FIC: "The Hero's Haunting" by irislock (2 of 2)
To: nicodemusfleur
Title: The Hero's Haunting
Author/Artist: irislock
Pairing: Harry/Ginny
Rating: light R
Word Count: 16,200
Summary: It started on an ordinary day when a book found Harry in the Restricted Section.
“Welcome home!”
"Thanks!” said Ginny as she set her things just inside the door to her room. From the doorway, she could see the entire flat, with the exception of Penelope’s room, and it was lavishly decorated with balloons and streamers, and a large banner.
“This is really nice, Pelly. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”
"It’s no trouble. I didn’t want you to come home to an empty flat.”
"It’s not empty. You’re here.”
Penelope smiled. Ginny’s mother had pronounced Penelope the perfect flat mate, a respectable young professional who didn’t seem to have any vices other than compulsive neatness. Ginny wasn’t so sure. It made her a little nervous at first, sharing a flat with her brother’s ex. In the end, though, she moved in because it was the best place she could find with a rent she could afford. The easy friendship that developed had been a nice surprise, and they were close enough that Ginny was one of only a handful of people allowed to call her Pelly. They inhabited two totally different worlds and enjoyed sharing news about the inner workings of professional Quidditch teams and hospitals.
“Not for long. I just came home for a quick lunch and to finish the decorations.” She checked the clock above the sink. “I have to be back at St. Mungo’s in five minutes.”
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry. I really wish I had the afternoon off so I could hear all about Quidditch. I can’t believe your first match is in two days. You’ve already gotten some fan mail.”
“Really? From anyone I’m not related to?”
Penelope laughed. “I think so. I put it in your room.” She put on her cloak and picked up one of two coins on the dining table. They were Protean coins that worked like the old DA coins--useful for communicating simple messages. Harry owned one too, but he wasn’t allowed to have one for training, and he never remembered to put it in his pocket when he was at home.
“I got these out. Now that you’re back, we can use them again. I’ll let you know if I’m going to be late. There’s plenty of butterbeer and food. Just save the cake until the party, okay? I should be home before anyone gets here. Around seven.”
She gave Ginny a quick hug and was gone in a flash of Floo powder.
Ginny was glad to be home. It wasn’t large, or elegant, and most of the furniture belonged to Penelope. But it was hers, and having a loo to herself again after two weeks of sharing one with fifteen other women was a welcome luxury. She had plenty of time to unpack and get settled before the party, and Harry would be in practicals all afternoon. She decided to start with a bath.
She was sorting her laundry when she noticed the letter on top of the stack of mail. It was the blue stationary she’d given Harry over a year ago, when they’d agreed to write more often, and the writing on the envelope was Harry’s, but it looked ragged and strange, as if he’d written it while astride a broom. There were red smears on it that looked almost like blood.
She read the letter with a growing sense of alarm. Why on earth would McTavish send a third year trainee on a dangerous mission? And not even let him say goodbye to her? It didn’t make sense, and it made even less sense when she read how glad he was that Ron and Hermione had taken one Horcrux to Australia.
She became deeply disturbed when she read his assurance that Snape had given him valuable information that would help him complete his mission, and she stopped reading altogether when she got to the part that told her to always remember that he loved her no matter what happened.
Her first thought was to go and see Harry, but if he’d already left, she might waste valuable time. No, it would be better to go straight to McTavish. She retrieved the coin from the dining table to let Penelope know where she was going and then Floo’d herself to the Ministry.
_______________
Harry’s flat was barely recognizable, and the rancid smell from the kitchen was enough to make their eyes water. Ginny’s first thought was that there must have been a terrible struggle, but closer inspection seemed to indicate that the chaos had been created by a resident rather than an intruder. Dishes were piled so high in the sink that some had toppled to the floor and shattered. It didn’t look like he’d opened his mail once in the time she’d been gone, and she wondered what had the empty bottles all over the floor had originally contained.
While Mac and the others searched the dining and living areas, Ginny headed toward the bedroom - she had hoped to find him first and avoid any confrontation with the Aurors. It was almost as bad as the kitchen. The sheets on the unmade bed were yellowed and stained, the walls were streaked with what looked like dried blood, and the floor was littered with dirty robes that smelled like rotting flesh. From all appearances, Harry seemed to have become completely unhinged and abandoned the routines of everyday life.
Simultaneous stunning spells drew her attention away from the bedroom, and she gasped when she saw them drag Harry from under the table. The cloak was still covering him from the waist down, but his torso, arms, hands and face were covered in ugly oozing wounds. Only the top of his head, covered by hair, seemed unaffected. She was horrified, and rushed to help, but Mac stopped her.
“No, Miss Weasley, you must stay back while we take him into custody and secure the premises.”
“Take him into custody?” she said, outraged. “He’s not a bloody suspect! He needs help, can’t you see that?”
“Yes, I can see that. I can also see that his life is not in imminent danger, and protocol dictates that we make a preliminary assessment before transporting him.” Mac’s voice betrayed no impatience but it also did not invite discussion.
He turned to the others. “Dylan, can you tell me what we do next?”
Ginny was furious - Mac was treating this like a practical. She could tell that Dylan and the others were uneasy discussing Harry like he was a suspected dark wizard, and it gave her a tiny bit of validation. But she had to keep quiet lest Mac banish her from the area completely.
_______________
“Pelly!” Ginny called, spotting her from the end of the corridor. “I just got your message - is he okay?” She was panting as if she’d just scored 12 goals against Pride of Portree, which in fact, she had.
“Oh, good, Ginny,” said Penelope, noticing that Ginny was still in her Quidditch uniform. “You didn’t leave in the middle of the match, did you? Gwenog will fire you.”
Ginny shook her head. “No. The coin started vibrating not two seconds after Libby caught the Snitch. I didn’t take the time to change or shower.” Penelope raised her eyebrows, but Ginny waved her hand dismissively. “I don’t even care. It’s just a small fine for being in uniform outside the stadium, which they will deduct from my pay. How’s Harry. Is he okay?” she asked again.
“He’s stable,” Penelope replied, in that annoying professional manner she used with distraught family members of her patients.
“Pelly. Talk to me.”
“Let’s sit down, why don’t we? There’s a lot to tell you.”
Penelope led her to a couple of overstuffed armchairs near a window at the end of the corridor, and produced a tall glass of pumpkin juice for Ginny. She drained the glass and waited for Penelope to brief her.
“So, like I said,” she began. “He’s stable. We’re using a combination of murtlap essence and dittany to soothe his skin. It works, but we have to keep him in a constant bath of it. We used mandrake restorative draught to calm him, and it does help, but he is still talking about having to find Horcruxes and defeat Voldemort. We don’t really know what caused this, so it’s difficult to formulate a specific cure.”
“Did you try a bezoar?” She recalled how he’d saved Ron and that bezoars were useful antidotes for most poisons.
Penelope nodded. “No effect. Which tells us that it wasn’t any of the more common poisons, but that was unlikely anyway. Most poisons don’t take that long to work, and Harry’s been suffering from this for some while based on the state of his skin. At least ten days.”
“You must be able to do something,” Ginny pleaded. “Have you tried Veritaserum?”
Penelope nodded. “Yes. It wasn’t as helpful as we hoped. We just get a lot of conflicting information. He remembers Voldemort dying but says he isn’t really gone. He remembers the Fiendfyre but says he has to get the diadem from the Room of Requirement. We asked him what happened to Colin Creevy, and he seemed to get very confused and finally said he didn’t know for sure.”
“Legilimency?” Ginny suggested.
“We’ve tried that, too,” Penelope sighed heavily. “Healer Smethwyck is our most accomplished Legilimens, and she hasn’t been able to see much. He won’t maintain eye contact for long - he says it hurts, and that everything looks red. Also, I don’t think he trusts us entirely. So she’s just been able to see snippets of events. We think they’re recent, because she saw him practicing defensive spells with Dylan. She saw parts of a dinner he ate with you - fish and risotto, and-”
“I remember that dinner!” Ginny said. “It was our celebration for me getting moved up. It was the last time he seemed normal to me.”
“When exactly was that?”
“Um,” said Ginny, counting, “three weeks ago yesterday.”
“Healer Smethwyck saw something else. It looked like Harry was in a library, and there was a dusty book that made him sneeze. I don’t know if it’s important, but -”
Ginny interrupted again. “Yes, he told me about it.”
Penelope waited patiently while Ginny tried to recall the details.
“It was right before I went to Scotland for training. We were together the Tuesday before I left. He made dinner, and we were talking about our day. He’d been at Hogwarts doing research all day, and he told me about this book that had jumped into his hands. It was called “The Hero’s Helper”- I remember because I asked him why that would be in the Restricted Section. It didn’t sound dangerous. He said it wasn’t important; it was just a book that was there. It wasn’t even one he was using for research.”
“But it jumped into his hands?” Penelope asked.
“Yes. But he put it back. I don’t even think he read any of it.” Ginny’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “Oh, this is hopeless. This...whatever is going on could be caused by anything. A curse, a potion, for all we know it could be a voodoo doll...”
Penelope put a hand on Ginny’s back and began rubbing gentle circles in an attempt to comfort her. Ginny tried hard to fight off the feeling of despair that was descending on her like a dark cloud. Merlin, why Harry? Hadn’t he suffered enough? They were so happy, and everything had been going so well until she’d left for training. And now - again - he was being tormented by some ancient dark magic. It worried her no small amount that none of the professionals had been able to figure out what was going on.
She hadn’t noticed Neville approach.
“Ginny?” he asked. “Everything alright?”
“No, Neville, it’s not. Harry is...sick.” She leaned forward and put her head in her hands while Penelope explained Harry’s condition to Neville.
“I’m really sorry, Ginny. Is there anything I can do to help?” he offered. “Did you say something about a book?”
Penelope answered. “It’s possible that Harry has been - affected by a book in the Restricted Section at Hogwarts.”
“Really?” said Neville, clearly surprised. “You think a book could cause him to act -” he searched for a word - “possessed like this?”
“I admit it’s unlikely,” said Penelope now looking rather defeated too. “But we don’t have much else to go on.”
Ginny, however, was suddenly more hopeful. After all, there had been a book that caused her a good deal of grief some years back.
“It’s probably a dead end,” Penelope continued, “but I think it’s worth investigating this book - The Hero’s Helper, right Ginny?”
