|
||||||||
|
||||||||
Author: Musings Story: The New Professor Rating: Teens Setting: AU Status: WIP Reviews: 6 Words: 160,238
The sun shone brightly as Hermione walked into the Leaky Cauldron the next day. She was more nervous than she had been her first day at Hogwarts. Her wild tangle of bushy, chestnut hair swirled about her head as she waddled the gait of the heavily pregnant through the pub towards the bar. Tom, the grizzled old barkeeper, whose hair was snow-white and bound tightly in a short queue at the top of his head, stood running a cleaning cloth across the bar, and graced Hermione with his famed toothless grin. "And a good morning to you, Mrs. Weasley!" Tom said, picking up a glass and pouring Hermione a glass of pumpkin juice. "What brings you here to my humble establishment so early this morning?" Hermione, casting a quick Cushioning Charm over the hard, wooden barstool, smiled gratefully as she sat down to enjoy her juice. Tom made this batch (with special pre-natal vitamins) especially for pregnant mothers – Ginny had suggested he do so several years ago when she and Hermione had been in the bar during Hermione's first pregnancy. He was well on his way to marketing it through Witch Weekly magazine. "I'm meeting someone before I head into work, Tom," Hermione said, pressing her fingers into the small of her back. "Would it be possible for us to use the back room? We're going to need a little privacy." "Certainly, Mrs. Weasley! It's wonderful to have Ministry officials use our place of business for meetings. Would you require any special refreshments for your party?" "Nothing more than a pot of English Breakfast Tea and one of your currant scones, if you would be so kind, Tom, since I've missed both terribly," a deep voice said behind Hermione's left shoulder. She jumped and turned her head in time to see the figure remove the hood of his cloak to reveal the brilliant green eyes and unruly black hair belonging to a long-lost friend. "Hello, Hermione," Harry said hoarsely, his eyes wary but determined. Hermione leapt off her stool (as well as a six-month-pregnant woman can leap) and launched herself into his arms, tears streaming down her cheeks. She heard Tom gasp, muttering, "Harry Potter…as I live and breathe!" while she took in all that was Harry: the light sandalwood of the soap he favored, the fact that his cloak smelled slightly of cedar, the hidden strength of his arms that had always seemed to surprise her whenever he had hugged her in the past. She relaxed her grip on his neck and felt him brush a kiss on her cheek and envelop her in another hug. Until the little one Hermione was carrying decided he was more cramped than usual and gave a hearty kick. Harry sprang back from Hermione, his eyes shooting down to gaze upon her extended belly. Hands cradling her unborn child, Hermione looked up at him with tear-stained cheeks and a smile to shame the sun. "'Mione," Harry said, awestruck, "look at you!" She beamed and did a quick pirouette. "You look wonderful!" "Oh, Harry," she said, grasping his hand in both of hers, "it is so wonderful to see you again! I've missed you so much!" They found themselves in yet another hug, laughing into one another's hair. "Perhaps we should find that back room to carry on our discussion, 'Mione," Harry said, his grin causing a familiar dimple to appear in his right cheek. "We're drawing more than a little attention." Indeed, there were other customers who were peering out from behind their morning papers, and murmurs were beginning to run through the small crowd gathered there. Tom jumped into action. "This way, Mr. Potter, Mrs. Weasley. I'll bring your tea and scones to you in just a tick!" he said, escorting Harry and Hermione into a small room overlooking a pretty courtyard. Once he'd opened the windows to let a light breeze tease the corners of the room he left, a grin on his face as he shut the door behind him. Hermione sat, staring at Harry as he hung up her cloak and removed his from his shoulders. He had worn Muggle clothing under his cloak, leading her to think he had yet to visit Madam Malkin's for his new professor's robes. Regardless of that, the years had been kind to Harry, she was happy to see. His frame had filled out admirably; he was broader in the shoulder than he had been the last time she'd seen him, and the streak of white in his hair shone brightly against the jet-black mass. Upon closer inspection, she was surprised to notice a few lines around his eyes. I hope they're laugh lines, but, knowing Harry, I doubt it. Just then, those eyes smiled at her, their corners crinkling and proving her wrong. "Hermione," Harry said, resting his right hand atop her left. "I can't begin to tell you how shocked I was to receive your note last night." "I was afraid you wouldn't come," Hermione said, drinking in Harry's face and smile. "But I hoped you would." "Well," he said, giving her hand a pat, "wouldn't be much of a Gryffindor if I didn't, you know?" They laughed, both slightly nervous. "Honestly," he continued, his eyes growing somber, "I was worried at first. My encounter with Ginny yesterday was not what you could call ... pleasurable." He paused for a moment, a shadow crossing his features. Just then, Tom came into the room with a pitcher of juice, a pot of tea, and a tray of fresh-baked pastries and scones. Smiling their thanks, Hermione and Harry waited until he had closed the door again before continuing their conversation. "Harry," Hermione said, sipping her juice, "what happened yesterday? We didn't hear any of the details, only that you were going to be teaching at Hogwarts next term." She paused, noticing the appearance of a frown on his face. "If you'd rather not…" "No," Harry interrupted, taking a moment to chew on a bit of scone. "It's okay. I'll start at the beginning." For the next half-hour, Harry shared all that had happened over the course of the previous week. When he finished, Hermione heaved a huge sigh. "Goodness, Harry," she