An Invitation for Tea ~ Chapter Five

[gbtso]

Title: An Invitation for Tea
Author: goingbacktosquareone
Ship: Harry/Ginny
Rating: R
Warnings: Adult Situations, Explicit Language
A/N: If I had a witty summary for this story, I would give it to you.  The most I can say is it's about healing, redemption and Dudley.

A/N TWO: Okay, Flist.  This is the first chapter of this angst-fest I've posted in a long, long, long time.  I'm not posting it to SIYE until I'm convinced it's not crap.  Convince me, please? For some reason this story is making me crazier than usual, and I need some hand-holding... *puppy dog eyes*


Chapter Five

Truths and Consequences

“You’re okay, right?” asked Ginny, searching Elizabeth’s face. “You look out-of-sorts.”

“That’s because I am out-of-sorts.” Elizabeth sighed loudly and stood from her chair. “How does he do it, Ginny? I don’t understand. I don’t think I understand anything at all anymore.”

Ginny took her friend by the arm and led her toward the door of the pub, waving goodbye to the barkeep as they passed. “It’s like that with Harry, too. I’ve just learned to live with not understanding him.”

“But he’s not angry! I don’t understand! I’m angry. It’s not even my place to be angry for him. How am I supposed to go home now? What am I supposed to say to my husband?”

Ginny stopped and searched Elizabeth’s eyes before she formed an answer. “I know I was upset before… I’m sorry for jumping on you. Believe it or not, I used to feel the same way you are now: angry. I get so angry for him. But what you’ve got to understand is Harry doesn’t let this stuff bother him anymore. It’s a non-issue for him. His life with the Dursleys is ancient history as far as he’s concerned. Please don’t let our discussion cause problems between you and Dudley. I’m sure Dudley just didn’t know how to tell you about all of it. I wouldn’t, I mean… know how to tell a story like that. I’m sure he’s just petrified of what you will think of him.”

“You told me an entirely different story than I’d ever heard before, Ginny. How do I reconcile what I know about my husband to the beast Harry had to grow up with? How do I do that? I’m carrying his child and our baby is going to be just like you and Harry. How do I know Dudley won’t change his mind? How do I know?” Elizabeth’s voice was shaking with emotion as her eyes swelled with tears. “My baby is not a freak. I’m proud to be having this baby… I love him or her.”

“I’m sure Dudley does, too, Elizabeth. Don’t let today make you believe otherwise.”

“But he lied to me, Ginny,” breathed Elizabeth. “He didn’t just gloss over what happened; he lied. He was raised with those people… Their morals and beliefs are who he is. You heard what Harry said - he had to pull his wand on Dudley!”

“Well -”

“No, Ginny. I don’t believe Harry just pulls his wand on people. I liken it to pointing a gun. He didn’t pull his wand unless he felt threatened. My Dudley isn’t threatening. Don’t you understand?”

“I do, Elizabeth. But you’ve got to calm yourself. This is a misunderstanding. Please don’t say or do anything rash when you get home tonight. Please take a moment to think things over…”

“I will,” promised Elizabeth meekly, although Ginny wasn’t entirely sure she was telling the truth. Ginny cocked her eyebrow and Elizabeth relented. “I’ll try.”

“That’s better. We’ve got to get you home. I’m sure Dudley was just worried about you…”

As the women passed through the entry to Grover’s Corner into the abandoned storefront, Elizabeth’s phone started beeping loudly. Ginny startled.

“What is that?” asked Ginny, looking wildly around for the source of the odd noise.

“Oh my goodness!” gasped Elizabeth, pulling a small phone from her handbag. “It’s my mobile!”

“Your mobile?” parroted Ginny.

“My wireless phone! Dudley’s been ringing me all afternoon! I have three messages and several more missed calls! No wonder he’s so upset! I always answer my mobile!”

“That’s a telephone? I thought they could only be in Muggle houses and boxes on the street,” mused Ginny.

