CHAPTER 05
Kill me now.
Ginny moved sluggishly, trying to claw her way back into consciousness. Her head and body felt so heavy that she had difficulty even lifting her eyes a fraction, her mouth so cottony yet so parched that her throat felt as hard as cement. Her entire body ached right through the bones. She felt she had already died and been revived only to be killed over and over again. And worst, worst of all, was the cleaving headache that seemed to tear apart her very being.
Where was she? With what little sense her body had, she tried to feel her surroundings but felt only familiar comfort. But then she felt a certain thrumming, an energy in the air, slight but very palpable. What was it? She realized as well that her heart was pounding so fast and quite forcefully against her chest that she was surprised she hadn’t already died from her erratic heartbeat. She tried to open her eyes but felt a stab of pain hit her and she quickly shut them up. But it was enough for her to realize that she was in her room at the Burrow, the sunlight permeating the room through the windows telling her it was daytime. She trawled the edges of her mind for the last thing she remembered but drew a blank.
And the thirst. Ginny realized that it was the thing that woke her up. She didn’t think she could last another minute more without quenching the overpowering thirst. She had never felt so physically ill, so helpless, not even when Voldemort took her body over. She wanted to die just to end her suffering. And she cried, inwardly she cried. She cried like a helpless child for anyone to come help her. Mum. She needed her mum.
But what if nobody came? Ginny had to get up, if only to quench the thirst that seemed to be draining her body of every drop of water. Dimly she knew that if she didn’t get any fluid in her body soon, her brain would shut down and she would lose consciousness and there would be no waking up from that.
She had to get up.
Knowing that her body would simply not cooperate, she started drawing on her magic to help her do what was needed. To her surprise, she realized that the low-thrumming of energy she was feeling was her own magic. It must have been made unstable by what was happening to her body. She could feel, now that she was aware of it, the uneven patches of magic in the air and that a few strands of her long red hair were being lifted by magical static, caressing her face.
By sheer power of will, Ginny began pulling back to herself her own runaway magic and channeling it to her muscles. Though Ginny learned it indirectly through Hermione their last year in Hogwarts, it was a skill that those who were privileged enough to belong in Harry’s inner circle had learned: how to use your magic instinctively and manipulate it as packets of energy, though none of them could remotely approach the ease with which Harry did it.
Harry. He was never, ever far from her thoughts, not really, and though her body still felt bone-heavy, the mere thought of him energized Ginny further.
Slowly, very slowly, Ginny regained control of her muscles. She felt stronger, too, until at length she felt she could move. She opened her eyes and by so doing full cognition returned. She tried to swallow but her throat remained painfully constricted. She also realized that except for her knickers, she was wearing absolutely nothing. In a houseful of boys, two of which had been incorrigible pranksters and the youngest, a complete uncouth git who recognized no boundaries when it came to Ginny’s privacy, she had learned long ago to never sleep with so little clothes on.
Her entire body trembling, Ginny tried sitting up but found she still lacked the strength in her upper body to lift herself up. Finally she rolled onto her side and, propping herself up on an elbow, was able to push her body up from the bed. She looked around her room which she normally kept tidy and clean no matter how tired she was or how late it got, and there, scattered on the floor, were the clothes, shoes and bag she must have been wearing last.
Ginny inched sideways along the edge of the bed to be able to reach the small bag where she knew she would have kept her wand and sighed with relief when she found her wand inside. She still could not remember much of what had happened to her but the moment she saw the dress on the floor, she remembered going to the Harpies’ victory game. She was not exactly sure though if it had been the previous night. She thought of calling her mum, but even drawing the breath to form words seemed to be a task too difficult for her.
Using her wand, she magicked upon herself her favorite floral blue, wrap over kimono dressing gown - she just didn’t have the energy to move around and dress herself up. She tested her legs to see if they could support her weight, then, tentatively, she stood up. Her legs were shaking a bit but she found that she had enough strength to walk on her own steam, for which she was thankful, not trusting herself to use any more magic in case it went wonky on her.
Step by slow inches step, she made her way towards the loo just across the hall from her room, first grabbing onto the edge of the bed then later bracing a hand against the walls for support. When she finally reached the loo, she headed straight to the sink and first brushed her teeth and washed her mouth three times before she deemed her mouth clean enough; only then did she drink water directly from the tap. She must have drunk about two liters worth of water straight before she felt she had had enough. But the moisture refreshed her and Ginny felt infinitely better, at least the trembling in her muscles had disappeared though the leaden sensation in her brain remained.
Ginny then splashed water on her face, letting the liquid cool her. She straightened up and with her wet hands combed her long tresses back. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she saw her eyes were a bit sunken and her skin flushed and blotchy. She furrowed her forehead in confusion. What happened? She had never before gotten this drunk. In fact, she had never gotten drunk at all, period. She had never touched the damned stuff, especially when she attended a function alone. And she was sure she went to the Harpies’ victory party quite alone last night. She vaguely remembered talking to her mum and leaving. She and Philip had broken up weeks ago. Philip. There was something about Philip that she couldn’t quite put a finger on. She made a mental shake. There was no hope of trying to figure that one out with her head feeling so torpid.
Snatches of her conversation with her mum returned to her and Ginny realized that her mum and dad must have already left for the Herefordshire wedding. Ginny sighed. There went her only hope for a hangover cure.
I am never gonna be piss-ass drunk again, Ginny avowed. She knew there was a reason why she avoided the things.
A faint knocking echoed from the floor below. “Mrs. Weasley?” the muffled voice of someone decidedly male called out.
Blast it! It sounded like Harry!
She heard the kitchen door open. “Mrs. Weasley?” the voice called out, louder, and this time there was no mistaking that it was Harry. Besides, there were very few people who could pass through the wards of the Burrow and call in unannounced, and Harry was one of those select few.
Bugger and blast it! Ginny didn’t want him to see her in her completely monged out state. But this was the first time in years that Ginny would be able to speak alone with him - she was not going to waste the opportunity. And wasn’t she already dressed - or rather undressed - for the occasion? the naughty thought idly entered her mind. She knew she couldn’t tarry, Harry might leave any moment. With a last look at her own reflection in the mirror, Ginny squared her shoulders, marched out of the loo and walked determinedly down the stairs.