said, picking up a tea cake and tearing the top of it off. She noticed Harry's smile – she'd always "decapitated" tea cakes at school, as both Ron and Harry had always said, while they ate breakfast. "It's still the best part!" she said in response to his grin. Harry chuckled. "I'll take your word for it, 'Mione," he said, polishing off his third scone. "Besides, Ginny always used to take the bottom half for herself," Hermione said, recalling their mornings together as a foursome, sharing pastries and tea before scrambling off to class. She stole a glance at Harry, noticing that his eyes had lost their sparkle at the mention of Ginny's name. He had always been so good at hiding his emotions, especially in the months preceding the final war, that Hermione had had to learn to look for the tiniest of clues to discern his mood. "Harry, I'm sorry," Hermione said, touching his hand. There was an awkward silence while Harry frowned first into his cup of tea, then out the window, before he turned to face her again. Sensing that he didn't want to dwell on it, she plunged forward. "Now," she said, her voice taking on the bossy tone Harry and Ron had always teased her about. "I know you must have glossed over much of what happened yesterday, since that's what you do when something's upset you. When I saw Gin at the Burrow last night, it was clear that she had spent quite a bit of time crying." Harry looked up sharply at her comment. Aha, she thought to herself. Not anger, but concern. Interesting. "She's wonderful at charms, but glamours could only go so far." Harry grimaced. "We…had a bit of an argument," he said, idly running his fingertip around the edge of his teacup. Hermione arched a brow. "Well? We did!" he said, a bit defensively. "I bet it was some argument, Harry," Hermione said, taking a sip of her juice and nabbing part of Harry's scone from his plate. "I'm surprised you're still standing, to tell you the truth. You know how bad her temper is." She paused, watching the way Harry's eyes failed to settle on her face, how a dull shade of red rode the edge of his cheekbones. "Tell me, Harry. What happened?" "'Mione, I really don't want to get you stuck in the middle of things between the two of us. I can't imagine Ron was at all thrilled with your plan to come here to meet me today." Now it was Hermione's turn to blush. She coughed lightly and averted her eyes. When she chanced a glance at him, it was clear he had put two and two together. "He doesn't have a clue that you're here with me right now, does he?" Harry said. Hermione sadly shook her head. His face paled. "Are you mad? With all of the people here having seen the two of us? If he doesn't know by now, he'll know the minute either one of us leaves here!" Hermione grabbed his arm before he could rise to his feet. "Harry, Ron was called away from home late last night for a disappearance," she said, idly rubbing her stomach, a frown crossing her brow. "Chances are he's at home by now, trying to catch up on his sleep." Ron was one of the upper level officers in the Magical Law Enforcement office and one of the best Aurors the department had ever had. While the work was oftentimes dangerous, Ron's talent for strategic thinking and logical problem-solving had made him a natural for the job and an invaluable asset to any of the squads. Harry was shaking his head. "That doesn't matter, Hermione," he said, laying a couple of Galleons and several Sickles onto the table to pay for their breakfast. "After yesterday's disastrous meeting with Ginny, I made a promise to myself that, if things were going to work out for me here in the wizarding world, it would have to be done up-front and out in the open. And I won't have you jeopardizing your health," he directed a pointed gaze at her stomach, "or your relationship with that git of a husband of yours by meeting me in secret." Hermione frowned, and this time it was a frown of someone bordering the edge of her temper. "I am not a child, Harry," she said, poking a finger into his chest and making him wince. "I can handle Ron. Now," she said firmly, "tell me how things were at Oxford…" ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Several hours later, Ron Apparated into his living room, grimy and more than a little grumpy from sleep deprivation. Last night, a young witch had disappeared after leaving the local wizarding pub in the town of Sheffield. This attack, like so many others in the previous few months, had all the earmarks of the Death Eaters' attacks from years ago. Ron and his team had arrived on the scene within an hour of her disappearance and, despite their best efforts for six solid hours, they'd made no progress. He set his notes down on the little bench in the entryway, kicked off his boots and grimaced. Little hunks of caked-on muck fell onto Hermione's freshly-swept floor and onto the carpet her parents had given them as a wedding gift. He muttered a quick Cleaning Charm on floor, carpet, and boots, and headed into the kitchen. He noticed a pile of freshly-baked teacakes on a plate and smiled. He started the electric tea pot (a wedding gift from Hermione's great aunt, which they hadn't had the heart to refuse and, by dumb luck, both wound up loving), plucked up the note from the top tea cake and leant against the counter to read: "Dear Ron, I thought you might like some of your favorite cakes when you got home. I had an early meeting at Diagon Alley – will be in the office by 10:30 AM. Hope everything went well last night. Remember, Matthew's Wee Wizards meeting at the Longbottoms starts at 6 PM, so we'll have dinner a bit early tonight. I love you! H He grinned as he munched on his cake. Matthew in Wee Wizards. He could hardly believe his little son was old enough to join, since it seemed like only yesterday that he was born. Memories of that night flashed in his mind. Hermione struggling for so long at home (where she had insisted her child be born) only to wind up at St. Mungo's; the worry he and the