Elizabeth laughed. “Oh no… Telephones aren’t just in houses anymore. I can take this anywhere… usually.” Elizabeth frowned and turned the small, black phone in her hand, checking it over. “How odd. It’s never done this before. It must be broken or something.”

“No, I doubt it’s broken. It was just the wards. Protections to keep us secret from the Muggle world… Your phone probably didn’t work while we were inside Grover’s Corner!”

“Oh my. That’s something we definitely should remember for next time, don’t you think?” asked Elizabeth with a thin smile.

“There’ll be a next time? After everything you heard and what’s happening now? You think you want to do this again?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I will… I just need to figure out how to deal with this overload of information,” said Elizabeth, deep in thought. “We’re going to figure this out.” She sounded like she was trying to convince herself.

“You feel better now? You’re all right to drive? You had me worried for a moment. I don’t want to leave you if you’re not feeling okay,” offered Ginny. “Just take everything I said today and toss it out the window. I’m sure Dudley has a good explanation…”

“I hope he does, for his sake.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “You have no idea how alike we are… how many times early in my relationship with Harry I just wanted to throttle the boy. Dudley will get it right, Elizabeth. I’m sure he will. Harry did.”

“That’s what I’m worried about, Ginny. Harry seems to have all his ducks in a row. I’m not so sure with Dudley…”

Ginny pulled Elizabeth close for a friendly hug. “Just Owl me, okay? Let me know how things go? We’ll plan a dinner and hopefully put this behind us. Leave it to me to yak your ear off and send our husbands into a wobbly.”

“I have no owl, remember?”

Ginny chuckled. “We’re going to have to remedy that situation. Tomorrow I’ll send you Fitz. You can send a note back with him. He likes bits of sausage and bacon. Just don’t let him act too stuffy. He’s such a pretentious bird.”

Finally Elizabeth laughed, the smile returning to her eyes. “It’s a deal.”

**********

Dudley looked up when he heard the tell-tale sound of Harry Apparating away. He was sure Harry was off to find out what happened to their wives. Aggravated, Dudley stood up and brushed the dust from his trousers, frustrated at how easy it was for Harry to flit around and solve problems. It simply wasn’t fair. Dudley had spent nearly two hours making the drive from Marlborough, even with his dangerous speeds on the M5, and he had nothing but a bruised ego to show for it.

Harry’d had to give him a bloody calming spell, much like the one Digs had used so often on his father. Dudley was mortified. He knew the minute Harry had cast the charm, because he suddenly felt like all was well with the world - when ten seconds before he had been sure Elizabeth and the baby were dead in a ditch somewhere.

Dudley opened the door of his Civic and sat behind the wheel for a moment. Suddenly pawing around in the glove compartment, he pulled out a crushed package of cigarettes and shook one out. He grabbed the small butane lighter he hid along with the package and lit the cigarette, drawing one very long breath into his lungs and holding it until the wave of nicotine hit his system. Exhaling slowly, he breathed a small sigh of relief as stress began to leave his body. Taking another long draw, he fired the ignition and pulled out onto the winding lane that would take him back past Tiverton and onto the highway home.

Two hours later he pulled to a stop in front of his house, relieved to see Elizabeth’s Ford Focus parked in its usual spot. He set the emergency brake and crawled from behind the wheel, stretching as he made his way to the door. He wasn’t sure what to expect: he’d not phoned Elizabeth as he made his way back and she’d not returned any of his calls.

“Lizbee?” he called as he stepped into the foyer. “Are you here?” He set down his keys and pulled his wallet from his pocket, depositing them into the tray on the hall table. He hung up his coat, taking time he wouldn’t normally, and waited for Elizabeth to answer him.

“I’m in here, Dudley.”

Dudley turned the corner into the parlour and saw his wife sitting quietly on the sofa with a cup of tea. She leaned forward to the tea-tray on the coffee table and poured a cup for him. Anxious, he took the cup and searched her eyes for some sign of her feelings. She knew what had happened with Harry. He was in trouble.

