has been nine years. Could be that with time, and a little distance, his reasons might not be as murky or as unreasonable as they seemed back then." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Within the next half hour, all of the Weasley siblings (including Percy's wife Penelope and Poppy, their youngest) had arrived with the exception of Ron and Hermione. Hermione was expecting their second child and had had such difficulties with the birth of their son Matthew that the mediwizard had prohibited her from using Floo Powder during her last trimester, Apparation having already been generally prohibited for pregnant witches. While this had created problems for them initially, Ron had come home with the perfect solution: a car. Mr Weasley was thrilled to have another car in the family, as their first (a Ford Anglia) still ran wild in the Forbidden Forest. He had all sorts of ideas for new charms. Reaction by the rest of the family to the news about Harry ran the gamut from oblivious (Percy – "I don't see what why everyone is so upset about this. Yes, it was distressing, but with his work in the Muggle world, he has the potential to make enormous strides towards bringing our two worlds closer together.") to lovingly fraternal (Bill cradled Ginny in his arms in a hug she had said was "just what I needed") to annoyingly humorous (Fred and George kept muttering about new tricks and gags they would like to slip into Harry's food, given the chance, and appeared to be looking to Ginny for her assistance). All of the elder Weasleys, however, knew that the one they would need to be careful with was Ron. Ron had been heartbroken at Harry's disappearance. True, Charlie's death had been a blow he hadn't been prepared for, but never in his wildest imaginations had he ever thought that Harry would choose to abandon the friendship they had shared from their very first trip on the Hogwarts Express. The tension in the room quadrupled when they heard a car pull into the drive. Ginny stood and looked at all of her family. "Now listen," she said, nervously twining her fingers in front of her, "I don't want anyone to upset Ron and Hermione. They are both under enough stress with the baby. I'll tell them all about it after we have dinner." There were sounds of footsteps on the pebbles covering the front walkway. "Besides," Ginny said sternly, picking up the butter dish from the counter to place it on the table, "it's Dad's birthday and we've already let the news monopolize his night enough." The door swung open to reveal a heavily-pregnant Hermione, one hand holding the tiny hand of a four-year-old, strawberry-blond boy, the other repeatedly poking her tall and gangling husband in the center of his chest. "Have you even considered the social ramifications of naming a child ‘Ignatius' these days, Ron? I refuse to have a child of mine teased incessantly and called "Iggy Weezy" on the playground. I won't have it!" Matthew squealed as he saw his elder cousins bobbing around the kitchen and, tugging his hand out of his mother's grip, ran towards their laughing voices. "But Hermione, it was my great-great grandfather's name," Ron countered, playfully slapping at her index finger and closing the door behind him. "Besides, I've already agreed not to use ‘Mephisto' as his mid…" He broke off in mid-sentence, suddenly aware of the deafening silence surrounding him. He turned and looked at his family standing as though frozen, their expressions of happiness seeming to be oddly out of place. "What?" Ron said, hands on his hips and looking from his mother to his father. "Something's wrong, isn't there?" "Now what would make you say that, son?" Arthur said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Well," Hermione said, setting her cloak on the couch, "Percy's just poured wine into baby Poppy's bottle and Ginny's managed to stick her hand in the butter dish." Everyone turned to look at Percy and Ginny, whose faces were bright enough to light up the night sky. Percy cursed under his breath as he dumped out the wine and spoke a sanitizing spell over the bottle. Nervous laughter echoed in the living room as Ginny rubbed at her hand with a dishrag. Ron chuckled, "I don't think I've seen her do something like that since Harry showed up at our house the first time." Nervous laughter dissolved into silence again. Ron frowned. "What in the devil is going on around here? Has someone died or something?" George snorted into his butterbeer. "Come back to life, if you ask me," he said. Fred smacked him on the side of the head. "Ron…Hermione," Arthur said, "we've had some news today…" But before he could finish his statement, the kitchen clock chimed and Harry's arm shifted from ‘traveling' to ‘Hogsmeade." Hermione shrieked, startling everyone into speaking at once. Molly noticed her youngest son slowly sinking into one of the kitchen chairs, his face ashen. "Everyone," she said, raising her voice to be heard over the din. No such luck; the family continued to speak atop one another, creating a tidal wave of voices. "Harry's back?!