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Author: Aibhinn Story: Heal The Pain Rating: Teens Setting: AU Status: Completed Reviews: 5 Words: 198,021
It hadn't been a pleasant week. Harry (who, after weeks at training camp and long shifts at the Department, had even begun to think of himself as Onyx) had spent nearly the entire week at Headquarters, studying maps, charts, diagrams, and reports of Death Eater attacks. Consequently, he'd spent much of the week feeling vaguely ill. Wizarding photographs were certainly useful, but they conferred an awful lot of information he might not have wanted to know—or at least, not wanted to see. He rubbed his eyes wearily for the hundredth time, trying to rid them of the afterimage of those two little girls. Or what was left of them… Something warm and solid pressed against his left bicep, and he looked up. Ron had two cups of coffee in his hands, and was silently offering him one. Harry took it and drank half of it in one gulp, grimacing at the bitter taste. Milk and sugar did something to make it more palatable, but it was still awful stuff. Still, when you've been up for—God, how long have I been up? Twenty-eight hours now?—you take what you can get, and tea just doesn't cut it anymore. "Found anything new?" Ron asked, sitting down on the stool next to Harry. They were in front of one of the long map tables, which were angled like a drawing board, but made of cork so that marker pins could be stuck in them. Lights flashed across them, glowing in some of the pins, blinking in some of the others. Harry still wasn't sure he understood all that these maps could tell him, but now that he was beginning to decipher them, they were becoming quite helpful. "I think I may have spotted a pattern of sorts," he said, finishing off the rest of the coffee and setting the cup on a shelf beneath the map table, where it wouldn't be in the way. "One squad was killed here—" he touched a pin that glowed bright blue, in the south of England, "and another here." He touched another blue pin, this one more or less in the centre of the country. "But look here." He touched his wand to the map, and a scattering of red dots appeared around each of the blue pins. Ron leaned forward. "Attacks?" he asked. Harry nodded. "Specifically, attacks in the last few months. There haven't been many, you'll notice, but they're clustered. And there's a third grouping as well, that doesn't seem to have anything to do with the squads that were killed." "Clear up in the north. Near the Lake District." Ron chewed his lip. "So what does that mean?" "No idea. But it's something. All of these dots are very recent attacks—well, since late June, at any rate. But why three centres of activity? It just doesn't make sense. Wouldn't it be smarter to concentrate their activity on one area?" "Not if there's something they want in each of these three places." Ron put his fists on his lower back and stretched. Harry imitated him. The stools were backless, and sitting on them for any length of time was uncomfortable, especially when one was used to being active. "But what could be there that they'd want? None of the really prominent, or even wealthy, wizarding families live anywhere near there, at least not that we know of. And if what they want is to attack Muggles, why have they only had a few attacks in each grouping?" Harry scowled at the map. There had to be a clue there somewhere. There had to be. "Because they're still reorganising after the War?" Ron suggested. "Or perhaps they're recruiting again and these attacks have something to do with that." His lip curled; one of the reports they'd read had been from a Muggle who'd survived, barely, a 'recruitment'. The Obliviators had had a time trying to clear her mind of all that she'd been through without affecting her other memories; a witch from the Department was still keeping a close eye on the girl to make sure she'd had no permanent damage from her experience and the resulting memory modification. "Perhaps." Harry really didn't want to think about finding someone else like the Muggle girl. He stood abruptly. "I've been sitting too long," he said. "My turn to get the coffee. Do you want some more?" "No," Ron said, swigging the last of his cupful and handing the mug to Harry. "But if I don't drink it, I'll never last. How bloody much longer do we have on this shift?" Harry shrugged. "Till they don't need us or we fall over, I guess," he said, collecting his mug from the shelf and sliding off the stool with a wince. He was stiff. He thought almost longingly of the early-morning runs in training camp. At least those had kept him moving. If I'd wanted to sit all day, he thought sourly, I'd have joined some other office of the Ministry and written cauldron-bottom reports or something. "Well, I'm damned well not falling over," Ron said firmly. He leaned the heels of his hands on the edge of the map table and scowled at the lights. "Where are the reports for these attacks?" "Binder by your right knee. Milk and sugar, right?" "Add anything you want if it'll take away the damned aftertaste." Ron pulled out the binder and began shuffling through it as Harry started off toward the coffee. The room they were in was tiny, almost closet-sized, and made smaller by the huge map table and the built-in bookshelves behind them that housed reports, more rolled maps, boxes full of labelled photos from various raids and attacks, and who knew what else. He and Ron had been assigned to a team looking for connections that might lead to a culprit for the deaths of two full squads of officers. The others on their team had been sent to get some sleep; he and Ron had kept on because they both felt they were on the verge of finding something major. But whatever it was, it stayed stubbornly on the fringes of his consciousness, like a long-forgotten friend whose name eludes you after running into him unexpectedly. He went through the door, which was propped open to get at least some air circulation, into the Intelligence Centre proper. This room looked almost like a Muggle office building, with rows upon rows of cubicles. The differences lay in the memos fluttering frantically above Harry's head, darting heedlessly about, and in the profligate uses of Silencing and Obscuring Charms. Harry turned to the right, heading for the small room in the corner where the Ever-filled Coffee Pot sat, stumbling just a little in his fatigue. The 24-hour clock on the wall pointed to 03:23. Yep, twenty-eight hours almost exactly. "Onyx!" Harry turned to see his immediate superior, Twilight, coming round the corner. He waited for the older man to catch up. "Any news?" Twilight asked, running a hand through his thinning dark-brown hair. His rotund face was, as usual, florid and sweaty, which made him look something like Uncle Vernon, but Harry had learned early on that Twilight was nothing like his uncle in any other way. In fact, Harry quite liked and respected him. Though he looks absolutely nothing like his code name… "I'm not sure, sir," Harry said as they walked into the coffee room. "We might have found a pattern—in fact, I rather think we have—but we're not sure what it