rest of their families had experienced when Ginny had emerged from the birthing suite, telling them of the complications she was facing. He remembered bargaining with every possible deity he could think of, to bring his son safely into the world. When he was finally allowed into the delivery room, to see her face so pale, so fragile but radiant with joy over the little bundle in her arms, his relief was titanic. He remembered the kiss he'd shared with her, more passionate than any they had shared before, as tears streaked his face and his hand (mammoth!) touched the down-soft, reddish-blonde hair dusting his son's wee head. "Hermione, he's perfect," Ron had breathed, awestruck at the sight of his son suckling hungrily at her breast. "He really is," she'd said, one arm cradling her child, the other stroking the hair off her husband's forehead. "Your hair is a fright, Ronald Weasley." It was true: in the hours that had passed, Ron had raked his fingers through his hair so much that now, several chunks were standing straight up. "It almost looks as bad as Harry's always did." A shadow crossed Ron's brow. "Ron, please," Hermione had said, resting her palm against his cheek, "not now. I'm sorry I brought that up." "He should be here," Ron said, the shadow turning to full-blown frown in seconds. "Right here, sitting on the other side of the bed, with Ginny at his side, while they met their godson for the first time." A tear had slipped between Hermione's lashes, which Ron had caught with his lips. He'd gathered his wife and son against his broad chest, comforting her while she wept. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Ron was torn from his thoughts by the sound of the teapot whistling. He stalked over and snatched the cord from the wall, seeing sparks fly from the outlet and spilling boiling water all over the counter. He cursed under his breath. All during the previous night's search, Ron had found his mind wandering to the events at the Burrow earlier that evening – the fact that Harry had returned to their world and would be back at Hogwarts in just a few weeks. The talk Ron had shared with his father had weighed heavily on his mind throughout the night. "The things done in one's youth can be reckless and unthinking of the long-term consequences." Ron thought about all of the things that he and Harry hadn't shared over these years: his decision to propose to Hermione; his stag night, when Fred and George had got him so drunk he was bedridden for three days (much to Hermione's horror); his wedding day, where his brother Bill had stood where Harry was meant to be; the night he'd learned he was to be a father. So many memories, so many years, and for each and every one, knowing there was someone who should be there who wasn't. He'd kept his distance from Harry to support Ginny, he self-righteously thought to himself as he brewed up a pot of tea to go with his muffins. He couldn't have been disloyal to his sister, not after the pain she had been through, seeing Harry walk out of her life. Nor could he be disloyal to his mum or dad, who mourned Harry's loss as much as they'd mourned Charlie's. You did it for yourself, a nasty little voice in the back of Ron's head sneered. Just like you did when you heard he was one of the champions for the Triwizard Tournament. "That was completely different!" Ron barked, glaring at his reflection in the kitchen window. "Good lord," he said, pausing and shaking his head. "I'm having an argument with myself." Disgusted, he picked up his wand, muttered a quick "Wingardium Leviosa" charm on the tea tray, and headed towards the sun porch to enjoy his morning snack. He was midway through his third cake when a barn owl swooped in through the open window of the sun porch, carrying a copy of The Daily Prophet. He dug into his pocket, found some coins for the delivery owl, and sent it on its way with a bit of muffin in its beak. He took a sip of tea and popped open the paper. He began choking seconds later as he read the headline: HARRY POTTER RETURNS TO DIAGON ALLEY Secret meeting held at Leaky Cauldron By Rita Skeeter, special correspondent The wizarding world was stunned to witness the return of Harry Potter, the destroyer of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and most powerful wizard of our age, to our midst. Re-appearing as suddenly as he departed nearly a decade ago following the Fall of You-Know-Who, Mr. Potter is rumored to have accepted the open Astronomy and Flight professorship positions at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, effective 1 September. According to a confidential source, Mr. Potter was seen breakfasting with an unidentified, bushy-haired witch in the Leaky Cauldron's back room earlier this morning. He was then seen at Madam Malkin's, where he selected several much-needed new robes (as he was seen wearing Muggle clothes prior to his shopping excursion). When approached, he refused to answer questions and promptly Apparated to an unknown destination. Every witch and wizard alive knows the tale of Harry Potter, the young orphan who grew up to defeat the darkest wizard of our time. But what has he been doing lately? According to our research department, Mr. Potter has been living in Oxford for the past several years, where he earned his Muggle doctorate in Astronomy and Physics. Following the break-up of his well-known relationship with Miss Ginevra Weasley, daughter of the Minister of Magic, Arthur Weasley, Mr. Potter has remained unmarried and will, in all likelihood, top the list of Most Eligible Wizards before the year is out. Welcome back, Potter! Ron slowly lowered the newspaper until it sat in a crumpled heap in his lap. One sentence leapt out at him over and over again: "Mr. Potter was seen breakfasting with an unidentified, bushy-haired witch in the Leaky Cauldron's back room earlier this morning." Ron frowned: it didn't take an Auror to figure out which bushy-haired witch the Skeeter cow was referring to. "Accio shoes!" Ron shouted, angling his wand towards the front hallway of his house. His boots came pelting towards him and landed at his feet. He shoved his feet into his boots and Apparated. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Hermione was sitting at her desk, revising the speech she and Arthur had prepared earlier in the day, when she heard several raised voices outside of her office door. Frowning, she rose to her feet and padded across the carpet. Jeffrey, her assistant, was an intern ready to begin his seventh and final year at Hogwarts. He was a decent young man; however, he had the habit of inviting friends to meet him at the office before heading off to the Leaky Cauldron for a butterbeer. His behavior was always impeccable, which was more than she could say about his friends. This was the third time this week she'd had to tell them to keep the noise down to a dull roar. "What on earth is going on out here, Jeffrey?" she snapped, throwing open the door and stalking out into the reception area. "You will kindly remember this is an office, not a…" She paused, her voice catching as she noticed Jeffrey dangling in mid-air, held up by the scruff of his neck by her husband. "…Quidditch pitch." Jeffrey turned his frightened gaze towards Hermione. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Weasley! He just burst in here and started shouting at me!" "Ron, for the love of God, put the boy down this instant!" Hermione said, stomping her foot and thwacking him on the side of his head with her wand. She saw Ron wince as he gave Jeffrey another shake before plunking him back down on top of his desk. "Now, get in here and do remember you are in an office!" Ron, obviously seething, stalked into her office and flung himself onto her sofa. She turned to face her assistant, who was as pale as snow, still perched on the edge of his desk. "Jeffrey," she said crisply, "why don't we call it a day? I'll see you tomorrow." Jeffrey grabbed his cloak and headed towards the door. "Oh, Mrs. Weasley? This came for you a few hours ago. I forgot to give it to you when you finished with the Minister. I'm sorry." With that, he wasted no time in high-tailing it out of the foyer. Hermione set a Locking charm on the outer doors and scanned the parchment. It was from Harry. "Dammit," she said, glaring at the locked outer doors. "That boy and I are going to have a little chat tomorrow." She folded up the parchment, tucked it into her pocket, and turned to face Ron. She knew exactly what was coming, although she had hoped she would be able to deal with this in the comfort of her home. Anger was coming off Ron in waves. She noticed that he had what appeared to be a balled-up newspaper in one of his fists, and she knew, in that moment, that Harry had been right. "I was sitting on the porch, eating one of those very nice teacakes you left for me this morning, when I came close to choking to death," Ron said, sitting with exaggerated care on the edge of the sofa, his voice like ice. "Can you guess why?" Hermione sat down on the other end of the sofa and poured herself a glass of water. "I gather you heard about my meeting with Harry," she said with no preamble. "Didn't take The Daily Prophet long to report that piece of news. Let me guess: Rita's up to her old tricks again, right?" "Hermione, this is no joking matter!" Ron said, flinging the paper towards her and surging to his feet. He paced over to the window, dragging his fingers through his shaggy hair. Hermione smoothed out the paper and read the first few sentences of the article, wincing as she read. Rita really pulled out all the stops, she thought to herself. She sighed and, slowly rising to her feet, she walked over to where her husband stood and placed a hand between his shoulders. He turned to face her, and the anguish in his eyes made her gasp. She had expected anger, but not this. "You went behind my back and met with him! How could you do that? How could you keep something like that from me?" "Ron," Hermione said, taking his hand in hers, "I knew you would be upset and unreasonable if I mentioned my plans to you last night." She took his hand and led him back to the sofa, where they sat, knees touching. "You were so staggered when we heard the news of his return." "We both were," he said defiantly. "Well, that is true," she said, rubbing her thumb across his scarred knuckles. "But I also knew I needed to see him, to speak with him about where he had gone and why he was coming back now." "So, what did he tell you?" Ron said. "Some heaping load of codswallop? Can't get a job out in his beloved Muggle world so he's got to come back here to ours?" Hermione frowned. "Honestly, Ron! As a matter of fact, he did not tell me some 'heaping load of codswallop', as you put it. He was offered a junior professorship at Christchurch when he completed his doctorate as well as two other offers from the States. He is not hurting for job offers." She paused for a moment and gave Ron's hand a tug to get his attention. He turned to stare at her through troubled blue eyes, and she had to smile. "Darling, I went to see Harry because I've missed him. Missed having him in our lives for all of the changes that have happened all these years. Do you know how hungry he was to hear about Matthew? You should have seen his face when I showed him the picture I carry with me." She Summoned her purse over to the sofa and pulled out the little photo of Matthew taking his first wobbly steps, one after another until he fell into his daddy's strong arms, only to be picked up and swung around, his face wreathed in smiles. She touched the photo lovingly and, placing it back into her purse, turned her eyes to find her husband, now standing next to the window again, his eyes filled with tears. "Oh Ron," she said, walking over to where he stood and gathering him into her arms. They clung to one another, gently swaying in front of the window. Hermione smiled through her tears against her husband's broad