The Road Not Taken: Chapter Nine Part One
NOTE: I'm pretty mean to adult!Ginny's memory this chapter. Probably reads as Ginny bashing. You've been warned.
See Master Post for details.
Chapter Eight
The Road Not Taken: Chapter Nine Part One
“It is too better!”
“Is not!”
“Is too!”
“Football is a proper sport!”
“Quidditch is a proper sport! At least it has more than one ruddy ball and we fly!”
“Take that back!”
“I will not!”
“You’re an idiot! Football is the best sport in the world!”
“Is not!”
“Is too!”
“Is not!”
“Is too!”
“Good lord,” Hermione snapped. “Would you two argue elsewhere?”
Ron whirled on her. “You shut your trap, you big know-it-all!”
“Hey,” Harry tensed, pushing his chair back.
Ron spun back to Dean. “And Quidditch is the only proper sport there is!”
“Is not!”
“Is too!”
“Let’s go to the library,” Neville suggested, head in his hands.
“We’ll not be able to study here, not with this silly ruckus. You’re going to get in trouble,” Hermione told the boys. Ron shot her a dirty look, but continued his row with Dean.
“My cousin Dudley likes Manchester United,” Harry offered. Dean snorted.
“West Ham is better. You’ll see. One day they’ll take the top of the table and shut all those other gits up.” Then he launched right back into his row with Ron.
Harry doubted Dean’s optimism, but then again, Harry’s knowledge of the English Premiere League was foggy at best. He had been a Manchester City fan before, back when he’d had no idea that people could play sports on flying brooms. Dudley and Uncle Vernon were Manchester United fans, but Harry sometimes thought that they rooted for the team more because people expected them to have a favorite team rather than they actually enjoyed the sport.
Harry, Hermione and Neville ducked out of the Gryffindor common room before Ron and Dean could come to blows. The library held a fair number of students for the weekend. Harry saw that most of them were upper year students - probably already studying for their OWLs and NEWTs.
They settled in at one of the long, empty tables. Madam Pince’s sharp eyes watched them get settled and then turned back to her book.
~*~
Harry spent most of Saturday night thinking and trying to remember. The last time, Harry squinted at the ceiling, the last time I - oh, Merlin. I was convinced Snape was trying to steal the Stone, which I know isn’t true, he sighed. All I have right now is that something was stolen from Gringotts, that Hagrid moved it before it could be taken and that’s it. It’s not like before, when I actually saw the thing. Harry rubbed at his eyes. I guess I could wait until Quirrell makes his move, but, he bit his lip. This is when Dumbledore first learns he can trust me. And he can, Harry glared at the ceiling. I might not be the wide-eyed kid I once was, but I want everyone to live. I’m just…more sensible about it, now.
Harry ran a hand over his face. Merlin, I’m a fool sometimes. I have to do something, don’t I? Before the memories get even foggier.
The mental ‘fog’ had been getting worse throughout the week. Harry wanted nothing more than to storm down to Ollivander’s shop and demand some answers. Then common sense would kick in and Harry knew he was stuck. The memories weren’t…fading, exactly, but they weren’t crystal clear either. He still had screaming nightmares more often than normal dreams, but that was what silencing charms were for.
James, Albus, Lily, Harry felt his eyes prick with tears. How do I save you, now? How do I even make sure you are born? One of the foggy red door memories cracked open, but Harry shoved it closed. He knew that memory. He didn’t - he couldn’t…
He shuddered as the door banged open and the memory bloomed in his mind, foggy around the edges, which cut the heartache, but not by much.
“What are you on about?” Harry remembered shouting. “Ginny - wait, please!”
“This is useless!” The redheaded witch had been in tears. “Everything is useless!”
“But - Ginny, please, please,” Harry had reached for her. She’d slapped his hand away. “Why? Is this about me losing the department head position? It’ll blow over, Gin, I swear. I just, I couldn’t -”
“No, this isn’t about you losing your job,” she had snapped. “And yes,” she added after a breath. “It is. You - you’re just -,” her bags were packed, cluttering the hall. “You - I’ve spent fifteen years of my life on you, Harry Potter!”
“I - but I - what do you mean? Is this, is this about the - the baby, what…”
Her face had darkened. “You are useless,” she had stabbed a finger at him. “Three miscarriages, Harry. Three.”