~o~
Harry stood just outside the Apparition point of the Burrow. Though he knew he didn’t need a reason to visit and could just pop in unannounced and still be welcomed, he couldn’t help but feel nervous.
He rehearsed once again in his head the things he wanted to ask Mrs. Weasley, though he still did not know how to go about asking about Ginny without making his interest too obvious. There was also the matter of Damien Rosier mentioning something about being unable to bring his girlfriend home because they were purebloods and the comment mystified Harry. Though he was fully immersed now in the wizarding world, there were still certain aspects of it that remain unknown to Harry. Most of which involved obscure laws and traditions that applied mainly to purebloods, or, as was the usual case, the purebloods were the only ones willing to observe. Like divorce, for instance, which Harry learned was an uncommon practice in the Wizarding world. Thus, certain pureblood couples, instead of divorcing, resort to, uhm, rather “unconventional” means of disposing an unwanted spouse. That was why wizards like Ice Bill never needed to join the Death Eaters. He had more or less a steady and reliable source of income.
But that was during Cornelius Fudge’s era, before Voldemort’s downfall. No one could easily get away with murder now.
From where he stood Harry could not see Ginny’s room but in his mind’s eye he could perfectly envision the curtains billowing in and out of her room’s open windows. Not for the very first time since deciding early that morning to come here, Harry wondered if Ginny would be home. He knew sometimes Ginny would spend time away from her Harpies’ dormitory and keep her parents company at the Burrow, especially during Quidditch’s off season. He began considering ways he could talk to her alone if she were, although to do so under Mrs. Weasley’s watchful eyes would require him to use every bit of cunning he had to hide from her his real intentions.
Harry nervously tried to flatten his hair anew. He had been wrestling with the accursed thing the entire morning to no avail – despite the years, his hair had remained as unruly as ever. He also had dressed himself carefully in a black single breasted peacoat jacket, grey shirt, and black denim jeans and his ever present dragon hide boots before coming here, just in case Ginny was there. Pushing his eyeglasses up his nose, Harry took a deep breath and marched towards the back door of the Burrow where he knew Mrs. Weasley would likely to be.
Harry softly knocked on the door, peering through the top half of the screen door of the open backdoor into the Burrow’s kitchen. “Mrs. Weasley?” Harry called out. For the past several years Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had been trying to make Harry call them Arthur and Molly, or even Dad and Mum, had he a mind to. Hermione had already done so, even slipping into calling Mrs. Weasley “mum” sometimes, which, of course, pleased Mrs. Weasley no end and made her more tolerant of Ron and Hermione’s behavior than she would have been otherwise. But not Harry. “Arthur” and “Molly” felt too familiar, too disrespectful, while “Dad” and “Mum” invoked a deep-seated yearning in him that had less to do with him growing up an orphan and more with the fact that he was deeply in love with their only daughter.
No one was about, but he knew someone must be inside; otherwise, the door would not have been left open, although Harry would like to see the wizards or witches that could break through the Burrow’s wards. All the men in the family, plus him and Hermione, had each contributed to the Burrow’s protections, especially since most of the time, Mrs. Weasley was left all alone in the house. It had been quite the learning experience for Harry, watching Charlie install wards normally used only in dragon enclaves such as could be found where Charlie worked. Indeed, it had been quite the sight to behold - the most powerful wizards and witches of their age all working together to build the Burrow’s protective wards.
Harry opened the door and stepped inside the house. Perhaps Mrs. Weasley was upstairs.
“Mrs. Weasley?” He called out again, louder this time. And then his heart stopped, for his eyes had just strayed towards the family clock. Both Mr. and Mrs. Weasleys’ hands were pointed to Travelling but Ginny’s were on Home. He knew it could also mean that Ginny was in her Harpies’ flat but who else could be at the Burrow at this time? Ron’s clock hands were moving erratically round its face as if it could not make up its mind where to point. All the other Weasley children would still be at each of their homes this early Sunday morning and would only arrive later for the traditional Harpies-victory-cum-traditional-Sunday-family dinner. That would mean he and Ginny were entirely alone in the house. Harry’s heart gave a wild leap of joy. He mentally crossed his fingers. Oh, let her be single again. Let her not have a boyfriend this time. He wondered how he would ease that topic into the conversation. Then he heard movement upstairs. Someone was coming down.
~o~
“Harry?” Ginny called out just as she was coming through the door into the kitchen. Her heart seized up. There stood Harry. Her Harry. It had been a long time since she had last seen him this close. She had completely forgotten how devastatingly handsome he could be, with his wild unruly hair, his highly defined face, his green eyes, and his de rigueur black ensemble. Had she known she would see Harry today, she would have skipped altogether the game yesterday, and instead spent the whole day in a beauty spa like Fleur did sometimes, having her body scrubbed raw, her hair and nails done up. She would have bought an entirely new wardrobe as well. Next to him looking so swanky, Ginny felt slightly grotty indeed.
“Hey, Gin,” Harry said, his accompanying smile so open, so carefree.
“Hey, Harry,” Ginny said, smiling herself. Suddenly she had the overwhelming urge to kiss him in greeting. Every female in her family did it all the time. Even Audrey, Percy’s wife, could kiss Harry without reserve. Yet Ginny knew Harry the longest, that is, she saw him first - well, along with her mum. She should have first dibs when it came to kissing Harry. So why should she not claim that privilege?
So Ginny, walking up to him, did something she had always wanted to do but until now had been unable. Ginny didn’t even give Harry time to react, afraid he might pull back. She placed a hand on his arm and he instinctively bent down his head so she could reach his face: at her five feet two inches height, Harry had a good eleven inches on her.
Thus, for the very first time in her life, Ginny’s lips touched Harry’s face.
It was the briefest of kisses, but Ginny felt more, so much more, in that kiss than she had ever felt from all the kisses she had ever shared with her ex-boyfriends, not even her very first kiss. She pulled back to look up at him. “This is a surprise,” she said, still smiling.
“Sorry. Is this a bad time? It’s just, I’m looking for Ron.” That he was surprised at her gesture Harry did not show.
