The Letters of Summer
The End of August

By kokopelli

Previous Ringing Harry The Minder's Visit Letters and Liberty Ride and remember Dreams, Clouds and Darkness The Day Before & The Evening After The Big One Meet the Tutor Letters from Elsewhere Lessons Arrangements The Changing of the Guard Dinner with Abelard Motoring with Moony Dragons, Dreams and Discussions More Letters Dragons Made Small Birthday at the Burrow Cooking with Harry Daze of August The End of August Next

The Letters of Summer

Chapter 21 — The End of August

He woke up in darkness with the sound of phoenix song in his ears.   He could tell that he was in a bed, which was unexpected.   Memories came rushing back: hunting Dementors in the dark, sticking a naked Death Eater to a vault door, watching that beautiful white dragon polish off the Basilisk.   With a bit more effort he remembered going back down into the bowels of Gringotts, routing more Dementors, a quick tactical huddle with the white dragon in which he suggested a crazy plan for dispatching the Hydra that actually worked.   He could still feel the spots on his neck where he’d been bitten by the Hydra - that had been regrettable, but unavoidable.   The last memory was watching her return from the tunnel. With the memory came the feeling of fire raging within his centre.  She was so beautiful.   He was so proud of her.   He’d told her as much before she turned her attention to the mammals.   He knew then that this moment would not present itself again.   With a quick turn he’d swept her off her feet, literally, with his powerful tail, pouncing upon her long enough to tear her back open with his glistening teeth.   Her roar filled the cavern, but he knew she welcomed the marking; they’d been dancing around it for too long.   Now that he was human again, he could more easily understand Ron’s words.

Oh crap, I’m in for it now.

He tried to sit up, tried to open his eyes, but his body wouldn’t or couldn’t respond.   He tried to lower his shield; desperate to feel the warmth of her essence, but the shield was stuck too.   Finally he focused his mind on his magical centre, moving from darkness to a twilight grey.

Mm’lau?

I’m glad you are with us again.

How long have I been out?

A bit longer than a day — I am sorry that I cannot be more precise; the People do not measure time as mammals do.

Where am I?

At the perch of the wolf.

Wolf?

The one you call Uncle Moony.

Ah.   What happened?

Well, you went to go visit your vault and started a row with your Krulach over those shiny metal disks.

I remember that much, Mm’lau.

Then the dark creatures came.   I must say, you acquitted yourself well as a mammal.

Thank you.

I am even more proud of how you did as a dragon.   You reflect honour upon the People.

I had an excellent teacher.

You are too kind.   I have begun to suspect that for some reason known only to humour of the Creator, your soul was switched at birth, I believe that you were always meant to be a dragon.

Thanks, I think.   What happened after we splinched the Hydra?

What you’ve been longing to do for most of the summer; you marked your Krulach.   Then her brother attacked you.   I must say, that took me by surprise.   I was created to be Pyr’g to a mammal, so when you were a dragon, I could see and hear the outside world, but I had no active control.   Once you were unconscious, however, I was able to control enough of your magic to protect you.   The wolf and the shape-shifter Auror stood guard over you and your fallen mate.

My fallen mate?

You were stunned while bonding to your Krulach — when her brother attacked you, the spell traversed your bond.   The brother fetched your senior Glossat, the quiet changeling who is constantly pressing her lips together.

Professor McGonagall.

Yes, that is what the others called her.   She attempted to transform you back into your present form; I dissuaded her from attempting that, and then I changed you back, invoking the help of your Phoenix to mend your wounds.   Together, we changed your Krulach.

Wounds?

You accumulated a few as a dragon; the toxin from the Hydra’s bites interfered with your self-healing powers as a dragon, so I reverted to the safeguards your tutor installed.

So why can’t I open my eyes?

Because I have not yet relinquished control back to you — I desired to brief you fully before allowing you to go charging off hither and yon as you are wont to do.

Thank you, Mm’lau.   Sometimes it’s frightening that you know me so well.

I exist to serve, young dragon. I am returning control back to you now.   Before you go, please be advised that many mammals wish to talk to you before you attend to your Krulach.

Where is she?

She is nearby, in the city.   It is a place where your healers work upon the ill and the injured.

St. Mungo’s

Yes, I heard that word used a few times.   McGonagall said she is in a comma, which is ridiculous.   She is in a healing sleep.

A comma?

A slumber from which one cannot be waked.

Oh, a coma.   A comma is a punctuation mark.

Close enough. You are in your old room.   Moey is outside your door.   The man who first changed you into a dog is here as well.

Father Martin.

He is not your father.

Sorry, it’s a mammal expression that would take too long to explain.

Your Krulach is almost ready to be woken — you will need to complete your bonding when she awakes.

How will I do that?

It will be obvious when the time appears — listen to your heart.   If that fails, listen to the dragon whispering in your ear.

Thanks, Mm’lau.

I exist to serve.

He sat up, opened his eyes and then closed them again as he yawned, taking simple pleasure in having his body responding to his will.   Notwithstanding the healing power of the Phoenix, he felt like he’d just finished playing a very long Quidditch match; he was sore, tired and uncomfortable.   He lowered his Occlumency shield, hoping that she was within range.   He wanted desperately to sense her presence.   He sighed in relief when the warmth of her essence resonated within him.   She was sleeping, but full of a strange, conflicted energy.   It was bloody marvellous to feel her from a distance.   His perception of her essence was stronger now — whether she was transmitting louder or he was just more attuned, he wasn’t certain.   The warmth took away some of the panic he had to see her; he knew that she was safe and in relative good health, which was all he could ask for the moment.

When he made it to the door he realized in a burst of sudden clarity that he needed to visit the loo, immediately.   Opening the door, he saw Moey looking up at him over a take-out cup of coffee.   He was walking stiffly and swiftly.   She pointed the way to the loo, not knowing that he’d lived here long enough to know his way around in the dark.

~+~

Moey was a good interrogator.   She set a dictation quill up on a pad of paper on the table and never looked at it again, asking questions, teasing out answers, going back for follow-up questions.   Within a short time she cancelled the quill and stuck the paper into a thin portfolio under her chair.   "As always, it’s a pleasure doing business with you Harry," she said, shaking his hand in warm but businesslike fashion.

"Any notion what that was all about?" he asked.

"The attack on Gringotts?   I have no idea what the politicals will call it, but it fits in nicely to the phoney attack earlier this summer that had my knickers in a twist.   As sure as hell’s a mantrap, they were trying to destabilize Gringotts — if John Q. Wizard thinks that Gringotts isn’t safe, he’ll pull his money out, put it in a mattress, or bury it in a bottle in his back yard — which would cripple the Magical economy, by the way.   Thanks to you and your lady friend, tomorrow’s headline will read ‘Ministry foils Death Eater attack at Gringotts Bank — bank security measures repel Dementors and other dark creatures’ which will not be all that far from the truth.   Gringotts has used dragons for security in the past.   Perhaps they’ll hire Charlie to beef up their security?" she asked with a chipper expression on her tired face.

"You’d like that now, would you?" Harry asked.

"It will be a bit hard for him to fall for my feminine wiles if he’s stuck in Romania," she replied.   "If he’s here, I can keep an eye on him — Weasleys bear some careful watching, don’t you know.   Well, the good Father is patiently waiting for you in the kitchen, shall I call him up, or will you walk me down to the main floor?"

"I’ll walk you out," he replied.   "If I don’t keep moving, my muscles are going to freeze up and force me to take some well-deserved beauty rest."

"I know how that is, youngster, just wait ten years, then you’ll know how good you have it now," she replied, picking up her things and heading down the stairs.

~+~

Harry pushed the kitchen door open, surprised to find the fire roaring with Remus Lupin and Father Martin engaged in a vigorous discussion.

"Harry!   So good to see you again," Father Martin said, jumping up from his chair by the fireplace to shake his hand.   He was dressed in plain black pants and a black clerical shirt, unlike the usual grey habit he wore when he wasn’t dressed in his Sunday vestments.   Noticing Harry’s glance, he said, "These are my hospital clothes — no one bothers a hard-working priest when he’s visiting his parishioners in the hospital — it doesn’t matter whether it’s a Muggle hospital or St. Mungo’s, this collar gets me in almost everywhere," he said, fingering the white celluloid tab on his collar.   "Your lady friend is resting well; I was there not more than half an hour ago.   Her vitals are all strong, although they haven’t quite figured out how to close up the wound on her back — try as they might, it just won’t heal," he said earnestly.

"Her parents are going to kill me," Harry said nervously.

"I think not," Lupin said.   "Ron already tried that," he said dryly, walking over to the buffet table to refill his glass from a crystal decanter.   "I took the liberty of explaining to them what all occurred yesterday at Gringotts, including the marking."

"The Weasleys know I’ve marked their daughter?" Harry asked incredulously.

"They took that explanation a bit more calmly than the notion of her boyfriend attacking her without provocation after they’d both been turned into dragons, that’s for sure.   Arthur is fairly placid about it; Molly is ecstatic.   She’s spent this month worrying that you two would have a spat and that you’d give your heart on the rebound to the first bimbo that would pay attention to you," Lupin said.

"Tell me you’re kidding," Harry replied.

"Those were her exact words, Harry," Lupin replied.

"Only an idiot would give up on Ginny," Harry observed.

"Well then, her fears were misplaced — you are many things, but an idiot is not one of them.   Are you up to a visit to St. Mungo’s?"

"Do you have to ask?   I’d like to see her tonight; right now would be soon enough."

Father Martin stood up, grabbing a cloak from the cloak tree by the hearth.   "I think that’s my cue to leave," he said.   "Harry, you’ve had a trying experience.   I’m available if you wish to sort it all out," he said, shaking Harry’s hand.

"Perhaps Saturday at 3:00?" Harry asked.   He knew that confessions were heard at St. Simon’s from 3:00 p.m. until 6:00 p.m.

"That would be fine," Father Martin replied with a sombre nod of his head.   "You know where to find me," he said, taking a pinch of Floo powder from the urn on the mantelpiece.   "The Friary," he said, stepping into the fire.   With a sudden burst of green flame, he was gone.

~+~

Ron and Tonks were sitting outside of Ginny’s room when Harry arrived with Lupin.   Tonks rose up from her chair, grabbing Lupin in a fierce embrace.   When she released him, she whispered in a hoarse voice, "Take me home, old man, I’m knackered."

Ron looked at his trainers, staying slouched in his chair, hands in his pockets.   "Harry, mate, I’m sorry.    I didn’t understand," he said, simply, not looking up.

"It’s all right, Ron.   Let’s go wake your sister up, ok?" Harry replied.   From the corner of his eye he saw Laurel move in and occupy the seat that Tonks had just vacated.   She opened a bag and pulled out some lurid coloured yarn with two oversized needles.

~+~

The room was small, barely able to fit a bed, a small wardrobe and a nightstand.   A door to the right of the nightstand probably opened to the loo, but Harry couldn’t tell for sure.   The nightstand had a large vase with flowers that Harry recognized as coming from Mrs. Weasley’s garden, along with a box bearing the WWW logo of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes.   Ginny was lying face down on the bed, wearing a hospital gown and pyjama bottoms.   A bloodstained bandage was visible through the gap in the back of the hospital gown.   Harry’s heart fell when he saw the bandage.  

Blimey, it seemed like such a good idea at the time.

Harry placed his hand upon the small hand lying on the pillow.   He felt a flicker of energy and heard a rumble from Tk’lch, answered by low growling noise from Mm’lau.   Her eyes opened, she rolled over and sat up in bed, yanking her hand away as she looked around wildly.   She spat out a string of Parseltongue, followed by "Oh, Harry."

"Lk’shs shashimo," Harry said earnestly, not realizing he was speaking in Parseltongue.

"Lk’shn shashin," Ginny replied with a nod of understanding.

"Ek’tch g’bh," Harry said.

"Ek’tch g’bh," Ginny answered, pausing for a long time.   Lifting her chin she said proudly,   "Lk’shs shashimo."

"Lk’shn shashin," Harry answered, nodding in agreement.

"Harry, oh, Harry," Ginny said, tentatively holding up her hand.   Harry approached, slowly, deliberately, pressing his hand against hers.   He then twined his fingers between hers.   Their Occlumency shields were down completely.   They heard the chime again, pealing from an unknown distance.   They felt the energy flow across their bond, waxing and waning as it ebbed and flowed until equilibrium was found.   Their senses were heightened, but the only thing they saw in the room was each other.  

Harry pulled closer, wrapping his free arm around her in a gentle embrace, taking care to avoid the bandage.   He heard the melody of phoenix song, quietly at first, and then a warbling duet.   Ginny began to shudder as she wept into his shoulder.

"Would someone mind telling me what’s going on?" Ron asked plaintively.   "Why are you crying, Ginny?"

"Because I’m so happy, Ron," she replied, lifting her head briefly from Harry’s shoulder.

"Yeah, right," Ron replied.   "You’re mental, the lot of you," he said, sticking his hands into his pockets as he leaned against the doorframe.

"Ron, make yourself useful and get some scissors from the nurse’s station, these bandages are driving me nuts," Ginny said.   Ron disappeared.   Ginny pulled closer to Harry, sighing contentedly.   She had not yet released his grip.   "You’re stuck with me now, Potter," she said quietly.

"I think I’ll learn to live with it," he replied.