chest. Ron's size, temper and bulk often intimidated people. Little did they know that, after all was said and done, he was a big teddy bear. The baby in Hermione's womb gave another mighty kick, making her wince. Ron held her out at arm's length, a look of love and concern on his face. The fact his cheeks shone with newly shed tears of his own made her love him even more than she thought was possible. "I think he's a little tired of all of these hugs I've been getting today," Hermione said, smiling down at her stomach. Ron placed a hand onto her belly and Hermione felt their child give it a thump. "Ron, I know you'd rather I wouldn't, but I am going to see Harry again." She noticed him frowning and gave his chest a little poke, only to soothe it with a rub. "He's my friend as much as he is yours and I need both of you in my life, don't you see? He's missed so much, Ron. I don't want him to miss out on anything else." Ron was silent, but picked up Hermione's hand from his chest and kissed the back of it. "All right," he said, looking into her eyes. "But I'm not quite ready to welcome the git back into my life with open arms. Just promise me you will be honest with me about your meetings with him from now on, OK?" "Honestly, between the two of you, you have enough pride to choke ten hippogriffs," she said, smirking. He arched a brow. She smiled up into his eyes and gave him a quick kiss. "I promise, Ron. Just as long as you promise me you will think about what I've said." "Yes, Madam Executive Assistant to the Minister," he said. "I'll see you at home then?" "Yes, I'm just about finished here. See you in a bit!" She watched him Apparate out of sight and sighed. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Moments later, Ron exited the lift at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement offices and stalked into the Auror's Headquarters. A few heads appeared over their cubicles as they saw him pass, a look of determination creasing his brow. He reached Doris, the department's secretary, and loomed over her desk. Doris, a mousy, little witch somewhere around the age of 50, jumped. Despite his size, Ron could move like a cat when he wanted to. "Hello, Doris, having a good day?" he said, a smile creasing his face. Despite her age, Doris giggled like a schoolgirl. "Say, could I ask a favor?" "Certainly, Mr. Weasley," Doris simpered. "Could I borrow the Locator Quill for a moment? I need to send a letter to Kingsley and can't for the life of me remember where he's stationed right now." "Oh, it's no problem at all, Mr. Weasley," Doris said, getting up to move to a locked cabinet next to the door. She muttered a charmed passcode at the lock and the door sprang open to reveal a long, narrow box on the top shelf. "I'll need you to sign it out, Mr. Weasley." "Certainly," Ron said, smiling at her as she handed him a clipboard. He signed the document and, handing the board back to her, winked. "Cheers, love. I'll only be a moment!" He walked back to his cubicle and muttered a Silencing charm around the walls. Removing the top of the box, he uncovered a golden quill gleamed against its purple velvet nest. He sat down and, pulling out a parchment envelope, took the quill in his hand and wrote the words 'Harry Potter' on the front of the envelope. The quill shuddered a moment, then slowly began to write in the address: Harry Potter The Three Broomsticks Room 2 Hogsmeade Ron plucked the quill off the envelope and placed it back in its case. He swept back to Doris' desk, thanked her for her assistance, and left Headquarters without a second glance. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Harry sighed, gazing at his overflowing bed. He hated shopping, especially for clothing. He considered himself to be a man with fairly simple tastes, never wanting to go for the latest fashions or any extra accessories. A pair of jeans, a comfortable shirt, and a decent pair of trainers, and he was content. So when he'd walked into Madam Malkin's to pick out some new robes, he had figured he would be able to get in and out within 15 to 20 minutes. How wrong that assumption had turned out to be. He had told her a hundred times what he was looking for: Robes in black with red lining, and a simple waistcoat. How was he to know that there were dozens of black robes with red linings in her shop? He'd seen velvet and satin, gabardine and cashmere. Quilted and embossed; embroidered and printed. And waistcoats? She'd shown him every color in the rainbow (and a few he was certain were not). The last several looked like something Gilderoy Lockhart wouldn't be caught dead in, and even the memory of them made Harry's stomach lurch. Finally, after seeing the leering glances Madame Malkin's two young assistants kept throwing at him, he'd decided he would handle trousers on his own. After two excruciating hours, he had finally escaped the shop, having obtained what he was looking for. He'd settled on several jewel-toned waistcoats, his favorite being one that reminded him of one of the tapestries in the Astronomy Tower, which showed the constellations in the Southern Hemisphere. Three black robes (summer, winter, and flying-weight) finished up his new wardrobe. As he'd exited the store, he'd been accosted by none other than Rita Skeeter, whom age had not treated well. She'd appeared to be more insect-like than ever, her glasses now magnifying her already-buggy eyes. Harry had glanced back into the window of Madam Malkin's shop and seen her two assistants giggling. Realization had dawned. No wonder they'd held him hostage for so long: they needed to make sure they got word to the press that he was there. He'd cast a Shrinking spell on all of his packages and, tucking them into his pockets, Apparated back to the Three Broomsticks as quickly as he could. As soon as he'd arrived in his room, he had dashed off a quick note to Hermione to warn her about his encounter with Skeeter, and had watched Hedwig soar out of the window with the hope