means." He explained as he filled his and Ron's cups, adding liberal amounts of milk and sugar to each. "Hm. I think I'd like to take a look at your findings," Twilight said, a glint of interest in his dark brown eyes. "Perhaps it might jog something for me." "Of course, sir." They headed back to the closet where Ron was still poring over reports. Harry had come to realise over the past week or so that many people underestimated Twilight, and that he worked very hard to encourage them to do so, especially people outside his department. He looked like a slightly-overweight, red-faced squire from somewhere out in the country—the type one would expect to wear knee pants and Argyle socks, and never go anywhere without a knobbly walking stick and a pair of Irish setters. In reality, Twilight had a sharp intellect and the ability to put apparently unrelated occurrences together to form a cohesive whole. If anyone could make sense of their findings, it was Twilight. They entered the room, and before Harry could say anything, Ron spoke without looking up. "About bloody time," he groused. "I thought for a minute there I was going to have to call the whole squad back in to go after you. What took you so long?" "Queue at the coffeepot," Twilight said apologetically, but with a twinkle in his eye. Ron's head jerked up, and he shot up off the stool and to attention. "Twilight, sir! I'm sorry, sir, I..." Twilight waved his hand dismissively, grinning. "If I'd been Elijah, I'd've had to make you do push-ups or something equally useless. But as you didn't say anything actually classified—though the two of you do have the door propped open—" He looked meaningfully at both of them, and Harry dropped his gaze guiltily. "—I can let it go for now." Ron relaxed a bit. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." "You're welcome. Onyx was just telling me about the patterns in attacks you two have found. What have you got?" Harry pulled up an extra stool, and he and Ron showed Twilight the clusters of attacks and how they related in physical distance to the deaths of the two squads. "The problem now," Harry concluded, "is that we don't know where any of the surviving Death Eaters are holed up—nor do we know which wizards and witches who survived the War are actually Death Eaters in disguise. We don't have any physical fix on them the way we did on, say, Goyle or Malfoy before the Last Battle." "Malfoy!" Ron had frozen, staring at the map. "Wait a minute. Where's Malfoy Manor?" "East Anglia," Twilight said, brow furrowing. "Not far from Norwich." Ron frowned, then smirked. "Middle of the Fens. That's good, that is. Fitting. Where else would the Malfoys live than in the middle of a dirty great swamp?" Twilight's mouth twitched in a smile. "But we've got Lucius Malfoy," he said. "He's in Azkaban." "Draco's not," Harry said darkly. "We ran into him in Diagon Alley a few months ago. Made some noise about a 'new Dark Lord' rising. That was the day the Muggle family was attacked near Ipswich, remember?" "Mmm. New Dark Lord, eh?" Twilight stared at the maps for a moment. "But if you're trying to make a case for Draco being behind all this, you're going to have a job of it. None of these groups are anywhere near Malfoy Manor." Ron scowled. "No, damn it all. But I thought I saw something..." He slid off the stool and stepped over to the bookshelves on the back wall, running a finger over the binders there. Twilight was looking over the map, more closely. "Do you have any way of telling which attack happened when?" "Yes, sir. Just touch your wand to any marker." He demonstrated, touching his wandtip to one of the red lights in Devonshire. Words appeared in the air: "Report 17302, 14 July. Casualties: Death Eater, 2; Ministry, 0; Wizard, 0; Muggle, 0." "Oh, well done," Twilight said in appreciation. "We can do a lot with this much information." Then he frowned. "Two Death Eaters killed, but nobody else? That doesn't sound familiar." "It was those two Death Eaters that were found dead and suspended in mid-air outside that run-down manor house in Devon, sir," Harry reminded him. "Oh, yes. Odd business, that. Must have bolloxed something huge, to be made an example of like that. Twenty years with the Department, and I've never seen anything like it." Harry nodded politely, but privately ground his teeth. Something was telling him they were missing something very important. "We suspect they must have three centres of operation," he said aloud. "That's the only explanation we can come up with for the groupings. They're starting to step up their attacks as well, which suggests they might be increasing their recruitment efforts." "Three Muggles attacked in the past week and a half," Twilight mused, running his wand over the red dots and scanning the information quickly. "In Devonshire. And those two near Nottingham last night—yes," he said as both Harry's and Ron's heads jerked up in surprise, "you should receive the report about that shortly; the squad that was sent out only just returned. But the spread of attacks looks as though they've divided the country more or less into thirds as they try to regroup. Well." He gave the map an appraising look. "If they're recruiting, that gives us something to work with. Good work, lads." A sound from Ron made both Harry and Twilight spin to look at him. "I knew there was a connection we'd missed!" Ron said excitedly. He looked up with a very satisfied expression on his face. "Malfoy Manor is in East Anglia, yes. But Narcissa Malfoy's mother's family had an ancestral home as well. In the Lake District." Harry and Twilight stared at Ron for a long moment, then met each other's gaze. "Well," Twilight said finally. "That explains a great deal." He suddenly became very businesslike. "Right. I'm off to alert some people. You two are officially off duty as of right now. You've got us enough information to work with; now you need to get some sleep. I want you out of this building and off home in the next five minutes, and I don't want you back for at least two days. I won't have you two burning out. Understood?" He gave them a piercing look, as if to make sure they knew he wasn't joking. "Yes, sir," Harry and Ron said together. "Right, then. Put a Level Three Security charm on the door when you leave. You're 'officially' on-call, but I won't call you in except in a dire emergency—and that's between you, me, and the fencepost, by the by. You are to sleep, eat, and get some relaxing done, though not necessarily in that order." Twilight winked, and the two of them chuckled. "Off you go, then. And remember, at least TWO DAYS." Twilight left, shutting the door behind him. "YES!" Ron shouted, punching the air. "Home! Sleep! I'm going to sleep the clock round, and I'm going to put up barriers to make sure Mum doesn't come in and wake us up too early." "You can sleep," Harry said, making sure the binders were put back in their places. Ron helped, straightening up the slight mess he'd made while looking for the information about Narcissa Malfoy. "I've got things to do tonight." "It's three-bloody-thirty a.m.!" Ron said, checking to make sure his wand was loose in its sheath. When they'd returned from training camp, Charlie and Bill had presented all three of them with arm-sheaths like their own, so that their wands were hidden but easy to pull at a second's notice. Ron and Harry had both developed a nervous habit of making sure their wands didn't stick by pulling them out an inch or so, then pushing them back in. "You don't need to go anywhere right now except to bed. Alone," he added with an evil grin. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," Harry muttered, giving the room a quick glance to make sure all was in place. It was. "That's okay. There's always tonight." He headed toward the door. "You coming?" Ron blinked, taken aback, then followed Harry out the door. "What's tonight?" "You tosser. Don't you even remember your own sister's birthday?" Harry shut the door and performed the Locking and Security charms. The crack around the white-painted door glowed faintly red, an indication that the Security Charm was active. "It's Halloween today. I promised Ginny I'd come down this afternoon for the Hogsmeade Weekend. I'll have to owl her and let her know I'll be there about noon." Ron cuffed him on the shoulder as they started down the corridor toward the Department's Apparition point. "Don't you call me a tosser, you tosser. I just got my days turned round, that's all. So you're not going to Hogsmeade until noon? So what's my sister supposed to do while everyone else is down there all morning? Moon about and wait for her prince to come?" He clasped his hands under his chin and widened his eyes as far as he could, fluttering them comically. "Yeah. Sounds about right." Harry ducked Ron's half-hearted thwap to the head and jogged to the Apparition point, which was about ten yards ahead of them now. The Apparition point was a room built onto the back of the building, about five stories up; it was completely enclosed, with no windows or doors anywhere except into the building, and the door itself was protected by the same wards that were on the front doors. This room was, in effect, outside, but it was a safe place for officers and other staff to enter and leave without having to go through the front doors. Only those who had access to the Intelligence Centre had access to this Apparition point; those who didn't work for Intelligence didn't even know it existed. Harry felt the usual shiver of power flow through him as he stepped through the door. The wards shimmered as Ron followed, and they stopped to let the guards look them over, making sure they were supposed to be there. "Right," the taller of the two guards said finally. "You two finally leaving, are you?" "Yeah, we've solved all their problems for them, so we're off to bed," Harry said with a grin. "It's all right for some," said the shorter guard. "The rest of us have to work whether the world's problems are solved or not." Ron flashed a grin at him. "Right, well, everyone knows you blokes are the ones who really run the show," Ron said. "The rest of us are just decorative." "And about time someone noticed!" the shorter guard growled, but his eyes were twinkling. His partner rolled his eyes. "Much as I'd like to stay and banter," Harry put in, "I'd best get myself to bed before I end up splinched. 'Night, you two." He closed his eyes, picturing Ron's room in his mind's eye, and Disapparated. The world re-formed around him with a pop, and he opened his eyes to find himself right in front of his bed in Ron's room. Ron himself appeared just a second later, next to his own bed. "Argh!" Ron groaned, throwing himself onto his bed, which creaked alarmingly. It was the same bed he'd had since the first time Harry had come to visit, the summer before their second year. Ron's six-foot-four-inch frame was definitely a strain on it. "I want to find out if Hermione's home, but she wouldn't thank me for waking her at this hour if she is." "Yeah, right. I know what you want to do," Harry said, standing on one foot to haul his boot off. He had taken to wearing his dragonhide boots even when he knew he would be at the Ministry all day, partially just because he liked them, but mostly because he wanted to get used to their weight and solidity. When and if he got back into the field, he wanted to make certain he wasn't bogged down by uncomfortable and unfamiliar armour. He hadn't worn his dragonhide vest, though; it was far too warm to wear indoors all day. Without sitting up, Ron hauled his own boot off—leather, not dragonhide—and threw it in Harry's general direction. It missed by several feet. "And you don't?" he shot back, though a bit half-heartedly. "Going to Hogsmeade with Ginny. Should I go tell Madam Rosmerta that she's not to let a room to the two of you?" Harry had dragged his other boot off and now pulled his shirt over his head. "We're both over age as of today," he pointed out, grinning. "There's nothing you can do, brother or not." "Yeah, yeah, yeah." Ron pulled his other boot off and let it drop by his bed, then flung an arm over his eyes. "Merlin, I'm tired," he groaned "So you're going to sleep in your clothes?" Harry stepped out of his trousers and folded them. All those years of living with the Dursleys had ingrained habits of neatness in him that were hard to break. "Won't that be awfully uncomfortable?" "Give me two minutes of silence and I won't know it," Ron muttered from under his arm. "Coffee or no coffee, it won't take longer than that for me to go to sleep." "All right, all right." Harry sat down on the edge of his bed in his boxers, and reached into his trunk for a piece of parchment and a quill. Exhausted or not, he had to let Ginny know when he'd be there. Dear Gin: It's about 3:45, and Ron and I have just got off work. I'll meet you at the gates of Hogwarts at noon today. Happy birthday, love. Harry Hedwig was sound asleep in her cage next to the window, her head tucked under her wing. She wasn't best pleased when Harry woke her. "I know, Hedwig, I know," he sighed as she nipped at his finger in annoyance. "But this has to get to Ginny by breakfast. Can you do that?" She gave him a sharp look, and he chuckled. "All right, good. I promise you an owl treat when you get back, all right?" She nipped at his finger again, but in a slightly mollified way, as he took her out of her cage and onto his wrist. He gave her a toss into the air out the window, then shut the sash and drew the blind. A quick spell toward the magical alarm clock that sat on his bedside table, to wake him at half-past ten, and he collapsed on his bed, asleep before his head hit the pillow. *** "Harry? Oi! Harry!" Harry muttered and turned over, only to jerk awake when something soft hit him in the face. "Mwhssi?" he gurgled, clawing whatever it was away from him. A pillow. Ron's pillow. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Shut off the bloody alarm clock and go to Hogsmeade, will you? Let a bloke sleep." Harry scrubbed his face with his hands and looked over at his bedside table. The Wizarding Wireless Network was playing music that sounded like it would not have been out of place at Nearly-Headless Nick's Deathday party. He slapped his hand down on it, and the racket disappeared. "Thank Merlin," came Ron's voice. He was lying flat on his bed, having apparently lobbed his pillow at Harry. Harry shied it back at him; it landed smack on the middle of his face. "Oi!" Ron protested as Harry slipped his glasses on. "You're the one who didn't wake up!" Harry pulled a face as he dug into his trunk for clothes. "Sorry." Jeans, shirt, clean boxers, socks, dressing gown. He put the latter on and flipped the tie shut, collecting the clothes in his arm. "I'm off to shower. I'm surprised you don't want to come with me down to Hogsmeade today as a chaperon or something." Ron snorted. He'd pulled the pillow under his head and now lay with his arm over his eyes again. "Like I could stop you from doing anything. No, thank you; I'd rather not piss off my sister, if it's all the same. Trying to reverse a Bat-Bogey Hex is too damned much trouble." Harry snorted with amusement and left the room. Hermione was downstairs when he'd finished his shower, head propped on her hand, reading something at the kitchen table. "Morning," he yawned, running his fingers through his short, damp hair. He'd removed the glamour over his scar just before coming downstairs. It felt odd, after all this time, to be able to see and feel it on his forehead again—but he couldn't very well go to Hogsmeade with it missing. "Morning, sleepyhead," she grinned, looking up from her book. "What time did you two get in last night?" "Not quite four. Ron's still sleeping. Anything left for breakfast?" "Some sausages, I think. They're under the cloth on the counter." She pointed. Harry made a beeline for them. "So what are you doing up with only six hours of sleep after a twenty-four-hour shift?" she asked. "Going to Hogsmeade with Ginny," Harry said around a mouthful of sausage. He swallowed and grinned sheepishly. "Sorry. It's her birthday today, remember? I told her I'd come if I could. When we got in last night, I sent Hedwig with a letter to let Ginny know I'd be there about noon." "That reminds me, Hedwig's back. She's been waiting for you to get up. I think she's outside. She seemed a little irritated when I told her you were still asleep." "Oh, yeah," Harry said, remembering. "I promised her some Owl Treats when she got back." He popped the last bit of sausage in his mouth and opened the half-door to the back yard. "Hedwig!" he called. A flash of white appeared out of the trees and soared down toward him. He stepped back and let her land on the bottom half of the door. "Hello, beautiful," he said to her, scratching the back of her neck gently. She closed her eyes in appreciation. "Thanks for taking that for me. Oh! You have a reply!" For Hedwig had stuck out her leg and shown him. "Hang on, let me get your Owl Treats." He rummaged in the cupboard next to the door and pulled down a packet, pulling out two for her and setting them down on the wide sill of the half-door before removing the letter. Hedwig nipped one of the treats up happily as Harry unrolled the parchment, leaning against the kitchen cabinet as he read. Harry, I'll be waiting at the gates. I can't wait to see you. It's been so long, sometimes I'm almost afraid I've forgotten what you look like. Love always, Ginny He grinned and grabbed another sausage. An idea had just occurred to him. He glanced at his watch. He had just enough time if he hurried. With a last scratch of appreciation to Hedwig, he loped across the kitchen toward the stairs, pulling off his shirt as he went. "Where are you going?" Hermione asked. "To get Ginny's present," he called back. "See you later!" *** Ginny stepped out of the front entrance of Hogwarts and stretched, enjoying the unusual experience of warm sunlight pouring down on her birthday. Halloween was nearly always cold and rainy. The bright, cloudless sky lifted her spirits as very little had done since the beginning of the school year. Be honest, Ginny. Your spirits are lifted because Harry's waiting for you down at the gates. She grinned to herself as she bounced down the stairs toward the road that led to the village. After nine weeks of loneliness, it was hard not to be excited. I hope he's not too tired. Kept at work until 3:45 in the morning! That's insane! "Maybe if I let him take a little nap first," she murmured naughtily to herself. "'Ere! You! Where do you think you're going, Missy?" She started, spinning to face the voice. It was Filch, glaring down at her. "To Hogsmeade," she said, pressing a hand to her chest. "Merlin, you startled me." "To Hogsmeade, eh?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow disbelievingly. "Why didn't you go down there this morning with all your nasty little friends?" "Because I had work to finish," she said, beginning to get annoyed. It was even the truth; she'd done a bit more on her Animagus work—had even managed a partial transformation. Professor McGonagall had been quite pleased. "I was working with the Headmistress. You can ask her if you like." "Oh, be sure I will," Filch said nastily, Mrs. Norris twining about his legs. "Go on then, but if I find you've been lying to me, Missy, that'll be the end of these little Hogsmeade visits for you." Ginny rolled her eyes. "Yes, all right," she said impatiently. He waved her on and she broke into a trot. It was nearly noon; Harry would be waiting. Honestly, she thought, irritated, did Filch have to turn up right then and delay me? At least he didn't insist we go find McGonagall immediately. A tall, black-haired man stood by the gate as she rounded the bend. His hair was very short—only about two inches long all over his head—and he was in a sleeveless top that looked like leather. His muscles were pleasingly defined along his arms and shoulders, she noticed, and his waist attractively narrow—over a very nice arse. She grinned in appreciation. And then he turned, and she stopped dead in her tracks, for it was Harry. Harry, in his dragonhide vest and boots, and tight black jeans. And nothing else. Harry, sporting a tan she'd rarely seen on him. Harry, with muscles that made her mouth go dry and a tight, firm physique that made her whole body tingle. Oh, my. Training camp was good to him… His face lit up as he saw her, and he broke into a loping run, closing the distance between them. "Gin!" he said in delight. He grabbed her round the waist and picked her up, spinning her round with him. She clutched at his shoulders, grinning madly as the realisation hit her. This was Harry! She fastened her mouth upon his in a deep, needy kiss, and he responded, holding her tightly against him (still about a foot off the ground) as their tongues met and caressed. Whoops and catcalls filled the air from the other Hogwarts students who were nearby or passing, but she didn't care. This was Harry, her Harry, and he was back, he was here, he was in her arms for the first time in nine weeks. She retained enough presence of mind not to wrap her legs around him as well as her arms, but only just. Finally the kiss ended and they pulled back from each other, still grinning. "Happy birthday, love," he said. "Yes, it is." She squeezed his shoulders as he set her down on her feet again. For a moment she wasn't certain her legs would support her, but finally she stepped