Ginny raised an eyebrow then glanced significantly at the family clock where Ron’s hands were still moving erratically. She turned her face back to Harry.
“Harry, you of all people should know better than to look for your two best friends when they soooo don’t wanna be found. Anyway, are you really prepared to deal with what you might see when you finally come upon those two?” Ginny teased him.
Harry laughed. “Good point. Unfortunately, I really need to see Ron.” A cloud seemed to pass over Harry’s face, but it was so brief that Ginny thought she had imagined it.
“So, why are you so desperate to see Ron? I understand they’ll be back by tomorrow. What could be so important that you couldn’t wait ‘til then?”
Harry did not reply immediately. He merely stood there for a while, silently contemplating her. He seemed to be debating something in his mind. Then, without a word, he pulled out from under his shirt the mokeskin Ginny knew he constantly wore upon his neck. Then he pulled two pieces of jewelry from it.
“It’s because of these,” Harry finally said, offering up for her inspection the two items. The headdress with the horns and a sundisk in the middle. The necklace with a golden plate, counterweighted with beads made of various precious stones.
“The headdress and necklace of Menat?” Ginny asked, surprised, for she instantly recognized the artifacts.
“You know what these are?”
“Of course. They’re identified with the Egyptian goddess Hathor, that’s the Muggles’ name for an ancient witch called Menat.” She rolled her eyes. “Most of the ancient Muggle gods and goddesses were nothing more than witches and wizards who loved to camp it up in front of Muggles.” Ginny leaned in closer to look at the items Harry was holding out in his hands then back up to Harry. “How come you have these anyway? Not thinking of opening a costume jewelry shop, are you, Potter?” she said with a wicked gleam in her eyes.
“You know I can’t stop being an Auror, Ginny. Who would guard you against your hordes of admirers?” he said, his eyes crinkling with amusement.
Ginny merely smiled at Harry's comment, not trusting herself to speak. She didn’t even want to consider the possibility that Harry might be flirting with her because she didn’t want to get her hopes up. The truth was, her heart was hammering against her chest something fierce and she was sure Harry would hear it. She couldn’t believe that she was here with him having a casual conversation – as if they were friends. She wasn’t used to standing this close to Harry either. Most of the time it felt like he always avoided her, particularly in her fifth year when it had gotten so bad she wondered whether he blamed her for Sirius’s death. That maybe if she hadn’t put her unqualified support behind him, Harry would not have rushed to the Ministry and Sirius would have still been alive. It had been a puzzle, Harry’s attitude towards her during those days, that until now bedevil her. She even wondered if her brothers hadn’t put a spell on her so that she would look like a hag or smell like a troll whenever Harry saw her because her brothers knew that if ever she’s in danger of losing it all to any bloke, it would be Harry: she had long ago lost her heart to him and it certainly wouldn’t take much for the rest of her to follow.
Ginny turned her attention back to the artifacts, genuinely becoming fascinated. The sundisk headdress was still slightly glowing. “They look so exquisite. I’ve never seen such quality of workmanship on these items before, not even Tutankhamun’s. Where did you get these from anyway?” she said, looking up to him.
Harry merely looked at her and smiled, a bit sadly, Ginny thought. She understood enough about the nature of his work - and indeed about Harry’s own nature - to not pry.
“Do they do anything? Are they magical then?” Ginny said, testing for safer topics.
“A bit.”
Ginny’s eyes grew larger. “Harry, do you think that these might be real? I mean, that these really belonged to Menat? Ancient wizards were supposed to be really powerful. I mean just look at the –“ Ginny was about to refer to the Elder wand and Harry’s Invisibility Cloak but stopped herself. It was a topic the trio never openly discussed with anybody, not even with her family. “I mean, perhaps as powerful as you,” Ginny almost mumbled.
Harry considered Ginny’s face for a long time before he spoke. Ginny could not fathom the expression on his face though. “I think so. It’s possible.”
“Well, blow me! I mean - ” Ginny stammered and deeply reddened, realizing the double meaning of her words but Harry merely chuckled. Ginny turned around looking for something to do but could find nothing. “Have you eaten? Have you had breakfast?” Ginny said self-consciously, in a thinly-veiled attempt to dispel the awkward moment that had followed. She felt full herself, perhaps from all the water she drank. She thought she could feel his eyes following her every move but she absolutely refused to acknowledge it.
“I’m fine.” It seemed to Ginny that there was just a tad note of hilarity in Harry’s voice but she didn't at all feel offended. She actually felt happy to learn that she could make Harry smile. How many times had she heard Hermione say how Harry could be so surly at times, especially when an operation went awry, that Ron would end up calling him "Grumpy-pants" and Harry would retaliate by calling Ron "flasher fitz" to which Ron would just grin broadly until Harry threw a pillow on his head and the two would end up wrestling and laughing on the floor very much like the two overgrown boys that they were. Hermione was so used to it that she would just let the two boys have at it while she calmly sat nearby reading a book.
But neither could Ginny lift her head to face Harry again, mortified to have uttered such a word when already her body was humming with so much awareness of him the moment her lips touched his cheek. Thus, it was really more because of guilt than embarrassment that she bent her head down, hiding behind the curtain of her long red hair. Oh, why did he have such an effect on her? I’m a grown woman, for Merlin’s sake!
“Ginny?” Ginny turned around as Harry said her name, and saw his eyes were rimpled, his lips curved upwards into a lazy smile.
Just so she could function and stop herself reverting back to the mute eleven-year old version of herself, Ginny turned her attention back to the jewelries. “But what can they do?” she asked as if the last few minutes had not occurred.
“Actually, that’s why I’m here. I was hoping to find out exactly how these things are used.”
She looked at the items with fresh interest. “Hathor. Hathor. The little that I know came mostly from Muggle sources because Menat left the wizarding world to live among them. She’s one of the most ancient goddesses, you know, that’s why there were so many powers attributed to her.” Ginny began listing off the top of her head whatever she could remember of the Egyptian goddess. “Let’s see. Goddess of love, fertility, childbirth, foreign lands, drinking. Protrectress of pregnant women….” She turned to Harry and raised an eyebrow at him. But Harry did not rise to the bait, his eyes still crinkled in amusement. She went on. “She was also known as the Lady of the West, the goddess of the dead.” Ginny turned to Harry again, her eyes dancing with amusement. “You haven’t been nosing around tombs lately, have you Harry?”