“But - I - we can get over it, Gin. Do you - we could go to St. Mungo’s, or - or -”
“I’ve done my duty for this wretched excuse for a family. I bore children to give you heirs, I even put up with your inability to use your name to further our prospects, your stupid insistence on never using your fame, but no more,” Ginny tossed her head, eyes glittering with tears. “I’m leaving. I deserve a life with someone I can love. A life with someone who understands ambition and who has a drive to be something more, something better.”
“But I love you - what do you mean?”
“I don’t love you, Harry. I don’t know if I ever did at all,” Ginny had said. “I’m taking the children. We’ll be staying at the Burrow.”
“No,” Harry had snapped then. “You will not take my children.”
“They’re not yours, you stupid fool,” Ginny had shouted. “They never were! I’ve never carried a child of yours to term! I’ve been having affairs for years, Harry! Ever since the first one we lost and you started working overtime because you couldn’t be arsed to make a publicity deal or anything else remotely useful! I’m through, Harry! I am through!”
Harry pulled out of the memory with a shudder. He hadn’t - Merlin. He hated that memory. When had things gone so wrong, between us? There had been arguments, yes, but never - never like… The row had lasted for another hour, with Ginny spitting out one hateful truth after another. Harry had put his foot down and Ginny had left, threatening lawyers to sue for the custody of his children. James, Albus and Lily had overheard it all, he’d found out later, having come home early from a friend’s house. Harry had tried to shelter them from it, had tried to pass it off as their mother having a small breakdown, as needing a vacation, as something to keep his children from looking so devastated. He had sworn to them that no matter what, blood or not, he was their father, he would always be their father and nothing, nothing would ever change that.
Then Ginny had returned a week later with law wizards and paternity spells. She had threatened to take every penny he had, the house, everything, if he didn’t give up his claim for custody. Her ammunition was the fact that the children weren’t his - and he knew she was half a step from going to the papers with a tell-all that would bury him under bad press and the tabloid coverage he so hated. She was so mad at me, he scrubbed at his eyes. And I never found out why.
James had been devastated. He had not wanted to go. Albus and Lily had clung to Harry while the law wizards explained that as children of Ginny’s flesh, she had complete and total control over where they would live and how much time Harry got with them. He had had to give his children - they were his children - up to wizarding law. Molly and Arthur had been the ones to step in, later, and let Harry come over as much as he could to see his kids. Even as Ginny dragged the proceedings into the public courts, Molly and Arthur had never kept Harry from his children. Harry didn’t know what kind of arguments were going on in the Weasley household and he hadn’t much cared - Ron wouldn’t talk about it, and Hermione had been kept out of the loop, too. It seemed that it was a Weasley blood matter, and not for outsiders, even those married into the family. His best friends were having their own rough time of it, he’d later found out, but Harry had been neck deep in his own troubles, too blind to anything besides his children and their misery.
Then the attacks came, Ron and Hermione had died and Harry had a new enemy to fight. He had still gone as often as he could to the Burrow, even as his name and reputation had taken a turn for the worse. Arthur had stopped trying to reconcile Harry and Ginny by that point, but Molly had never given up. Harry - would have reconciled, he acknowledged. If only for his children. But Ginny wouldn’t hear of it, going off with a string of professional Quidditch players and being noticed in the press, at least she had, before the second war began. After, Harry had rarely seen her at the Burrow and had never asked his children where their mother was. Harry had tried to keep them together as a family and had meant to keep that promise.
Then things fell apart, Harry rubbed a shaky hand over his eyes. I told Ginny to take the kids and run. Why hadn’t she listened? Hadn’t she believed me? Why were the children left at the Burrow alone? Or did something happen? Was she attacked on her way home? Why…why…
He turned onto his side and curled up under the covers. He would never get the answers to those questions. Now he just had to make sure he would never have to ask them in the first place.
~*~
Monday rolled around far too fast for Harry’s liking. The flying notices posted in the common room caught everyone’s attention.
“With the Slytherins?” Ron made a face. “Well, at least one of us will be happy about that,” he shot Harry a glare.