away and looked at him—really looked at him. "Wow," she said in appreciation. "Wow." "I seemed to remember that you liked my birthday presents almost as much as I did," Harry said with a wicked grin. "So I wore them for you." He held his arms out to his sides so she could see the full effect. "They fit a little better now than they did in July." "Everything fits better now than it did in July, Harry," she said with another grin, reaching around to pinch his arse. He yelped and jumped away, making her laugh. A determined look spread across his face and he started towards her, but in a fit of mischief she darted past him, running toward the Hogsmeade high street, Harry in hot pursuit. Laughing in delight, she wove through the crowds of students, using her much smaller frame to her advantage. If they got into a clear space, he'd be able to catch up with her easily; his letters as well as his new (gorgeous!) physique had convinced her of that. But amidst the throng, she was one up on him. Past The Three Broomsticks; past the tea shop and Zonko's and toward Dervish and Banges. Ginny was starting to get a bit winded. Maybe it was time to let him catch her. She purposely slowed her steps a bit, expecting to feel his big hand on her arm, but nothing came. Curious, she glanced back over her shoulder. A group of third years was wandering about, wide-eyed, and a trio of Ravenclaw girls stood giggling together, but they were the only people within twenty feet. She didn't see Harry anywhere. She stopped, brow furrowed, turning fully to scan the high road. Worry began to spread through her. Had something happened? Had— Strong arms wrapped around her waist from behind. "Ha! Gotcha!" Harry laughed, burying his face in her neck and blowing a raspberry against her skin. She shrieked and giggled, wriggling against his strong grasp. "Harry!" she protested. "Stop!" "Why?" he asked innocently, and blew another raspberry, this time on the other side of her neck. She shrieked again. "Oh, all right," he relented, and loosened his hold. She spun in his arms. "How did you get ahead of me?" she demanded. "You were behind me! I know you were!" He grinned unrepentantly. "That's classified," he said archly. "That's what?" "Classified. I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you." "What?" She stared at him, horrified. He laughed. "I'm just joking, Gin. Relax. It was a quotation from a Muggle movie." His arms tightened around her and he pulled her close. "Now, what was that about things 'fitting better'?" he whispered seductively against her ear, pressing his hips to hers. She grinned, her body responding as she slid her arms around his neck. "There are some things," she purred, "that fit perfectly from the beginning." She wriggled against him as she drew his head toward her for another kiss. Warmth spread through her, burning along each nerve and fibre until her whole body was heated, needing. Her hands drifted down to rest against his chest, then slid around his torso to hold onto him with the desperation of nine weeks of separation and worry. She hadn't told him everything about how worried she'd been, particularly after Ron's letter telling her his concerns about Cipher. She'd written to Ron after receiving Harry's response, begging him to keep her informed. He'd promised, but being so far away from everything had not helped to ease her mind. Just the fact that Harry was safe and with her was enough to make her want him; his outfit and the feel of his hard, warm body against her made her wish she could pull him to the ground right here. His eyes looked a little wild when they separated at last, and he rested his forehead against hers. "Wow," he said hoarsely. "I guess absence really does make the heart grow fonder." She couldn't help it; she laughed, even as her heart pounded and her breath came short. How does he do this to me, she thought, every time I see him? Harry just held her for a moment, before finally taking a deep breath and raising his head. "We're getting looks," he said, an amused tone to his voice. Ginny glanced behind her. Several heads turned hastily, as though not wanting to be caught staring. She caught more than a few grins hidden behind hands. "Of course we are," she said, turning back to him and raising an eyebrow. "I've got the sexiest man in the Commonwealth. They've got to get a little vicarious thrill somewhere." He laughed and let his arms fall from her sides, taking her hand and tucking it into the crook of his elbow. "Well, let's make it easy on them, shall we?" he said. "I'll just show you off as we go." She smiled at him as they started down the high street. "Anything in particular in mind?" she asked as she curled her hand around his bicep, feeling a little thrill at the new, more defined contours. "Not right at the moment," he said, then grinned sidelong at her. "But I do have reservations at The Three Broomsticks for tonight." "For dinner?" She felt a tiny pang of disappointment. She'd rather hoped he'd come up with something a little more… well, romantic. "For dinner as well." He gave her a look that was more than half promise, and she felt warmth spread through her body again. It never failed; he could reduce her to a quivering puddle of Ginny-goo every time he gave her That Look. But then he stopped. Stopped dead, right in the middle of the high street. His face became completely blank; his muscles tensed. Startled, she followed his gaze, wondering what had upset him. Oh. It was the spot where the Hogwarts teachers had held their line, just behind the line of Ministry wizards who had been so effortlessly and inhumanely blown apart by Voldemort and his Death Eaters. The place where Sirius and Dumbledore and Hagrid had died. The place where Voldemort had finally been destroyed. Whirlwind of laughter. Boots in front of her. Wands above her, pointed toward the friends and acquaintances and loved ones who stood fast, defending the world beyond them. Determination blooming within her, confirming her decision. Her wand reaching up as if held by another. An incantation she'd never seen except in a Vision pouring from her mouth. A shiver of power sliding through her, becoming a quaking torrent. Harry's panicked voice, crying out to her. Voldemort's face, wide-eyed, frightened. The Death Eaters, held frozen by their draining power. Her own power, her very life force, draining out of her and into her wand. A small heartbeat, fading. Slowing. Stopping. Blackness. Ginny came back to herself with a start, her cheeks hot with tears. Harry's arm was around her now, and she could feel him shaking, too. But she couldn't look at him. Nearly November. That's eight and a half months since Valentine's Day. I'd be nearly ready to give birth—if— A small sob escaped her, and she turned to bury her face in Harry's shoulder. He held her, and she could feel the soft, wet drops of his own tears on her head and shoulder. "I haven't been back," he said softly, his voice rumbling in his chest, against her ear. "Not since…that night." He paused. "Sirius," he whispered. "Dumbledore. Hagrid. Neville. Snape. Shacklebolt. Lupin. Tonks. Mackenzie. Roberts. Moody." A litany of those who had died