she would reach Hermione in time to head off a clash with Ron. He sighed as he sorted through his new belongings. He would be heading to the castle in the morning, and wanted to be packed and ready to go first thing. He had made arrangements for several items to be sent directly to his classroom, including the items he had stored at Gringotts all these years. In the days following the final battle, Harry had been grief-stricken over the loss of Dumbledore. He had only learned of their connection as Godric Gryffindor's heirs six months before, and Harry had reveled in his new-found link with his mentor. During the months prior to the battle, he and Dumbledore had shared their common love of the heavens, and Dumbledore had shown Harry how to use many of the specialized globes and sextants he had collected over the years. When Dumbledore died, Harry had received an official-looking scroll of parchment from Abercrombie Bruce, Wizarding Solicitor. Harry had opened the scroll to reveal Dumbledore's Last Will and Testament. Harry was shocked to discover that Dumbledore had left him his entire collection of astronomical equipment and texts, as well as his Pensieve and diaries. Harry had been too numb to understand the enormity of Dumbledore's gift, and had acquiesced to McGonagall's suggestion that they move the items to Harry's vault at Gringotts until he could decide what he wanted to do with them. How could Dumbledore have known? Harry thought to himself, now that he was about to embark on a teaching career at Hogwarts. A teaching career as the Astronomy professor! He grinned to himself: it would take him a lifetime to figure out how Dumbledore had managed to know the things he did. Harry sighed and started folding his new robes. As he reached for the blue waistcoat, he realized that it was the same color as the robes he had seen Ginny wearing the day before. In the sleepless hours that had followed the arrival of Hermione's note, he'd had a chance to reflect on his behavior with Ginny. Amidst all of his pondering, muttering and musing, he'd come to the conclusion that he'd made a complete horse's ass out of himself. He'd known that Ginny would be teaching at Hogwarts in September; why hadn't he considered the possibility of seeing her at the school when both of them would need to prepare for the coming term? And could he blame her for her surprise at seeing him? He'd been the one who disappeared for nine years, vowing never to return. Why would she think he would be there? And then there was the kiss. What on earth had he been thinking to haul her against him and kiss her as if they were still young lovers? Then the things he had said to her – accusing her of forgetting what they had meant to one another, when it was clear from her initial response that she hadn't. He deserved the slap she had given him and a lot more. You've always known your temper was your Achilles' heel, Potter, he thought ruefully. He had only just finished sealing his trunk when he heard a commotion in the hallway. Frowning, he reached out his hand towards his wand, which was on the desk by the window. "Accio wand!" His wand soared into his hand, and had just turned to face the door when it burst open to reveal the towering shape of his once-best friend, Ron Weasley. Ron's hands were clenching at his sides as he walked stiffly towards Harry, jaw set and eyes flashing. Bugger. He is not pleased to see me, is he? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Ginny'd had an interesting day at work, spending most of her time on the Magical Reversals ward at St. Mungo's, when Parvati Patil-Creevey ran up to her just outside of the ward. "Ginny! How could you keep this such a secret?" she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Ginny goggled at Parvati. "What are you talking about?" "That-Harry-is-back-AND-he's-going-to-be-teaching-at-Hogwarts!-Aren't-you-thrilled?" she said in one breath. Still goggling, Ginny shook her head. "Why on earth would I be thrilled about my ex teaching at the same school I will?" Ginny frowned. "Besides, where did you hear about this?" Parvati paused. "You mean you haven't been to the lounge for tea yet?" "Er…no," Ginny said. "I've been stuck in here all day. Why?" "Weeeeeell," Parvati said, a nervous laugh issuing from her mouth, "there's a special edition of The Daily Prophet in the staff room. An article reporting that Harry's back, that he met with some witch at the Leaky Cauldron, and that he's teaching at Hogwarts this autumn." Ginny froze for a moment, then, dropping the patient file on the table, bolted down the hallway at a run. She reached the staff room in record time and threw open the door to see several of her colleagues staring at her upon her arrival. They glanced back down at the paper in unison, then back at her. Ginny's fists met her hips. "Well? Hand it over!" she demanded. John Bartholomew, one of her fellow mediwizards, jumped and handed over the well-read newsprint. Ginny scanned through the article quickly and realized several things at once: that Harry was in Diagon Alley today; that he'd met with Hermione (nice try at being cagey, Skeeter); and that she needed to talk with Christopher right away. Though she and Christopher were beginning to talk about formalizing their relationship, Ginny had always been reluctant to discuss the details of her past with Harry. For all Christopher knew, Ginny and Harry had casually dated for a time while they were at Hogwarts, but things hadn't worked out, resulting in their separation. Harry's subsequent disappearance from the wizarding world only aided in keeping her quiet about their past. However, as Ginny and Christopher's relationship had intensified, his curiosity about her past with Harry was beginning to become a common topic of discussion, something she wished would stop. This article would only add fuel to an already touchy fire. As soon as her shift was over, Ginny headed to the nearest fireplace and tossed in a pinch of Floo