“Not tombs, no.” Harry said quietly and there it was again, the tone of sadness in his voice.
Ginny backtracked and went back to the artifacts. “The headdress was a symbol of her power. It was in the shape of cow’s horns because that was her Animagus form. But the necklace was a ceremonial instrument, not really meant to be worn. Muggles often left one in their loved ones’ coffins because Hathor was supposed to help conduct the deceased into the land of Tuat, the land of the dead. That’s why the necklace was also called the Menat.”
Ginny peered in closer, her previous reserve dissipating the longer they talked. She turned her head this way and that, trying to make out from the little she knew what the hieroglyphs on the necklace's golden plate meant. She knew Bill could read them in a heartbeat. The Gringotts goblins were rather generous in lending their Curse Breakers with the learning tools to do their jobs well and so Bill had access to rare parchments and books on ancient Egyptian writings that simply could not be found elsewhere. Thus, Bill could read hieroglyphs that would simply stump the best Muggle Egyptian hieroglyph experts. Ginny could have easily Flooed her eldest brother and asked him to come over and take a look at the items but she was milking the opportunity to talk to Harry alone for all it was worth. She was not about to stop anytime soon.
Once again, Ginny realized just how near they stood to one another. She wanted to tuck her hair behind her ear but she was afraid her traitorous skin would reveal just how much Harry’s nearness was affecting her.
“How do you know all about these?” Harry said, forcing Ginny to look back up at him. Frank amazement was clearly etched on Harry's face.
“I’ve read of them.” Ginny said, but when Harry continued looking at her questioningly, she elaborated: “When Bill learned that he was going to be assigned to Egypt by Gringotts, he prepared by reading up on everything he could get his hands on about the subject. Most nights I would sit on his lap while he read until I fell asleep. Sometimes, though, especially when a particular picture caught my attention, he would explain to me some of the things he’d read. That’s how I became interested in Egyptology.”
“Oh was that the time Ron mentioned that you often fell asleep on Bill’s lap sucking your thumbs?” Harry’s face was deadpan but Ginny could see his eyes still crinkled in amusement.
Ginny bristled with indignity. It was so not true! For Harry’s information, she had long stopped thumbsucking at the age of three and not at eight when Bill began his Gringotts training. But, hey, she’d put up with anything just to prolong their conversation, at least until she was able to wangle a dinner date from him.
“Of course not, though I wouldn’t mind reminding Ron as soon as I see him exactly where I learned the Bat-Bogey Hex from. It would be sooo nice to reintroduce my big-mouthed brother to my wand, don’t you think?” said Ginny.
Harry laughed. Not smiled, but laughed - openly, unreservedly, with his head thrown back.
Ginny stared at him open-mouthed. She did not remember the last time she saw him this light-hearted, this…happy? The few times she had seen him at the Burrow, he barely looked at her and often he would just stay in the sidelines and stare into the distance. Ginny would have loved to walk up to him during those times and ask him if he were alright, to offer him comfort in some way, but she couldn’t very well leave whichever boyfriend she brought with her that time. Her brothers would surely pounce on the bloke. Then Harry would excuse himself and leave, as if he couldn’t stand to stay very long. And now, here Harry was, laughing as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Work must be really slow this week in the Auror department, she thought.
She turned her face back to the items, unable to bear much longer looking directly at Harry after so many years of stolen glances and watching him from a distance. Ginny pointed to the plate in the necklace, tracing a finger on the glyphs etched on the golden aegis. A sliver of her skin was touching Harry’s skin and Ginny felt excitement course through her. “It’s usually made of earthwork, not pure gold,” she said, keeping her voice even, praying desperately that it would not betray the emotion that suddenly overtook her. “And the designs are so intricate; I’ve never seen one like it."
"Yes, it is quite exquisite. And there's nothing in the world quite like it... quite like you...." Harry’s voice came so close to her ear, sounding so tenderly soft and hoarsely low that Ginny felt her body slowly burn. And slowly, she turned her face up to him. His head was slightly bent down towards hers. She had never seen his eyes this close. It was more beautiful than she remembered, more beautiful in real life than just looking at them through enlarged pictures of him in newspapers and magazines. Besides, Harry never stayed long enough in those pictures, his photographic self was notorious for never staying put in his frame. And the longer she looked in his eyes, the more she felt like drowning....
And of anything in her life she had never been more certain of one thing: In every fiber of her being, to the very marrow of her soul, Ginny knew she loved him.
~o~
Harry couldn’t believe his eyes: Ginny was coming through the kitchen doorway with a huge smile brightening her face. She seemed genuinely pleased to see him and he couldn’t help but greet her with an answering smile of his own. And when she came up to him and kissed him on his cheek, Harry nearly lost it. He almost grabbed her, pulled her close, and snogged the living daylights out of her. But his sense of decorum prevailed and though he ached to brush her long hair back over her shoulder, he somehow managed to keep his hands to his sides.
He wasn’t even planning to show the artifacts to anybody but when Ginny asked why he was there, Harry realized that he couldn’t answer her back with a lie, not even an evasive response. He felt that he had been lying to her long enough, not letting her know how he felt about her. And so, he showed her the jewelries.
That Ginny knew what the artifacts were - and more - the moment she saw them was confirmation that he had made the right decision. He felt it was kismet - that they were meant to meet this time, that all the events in his life - even the sorrows - had been tending to this. There was nothing now that stood in the way of them being together, no one and nothing that existed that could possibly threaten her that Harry could not protect her from. He was not being arrogant, not at all. But if there was one thing Harry trusted in this whole universe, in this entire existence, it was love - love in all its glory, in all its power. Wasn't his own survival a proof of that? He loved Ginny, that fact was absolute, that love their own aegis. That for all his toils and troubles, his sufferings and self-sacrifice, that this, her, now, was his just and most deserved reward and Harry felt absolutely giddy with happiness.