“Relax, Dudley. Drink your tea. I’m not about to start yelling - at least not yet.”

“I tried to call you today,” Dudley started slowly.

“I saw that,” Elizabeth replied coolly. “Something about the place where we had lunch made my mobile out-of-service. I know I lost track of time, but did you not trust me?” A sad look developed on her face.

“It’s not that, I swear - ”

Elizabeth cut him off. “It’s that I was with witches and wizards? I’m sorry, dear; I don’t understand your problem.”

Dudley hung his head. “I was afraid you’d been hurt or had an accident…”

“Are you sure? Are you sure you didn’t forget yourself for the moment and fear I’d been harmed or taken hostage by magic?” Her tone was biting.

Dudley’s eyes widened in surprise.

“We have a few things to talk about, Dudley. The most important of which is why you felt you needed to lie to me.”

“Lie?” asked Dudley, not sure of her meaning.

“Let’s just say I’m going to give you amnesty tonight, Dudley. Anything you have to say will not upset me as long as it’s the truth. I want to know about your parents and Harry, and I want to know now. Think carefully before you answer me.” Dudley took in the grave expression on her face as she sipped her tea. What he saw there frightened him.

“I never thought I’d have to tell you how bad it was,” he stammered. “I never thought it would make a difference.”

“You didn’t think it would make a difference… You didn’t think I deserved the truth?”

“Elizabeth, I - ”

“We’re having a baby, Dudley. Now, more than ever, the truth matters. I don’t really care much for your parents, you know that. I don’t think they’ll accept our child one way or the other. But what you think matters to me. I love my child and I’m not about to submit him to bigotry.”

“I am not a bigot!” cried Dudley, stunned. “You have no idea what I’ve had to go through with my parents.”

“Then why were you at Harry and Ginny’s house, hurling accusations? Why did Harry feel so threatened he had to pull his wand and cast a spell on you?”

Dudley hung his head for the second time. “I was scared something had happened… I thought they would know,” he said softly.

“And why would you have any cause to be scared for my welfare, Dudley? It’s not as if I’d been gone for all that long. I think you should examine your motives more carefully. I believe you were scared; I’ll allow you that much. But what I really think is that you forgot everything you’ve learned over the past few years and turned into the despicable bully you once were. I’m astounded by your behavior towards Harry. It sickens me.”

Dudley looked to his wife again as he heard the waver of her voice betray the cool façade she’d cast over her features. Tears were pooled in the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry,” he choked, setting the teacup on the table and moving to where she sat. “I don’t know what happened to me today…”

“Tell me about the cupboard, Dudley. Start from the beginning.” Her eyes begged him for the story. “I want to hear all of it, not a sugar-coated version of the truth. Maybe then, after you’ve stepped past your denial, you can start to forgive yourself and move on. Maybe then we’ll have one chance in hell at raising this child and being good parents. Maybe we can do this, after all.”

So Dudley told her, and he started with what he could remember of his very early childhood. They had a very long evening.

*****

Harry glanced around to make sure Dudley was really gone. Satisfied his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him, he trudged into the house and came to an abrupt halt, pulling his wand for the second time in less than an hour. Light was seeping from underneath the kitchen door onto the hardwood of the dining room where he stood, casting an odd glow about his dragonhide boots. Soft scratching and rustling sounds could be heard in the room beyond.

Harry cast a quick detection spell to check the wards protecting the property and was relieved when the vibration of his wand indicated none had been breached. His alarm now settled, Harry returned his wand to his back pocket and pulled of his robes, chucking them dismissively over the back of one of the dining room chairs. He emptied his pockets of spare change - two Galleons, a few Knuts and a couple of Droobles wrappers - as he toed off his boots. Finally he twisted his back with a satisfactory pop and finished off with a spectacular belch. “Ugh…,” he moaned, rubbing his stomach. “I’ve needed that all day.”