“Flying,” Hermione blinked. “Oh, flying.” Harry looked at her. Her eyes were a touch wider than normal. “I - I’ll have to - do you think there are manuals about it? Guides? Oh, we’ll need to go to the library.”
“Fat lot that will help you,” Ron snorted. “I’ve been flying for ages. I almost hit a hang glider once on Charlie’s old broom!”
“Mate! You too?” Seamus chortled. “I think me mum had me flying before I could walk!”
Ron and Seamus and a few of the older years began to offer stories, each better than the last, about their escapades on a broom.
“You think they’ll have guides in the library?” Neville asked from Harry’s side. “I - I’ve never been on one. Gran didn’t want me to.”
“We’ll go look for one,” Harry assured the other boy, keeping his voice down as Dean and Ron picked up their epic row about sports yet again. “We’re bound to find something.”
That something was Quidditch Through the Ages. Harry let Hermione take over - she was always the better organizer - and settled back with his homework. He already knew how to fly. Loved to fly. It was a good thing he had been a natural from the start.
They were in the library yet again. It had become their de facto study area, since the common room was too noisy over the weekend and no one else seemed keen on joining their study efforts. Even if they had managed to win Gryffindor five points in their first week of classes.
Another thing they found in the library was Draco Malfoy. Or rather, he found them.
“What are you lot doing here?” Draco’s voice rang out as Hermione was going over broom basics with Neville.
“Studying,” Hermione snapped. “What are you doing here?”
“Studying,” Draco snipped back at her. He craned his head to look at her book. “Quidditch?” His eyebrows shot up. “Did you see the notice? Flying lessons!” A real smile lit his face. “I almost hit a Muggle flying thing once. Father was furious.” A shadow passed across his delight. “I’ve got brooms at home. Mother has bought them for me since I could walk.”
“Not you too,” Hermione slumped in her seat.
“What me too?” Draco smile turned sly. “Oh, I see. Granger’s finally found something she can’t learn from books!”
“Draco,” Harry snapped. “Quit it.”
"Don’t tell me what to do, Harry.”
“Then be pleasant, leave or sit down. Madam Pince is about to throw us out and I want to get started on my Charms essay.”
Draco cast a look at Madam Pince, who was glaring at them. He dumped his books on the table and shuffled into a chair. “That woman is mad,” he whispered.
Hermione was staring at him as if he had grown two heads. “You could have left,” she said.
“But I’ve homework to do,” Draco’s smile was full of teeth.
“Go away.”
“Will not.”
“Will too.”
“Will not.”
“Will too.”
“Make me.”
Harry caught Hermione before she could try and lunge over the table. “Would both of you quit it?” Merlin. Putting Draco and Hermione in the same radius with him was like mixing fire and gunpowder.
Hermione sniffed, turning back to Quidditch Through the Ages. Neville was studying Draco with, Harry was surprised to see, a very adult look in his eyes.
“Longbottom,” Draco met that even stare.
“Malfoy,” Neville returned. Then he turned back to the paragraph Hermione had been pointing to.
Interesting, Harry glanced at the other boy. He hadn’t thought Neville and Draco knew each other. Or maybe they didn’t - they didn't act this way at the sorting, so why - wait, Harry closed his eyes for a moment. It's that bitch. Bellatrix. She’s Draco’s aunt. He opened his eyes to see Draco’s neutral expression. The blond was watching Neville and Hermione go over the procedural checkpoints for a correct, and safe, take off.
“It’s best not to lock your ankles,” Draco said to them, surprising a glance out of Hermione. Harry noted that Draco was focused on Neville, not her. “If you try that too close to the ground you’ll tip. It’s best to do it as you go up, but not too late or you’ll fall, too.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Hermione threw a hand into the air.
Draco shrugged and turned back to his books. “Mother…” It looked like he almost glanced at Neville. “My family had me learn how to take off with pads under me. Once you get the hang of the first part, the rest comes much faster.”
“Easy for you to say,” Hermione muttered and went back to her book. Draco bent to his studies - he was a chair down from Harry, not quite a part of their group, but close enough to bother Hermione every now and then with a snide comment on her preparations. Harry would have intervened, but Draco’s sharp comments often had a point - many of the things Quidditch Through the Ages talked about made little sense to someone without the basic knowledge of broom flight. Harry let it be - besides, Hermione was quick enough with her own responses that she did not need a defender.