Or anticipation. He still did not know if Ginny was still seeing anyone. Last he had heard, she was dating that toff Philip, whom the entire Weasley brothers called 'Lemony Whatsit' or 'Lemony Gadget' behind his back. But if Ginny's behavior towards him was anything to go by, Harry could not help but hope - no, believe - that he finally had his chance with Ginny.
That's why when Ginny made an inadvertent remark and acted the way she did Harry's first time at the Burrow, Harry thought his face would break in two from smiling so much. Over the years Ginny had matured into such a confident and graceful woman that Harry, who missed nothing, couldn't help but be more attracted to her. He had watched her (albeit surreptitiously) held her own with aplomb before people who would have intimidated less self-assured individuals. He had avidly followed her career (erhm, her, to be exact), secretly reading all printed articles about her in newspapers and magazines, even though he knew that more than half of them were highly inaccurate and most probably made up. But Harry was so starved of anything Ginny that he lapped up those articles anyway. Still, even from such articles, her true character shone through. How many times had he read, despite the unflattering and largely critical article that preceded it, the writer himself mentioning how gracious an interviewee Ginny had been? It was only her refusal to discuss her lovelife or comment on Ron's and Hermione's behavior or fiercely cut right from the start the reporters' attempts to fish for any information (or gossip) on Harry that turned the media off her.
Sometimes the articles would get so vicious that Harry had a tough time reading them through to the end. But Harry soon realized that in most of these articles, the reporter had said something critical, well, of him, and Ginny would immediately light into the said reporter, unleashing her bull-red temper on the hapless reporter, turning the interview sour. These instances of her goodwill often made Harry's day. Were it not for the fact that most of these articles would list off the strings of boyfriends Ginny had had, and suggesting that she was currently seeing this or that bloke, Harry would have long ago rushed to her doorstep and whisked her off away. That she should get flustered in front of him now had given Harry hope than anything possibly could. It was a wonder he hadn’t already grabbed her and kissed her, although, to be fair, Ginny had a tendency to hex first whenever someone sprung up on her.
It was really more because he didn't want to be looking at her back after watching her from afar for so long that he called her name and was promptly rewarded with the amusing sight of her attempting to appear nonchalant.
And when she started speaking about the jewelries again, he was once again reminded of Ron's comment about how Ginny never shut up normally. But Harry didn’t mind. He felt he could stay and spend all day listening to Ginny speak. Whatever she wanted was alright with him. He nearly choked from laughing too when she threatened Ron. The innocent expression on her face contrasted so sharply with her threatening words that Harry couldn’t help it and he laughed openly. Good thing he left out the part when Ron would do this impression of Ginny as a young girl with her front teeth missing, reciting whatever story Bill was telling her. He didn't think Ron would survive an encounter with Ginny if he did not.
She stood so close to him now that he could smell her hair and he breathed her scent in, committing it to memory. This had been the first time that he had been this close to her and when their skin touched, it electrified Harry right to his very soul. At once all his defenses, all his hesitation collapsed. He couldn't help himself reacting to her and finally lending voice to what he had only been thinking and feeling for the past several years. Ginny was exquisite, and for him, there was no one quite like her in all the world.
She turned her face to look up at him. He had never seen her eyes this close: so warm, so bright with life. She was lovely, the most exquisite thing he had ever seen. And he loved her. In every fiber of his being, to the very marrow of his soul, Harry knew he loved her.
For a long time he stared at her chocolate brown eyes. The warmest brown eyes that he had ever seen, her warm soul reflected in them. There would be time for words, he felt. But now, Harry's body demanded to be united, body and soul, with this woman he had been loving for so long. Lost in a haze of love and attraction, he felt his body thrumming with need that it had never known before. He'd been with women before, driven to them by the extreme loneliness and longing to what hitherto had only been a dream, but he had never felt such need. Harry felt his body trembling, the electricity in the air so charged it was palpable. He was drowning in a turbulent sea of need so powerful it seemed to wash over his body. He raked her face hungrily now, her white, translucent skin flushed, glowing, her lips red and slightly swollen....
Harry took a staggered step back, his eyes widening with shock. The realization, the feeling of betrayal hit him like a mailed fist. Ginny looked uncertainly at him but before she could say anything, he mumbled "I'm sorry, but I have to leave. Sorry for taking your time." then abruptly turned around and hurriedly left through the backdoor. He didn't want to hear her voice, didn't want her to speak his name. And he certainly didn't want her to see upon his face that his heart was breaking.
He cursed the long walk he had to take to reach the Apparation point of the Burrow. He could have Disapparated, of course, even from within the walls of the house, but to do so would violate the wards and the alarms would sound off alerting everyone from the Ministry to the rest of the family, the sound would even blare loud enough to alert even the Muggles in the area.
But when he reached the edge of the Burrow's ward, Harry realized that he could not Apparate. Not just yet. His entire body was wracked with minute waves of tremor that he was sure to splinch himself if he tried to Disapparate now.
Not wanting to be seen from anywhere inside the Burrow, he walked steadily ahead until he reached the turn in the road leading towards the center of the village. There he leaned a hand against a tree, bracing for support, and tried to catch his breathing even though he had not walked that fast.
A few months after he joined the Ministry, he was waiting for the lifts when a witch who was working at the Auror Department walked by and greeted him. She had lost a child during the war and so Harry felt a certain sympathy towards her. But for some unfathomable reason to Harry at that time, he blurted out how the witch looked beautiful that morning. From the corner of his eye, he saw other Ministry employees standing nearby staring dumbfounded at him. Harry, deeply embarrassed, quickly entered the just opened lift. Now nobody who had proper eyesight could ever call the said witch good-looking by any stretch of the imagination or whatever it was that could be stretched enough to justify Harry's comment, but there, Harry had said it and since then the woman had never stopped using the garish maroon lipstick she had been wearing that day. The same thing happened half a year later, when Hermione had permanently moved in to Grimmauld. One day, his two friends came down to the kitchen for breakfast, Harry was once again struck at how beautiful Hermione, whose hair was still rumpled from sleep, appeared that day. And he told her so. The words were out before Harry realized what he was saying. They both reddened, of course, at Harry’s uncharacteristic comment though they both knew that Harry meant nothing by it. Ron merely raised an eyebrow at Harry. It was only much, much later when Harry had more experience in the world and when he had read (out of boredom) the many Muggle novels Hermione left lying around the house that Harry realized why he said those words.