“Master has eaten too much garlic again.”

“I have not eaten too much garlic, thanks. I had pasta with vegetables for lunch,” groused Harry, pulling a face at the old elf silhouetted in the kitchen doorway, wearing what looked to be an old but freshly-laundered pillowcase tunic. Harry was thrilled to see Kreacher had finally taken his hint and trimmed back some of the long hair growing from his large ears and protuberant nose.

“Pasta coated in garlic and butter, Kreacher assumes,” muttered the elf darkly, dismissing Harry as he turned and retreated back into the kitchen. “Kreacher will never understand why his Master abandoned him at Grimmauld Place when he is needed here…” The kitchen door swung shut on Kreacher’s rant, leaving Harry quite alone in the dining room ruminating over the hidden dangers of garlic and whether there would be a time when Ginny would tell him to trim his own ear hair. He shuddered at the thought.

Harry pushed into the kitchen to see one of Kreacher’s famous stews simmering on the stove as the elf worked on a blueberry trifle. Harry suddenly wondered why exactly he had asked Kreacher to stay in the old London townhouse - his kitchen smelled fantastic. It had been ages since he and Ginny had taken the time to actually cook an entire meal like the one Kreacher was making… With his schedule at the department and Ginny’s games and practices they’d never really made food much of a priority. Smiling at the old elf’s obvious love of his job, Harry wondered what Kreacher would ever do if he had no family to serve. Harry was once again humbled by his blessings and decided it was time to give the elf a break, even if he was critical of his eating habits.

Harry pulled up a stool to an old butcher block Ginny used as a kitchen island and watched the elf put the finishing touches on the pudding and then set it aside. Kreacher then moved back over to the oven where he levitated out a loaf of bread, setting it gently on the cooker to cool.

“Master would like to know why I’m here?” asked Kreacher, returning his full attention to Harry, who considered him with amusement.

“Of course, Kreacher. Whenever you stop by it’s always a pleasure.”

Kreacher scowled and hopped up on the butcher block island, waggling his finger in Harry’s face. “My Master could do without his cheekiness, I think! Kreacher does not show up when he’s not needed!” the elf exclaimed haughtily. Kreacher huffed and folded his arms across his chest, tapped his toe and glared steadily at Harry. “Mistress has had a bad day. She will need special care tonight. Kreacher has come to serve.” Kreacher had always been extremely fond of Ginny; since he’d found out about the pregnancy, the elf had vowed his personal duty was to ensure the ‘Noble House of Potter’ was well-cared for.

Harry rolled his eyes. “I just saw her, Kreacher. She’s fine. She’s in Avebury. She’s been sitting in a pub all day drinking Butterbeer and looking at pictures from Hogwarts. She’ll be home any second.”

“If that’s what the Master thinks…” Kreacher turned his back on Harry and went to remove the bread from its pan to a wire rack. He then shifted to the cupboard and pulled out two place settings and set them on a small table in the corner of the kitchen, grumbling about how Harry needed to do a better job of taking care of Ginny and the baby if he was going to be forced to live a life of exile at Grimmauld Place.

Harry was bowled over by the elf’s pompous attitude. “What do you mean, ‘If that’s what I think?’” parroted Harry. “What do you know that I don’t?” he demanded with narrowed eyes.

“Kreacher thinks you should’ve lit the lights in the parlour, is what Kreacher thinks,” answered the elf slyly. “Perhaps, if your observation skills were as sensitive as Kreacher’s, Master would better understand.”

“Kreacher, stop playing games with me,” growled Harry as he scooted the stool back from the island with a screech of wood against wood and stomped into the parlour, lighting the lamps as Kreacher followed closely behind him. Floating in the fireplace, just above the grate was a Howler, clearly addressed to Ginny. “Blimey. D’you know who it’s from?” he asked, scrubbing the back of his neck with his right hand.