~+~

When Ron returned, he regretted opening the door.   It’s not like they were indecent or anything, or that they were doing anything that he hadn’t done with Hermione, but they were definitely - together.  

Harry was sitting up on Ginny’s bed, leaning against the wall.   Ginny was straddling him, tucking her head between his head and shoulder.   Ron flushed suddenly and began to walk back out of the room.

"Oh Ron, grow up," Ginny said as she lifted her head from Harry’s chest.   "Better yet, snip this bandage off — it’s killing me."

Ginny shrugged off the hospital gown, letting Harry hold it up as a screen between them.   The only thing now covering her top was the thick layer of bandages.

"Uh, Ginny, if I snip the bandages, you’ll be starkers from the waist up," Ron objected.

"The hospital gown goes off, and it can go back on again, dear brother, but if you don’t snip my bandages off in the privacy and comfort of my room, I’m going to wander down to the nurse’s station and have them cut it off, exposing my post-pubescent body to whomever is wandering the halls at the moment.   Now will you be a good brother and snip it off here, or do I have to do everything myself?" she asked, temper rising.

Ron snipped the bandage off with the wonky twisted scissors he’d nicked from the nurses’ station, cutting along the side of her ribs in the back, hissing as he pulled the bandages away from the skin.   Ginny was biting her lip.

"Blimey," Ron exclaimed.   "It’s all healed.   You’ve got a doozy of a scar though.   Crimeny, the scar’s moving!   It’s like Charlie’s tattoo — that’s wicked!   Harry, you’ve got to see this, uh, I mean, uh, Ginny, you need to get your top back on," he said, totally flustered.

"What does it look like?" Ginny asked.

"It’s a white dragon," Ron replied, not knowing why this struck his sister and his best mate as funny as it did, but their laughter was infectious.  

Ginny’s wand, according to Ron, was safely tucked away at the Burrow.   She had no clothes at St. Mungo’s, as she wasn’t wearing any when she arrived, unconscious, the day before.   She began to pace, and then state in increasingly more agitated terms that she wanted to go home.  

She was inspected by the Ward Matron, who was most impressed with her progress and her scar, but the Matron insisted that she must be examined by the attending Healer before she was discharged.

Ginny blew a wisp of hair from her face and stamped her foot.   "I want to go home.   I want to go home, now!   Harry, take me home!" she said, hair falling into her face again, hands on hips.  

Harry looked at Ron, who shrugged his shoulders in reply.   Wrapping his arms around her, he closed his eyes and Disapparated, leaving a bewildered Ron to explain to the Matron why her patient was no longer on the floor, and yes, that was the Harry Potter.   A half hour later, he’d signed a raft of paperwork, promised that Ginny would return tomorrow and be properly discharged, and went down to the first floor to return to the Burrow by Floo.

~+~

Harry and Ginny arrived with the quietest of pops in the Kitchen at The Burrow.   Arthur, Molly and Charlie were sitting at the table, sipping brandy, tea and pumpkin juice respectively.   Within an instant the kitchen was ablaze with shouts, questions, back slaps and general jubilation.   Ginny hugged her Dad, wincing when he squeezed the scar, whispering into his ear.   She kissed Mum and then Charlie, heading towards the door.   "I’m getting a bath, and then into proper pyjamas, and then I’m going to bed.   If you know what’s good for you, Potter, you’ll wait up and say goodnight to me before I turn in," she commanded before making a dramatic exit.

"Is she always like this?" Harry asked.

Arthur laughed.   "Only when she’s really tired and then only with family," he said.

"Hey, Harry, did the two of you dispatch the Basilisk, or was that your doing?" Charlie asked.

"No, that was all Ginny’s doing — I just kept the Dementors and Death Eaters from interfering.   It was something - personal," Harry said, draining his glass of juice.

"I think I understand," Charlie said with a nod as he pushed away from the table.   "Mum, Dad, I’ll be by in the morning — I’m interviewing for a position at Gringotts.   It seems that they’ve decided that having dragons around can be good for business.   You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you Harry?"

"Not a thing, Charlie" he replied with an innocent expression on his face.   Charlie chuckled before Disapparating.

 "Harry, thank you," Arthur said sombrely.

"For what?   For endangering your daughter again?" Harry asked bitterly.

"Now see here, young man, you’ll not talk to your father in that tone of voice," Molly started, before covering her mouth with her hand.   "Ooops," she said, sheepishly.

"The correction was spot on, even if the relationship was a bit off," Harry replied.   "I’m sorry, Dad," he said with a wink.

"Harry, what I meant so say, before I was so rudely interrupted," he said, winking at Harry and Molly, "was that I wanted to thank you for protecting her, for loving her, for taking her seriously, for drawing her on to do great things.   Ginny’s chosen you, and Molly and I can’t be more pleased," Arthur said, surprised that he’d said as much as he had.

"Did Remus explain about the marking?" Harry asked, rubbing his face, already knowing the answer.

"In some general detail," Molly replied.

"It wasn’t something I planned when I went to Gringotts," Harry explained, feeling awkward talking about this without Ginny.   "When I was a dragon, my feelings were different.   Well, no, that’s not right either - the feelings were stronger and simpler than they are when I’m — I’m like this," he explained, sitting down at the table, pouring a glass of pumpkin juice.   "By the time we’d chased away the Dementors and killed the Hydra, I was so proud of her.   The dragon part of me thought that this opportunity wasn’t going to come my way again, so I did it," Harry said, feeling the blush rise up the back of his neck.   "It made a lot more sense when I was a dragon," he explained sheepishly.  

Arthur and Molly nodded.   Did they understand?   Did he understand?

"I have a question for you, Mrs. Weasley."

"Ask away, Harry dear," she replied.

"Did you really think that I was going to have a spat with Ginny and go off and fall in love with some bimbo on the rebound?"

Arthur drew in his breath.   Molly blanched.   "Well, yes," she replied, "it happened more than once with the older boys, and with her temper she’s not the easiest of girls to get along with under the best of circumstances — too much like her Mum, I guess."

"She’s worth waiting for," Harry replied.   "Only a fool would walk away from Ginny."

The Floo erupted in the living room, depositing Ron into the hallway.   He pushed the door open gingerly.

"I don’t think they expected you to Disapparate from the secure ward, Harry.   The wards were supposed to prevent people from Apparating and Disapparating on that ward," Ron said, pouring himself a glass of juice.   "Hi Mum, do we have anything to eat?" Ron asked, sticking his head into the cold pantry.

"That might explain the ripping sound as I Disapparated," Harry said flatly.   "I suppose I’ll catch hell for it tomorrow," he sighed.

"I think not, Harry," Arthur replied.   "Officially, you and Ginny were never at Gringott’s yesterday, which means that you weren’t at St. Mungo’s either.   Unofficially, on level two of the Ministry, we’re very glad that you were there," he said sombrely.   "Gringotts sent an emissary inquiring into how you should be rewarded."

"I dunno," Harry replied.  "Have someone hire Professor Snape away so we can get an Advanced Potions professor who doesn’t have it in for me?"

Arthur and Molly laughed.   "I’ll put in a word, Harry, but I suspect that they were thinking of something simpler, like a monetary reward," Arthur said.   "Well, I’m off to bed, are you coming, Molly?"

"Yes, dear," she replied.

"You want some potato salad, Harry?" Ron asked, pulling his head out of the cold pantry.

~+~

Harry and Ron talked for a good while, about not much in particular before Ron yawned and announced that he was going up to bed.   Harry followed him up the stairs, not surprised in the least when he stopped in front of the door to Ginny’s room.   Ron knocked gently at the door.   "We’re decent, Ron," Ginny replied from within.   Ron pushed the door open with a smile.

"Hermione, someone’s here for his goodnight kiss," Ginny called out in a sing-song voice.

"I think I can accommodate that," Hermione said, rising from the bed.   She slipped on a scruffy pair of slippers and shuffled over to Harry, giving him a chaste peck on the cheek.

Harry smiled broadly, trying to hold back his laughter.   "While I appreciate it, Hermione, I don’t think that’s what Ron had in mind," he said.

"No?   Well, let’s see if I can fix that," Hermione said, pushing Ron against the doorframe and pulling his head down to give him a proper kiss.   Turning sharply on her heel, she stepped out of her slippers and was back under the covers, pulling her book back from the nightstand.   Ron smiled a goofy smile, clapping Harry on his back.   "G’nite, mate.   See you in the morning."

Harry leaned up against the door.

"So," he said.

Hermione put her book down, looking up at the two of them.   "Should I leave now?" she asked.

Harry and Ginny exchanged a glance wordlessly.

"I don’t think so," Ginny said.   "We’re not about to do anything that we wouldn’t do in front of Mum and Dad," she explained as she placed her thumbs inside his belt, pressing her forehead against his chest.   Harry wrapped his arms around her.

"Mind the scar, it’s still tender," she whispered.

"I’m sorry," he whispered in reply.

"Don’t be," she said, looking up.   "I worked hard for that scar," she said.

"Any regrets?" he asked.

"Same answer as last time," she said with a crooked grin.   "How about you?"

"I regret hurting you to the point of putting you in St. Mungo’s," he replied.

"Harry, that’s my stupid brother’s fault.   If you had not been interrupted, and we’d had a chance to say what we said today, I would have healed up by the time we finished talking.   It was getting knocked out in the middle of things that hung me up," Ginny explained.

"How do you know that?" Harry asked.

"Oh, a little dragon told me," she said with a smile.   "He’s a lot more respectful now that I’m officially the Krulach of the Servant of the Light," she said.

"Yeah, I figured that would improve his attitude," Harry said with a wry grin.   "You have no idea how happy I was when I woke up and discovered that I could sense you from Grimmauld Place."

"You have no idea how happy I was to have you wake me up at St. Mungo’s" she replied.   "If it weren’t for you, I would have done something wretched to Ron.   Something Hermione would no doubt later regret," she said, rolling her eyes in her roommate’s direction.  

"I’m still here, you know," Hermione said, "and I’m still willing to go finish this chapter downstairs to give you some quality time together."

"Nah," Ginny replied.   "We’d just start something we couldn’t stop," she said with a wink to Harry.   "Good night, Harry," she said, giving him a squeeze.

"Good night, Krulach," Harry said breathlessly before closing the door.   They both listened to the sound of his footsteps fading away.

"Ginnnnnny! What’s wrong with you?" Hermione asked after she was certain that Harry was safely out of ear-shot.

"What do you mean?" she asked as she turned her bed down.

"That was the perfect opportunity for you to — you know - kiss him," Hermione said, putting a bookmark into her book.

Ginny smiled, fluffing up her pillow.   "I’m in no rush," she said.

"Why ever not?" Hermione asked indignantly.

"First, because I can now, so now it’s a matter of choosing when.   For the last month I couldn’t, no matter how much I wanted it.   Second, I can touch him now without having my Occlumency shield in the way," she said, smiling a wicked smile.   "Trust me, that’s very, very rewarding.   There are times that it’s very good to be part dragon," she said cheerfully.   "Goodnight, Hermione."

"Goodnight dragon."

~+~

His sleep that night was poor.   Several times he found himself awake, reliving in his mind bits of the battle beneath Gringotts.   He didn’t mind roasting the Dementors, or the eventual end of the Basilisk or the Hydra.   The dead Death Eaters, however, weighed on his mind.   Each time he found himself in this cycle of recrimination, he’d lower his Occlumency shield and reach out for Ginny’s essence, revelling in its warmth.   She was there, she was safe, she was his; all was right.   He woke again shortly after dawn, unable to return to sleep.   Some small part of him considered the odds of being discovered sneaking into Ginny’s room before breakfast, but the rational part of his mind shot that down quickly.   They trust you; you pervert, besides, Hermione’s there.   Feeling slightly disgusted with himself, he changed into shorts and a sweatshirt, lacing up his trainers before walking quietly down the stairs to the kitchen.   Perhaps a run would clear his brain.

Molly was in the kitchen, staring at a cookbook, cradling a cup of tea.   "Good morning, Harry dear, off for a run?" she asked pleasantly.

Harry nodded.   "Yup," he said.

"Ginny joining you?"

"Nah, she still needs her sleep," he replied.

"May I ask you a personal question, Harry?   About Ginny, I mean," she asked.

"Uh, sure," Harry asked, trying to think if there was anything he should be feeling guilty about.

"Can you sense her?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah, I can," Harry replied sheepishly.

"It was that way with Snik and Abelard," she observed distantly.

Harry snorted.   "Different relationship, but yeah, the bond is similar," he said.

"Enjoy your run, dear," she said sweetly, looking back at the book.

"I will, when it’s over," he said, closing the screen door quietly.

~+~

30 August 1996

Dear Diary,

Well, today started out ok — I got to sleep in.   It wasn’t even my birthday!   The day, however, went downhill rapidly from there.

Harry was gone by the time I stumbled into the kitchen for breakfast, the last member of the house to make it there — pickings were slim, that’s for sure.   Mum said he’d gone for a run and then taken the portal to Abelard’s.   I don’t recall any mention of that, but I was out of commission for a day, so a lot could happen that I wouldn’t know of until it happened.   When Mum told me about him being away, I dropped my shield and reached out for him.   At first there was nothing, then I felt it, faint, but unmistakably Harry.   I couldn’t tell where he was, or what he was doing, but feeling him was reward enough.   After a hurried and sparse breakfast, Mum hauled me off to London to properly get examined and discharged from St. Mungo’s.   Afterwards we were supposed to go pick up the things we had on our list on Wednesday before the list was overtaken by events.   Simple trip, no?   Nooooooooooooooooo.