powder. "Christopher Ollivander at Ollivander's Wand Emporium!" she shouted. The flames flared high and, within moments, she saw Christopher's head in the fireplace. "Hi, Ginny!" Christopher said, brushing his hair back from his forehead. "I was just thinking about you!" "Hello, Christopher," Ginny said, plastering a cheerful smile onto her face. "Listen, I was thinking that I would like to cook you dinner at my flat, rather than going out to dinner tonight. Is that OK with you?" She watched as the smile on his face faltered slightly. She knew he'd had to make reservations at the new Midnight Bistro in Hogsmeade several weeks in advance to secure the table he'd wanted. However, she also knew that if they went out, they would wind up being accosted by a member of the press or some other former classmate who would muck things up. Christopher sighed, a frown appearing on his face. "Are you certain, Ginny? I know you'd like it." "Yes, I'm positive, Christopher," she said eagerly. "I'd love to go to the bistro with you another night, but I'd like tonight to be special." A hint of a smile graced her lips. "Just the two of us. Please?" He visibly swallowed. "Er…OK, Ginny," he said, a flush gracing his cheeks and turning the tips of his ears red. "Shall I come by at half past seven as planned?" "That will be perfect," Ginny said, beaming. "Thanks for understanding, Chris. I'll see you soon!" He waved and, with a pop, disappeared. Nodding slightly, Ginny tossed her cloak over her shoulders and Disapparated. Thirty minutes later, she Apparated into the living room of a small flat above Ottery St. Catchpole's high street, her arms laden with the groceries she'd just bought. She loved her little flat and was somewhat saddened that she would be leaving it at the end of the summer. She had grown accustomed to living on her own while she was abroad and, when she'd returned from France, she'd signed the lease within days of her return, much to Molly's chagrin. Eventually, Molly had agreed it had worked out best for both of them – they were so much alike now that Ginny was an adult, they both realized trying to live with one another in the same house would have been detrimental to the health of their relationship. As she headed towards the kitchen, she felt the thud of a small head colliding with her ankles, nearly causing her to drop her bags. She stopped and peered over the edge of one bag to see the satiny, black face of her extremely dopey, but loving cat Periwinkle staring up at her. "Peri," she said, her voice tinged with exasperated affection, "I swear, one of these days you will wind up with a tin of tomatoes coshing you on your little pea brain." He merrped at her and led the way into the kitchen, tail held high. As she put away the groceries, he meowed and chirped, walking back and forth across the counter, as if to tell her of his day. Found as a kitten seven years ago, Periwinkle had eyes the color of ancient golden Galleons, which shimmered against the inky black of his fur. At first, she hadn't thought he was remotely magical, but one day, while she was fussing with an experimental potion for healing burns, Periwinkle's eyes had shifted from their usual gold to a startling ruby red, at which point he began yowling at the top of his lungs. Rushing him to the vet's office, she'd learned that he was a Potioncat. Extremely rare within the wizarding world, these types of cats were chemically sensitive to potion brewing and could, with a moment's notice, alert their owners to whether or not a potion was effective or, better yet, harmful for use. Red eyes meant danger, blue eyes meant ineffective, and green eyes meant perfection. His abilities had been a lifesaver for Ginny when she had been preparing for her final exams at university. Potioncat abilities aside, though, he could be an extremely dopey kitty. It was not uncommon for Ginny to find him chasing his tail around in circles or hissing at his own reflection. Her favorite memory of Peri was when she'd hosted Hermione's bridal shower. In Muggle tradition, she had decorated her flat with balloons, each with curly ribbon streamers. Towards the end of the party, Peri had entertained her guests by running around the room, trailing a balloon in his mouth as he had grown fond of the ribbon! "You may be a goof, silly cat," she said to him, picking him up and scratching beneath his chin, "but you're my goof." She set Peri down on the floor to play with a wad of balled-up paper (his favorite toy) while she prepared dinner, and had just finished changing her clothes when Christopher arrived with a bottle of wine, wearing his nicest robes. She smiled brilliantly and ushered him into her home. Three hours and several courses later, Ginny and Christopher sat on her sofa in front of the fire, sipping glasses of elderberry wine. Ginny noticed Christopher gazing at her quite intently. She'd been putting off discussing Harry for hours now, and she knew she'd better get it over with now, before she lost her nerve. "Chris," she said, setting her glass down and turning to face him. "I need to talk to you about something." "Uh oh, this sounds serious," he said, with a slightly teasing tone in his voice. "Is there something wrong, Ginny?" "Nothing's wrong, per se," she said, biting her lower lip, "but I need to talk to you about Harry." "Harry Potter, right?" Christopher said, taking her hand in his. "Didn't you date him for a bit when you were at Hogwarts?" Ginny blew out a breath. "Yes," she said. For the next hour, Ginny told Christopher about her past with Harry, how they were linked nearly from the start of their school years following the Chamber of Secrets. She told him of their friendship and how it had turned into a relationship of intense emotions and promises. She shared with him their experiences during the final battle, how they had seen Charlie fall, had brought Hermione and Sirius back to the hospital wing before Voldemort's appearance, and of the last incantations that had brought