“It’s from my mistress’s employer; filthy, nasty swine of a wizard. He’s a bad man, not fit to wipe slime from the bottom of my dear Mistress’s boots. She will not let Kreacher jinx the low-life, bottom-feeding scum… oh no, she will not. Kreacher does not know what it says, but he can sense its perversion. Mistress must not Floo into this on her way home,” insisted Kreacher, pleading with his eyes.

“It’s that bad?” asked Harry, wincing. Kreacher nodded morosely. “Can’t you use your elf magic to budge it over a bit?”

“I’m afraid not,” replied Kreacher, whose expression sparked with promise. “But I can divert my Mistress into the kitchen fire! I shall go to her before it is too late.” As he finished the sentence, Kreacher disappeared with a ‘pop!’

Harry crinkled his nose, wondering what the message hovering in the fireplace had to say. He couldn’t ever remember Ginny getting a Howler from anyone but Molly - and those she had always laughed off. They were usually for some ‘major’ offense like missing an important family dinner because of a late practice. Or the time when Ginny’d accidentally told Ron about being pregnant first: which had caused a Weasley chain reaction, leaving poor Mum the last to know. Even Arthur had heard the news before Molly. Needless to say, she’d not been happy that night. Harry’s name had even been on the outside of that particular piece of parchment, right alongside Ginny’s.

Harry stood, lost in thought, in front of the parlour fireplace for less than a minute before chaos erupted from behind the kitchen door.

“Bloody hell, Kreacher! You can’t just go yanking me from grate to grate! You nearly spun me right past the house - ”

“Kreacher is very sorry for startling his Mistress. He shall punish himself severely for upsetting her and causing her and the young master unnecessary distress - ”

Harry heard the clanking of a pan and assumed the elf was throttling himself in the head with it. Walking back into the kitchen, Harry looked upon the scene with amusement. Kreacher had prostrated himself on the floor in front of Ginny and was smacking himself with a skillet as Ginny winced horribly with each clanging thud. Her robes were still sooty from the Floo; she still had hold of the box of photographs and appeared rather confused and dismayed by Kreacher’s sudden appearance and self-deprecating behavior.

“Kreacher, NO! You will not punish yourself in my home! Put down that pan this instant!” shrilled Ginny setting the box aside on the table.

“Kreacher, that’s enough,” demanded Harry. “Stop hurting yourself.” The elf immediately ceased with the skillet in mid-air and lowered his arm slowly, pouting with disappointment for being ordered to stop his punishment.

“Harry, what on earth?” muttered Ginny. “You didn’t mention anything about Kreacher when I saw you!”

“That’s because I didn’t know when I saw you.”

“Oh. Well, that’s a decent excuse. So why are you here, Kreacher?” asked Ginny, eyeing the house elf curiously.

Kreacher bowed low in front of Ginny and then raised his eyes reverently. “My Mistress is in need of me tonight. I have come to serve your dinner and make you comfortable this evening. Master Harry is good for company, but Kreacher knows he is not the sort for serving. Kreacher has come for that. It is his duty and his pleasure, Mistress.” Kreacher leveled a wary gaze toward Harry.

“Are you now?” teased Ginny as Kreacher pulled a chair away from the small table so she could sit. “Whatever you’ve made smells lovely. Thank you. But you’ve worried for nothing. I’m just fine. See?” she said, waving an arm over her body, patting the elf lovingly on the shoulder. “I’m all here. All my parts are accounted for. Except I could do with another quick trip to the loo… I swear, I think I’ll be giving up Butterbeer until the baby’s born - the stuff is just running through me!”

Kreacher flushed with pleasure and examined his kneecaps while Harry chuckled. Ginny dashed into the small loo just outside the kitchen door and Harry soon heard the sound of the plumbing rattling through the walls. He heard Ginny begin to call out to him loudly about Elizabeth and the pub when all hell broke loose in the parlour.