“Yes. That’s it.”
“I’m headed back to Hogwarts, “ said Neville. I’ll go to Madam Pince straightaway and ask her about it.”
“Thanks Neville,” Ginny said. “Be sure to contact us if you find out anything interesting. Or even if you don’t,” she added as an afterthought.
“You know I will.” He squatted down in front of her, balancing on the balls of his feet so that he could look at her face. “He’ll be alright, Ginny. Harry will always be alright.” Ginny took a shaky breath and managed a smile. She wasn’t sure she believed it, but it was nice of him to say it. “You’re a good friend, Neville. Thanks.” He straightened and kissed the top of her head before disappearing with a delicate pop.
It was a full minute before Ginny even thought to ask. “I wonder what he was doing here.”
“Visiting his parents. He comes every week.” A fresh wave of anxiety struck Ginny as she realized that Harry was in the same ward as Neville’s parents.
A stray tear slid down her cheek, and she wiped it away angrily. Crying would not help.
“I think you should talk to him.”
“I thought I wasn’t allowed.”
“Technically, you’re not. Only family members are allowed. But he’s been asking about you with increasing frequency, and -” she shrugged in an almost helpless gesture. “We’ve tried everything else we can think of. I think it will help him to see someone he loves. You’re the closest thing to family he has so I finally persuaded them to let you in.”
“I don’t even know if he’ll recognize me.” She’d barely recognized him when she’d gone to his flat with the Aurors.
“I think he will.”
“And what should we talk about?”
“Anything at all, but try to get him grounded in reality. Try to get him to realize that Voldemort is dead and see if you can pinpoint when he started thinking that he wasn’t.”
“How? I’m not a Healer. I have no idea what to say, or do.”
Penelope put a hand on her arm. “I wish I could tell you. This is a process that could take days, or weeks, or...”
Ginny knew what that meant. Harry might be gone permanently mad and there wouldn’t be anything anyone could do.
_______________
She opened the door cautiously, not quite sure what to expect. Instead of a bed, there was a large bathtub containing Harry, submerged up to his chin and wearing his glasses in spite of his closed eyes. She could see his face, now with just a few healing scratches, because he was was facing the door with his feet toward the wall. She watched him for a moment as his slow breathing caused his chest to breach the surface of the water and then descend again.
He opened his eyes abruptly.
“Ginny?”
“Yes. It’s me.” He didn’t seem embarrassed, even though he was naked except for some swimming trunks.
His eyes narrowed and he said, “What was my cousin’s name and where did he go to school?”
“Dudley Dursley, but his friends called him Big D. And he went to Smeltings. And the family told everyone that you went to St. Brutus’s Academy for Incurably Criminal Boys. Can I come in?”
A slight smile ghosted across his face and then disappeared. “Did you tell Mac how to get through my wards?”
He didn’t seem paranoid at the moment, but there was a note of suspicion in his voice. She wondered if he blamed her for his being here.
“No. I opened them myself, but I didn’t give him the sequence.”
“Did they force you to open them?”
“No. Auror McTavish told me you hadn’t been around for a few days and that he’d sent you to a Healer, but you didn’t go, and then I got really worried and showed him the letter you sent. I insisted on coming with them to look in your flat. I didn’t want them to - do anything. I wanted to come in alone, but Mac said no. I was in the bedroom when I heard the spells, and I was so mad at them Harry, so mad, but they said it was the safest way, and then they wouldn’t let me visit, and…”
She realized how high her voice had gotten, and she was still only halfway in the room. “Can I please come in?”
"Sure,” he said, and raised his hand out of the water to indicate the chair closest to him. “Why are you in uniform?”
“I had a match.”
“Already? How long have I been here?”
“Two days.” She sat and looked at him. “How are you?” she asked tentatively.
He closed his eyes again. “Better, I think. At least my skin doesn’t hurt. As long as I stay in here. Every time I try to get out, it starts itching and hurting again.” This was a bit alarming, though her face remained impassive.
“This must be awful for you - you hate baths.” She touched the water. It was slightly cool, but comforting.
He smiled. “Not this one. It’s murtlap essence and dittany - or so I’m told.”
“You don’t believe them?”
“I suppose. If it was anything bad, it probably would’ve done some damage by now, but I don’t completely trust them.”
“Not even Penelope? You know we’re friends, Harry.” She realized, too late, that In his present state of mind, that might not count for much.
He opened his eyes and looked at her. “Ginny, everyone I look at has red eyes and a really pale face. It doesn’t matter if I’m wearing glasses or not. It’s crazy, I know, but everyone I look at reminds me of - of - Voldemort.”
“Even me?”
He nodded.
“Have you told them?”
He shook his head.
“Why not?”
“I told you. I don’t trust them.”
“But you trust me? Even though I have red eyes and look like Voldemort’s daughter?”
He pondered this for a moment. “Yeah, I suppose I do. I have to trust someone. I don’t think I can go on like this. It just doesn’t make sense. If I were a prisoner of war, I think they’d have handed me over to Voldemort, or killed me, or be torturing me, or something other than making me a nice bath. Or, maybe I am being tortured and the pain is so bad that I just think I’m in a bathtub.” He laughed sardonically. “Maybe this is what it feels like to be insane.”
She looked at him affectionately and tried to think about it from his point of view. What if she looked at him and saw red eyes and a pale face
“Will you try an experiment with me?”
“Do I have to get out of the tub?”
She laughed. “No.”
“Will you get in?” She laughed again. This was a good sign, all things considered.
“Not yet.”
“Ah, well. Too much to hope for, I guess. Alright, then, tell me about this experiment.”
“Okay, I’m going to move the chair so that I’m behind you. That way you don’t have to see my eyes. Is there anything wrong with my voice?”
“No. Your voice is fine. Rather nice, actually.”
“Good,” she said, situating her chair behind the tub. “Can I touch your head?”
She couldn’t see his face, but she could tell he’d furrowed his brow in thought. “It’s probably scabby and disgusting.
“I don’t mind.” She reached out and threaded her fingers through his hair, gently massaging his scalp. She’d been wrong to think his head hadn’t been affected, she could feel the trenches of wounds he’d dug there.
“Ummm,” he murmured. “That feels...I don’t even know what to call it.
“Good?”
“Mmmmm. Yes. Good. It feels soothing, like everything I’m panicked about is floating right out of my head through your fingers.
She had to swallow hard to keep her emotions in check. “I’m glad.”
“Really. It’s the best I’ve felt in weeks.”
“Well, I’d love to stay and be your personal masseuse for the afternoon, but Penelope has given us a task. We’re supposed to try to figure out what has caused all of this, why you think Voldemort is still alive.” She continued to massage his head gently, extending her touch to the base of his neck, and the knot of tense muscles there
“So, think back, do you remember your first year at Hogwarts, when you fought Professor Quirrell and got the Sorcerer’s Stone?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Do you remember rescuing me from the Chamber of Secrets your second year, and fighting Tom Riddle?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember how you got rid of him?”
“I stabbed his diary with a basilisk fang. That diary - it was a Horcrux.”
“Very good!” She felt like a school teacher commending a student, but this was really wonderful news. He hadn’t lost his memory, and she was growing more confident that he hadn’t lost his connection with reality either. “Do you remember the other Horcruxes?”
He hesitated. “I think so. Do you know what the other ones are?”
The tone of his voice told her that he was still having doubts about trusting her.
“What do you remember?” she prompted.
He was silent.
Her hands stopped moving for a moment, and she was trying to figure out the best way to proceed.
“Let me guess,” she said finally. “You’re wondering whether I can be trusted after all. You think I may be trying to get information out of you.”
More silence.
“Think about it, Harry. Who would I be getting information for? Voldemort knew how many Horcruxes he made, and he didn’t tell anyone about them. If I were on Voldemort’s side, I wouldn’t know about Horcruxes at all. And if I’m not on Voldemort’s side, then I’m on yours, right?”
He considered this. “I suppose. And anyway, it seems unlikely that you’d show up in your Quidditch uniform if you were really a Death Eater."
He sounded very serious so she stifled her laugh. After a moment, he said in a slightly croaky whisper. “Besides the diary, there was a ring, a locket, a cup, a diadem, and Nagini.
Dumbledore destroyed the ring, and the diadem was destroyed by Fiendfyre.”
“You told me that Ron stabbed the locket with Gryffindor’s sword. Do you remember that?”
“Yeah. I remember it happening, and I remember telling you about it. And Ron, no Hermione, got the cup with another basilisk tooth, and Nagini - “ he paused, remembering, “was killed by Neville.
“Right! So, Harry, now -
“And there was me. I was a Horcrux.”
"And what happened at Hogwarts?”
His words all came out in a rush, and he sat up a little in the tub. “I went to the forest, to surrender to Voldemort. And I did, and he killed me, but I didn’t die. But I made everyone think I did, and then at the battle his spell backfired and ...and it killed him.”
“Exactly. Now, Harry, this is important. You can remember all of those things, and they are true. They really happened. Can you remember the first time that you started thinking they didn’t? That the war wasn’t over?”
He was quiet for a long time before he spoke. “I think - I think it was that day after we had dinner. You know, after you’d been promoted. I woke up, and when I looked in the mirror, my eyes looked red. Just for a second. And I thought I heard Voldemort’s voice in my head again, and it kept saying he was still here. And the itching started that day too.
“Did anybody give you anything unusual to drink or eat? Did anyone strange try to talk to you? Did you go see a Healer?” He shook his head in response to each of those questions.
“And this was the day after you’d been to Hogwarts and found that book that kept jumping into your hands?”
“Yes, but what would that have to do with it? It was supposed to be a hero’s helper.”
“And what was it supposed to help heroes do?”
“Get used to everyday life. It said something like ‘to find out how to have a normal life after you’ve saved the world, just turn the page’ and I thought I didn’t really need the book, my life’s just fine, thanks, but I turned the page and this white powder came out of the book -”
“A white powder?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t think it was just dust?”
“At first I did. There wasn’t any dust on the outside, and I thought it must be some strange book that only collected dust on the inside. But it was kind of shiny, you know, it sparkled.”
“What happened then?”
“Well, I guess I inhaled some of it, and I coughed a little, but it wasn’t anything serious. I put it back and came home and made you dinner.”