The Healer who had examined me when I first was admitted was off duty, handing my case off to a short lady Healer from Ulster by the name of O’Neil.   She looked a bit like Hermione, except that her hair was black as coal in tight ringlets, and she acted like she’d spent the last week drinking Turkish coffee non-stop.   She talked way too fast.   She read through my portfolio, clucking through the usual collection of Weasley childhood diseases and magical mishaps.   Everything was cool until she read my admitting report from this week.   First she left the room to place a hurried Floo call, then Mum was shunted off to a waiting room, and I went into an examining room.

I thought at first that I’d just have to take my top off, she’d poke my scar and then I’d be outta there.   But nooooooooooooooo.

I was up on a table, naked from the waist down with my feet in stirrups.   Healer O’Neil’s wand was up my bottom, apparently trying to detect a Floo connection given the time she spent poking around in there.   Sweet Circe, that hurt!   I will give Tk’lch credit — he did offer to eat Healer O’Neil.   I declined his noble offer of assistance.  

Healer O’Neil began to ask me a series of really weird questions that all seemed to hinge on the notion that my boyfriend had beaten me up, or raped me, or beaten me up after raping me.   In retrospect, I imagine that her mistake was sensible — the admitting report indicated that I entered the hospital naked and bleeding with a chunk out of my back the size of a dinner plate.   Ron was jabbering about how my boyfriend had done this, and that he’d tried to kill him in return, all of which were dutifully enrolled in the admitting report.   I was about to the point of trying my chances against St. Mungo’s Anti-Apparation Wards when Moey stepped in with Tonks in tow.   Tonks, blessed woman, took charge.   She looked like she’d just stepped out of an adult beauty parlour, hair, nails done just so with  clothing that wasn’t ripped and didn’t show off her navel, you know, the works.  When she tries, she looks very grown up.  She explained that I’d incurred my injuries in the Gringotts break-in, that my wound had been caused by a dragon and that I really did have a boyfriend, but he wasn’t beating me up or raping me.   That cooled Healer O’Neil down a bit, but she made up for it when Mum finally came into the examination room and she began asking Mum if I was sexually active, and did I need to be on any one of a variety of methods of contraception.   Mum, bless her soul, saw by my bright magenta colouring that I was not ready to have this discussion with this particular audience, and convinced Healer O’Neil that she had those topics well under control.   Tonks was able to get us out of there without Obliviating Healer O’Neil, or accepting a criminal referral from her for my grievous injuries at the hand (or teeth) of my beloved.  

After that we went out for lunch and a bit of shopping.   Needless to say, I didn’t feel much like walking, and I wasn’t in much of a mood to shop either.  

I did pig out at lunch, though.  

We picked up next year’s books and some fresh camisoles, as my scar rides right about where my bra strap sits on my back, so I’ll be going without for a week or so while the scar is toughening up.   I wonder if Harry will notice?

We’re back home now, and I don’t feel like doing much of much.   I’m waiting for Harry to get home so I can give him an earful.   It’s not like it’s his fault or anything, but I want him to know — why I’m not entirely sure.   I’m really tired, notwithstanding having slept in this morning.   Maybe things will look better with a nap.

GMW

Ginny woke from her nap, sitting up to watch the dust motes dance in the late afternoon sunlight.   She yawned, stretched and stood up long enough to straighten her covers.   Dropping her shield, she reached out to find Harry.   Nope, still not at the Burrow.

Tk’lch?

Yes, Mistress Weasley.

<giggle> Ginny will do just fine.

Yes, Mistress Ginny.

Why am I so tired?

It is because of the changes.

The changes?

A dragon, after she is marked, goes through a period of changes.   The more you sleep, the quicker the changes take place.

Am I going to grow again?

I think not.   These are primarily internal changes — they may affect your magic a bit. You should know by now that size means nothing to dragons.

Yeah, I guess so.   Is Harry changing?

Yes, he experiences similar changes, although he finds that he is unable to sleep, and what sleep does come is light indeed.   The male often stands guard over his sleeping mate during this time, unless they are situated as you are now, amongst your family.

I don’t want to go back to school.

Why not?

I don’t want to share Harry.   I’ve had him to myself for almost a month.

You should speak to him about that.

Tk’lch?

Yes, Mistress Ginny?

Thanks.

I exist to serve, Mistress.

Ginny slid down the stairs, quiet as a shadow.   The clock in the kitchen showed that Dad, Bill, Charlie, Fred and George were all "At work" while Mum was "In the Kitchen — working on the ledger" and Ron was "Canoodling in the Orchard.   She already knew where Harry was, or more accurately, where he wasn’t; and Hermione, she presumed, was in the Orchard, at least she better be there if Ron was indeed "canoodling."

"Hi, Mum," Ginny said, washing her hands at the kitchen sink.

"Hello, Little One, did the nap help?" she asked cheerfully.

"Not really.   Tk’lch says that the fatigue is part of being marked — something about my magic being rearranged for a day or two," she said with a sigh.

"What’s on your mind, Ginny?" Molly said, putting down the family finance ledger, twiddling a quill in her fingers.

"Today’s pelvic exam.   Is that what my first time is going to be like?" she asked quietly.

Molly set the quill down, gathering her thoughts.   "Yes and no," she replied, looking up at the clock.   "If your husband is patient and slow, your first time will be a lot more pleasant, but it will still entail a certain amount of discomfort.   It gets better with practice," she said with a sly smile.

Husband, yeah, got it, Mum, subtle like a Bludger.   "You know it’s going to be Harry," Ginny said.

Molly pursed her lips, trying to choose her words wisely.   "We know it will be Harry.   Your father and I would prefer that you finish school first," she said cautiously.

Ginny smiled and laughed.   "Mum, I’m fifteen!   I’m not in a hurry.   I haven’t even kissed him yet," she exclaimed.

"Yet you know he’s going to be the one?" Molly asked.

While you live there shall be no other.   "Yeah, I do," she answered.

"Where’s Harry?" Molly asked cautiously.

"Still at Abelard’s, I suppose.   I can sense him, just barely, but he’s too far away for anything useful.  Before he marked me, I could only sense him if he were within a quarter mile or so.   My range is way longer than that now.   I guess that’s part of the changes that Tk’lch was mentioning," Ginny said.

"What’s it like?" Molly asked.

"What’s what like?" Ginny countered.

"Sensing him."

"It’s like having a warm dollop of butterscotch sauce dissolving on my tongue.   If he’s worried, or hurt, or sick, the flavour changes," she explained.

"That could come in handy," Molly said, picking up her quill and ledger again.   "Ginny, I don’t want to start a fight, but I wanted to ask you some questions about expenditures this month," Molly began.

"Sure, Mum," Ginny said, confident that she hadn’t spent a Knut this month.

"When you went shopping this month, with your brothers and Harry, did Harry pay for the groceries?" Molly asked.

Ginny closed her eyes, fingers pressed to her temple.   "Yeah, he did.   He’d pull some money out of the cash box, put it in an envelope, and then he’s pay for whatever we bought out of what was in the envelope — when we got back home, he’d empty out the envelope into the cash box," Ginny said, opening her eyes.   "Why do you ask?"

"We’re over," Molly said.   "We should have a little over 20 Galleons in the cashbox, but instead we have 110 Galleons and a few odd Sickles and Knuts.   The only way I can explain it is if Harry was paying for groceries this month out of his own pocket," Molly said, pondering the notion.

"He’d do that in a heartbeat, Mum, it has Harry written all over it.   When we went to Gringotts, we had a terrible row over money.   He wanted to pay for my gown for the All Hallow’s Eve Ball," Ginny said, proceeding to give a fair rendition of their exchange in the vault.   "Harry doesn’t really care about money — he sees it as a way of making people happy, but it doesn’t particularly make him happy," Ginny explained.

"Should I bring this up to him?" Molly asked.

"Only if you want to start a blazing row — I take that back.   You could let him know that you know that he’s been buying groceries.   That would be okay, I think.   But if you tried to pay him back, you’d probably have a row on your hands," she cautioned.   "I’m not particularly in the mood to scrap with him right now," she said with a smile.

"Is that all those post-marking hormones coursing through your body right now talking?" Molly said, raising an eyebrow.

"Something like that, Mum.   Say, what’s for dinner?" Ginny said after her stomach rumbled quietly.

"Pizza — Remus and Tonks will be bringing a case of fresh Butterbeer.  What does Harry like on his pizza?" Molly asked.

Ginny closed her eyes again, trying to remember if she’d ever seen him eat pizza.   "Pretty much everything except for those little, hairy, salty fish," she said, wrinkling her nose.

"Got it, no anchovies," Molly said, folding the ledger closed.   She moved away from the table and opened the dry pantry.   "Ginny, be a dear and fetch the raisins from the cellar, please?"

"The large tin or the small tin?" Ginny asked.

"The small tin, otherwise I won’t stop," Molly said with a laugh.

~+~

Jasmine paused outside of the door to Abelard’s parlour before knocking softly.   She knew that Abelard knew that she was there, but convention must be observed, especially when he was discussing business.

"Excuse me, Master," she said before entering the room.   She nodded at the thin, old woman having tea with Abelard.   "The Portal does not come when it is called," she explained.

Abelard smiled and nodded.   "Advise Mrs. Paprikash that we may have two guests for lunch," he replied.

"Do I need to prepare an adequate welcome?" she asked.

"I think not," he replied, which she chose to interpret loosely.  

Jasmine passed through the kitchen, advised her mother as to the number of guests for lunch, and then withdrew into the garden.   Out of an abundance of caution, she activated the mantrap ward behind her.   Her battle wand flicked into her hand.   She found some shade underneath one of the trees near the wall and waited.   She didn’t have to wait long.   She felt the energy of the Portal before she saw the shimmering doorframe appear; it was crackling as its energy interfered with the mantrap.   The door was its normal hue, which was a good sign, but she didn’t trust the mechanisms in the portal and took careful aim at the space where the door would open.   Although the door opened, no one walked through.  

She whistled for Rosie, who came bounding out into the garden, hesitating slightly as she passed through the mantrap, sniffing the ground until she abruptly sat upright, her tail flailing the well groomed grass.   The hair on the top of Rosie’s head was moving, scratched by invisible fingers.   "Hullo, girl," an unseen voice said.

"Show yourself, Potter," she snarled, crouching in the battle stance she’d perfected when she was a small girl.   She heard the muffled pair of pops of Disapparation and Apparation, and then the voice spoke behind her.

"Have you missed me?"

"Show yourself!" she cried before she too Disapparated and Apparated, springing sideways about ten feet; she was taking pains to avoid the mantrap.   She swung her wand in an arc, turning the air a brilliant shade of blue.   A man-shaped hole appeared in the wash of blue.   She unleashed a very special bolt of energy into the hole.   The intruder fell with a thud.   Minutes later, she deposited him, still invisible, onto the thickly padded carpet of the parlour, hands and feet bound together behind his back.   Standing up, she smoothed her tunic, giving the old woman a nod.   "Your student, Madame," she said.

Abelard smiled, doing his best to suppress a guffaw.   "For just a few more days, he’s my student as well.   Harry, you are among friends, please show yourself," he said, nodding with satisfaction as Harry winked into sight.   "Jasmine, please help my student out of his bonds and then bring suitable refreshment.   I’m sure that you will wish to join us," he said.

Jasmine touched the bonds with her wand, melting the bands first at the feet and then at the wrists, pulling him up off the floor.   In a graceful move she pecked his cheek and whispered quickly into his ear, "Of course I missed you," before darting silently out of the room.

Minerva McGonagall cleared her throat.   "This is a pleasant surprise, Mr. Potter.   I did not expect to see you until next week.   Has your summer been good?" she asked, sipping from her tea cup.

"Uh, smashing, actually," he replied.   "It’s good to see you, too, Professor," he said before turning to Abelard.   "Did you send the Portal, sir?"

Abelard inhaled and then held his breath for a moment.   "No, you called the Portal," he answered.

"I did no such thing," Harry protested.

"Did you want to see me?" Abelard asked.

"Of course," Harry replied, "I was moping after breakfast and walked out into the Weasley’s herb garden.   The Portal appeared in front of me.   I thought you’d sent it."

"Well, the Portal is attuned to your magic, and interpreted your desire to see me as a command to appear wherever you were to bring you here," Abelard explained.   "I intend to allow that to occur in the future.   It may be a useful resource to call on in uncertain times.   Why did you come through the Portal in invisible form, Harry?" Abelard asked.

"I wasn’t sure whether or not you had sent it," he answered.

"Commendable vigilance," Professor McGonagall said.   "Were you wearing your father’s cloak just now?" she asked.

"No," he said with a small smile, "I’ve learned a few things this summer that make that unnecessary," he replied, winking out of sight and then returning again.

"Most impressive, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said, "I’ve read the reports, and I’ve walked through the lower levels of Gringotts to see first-hand what you and Miss Weasley did when you were transfigured.   I’d like to run some tests if I might," she said, stopping to pick up a biscuit from the tray that Jasmine brought into the room.  

In response to her questions, Harry recounted in condensed form what he’d done two days before, answering a string of very nuanced questions posed by the head of his house.   After what seemed like an hour or so of questioning, she dug a blue half-sphere from her handbag, tossing it lightly to him.   The half-sphere was heavy and cold, feeling like it was made of marble.