…" "You mean, he's returning to our world?…" "Who's Harry, Dad?…" "Of all the nerve…" "Dad, who is Harry?…" Fine, she thought. "EVERYONE, PLEASE BE QUIET!" she bellowed. The entire family jumped at the sound of Molly's ‘Mum voice' and, knowing better than to ignore it, chose to obey. "Ron, dear," Molly said softly, laying a hand on his shoulder, "are you all right?" Ron rubbed his face hard with the palms of his hands and looked up at his mother and father. Gone was the gray tone in his skin, replaced by what appeared to be fury. "What is going on?" he roared. The children in the other room stopped their play, sending worried looks at their grandparents. Arthur left the room to take the boys into his study. Hermione sat next to Ron, linking her fingers in his and laying her other hand on his arm in comfort. "Ron, please," she said, "let's not jump to conclusions." Ron turned to her, looking at her sharply. "You just shrieked loud enough to shatter crystal, Hermione! How can you sit there so calmly now, after we've both seen his clock hand move for the first time since he abandoned us, and tell me not to jump to conclusions?!" Ginny came forward and sat in a chair next to Ron. It was only then that Ron noticed her eyes – they were bloodshot – and the fact that she had been crying recently. "Gin," he said, confused, "what in the hell is going on?" "Harry's back, Ron," Ginny said simply. "He's teaching at Hogwarts next term, same as me." He stared at her for a moment, feeling Hermione's grip on his arm tightening. He turned to see both his wife and his mother with tears in their eyes. The man whom he once loved like one of his brothers (and, in some cases, even more than that) had returned, and caused the three women he loved to cry. Again. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Despite everyone's best intentions, dinner was a fairly somber affair. Ron was silent through most of dinner and dessert. The only moment when the hint of a smile crossed his face was when his father brought in the perfectly-prepared leg of lamb off his new barbeque. When it was time to clean up the kitchen, the twins were pressed into duty (choosing to place exploding candles on their father's favorite German chocolate cake proved to have been a poor idea). Bill was busying himself with telling the children a story about their uncle Charlie and his dragons, Ginny and Hermione watching on with melancholy smiles. Arthur noticed Ron slipping past his mother (knitting her fifth Weasley jumper of the year) and out the front door. With a sigh, he rose from the couch next to Molly and, picking up his pipe from the hearth, followed his youngest son outside. Ron was sitting in the porch swing, looking up at the stars and occasionally taking a gulp from his Firewhisky. Arthur frowned: he'd been hitting the whisky fairly heavily during dinner, something Ron only did when he was greatly troubled. He stood next to the swing, lit his pipe and sat. Ron jumped slightly, only then noticing his father's presence. Ruefully, he thought he probably wouldn't have been startled if something as large as a hippogriff rampaged across the porch, so deep he was into his thoughts. Dark thoughts, filled with painful memories he'd spend years locking away. Memories of mischief along forbidden third-floor corridors…of chess games stretching into the wee hours of the morning…of midnight raids to the kitchens…of a Hogsmeade double-date with his best mate, his little sister, and the girl of his dreams… Of a dark, rainy night when that same best mate came to his home with devastating news. "I've got to go, Ron," Harry said quietly, averting his eyes from Ron's crystal blue gaze. "Go? What do you mean go, mate?" Ron said, halfheartedly munching on a broken chocolate frog. When he received no answer, Ron touched Harry's arm to gain his attention. "I can't stay here. Not now," Harry said, now looking Ron in the eye with apprehensive eyes. "I can't watch your mother and father aging in front