_______________
Students were taking advantage of the lovely weather, and only the most conscientious of them were in the library when Neville arrived. Madam Pince was not behind the counter, so Neville walked to the Restricted Section. He tried using an accio charm to summon the book. When that didn’t work, he started walking up and down the rows repeating the charm.
“Longbottom! What on earth are you doing here?” Madam Pince exclaimed in a harsh whisper.
“Looking for a book,” Neville said somewhat defensively. He had to remind himself that as an apprentice, he did not need permission from a professor to enter the Restricted Section.
"The Hero’s Helper,” Neville offered in support of his answer. Somehow Madam Pince always made him feel like he’d done something wrong.
“We don’t have a book by that name,” said Madam Pince. She sounded certain.
Neville was sure he’d gotten the name right. “I know that’s what Ginny said,” he explained. “She said Harry was here a couple of weeks ago, and -”
“Mr. Potter?” Madam Pince interrupted.
“Yeah, Harry.”
“I remember. He was looking at some of our older texts on magic, right over here.”
He followed her deeper into the stacks. “Let’s see - if I remember correctly, he was researching origins of wandless magic. Hmmm - Moste Potente Potions, Incantations for War and Pestilience, yes, those were on his list, and he was looking for -”
Neville didn’t hear what else he was looking for because a green book had slid toward him from the shelves. When he touched it, it leapt into his hands.
“This is it! Madam Pince! This is the book!”
“Longbottom! Lower your voice,” she chastised before she saw the book in his hands. “And that is ‘The Hero’s Haunting’, not ‘The Hero’s Help-’” She clapped a hand over her mouth and her eyes grew wide with alarm.
“Did you say that Mr. Potter found this...and...he thought it was called The Hero’s Helper?”
“Yes,” said Neville, “and it is. It says right here The Hero’s Helper.” He turned the book over.
“That’s odd. Look what it says on the cover: This book has chosen you.”
“Oh, dear, oh dear, oh dear,” said Madam Pince. “I never even thought - it didn’t occur to me - oh this is a disaster - oh, we have to tell Mr. Potter.” Neville had never seen her so flustered, or so concerned about a student.
“Tell him what?”
“And - you see it too,” she said. “Well, of course you do.” Suddenly, she yanked the book from Neville’s hands. “You mustn’t touch this - it’s just as dangerous for you as it is for Mr. Potter!”
There was a time when her words and demeanor would have made Neville cower, but that was a long time ago. He spoke firmly without raising his voice.
“Madam Pince, I don’t know what you’re on about, but you need to tell me what is wrong with this book. Harry is very sick. He’s at St. Mungo’s, and if this book has anything to do with it, this would be a good time to mention it.”
“He’s already sick! Oh, no. No, no, no. I take such precautions. I try to ensure that the students don’t hurt the books and the books don’t hurt the students, but I never dreamed that this would happen.”
Neville couldn’t hide his growing frustrations, and his voice raised a little this time. “Dreamed what would happen?”
Madam Pince took a deep breath and seemed to regain her composure. “The title of that book is The Hero’s Haunting, but any real hero that looks at it sees a different title - The Hero’s Helper. It’s a sinister book, impregnated with victoris pugnum.”
“And what is victoris pugnum?”
“It’s the precipitate of a distilled potion, a white powder that causes any hero exposed to it to relive their greatest battles. In ancient Greek and Roman times, aging heroes would use it to relive their most triumphant moments, their ‘glory days’ so to speak, and some became rather addicted to it. It’s harmless to anyone else, which is the real genius of its invention, and until the battle, we hadn’t had any true heroes at Hogwarts for ages. But, of course, Mr. Potter would be susceptible to its effects, and you, too Mr. Longbottom.”
“But Harry isn’t reliving his victory,” Neville said, “it’s like he’s trapped in some time warp where he thinks that Lord Voldemort is still alive and he has to find him and fight him all over again.”
“That would be because of its age,” observed Madam Pince, now sounding more like her pedantic self. “That book has been here for literally hundreds of years, and I’m sure the victoris pugnum has become both more potent and less stable.” She paused, and then added almost as an afterthought, “How dreadful for Mr. Potter. I don’t think there’s an anitdote.”
“Well, I’m going to find out.”
_______________
Ginny didn’t want to wake Harry so she didn’t put up much of a fight when Penelope came in and made her leave. It was time for his daily evaluation by a team of Healers, and she’d already let Ginny stay longer than her supervisor thought advisable. She assured Ginny that he could continue sleeping, and she brought good news: Neville had found something about the book and was now working with the Healers on an antidote.
She felt hopeful, worried, confused, exhausted, and hungry, and she wasn’t sure which of these feelings to address first. She stood for a moment in the corridor, trying to figure out what to do next when Fleur appeared, arms open.
Ginny couldn’t help it; she collapsed against Fleur and let the tears come.
Fleur handed her a fine linen handkerchief. “Congratulations. You were magnifique in zee game. We are all proud,” she said after a time. Ginny had all but forgotten about the match. It seemed so long ago, and so unimportant.
“Thanks. How did you even know I was here?” She hadn’t told anyone in her family about Harry’s condition, only that he’d had a small accident during training and wouldn’t be able to make it to her match.
“Arthur. Auror McTavish talked to him, and we were at zee Burrow when he came home and told your muzzer. He said that Harry was not allowed visitors yet, but I told Bill zat I knew you would be here. I brought clothes; you left them at zee cottage. And some food.” Fleur opened the large satchel she had slung over one shoulder and presented her with a sandwich and a change of clothes.
“Thanks,” she said, taking the clothes first. It would be a relief to get out of her uniform. “That was really nice of you.”
“Not nice. Selfish. We went back to the cottage, but it was no use, I could not concentrate on anyzing. And I am clumsy when I cannot concentrate. I worry - about you and about Harry. Bill finally told me I should come.”
Ginny smiled. It had irritated her in the past, how slavishly devoted she was to Bill, but after spending some time with them, she understood better how their relationship worked. Fleur would not ask Bill if she could go nor would she go without his permission, but Ginny could immediately picture Fleur being so distracted around the house, dropping things and burning food, that Bill told her to go. And it worked for them because Bill loved her so much and wanted her to do what would make her happy. It wasn’t a marriage she could be in, but she didn’t have to be. She was immeasurably grateful to Fleur for her insight, for knowing that Ginny would want company even though she hadn’t acknowledged it to anyone, including herself.
Clothed much more comfortably in some Muggle jeans and a t-shirt, she sat in the same overstuffed chair she’d been in earlier. It conveniently afforded her a view of the door to Harry’s room while she ate. Fleur talked - about Bill’s job, about how tired she was, but also how happy, about which room would be the baby’s room, and how she wanted to take a trip with Bill before the baby came. Ginny recognized this not as self absorbed chatter but her friend’s way of distracting her from the worries at hand long enough to eat.
As Ginny was licking a bit of mustard from her fingers, Fleur changed the subject.
“How is he?” she asked.
And Ginny told her. How he’d battered his own body, how he was plagued by thoughts of an enemy he couldn’t defeat, one that he thought existed both outside and inside his mind, how Neville and the Healers were working on an antidote.
“I just hope it works,” she said. “I don’t even want to think about what it will be like if it doesn’t.”
“‘e will recover,” Fleur replied. “I remember being so worried after Bill was attacked. I knew he would be damaged, but not how much. He may not be just like before, but he will still be Harry, and he will still love you.”
“He wanted to get married.” She hadn’t discussed it with anyone, but Fleur seemed a natural person to talk to about this, and she would keep it to herself. “The last time we saw each other we talked about it, and I told him I didn’t want to because I was just starting Quidditch and we’d have lots of time...but we don’t, do we? You never really know how much time you have.”
“I would zink,” said Fleur, “zat you would know zat from the war. Life is very precious, and it can change like zat.” She snapped her fingers. “I zink zat maybe you don’t want to marry right now because you want to find your own way, not just be ‘arry’s girlfriend. But ‘arry does not zink like zat; you are more zan a girlfriend to him. You are ze woman he loves, anyone can zee zis, and ‘e wants you to be ‘appy.”
Ginny smiled, not just because Fleur’s words were true, but because her accent always got more pronounced when she felt strongly about what she was saying.
_______________
“The murtlap took care of the scars, that’s good. No pain?”
Harry shook his head.
Neville’s relief was palpable.
“No headaches? Sometimes using St. John’s wort and Glumbumble together can cause headaches.”
Harry shook his head again.
“The red vision is gone? My face looks alright?”
“Well, you still have those ears that stick out and a crooked nose, but I reckon you’re stuck with those.”
Neville thwatted him on the head, and this, more than anything, made Harry feel that he was truly normal again.
“So you did this, huh? Came up with the antidote by yourself?”
“Well, I had some help. A lot of help actually. ”
“Not to hear Penelope tell it. She says you were brilliant, and it’s a significant contribution to magical healing.”
Neville blushed. “Professor Sprout helped too, and Slughorn. Yours is the first case of exposure to overaged victoris pugnum that we know of, so it was a bit of a challenge. Took us a few tries to get it right, and there’s still one side effect that we couldn’t get rid of.”
“Yeah, Penelope told me about that too,” Harry replied. “She said it will wear off eventually though.” He paused. “Wait. You said a few tries? What did you experiment on?”
Neville laughed at the shock on Harry’s face. “Me. I was susceptible to the effects, too. So we kept trying antidotes on me until the symptoms went away.”
“You did that for me?”
Neville shrugged. “Yeah, I s’pose.”
“Did everyone’s eyes look red to you too? And did you get that rash?”
“Not exactly. My skin was definitely itchy, but we found the antidote just as the rash was starting to appear. People didn’t have red eyes, but …”
“What?” Harry prompted.
“Well, for most of the war, my enemy was the Carrows. I mean, Voldemort in a larger sense, and Bellatrix personally, but the Carrows did the most to make my life hell. So, what I felt, mostly, were the things they did. I would have moments where it felt like I was under the Cruciatus curse or felt like I had to report for detention.”
Harry was dumbstruck. Why anyone would volunteer to go through anything like what he’d been through as a gesture of friendship was beyond his comprehension.
“Don’t look at me like that, Harry. It wasn’t that bad. I had Madam Pomfrey, Professor Sprout, Professor Slughorn and Madam Pince plus three or four Healers all there to help. And it only lasted a couple of days.