"What is it?" he asked.

"A very special touchstone," she replied.   "Think of a sunrise while holding it in your wand hand," she instructed.   Harry closed his eyes, squeezing the stone.   When he looked up, the flat portion of the stone held a replica of the sunrise he’d imagined, a vista from the hill overlooking the lake where he’d first met with Abelard.   He raised his eyebrows at the detail in the picture and then handed the sphere back to Professor McGonagall.

"Hmm, well, that question’s been answered, I’m afraid.   By the picture on the touchstone, nothing’s there; I regret to say that you are not a true Animagus," she sighed.   "It is no shame to not have the gift.   It would have been useful to have a bonded pair of dragons fighting on our side, but all in all, I’d rather have you as you are," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Dragons can be so unpredictable," she said, "not to mention messy."

"Yeah," Harry replied, "tell me about it."

After another round of questions, Harry and Jasmine took an opportune time to excuse themselves while Professor McGonagall and Abelard continued to chat, ducking into the kitchen to pick up cups, serviettes, flatware and plates.   After the table was set, Harry asked Jasmine the question that had been burning in his mind.

"What did I do wrong?" he asked.

Jasmine leaned up against the doorframe, playing idly with the end of her plait.   "Frankly, Harry, you came in stupid — you’ve got to assume that your adversary will learn your capabilities and come up with countermeasures.   I’ve been thinking since that time with the wooden swords as to how I’ll fight an invisible adversary," she said, piercing him with her gaze.

"Point well taken," Harry conceded.   "I was taken by surprise," he sighed.

"Better to learn that with your friends than with your enemies," Jasmine said sagely.

"That’s what Mm’lau says too," Harry said with a smirk.

"You should listen to the women in your life.   Speaking of whom, how’s my student?   She made her old teacher proud at Gringotts, I’ll have you know."

"She’s a bit subdued — the aftermath from Gringotts has her under the weather — Mm’lau says she’ll be fine by Monday," he said.

"And how are the two of you?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Fine," Harry replied, blushing lightly, "better than fine, actually.   We’re uh - bonded now.   I suppose that it will take us a while to figure out what that means," he said.

"Only the rest of your life," she said, smacking him lightly on the arm as she went back to the parlour.

~+~

Lunch was a quiet affair, soup, bread and cheese with a simple pudding for dessert.   The old woman raved so much about the soup and bread that she had Mum blushing, which was novel, as she rarely blushed about anything.   Jasmine tried to catch Abelard’s eye, but she wasn’t having any success.   Since indirect wasn’t working, she decided to ratchet it up a notch.

"Sir, there’s a ledger we need to discuss after lunch in your parlour," she said blandly.

"Indeed?" Abelard replied.   "Will it wait until our guests depart?" he asked, staring a hole through her.

"Now or later," she replied glibly.   "It will take but a minute," she said.

"If you will excuse us, then," Abelard said, pushing away from the table.

Jasmine followed him to the parlour, turning the fountain on and sealing the room.   "Harry is troubled," she said, crossing her arms as she sat on the edge of a stuffed chair.   "He wants to talk to you, something that he doesn’t want to discuss in front of me or his professor."

"Indeed," Abelard replied, stroking his short beard.   "How do you know this?"

"I caught a glimpse of it as I untied him — his shield was completely down then.   I suspect that he is troubled about what he did when he was attacked in Gringotts," she said, remembering her own discomfort after the first assignment that led to the use of lethal force.

Abelard pulled a sour face, inhaled deeply and then exhaled through his nose.   "It seems that I was remiss in not addressing that in his training this summer," he said.

"That wasn’t the assignment, sir, you were engaged as an Occlumency tutor, remember?" she chided gently.

"While I may be feeble, there is nothing wrong with my memory," Abelard protested.   He stood up.   Their impromptu meeting was over; he would take action of some sort; he always did.   "Call the Portal, would you please?"

"Yes, sir," she replied, walking out of the Parlour, cancelling the sealing charm and turning off the fountain without a thought.   "Feeble my arse," she said quietly.

"Nothing wrong with my hearing, either," Abelard called out.

"Yes, sir," she replied with a broad grin.

Abelard was direct.   He announced that the Portal was waiting to take Professor McGonagall back to London, and then asked Harry if he’d care for a walk before he returned to the Burrow.   Harry didn’t have to be asked twice.     Handshakes and pleasantries were exchanged before Professor McGonagall slipped through the Portal.   Jasmine made sure the door was secure and then vanished the device, taking care to disappear into the house, leaving the men of her life, old and young, in the garden.

"I fancy a walk in the woods, Harry.   Let’s walk and talk," Abelard said, walking purposefully towards the Garden gate.

~+~

Jasmine was right — she was right about most things.   The lad was carrying a heavy burden over the lives he’d cut short in the lower levels of Gringotts.   The fact that many of them were criminals and murderers themselves was beside the point.   They talked about it at great length, Abelard sharing his own experiences from the First War.  

"Has this helped, Harry?" Abelard asked at the end of their walk.

"Yeah, immensely," he replied.

"Keep your appointment with Father Martin, I’ve found his perspective to be most useful," Abelard admonished.

"Thanks, I will," Harry replied.   "Uh, Abelard, can I use your telephone to call London?"

"Certainly, lad — Jasmine will set things up for you in my study," he said, sitting down with a sigh in a chair in the shade of his garden.

~+~

After finishing a satellite telephone call to his solicitor, Harry returned to the garden.   Abelard was still sitting in the shade, sipping from a tall frosted glass.  

"Think clearly about where you want to go, then visualize the Portal taking you there," Abelard explained.

Harry nodded, closing his eyes, visualizing the herb garden at the Burrow.   Next he placed the portal in that scene.   Unbidden, Ginny appeared in this picture, smiling, wearing a yellow sundress.   He smiled in return as he looked up.   The Portal materialized in Abelard’s garden.  

"Can I write you during the year?" he asked Abelard, suddenly not wanting to leave.

"Certainly, lad; we’ll work something out to put another door on your Passbox, but until then, write to me in care of Father Martin, he always knows how to reach me," Abelard said with a chuckle.

Jasmine reached out to squeeze his hand and then pulled him into a quick hug.   "You’ll tell her, won’t you?" she asked.

"Of course," he replied.

"Be safe, Harry," she said, not wanting to let go of his hand.   "Do them before they do you; remember that I want to dance with you at your wedding," she said, giving him a wink as she squeezed his hand again.

He opened the Portal.   Not surprisingly, there was a girl in a yellow sundress waiting for him on the other side.

~+~

Smiling broadly, he raced through the Portal and picked Ginny up, spinning her around.

"Miss me, did you?" she asked mischievously.  

"Yeah," he gasped, setting her down.   "That dress, I’ve seen it before," he began.

"It’s Hermione’s," she interrupted.   "She fills it out a lot better," she said, wrinkling her nose.

"Not better," he said firmly.   "Different, but not better; remember, I chose you," he said, pulling her towards him, running his palms up her back, "besides, you bounce better in this dress,"

"Careful there, mister, you’re playing with fire," Ginny whispered breathily into his ear.

"Yeah, I am," he replied, "but your Mum is watching us from the kitchen window," he replied in a not too quiet whisper.

"Well," Ginny said, "that certainly puts ice in my knickers," she said, pulling away from him, placing one palm on his chest.   "You didn’t tell me that you were going to Abelard’s," she said, somewhat accusingly.

"I didn’t know I was going either — the Portal appeared and I went through it — I thought that Abelard had called me — it turns out I’d called the Portal.   I wanted to talk to Abelard, I just didn’t know it when I woke up this morning.   So, how was your day, Miss Weasley?" he asked, holding out his arm while nodding with his head towards the orchard.

"It was the pits," she said, beginning the gruesome tale of her tribulations at St. Mungo’s.   Harry listened attentively, giving appropriate feedback when she came up for air.  

"I - am   - so - sorry," he said slowly.

"Haaary," she exclaimed, "we’ve been over this before — you did nothing wrong, it was my idiot brother that bollixed things up for me, for us," she said.   "I’m just sore in places where I didn’t know I could hurt," she whinged before she wiggled her eyebrows.   "Mum says that it’s good practice for marriage."

"Ah yes, lie back and think of England," Harry said in a dowager’s voice.

"You’re terrible," she said, bumping him with her hip.

"Try me," he said, turning to face her.

"Harry, no," she said, placing her fingertips on his chin.   "Not here," she whispered.   "Ron and Hermione were out here after lunch — the clock in the kitchen said that he was ‘canoodling in the orchard,’" she explained.

"You’re having me on, right?" Harry said, raising one eyebrow.

"I wish," she said, slipping her hand back into the crook of his arm, steering them back to the house.   "Part of me doesn’t want to go back to Hogwarts, because I’ll never have time to see you again — this month I’ve pretty much had as much of you as I can stand.   The other part of me wants to go back so I can get out from being spied upon all the time, and maybe find some privacy with someone I’m kinda fond of," she said, leaning into him as she walked.

"Might I know this someone?" he asked playfully.

"Might," she replied, suppressing a grin.

"Lip balm?" he asked.

"No thanks, I never touch the stuff," she replied.   "Hermione did buy me a complete range of flavoured and coloured lip glosses though.   There’s a nice one that matches Starry Night, red gloss with sparkles.   When you smack your lips," she said, making a soft popping sound, "you give off these wicked sparks," she said with a grin.

"Do they hurt?" he asked.

"She didn’t mention that," she said.

Harry’s eyes opened wide.   "She’s tested them?"

"Harry, weren’t you listening to me earlier?   She was snogging my brother in the orchard.   Knowing her she probably brought out a notebook and wrote down her observations after each application of lip gloss," she said, waving her free hand theatrically.

"That’s waaaaaaaaaay too much information, Ginny," Harry said.

"Tuh, it’s not like you haven’t thought of it," she huffed.

"Honestly, I don’t think that kissing Ron has ever entered my mind, even in my worst nightmares," he said with a flat expression on his face.   "It’s been a long time since I’ve thought of kissing Hermione, either, although that wouldn’t quite be a nightmare - unless Ron caught me," he said, flinching when she dug her knuckle into his ribs.   "Okay, I have thought of it," he said, slipping away from her, catching her hand as he made some distance.   "But now that I know that we’ll show up on the clock, it kinda puts ice in my knickers too," he conceded.

They walked in silence for a while.

"This has been quite a month," he said.

"That it has, Mr. Potter," she murmured.

~+~

When they returned to the Burrow, the family had already begun to arrive; Bill was rolling out pizza dough on the kitchen table, Charlie and Ron were clearing the dining table and Fred and George arrived with dual pops in the kitchen after Harry and Ginny had washed their hands.   Fleur arrived twenty minutes later as the first pizza came out of the oven, followed by a series of pops that announced Remus, Tonks and Arthur Weasley.

"Hey," Charlie shouted out.   "About time the bloke with the Butterbeer arrived," he said, diving for the wooden case that Remus had just placed on the kitchen table.  

Dinner was the usual Weasley pandemonium, several conversations raging at once, with questions being cross-threaded, seemingly at random.   Harry was engaged in a polite conversation with George.   He suggested that the twins consider erecting a kiosk or push-cart for selling the wares of Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes in Hogsmeade during the Hogsmeade weekends when he became aware of a sudden pleasant weight on his shoulder.   "Cute, Harry, really cute," George said, nodding at his sister who had fallen asleep on Harry before returning to his stream of consciousness ponderings of whether or not the twins could turn a profit operating a remote branch in Hogsmeade only on the designated weekends.   "It’s a brilliant idea, Harry, my only regret is that I didn’t think of it," he concluded.   "You’ll forgive me in advance if I tell Fred that this was all my idea, won’t you?" he asked.

"What, me believe that you had an original idea?" Fred asked, turning from his conversation with Bill and Fleur to join Harry and Charlie.   "You do make a nice pillow, Harry," Fred said before turning back to rejoin Bill and Fleur.

Harry shifted around a bit, putting his arm around Ginny, who snuggled into him with a murmur.   He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Harry dear, she’s still tiring easily these days.   Could you put her to bed?" Molly asked.

Harry looked up with a shocked expression on his face.   "Uh, sure, Mrs. Weasley," he said, hoping that his voice wouldn’t crack.

"Good," she replied.   "If you’re not back in an hour, I’ll send out a search party," she said with a smile.

"Right," Harry said, propping Ginny up with one hand as he stood up from the couch.   He pondered briefly how he could best carry her without resorting to the Mobilcorpus charm, figuring that she was light enough that he could probably just tote her up the stairs.   A few voices rang out "Goodnight, Ginny," as he carried her up the stairs, but they were met with some shushes before the random Weasley cacophony resumed in his wake.

He pushed the door to her room open with his toe, flicking the lights on, softly, with a wave of his hand.   He leaned forward to turn the covers back before setting her down softly on her bed.   After he removed her shoes, she smiled slightly as she nuzzled her pillow.   He considered whether or not she would be more comfortable in pyjamas, but concluded that he just didn’t feel lucky enough to chance that manoeuvre tonight, settling for tucking her into bed instead.   He began to leave when she murmured "don’ go," her face screwed up in an unpleasant expression, "stay wif’ me," she murmured.   Harry went to the end of the bed, sitting carefully on the floor, leaning up against the bed.   He could hear her sigh comfortably, feeling her magic withdraw.   He pondered that for a while, concluding that she wouldn’t need a perimeter guard if he was there.