or been injured, Ginny realised. Lupin was still in hospital, trying to recover his memory and his strength both. Tonks had broken her arm and collarbone, a nasty compound fracture that had very nearly caused her to die from blood loss. Mackenzie and Roberts, two Aurors who had joined the fight early on, had both been hit with the Cruciatus curse and now had severe mental problems—not quite as bad as Neville's parents, but bad enough. And Moody had suffered a heart attack—natural or magical, nobody was sure—and ended up in St. Mungo's for the better part of three weeks, before he was strong enough to move. The others hadn't made it. But so many did, she told herself. We both saved lives that night. She'd told herself that before. It didn't help this time, either. There was one life she hadn't been able to save. And she hadn't even known it. She stood there with Harry for a long moment, holding him, letting him hold her. She'd thought she'd done a good job of forcing herself to forget, to move on. She'd been so sure she'd left the grief in the past. It was over—long over. And it wasn't as though she'd been expecting the baby. She hadn't even known she was pregnant until after the fact. But: A small heartbeat, fading. Slowing. Stopping. Shouldn't she have known? What mother could possibly not know that she was carrying a child? How could she not have sensed it? Shouldn't she have realised, if nothing else, that something was different about her body? Moody. Irritable. Queasy. She'd felt all those things in the week or two before the Last Battle. How could she not have known? The horrible little voice she'd been fighting since waking in hospital niggled its way into her consciousness: And would you have made any other choice but the one you did, even if you'd known you were pregnant? If she'd known she was pregnant, could she have cast the Fynalle Strykke? Could she have consciously made the decision to destroy her child, Harry's child? Could she not have? Could she have let all those people die, let Voldemort take over? And the ultimate question: Does that make me a murderer? Harry sighed and his arms loosened slightly. She felt the soft warmth of his lips press against her temple, his hands running up and down her back soothingly. "You all right, love?" he asked quietly. Taking a deep breath, Ginny pushed back from him, fumbling in her sleeve for her handkerchief to wipe her eyes. "Yes," she lied. Harry gave her a watery smile. "No, you're not," he said, touching her cheek. "Neither am I. But we'll get there. We'll get there." Ginny's answering smile was as watery as his. He kissed her forehead and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Together, they walked on up the high street toward the other shops. If only I could leave the past behind so easily. ------------- It was nearly midnight, but Harry lay awake, watching Ginny sleep. They'd taken a room at The Three Broomsticks for the night, choosing to skip the Halloween feast because they were unwilling to let each other go so quickly after so long a separation. And after having returned to Hogsmeade for the first time since the Battle. He'd never been so grateful in his life to have Ginny as he'd been while standing in front of Honeyduke's, watching the events of the Battle replay themselves in his mind's eye. Her warm softness in his arms had been nearly all that had anchored him in the present. His emotions had run completely amok, leaving him shaking with the effort not to cause all the buildings around to explode from his anger and burst into tears, all at the same time. He'd named the victims of the Battle as they'd paraded before him in memory, forcing himself to acknowledge them, forcing himself to think, not just feel. But by far the worst memory of all, worse even than the deaths of his godfather and friends, worse than the destruction, worse than the screams of the tortured and the dying, was the memory of Ginny, lying at Voldemort's feet. Unconscious. Maybe dead. And then raising herself up to cast the spell he, Harry, had meant to cast. Sacrificing herself. Even now, the emotions he'd felt during the Battle could still shatter him. Shock. Terror. Denial. Love. Despair. She'd been so quiet this afternoon, after they'd left the Battle site. They'd purposely stayed on the other end of the high street: taking a snack at the tea shop, browsing in Gladrags Wizard Wear, wandering into the used bookstore. She'd spoken only when spoken to, and spent most of her time staring at the others doing their shopping—the witches and wizards who lived in the village, as well as the other Hogwarts students. He'd tried to draw her out, but though she'd obviously been making an effort to act like her usual, cheerful self, he could tell her heart hadn't been in it. She'd picked at her dinner as well, while insisting she was 'fine.' And when they'd come upstairs, she'd nearly thrown herself at him with a desperation that had both surprised and, yes, frightened him. It was as though she'd been trying to drown herself in him. He'd responded to her—how could he not?—but now, watching her in her uneasy sleep, he could feel concern gnawing at his gut. There was something very wrong with his Ginny, but he didn't know how to fix it. Especially not now, when he was fighting his own demons from the Battle. She made a soft sound, shifting in her sleep. She'd been snuggled against his chest; now she turned onto her back. In the moonlight, her face was clearly visible, even without his glasses. It was taut, almost frightened, her eyebrows drawn together, her breath quickening. Her hands slid down over the covers to rest atop her abdomen, clutching at the quilts. She whimpered, and he felt his heart contract. She was having a nightmare. He draped an arm over her torso, holding her comfortingly. "Ginny," he whispered. "Ginny, love, it's just a dream. Wake up. Wake up, it's all right. I'm here. You're safe. Ginny—" She sat bolt upright, eyes wide with terror, arms wrapped protectively across her middle. "No!" she screamed. "Not my baby!" Before he could even process what she'd said, his arms were around her, one hand gently stroking her hair as he moved to kneel beside her. "Gin," he said anxiously, "Gin, it's all right, it's okay. Shh. It's okay." She stared up at him for a long moment before her eyes cleared, recognition appearing in their limpid darkness. Tears suddenly sprang up. "Oh, Harry!" she wailed, and buried herself in his embrace, sobbing the sobs of the utterly bereft. The import of what she'd cried out in her dream finally penetrated, and his heart twisted. He gathered her tightly to him, as though trying to feed his love and devotion into her through her very skin. He settled into a sitting position on the bed and pulled her into his lap, trying to hide his terror and guilt. 