“Anyway, it wasn’t just for you,” he continued, a little more quietly. “You should have seen Ginny that day; she looked so upset and afraid for you. I don’t think she could stand to lose you again, Harry.”
Harry had seen Ginny that day, but she hadn’t betrayed any of her fear or distress to him. To him, she had been, again, a source of comfort and care, and she had helped him tease apart reality from the nightmare he’d been in.
As if on cue, Ginny breezed into the room.
Gratitude seemed so inadequate, but it was all he had. “Well, thanks, Neville. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.” He would thank Ginny privately later.
“Me, too,” said Ginny. “You did a wonderful thing.” She kissed him on the cheek.
“You’re welcome. Besides,” he continued, “it was a great challenge. Professor Sprout says I can publish a paper on this antidote and be guaranteed to have my pick of jobs at the end of my apprenticeship.”
He glanced at his watch. “I have to go see Mum and Dad; I’ll leave you two alone.”
Harry’s tub had been replaced by a bed, and Ginny sat on the side of it, holding his hand. They sat in silence for a bit before she kissed him, soft and tentative at first, but then with more enthusiasm. Merlin, he’d missed this.
She was beautiful and carefree and looked like the woman he still wanted to marry. He wasn’t sure that it would be fair, though, to betroth her when it seemed his career as an Auror might be even more dangerous than his past as the Chosen One. Just a few days ago, Voldemort had been at every turn, corroding his thoughts and actions, and Voldemort had been dead for two years. If a book could do that to him, what lie ahead when he was tracking down dark wizards who were very much alive?
“I can’t stay long,” she said. “I have practice. We play the Tornados on Saturday.”
“I heard you were brilliant against Portree.”
She ignored this. “I just wanted to check and see how you’re feeling. Pelly says you are blemish free.”
He held up his arms to show her. “Yeah, just the same old scars left now. I can go home tomorrow.”
Ginny nodded. “She told me. She also told me that you’re insisting on going back to the Ministry tomorrow, and Mac has agreed to let you. I’ve arranged with him not to let you leave until I get there after practice.”
“There’s really no need, Ginny. I’m fine.” A dangerous, blazing look came over her features.
“Hmm. I’ll be the judge of that.” Whisking up the thin sheet covering him, she dove under it and began placing teasing kisses on his chest. “Yes, that seems fine.” Another kiss. “No rash there.” Another kiss, this one lower. “Doesn’t seem to hurt at all.” And she proceeded, further and further down to places that Harry considered almost scandalous to have kissed in broad daylight.
“Oh, Harry, dear, I didn’t think they’d ever let us in to see you.”
The sound of Mrs Weasley’s voice brought all action to an immediate halt, and it was only by a great stroke of luck that she was carrying a large Neverending flower arrangement. It obscured her view of the bed just long enough for Ginny to untangle herself from the sheet.
“Ginny! I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“I just stopped by on my way to practice.”
“Are you sure you should go? You look awfully flushed, dear.”
“I’m fine, Mum. It’s just...oh, nevermind. I should go.” She kissed Harry, chastely, on the lips and hugged her mother before leaving a very embarrassed Harry behind.
_______________
“That was cruel,” Harry observed the next evening. “I blushed so much, she thought my rash hadn’t completely gone.”
Ginny just smiled. “Don’t worry. We have tonight all to ourselves.”
She and the kitchen weren't exactly friends, but she’d cooked the pasta perfectly, and the red sauce was her mother’s recipe. She’d even put together a tasty salad to go with it.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Well, it’s no risotto, but it’s not bad, if I do say so. I brought some cannoli from the bakery.”
“I didn’t just mean for cooking, or for cleaning the flat, which must have been awful.”
She made a face. “I had to burn a lot of the clothes. I didn’t think you’d want to wear them again anyway. I hope you don’t mind buying some new robes.”
“Of course not.” He set down his fork and reached for her hand. “What I really meant was thanks for being there. For coming to see me and helping me figure things out, and not being repulsed at the sight of me.”
“Well, you did look fairly awful, but …”
To his surprise, tears welled up in her eyes. He waited for her to explain, but she just looked away.
“What? What did I say?”
She shook her head vigorously and held up a hand to signal that she needed a moment to compose herself. At length, she took a sip of wine and looked back at him.
“I felt so guilty, Harry. I wasn't there; I was away when all this was happening. It might not have gotten so bad if I’d been here instead.”
He shook his head in disagreement. “It might have. It might have even been worse. Maybe I would have lashed out at you instead of Dylan.”
“I don’t think so. I think you would have had a harder time trying to hide it from me.”
“But what if I had hurt you?”
“I can defend myself,” she said with a note of defiance. “Don’t think I wouldn’t put a Body Bind or Bat Bogey Hex on you if I had to.”
“Then I’m glad you weren’t around,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “I’d rather be Stupefied ten times by Mac than Bat Bogey’d once by you.”
“It made me think, though, Harry.” Her tone was serious, but he was relieved to see the tears had disappeared without falling. “They wouldn’t let me see you at first because I wasn’t family, and I kept thinking that if we were married, they would have let me in.”
He frowned, but she continued. “And it’s strange, but ever since I got back from training, Quidditch hasn’t seemed as important. I’m good at it, and I love it, but I love you more.”
His frown became a scowl. “Ginny, I am not a career,” he said, speaking slowly and choosing his words carefully. “I know it seems like keeping me out of trouble is a full time job, but it’s not a choice you should have to make. If you gave up Quidditch for me, you’d end up hating me for it.
“It’s interesting,” he said, “yesterday, I was thinking that it wasn’t fair to be with you if I was going to have such a dangerous job, and I stayed awake all last night wondering if I should quit training and just be your Quidditch groupie. It would be great for a while. But then, you’d get tired of me being underfoot all the time, living vicariously through you.” He ignored Ginny’s huff at this and finished. “I would get restless and wish I’d become an Auror. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”
“You shouldn’t do anything else.”
“And neither should you. You’ve worked hard to get where you are.
"Mac calls it crisis thinking. It seems easy to make decisions when there’s a crisis and you are trying to stay alive or help someone else's life. The things that are really important to you seem more clear and you make quick decisions to get you through the moment. But you have to live with those decisions, even after the crisis is passed. And, for most people, most of the time, life is not a crisis.”
“You are not most people,” she observed, and he was pleased to note the hint of teasing in her voice.
“No, but it’s been over two years since the battle, and this is the first bad thing that’s happened. So - maybe - I was thinking that you could play Quidditch and I can be an Auror, and we’ll just deal with the crisis that comes along every so often.”
Ginny seemed to ponder this. “I guess that sounds like a good plan.”
Ginny had just taken her first bite of cannoli when she said, “This is my favorite dessert. I think we should go to Italy for our honeymoon.”
“Honeymoon? That’s planning a bit far in advance, don’t you think?”
“Not that far. We both have a break in our schedules next summer. I checked. And since you’ll be done with training, we’ll have two weeks instead of one.”
“I thought you wanted to wait. I thought you were worried about getting pregnant.” Which wasn’t a worry now, though he hadn’t told her that yet.
“A month ago I might not have been sure. But I’m sure now, and it’s not just crisis thinking, either. Harry, we are a family already; getting married will just make it official. I want to be with you, and I’ve been doing some research. Great strides have been made in contraceptive charms and prophylactic potions; they’re a lot better than they used to be.”
“Well, I might be able to help out in that area.”
She raised one eyebrow in question. “Yeah?”
“There’s a side effect to the antidote I took. It should wear off, but it may take a long time. I can’t...I can’t...” Apparently what he couldn’t do was get the words out. The subject was a little embarrassing even with Ginny.
“Can’t what?”
“The antidote made me sterile. I can’t be a father. Not for three or four years. Or maybe never. They’re not really sure how long since the antidote is new.”
“But they’re sure it causes sterility?”
He nodded. “So, you might not want to marry me after all.”
She took his hand. “Yes, I do want to marry you. And if we can’t have children for a few years, then that’s just an added bonus.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. “And if we never have them, then that will be okay too.”
“Is that a proposal?”
“If you want it to be.”
He thought about it. “No. Maybe I’m just being traditional, but I want to do it right with a ring and everything.”
“Soon?”
“Soon.”
Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t going to lose her after all.
“So, are there any other side effects I should know about? You can still - do everything, right?” There was an unexplained mischievous gleam in her eye.
“Well, I haven’t tried yet, as you know, but I think so.”
“That’s nearly perfect, isn’t it? You know that was my biggest worry about having sex. And now...”
Now he knew exactly what that gleam in her eye meant.
“Ginny, what if they’re wrong? What if it doesn’t last, or if you’re like your mum?
“Harry, please don’t mention my mum just now. And if they’re wrong, then it’s like you said, we’ll just handle whatever comes along.”
He could not believe this. He’d been feeling sorry for himself, having fallen victim to an ancient white powder in a book that had made Voldemort as real to him as Tom Riddle had been to Ginny and left him with the worry that he might never be able to father children. The possibility that the entire ordeal might have brought them closer together had never occurred to him.
She stood up, leaving her cannoli half eaten, and dragged him by the hand to the bedroom, where she started unbuttoning his shirt.
“Ginny, wait. It’s okay. We don’t have to do this now. There’s no rush, remember?”
She was making quick work of the buttons on his shirt. “Actually, I am in a bit of a rush. I want you now.”
“But...but...we don’t have to. We’ve waited this long. If you really want to get married next summer, it’s only -”
“Ten months,” she finished. “I don’t want to wait that long.” She kissed him.
He stopped her hands, and looked at her. “Let me get this straight. I cook for you and you tell me you don’t want to have sex until we get married and you don’t want to get married any time soon. I get poisoned by some weird powder that makes me go mental and relive all my worst nightmares, and suddenly you’ve planned a wedding for next summer and are dragging me to bed now? And that’s not crisis thinking?”
“That’s exactly right,” she said confidently. “Think of it as training. You’re in Auror training, I’m in Quidditch training. Now we’ll both be in marriage training. And I know the very first drill I want to try.” She smiled wickedly.
“Are you sure?”
“I am.”
He took her face gently in his hands and gazed intensely into her eyes, trying to tell her without words how much he loved her and how very lucky he felt. Her expression softened a bit, and he knew that she understood what he meant. He smiled. And then the words came to him.