There was something incredibly right about sitting there, standing watch over her as she slept.   As he leaned against the foot of the bed, he wasn’t truly awake, but he wasn’t asleep, either; his mind was mulling over the events of the last month, good things and not so good.   Bat Pyr’gs were flittering through the house and around the grounds of The Burrow; spiders were likewise occupied.   Soon, he detected a change in Ginny’s breathing as she dropped into a sound sleep.   This change brought him back to the here and now of regular consciousness.   Squeezing his eyes open, he glanced at his watch.   Fifteen minutes had passed.   He reckoned that he shouldn’t be in too much trouble.   He pushed up from the floor, lingering a while before he planted a kiss on the top of her head.

"Is that the best you can do, Potter?" George called from the hallway.

"Lips, you know, those red things below her nose? That’s the customary spot, I’ve heard." Fred volunteered.

Harry sighed.   He’d felt the threads snapping earlier in the stairwell, but figured that he had the door open and wasn’t doing anything untoward, so he was safe.   He hadn’t figured on the Twins, who were now joined by Bill.   The twins were in their teasing mode, but Bill had an expression of disgust mixed with fury.

"Mister Potter, we’d like to have a word with you if we may," George began.

"About our sister," Fred continued.

"Sure, guys," Harry replied.   "C’mon up to my room."

He trudged up the stairs, wondering if he were truly in trouble, or whether Molly’s teasing ban had somehow expired without his knowledge.

As they walked up the stairs, he extended his magic over the Weasley men, using his Legilimency to gently probe their surface thoughts.   The twins were lightly rankled about something, while Bill was livid; about what he couldn’t tell without probing deeper.   When they got into the room, he took care to position himself where he could see Bill’s hands, which were dangerous whether he was holding a wand or not.   Harry sat on top of Percy’s old desk, the twins sat on the bed and Bill leaned against the door.

"What can I do for you guys?" he asked pleasantly.

"It’s about Ginny," Bill said.

Harry nodded.   "You going to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to play twenty questions?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"Actually, I was hoping that you’d tell us what’s going on, Potter," Bill said.

"Sorry, I haven’t a clue where you’re going," Harry said, hoping that the vague feeling in his gut was wrong.

"Are you shagging my sister?" Bill blurted.

"That’s not what we discussed earlier, Bill," Fred cautioned.

"Bill, what’s got into you?" George asked.

"I’ll tell you what’s got into me," Bill snapped.   "Charlie’s not the only one who studied dragons.   Dragons mark their partners.   When Ginny was at St. Mungo’s today, she was examined for sexual assault," Bill said, glaring at Harry as he spat out the words.

"Yeah, she told me about the ordeal," Harry replied.

"Well, are you?" Bill demanded.

"Why would that be any business of yours?" Harry asked.

"Because I’m her brother, I’m supposed to protect her," Bill hissed.

"She doesn’t need protecting, Bill, she’s a very capable witch," Harry replied.

Bill began to say something when the door opened behind him.

Ginny was squinting in the light of the room, wrinkling her nose.

"Is there a problem in here?" she asked pleasantly, looking around the room.

"No problem, Ginger-Snap," Bill replied casually.   "Why don’t you go back to bed, you look really tired."

"Harry, I woke up because I could feel your anger.   What’s going on?   Why are you angry with Bill?" Ginny asked.

Harry exhaled through his nose, taking a while to answer.   "Bill wants to know if we’re shagging," he said, flinching as he watched her expression.

"WHAT?   Why would that be any business of yours?" she fumed, glaring at Bill.

"Now Ginny, settle down," Bill said quickly.

"I think it’s time for me to leave," George said.

"Me too," Fred said, flinching when Ginny turned towards him suddenly.

"Don’t you tell me to settle down, Bill Weasley, and don’t think that you’re slipping away from this disaster, Gred and Forge," Ginny growled.

"I’m just concerned about you, Ginger-snap," Bill said.

"I got enough crap at St. Mungo’s this morning to last me for the rest of the week, Bill.   I love Harry, Harry loves me.   Mum trusts him enough to ask him to tuck me in; he’s always been a perfect gentleman with me.   Just what the hell is your problem, Bill?" Ginny asked, hands on hips.

"I know you love him.   You’ve loved him forever.   I just don’t want him to take advantage of you," Bill said, looking carefully at his shoes.

"Bill," Ginny said quietly.   "Look at me."   Ginny held her hand up fingers curled.   She closed her eyes, concentrating on something.   A bead of light appeared above her palm that grew until it was the size of a snitch.   It was incredibly bright, giving off tonnes of heat.   "Do you know what this is?" she asked her brother.

"I don’t know what it’s called, but I’ve seen it before," he said, holding his hands to shield his eyes.

"It’s the Lesser Wrath, Bill," Ginny said, closing her hand on the ball of light until it disappeared.   "I’m not an infant.   Anything that happens with Harry will happen because I want it to, not because I’m a love struck little girl in awe of the Boy-who-lived.   Got that notion straight?" she asked.

"Yeah, I’m sorry," Bill mumbled.

Ginny slowly walked up to Bill, hooking her thumbs into his belt, resting her forehead against his chest.   "’Tsallright.   Bill, I love you, but life kept on happening after you went to school — I grew up," she said, speaking into his chest.   "Harry is part of my life now, an enormous part of it — please don’t try to come between us, okay?" she asked.

"I think I understand now," Bill said, wrapping his arms around her.   Ginny began to wobble a bit.   "Do you need me to put you back to bed?" he asked.

"Nah, that’s his job," she said, hooking her thumb in Harry’s direction.

"Well then," he said.   "I’ll leave him to it, all right?"

"G’night, all," George said, Disapparating with a pop.   Fred disappeared after him.

"G’night, Ginger-snap," Bill said, giving her one last squeeze before releasing her.   "G’night, Harry.   I’m sorry. I was out of line," he said, nodding in Harry’s direction as he backed out the open door.

"It’s all right, Bill — you did it because you care," Harry said, coming up behind Ginny, wrapping his arms around her.

"Hey, you," she said softly after her brothers had left.   "Can I sleep here tonight?" she said cheerfully.

"No," he replied with a laugh.   "One brush with death is enough," he said.

"I thought as much, but it never hurts to ask," she said with a grin.   "I’m knackered, Mister Potter.   Put me back to bed," she commanded.

"Your wish is my command," he replied.

She didn’t need to be carried, but Harry kept a hand on the small of her back to make sure he could steady her if necessary while walking down the steps.

"I was worried, you know," Ginny said.

"Afraid that Bill would beat me up?" he asked.   "He was thinking about it."

"Yeah, I know.   No, I was worried about what you might do to him," she said, turning to look into his eyes.

"I was going to play nice," he said.

"Why didn’t you just say that nothing is going on?" she asked.

"Well, first off, that’s not entirely true," he said, feeling his ears heat up.   "Second, whatever happens between us is private.   If I was inclined to talk to anyone it would be your parents, Uncle Moony, or maybe Ron."

"Hermione?" she asked.

"Of course, but I wouldn’t tell her everything."

She placed her hand on his cheek.   "You are so sweet," she said.

"I try," he murmured.

Ginny pushed open her door, lighting the room wandlessly.   She opened her wardrobe, pulling a nightgown off of a hanger.   Turning her back to Harry, she looked over her shoulder and asked, "Can you unrip me?"

"What?"

"My dress," she explained.   "It has a ripper in back — I can’t reach the pull."

"The word my dear is zipper," he said with a smile.

"Whatever, " she replied, pulling her hair up with one hand.   "Well, what are you waiting for?"

"You really want me to unzip you?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah, Harry, I want to sleep in my nightgown.   It’s just a zipper.   I’m not asking you to ravish me on the spot, notwithstanding Bill’s keen insight into your wanton ways," she exclaimed as Harry gingerly tugged on the zipper pull.   "Although, come to think of it, that would be a nice way to end the evening," she whispered before giving him a dazzling smile.

Harry was boggled by the notion.   The zipper had exposed an expanse of pale flesh along with the scar.   "It’s lovely," he exclaimed softly.   "When did it turn blue?"

"After we got home, it’s part of the change.   When it reaches a deeper shade, say maybe indigo, I’ll know it’s done."

"Crimeny, it does move," he said in surprise.

"Yeah — I’ve been seeing how far I can get it away from the original location.   Thus far I’ve sweet-talked it to my shoulder.   I’d like to have it on my front, between my, uh, breasts," Ginny said with a giggle.

"Why there?" he asked.

"Well, I figured if boys were going to keep looking at my chest, I should at least have something interesting on location," she said with a wink.

"You’re terrible," he said.

"Thank you," she replied.

"Please tell me that I haven’t done that," he begged.

"Not recently, although I have noticed that when I’m playing with my hair you suddenly lose the power of speech and your eyes are riveted about eight inches below my chin," she said with a smile.

"Busted," he said.

"Yeah, it was one of the early signs that I wasn’t invisible any more.   Turn around," she commanded.

The dragon had begun to move again, captivating Harry’s attention.   Ginny spoke up, "Turn around, or leave the room.   I’m getting dressed," she said in a slightly annoyed tone.

"Uh, right," he replied, turning around and holding his hands over his eyes for good measure.   The sounds behind him were maddening.

"I’m decent now," she said, interrupting herself with a tremendous yawn.   "Doing the Lesser Wrath really takes it out of me," she explained.

"Did Jasmine teach that to you?" he asked.

"No, she can’t do it.   She explained the theory behind it and then we went to Abelard for a demonstration — I haven’t the foggiest where you were at the time," she said.

"Probably doing something really important like helping Mrs. Paprikash put lunch on," he explained.

"You’re so good at that," she said, smiling sweetly.   "See you at breakfast?"

"Uh, I dunno — I’ve got to talk to Uncle Moony — I’ve got to go into London for some errands on Saturday," he explained, amazed at her sudden change of expression.   "Don’t pout; I’ll be back before dinner.   It’s my last chance to wrap some things up before we go back to school," he explained.

"I’m sleeping in," she replied.   "If you leave before I wake up, I’m going to hurt you," she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Got it, Ginny needs her hug before her selfish beau goes off on errands," he summarized.

Ginny yawned again, prompting a yawn in reply from Harry.   She gave him a quick squeeze and then doused the lights.

"Goodnight, love," she said softly.

"Goodnight, Ginny," he replied.

~+~

Harry found Moony and Tonks in the parlour.   Tonks greeted him with an expansive wave.   "We’ve been looking for you — we were considering sending out that search party," she said with a musical laugh.

"I’ve already been found by one red headed search party," he replied grumpily.  

"Changing the subject — come the winter Holidays, what are your plans?" Moony asked.

"Well, Dumbledore says that I have to go to the Dursley’s for a weekend to make up for the suffering I’ve missed this August.   Other than that, I’m open.   Why, what do you have in mind?" he asked.

"Set aside Boxing Day," Tonks said with a broad smile.

"Why?" Harry asked.

Tonks extended her hand, showing off a ring on her left hand.   "Someone you love is getting married," she said.

"I thought Bill and Fleur were getting hitched in the spring," Harry said innocently.

Tonks threw a pillow at Harry.   "Not them, you juvenile prat!   Me!" she said, nodding her head at Moony.   "And him!"

Harry stood stock still, letting the news sink in.   "Wow," he said.   "Congratulations," he said, shaking Uncle Moony’s hand and kissing Tonks on the cheek.   "That’s amazing, that’s brilliant — that’s cool.   Where’s it going to be?" he asked.

"St. Simon’s" Moony replied.

"But the reception is at the Ministry of Magic’s formal ballroom," Tonks said proudly.   "I wanted it at the Leaky Cauldron, but Mum about blew a gasket on that one," she explained.

"So, who all knows?" Harry asked.

"Him, me, my Mum and Dad, Fr. Martin, the booking clerk at the Ministry, and now you," Tonks said with a grin.   "Oi!   Hey, Weasleys!   Lupin’s gonna make me an honest woman!"

"Dora!" Moony whinged.

"Gotcha," she said, landing a peck on his cheek.

Hermione came bursting from the kitchen.   "Did I hear what I thought I just heard?"

"I don’t know," Tonks said seriously.   "Are you given to hearing things?"

Hermione grabbed Tonks hand, staring at the ring, now glistening in the lamplight in the parlour.   "Oh my goodness," she exclaimed.   "How wonderful," she said, embracing Moony and then Tonks in turn.  

"Uncle Moony?" Harry asked "can I have a word with you?"

~+~

Breakfast was a fairly bleary event for Harry.   He hadn’t had a sound nights sleep since the events at Gringotts.   Mm’lau said he’d be back to normal in a day or so, but still, this endless wakefulness was getting old.   Studying the Weasley family clock he noted that Mister Weasley was "at work" (which was odd for a Saturday), Fred and George were "at the beach," Charlie was "you don’t want to know" while Percy was still listed as "in exile" and Bill was "at the Grocers."   Mrs. Weasley was humming a tune as she worked in the kitchen, a few words of the lyrics leaking out during the chorus.   She would look up at the clock, apparently checking on Ron’s status, which remained "asleep — in bed."