Harry’s answer died in the back of his throat as the Howler came to life in the grate and unleashed its venom on Ginny. When it finished its vicious message it disintegrated into a puff of smoke, leaving the inhabitants of the house stunned and silent.

“POTTER!

WHAT IS THIS PIECE OF SHITE STORY? THIS ISN’T THE FUCKING GARDEN CLUB! IF I WANTED SOME RUBBISH ABOUT HOW EVERYONE IN QUIDDITCH IS SO HEARTS AND FUCKING FLOWERS, I WOULD’VE HIRED SOMEONE FROM THE BLOODY SOCIAL PAGES!

I WANT BLOOD! I WANT GORE! I WANT TO KNOW WHAT YOU REALLY THINK, NOT SOME TRIPE ABOUT THE TOOTS, SHOOTS ‘N’ ROOTS FUCKING HERBOLOGY HOUR! YOU TOLD ME YOU COULD GIVE ME QUIDDITCH ~ NOW STOP WANKING AROUND LIKE A BLOODY PREGNANT WOMAN AND GIVE ME WHAT I ASSIGNED!

SUBMIT MORE FLUFFY COPY LIKE THIS AND YOU’LL BE COVERING THE SECOND-STRING, AMATEUR LEAGUE! BANGING HARRY BLOODY POTTER ONLY GETS YOU A JOB - IT DOESN’T MAKE YOU A FUCKING JOURNALIST! YOUR CONNECTIONS WILL TAKE YOU ONLY SO FAR!

YOU HAVE UNTIL FRIDAY MORNING TO SEND ME YOUR NEXT PIECE.

GIVE THAT A BIT OF THOUGHT, FIREFLY!”

Ginny was pale and shaking, her face bulging with fury. Ginny finally let out the long, ragged breath she’d been holding as the message had sputtered its last words, her eyes still glued on the spot where the Howler combusted.

“Who in the bloody hell does he think he is? Sending me a Howler like that? He's a fat-arsed, needle-dicked, gnome-humper - that's who he is! I can out-write him in my fucking sleep! No, the Flutterby bushes in Tilden Toots’ bloody, herbological fucking garden could out-write the rot he calls Quidditch commentary!

“That self-righteous prick! How dare he send me a message like that! He can’t speak to me that way! The bleeding, arse-kissing scumbag! The closest he’ll ever come to stepping on a pitch competitively is a Sunday afternoon pick-up game with the losers no one else will play with! The jealous bastard! And he thinks he knows Quidditch…

“I’ll show him! He’s not going to call me a bloody girl and rub my baby in my bloody face - the gutless twat! Sending me a Howler! And insinuating I got the job because I’m sleeping with you!”

At that point, Ginny stopped her screaming rant, twirling to face Harry with a flourish of amber hair, pointing right in his face. He could feel his eyes crossing as they focused on the fingertip right before his nose. She was purple with rage, angry tears rimmed her eyes. Harry had been married long enough - well, around the Weasleys, in general - to know not to say a word, whether he was itching to go and flay the spineless bastard alive or not. His own anger was secondary at this point; he wasn’t about to fan more air over a blazing fire. He kept his mouth closed and let his wife vent.

Ginny ripped off her traveling cloak, pitching it away to the floor as she began to pace back and forth in front of the fireplace, rubbing her round belly with both hands. Kreacher scampered to pull it out of her wake; narrowly missing Ginny’s stomping feet by mere centimetres.

Her voice was lower now, less shrill; but still full of bile. “Bloody Vince Battersheim. He’ll get his damnable story! I haven’t spent all these years proving myself to my brothers, my family, my House, my school, Gwenog, the Harpies… everyone - so I could have some Ministry suck-up, wannabe push me around…” A visible sheen had broken out across her forehead during her tirade and now steady drops of sweat slowly dripped their way through her hairline, over her face and down onto her neck.