"There’s the silver lining I’ve been looking for.”
fin
Title: The Hero's Haunting
Author/Artist: irislock
Pairing: Harry/Ginny
Rating: light R
Word Count: 16,200
Summary: It started on an ordinary day when a book found Harry in the Restricted Section.
“Welcome home!”
"Thanks!” said Ginny as she set her things just inside the door to her room. From the doorway, she could see the entire flat, with the exception of Penelope’s room, and it was lavishly decorated with balloons and streamers, and a large banner.
“This is really nice, Pelly. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”
"It’s no trouble. I didn’t want you to come home to an empty flat.”
"It’s not empty. You’re here.”
Penelope smiled. Ginny’s mother had pronounced Penelope the perfect flat mate, a respectable young professional who didn’t seem to have any vices other than compulsive neatness. Ginny wasn’t so sure. It made her a little nervous at first, sharing a flat with her brother’s ex. In the end, though, she moved in because it was the best place she could find with a rent she could afford. The easy friendship that developed had been a nice surprise, and they were close enough that Ginny was one of only a handful of people allowed to call her Pelly. They inhabited two totally different worlds and enjoyed sharing news about the inner workings of professional Quidditch teams and hospitals.
“Not for long. I just came home for a quick lunch and to finish the decorations.” She checked the clock above the sink. “I have to be back at St. Mungo’s in five minutes.”
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry. I really wish I had the afternoon off so I could hear all about Quidditch. I can’t believe your first match is in two days. You’ve already gotten some fan mail.”
“Really? From anyone I’m not related to?”
Penelope laughed. “I think so. I put it in your room.” She put on her cloak and picked up one of two coins on the dining table. They were Protean coins that worked like the old DA coins--useful for communicating simple messages. Harry owned one too, but he wasn’t allowed to have one for training, and he never remembered to put it in his pocket when he was at home.
“I got these out. Now that you’re back, we can use them again. I’ll let you know if I’m going to be late. There’s plenty of butterbeer and food. Just save the cake until the party, okay? I should be home before anyone gets here. Around seven.”
She gave Ginny a quick hug and was gone in a flash of Floo powder.
Ginny was glad to be home. It wasn’t large, or elegant, and most of the furniture belonged to Penelope. But it was hers, and having a loo to herself again after two weeks of sharing one with fifteen other women was a welcome luxury. She had plenty of time to unpack and get settled before the party, and Harry would be in practicals all afternoon. She decided to start with a bath.
She was sorting her laundry when she noticed the letter on top of the stack of mail. It was the blue stationary she’d given Harry over a year ago, when they’d agreed to write more often, and the writing on the envelope was Harry’s, but it looked ragged and strange, as if he’d written it while astride a broom. There were red smears on it that looked almost like blood.
She read the letter with a growing sense of alarm. Why on earth would McTavish send a third year trainee on a dangerous mission? And not even let him say goodbye to her? It didn’t make sense, and it made even less sense when she read how glad he was that Ron and Hermione had taken one Horcrux to Australia.
She became deeply disturbed when she read his assurance that Snape had given him valuable information that would help him complete his mission, and she stopped reading altogether when she got to the part that told her to always remember that he loved her no matter what happened.
Her first thought was to go and see Harry, but if he’d already left, she might waste valuable time. No, it would be better to go straight to McTavish. She retrieved the coin from the dining table to let Penelope know where she was going and then Floo’d herself to the Ministry.
_______________
Harry’s flat was barely recognizable, and the rancid smell from the kitchen was enough to make their eyes water. Ginny’s first thought was that there must have been a terrible struggle, but closer inspection seemed to indicate that the chaos had been created by a resident rather than an intruder. Dishes were piled so high in the sink that some had toppled to the floor and shattered. It didn’t look like he’d opened his mail once in the time she’d been gone, and she wondered what had the empty bottles all over the floor had originally contained.
While Mac and the others searched the dining and living areas, Ginny headed toward the bedroom - she had hoped to find him first and avoid any confrontation with the Aurors. It was almost as bad as the kitchen. The sheets on the unmade bed were yellowed and stained, the walls were streaked with what looked like dried blood, and the floor was littered with dirty robes that smelled like rotting flesh. From all appearances, Harry seemed to have become completely unhinged and abandoned the routines of everyday life.
Simultaneous stunning spells drew her attention away from the bedroom, and she gasped when she saw them drag Harry from under the table. The cloak was still covering him from the waist down, but his torso, arms, hands and face were covered in ugly oozing wounds. Only the top of his head, covered by hair, seemed unaffected. She was horrified, and rushed to help, but Mac stopped her.
“No, Miss Weasley, you must stay back while we take him into custody and secure the premises.”
“Take him into custody?” she said, outraged. “He’s not a bloody suspect! He needs help, can’t you see that?”
“Yes, I can see that. I can also see that his life is not in imminent danger, and protocol dictates that we make a preliminary assessment before transporting him.” Mac’s voice betrayed no impatience but it also did not invite discussion.
He turned to the others. “Dylan, can you tell me what we do next?”
Ginny was furious - Mac was treating this like a practical. She could tell that Dylan and the others were uneasy discussing Harry like he was a suspected dark wizard, and it gave her a tiny bit of validation. But she had to keep quiet lest Mac banish her from the area completely.
_______________
“Pelly!” Ginny called, spotting her from the end of the corridor. “I just got your message - is he okay?” She was panting as if she’d just scored 12 goals against Pride of Portree, which in fact, she had.
“Oh, good, Ginny,” said Penelope, noticing that Ginny was still in her Quidditch uniform. “You didn’t leave in the middle of the match, did you? Gwenog will fire you.”
Ginny shook her head. “No. The coin started vibrating not two seconds after Libby caught the Snitch. I didn’t take the time to change or shower.” Penelope raised her eyebrows, but Ginny waved her hand dismissively. “I don’t even care. It’s just a small fine for being in uniform outside the stadium, which they will deduct from my pay. How’s Harry. Is he okay?” she asked again.
“He’s stable,” Penelope replied, in that annoying professional manner she used with distraught family members of her patients.
“Pelly. Talk to me.”
“Let’s sit down, why don’t we? There’s a lot to tell you.”
Penelope led her to a couple of overstuffed armchairs near a window at the end of the corridor, and produced a tall glass of pumpkin juice for Ginny. She drained the glass and waited for Penelope to brief her.
“So, like I said,” she began. “He’s stable. We’re using a combination of murtlap essence and dittany to soothe his skin. It works, but we have to keep him in a constant bath of it. We used mandrake restorative draught to calm him, and it does help, but he is still talking about having to find Horcruxes and defeat Voldemort. We don’t really know what caused this, so it’s difficult to formulate a specific cure.”
“Did you try a bezoar?” She recalled how he’d saved Ron and that bezoars were useful antidotes for most poisons.
Penelope nodded. “No effect. Which tells us that it wasn’t any of the more common poisons, but that was unlikely anyway. Most poisons don’t take that long to work, and Harry’s been suffering from this for some while based on the state of his skin. At least ten days.”
“You must be able to do something,” Ginny pleaded. “Have you tried Veritaserum?”
Penelope nodded. “Yes. It wasn’t as helpful as we hoped. We just get a lot of conflicting information. He remembers Voldemort dying but says he isn’t really gone. He remembers the Fiendfyre but says he has to get the diadem from the Room of Requirement. We asked him what happened to Colin Creevy, and he seemed to get very confused and finally said he didn’t know for sure.”
“Legilimency?” Ginny suggested.
“We’ve tried that, too,” Penelope sighed heavily. “Healer Smethwyck is our most accomplished Legilimens, and she hasn’t been able to see much. He won’t maintain eye contact for long - he says it hurts, and that everything looks red. Also, I don’t think he trusts us entirely. So she’s just been able to see snippets of events. We think they’re recent, because she saw him practicing defensive spells with Dylan. She saw parts of a dinner he ate with you - fish and risotto, and-”
“I remember that dinner!” Ginny said. “It was our celebration for me getting moved up. It was the last time he seemed normal to me.”
“When exactly was that?”
“Um,” said Ginny, counting, “three weeks ago yesterday.”
“Healer Smethwyck saw something else. It looked like Harry was in a library, and there was a dusty book that made him sneeze. I don’t know if it’s important, but -”
Ginny interrupted again. “Yes, he told me about it.”
Penelope waited patiently while Ginny tried to recall the details.
“It was right before I went to Scotland for training. We were together the Tuesday before I left. He made dinner, and we were talking about our day. He’d been at Hogwarts doing research all day, and he told me about this book that had jumped into his hands. It was called “The Hero’s Helper”- I remember because I asked him why that would be in the Restricted Section. It didn’t sound dangerous. He said it wasn’t important; it was just a book that was there. It wasn’t even one he was using for research.”
“But it jumped into his hands?” Penelope asked.
“Yes. But he put it back. I don’t even think he read any of it.” Ginny’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “Oh, this is hopeless. This...whatever is going on could be caused by anything. A curse, a potion, for all we know it could be a voodoo doll...”
Penelope put a hand on Ginny’s back and began rubbing gentle circles in an attempt to comfort her. Ginny tried hard to fight off the feeling of despair that was descending on her like a dark cloud. Merlin, why Harry? Hadn’t he suffered enough? They were so happy, and everything had been going so well until she’d left for training. And now - again - he was being tormented by some ancient dark magic. It worried her no small amount that none of the professionals had been able to figure out what was going on.
She hadn’t noticed Neville approach.
“Ginny?” he asked. “Everything alright?”
“No, Neville, it’s not. Harry is...sick.” She leaned forward and put her head in her hands while Penelope explained Harry’s condition to Neville.
“I’m really sorry, Ginny. Is there anything I can do to help?” he offered. “Did you say something about a book?”
Penelope answered. “It’s possible that Harry has been - affected by a book in the Restricted Section at Hogwarts.”
“Really?” said Neville, clearly surprised. “You think a book could cause him to act -” he searched for a word - “possessed like this?”
“I admit it’s unlikely,” said Penelope now looking rather defeated too. “But we don’t have much else to go on.”
Ginny, however, was suddenly more hopeful. After all, there had been a book that caused her a good deal of grief some years back.
“It’s probably a dead end,” Penelope continued, “but I think it’s worth investigating this book - The Hero’s Helper, right Ginny?”