Harry extended his Farsight, watching with some amusement as a more bushy-haired than usual Hermione crept into Ron’s room, attired in dressing gown and fuzzy slippers.   Her first few attempts at waking Ron were without effect, so she finally resorted to taking his pillow from underneath his head and smacking him soundly.   He had a pretty good hunch at what was likely to happen next, so he diverted his attention elsewhere.   Moments later they were both sitting at the table with him, Ron at his side, Hermione across the table from them.

"You look terrible, Harry," Hermione said, sipping some tea.

"Thanks, I needed to hear that," Harry quipped.   "I should be sleeping normally within a day or so.   On the whole, I’m better than I was last summer," he said.

"That’s not saying a whole lot, mate," Ron said before shoving a forkful of sausage into his mouth.

Harry smirked.   "Ready for Quidditch?" he asked.

Ron pointed to his bulging cheek and held up one finger.   Two swallows and a gulp of coffee later he said, "I’ve drawn up a rough playbook for the first game and some practice schedules, but other than that, no, I’m totally unprepared," he said, looking pathetically at Hermione.

"I said I’d help you once I got the Prefect schedules tacked down," she snapped.

"Thanks," Ron replied, tucking back into his eggs.

Harry felt a touch on his ankle that became a feathery light circular stroking on the top of his foot.   Looking up, he saw that Hermione was buttering her toast, the picture of innocence.  

"Uh, Hermione?" he asked.

"Harry," she answered.

"Wrong foot," he said cryptically.

"Really?   I’ll have to be more careful," she said, spreading marmalade on the now nicely buttered toast.   The stroking stopped.   The dainty foot under the table moved to the right and resumed its actions.

Molly smirked and began to run water in the sink.

"Do you need help with the dishes, Mrs. Weasley?" Harry asked.

"No, Harry, dear.   I would appreciate it if you’d wake Ginny before breakfast is totally cold, or consumed," she said, glaring at her youngest son.

"I think I can do that," he said, heading towards the stairs.

Once he was safely out of earshot, Ron said, "watch the clock, a sickle says that he kisses her awake."

"Ron, I’ll do no such thing, Harry and Ginny are entitled to a little privacy, even here," Hermione answered tartly before draining her tea.   "On second thought, a sickle says they don’t."

"You’re on," he said, reaching for the coffeepot.

~+~

Life at the Weasley household had certain rhythms throughout the year.   Now, when the last batch of children was home, that rhythm seemed to be wake up, cook, clean, cook, clean, cook, clean, kiss Arthur good night and after an all too brief sleep, begin the process anew.   Molly was enjoying a good cup of tea before the next round of cooking began, this time for dinner.   She hadn’t had the chance to talk to Harry about the cash box surplus.   Given everything else going on in his life, she concluded that she should let this one slide, making a note to someday congratulate Lily on whatever she’d managed to instil in him during her all too brief tenure as his Mum.

She heard the fireplace ignite with an unfamiliar voice calling "Incoming mail for Molly," followed by a pair of clinks and the sound of the fireplace extinguishing.

That’s odd; I thought our Floo was blocked for Floo Mail.

 Wand drawn she moved towards the fireplace, wondering just what new mishap was waiting to spill into her already chaotic life.   Hermione picked up on her unease.

"Is there a problem, Mrs. Weasley?" she asked, looking up from her novel.

"I think not, Hermione, but if a Yeti takes off with me for the Orchard, do let Arthur know what I had planned for dinner," she said more nonchalantly than she truly felt.   Sitting on the hearth were two large glass cookie jars, one with an attached note that said "For Molly" the other with an identical note that said "For Albus."

Tracing a complex pattern in the air, Molly’s wand gave off an off-colour light that leapt from the tip of the wand to the two glass jars.   They both glowed for a moment, showing a sickly orange hue on the surface of the glass and then that light failed, leaving two very ordinary glass jars on her hearth.   Beyond the obligatory unbreakable charm on the glass, there was nothing magical about the packages; they were as safe as anything at the Burrow ever was safe.   She hoisted them under her arms and took them back to the kitchen table for further investigation.

In the proper light of the kitchen she could appreciate the details of the jars which were sealed with glass stoppers like apothecary jars, but had a multicoloured ribbons tied into bows around their necks, as if they were Christmas presents.   An envelope was tied to each ribbon, one displaying her own name, the other that of Albus Dumbledore.   The handwriting looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.   She carefully untied the ribbon on her own jar and opened the envelope.

Dear Molly,

Abelard is off again to the Pacific Rim for a series of client meetings, which means that I’ve lots to do and no time to do it.   He asked that I send you these jars, one for you and one for Harry’s headmaster.   Mum told me that you were most fond of the dried fruit mixture in your jar.   In case your memory needs jogging, it’s a combination of Red Flame raisins, Golden Muscat raisins and dried cherries.   I enjoy using this combination to spice various baked goods and desserts, but Mum distinctly recollects that you would eat this mixture straight out of the bin.   Enjoy.   Also enclosed is a new knob for Harry’s Passbox and two letters that Abelard dictated to me before he went into his study.   The knob is to be installed on the top of Harry’s Passbox; once it is properly sealed, it will make the necessary modifications to the box.   The letters are essentially duplicates as far as their substance.   Among the various ailments besieging Abelard, his arthritis bothers him the most.   The medicines that are effective for treating his joints also dulls his Vision.   He prefers to suffer and complain rather than treat the symptoms and force his retirement.   As he believes that letters must be handwritten, you will find them handwritten, in my hand.   In addition to factotum and bodyguard, I am now Abelard’s amenusis.   As this is not quite business correspondence, I’ve taken the liberty to add my own comments in parenthesis from time to time.   I only do this because you are almost family.

Fondest regards,

Jasmine Kadakia, JGS

My Dearest Molly,

My life of late has been rather dreary.   This spring I’d begun to consider retirement again, winding up my worldly affairs and living with the Greyfriars as an Oblate, but by summer, Dumbledore and duty called once again.   I found, however, that rather than being an odious task, I’ve had the pleasure to have a student under my roof once again.   That pleasure was compounded when I was able to see you again, and then compounded beyond measure when your daughter came to be a student at my house, albeit for a short duration.   As you know, I’ve never known the blessings of marriage and family, but I could not be more proud of Harry or Ginny if they were my own offspring.

When I proposed to engage the Snow Dragons to secure a means of protection for Harry, I did not foresee that your or yours would be crossing my path again this late in life.   Any sort of divination is foolishness when the magic of the Snow Dragons is introduced into the equation, so I don’t feel all that bad at being caught by surprise.   I have not attempted to foresee the future for either Harry or Ginny, given the fact that each now a powerful bit of dragon magic about them and both have ties to the Man of Darkness, any attempt to have a reliable vision, much less a decent interpretation of it, would be unlikely to succeed.

That being said, I can tell you a bit of what to expect with Harry and Ginny given my knowledge of them as people and my knowledge of the way of the Snow Dragons.  Ordinarily, I would be reluctant to discuss affairs of the heart, especially the hearts of others, but I believe that it is important that the adults who are responsible for Harry and Ginny while they are still in their minority know as much as possible of the context of their lives. They are truly bonded now — what exactly that will entail remains to be seen, but it is more than infatuation at work. Harry is infatuated with Ginny, however, which is a good thing at this point.   Among the Snow Dragons there is an odd, at least from a human perspective, distinction between intimacy and sexuality, which will flavour Harry and Ginny’s relationship.   The Snow Dragons are most loving and affectionate.   Bonded pairs will spend a great deal of time grooming one another throughout the day as part of their normal routine, but mating behaviour is undertaken only when necessary to replenish the numbers of the clan and sept.   While Harry and Ginny have the normal complement of drives and desires common to our kind, I do not believe that their bond will drive them to premature intimacy.   In fact, I believe that the opposite will be true.   As they grow to understand and appreciate their bond, they will live in the security that they have found their life mate.   Much of this is educated guesswork on my part, but thus far, my predictions as to the peculiar effects of this magic have been correct.

Now for the odd news: involuntary separation, say longer than a week in duration, will be most injurious to them now that they are bonded.   Prolonged separation will make them both physically ill.   This will not be an issue in the short term while they are both at school, but you, Arthur, Remus and Albus should make plans to accommodate this new facet of Harry and Ginny’s life by the time the next summer holiday occurs.   Likewise, the year that Ginny will be in school after Harry finishes will present unique problems and opportunities.   Among the Snow Dragons the usual remedy for this malady is mating.   The sickness that comes from separating bonded pairs is resolved by their physical coupling.   (You can’t believe how embarrassed he was to dictate that to me. -- JK) I predict an early marriage if the situation with Harry’s adversary can be resolved.

Now, on to more mundane topics: at the beginning of the summer I placed Harry under the mildest of apprentice pledges, which invoked a peculiar magic that accelerated his learning.   I have assessed his proficiency in a number of areas as of the end of the summer.   In Charms and Defence, he is performing well in excess of the N.E.W.T. level.   I expect that he will have a banner year in those subjects in the coming year, provided that he is not too bored in class to apply himself.   His performance in Potions is adequate for N.E.W.T. level study.   He has some difficulty with Transfiguration concepts beyond the O.W.L. level.   In light of his unexpected transfiguration into Dragon form at Gringotts, Minerva McGonagall tested his aptitude for Animagus transfiguration.   To my surprise, Harry tested negative in this area.   As you well know, Ginny tested positive in this area before the summer began and will be taking private tutoring from Ms. McGonagall this fall to supplement her other coursework.   Given her aptitude in that are of study, I suggest that you look for a good litter box before she returns for the Christmas Holiday, as her Animagus form is that of a Red Tabby cat.  

Harry and Ginny both show aptitude in Farsight and Foresight; Harry is amazingly adept at the former and spotty at the latter.   The power is there, but the control is lacking.   With Ginny, it is the reverse: her ability at Farsight is rudimentary, limited in distance and the amount of time she can perform that particular magical task; her aptitude with Foresight is nothing short of phenomenal.   My major regret at this point is that I’m not 50 years old, rather than a multiple of that number.   Ginny performed admirably under Jasmine’s tutelage (I’ll say she did, she was an amazingly fast learner and quite motivated - JK), learning Apparation, a broad variety of wandless magic and basic fundamentals of armed and unarmed combat (she is particularly skilful with a knife, a most ladylike skill - JK).   In the very likely event that I am not alive by the time Ginny finishes school, (ignore this last point, Abelard always believes that he is at death’s door — JK) I am making arrangements for a proper education for her, should she desire to learn how to harness the gifts that are so strong within her.

Occlumency and Legilimency are difficult subjects to assess (I am not proud of the ways that I tested Harry’s Occlumency - JK) but both Harry and Ginny have mastered the fundamentals of Occlumency beyond the point where I can be of any assistance, and will grow in their abilities in Legilimency as they have opportunity to practice and apply that skill.   They will find, however, that developing these gifts has its drawbacks.   The Legilimency employed by the Snow Dragons is somewhat different than that normally employed by magical mankind.   They will be uncomfortable in situations where they must be in the presence of a large number of human magical minds. (Harry mentioned to me that he’s already experienced this at his birthday party — he ran his Occlumency shield for most of the evening — JK)   Normal classes will be unobjectionable, but double classes and large assemblies, say the normal mealtime in the Great Hall, will put both of them on edge as they progress.   Their Head of House should give some consideration to allowing them to take some of their meals in private.

It was a delight to see you again after all these years, Molly.   I know your Christmas break will be full, but schedule permitting, I would be honoured to have you and your extended family visit me at my villa on New Year’s day.   If this is acceptable to you and yours, send word through Remus; he always knows how to get to me, or through Harry, once his Passbox is activated to include an Abelard door.

Very truly yours,

Abelard

Well, Molly thought to herself, putting the letter down in her lap.   Abelard has certainly not lost his knack for saying things that I never expected.   She pulled the lid off of her jar and grabbed a handful of the dried fruit, a broad smile breaking across her face as she chewed thoughtfully on the mixture.   Ah, bliss.   She tucked the letter into her apron pocket, holding the Passbox knob and screw in her hand.   She’d run the knob upstairs and begin working on dinner.

To her surprise, she heard music coming from Percy’s room.   Pushing the door open gingerly, she saw Harry’s clothes and belongings stacked in piles across every horizontal surface in the room as Ginny moved about the room, singing to the pop tune coming from Harry’s Muggle music box.

"What are you doing, Ginny?" Molly asked.

"What, Mum?" Ginny replied; a bit startled at first.

"Turn down the music, young lady!   Thank you.   Now, what are you doing?" she asked, suddenly annoyed.

"Packing Harry’s things," Ginny replied innocently.

Molly sputtered.   "These are his things, his private things, does he know that you’re doing this?" she asked.

"No," Ginny replied.   "What’s the problem, Mum?   If I don’t do this, Harry will have to be up all night packing, as he’s probably going to church tomorrow before the Hogwarts Express takes off at Noon.   If he’s up all night packing, I’m not going to have any time with him.   Besides, secrets take on a whole different meaning when you can read someone’s mind, Mum," Ginny explained.   She was a bit surprised when her mother enveloped her in a hug.

"What was that about?" Ginny asked when her Mum released her.

Molly took a deep breath and then sighed.   "I’d always hoped that Harry would see in you what I see in you.   Then I came to understand how truly wretched his life has been, and I thought that he would never love anyone.   After that I came to understand his destiny; that’s when he finally expressed an interest in my daughter," she said wistfully.