“Ginny… Love, you’ve got to ignore him.” Harry was growing more and more worried as she continued to pace, one hand rubbing just under her left ribcage and the other planted firmly into the small of her back, wincing as if she was extremely uncomfortable. He’d not really seen her exert herself physically in this sort of way for several months and he wasn’t sure it was good for her. She didn’t appear to be breathing well…

“Ignore him?” she shrieked. She was now incredulous, her signature spark registering in her brown eyes. “That bastard sent me an owl like that and you’re going to tell me to ignore him? You’ve got to be kidding me!”

Kreacher began to tug on Harry’s trouser-leg in earnest in an attempt to gain his attention. Not willing to give the elf the satisfaction of being able to say ‘I told you so,’ Harry ignored him, knowing there’d be nothing left but to let Ginny scream herself hoarse if he wasn’t able to diffuse the situation soon.

Before he was able to say another word, Ginny stopped and made a horrible face, gasping, before visibly losing her balance and nearly falling over her own feet. In a flash both Harry and Kreacher were at her side, leading her to the couch where she all but collapsed, struggling for breath.

“Ginny!” shouted Harry, terrified by his wife’s sickly pallor. Panicking, he brushed the hair out of her face, resting the back of his hand along her forehead.

“Water…” croaked Ginny, “I just need a glass of water. I let myself get a little too worked up. The baby - he’s got his damn foot jabbed into my lung again. Little bugger.” Ginny smiled up at Harry wanly as Kreacher produced a goblet of water, which Ginny took and drank slowly. She handed the glass back to Kreacher and tried to force a smile, but instead she sighed heavily and laid her head back into the cushion, closing her eyes and taking deep breaths. A moment later, just as Harry thought she was beginning to look and breathe better, she began to weep quietly, tears dripping steadily down the sides of her face.

“Ginny?” asked Harry, alarmed. She wasn’t predisposed to crying, not even pregnancy hormones had changed that. “Love? What’s wrong? If it’s that piece of shite at the Prophet, I’m going to bloody pound him into - ”

“You will not.” Ginny’s eyes flew open. She was still crying and Kreacher was hovering about, visibly distressed, looking ready to punish himself for each tear that dripped down his mistress’s cheek. “The story I submitted was crap. I said as much to myself as I Owled it in. It was rubbish. He was right. He just didn’t have to be such a bloody bastard about it. Believe me… he is not about to talk to me like that and get away with it. I am a Weasley,” she sniffed, turning her face away.

“Erm…” Harry was at a loss for words. He wasn’t sure what to do so he ran his hand lovingly over his wife’s forehead and into her hair, stroking her tresses gently in a way he knew relaxed her. Her tears continued to flow; Harry remained next to her, quietly reassuring her in whatever way he knew how. He wasn’t about to remind her that her name was now Potter.

After several minutes Ginny stopped crying and said tonelessly, “I told Elizabeth about the Chamber today.”

“Oh, Gin.” Harry wrapped his arms around his wife and held on tight.

“And then I told her about Quidditch. Harry, she must think I’m a horrible person. I must’ve sounded like I’m going to be the worst mother ever. It sounded like I didn’t want this baby at all… For a moment I felt like I didn’t want this baby at all… I just wanted to be flying again.” Harry sat up and looked at his wife, who was avoiding his gaze.

“Merlin… what am I doing?” she murmured, raising her hands to cover her face, weeping again in earnest.

Harry was shocked. He didn’t know what to do, what to say. He let the soft urging of Kreacher tugging on his shirt-sleeve lead him away into the kitchen, where the comforting scents of fresh bread, chicken soup and blueberry trifle were awaiting his heavy heart.

***

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No.”

“May I get you anything?”

“Kreacher’s taking care of things. I’m fine.”

“Ginny…”

“Harry, I said I’m fine. I had a bad day is all.”

“Do you think we should make an appointment to see a Healer tomorrow?”

“I’m fine. I told you. I’m going to sleep now. Good night.”

Harry had been replaying the conversation over and over again in his head for hours. He just didn’t understand. Things were going so well. Then Ginny’d dumped that stupid idea of inviting Dudley over in his lap and it seemed their lives had gone all to hell.