How many times had he seen the same look on Hermione's face since then so that Harry had made it a habit not to look at her anymore whenever she came down to breakfast? Exercise didn't do it, no matter how others might think or believe. There was just something different about the appearance of a woman recently loved, something unmistakable about the luminous afterglow of sex.
How had he not noticed it, the first time Ginny walked into the kitchen? He knew why. He was so happy at seeing her, at having finally this chance to talk to her alone, that finally he could tell her exactly how he felt about her, that he could not see beyond the veil of his own glee. Not that he ever lacked courage before, no. It was just he was so used to keeping his feelings for Ginny hidden, keeping it to himself, that he felt it only right that Ginny should know of it firsthand before anyone else did or even before an audience.
The few times Harry had attended the family dinner at the Burrow, Harry had seen how the various Weasley women would invariably group together in a huddle causing Ron to loudly complain in a long-suffering voice how there went Hermione discussing their sex lives again with his brothers' wives. Ginny was often excluded from these talks. When he asked Ron why though, his friend merely laughed and waved his large hand dismissively saying what could Ginny contribute? She knew nothing about sex. And when Harry asked how he could be so certain, Ron simply replied ‘because Hermione told him so’. And that settled the matter for Harry. And lifted his hope even further. They both knew that Hermione was never given to lies, not even to slight exaggerations of the truth.
And now to be confronted so brutally with the evidence of the extent of Ginny's relations with another man rocked Harry right to the core. The thought of her doing it with someone else - gloried in it, by the look of it, he thought bitterly - came more than a shock to him, it felt too much like a betrayal.
What did you expect, Potter?! A harsh voice reverberated in his head. You yourself have been with other women before. How could you expect her to remain inexperienced? Aren’t you being a hypocrite?
No, it was not the fact that she had sex with some bloke but that he knew Ginny was not the type to sleep around unless she really cared deeply about the bloke. It must have been serious for their relationship to have gone so far, at least on her part. And it was that, the thought that Ginny had found happiness, found love with another man that was breaking his heart.
But even if it were the sex that was bugging him, Harry didn't care. Love was a mighty jealous, unreasonable creature that recognized no fairness, nor deservedness, only what it wanted. He realized he still had this illusion of Ginny as the young girl he saw his first day at Platform Nine and Three Quarters, the young girl who could barely speak to him his first time at the Burrow. He was hoping that underneath the grown woman that Ginny now was, was the same young girl who somehow still harbored feelings for him. He was holding on to a dream that no longer existed.
He now realized that that girl who loved him when he was younger was long gone. She no longer existed. She had been replaced by a completely different, independent, free young woman who no longer cared for him as much as she used to, had obviously moved on, never to be his again.
He guessed he was spoiled by the love that he knew existed between his parents, Sirius’ brotherly love for his Dad, Dumbledore’s for him, Tonks' for Remus, even Snape’s unrequited love - unrewarded til his dying day - for his mum. Was it so wrong of him, then, to believe that love, if it were ever true, was abiding?
And now Harry was lost, had completely lost his bearings. He was like a drowning man with no rudder to hold on to. How could he believe in something that did not last? In something so fleeting? In something that was never his in the first place? In this life or the next, Ginny would never be his.
The dry ground on his feet soon became speckled with small dark brown spots. He looked up and soft raindrops patted his cheeks. Storm clouds had formed directly above him and Harry realized his magic was spiking. Should he have a major blow-out, Ginny would surely feel it from the house and Unspeakables at the Ministry would pick up the disturbance and come investigating. Harry did not want anyone to come find him here. He straightened up, pulling his hand away from the tree he was leaning a hand against. It came away with granules from the tree’s crumbling bark stuck in his palm and he brushed the dirt off his pants.
Although the Burrow could not be seen from where he was standing, his head involuntarily made a turn back towards the house, but he wrenched it back. He had to get out of there. He had to leave, as far away as he could go as possible.
His head bowed, shoulders humped, his thick, black unruly hair being whipped by the wind generated by his own errant magic, he concentrated upon his destination. He knew exactly where to go.
Harry Apparated at a small park in Islington, completely ignoring the three wands trained directly at him the moment he appeared. He knew three Aurors were posted 24/7 in the nearest Apparation point to Kingsley Shacklebolt's residence. Few people knew of its whereabouts and fewer still could just walk up to the door and knock in without undergoing through numerous security clearance weeks in advance. Normally, if someone had suddenly Apparated in the park, the interloper would find himself suddenly blasted to the ground without so much as a heads-up. But recognizing the wizard who had just arrived, and remembering the previous day's events, the Aurors allowed the security lapse. They, of all people, should know how an impossible feat it was to take a body part of Harry Potter to make Polyjuice Potion. Thus Harry continued unaccosted through the pass-through gate to Richmond Avenue and after taking only a few more steps, turned right into Richmond Crescent where the Minister of Magic lived.
A renovated one-storey motor garage, in the modern language of architecture Kingsley's contemporary house looked different enough from its Victorian neighbors to indicate the special nature of the structure. Except for the port window set into the door of the house and a small rectangular window facing the street, the house was completely closed to the outside world. Even the bedrooms set in the basement floor had no open windows except for a folding glass wall that opened into an atrium into which sunlight flooded from an electrical sliding glass roof. But this Muggle face of the house served merely as the reception area for Kingsley's home.
Harry knocked and an Auror immediately opened the door. The port window was part of the house's surveillance system and the Auror manning it already knew of Harry's approach, the moment Harry Apparated in the park in fact. The Auror mumbled a word of greeting which, contrary to his nature, Harry did not acknowledge. But the other Auror did not mind. He was one of the Aurors who participated in the previous day’s operations and he assumed that the darkened aspect of Harry’s face was on account of having lost a man in the service, something that had not happened ever since Harry joined the Auror service.