Next Part
See Master Post for details.
Chapter Eight
The Road Not Taken: Chapter Nine Part One
“It is too better!”
“Is not!”
“Is too!”
“Football is a proper sport!”
“Quidditch is a proper sport! At least it has more than one ruddy ball and we fly!”
“Take that back!”
“I will not!”
“You’re an idiot! Football is the best sport in the world!”
“Is not!”
“Is too!”
“Is not!”
“Is too!”
“Good lord,” Hermione snapped. “Would you two argue elsewhere?”
Ron whirled on her. “You shut your trap, you big know-it-all!”
“Hey,” Harry tensed, pushing his chair back.
Ron spun back to Dean. “And Quidditch is the only proper sport there is!”
“Is not!”
“Is too!”
“Let’s go to the library,” Neville suggested, head in his hands.
“We’ll not be able to study here, not with this silly ruckus. You’re going to get in trouble,” Hermione told the boys. Ron shot her a dirty look, but continued his row with Dean.
“My cousin Dudley likes Manchester United,” Harry offered. Dean snorted.
“West Ham is better. You’ll see. One day they’ll take the top of the table and shut all those other gits up.” Then he launched right back into his row with Ron.
Harry doubted Dean’s optimism, but then again, Harry’s knowledge of the English Premiere League was foggy at best. He had been a Manchester City fan before, back when he’d had no idea that people could play sports on flying brooms. Dudley and Uncle Vernon were Manchester United fans, but Harry sometimes thought that they rooted for the team more because people expected them to have a favorite team rather than they actually enjoyed the sport.
Harry, Hermione and Neville ducked out of the Gryffindor common room before Ron and Dean could come to blows. The library held a fair number of students for the weekend. Harry saw that most of them were upper year students - probably already studying for their OWLs and NEWTs.
They settled in at one of the long, empty tables. Madam Pince’s sharp eyes watched them get settled and then turned back to her book.
~*~
Harry spent most of Saturday night thinking and trying to remember. The last time, Harry squinted at the ceiling, the last time I - oh, Merlin. I was convinced Snape was trying to steal the Stone, which I know isn’t true, he sighed. All I have right now is that something was stolen from Gringotts, that Hagrid moved it before it could be taken and that’s it. It’s not like before, when I actually saw the thing. Harry rubbed at his eyes. I guess I could wait until Quirrell makes his move, but, he bit his lip. This is when Dumbledore first learns he can trust me. And he can, Harry glared at the ceiling. I might not be the wide-eyed kid I once was, but I want everyone to live. I’m just…more sensible about it, now.
Harry ran a hand over his face. Merlin, I’m a fool sometimes. I have to do something, don’t I? Before the memories get even foggier.
The mental ‘fog’ had been getting worse throughout the week. Harry wanted nothing more than to storm down to Ollivander’s shop and demand some answers. Then common sense would kick in and Harry knew he was stuck. The memories weren’t…fading, exactly, but they weren’t crystal clear either. He still had screaming nightmares more often than normal dreams, but that was what silencing charms were for.
James, Albus, Lily, Harry felt his eyes prick with tears. How do I save you, now? How do I even make sure you are born? One of the foggy red door memories cracked open, but Harry shoved it closed. He knew that memory. He didn’t - he couldn’t…
He shuddered as the door banged open and the memory bloomed in his mind, foggy around the edges, which cut the heartache, but not by much.
“What are you on about?” Harry remembered shouting. “Ginny - wait, please!”
“This is useless!” The redheaded witch had been in tears. “Everything is useless!”
“But - Ginny, please, please,” Harry had reached for her. She’d slapped his hand away. “Why? Is this about me losing the department head position? It’ll blow over, Gin, I swear. I just, I couldn’t -”
“No, this isn’t about you losing your job,” she had snapped. “And yes,” she added after a breath. “It is. You - you’re just -,” her bags were packed, cluttering the hall. “You - I’ve spent fifteen years of my life on you, Harry Potter!”
“I - but I - what do you mean? Is this, is this about the - the baby, what…”
Her face had darkened. “You are useless,” she had stabbed a finger at him. “Three miscarriages, Harry. Three.”