'Not my baby.' Oh, God. I should have known… I should have thought… All the witches and wizards out shopping with their young children today. The infants' and children's section of Gladrags, where she'd spent more than a few moments gazing at the tiny robes. The couple who'd sat at the next table at dinner, with their tiny baby asleep in the pram. While he had been mourning the loss of his friends, she had been remembering the baby she hadn't known she'd been carrying. The baby she had unwittingly sacrificed to destroy Voldemort. My God, he thought, after doing a quick calculation. The baby would have been born any time now. How could I have forgotten? How could I have overlooked it? I was too wrapped up in my own problems, that's how, he concluded guiltily, cradling her head against his shoulder as he made soft, soothing noises, rocking her gently. Oh, Gin, love, I'm so sorry… She clung to him in utter misery, shaking with the wracking sobs. He just held her, shoving his own guilt away for her sake. "Shh," he said softly as he rocked back and forth, stroking her hair. "Shh, love. I know. I know." Her sobs slowly quieted to soft hiccups, her body relaxing into limpness against him. Gently, carefully, he reached over to the bedside cabinet and took hold of his handkerchief, pressing it into her hand, then brought her with him as he lay back down, tucking the quilts around them as she lay half on his chest, half on the bed. He felt her take a deep breath and let it out slowly, and the last trace of tension flowed out of her. He stroked her hair, wiping tears from her cheek with his thumb. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked softly. She sighed again and reached up to rub her eyes fiercely with the handkerchief before laying her head back down. "It's…it's nothing," she said listlessly. "It's not nothing," he contradicted, tilting her head up with a finger under her chin. "'Nothing' doesn't wake you screaming out of a sound sleep." He paused as she looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "It's about the baby, isn't it?" he asked quietly. Fresh tears shimmered in her eyes, and she nodded, still not looking at him. "Oh, love." He tightened his arms around her, hugging her close as though that would let him absorb all her pain into himself. He wished fervently that he could do so; nothing hurt more than seeing her so unhappy. "If things had been different," she said in a small voice, "I'd be nearly a mother now." His heart twisted again. He didn't know what to say. Silently he caressed her back, wishing there was more he could do. Give me the words, he begged silently to whomever might be listening. Let me help her. But no words came, and the silence stretched out between them as he stroked her softly, feeling the warm drip of tears onto his chest and straining to think of something, anything, he could do. After a moment, she said hesitantly, "Can I—tell you about the dream?" Relief flooded through him. She was willing to talk. "Of course! You can tell me anything, Ginny. Always." He kissed her, then added hesitantly, "But you don't have to. If you want to, I'll listen—I'll always listen—but if you don't want to—" "No. I do," she said in a small, determined voice. She swallowed, and he could almost feel her gathering her courage. He remembered his years of nightmares, how hard it had been to put them into words afterward, especially when they'd involved someone he cared about. He kissed her forehead, silently encouraging. "I was alone," she began softly. "In a small, grey room. There were two…figures in front of me. One was a b-baby." A small sob escaped her, and he noticed she was shaking. He pressed his lips to her forehead again, feeling his own eyes prickling. "A b-baby on its back, crying, its f-fists and f-feet waving in the air. And the other was…Tom Riddle. As he was in the diary. And a v-voice from nowhere said, 'What happens to one, happens to both. Life or death: choose.'" "Oh, love." He realised suddenly that his grief and guilt was as nothing compared to hers. How could he have forgotten how much fear and horror she'd gone through just in trying to tell him about the baby? How much more must she have been feeling since then? How much must have been brought back by their trip through Hogsmeade? "And I c-couldn't, Harry," she cried. "I couldn't choose. I just s-stood there, and s-stared at our baby, and I couldn't, I couldn't, but then Tom m-moved, he changed, and he was Voldemort, and the room got all cold, and Death Eaters appeared behind him, and I knew, I knew, there was only one thing I could do, so w-when the v-voice said 'Life or death' again, I s-said 'Death.'" She was sobbing so hard he could barely make out the words. "And V-Voldemort shrivelled, like a s-slug in the sun, he just crumpled, and the D-death Eaters disappeared too. And then—" She couldn't go on; the sobs wracked her, desperate and overpowering. Harry's fear swelled; he felt utterly helpless in the face of this agony. "Shh, love," he said, caressing her anxiously. "Shh. It's okay. You don't have to say anything else. It's all right. It was just a dream. You're here; you're safe. I won't let anything happen to you, love. It's all right." She swallowed, obviously trying to force herself to calm down. "N-no," she said determinedly, clearly forcing her sobs down. "I n-need to tell you." She buried her face in the handkerchief again, blowing her nose, before wrapping her arms around him and pillowing her head back on his chest. He stroked her hair, finger-combing it away from her face. Her strength amazed him. That she could insist on continuing, after all that… "The baby," she whispered. The tears weren't gone, after all; they still fell, dripping onto his now thoroughly-wet chest, and her voice still quavered, but she managed to hold it steady enough. "Once Voldemort was gone, the baby stopped crying. I w-walked over to it and looked down, but just as I r-reached it, it started to fade away. I tried to touch it, but there was just—nothing there. Nothing." She looked up at him finally, her face tear-streaked, her beautiful eyes red and haunted. "There wasn't any other choice, Harry," she said, as though begging him to understand. "I couldn't do anything else. I just couldn't. I killed our baby, and I'd do it again, and my God, what kind of person does that make me?" "Oh, Ginny." Harry sat up, shoving the pillows against the headboard of the bed and reaching out to her. She took his hand and allowed him to pull her back into his lap, curled up against his chest, wracked with sobs yet again. Tears slid out of the corners of his own eyes as he fully grasped the enormity of the pain that she'd been dealing with. "Ginny, it doesn't make you an evil person. It was War, love. There were no easy answers." She just shook her head against his chest, unable to speak. Harry searched frantically through his mind for the words to reassure her. He knew he'd never be able to convince her in one evening that she wasn't to blame—he'd had more than enough experience with his own guilt for that—but he had to say something. "Gin," he said, caressing her hair away from her face and gently urging her to look up. "Gin, love." She looked up reluctantly, and he kissed her softly. "Sweetheart, think this through. What would have happened if you hadn't called the Fynalle Strykke?" She wiped her face with the handkerchief and blew her nose again. "Our baby wouldn't have died," she said miserably. "Go beyond that. Think about your dream. What would