“Yes. That’s it.”
“I’m headed back to Hogwarts, “ said Neville. I’ll go to Madam Pince straightaway and ask her about it.”
“Thanks Neville,” Ginny said. “Be sure to contact us if you find out anything interesting. Or even if you don’t,” she added as an afterthought.
“You know I will.” He squatted down in front of her, balancing on the balls of his feet so that he could look at her face. “He’ll be alright, Ginny. Harry will always be alright.” Ginny took a shaky breath and managed a smile. She wasn’t sure she believed it, but it was nice of him to say it. “You’re a good friend, Neville. Thanks.” He straightened and kissed the top of her head before disappearing with a delicate pop.
It was a full minute before Ginny even thought to ask. “I wonder what he was doing here.”
“Visiting his parents. He comes every week.” A fresh wave of anxiety struck Ginny as she realized that Harry was in the same ward as Neville’s parents.
A stray tear slid down her cheek, and she wiped it away angrily. Crying would not help.
“I think you should talk to him.”
“I thought I wasn’t allowed.”
“Technically, you’re not. Only family members are allowed. But he’s been asking about you with increasing frequency, and -” she shrugged in an almost helpless gesture. “We’ve tried everything else we can think of. I think it will help him to see someone he loves. You’re the closest thing to family he has so I finally persuaded them to let you in.”
“I don’t even know if he’ll recognize me.” She’d barely recognized him when she’d gone to his flat with the Aurors.
“I think he will.”
“And what should we talk about?”
“Anything at all, but try to get him grounded in reality. Try to get him to realize that Voldemort is dead and see if you can pinpoint when he started thinking that he wasn’t.”
“How? I’m not a Healer. I have no idea what to say, or do.”
Penelope put a hand on her arm. “I wish I could tell you. This is a process that could take days, or weeks, or...”
Ginny knew what that meant. Harry might be gone permanently mad and there wouldn’t be anything anyone could do.
_______________
She opened the door cautiously, not quite sure what to expect. Instead of a bed, there was a large bathtub containing Harry, submerged up to his chin and wearing his glasses in spite of his closed eyes. She could see his face, now with just a few healing scratches, because he was was facing the door with his feet toward the wall. She watched him for a moment as his slow breathing caused his chest to breach the surface of the water and then descend again.
He opened his eyes abruptly.
“Ginny?”
“Yes. It’s me.” He didn’t seem embarrassed, even though he was naked except for some swimming trunks.
His eyes narrowed and he said, “What was my cousin’s name and where did he go to school?”
“Dudley Dursley, but his friends called him Big D. And he went to Smeltings. And the family told everyone that you went to St. Brutus’s Academy for Incurably Criminal Boys. Can I come in?”
A slight smile ghosted across his face and then disappeared. “Did you tell Mac how to get through my wards?”
He didn’t seem paranoid at the moment, but there was a note of suspicion in his voice. She wondered if he blamed her for his being here.
“No. I opened them myself, but I didn’t give him the sequence.”
“Did they force you to open them?”
“No. Auror McTavish told me you hadn’t been around for a few days and that he’d sent you to a Healer, but you didn’t go, and then I got really worried and showed him the letter you sent. I insisted on coming with them to look in your flat. I didn’t want them to - do anything. I wanted to come in alone, but Mac said no. I was in the bedroom when I heard the spells, and I was so mad at them Harry, so mad, but they said it was the safest way, and then they wouldn’t let me visit, and…”
She realized how high her voice had gotten, and she was still only halfway in the room. “Can I please come in?”
"Sure,” he said, and raised his hand out of the water to indicate the chair closest to him. “Why are you in uniform?”
“I had a match.”
“Already? How long have I been here?”
“Two days.” She sat and looked at him. “How are you?” she asked tentatively.
He closed his eyes again. “Better, I think. At least my skin doesn’t hurt. As long as I stay in here. Every time I try to get out, it starts itching and hurting again.” This was a bit alarming, though her face remained impassive.
“This must be awful for you - you hate baths.” She touched the water. It was slightly cool, but comforting.
He smiled. “Not this one. It’s murtlap essence and dittany - or so I’m told.”
“You don’t believe them?”
“I suppose. If it was anything bad, it probably would’ve done some damage by now, but I don’t completely trust them.”
“Not even Penelope? You know we’re friends, Harry.” She realized, too late, that In his present state of mind, that might not count for much.
He opened his eyes and looked at her. “Ginny, everyone I look at has red eyes and a really pale face. It doesn’t matter if I’m wearing glasses or not. It’s crazy, I know, but everyone I look at reminds me of - of - Voldemort.”
“Even me?”
He nodded.
“Have you told them?”
He shook his head.
“Why not?”
“I told you. I don’t trust them.”
“But you trust me? Even though I have red eyes and look like Voldemort’s daughter?”
He pondered this for a moment. “Yeah, I suppose I do. I have to trust someone. I don’t think I can go on like this. It just doesn’t make sense. If I were a prisoner of war, I think they’d have handed me over to Voldemort, or killed me, or be torturing me, or something other than making me a nice bath. Or, maybe I am being tortured and the pain is so bad that I just think I’m in a bathtub.” He laughed sardonically. “Maybe this is what it feels like to be insane.”
She looked at him affectionately and tried to think about it from his point of view. What if she looked at him and saw red eyes and a pale face
“Will you try an experiment with me?”
“Do I have to get out of the tub?”
She laughed. “No.”
“Will you get in?” She laughed again. This was a good sign, all things considered.
“Not yet.”
“Ah, well. Too much to hope for, I guess. Alright, then, tell me about this experiment.”
“Okay, I’m going to move the chair so that I’m behind you. That way you don’t have to see my eyes. Is there anything wrong with my voice?”
“No. Your voice is fine. Rather nice, actually.”
“Good,” she said, situating her chair behind the tub. “Can I touch your head?”
She couldn’t see his face, but she could tell he’d furrowed his brow in thought. “It’s probably scabby and disgusting.
“I don’t mind.” She reached out and threaded her fingers through his hair, gently massaging his scalp. She’d been wrong to think his head hadn’t been affected, she could feel the trenches of wounds he’d dug there.
“Ummm,” he murmured. “That feels...I don’t even know what to call it.
“Good?”
“Mmmmm. Yes. Good. It feels soothing, like everything I’m panicked about is floating right out of my head through your fingers.
She had to swallow hard to keep her emotions in check. “I’m glad.”
“Really. It’s the best I’ve felt in weeks.”
“Well, I’d love to stay and be your personal masseuse for the afternoon, but Penelope has given us a task. We’re supposed to try to figure out what has caused all of this, why you think Voldemort is still alive.” She continued to massage his head gently, extending her touch to the base of his neck, and the knot of tense muscles there
“So, think back, do you remember your first year at Hogwarts, when you fought Professor Quirrell and got the Sorcerer’s Stone?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Do you remember rescuing me from the Chamber of Secrets your second year, and fighting Tom Riddle?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember how you got rid of him?”
“I stabbed his diary with a basilisk fang. That diary - it was a Horcrux.”
“Very good!” She felt like a school teacher commending a student, but this was really wonderful news. He hadn’t lost his memory, and she was growing more confident that he hadn’t lost his connection with reality either. “Do you remember the other Horcruxes?”
He hesitated. “I think so. Do you know what the other ones are?”
The tone of his voice told her that he was still having doubts about trusting her.
“What do you remember?” she prompted.
He was silent.
Her hands stopped moving for a moment, and she was trying to figure out the best way to proceed.
“Let me guess,” she said finally. “You’re wondering whether I can be trusted after all. You think I may be trying to get information out of you.”
More silence.
“Think about it, Harry. Who would I be getting information for? Voldemort knew how many Horcruxes he made, and he didn’t tell anyone about them. If I were on Voldemort’s side, I wouldn’t know about Horcruxes at all. And if I’m not on Voldemort’s side, then I’m on yours, right?”
He considered this. “I suppose. And anyway, it seems unlikely that you’d show up in your Quidditch uniform if you were really a Death Eater."
He sounded very serious so she stifled her laugh. After a moment, he said in a slightly croaky whisper. “Besides the diary, there was a ring, a locket, a cup, a diadem, and Nagini.
Dumbledore destroyed the ring, and the diadem was destroyed by Fiendfyre.”
“You told me that Ron stabbed the locket with Gryffindor’s sword. Do you remember that?”
“Yeah. I remember it happening, and I remember telling you about it. And Ron, no Hermione, got the cup with another basilisk tooth, and Nagini - “ he paused, remembering, “was killed by Neville.
“Right! So, Harry, now -
“And there was me. I was a Horcrux.”
"And what happened at Hogwarts?”
His words all came out in a rush, and he sat up a little in the tub. “I went to the forest, to surrender to Voldemort. And I did, and he killed me, but I didn’t die. But I made everyone think I did, and then at the battle his spell backfired and ...and it killed him.”
“Exactly. Now, Harry, this is important. You can remember all of those things, and they are true. They really happened. Can you remember the first time that you started thinking they didn’t? That the war wasn’t over?”
He was quiet for a long time before he spoke. “I think - I think it was that day after we had dinner. You know, after you’d been promoted. I woke up, and when I looked in the mirror, my eyes looked red. Just for a second. And I thought I heard Voldemort’s voice in my head again, and it kept saying he was still here. And the itching started that day too.
“Did anybody give you anything unusual to drink or eat? Did anyone strange try to talk to you? Did you go see a Healer?” He shook his head in response to each of those questions.
“And this was the day after you’d been to Hogwarts and found that book that kept jumping into your hands?”
“Yes, but what would that have to do with it? It was supposed to be a hero’s helper.”
“And what was it supposed to help heroes do?”
“Get used to everyday life. It said something like ‘to find out how to have a normal life after you’ve saved the world, just turn the page’ and I thought I didn’t really need the book, my life’s just fine, thanks, but I turned the page and this white powder came out of the book -”
“A white powder?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t think it was just dust?”
“At first I did. There wasn’t any dust on the outside, and I thought it must be some strange book that only collected dust on the inside. But it was kind of shiny, you know, it sparkled.”
“What happened then?”
“Well, I guess I inhaled some of it, and I coughed a little, but it wasn’t anything serious. I put it back and came home and made you dinner.”