There were two closets immediately to the right as one entered the house, the first one nearest the door doubled as the Auror guard station apart from its innocuous function. To the left was a small powder room. Harry entered it, turned on the light, and using magic, lifted the cover of the toilet seat. Above the wall against which the flush toilet was set was a lighting sconce in the form of two martini glasses slightly tilted towards each other. Harry then climbed into the toilet bowl much as he and Ron had done that time they sneaked into the Ministry to steal back the locket Horcrux from Umbridge, and again using wandless magic, filled the right martini glass with water, its electric light continuing to glow steadily. The glass started to right itself up slowly as the water began to top off the glass and suddenly Harry was descending down a short tube out into an alcove set in the foyer of the hidden residence, his entire body enveloped in a swirl of blue flame. The look and feel of this house was similar to its Muggle counterpart above, after all, the entire structure was designed by the same Muggle-born wizard-architect whom Kingsley had met and befriended in his stint as security aide of the Muggle Prime Minister.
Amelia, Kingsley's secretary and partner (a fact known only to a few), immediately greeted Harry and conducted him into Kingsley's study without even asking why Harry was there. Despite his mood, Harry couldn't help but give her a small smile. Amelia was one of the gentlest, kindest witches Harry knew and although she was very efficient in her job as the Minister's secretary, she, however, wouldn't last in a duel. That was why Kingsley kept her close.
The moment Harry entered Kingsley's study, the elder man knew something had happened. Neither one of them said anything in greeting, they had become too close a friend to waste time away with pleasantries. Harry headed directly towards the visitor's chair and sat in front of Kingsley's desk. Kingsley leaned back on his chair, waiting for Harry to speak. But Harry took his time gathering his emotions, his head bowed, his elbows planted on his knees - he did not even look up at Kingsley.
"I have to leave," Harry said at length, his voice sounding hoarse even to his own ears. Harry need not elaborate. Whatever reason Harry had for leaving the country, Kingsley was sure it wasn't something trivial. Neither did he try to persuade Harry from changing his mind. Although wizarding Britain would never forgive him for letting Harry leave, Kingsley believed in Harry so much that his trust in the younger man was implicit.
There was a long interminable silence in which Kingsley continued to wait for Harry to speak. But when Harry did not, Kingsley filled in the void.
"When?"
"As soon as possible....Today." Harry looked up, his gaze steady although whatever the cause of his distress, the storm was clearly visible upon his handsome face. Kingsley realized that it had nothing to do with what had happened at St. Kilda the day before. After the meeting with Harold’s widow, Kingsley witnessed from the observation room back at the Ministry the interrogation of the suspects that soon followed. Harry then was in his usual top form, displaying an enormous amount of self-possession.
"I only came here to get the lists of the formal requests made at the caucus last Friday, those relating to me. And the previous ones made, if you have them."
"Where will you go?"
"Greece. But after that, I'm not sure. I'll have to see the list first, deal with those I think I might be able to help with."
"You found a way to get rid of the Teumessian fox then?" Kingsley said, impressed despite the circumstances.
"Yes,” Harry merely replied. “Also, I have several requests to make as well. I promised Howard's widow access to a Pensieve when she's ready to view Howard's last memories. Will you follow through on that promise?”
“It will be done,” Kingsley replied, the Auror in him speaking. “In fact, the formal recommendations for the St. George’s Cross* to be awarded to Howard and Will have already been included in the report.”
Harry nodded his approval. “I also promised Damien Rosier that I would make sure his parents are taken care of. You can take the funds necessary to provide for their needs from my own personal funds at Gringotts. I’ll send them an authorization letter as soon as possible.”
"There's no need for that, Harry. I'll use my own discretionary fund. And as elderly citizens, they are entitled to benefits from the Ministry."
Harry nodded again.
"Also, I am formally recommending a certain Mrs. Morag Macsween in Gleann Mòr for the High Auror’s Award, or even a Good Citizen Award, whichever you think is best. The details are in the report.”
"And there is also this." Harry once again extracted the jewelries from his mokeskin. "I'm not sure yet what exactly they do. Perhaps you can commission Bill Weasley to work with the Unspeakables to find out about them."
"Harry we can't have that lying around. Last night, while you were still interrogating the suspects, the goblins sent feelers asking about them. I don't know how word got around to them but the goblins now know that Egyptian artifacts they know nothing about exist. They are quite interested in them and might be planning, even as we speak, to demand we turn over the artifacts to them. And based on the report yesterday, I don't think that there's really any place left in the world that would be safe for them to be. There is no one really I could trust with the jewelries than you."
Harry did not bother to deny his agreement, especially since they really knew next to nothing what these artifacts could do. Without a word, he duplicated the headdress and the necklace, trying not to think that the last time he held them, he was with Ginny. Then using both of his wands, he then placed numerous spells on the artifacts, not taking any pains to hide his magical skill, making it appear that the artifacts were magical. Then he stood up and looked about the room, considering where best to hide the copies. Nowhere too obvious, otherwise it would defeat the purpose of fooling whoever or whatever it was who would try to steal the items. He looked up and saw the flushmounted ceiling light, powered by magic, of course. He turned to Kingsley, seemingly asking the elder Auror for permission. Kingsley, who also had stood up and walked around his desk watching Harry work, nodded. Harry then conjured a black banded metal box and placed the artifacts in it, then closed the lid and lifted himself up til his head almost touched the ceiling. With his wand, he removed the lighting fixture, letting it float towards his left side, its light at once extinguishing the moment Harry removed it from the ceiling, plunging the room into darkness. But Harry waved a hand and the fixture immediately glowed back. Then Harry floated the box into the hole he had made in the ceiling and with a flick of his wand, the box disappeared. Then Harry replaced the light fixture casting numerous spells upon it as he did so. The magic Harry placed in it was so strong that the hair on Kingsley’s arms stood up, the books tightly packed in the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf quivering. Then Harry slowly drifted back towards the floor.
Kingsley could not help but be amazed. After all these years, after seeing Harry do fantastic feats of magic, he was still blown over by Harry's magical skill and power. The only thing Kingsley himself had learned was how to master his own awed reaction to it, the few times Harry allowed anyone to see him at work.
A long interminable silence soon followed. Harry’s reasons for the visit were finally exhausted and parting was imminent. Harry turned back to Kingsley who, unable to help himself, asked the question he promised himself he wouldn’t ask:
"What happened, Harry?"
But he should have known better, for Harry merely looked at him.