“But - I - we can get over it, Gin. Do you - we could go to St. Mungo’s, or - or -”
“I’ve done my duty for this wretched excuse for a family. I bore children to give you heirs, I even put up with your inability to use your name to further our prospects, your stupid insistence on never using your fame, but no more,” Ginny tossed her head, eyes glittering with tears. “I’m leaving. I deserve a life with someone I can love. A life with someone who understands ambition and who has a drive to be something more, something better.”
“But I love you - what do you mean?”
“I don’t love you, Harry. I don’t know if I ever did at all,” Ginny had said. “I’m taking the children. We’ll be staying at the Burrow.”
“No,” Harry had snapped then. “You will not take my children.”
“They’re not yours, you stupid fool,” Ginny had shouted. “They never were! I’ve never carried a child of yours to term! I’ve been having affairs for years, Harry! Ever since the first one we lost and you started working overtime because you couldn’t be arsed to make a publicity deal or anything else remotely useful! I’m through, Harry! I am through!”
Harry pulled out of the memory with a shudder. He hadn’t - Merlin. He hated that memory. When had things gone so wrong, between us? There had been arguments, yes, but never - never like… The row had lasted for another hour, with Ginny spitting out one hateful truth after another. Harry had put his foot down and Ginny had left, threatening lawyers to sue for the custody of his children. James, Albus and Lily had overheard it all, he’d found out later, having come home early from a friend’s house. Harry had tried to shelter them from it, had tried to pass it off as their mother having a small breakdown, as needing a vacation, as something to keep his children from looking so devastated. He had sworn to them that no matter what, blood or not, he was their father, he would always be their father and nothing, nothing would ever change that.
Then Ginny had returned a week later with law wizards and paternity spells. She had threatened to take every penny he had, the house, everything, if he didn’t give up his claim for custody. Her ammunition was the fact that the children weren’t his - and he knew she was half a step from going to the papers with a tell-all that would bury him under bad press and the tabloid coverage he so hated. She was so mad at me, he scrubbed at his eyes. And I never found out why.
James had been devastated. He had not wanted to go. Albus and Lily had clung to Harry while the law wizards explained that as children of Ginny’s flesh, she had complete and total control over where they would live and how much time Harry got with them. He had had to give his children - they were his children - up to wizarding law. Molly and Arthur had been the ones to step in, later, and let Harry come over as much as he could to see his kids. Even as Ginny dragged the proceedings into the public courts, Molly and Arthur had never kept Harry from his children. Harry didn’t know what kind of arguments were going on in the Weasley household and he hadn’t much cared - Ron wouldn’t talk about it, and Hermione had been kept out of the loop, too. It seemed that it was a Weasley blood matter, and not for outsiders, even those married into the family. His best friends were having their own rough time of it, he’d later found out, but Harry had been neck deep in his own troubles, too blind to anything besides his children and their misery.
Then the attacks came, Ron and Hermione had died and Harry had a new enemy to fight. He had still gone as often as he could to the Burrow, even as his name and reputation had taken a turn for the worse. Arthur had stopped trying to reconcile Harry and Ginny by that point, but Molly had never given up. Harry - would have reconciled, he acknowledged. If only for his children. But Ginny wouldn’t hear of it, going off with a string of professional Quidditch players and being noticed in the press, at least she had, before the second war began. After, Harry had rarely seen her at the Burrow and had never asked his children where their mother was. Harry had tried to keep them together as a family and had meant to keep that promise.
Then things fell apart, Harry rubbed a shaky hand over his eyes. I told Ginny to take the kids and run. Why hadn’t she listened? Hadn’t she believed me? Why were the children left at the Burrow alone? Or did something happen? Was she attacked on her way home? Why…why…
He turned onto his side and curled up under the covers. He would never get the answers to those questions. Now he just had to make sure he would never have to ask them in the first place.
~*~
Monday rolled around far too fast for Harry’s liking. The flying notices posted in the common room caught everyone’s attention.
“With the Slytherins?” Ron made a face. “Well, at least one of us will be happy about that,” he shot Harry a glare.
“Flying,” Hermione blinked. “Oh, flying.” Harry looked at her. Her eyes were a touch wider than normal. “I - I’ll have to - do you think there are manuals about it? Guides? Oh, we’ll need to go to the library.”