_______________
Students were taking advantage of the lovely weather, and only the most conscientious of them were in the library when Neville arrived. Madam Pince was not behind the counter, so Neville walked to the Restricted Section. He tried using an accio charm to summon the book. When that didn’t work, he started walking up and down the rows repeating the charm.
“Longbottom! What on earth are you doing here?” Madam Pince exclaimed in a harsh whisper.
“Looking for a book,” Neville said somewhat defensively. He had to remind himself that as an apprentice, he did not need permission from a professor to enter the Restricted Section.
"The Hero’s Helper,” Neville offered in support of his answer. Somehow Madam Pince always made him feel like he’d done something wrong.
“We don’t have a book by that name,” said Madam Pince. She sounded certain.
Neville was sure he’d gotten the name right. “I know that’s what Ginny said,” he explained. “She said Harry was here a couple of weeks ago, and -”
“Mr. Potter?” Madam Pince interrupted.
“Yeah, Harry.”
“I remember. He was looking at some of our older texts on magic, right over here.”
He followed her deeper into the stacks. “Let’s see - if I remember correctly, he was researching origins of wandless magic. Hmmm - Moste Potente Potions, Incantations for War and Pestilience, yes, those were on his list, and he was looking for -”
Neville didn’t hear what else he was looking for because a green book had slid toward him from the shelves. When he touched it, it leapt into his hands.
“This is it! Madam Pince! This is the book!”
“Longbottom! Lower your voice,” she chastised before she saw the book in his hands. “And that is ‘The Hero’s Haunting’, not ‘The Hero’s Help-’” She clapped a hand over her mouth and her eyes grew wide with alarm.
“Did you say that Mr. Potter found this...and...he thought it was called The Hero’s Helper?”
“Yes,” said Neville, “and it is. It says right here The Hero’s Helper.” He turned the book over.
“That’s odd. Look what it says on the cover: This book has chosen you.”
“Oh, dear, oh dear, oh dear,” said Madam Pince. “I never even thought - it didn’t occur to me - oh this is a disaster - oh, we have to tell Mr. Potter.” Neville had never seen her so flustered, or so concerned about a student.
“Tell him what?”
“And - you see it too,” she said. “Well, of course you do.” Suddenly, she yanked the book from Neville’s hands. “You mustn’t touch this - it’s just as dangerous for you as it is for Mr. Potter!”
There was a time when her words and demeanor would have made Neville cower, but that was a long time ago. He spoke firmly without raising his voice.
“Madam Pince, I don’t know what you’re on about, but you need to tell me what is wrong with this book. Harry is very sick. He’s at St. Mungo’s, and if this book has anything to do with it, this would be a good time to mention it.”
“He’s already sick! Oh, no. No, no, no. I take such precautions. I try to ensure that the students don’t hurt the books and the books don’t hurt the students, but I never dreamed that this would happen.”
Neville couldn’t hide his growing frustrations, and his voice raised a little this time. “Dreamed what would happen?”
Madam Pince took a deep breath and seemed to regain her composure. “The title of that book is The Hero’s Haunting, but any real hero that looks at it sees a different title - The Hero’s Helper. It’s a sinister book, impregnated with victoris pugnum.”
“And what is victoris pugnum?”
“It’s the precipitate of a distilled potion, a white powder that causes any hero exposed to it to relive their greatest battles. In ancient Greek and Roman times, aging heroes would use it to relive their most triumphant moments, their ‘glory days’ so to speak, and some became rather addicted to it. It’s harmless to anyone else, which is the real genius of its invention, and until the battle, we hadn’t had any true heroes at Hogwarts for ages. But, of course, Mr. Potter would be susceptible to its effects, and you, too Mr. Longbottom.”
“But Harry isn’t reliving his victory,” Neville said, “it’s like he’s trapped in some time warp where he thinks that Lord Voldemort is still alive and he has to find him and fight him all over again.”
“That would be because of its age,” observed Madam Pince, now sounding more like her pedantic self. “That book has been here for literally hundreds of years, and I’m sure the victoris pugnum has become both more potent and less stable.” She paused, and then added almost as an afterthought, “How dreadful for Mr. Potter. I don’t think there’s an anitdote.”
“Well, I’m going to find out.”
_______________
Ginny didn’t want to wake Harry so she didn’t put up much of a fight when Penelope came in and made her leave. It was time for his daily evaluation by a team of Healers, and she’d already let Ginny stay longer than her supervisor thought advisable. She assured Ginny that he could continue sleeping, and she brought good news: Neville had found something about the book and was now working with the Healers on an antidote.
She felt hopeful, worried, confused, exhausted, and hungry, and she wasn’t sure which of these feelings to address first. She stood for a moment in the corridor, trying to figure out what to do next when Fleur appeared, arms open.
Ginny couldn’t help it; she collapsed against Fleur and let the tears come.
Fleur handed her a fine linen handkerchief. “Congratulations. You were magnifique in zee game. We are all proud,” she said after a time. Ginny had all but forgotten about the match. It seemed so long ago, and so unimportant.
“Thanks. How did you even know I was here?” She hadn’t told anyone in her family about Harry’s condition, only that he’d had a small accident during training and wouldn’t be able to make it to her match.
“Arthur. Auror McTavish talked to him, and we were at zee Burrow when he came home and told your muzzer. He said that Harry was not allowed visitors yet, but I told Bill zat I knew you would be here. I brought clothes; you left them at zee cottage. And some food.” Fleur opened the large satchel she had slung over one shoulder and presented her with a sandwich and a change of clothes.
“Thanks,” she said, taking the clothes first. It would be a relief to get out of her uniform. “That was really nice of you.”
“Not nice. Selfish. We went back to the cottage, but it was no use, I could not concentrate on anyzing. And I am clumsy when I cannot concentrate. I worry - about you and about Harry. Bill finally told me I should come.”
Ginny smiled. It had irritated her in the past, how slavishly devoted she was to Bill, but after spending some time with them, she understood better how their relationship worked. Fleur would not ask Bill if she could go nor would she go without his permission, but Ginny could immediately picture Fleur being so distracted around the house, dropping things and burning food, that Bill told her to go. And it worked for them because Bill loved her so much and wanted her to do what would make her happy. It wasn’t a marriage she could be in, but she didn’t have to be. She was immeasurably grateful to Fleur for her insight, for knowing that Ginny would want company even though she hadn’t acknowledged it to anyone, including herself.
Clothed much more comfortably in some Muggle jeans and a t-shirt, she sat in the same overstuffed chair she’d been in earlier. It conveniently afforded her a view of the door to Harry’s room while she ate. Fleur talked - about Bill’s job, about how tired she was, but also how happy, about which room would be the baby’s room, and how she wanted to take a trip with Bill before the baby came. Ginny recognized this not as self absorbed chatter but her friend’s way of distracting her from the worries at hand long enough to eat.
As Ginny was licking a bit of mustard from her fingers, Fleur changed the subject.
“How is he?” she asked.
And Ginny told her. How he’d battered his own body, how he was plagued by thoughts of an enemy he couldn’t defeat, one that he thought existed both outside and inside his mind, how Neville and the Healers were working on an antidote.
“I just hope it works,” she said. “I don’t even want to think about what it will be like if it doesn’t.”
“‘e will recover,” Fleur replied. “I remember being so worried after Bill was attacked. I knew he would be damaged, but not how much. He may not be just like before, but he will still be Harry, and he will still love you.”
“He wanted to get married.” She hadn’t discussed it with anyone, but Fleur seemed a natural person to talk to about this, and she would keep it to herself. “The last time we saw each other we talked about it, and I told him I didn’t want to because I was just starting Quidditch and we’d have lots of time...but we don’t, do we? You never really know how much time you have.”
“I would zink,” said Fleur, “zat you would know zat from the war. Life is very precious, and it can change like zat.” She snapped her fingers. “I zink zat maybe you don’t want to marry right now because you want to find your own way, not just be ‘arry’s girlfriend. But ‘arry does not zink like zat; you are more zan a girlfriend to him. You are ze woman he loves, anyone can zee zis, and ‘e wants you to be ‘appy.”
Ginny smiled, not just because Fleur’s words were true, but because her accent always got more pronounced when she felt strongly about what she was saying.
_______________
“The murtlap took care of the scars, that’s good. No pain?”
Harry shook his head.
Neville’s relief was palpable.
“No headaches? Sometimes using St. John’s wort and Glumbumble together can cause headaches.”
Harry shook his head again.
“The red vision is gone? My face looks alright?”
“Well, you still have those ears that stick out and a crooked nose, but I reckon you’re stuck with those.”
Neville thwatted him on the head, and this, more than anything, made Harry feel that he was truly normal again.
“So you did this, huh? Came up with the antidote by yourself?”
“Well, I had some help. A lot of help actually. ”
“Not to hear Penelope tell it. She says you were brilliant, and it’s a significant contribution to magical healing.”
Neville blushed. “Professor Sprout helped too, and Slughorn. Yours is the first case of exposure to overaged victoris pugnum that we know of, so it was a bit of a challenge. Took us a few tries to get it right, and there’s still one side effect that we couldn’t get rid of.”
“Yeah, Penelope told me about that too,” Harry replied. “She said it will wear off eventually though.” He paused. “Wait. You said a few tries? What did you experiment on?”
Neville laughed at the shock on Harry’s face. “Me. I was susceptible to the effects, too. So we kept trying antidotes on me until the symptoms went away.”
“You did that for me?”
Neville shrugged. “Yeah, I s’pose.”
“Did everyone’s eyes look red to you too? And did you get that rash?”
“Not exactly. My skin was definitely itchy, but we found the antidote just as the rash was starting to appear. People didn’t have red eyes, but …”
“What?” Harry prompted.
“Well, for most of the war, my enemy was the Carrows. I mean, Voldemort in a larger sense, and Bellatrix personally, but the Carrows did the most to make my life hell. So, what I felt, mostly, were the things they did. I would have moments where it felt like I was under the Cruciatus curse or felt like I had to report for detention.”
Harry was dumbstruck. Why anyone would volunteer to go through anything like what he’d been through as a gesture of friendship was beyond his comprehension.
“Don’t look at me like that, Harry. It wasn’t that bad. I had Madam Pomfrey, Professor Sprout, Professor Slughorn and Madam Pince plus three or four Healers all there to help. And it only lasted a couple of days.