“I have to go,” Harry finally said, his tone emotionless.
"When can we expect you back?" Kingsley couldn’t help the note of sadness from creeping into his voice. He didn’t realize the extent to which he had come to rely upon this young man until now. But more than that, there was no one he trusted in the Ministry more than Harry.
"I'm not sure if I'll be," Harry quietly said. Harry then straightened up, facing Kingsley fully, the closest thing to a wizard’s equivalent to a Muggle salute. "Thank you, Minister. For everything," Harry said formally.
Kingsley offered his right hand, and he and Harry shook hands. They looked at each other for a long time. But there were no more words to be said. With a final nod of his head, Harry turned around and left.
Harry immediately Apparated back to Grimmauld place. After retrieving the bow and arrows (which he had kept hidden inside a security vault behind a mirror in the master's room walk-in closet and his own magical camping tent he bought after the war. He then went down to the kitchen and called Kreacher. He told the house-elf of his plans to leave the country though they both knew that, in their case, master and willing slave, it was not really goodbye. From anywhere in the world, Harry could easily call Kreacher to his side. Still the house-elf was not entirely happy with Harry’s decision; nevertheless, he acquiesced to Harry’s wishes. Harry gave the house-elf the option where he would like to stay - with Ron and Hermione or at the Tonks’s home. Kreacher promised to look after both households. It was a good thing the house-elf had been completely taken with Teddy, after all, Andromeda was from the House of Black. Kreacher then left to inform Andromeda of Harry’s decision; he would stay there at least until Ron and Hermione’s return.
Harry then thought of leaving a letter to his two best friends but found he could not. In the end he settled for a short note that said:
Dear Ron and Hermione,
Sorry I had to leave unexpectedly. Don’t know when I’ll be back. I love you both.
Harry
He left the note along with his father’s Invisibility Cloak on the kitchen table. Harry did not want to leave Ron without its protection during Auror missions. He knew his friends would take good care of it while he was away. He then stepped out of Grimmauld Place, carefully locking the door behind him. He stood there at the top step of the property, wondering whether he was making the right decision. But he just couldn’t see himself staying. He couldn’t bear to see Ginny again, not by chance, not so soon. He took a deep breath, preparing to Apparate to Cap Gris Nez, the closest point of France to England. As to what awaited him now, Harry would have to just suck it and see.
All throughout the country witches and wizards were preparing lunch, doing everyday things, going about their daily lives, not knowing their hero – the one who was mainly responsible for the peace and sense of security they were currently enjoying - had left them, left them for who knew how long.
~o~
What happened? Not for the first time that day Ginny was completely thrown for a loop. One minute she and Harry were talking, and, it seemed to her, drowning in each other’s eyes in a haze of intense mutual attraction, the next Harry was beating a hasty retreat. She did not understand. She had danced around with enough men to know exactly when a man was attracted to her, if only physically. And she knew Harry was plenty attracted to her just a minute ago. What then?
She could not account for his actions. Had something happened? Had there been a danger? She knew that sometimes Harry could sense some danger coming. Was that it? She just did not understand. Did she say something that offended Harry? Or reminded him of an unpleasant event? Did she smell? She lifted a part of her dressing gown and took a whiff. No, she still smelled the way she did last night.
Ginny walked unsteadily from the room and climbed back upstairs, tracing the steps by rote, for her eyes had started to cloud… with tears, she realized.
When the initial shock of surprise had finally dissipated, came the full realization of Harry's utter rejection. And Ginny's heart broke like the thousand crystals of a chandelier crashing to the floor would break, an absolute shattering that Ginny didn't think she could ever recover from. Her knees buckled; desperately she tried to hold on to the walls, to at least reach the sanctuary of her bedroom, but her body felt too heavy and she slid down to the floor instead. She sat there, staring unseeingly at the wooden planks on the opposite wall. She pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around them, gathering them as close to her body as she could so that her body could at least set down a physiological reason for the tightening in her chest.
She wished she had never woken up this morning, never gone down to see him – even to have died - then she wouldn’t have this memory of his rejection of her, a rejection so absolute, so complete that she knew there was no coming back from it. Why couldn’t he love her? Why? Ginny wailed silently. What do other women have that she didn’t have? She knew Harry had gone out on dates with other women, Hermione told her so. Was that it? Them being alone and Ginny only half-dressed, Harry’s hormones had kicked in but when he realized who she was and where they were, turned tail. He was probably unwilling to risk losing his friendship with Ron over her, afraid to offend her mum. But Ginny didn’t care. She was willing to do anything, settle for anything, just to be with him. Maybe if he really knew her, if she could only make him see how she felt about him then maybe he could return a portion of her love. And that would be more than enough for her.
She had been loving Harry for so long, waiting for him all these years, never did give up on him, that she did not know how to dream otherwise. He was the one hope of her life, her one abiding love. And now she knew for certain that he never wanted her. He would never want her or need her as much as she did. Riddle was right, after all, that day he brought her down to the Chamber of Secrets, the day Harry rescued her. It was the one thing he said that finally sapped her of the energy to fight him: Harry would never love her back.
Ginny did not know for how long she sat there on the floor but she knew she could not stay. Soon, her parents would be returning from the wedding up north, her brothers with their family would be arriving one by one. She didn’t want to be seen in such a state nor was she fit to see any of them.
She stood shakily up on her feet and went to the loo. Slowly she started to undress. As she removed her knickers, she saw something that stopped her in her tracks. There was blood on it. At first she did not understand. She just had her period two weeks ago and her periods were as regular as the lunar tide. She stared at the stain for a long time, uncomprehending. Then cold, black dread began to grip her heart. Her mind could not conceive of it, could not accept the possibility, could not absorb anything more after the pain of Harry’s rejection. And though she felt her body wept anew with the fresh, devastating onslaught, tears now refused to come to her eyes. How much more could her heart break? She thought of her parents and what it would do to them should she completely lose control of herself and that kept the darkness from completely enveloping Ginny’s mind.
What happened last night? Once again she tried to recall the events of the previous night but simply could not remember much of anything. She hurriedly showered and dressed and took the Floo to the Harpies players dormitories in Wales. Sylvie would know.
~o~
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