“Fat lot that will help you,” Ron snorted. “I’ve been flying for ages. I almost hit a hang glider once on Charlie’s old broom!”
“Mate! You too?” Seamus chortled. “I think me mum had me flying before I could walk!”
Ron and Seamus and a few of the older years began to offer stories, each better than the last, about their escapades on a broom.
“You think they’ll have guides in the library?” Neville asked from Harry’s side. “I - I’ve never been on one. Gran didn’t want me to.”
“We’ll go look for one,” Harry assured the other boy, keeping his voice down as Dean and Ron picked up their epic row about sports yet again. “We’re bound to find something.”
That something was Quidditch Through the Ages. Harry let Hermione take over - she was always the better organizer - and settled back with his homework. He already knew how to fly. Loved to fly. It was a good thing he had been a natural from the start.
They were in the library yet again. It had become their de facto study area, since the common room was too noisy over the weekend and no one else seemed keen on joining their study efforts. Even if they had managed to win Gryffindor five points in their first week of classes.
Another thing they found in the library was Draco Malfoy. Or rather, he found them.
“What are you lot doing here?” Draco’s voice rang out as Hermione was going over broom basics with Neville.
“Studying,” Hermione snapped. “What are you doing here?”
“Studying,” Draco snipped back at her. He craned his head to look at her book. “Quidditch?” His eyebrows shot up. “Did you see the notice? Flying lessons!” A real smile lit his face. “I almost hit a Muggle flying thing once. Father was furious.” A shadow passed across his delight. “I’ve got brooms at home. Mother has bought them for me since I could walk.”
“Not you too,” Hermione slumped in her seat.
“What me too?” Draco smile turned sly. “Oh, I see. Granger’s finally found something she can’t learn from books!”
“Draco,” Harry snapped. “Quit it.”
"Don’t tell me what to do, Harry.”
“Then be pleasant, leave or sit down. Madam Pince is about to throw us out and I want to get started on my Charms essay.”
Draco cast a look at Madam Pince, who was glaring at them. He dumped his books on the table and shuffled into a chair. “That woman is mad,” he whispered.
Hermione was staring at him as if he had grown two heads. “You could have left,” she said.
“But I’ve homework to do,” Draco’s smile was full of teeth.
“Go away.”
“Will not.”
“Will too.”
“Will not.”
“Will too.”
“Make me.”
Harry caught Hermione before she could try and lunge over the table. “Would both of you quit it?” Merlin. Putting Draco and Hermione in the same radius with him was like mixing fire and gunpowder.
Hermione sniffed, turning back to Quidditch Through the Ages. Neville was studying Draco with, Harry was surprised to see, a very adult look in his eyes.
“Longbottom,” Draco met that even stare.
“Malfoy,” Neville returned. Then he turned back to the paragraph Hermione had been pointing to.
Interesting, Harry glanced at the other boy. He hadn’t thought Neville and Draco knew each other. Or maybe they didn’t - they didn't act this way at the sorting, so why - wait, Harry closed his eyes for a moment. It's that bitch. Bellatrix. She’s Draco’s aunt. He opened his eyes to see Draco’s neutral expression. The blond was watching Neville and Hermione go over the procedural checkpoints for a correct, and safe, take off.
“It’s best not to lock your ankles,” Draco said to them, surprising a glance out of Hermione. Harry noted that Draco was focused on Neville, not her. “If you try that too close to the ground you’ll tip. It’s best to do it as you go up, but not too late or you’ll fall, too.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Hermione threw a hand into the air.
Draco shrugged and turned back to his books. “Mother…” It looked like he almost glanced at Neville. “My family had me learn how to take off with pads under me. Once you get the hang of the first part, the rest comes much faster.”
“Easy for you to say,” Hermione muttered and went back to her book. Draco bent to his studies - he was a chair down from Harry, not quite a part of their group, but close enough to bother Hermione every now and then with a snide comment on her preparations. Harry would have intervened, but Draco’s sharp comments often had a point - many of the things Quidditch Through the Ages talked about made little sense to someone without the basic knowledge of broom flight. Harry let it be - besides, Hermione was quick enough with her own responses that she did not need a defender.
Next Part