of my eyes. Your family so bereft of everything that makes the Weasley's and the Burrow home." He gave a ragged sigh. "All of which I caused." "Are you mad?" Ron said, the chocolate frog falling forgotten at his feet. "All you've caused? Voldemort and his cronies caused everything that has happened to this family for the past year, Harry, not you!" "His people wouldn't have targeted your family if it hadn't been for me, Ron! They wouldn't have targeted Sirius or Hermione, Remus or Dumbledore if I had met him on my own." "If you had been stupid enough to have done that, you would be moldering in a grave, you git," Ron said, furiously. "Now, enough of all this rubbish, Harry. You're staying here, marrying Ginny, having a horde of children and growing old with all of us." "I've made up my mind, Ron," Harry said, his voice taking on a tone Ron had never heard before. "Now that Hermione is out of the woods I'm leaving for good." Ron stared at his friend incredulously. "You ARE mad," he spat. "A selfish, pig-headed, moron, that's what you are! What about Mum and Dad? They love you like one of us, Harry – don't you know this will kill them?" Harry stood silent, staring off into the distance. "What about Ginny? You said you loved her and would never do anything to hurt her, remember that?" Ron grabbed Harry's arm and spun him around to face him. "I asked her to come with me," Harry said hoarsely. "But she's staying here." Ron looked horrorstruck. "You asked her to go with you? To leave her family?" Harry's eyes pleaded with Ron to understand. "Ron, she means the world to me. Two months ago, I couldn't imagine my life without her, without all of you. But right now, I feel as though I'll come apart if I don't go now." Ron held out a hand, as if to shield himself from the words his best friend was saying. "After everything you told her, Harry?" he said, shutting his eyes tight and shaking his head. "Everything you promised her? You're just abandoning her? Abandoning ALL of us?" Ron remembered only snippets of what happened next; his anger had been too overwhelming. He stared off towards the lights of Ottery St. Catchpole, hearing again the words he'd flung in his fit of rage as Harry had stumbled down the road, cradling his newly-broken jaw: "If that's what you want, PISS OFF, you miserable bastard! I hope you rot in hell for this! If you ever hurt me or mine again, I will kill you!" With those words, Harry and Ron's friendship had come crashing apart, leaving Ron a sobbing heap on the Burrow's front stoop. "Knut for your thoughts," Arthur said, puffing on his pipe and bringing Ron out of his dark ruminations. "Oh," Ron sighed, running his fingers through his bright red hair, "I'd think that would be fairly obvious, Dad." Looking out at the night sky, Arthur frowned. "Son, I knew this news would hit you the hardest. You and Harry were like brothers. No," he said, shifting slightly and putting an arm around the back of the swing, his hand on Ron's shoulder. "The two of you were closer than that – comrades and confidants." Ron paused, taking a sip from his whisky. "All these years, Dad…and nothing. Not so much as a line letting us know he was alive or dead." "Well, son, your last words to the boy were fairly specific," Arthur said, puffing on his pipe. Ron blinked at him with shock. Arthur chuckled and cradled the back of Ron's neck in his palm. "Well, you were bellowing loud enough for the people in the next town to hear." Ron flushed brick red – he wondered if his father had seen him laying Harry out with one right uppercut. He desperately hoped not. "I had no idea you heard that," he said indignantly. "Had no idea I had to worry about my own father eavesdropping on my conversations." He felt his father touch his shoulder again. "Son, believe me when I say I wish I hadn't heard what you said to Harry that night," Arthur said, sadly. "My broken heart had had quite enough to deal with at the time. However, I think yours was the more broken of the two of our hearts that night." "No, Dad," Ron said, clearing his suddenly tightened throat. "Ginny's heart won the day for that." "Promise me this, Ron," Arthur said. "Promise me that you won't do anything rash. I know that temper of yours, particularly when it comes to those who are closest to you. We don't know what his intentions are, whether he plans on trying to contact us again, anything. All of you were so young back then. The things done in one's youth can be reckless and unthinking of the long term consequences." Ron heard