He couldn’t believe Dudley had stood in his garden accusing him of Merlin knows what with Elizabeth. Harry had actually pulled his wand -he was appalled to admit he’d done it. Years of intense training at the Academy and one moment with Dudley had negated all of it in a second. All Harry’d heard and seen at that moment was his Uncle Vernon stalking up the walk, his mind hadn’t registered that the vision was all wrong. He’d reacted as if he were six years old again.

This would never do.

And now Ginny. Harry was perplexed as ever about her. She had seemed genuinely happy about starting a family. Things had been fine for months. They’d made the decision to have a baby together… he thought. He never would’ve pushed her to give up Quidditch if he thought she wasn’t ready to leave the team. Never. He knew how much she loved it - hell, he loved watching her love it.

In fact, the whole business of Ginny leaving the Harpies was a hard topic for Harry to swallow. If the tables were turned, he knew he’d have a bad time leaving his job for the sake of starting a family. Harry didn’t think it was very fair for men to have it so easy…

Ginny had worked and trained as hard as anyone. Knowing she was giving up her dream of playing still sat heavily on his shoulders, but she insisted she knew what she wanted. She maintained it was time for a family and that writing would be enough.

Now he wasn’t so sure.

Harry took another drink from the bottle of Butterbeer Kreacher had brought him earlier. He sat in his library in front of the fire, feet up on the coffee table, wondering exactly what he should do. Should he let her have some time and wait to see if she opened up? Should he force the issue?

And what if she really didn’t want to stay at home? Would that be so bad? Harry was sure Kreacher would help and they could find a nanny of some sort. Or perhaps Molly would help them with the baby… If Ginny wasn’t ready to be a mum they could work this out. Somehow.

He hoped.

“Master?”

“Yes?” Harry looked up to see Kreacher peeking around the doorframe, his head casting a long shadow across the wall in the firelight.

“Mistress is finally sleeping.”

“Thanks, Kreacher,” said Harry, sighing heavily, motioning the elf over to the sitting area. “I guess you were right.”

“Kreacher does not want to go back to London, Master. He wants to stay here.”

Harry considered the old elf thoughtfully. “Is she going to be all right, Kreacher?”

“Mistress? Of course she is. She is just needing to rest. The vile, evil scum she works for has upset her, Master.” Kreacher looked away into the fire then snapped his fingers to stoke the flames, causing the room to light considerably. “Mistress should also refrain from telling stories of the Dark Lord now that the baby is almost here. She carries too much pain from her past. It is not healthy for her or the young master Potter for Mistress to be upsetting herself.”

“You try telling her that, Kreacher,” murmured Harry. “Maybe she’ll listen to you. If I told her that she’d chuck a book at my head.” The old elf smiled.

“This is why Kreacher does not want to return to Grimmauld Place. Kreacher is old, Master. He would like to end his days here, helping his Mistress and caring for the new baby.”

“She really is going to be okay, then?”

“Mistress is not the only witch Kreacher has seen ready to deliver a child. Kreacher has served many grumpier witches. Oh, yes. Many were more evil and foul than my dear, sweet Mistress. Bad days are to be expected.”

“Expected?” asked Harry blandly.

“Tomorrow Kreacher will prepare a special evening meal. Master will bring home something special for his Mistress Ginny. Master will show her. Kreacher will tidy the garden and disappear. Mistress just needs some special attention.”

“Kreacher, are you telling me what I think you’re telling me?”

“Master is finally catching on,” smirked the elf. “There may be hope for him, yet.”

“Oi! Go and find yourself a cupboard, then. And try not to nick the silver. Make yourself useful or I’m giving you clothes,” bantered Harry, winking at his wrinkly friend as he made his way out of the library and up to bed for the night. The wise, old elf just smiled and bowed as he passed; clearly pleased he’d been welcomed home once again.