an end to Voldemort's reign. At last, she shared Harry's leaving and the devastation she'd experienced as a result of it. Finally, she stopped, pressing her handkerchief against her eyes, which had only started to tear towards the end of her tale. It was Christopher's turn to blow out a steadying breath. "So," he said, "there was a bit more to your relationship with him than you mentioned before," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "He was your first love." "My only love," Ginny said, willing him to understand what she was saying, what she was meaning. Christopher blanched. "Your onl…" he said, looking into Ginny's eyes. "But I thought…" "He's the only person I've ever allowed myself to love, emotionally and physically, Chris," she said, interrupting him. "I've dated others, but I've always held myself back to a certain extent…to protect my heart. No one had ever held my heart the way he had." She closed her eyes. "If I didn't give it, I couldn't get hurt." Christopher stood up from the sofa and began to pace. She could see the emotions race across his features as the moments ticked by: anger, jealousy, fear. He'd always been a calming presence in her life, and it was his calmness that had drawn her to him in the first place. Seeing him like this made her feel guilty. She couldn't forget the kiss she'd shared with Harry the day before, and the comparisons with Christopher that had come, unbidden, to her mind hours later. She knew she was hurting him with this confession, and wished with all her heart that there was some other way. Be honest, Weasley, her conscience nagged. You just want to forget that you snogged Harry Potter again--and liked it! Finally, he turned away from her and leaned the heels of his hands against the mantle, his arms braced as if to keep him from falling. Concerned, she rose from the sofa and walked over to where he stood, his back stiff. When she touched his arm, he started and turned his head to meet her gaze. "Chris, talk to me," she said softly, looking up into his troubled blue eyes. "We've always been able to talk." "You…" he said, his voice strangely hoarse. "You mean that you aren't willing to try to love again in your lifetime?" "No Chris, that's not it," Ginny said, now taking his hand in hers. "I want to love again. It's only been during this last year that I've begun to believe it's something that is within my reach. You're responsible for that, Christopher." His eyes, which only moments before had been edgy and guarded, darkened under her words. His posture, however, remained tense. "Well, then, why are you bringing up your relationship with Harry all of a sudden? Is this something we have to re-hash in order for us to move forward together?" he said, running one hand through his hair, the frustration returning to his eyes. "I'm afraid I still don't understand, Gin." "You need to know my past because of something that has happened in the present." Ginny took another steadying breath and squeezed his hand. "He's back." There was a silence only broken by the crackle of the wood in the fireplace and the plaintive meows coming from the kitchen – Peri had spotted the leftover chicken from dinner. Christopher blinked once, twice, then narrowed his eyes. "What d'you mean, back?" he said, his posture straightening. Ginny saw something in his eyes that seemed to be preparing for battle. "Harry is back in the wizarding world and will be teaching at Hogwarts this fall," she said, then paused. "With me." Christopher's eyes seemed to harden even more at that, but before she could respond, her fireplace suddenly flared into green-flamed life and Fred stumbled onto the hearthrug between her and Christopher, forcing the pair to jump backwards to avoid falling. He looked flushed and panicky and frantically dusted off the soot from his cloak. "Fred, what in the hell are you doing here?" Ginny said, half-startled and half-furious. "How did you get through that bloody Locking charm I had on the Floo?" "New product we're developing, Gin," Fred said in a rush, "but there's no time for that now. You've got to come with me!" "Why on earth would I want to come with you, seeing as how you've just broken into my home?" "Gin, trust me," Fred said, frantically tugging at her arm. "There's been a…a disagreement at the Three Broomsticks. George is getting Hermione, I'm supposed to bring you. MLES have been called." He swallowed. "We think they might try to throw Ron and Harry in jail." "Someone had to call the Magical Law Enforcement Squad on them?" Ginny's face hardened. "Those…bloody…imbeciles," she said, snatching her arm out of Fred's grip and surging around the sofa to grab her purse and cloak. "Chris, I'm sorry, I've got to go." "Oh no," he said, "I'm coming along as well. You can finish telling me about your relationship with Harry when we get there." Ginny looked up into his face. She couldn't remember ever seeing Christopher looking as possessive as he did just then. A shiver ran through her at the sight. Waving a quick Cleaning charm toward the kitchen (and making certain the chicken was out of reach of prying cat claws), Ginny Disapparated to Hogsmeade, leaving Fred and Christopher to follow. Author's Notes: In addition to thanking the Usual Suspects (Ahmie, Aibhinn, Robin and my patient hubby), please grant me the opportunity to thank my beloved cat, Blues, for his 13 years of friendship, laughter and unconditional love. I had planned, all along, for Ginny to have a black cat. Little did I know he would wind up being shared by the two of us. My husband and I were faced with the sad duty of putting Blues to sleep early the morning of July 5th after he had suffered a saddle emboli which rendered his hind legs motionless and caused irreparable tissue damage. I am thankful that we were both home when he fell ill, so that he did not have to suffer in agony alone. Rest in peace, my darling Bluesy boy. Your papa, sister and I will love you always. Coming Soon: Chapter 7 – Fall Out
|