“Anyway, it wasn’t just for you,” he continued, a little more quietly. “You should have seen Ginny that day; she looked so upset and afraid for you. I don’t think she could stand to lose you again, Harry.”
Harry had seen Ginny that day, but she hadn’t betrayed any of her fear or distress to him. To him, she had been, again, a source of comfort and care, and she had helped him tease apart reality from the nightmare he’d been in.
As if on cue, Ginny breezed into the room.
Gratitude seemed so inadequate, but it was all he had. “Well, thanks, Neville. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.” He would thank Ginny privately later.
“Me, too,” said Ginny. “You did a wonderful thing.” She kissed him on the cheek.
“You’re welcome. Besides,” he continued, “it was a great challenge. Professor Sprout says I can publish a paper on this antidote and be guaranteed to have my pick of jobs at the end of my apprenticeship.”
He glanced at his watch. “I have to go see Mum and Dad; I’ll leave you two alone.”
Harry’s tub had been replaced by a bed, and Ginny sat on the side of it, holding his hand. They sat in silence for a bit before she kissed him, soft and tentative at first, but then with more enthusiasm. Merlin, he’d missed this.
She was beautiful and carefree and looked like the woman he still wanted to marry. He wasn’t sure that it would be fair, though, to betroth her when it seemed his career as an Auror might be even more dangerous than his past as the Chosen One. Just a few days ago, Voldemort had been at every turn, corroding his thoughts and actions, and Voldemort had been dead for two years. If a book could do that to him, what lie ahead when he was tracking down dark wizards who were very much alive?
“I can’t stay long,” she said. “I have practice. We play the Tornados on Saturday.”
“I heard you were brilliant against Portree.”
She ignored this. “I just wanted to check and see how you’re feeling. Pelly says you are blemish free.”
He held up his arms to show her. “Yeah, just the same old scars left now. I can go home tomorrow.”
Ginny nodded. “She told me. She also told me that you’re insisting on going back to the Ministry tomorrow, and Mac has agreed to let you. I’ve arranged with him not to let you leave until I get there after practice.”
“There’s really no need, Ginny. I’m fine.” A dangerous, blazing look came over her features.
“Hmm. I’ll be the judge of that.” Whisking up the thin sheet covering him, she dove under it and began placing teasing kisses on his chest. “Yes, that seems fine.” Another kiss. “No rash there.” Another kiss, this one lower. “Doesn’t seem to hurt at all.” And she proceeded, further and further down to places that Harry considered almost scandalous to have kissed in broad daylight.
“Oh, Harry, dear, I didn’t think they’d ever let us in to see you.”
The sound of Mrs Weasley’s voice brought all action to an immediate halt, and it was only by a great stroke of luck that she was carrying a large Neverending flower arrangement. It obscured her view of the bed just long enough for Ginny to untangle herself from the sheet.
“Ginny! I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“I just stopped by on my way to practice.”
“Are you sure you should go? You look awfully flushed, dear.”
“I’m fine, Mum. It’s just...oh, nevermind. I should go.” She kissed Harry, chastely, on the lips and hugged her mother before leaving a very embarrassed Harry behind.
_______________
“That was cruel,” Harry observed the next evening. “I blushed so much, she thought my rash hadn’t completely gone.”
Ginny just smiled. “Don’t worry. We have tonight all to ourselves.”
She and the kitchen weren't exactly friends, but she’d cooked the pasta perfectly, and the red sauce was her mother’s recipe. She’d even put together a tasty salad to go with it.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Well, it’s no risotto, but it’s not bad, if I do say so. I brought some cannoli from the bakery.”
“I didn’t just mean for cooking, or for cleaning the flat, which must have been awful.”
She made a face. “I had to burn a lot of the clothes. I didn’t think you’d want to wear them again anyway. I hope you don’t mind buying some new robes.”
“Of course not.” He set down his fork and reached for her hand. “What I really meant was thanks for being there. For coming to see me and helping me figure things out, and not being repulsed at the sight of me.”
“Well, you did look fairly awful, but …”
To his surprise, tears welled up in her eyes. He waited for her to explain, but she just looked away.
“What? What did I say?”
She shook her head vigorously and held up a hand to signal that she needed a moment to compose herself. At length, she took a sip of wine and looked back at him.
“I felt so guilty, Harry. I wasn't there; I was away when all this was happening. It might not have gotten so bad if I’d been here instead.”
He shook his head in disagreement. “It might have. It might have even been worse. Maybe I would have lashed out at you instead of Dylan.”
“I don’t think so. I think you would have had a harder time trying to hide it from me.”
“But what if I had hurt you?”
“I can defend myself,” she said with a note of defiance. “Don’t think I wouldn’t put a Body Bind or Bat Bogey Hex on you if I had to.”
“Then I’m glad you weren’t around,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “I’d rather be Stupefied ten times by Mac than Bat Bogey’d once by you.”
“It made me think, though, Harry.” Her tone was serious, but he was relieved to see the tears had disappeared without falling. “They wouldn’t let me see you at first because I wasn’t family, and I kept thinking that if we were married, they would have let me in.”
He frowned, but she continued. “And it’s strange, but ever since I got back from training, Quidditch hasn’t seemed as important. I’m good at it, and I love it, but I love you more.”
His frown became a scowl. “Ginny, I am not a career,” he said, speaking slowly and choosing his words carefully. “I know it seems like keeping me out of trouble is a full time job, but it’s not a choice you should have to make. If you gave up Quidditch for me, you’d end up hating me for it.
“It’s interesting,” he said, “yesterday, I was thinking that it wasn’t fair to be with you if I was going to have such a dangerous job, and I stayed awake all last night wondering if I should quit training and just be your Quidditch groupie. It would be great for a while. But then, you’d get tired of me being underfoot all the time, living vicariously through you.” He ignored Ginny’s huff at this and finished. “I would get restless and wish I’d become an Auror. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”
“You shouldn’t do anything else.”
“And neither should you. You’ve worked hard to get where you are.
"Mac calls it crisis thinking. It seems easy to make decisions when there’s a crisis and you are trying to stay alive or help someone else's life. The things that are really important to you seem more clear and you make quick decisions to get you through the moment. But you have to live with those decisions, even after the crisis is passed. And, for most people, most of the time, life is not a crisis.”
“You are not most people,” she observed, and he was pleased to note the hint of teasing in her voice.
“No, but it’s been over two years since the battle, and this is the first bad thing that’s happened. So - maybe - I was thinking that you could play Quidditch and I can be an Auror, and we’ll just deal with the crisis that comes along every so often.”
Ginny seemed to ponder this. “I guess that sounds like a good plan.”
Ginny had just taken her first bite of cannoli when she said, “This is my favorite dessert. I think we should go to Italy for our honeymoon.”
“Honeymoon? That’s planning a bit far in advance, don’t you think?”
“Not that far. We both have a break in our schedules next summer. I checked. And since you’ll be done with training, we’ll have two weeks instead of one.”
“I thought you wanted to wait. I thought you were worried about getting pregnant.” Which wasn’t a worry now, though he hadn’t told her that yet.
“A month ago I might not have been sure. But I’m sure now, and it’s not just crisis thinking, either. Harry, we are a family already; getting married will just make it official. I want to be with you, and I’ve been doing some research. Great strides have been made in contraceptive charms and prophylactic potions; they’re a lot better than they used to be.”
“Well, I might be able to help out in that area.”
She raised one eyebrow in question. “Yeah?”
“There’s a side effect to the antidote I took. It should wear off, but it may take a long time. I can’t...I can’t...” Apparently what he couldn’t do was get the words out. The subject was a little embarrassing even with Ginny.
“Can’t what?”
“The antidote made me sterile. I can’t be a father. Not for three or four years. Or maybe never. They’re not really sure how long since the antidote is new.”
“But they’re sure it causes sterility?”
He nodded. “So, you might not want to marry me after all.”
She took his hand. “Yes, I do want to marry you. And if we can’t have children for a few years, then that’s just an added bonus.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. “And if we never have them, then that will be okay too.”
“Is that a proposal?”
“If you want it to be.”
He thought about it. “No. Maybe I’m just being traditional, but I want to do it right with a ring and everything.”
“Soon?”
“Soon.”
Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t going to lose her after all.
“So, are there any other side effects I should know about? You can still - do everything, right?” There was an unexplained mischievous gleam in her eye.
“Well, I haven’t tried yet, as you know, but I think so.”
“That’s nearly perfect, isn’t it? You know that was my biggest worry about having sex. And now...”
Now he knew exactly what that gleam in her eye meant.
“Ginny, what if they’re wrong? What if it doesn’t last, or if you’re like your mum?
“Harry, please don’t mention my mum just now. And if they’re wrong, then it’s like you said, we’ll just handle whatever comes along.”
He could not believe this. He’d been feeling sorry for himself, having fallen victim to an ancient white powder in a book that had made Voldemort as real to him as Tom Riddle had been to Ginny and left him with the worry that he might never be able to father children. The possibility that the entire ordeal might have brought them closer together had never occurred to him.
She stood up, leaving her cannoli half eaten, and dragged him by the hand to the bedroom, where she started unbuttoning his shirt.
“Ginny, wait. It’s okay. We don’t have to do this now. There’s no rush, remember?”
She was making quick work of the buttons on his shirt. “Actually, I am in a bit of a rush. I want you now.”
“But...but...we don’t have to. We’ve waited this long. If you really want to get married next summer, it’s only -”
“Ten months,” she finished. “I don’t want to wait that long.” She kissed him.
He stopped her hands, and looked at her. “Let me get this straight. I cook for you and you tell me you don’t want to have sex until we get married and you don’t want to get married any time soon. I get poisoned by some weird powder that makes me go mental and relive all my worst nightmares, and suddenly you’ve planned a wedding for next summer and are dragging me to bed now? And that’s not crisis thinking?”
“That’s exactly right,” she said confidently. “Think of it as training. You’re in Auror training, I’m in Quidditch training. Now we’ll both be in marriage training. And I know the very first drill I want to try.” She smiled wickedly.
“Are you sure?”
“I am.”
He took her face gently in his hands and gazed intensely into her eyes, trying to tell her without words how much he loved her and how very lucky he felt. Her expression softened a bit, and he knew that she understood what he meant. He smiled. And then the words came to him.
"There’s the silver lining I’ve been looking for.”
fin