"Is this kinda like ‘be careful what you wish for, you might just get it’?" Ginny asked.

"Something like that, I’m sure," Molly replied.   She pulled the letter from her pocket.   "A report card from your summer tutor," she said.   Casting an experienced eye at the stacks of belongings, she pulled out her wand, tapping the piles and pointing at the open trunk.   The clothing rolled itself into tight rolls and flew into the trunk, packing themselves in neat, orderly rows.

"Oh, Mum," Ginny said, looking up from the letter, "show me that charm, please," she asked.

"You won’t be able to use it before you’re of age, Missy," Molly replied.

"Unless I do it wandlessly," Ginny replied with a grin.

Molly attempted to maintain her stern face, but broke into a fit of giggles.   "Unless you do it wandlessly, of course," she said, launching into an impromptu lecture on the theory and technique of the packing charm.   After that she stood silently while Ginny finished the letter.

"Is that accurate?" Molly asked.

"Pretty much.   I don’t know about the getting sick part, but as to the rest of it, yeah, it’s accurate," Ginny said, leaning up against the bookshelf, her fingers playing idly with the music box handle.

Molly placed the knob carefully on top of Harry’s Passbox.   "Remind me to tell Harry he’s getting a new door on his box," Molly said.   "Up for some quality time with your Mum?" she asked.

"Would that quality time happen to involve making dinner and discussing what Abelard thinks about my as-of-yet-theoretical love life?" Ginny replied.

"Might," Molly said with a wink.

"I wouldn’t miss it," Ginny said, turning off the music box.

~+~

Dinner was lasagne, green beans and yeast rolls with some sort of crisp for pudding.   Ginny was dividing the dough for the rolls into small balls and then dipping it in the wash (raw egg and water) before carefully placing the gooey balls into the greased pan.   When Molly usually made this recipe (which she could turn out in her sleep) it made six pans of rolls.   Tonight they were making just two pans.   Ginny paused as she put another roll in the pan, closing her eyes briefly, a beatific smile passing across her face.   "He’s coming home now, Mum," she said before she returned to dividing the dough.

Molly closed the oven door, breaking into a smile as she rubbed her hands on her apron.   The lasagne was done, the crisp was cooking, and everything was as it should be for an early dinner.   Arthur was in the shed, trying to figure out the mystery of the inner works of a Muggle baby monitor that he’d acquired after work.   Ron was down the road at the Waldron’s farm, performing his last afternoon of labour for the Muggle family.   Hermione, oddly enough, was not reading, or knitting, or studying or engaged in any of her normal pursuits, but instead was visiting Luna Lovegood in the village, a task she approached with some trepidation, given the odd nature of their quasi-friendship.

Harry Apparated into the kitchen with the quietest of pops, carrying the leather bag that he’d used last on his birthday.   "Hi, Mrs. Weasley.   Hey, Ginny," he said, taking a great sniff of the cooking smells filling the kitchen.   "Lasagne?   Smells great," he said while awkwardly holding his bag with one hand, stepping forward and wrapping the other around Ginny’s waist.

"Harry dear," Molly said pleasantly, "the ceiling would not collapse if I saw you give my daughter a kiss."

"No?" he asked.

"No," Ginny replied vehemently, "it wouldn’t."   This sparked a startled look from her mum.

Harry turned to face Ginny.   He held up his hand which was soon met by Ginny’s smaller hand.   The two teenagers closed their eyes simultaneously as their bond flared into action across this connection.   Ginny shuddered momentarily and then opened her eyes, a wan smile coming to her lips.   Harry bent down and placed the most gentle of kisses on her cheek before he broke the connection and wordlessly left the kitchen.   Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Bad aim?" Molly asked.

"More like a failure of nerve," she replied.  

"I can finish up the rolls, Ginny.   I think you’re done here," Molly said.

"Thanks, Mum," Ginny replied, wiping the flour off of her hands before taking her own apron off.   She walked with dignity out of the kitchen before scrambling up the stairs at full speed.   When she got to Harry’s room (in her mind it would never be Percy’s room again) she found him sitting on the bed, looking at his now stripped and packed room.

"What happened?" he asked.

"You got packed," she replied.

"I can see that," he said.

"Did I do the wrong thing, Harry?" Ginny asked, suddenly unsure whether or not this was a good idea.

"No, it’s just that, well, other than Tonks,  I’ve never had anyone do something like that for me before," he said, an odd twitching about his mouth.   "So, anyway, how’s your scar?" he said, pulling himself straight.

"Isn’t that what other people are supposed to ask you?" she parried.

"Yeah, kinda nice to be able to ask someone else that question," he said, catching her eyes with his own.

"It’s the colour of a new pair of jeans, dark blue, like the dragon who marked me," she said in a low, almost sultry voice.

"Well done."

"Yeah, it means that I’ll probably not nod off to sleep after dinner tonight," she said, her voice back in its normal register as she gingerly sat down on the bed beside him.

"Which means, in turn, that I might actually be able to get some sleep tonight.   I’ve almost got to the point that I’m willing to read Hogwarts, a History," he said with a smirk.

"Oh no, not that," she said dramatically.   "So how did it go?"

"I showed you, back in the kitchen," he said.

"Harry, that was just images and snippets of emotion.   I want you to tell me," she said.

"First stop was the solicitor’s office — I got into a row with Uncle Moony.   I wanted to change my will.   After a long song and dance, he agreed with me, which was convenient.   He’s my guardian and he had to approve the changes in my will, as I can’t sign it myself, because I’m underage.   He ended up changing his own will on the spot, which drug things out a bit longer than I expected.   Then on to Gringotts to pick up some money bags from my vault.   It seems that some ditzy girl left her money in my vault this week and never came back to retrieve it.   Then off to Diagon Alley to do some last minute shopping, including a purchase for said girl, then a quick bite to eat, then off to spend a couple of hours chatting with Fr. Martin, then home again," he said without stopping to pause or take a breath.

"I’ve never seen you do that before," she said.

"Do what?"

"Talk for a paragraph without taking a breath — I thought only Hermione and I did that," she said.   "You never gave me a chance to interrupt."

"How rude of me, I’m sorry," he said semi-seriously.

"What was the row about?" she asked.

"I wanted to change my will," he answered, as if that were the end of the story.

"Do I have to drag it all out of you one question at a time, dear boy?" she asked.

Harry sighed.   "I’m not used to this openness thing, Ginny.   It’s hard."   He ran his fingers through his hair before continuing.   "I changed my will, so if I die before you do, you inherit everything — it’s the only way that I can provide for you financially, as Wizarding law doesn’t recognize marking as conferring any change in legal status.   Don’t look at me like that, I’m not planning on dying anytime soon, but I’ve got to prepare for all eventualities.   Moony didn’t understand at first, and by the time we finished our row, he’d talked himself into doing the same thing to make sure that whatever he inherited from Sirius went to Tonks, rather than reverting to the Black Trust.   You heard about their engagement?"

Ginny nodded.   "All the best things happen when I’ve been asleep recently," she whinged.

"Yeah, right.   Regular drama festival we put on while sweet Ginny is napping," he said.   "Ow!   You don’t have to hit me!" he said, rubbing his arm.

"You deserved it," she said. "Go on."

"I got Hermione a Dyson’s bag — I’m not sure whether to give it to her now or make her wait until Christmas.   Then, on a whim, I picked up a jersey for you from a speciality shop.   I hope it’s the right size.   I’m rubbish at guessing sizes for anyone other than myself," he said, running his fingers through his hair.   Opening his own Dyson’s bag he pulled out a bulging money bag and placed it carefully onto her lap.   "Here’s Ginny’s Galleons," he said softly.

"Where’s Ginny’s present?" she asked.

"Oh, we’d like a present now, would we?"

"Give me my present, Harry," she said, clenching her teeth a bit to look fierce.   Harry ran his fingers over the back of her hand, deflating the faux anger.   "I don’t know whether or not I should hate it that you can do that to me, you know."

Harry pulled a brightly coloured bag from the satchel, plopping it on top of the money bag.   "Impressive wrapping job, eh?"

"You’re a bloke, I expect that," she said, pulling a petite rugby style jersey from the bag.   It was dark green in colour, with an outline of a blue dragon stitched on the back.   Turning the jersey over, he tapped it with his finger, causing letters to appear on the front.   "What’s G-O-T-B-W-L spell?" she asked.   Her nose wrinkled as she tried various combinations.

"As an acronym, it would be pronounced Gotbool, the w serving as an ōō sounding vowel," he said.

"What’s it stand for?" she asked, her eyes bright.

"Girl-of-the-boy-who-lived," he said with a small smile.

"Oh, Harry, I love it," she said, moving onto his lap to hug him.

"If I’d known you’d like it this much, I would have bought a variety of colours," he said with a broad smile.

"It’s not the shirt, silly, it’s knowing that you were thinking of me, of us, thinking of us having a future," she said.

"I told you already, I’m not ashamed of you,"

"So why wouldn’t you kiss me in front of Mum?"

"I dunno," he replied truthfully.   "I guess in part it’s because you’ve wanted things to be private, and I just didn’t want an audience for the first time we, uh, you know, kiss.   The rest of it is digging my heels in when someone’s mum is needling me.   I didn’t care for it when Monica was doing it any more than now when your mum is doing it."

"That’s fair," she replied.

"I did pick up some lip balm while I was out.   I hear the weather in Scotland is supposed to be murder on the lips this year," he said with a deadpan expression.

"One wouldn’t want to have chapped lips now," Ginny said in a friendly tone.

"Oh no, never," he replied.

"So how did it go with Fr. Martin?" she asked, moving off of his lap to the other side of the bed so she could watch his face as he talked.

"It went well.   I made my first confession, which was a milestone, I guess," he said.

"Did you have to go into a little closet and talk through a screen?" she asked seriously.

"Nah, I’m not much for cupboards," he said seriously.   "We talked in his office.   He was trying to argue with me about whether or not killing the Death Eaters was a sin or not," he said, his eyes flickering to the ground.

"It wasn’t   - they needed killing," Ginny said vehemently.

"Yeah, we discussed that too," he said sombrely.   "He finally agreed with me that it was a serious thing.   We prayed together.   I don’t know why, but I feel a lot better now.   I guess it worked," he said.   "He wants me to get confirmed."

"Remus wants to go to church; Fr. Martin wants you to get confirmed.   What do you want, Harry?" Ginny asked.

"I want to get confirmed too," he said.

"Why?   Help me understand, because I’m without a clue here," she said.

"I was baptized as an infant, based on my parents’ faith.   Being confirmed means that it’s my faith now too, not just a decision made by a couple of lovely dead people sixteen years ago," he explained.

"Then you could take communion, I suppose," she observed.

"Yeah, there’s that aspect too," he sighed.   "Uncle Moony says that there are ways to go to church at Hogwarts, but he’s trying to figure out how it will work nowadays."

"Let me know what you find out, okay?"

"Sure."

They both sat a little straighter when they felt the gossamer ward snap.  

"Are you two decent?" they heard Ron call up the stairwell.

"Pretty decent, why?   Another bet with Hermione?" Harry called back.

Ron harrumphed, but didn’t respond to the bait.   "It’s dinner time, wash up and come to the table," he called up the stairs.

"Thanks, Ron," Ginny called.

~+~

Dinner was typical of Weasley events; casual and chaotic.   Arthur peppered Harry and Hermione with questions about baby monitors.   Hermione regaled them with stories from her visit with Luna, while Ron pretty much said nothing while shovelling in lasagne and rolls.   Harry and Ginny watched the banter at the table, joining in from time to time.   Halfway through dinner Harry captured Ginny’s free hand from across the table; he spent the remainder of dinner eating with his left hand.   Arthur exchanged a knowing glance with Molly before their meal was interrupted by a Floo call from the Twins, who had to ask Molly how to remove a particularly steadfast stain caused by one of their more obscure potion ingredients.   Pudding was served after she returned to the table.

"Wonderful meal, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said sincerely.   "Can I help wash up?"

"No, Harry dear," Molly replied.   "I think that it’s Ron’s turn to wash up with Hermione," she replied.

"I could sell tickets to that," Harry said under his breath to Ginny as they walked into the parlour.

"What?" she asked innocently.

"Ron and Hermione in a bath tub, washing up," he replied.

"Oh, you!" she squealed, smacking him with a couch pillow.   "You are such a boy sometimes."

"Harry dear," Molly called, interrupting his rebuttal to Ginny.

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley?" Harry answered.

"Abelard sent a package that he wants delivered to Dumbledore.   I was wondering if you could take it to Hogwarts in your satchel," she asked.

"Sure thing," he replied.

"He also sent me a letter with a knob for your Passbox.   Perhaps Ginny could help you seal it tonight," she called over her shoulder after she deposited the glass jar of cookies in front of Harry.

"Sure, Mum," she replied sweetly.

"Do you get the feeling that you’re being sent to my room?" he asked once they made it up the stairs.

"Yeah, funny thing is that when I was growing up, that was the standard punishment — ‘Ginny, go to your room, and no reading’" she said in a fair replica of Molly’s angriest voice, arms akimbo, hands on hips.   "I don’t think this is punishment, though.   If it was, I’d have to figure out what I did so I could do it again.   ‘Ginny, go to Harry’s room and don’t come back until morning,’" she said, which set them both off on a laughing jag.