have happened?" She hesitated for the barest of moments. "Voldemort would have survived," she said quietly. "He would have taken over." Harry nodded. "Yes," he said just as quietly. "And dozens, hundreds, maybe thousands more people would have died. Complete innocents; most of them Muggles, who would have had no chance to defend themselves." "I know, Harry, but—" "I would have died," he interrupted her. She froze in shock, and he nodded. "You said so yourself. If I had called the Fynalle Strykke, or tried to, I would have died in the attempt. Remember your Vision? And if you hadn't cast it, I certainly would have tried. That's exactly what I was planning to do to begin with." She closed her mouth, which had been hanging open, and looked away, obviously deep in thought. "Yes," she admitted finally. "You're right. But—" "And," he ploughed on, purposely interrupting her again, "the baby would have died anyway. Because you would have died, Ginny. Do you think Voldemort would have let either of us live? Would have let anyone fighting on the side of the Ministry live?" He stroked her face gently. "You survived because of the baby," he whispered. "I know you would have willingly given your life if it could have survived instead, but that choice wasn't given to you. It was do what you did, what you knew was right, what you still know was right, or be ultimately responsible for the deaths and torturing of countless others after Voldemort took over." He framed her face with his hands, willing her to believe what he was saying. "Beloved, I know what you're feeling. I felt it when Cedric died; I felt it after the Battle; I still feel it. Survivor's guilt. Why did we survive, when so many didn't?" He shook his head. "There's no answer for that. There's no reason for our survival; there's nothing we did right and they did wrong; there's no way we could have changed any of it. It happened as it happened, and all we can do is try to live with it." "But how?" she cried despairingly, the tears overflowing her eyes again. "How do I live with it, Harry? How do I just accept that I killed my child, that I would do it again if the same choice were presented to me?" Harry shook his head and kissed her with all the love and gentleness he could muster. "I don't know," he said. "I don't think anyone does. But you won't be alone, Ginny-love. You will never be alone through this. I'm just an owl away; if you need me, call and I'll come. I swear it. You are the most important person in the world to me, and if you need me, I swear I'll be there for you, no matter what it takes." She stared at him for a long moment, and he met her gaze, letting all his love and understanding and devotion show in his gaze, in his body, in his entire being. Slowly, she reached up to run her fingers through his hair, and her face came up to meet his. Their lips touched, pursed, parted; and again; and again. Soft, quiet, tender kisses with nothing of desire but everything of passion. His arms went around her, holding her close, and they sat there for uncounted minutes, exchanging soft kisses with her cradled on his lap and their mingled tears between them. He didn't believe she was entirely convinced; he didn't expect her to be. But she had calmed, and she was thinking; he prayed that would help her begin to heal. After some time, the kisses turned to cuddles, and they simply sat holding one another as one a.m. clicked over on the clock on the bedside table (which also read 'you really should be asleep, you know, Casanova'). Ginny had begun to doze, her head against his shoulder, and Harry himself was beginning to drift off. The night was silent, except for the sound of settling timbers and Ginny's soft breathing. A familiar twisting in his gut brought him to full consciousness: the roiling, muddy-brown queasiness of a warning from the Ministry. Just then, with a muted pop, a cylinder appeared on the bedside table. Ginny jerked awake at the sound. "Huhwhat?" she spluttered, startled. Harry swore creatively under his breath as he reached first for his glasses, then for the cylinder. "It's from the Ministry," he muttered. "Lumos." His wand lit, enabling him to find it amongst the clutter of their clothing on the floor; it gave off just enough light for him to see by without actually dislodging Ginny from his lap. Breaking open the seal on the cylinder, he unrolled the parchment and angled it into the light. You are hereby recalled on emergency status. Report immediately to scene. Status: Red. The cylinder is a Portkey; activate by stating your code name. Nacht. 'Status: Red.' That meant there'd been at least one death. He swore again and tilted his head back against the headboard, closing his eyes. Damn it. "What is it?" Ginny asked. "Emergency recall. I'm supposed to report." Harry opened his eyes and looked at Ginny, then reached out and touched her cheek. "Love," he said seriously, "if you need me, I'll stay." "Go, Harry," she said softly, touching his cheek in return. He raised his head and looked at her carefully. "Are you sure?" he asked. "I swore I'd be here for you, and I mean it. The Ministry can go hang." "You signed a contract, love. They need you more than I do. I'll have you after this is done." She brought up her other hand to cup his face. "I'm better," she said. "I am. Go, love. Come back to me when you can." He frowned, about to protest, but the roiling in his stomach intensified, and he swallowed in a reflexive attempt to keep his dinner down. "All right," he said reluctantly. She slid off his lap, and he leant over to kiss her thoroughly and lingeringly. "I will come back," he said firmly, "even if I have to drag you bodily out of lessons." She giggled. That sound, more than anything else, relieved his mind: she must be feeling at least a bit better. He began to dress hastily, reassured. "Just don't startle me while I'm working on my Animagus form, will you?" she said. "I'm just able to manage a partial transformation; it'd be awful if I got stuck halfway because you scared me out of my skin!" He grinned. "I promise." Pants, jeans, vest, socks, boots—he stamped the latter down hard to make sure his feet were well settled in them before kissing her once more. "I love you," he said, meeting her eyes. "I know, Harry," she said. "I love you, too." He picked up the parchment and slid it back into the cylinder, holding it in his left hand whilst he held his wand at the ready in his right. "Onyx!" he said, and felt the familiar pull behind his navel. The room, and Ginny, disappeared. A/N: Angst abounds from here on out, folks. Fair warning. Thanks as always to Ahmie, who put up with me for two and a half weeks in person; to Sherylyn and Jo, for help and encouragement; to Noji8 and Doc Weasley, for same; and to Michele40, for going above and beyond in helping me with writing this, the most difficult chapter to date, bar none. And an invitation to everyone: come join my [URL=http://groups.yahoo.com/group/healthepain/] group! I'd love to see you there. Also, Harry quoted Top Gun (and probably several other movies, too, but it was Top Gun I was thinking of) in Hogsmeade.
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