the creak of wood as his father leaned back against the swing. With a light nudge with his toe, Ron set the swing into motion, as the pipe smoke swirled around both of their heads. Ron sighed. It was as if the pipe smoke and his father's voice were weaving blankets of comfort around his bruised heart. Arthur placed his palm around the back of Ron's neck again, giving it a soothing squeeze as they sat for several minutes, staring at the stars in the sky until Hermione stepped out onto the porch, bringing the sounds of the home outside with her. "Ron, Arthur, I'm sorry," Hermione said, placing a hand against the small of her back, "but Matthew is dead on his feet and I've got an early appointment tomorrow in Diagon Alley before I head into the office." "Of course, ‘Mione," Ron said rising from the swing and walking over to her to rub her shoulders. "I'll get Matt bundled out to the car and say our goodnights." He turned to his father, still seated on the swing. "Dad, I'm sorry if my mood put a dark cloud on your birthday." "Nonsense, son," Arthur said, standing and offering his hand for his son to shake. "It's been quite a day, that's certain. Unexpected in some ways, but surrounded by my family all the same. I wouldn't have it any other way." Ron took his father's hand and pulled him into a warm embrace. "Happy birthday, Dad." Arthur gave Ron's broad shoulders a hearty pound. "We'll see you on Sunday!" Ron turned and, with one last squeeze of his wife's hand, walked into the house, closing the door behind him. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Arthur watched with sadness as his son walked into the house, hoping that some of what he'd said was of comfort to him. He turned his gaze onto his daughter-in-law, and tucked an arm around her shoulders. "Thank you, Arthur," Hermione said gratefully. "You always have a way of helping him through those dark spots he wanders into from time to time." Arthur shrugged, smiling at Hermione, who just happened to be his executive assistant at the Ministry. "He's my boy, Hermione. I wouldn't have it any other way." He looked into her eyes. "Now, do you need to come in a bit late tomorrow? That's perfectly fine, Hermione – I've got meetings with my department heads until 11 o'clock, so we can wait until then to go over the speech for tomorrow's dinner." She smiled, "Oh, thank you Arthur, I appreciate your understanding very much." "Have someone you need to see, don't you," Arthur said, somewhat cryptically. Hermione blinked. She looked at Arthur, who was smiling at her while he tapped out the last bits of ash from his pipe and began to fill it again from his pouch. Understanding dawned. "How on earth did you know?" she said incredulously. "Oh," Arthur said, re-lighting his pipe, "Let's just say that nine years' worth of birthday-candle wishes have come true." Her mouth fell open in shock. "I saw the sparkle that lit your eye when Ginny broke the news about Harry. And you've my blessing, dear." He gazed into the night sky. "I think, in a roundabout sort of way, he may be trying to find his way back to us." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ After his horrid confrontation with Ginny earlier that day, Harry had decided his re-grounding into the wizarding world needed to start immediately. He had walked into Hogsmeade, booked a room for several nights at the Three Broomsticks, Apparated back to his Oxford flat, and packed a small bag of clothing. Then he'd spoken to Professor McGonagall through the fire to discuss his needs for the coming school year and made arrangements to tour his classroom and offices first thing the following morning. He would then return to Oxford to perform shrinking spells on the last of the items he intended to take with him, hire movers to take the remainder to storage, and speak with a realtor about selling the flat. He would spend the rest of his holiday at Hogwarts. That evening, Harry had returned to the inn physically and emotionally done in. Madam Rosmerta (looking as striking as she had when he was a student) had been pleased to see him return, and made arrangements for his dinner to be sent up to his room along with a bottle of premium butterbeer from her new microbrewery next door. Eating little, Harry had fallen into a dreamless sleep. Several hours later, he was awakened by sharp tappings on the window of his room. Blearily, he reached for his glasses and turned on the bedside lamp, only to reveal a little owl, flapping furiously to remain aloft in front of the window. For