The Passbox was empty except for the Weasley door, which was lit.   Harry opened the door, extracting the letter from Abelard.   Using his knife as a screwdriver, he affixed the knob to the top of the box, the only flat surface other than the bottom of the box that didn’t already have a door.   Nothing happened.

"I guess we have to seal it," Harry said.

"You read the letter and I’ll get a pin from my room," Ginny said.

"What, aren’t you carrying a knife?" Harry asked.

Ginny smiled sweetly.   "Of course I’m carrying a knife, but we don’t need that much blood," she said before she ducked out the door.

Harry opened the folded letter, hearing Abelard’s precise, albeit wheezy diction in the cadences of the letter.   When he looked up, he saw Ginny watching him from the doorway, pin in one hand, wand in the other.

"You never told me," he said.

"Told you what?" she asked.

"That you’re an Animagus," he replied.

"I’m not an Animagus, not yet at least," she said quietly.   "Last term, just before Holiday, Professor McGonagall tested a few of the, uh, better students in her fourth year Transfiguration class.   The ones who tested positive were invited to take special tutoring from her starting next term.   I suppose I should have told you, but it never worked its way into the conversations we’ve had this summer.   Sometime this fall, though, you’re going to have to pick up a litter box," she said, suppressing a smile.

"What?" he asked.

"Harry Potter’s going to need a litter box for the adorable stray cat he’s going to befriend in Hogsmeade that’s going to start sleeping on his bed at night," she said in the tone one uses for explaining things to not particularly bright children.

"Oh," he said, understanding appearing in his face.   "Oh my."

"Do the Hopkirk Suppression charm while you’re entertaining those naughty fantasies," she commanded.   "I said ‘sleeping’ as in cat-nap, not ‘nights of wild debauchery.’"

"Right," he said, weaving the complicated charm that protected them from the sensors of the Underage Magic Office.   When that was completed, Ginny began to trace a pattern of runes on the knob on the top of Harry’s Passbox.   The knob flared with a blue-white light for an instant and then returned to its usual colour.   Ginny then looked over Harry’s hands, deciding upon the ring finger of his left hand.   With a brief murmur she cleansed his hand with the Aseptico charm and then pricked the pad of his finger, squeezing the tip until a bright red drop of blood appeared.  

"You know what to do," she said, nodding at the box.

Harry nodded, turning his hand over carefully to wipe the drop of blood off onto the knob.   The knob absorbed the blood and then began to pulse with a soft blue light.   A spot of light appeared on the box, cutting a line.   The light lingered for a moment while hinges appeared on the line, then the spot of light cut three more lines, duplicating the doors on the other facets of the box.   The knob continued to pulse until the box disappeared with a flash of light and then reappeared again.

"What was that?" Harry asked.

"Hermione says that’s what happens when the box clowns itself," Ginny answered.

"Clowns?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, that’s what she said," Ginny replied.

"I think she said ‘clones’ not ‘clowns’," Harry said with a chuckle.

"Whatever — the box makes a copy of itself wherever the companion to the knob is located — presumably somewhere at Abelard’s villa," she said.

"Hey," Harry said, looking out the window.   "Seeing as I don’t have to spend the evening packing, care for a walk?   Once the sun goes down, we should be able to see the stars nicely."

Ginny grinned.   "Sweet, simple, silly boy.   Why do you think I packed up all your belongings?   How about a fly in the orchard until dark and then go for a walk?   I left your jacket and broom in the wardrobe."

Not for the first time this summer, Harry felt slightly outmanoeuvred, but as it was the last day of the holiday, he didn’t mind.   "It’s a deal," he said, pulling his jacket and broom from the wardrobe.

~+~

The flying was brilliant.   Over the past few weeks, Ginny had learned how to harness the power and agility of her new broom.   They flew until dark, playing tag; follow the leader and taking turns doing Chaser/Keeper drills.   Ginny was able to score three of four attempts when Harry was playing Keeper.   Harry was certain that Ron could do a better job, but Ron was in the kitchen, with Hermione, making cinnamon buns for tomorrow’s breakfast.   After the sun went down, they flew for a while in the dark.   Harry spent a bit of time showing Ginny the finer points of using Farsight for night flying, which she mastered on the second go-through.  

"It’s time for that walk," Ginny said, balancing her broom on her shoulder while catching Harry’s hand.   There was a magic in feeling his warmth loom near, feeling his fingers twined through hers.   They weren’t in any particular hurry.   The spot by the river was indeed brilliant for stargazing.   Harry found a perch on a large rock, leaning back to watch the stars.   Ginny sat between his legs, leaning against his chest.   She lowered her shield to naught, finding with some surprise that Harry’s shield was already completely down.

You’re troubled, she thought.

Yeah, he replied, answering her thought with his own.   There’s a part of the prophecy that I never understood until now: ‘neither can live while the other survives.’

How’s that? She thought back, trying to still her own thoughts and feelings.

He’s out there, somewhere. I’ve got to stop him; I’ve got to kill him.   Until I do that, my life is on hold.   I’m alive, but I’m not living to the fullest.   I didn’t understand that in June, but now I do, he thought.

"So what changed?" she asked aloud.

"Having something to live for, I guess," he replied.

"And that would be?" she asked.

"Uh, Quidditch, definitely Quidditch.   Ow!   That hurt!" he exclaimed, rubbing his ribs.

"Serves you right," she said, grinning a Cheshire grin.   "What do you say we go in and check on the lovebirds in the kitchen?   The cinnamon buns may be done by now and if we look pathetic enough, they might give us one or two."

"Sounds like a plan.   Walk or fly?" he asked.

"Walk, I’m in no hurry."

~+~

The buns were cooling on a rack when they returned to The Burrow.   After much wheedling and begging, Hermione relented and they each had a warm bun with the beverage of their choice: Hermione and Harry had theirs with milk, Ron and Ginny drank pumpkin juice.   Ron challenged Harry to what he called the final chess match of the month.   Harry accepted.

"Not to sound disloyal or anything, but I’m going to bed," Ginny announced.   "Some things are inevitable."   She caught Harry’s hand as she rose to leave the kitchen, thinking across their bond, Love you, make sure I’m up for church, ok?

Harry squeezed her hand, nodding his head.   Ron set up the chessboard and they played fervently for the first two games.   Harry lost the first game and won the second.   Ron set up the chessboard for the third round, pausing before he placed the last pawn on the board.

"Harry, you’re going to face him soon, you know.   It might be this year, maybe next year at the latest," Ron said.   They both knew who he meant when Ron said ‘him.’

"Yeah, I think of that from time to time," Harry replied drolly.

"I know that you’d die for Ginny," Ron said sombrely.

"Yeah, I would, in a heartbeat," Harry said.

"I don’t want you to do that," Ron said.   "If she lives and you don’t, I don’t know that I could stand that.   Do him before he does you and get out with all your friends."

"What if I can’t do both?" he asked.

"Then do him and let your friends clean up behind you," Ron said as if he were planning his class schedule.   "You know we’re not going to let you go alone," he said.

"Yeah, I know.   I’m not wild about that, but short of putting you all in the hospital, I don’t think there’s much point in trying to keep you all out of it," Harry said, fiddling with his pawn.   "Is there any point to this third game?   You’re just going to smash me again."

"It’s good for your humility," Ron said.

"Yeah, right," Harry said, tipping his king over as Ron put his last pawn in place.    

The king took off his crown, waving it to Harry.   "Thank you good sir, I didn’t fancy another bruising battle with that beast," he said, pointing to the other side of the board.

Harry grinned.   "Goodnight, Ron."

"G’night, Harry — see you in the morning.

~+~

Harry and Ginny left early in the morning for the first service at St. Simons with Tonks and Lupin.   Upon their return, the Burrow was relatively quiet.   Ron was in the kitchen, drinking coffee, eating a cinnamon bun.  

"Hermione Flooed home with her stuff.   After Mum finishes fussing at you about eating breakfast, we’re going to Floo to the safe house and then take a taxi or something to King’s Cross," Ron said after washing down his bite of bun with a swig of coffee.

They ate a hurried second breakfast and then lugged their trunks to the fireplace.   Molly appeared and after a round of crushing hugs, she unzipped Harry’s Dyson bag and stuffed a picnic hamper into the larger-on-the-inside-than-the-outside bag.   "There, now I know that Ron won’t starve on the ride up to school," she said with a wink.

Tonks went into the Floo first, followed by Ron, Ginny, Harry and last of all, Remus Lupin.   "I’ll be back at dinnertime, Molly," he called as his heels disappeared into the flames.

The taxi at the safe house was actually a large passenger van with tinted windows.   "I wanted the limousine," Tonks said, changing herself for a moment into a matronly figure with pearls and furs, "but this was all that they had left in the Ministry motorpool," she said with a smile, transforming herself back into her customary jeans and t-shirt, complete with frosted spiked hair.  

The ride to King’s Cross was uneventful and silent, a rarity for travel with the Weasleys, but as Fred and George were not part of the entourage, it was not all that surprising.   Harry spotted a number of Aurors in the crowd on the Muggle side of the platform, and even more Aurors on the magical side after they’d crossed the barrier.   He found a compartment in the train and claimed it, with Ginny, for Ron and Hermione who went off to "set up" for the prefect’s meeting.

"Do you really think that they have anything to prepare?" Ginny asked?

"Nah, lip gloss research maybe," Harry said, not bothering to suppress the snigger that came with that thought.    Ginny snuggled into him on the bench, and shortly after the train began moving, was asleep, using his lap as a pillow.

Daphne Greengrass opened the door to their compartment, sticking her head in.

"Have either of you seen Malfoy?" she asked.   "The prefect’s meeting is about to start and I can’t find him anywhere."

Harry coughed.   "Uh, you might find him stuck to the outside of the train, next to the baggage car," he said, stifling a grin.

"Your handiwork?" she asked.

Harry nodded at the sleeping form beside him.   "No, hers," he replied.

"Urgh, I’m not going to have to clean those bogey things off of him, am I?" she asked.

"Not this time, but you will find that he doesn’t have eyebrows any more," he said.

"What happened?" Daphne asked pleasantly.

"He got singed," Harry said, not willing to elaborate that the fireworks were from Tk’lch who apparently had had enough of Draco after he had insulted Ginny and tried to trip her as they passed in the narrow aisle outside their compartment.

Daphne closed the door carefully.

Harry opened the Dyson’s bag with one hand, extracting an advanced Defence book that Tonks had given him on the ride to King’s Cross.   Some of the stuff in the first chapter looked very promising for the upcoming Defence Association syllabus, which he’d thought about a lot, but had never reduced to writing.   He soon was lost in his reading, absentmindedly stroking Ginny’s hair from time to time as she stirred.   He looked up when the door opened again.   It was Cho.

"So it’s true," she said, stepping halfway into the compartment.

"What’s true?" he asked.

"That the position of Harry’s girlfriend has been filled," Cho answered.

Harry smiled.   "Yeah, looks like it," he answered.

"I still want to talk to you," she said.   "Breakfast, tomorrow?"

"I’ll be there," Harry said.

"Harry?" Cho asked.

"Yeah?"

"Great choice.   Take care of her," Cho said, ducking back into the hallway and closing the door before he could reply.

"Thanks," he said.   "I’ll do my best."

+++++++++

Copyright © 2004 J Cornell — all rights reserved

Kokopelli20878@yahoo.com   - write to me, I write back.

Author’s Note:   For those lacking an English-Parseltongue/Parseltongue-English dictionary, the following notes are provided (pronunciations are approximated) :

"Lk’shs shashimo" (lock-sheesh sha-she-mo) is a formal declaration that translates into — "you are mine, I have chosen you."

The formal reply is "Lk’shn shashin," (lock-shane sha-sheen) which translates as "I am yours, you have chosen me."

"Ek’tch g’bh," (ech-tock goo-buy) is an imperative statement, "While you live, there shall be no other."

It’s not a bonding ritual per se, but the words reflect and shape the reality within.   The marking and the words together set off a very power series of changes within the magical makeup of the dragons.

+++++++++++

Well, it’s been a long, and at times, wild ride.   Thanks to Imogen who believed in me and my story when it got selected at the late, lamented Gryffindor Tower, and to Aibhinn, who suffered through being my Beta, collaborator and firewoman extraordinaire, putting out fires that I ignited from time to time and place to place.   Thanks to Mmusings and Felina, for duties official and unofficial, to Mr. Intel, Full Pensieve and AMulder, for the criticism, attention and feedback on all the iterations.

I will not be writing a year 6 story.   It’s taken me nearly two years to write a summer story, topping out in excess of 200,000 words.   I may write other stories, some of which will touch down in Harry’s 6th year, but for now, the story is done and I’m going to pay attention to things that I’ve more or less ignored during this time.   <update - the sequel to this story, Stories from Sixth Year, is currently archived exclusively at PhoenixSong.net>

 Please be advised that I’ve never asked for reviews, and I don’t intend to answer any more reviews left without a contact e-mail — life is short, and this is merely a hobby for me, not a cause.   I’ve joked that I can talk endlessly about Ginny’s breasts, but heavens forbid that I show my characters going to church or praying or thinking about God.   Apparently there’s more truth to that gibe than I thought.

I hope you’ve enjoyed my little story.   It’s been a pleasure to write.   And now, in closing, a verse from Larry Norman’s "Song for a Circle of Friends"

...and if this song does not make sense to you,

I hope His Spirit slips on through,

He loves you.

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