a moment, Harry thought of Ron's old owl, Pigwidgeon. With a shake of his head, he raised the window sash to let the bird into the room. The bird, a very sooty grey owl with black eyetufts, bobbed in the air until he landed with an ungainly thud onto the bedspread. Hedwig, sleeping in her cage nearby, opened one golden eye and ruffled her feathers in what appeared to be disgust. Harry noticed the bird had a piece of parchment in its beak and slipped it free after offering the little bird a treat from Hedwig's dish. The little owl blinked up at Harry, crunching happily on his treat. Dear Harry, It's been a long time and we need to talk. Will you meet me at the Leaky Cauldron tomorrow morning at half past nine o'clock? Please send your response with this owl. I've missed you. Hermione Harry's hand trembled, dropping the note onto the bed. I don't know if my heart can take much more of this, he thought to himself as he looked at the tiny owl hopping around the room, much to Hedwig's chagrin. Seeing his former girlfriend (he frowned at the word – ‘girlfriend' didn't seem to adequately describe what Ginny had been to him) and hearing from one of his dearest friends (close enough to have been considered a sister, for that matter) for the first time in almost a decade. It was as if the axis of his world was returning to its normal spin, after having been forcibly shifted into an off-center wobble. He paused. ‘Returning to its normal spin?' After all this time, what was normal for him, the wizarding world or the Muggle world? He looked up into the stars, which had become his comfort during the past nine years. With any major shift in rotation, one could expect serious problems with disorientation. He only hoped he could do this without causing too much collateral damage. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Many miles away, in a darkened room of a run-down manor house, a man wearing rich robes of black velvet and green satin sat on the edge of his desk, staring out of the window at those same bright stars. Moonlight lit his straight, shoulder-length blond hair, making it appear to glow in the dark. "What news do you have for me that could not wait until morning, Goyle?" Draco Malfoy asked. Gregory Goyle, a lumbering man with hulking shoulders and a large bald head, started. He was certain Draco hadn't heard him approach. "Sir," he said, placing a sealed parchment envelope on the desk behind Draco, "he has returned." Draco turned abruptly, staring at Goyle with an intensity that would have scared a smarter man. "What do you mean, ‘he has returned?' Who is ‘he'?" "Harry Potter, sir," Goyle said, pointing to the parchment. "He was seen at the Three Broomsticks this evening by one of our men in Hogsmeade." Draco picked up the envelope and tore it open. A slightly blurry wizarding photograph of Harry Potter and Madam Rosmerta fell out into his hand. Draco's normally pale face seemed to turn an even lighter shade of white as he saw his nemesis of nine years ago smiling at the innkeeper of the inn. The photograph could have been an old one, but the streak of white showing in Potter's hair refuted that possibility. Draco looked into Goyle's dull gray eyes. "Contact the others," he said, crumpling the photograph in his fist. A/N: And that, my friends, is that until the Library re-opens following the release of OotP! Ten house points if you spot the pun in the first paragraph. Many thanks to Aibhinn, who flew solo in betaing this one (I couldn't turn 19 pages on Ahmie without warning. She's used to only getting seven or eight from me!), McGregor's Scottish Tea Rooms in Freighthouse Square where we drank several pots of Scottish Breakfast Tea and talked HP and fan fic for hours, my husband who remains my muse, and Robin, who (I swear) has mind-reading capabilities and truly "gets" where I'm going with this thing. I should also like to take this opportunity to thank Jelsemium for her wonderful fic A Harry Situation (I had to nick the name "Rupert" for Hermione's father from you…it's too perfect). It was done to honor your story, since I love it so much and it's given me many moments of laughter, and to be a bow to the films as well. Finally, to all of you who are reading and reviewing – thank you thank you thank you. I've started a Yahoo Group for those of you who want to chat/correspond regarding the story – you can find us here. Please note, you must be over 18 to join. Enjoy OotP and we'll see you again soon!
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