Ginny Potter and the Boy Who Lived, chapter 6

[rumpelsnorcack]

Title: Ginny Potter and The Boy Who Lived, Chapter Five
Characters/Pairing: Harry/Ginny
Word Count: 2,245
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance, Angst, General
Summary: Sequel to Ginny Weasley and The Boy Who Lived, detailing her life after the battle and up to the epilogue.
A/N:  Many many thanks, as usual, to lorelaisquared for writing with me and laughing in all the right places, and to whirl_gig for making me add detail like it's going out of fashion.  You ladies are, as always, a wonderful support.

 

Chapter 6: Christmas Cheer

 

The time until the Christmas holiday flew past almost in the blink of an eye.  I studied hard, played quidditch harder and spent hours on the floo to Harry.  Seriously, I think we should have had shares in the floo connection company, we used it that often.  Now, I’m sure that wasn’t normally allowable for students, but because Harry was involved the staff seemed to look the other way.  I do know it bothered the other students whose access was so much more restricted that we got preferential treatment, and the mutterings about my gold-digging behaviour never really went away.  I didn’t care though; I took shameless advantage of this one good payoff from him being ‘the Chosen One’ – we had enough crap to deal with, so I felt justified in doing this.  At least that’s what I told myself every time I saw the sour faces of my house mates as I knelt at the fireplace.

 

In between my long talks with Harry, I increasingly found my days planned out for me.  Hermione had scheduled her entire year, it seemed, and had dragged me kicking and screaming along with her.  I mutinied when she tried to tie me to only one quidditch session a week, and she eventually relented.  I was able to be on the broom almost as often as I could have wished.  NEWT studies were very hard, much harder than I’d ever have imagined, even after the disastrous teaching we had last year.  I was OK with all the normal subjects (Charms, Transfiguration, History of Magic etc) even though I’d missed several months at the end of last year.  I managed to ditch Muggle Studies, but Defense Against the Dark Arts was really intense.  The new teacher, a dry old woman who had been dragged out of retirement for that year, didn’t care that we had basically not been taught anything in the last year and seemed to be trying to cram two years’ worth of work into the first half of this one.

 

I found myself wishing a hundred times that Harry was teaching us again.  He, at least, understood where we were coming from and explained things in a student-friendly way.  Still, although it was hard it wasn’t impossible and unlike Hermione I didn’t care about getting top marks.  It would be enough for me if I passed well enough to get a decent job if my quidditch ambitions fell through.  Hermione, on the other hand, looked constantly stressed and worried and on the rare occasions she allowed me to take her books off her and make her relax she looked lost and incomplete.

 

In all this time, I had little communication with home.  I still hadn’t quite forgiven Mum for that howler and so any letters I sent them were always very factual and to the point.  In return, Mum tried to be her usual self but I could sense her reluctance to ‘deal with’ me in print.  I was sure there was a lecture in store for me, and I dreaded the return home for Christmas even though it would mean seeing Harry again.   Harry had been a little more forthcoming about his ‘discussion’ with Mum and an even more squirm-worthy one that Dad had put him through, and it had become perfectly clear why he had been so hands off in Hogsmeade that day.  They had threatened all sorts of dire consequences if we ended up in the media again.  If they could be like that with him, I shuddered to think what I was in store for.  I had half-expected that Mum would turn up at one of the Hogsmeade weekends as well as Harry, but it seemed she was saving everything for the holiday.

 

I stepped off the train expecting to see Harry waiting for me, but instead I saw George and Ron (who was craning his neck awkwardly looking for Hermione, who was still bustling around with her things on the train).  I swallowed as I looked at George’s face; he wasn’t his usual bantering self and that did not bode well for a fun holiday.  For the first time, I wondered what it must have been like for Harry to be confronted by a whole raft of protective Weasley brothers as well as my parents. 

 

‘Hi George,’ I said brightly.  ‘How’s things?’

 

‘Not too bad, little sis.  Mum’s got your boyfriend on house arrest, but other than that it’s all pretty normal.’

 

‘Great.  This is sure to be a pleasant reunion,’ I muttered.

 

‘What was that, sis?  Do I hear a tone of moral outrage there?  I’m not sure you’re entitled to moral outrage.’  He smirked at me as I opened my mouth to protest, but I could tell that he was mostly teasing.  ‘The press love you guys and the juicy life you lead.’

 

‘Merlin!  Are you saying there’s been more of that rubbish?  Is that why Mum’s got her claws into Harry today?’

 

‘I don’t know that it’s all rubbish.  The articles seem pretty convincing.  The ones with the charming pictures of you in your bathrobe with standy-up hair are particularly entertaining.  I didn’t know it was possible to get boys into the girls’ dormitories at Hogwarts.’

 

‘Merlin’s bloody beard!  Harry’s been nowhere near my dormitory and you know it, you prat.  And I don’t know why you’re so concerned, either.  You were all for it on my birthday.

 

‘That was before I, along with the rest of world, knew it was true.’

 

‘You stinking hypocrite!  Like you’re pure as the driven snow yourself.’

 

We continued the friendly bickering the whole way back to the Burrow, with George getting in enough of his barbs in for me to know exactly what his thoughts were on me and Harry while still being reasonably low-key about it.  I figured Mum would be a whole other story.

 

The first person I saw when I got home was Harry, who was pacing around outside in the snow waiting for us.  I gave him a quick hug, which was all I seemed to be permitted before we were whisked inside and herded into the kitchen with Mum and Dad, while everyone else was banished to the Living Room.  I sighed.  I had hoped for time to sort my thoughts out before the inquisition began.

 

‘Alright, you two.  Harry’s heard all this before, but we think you need to know our thoughts here, Ginny.’

 

‘I think I got the message from that howler, Mum.  It was very clear.’  I had gone into stubborn mode, and the tone of my voice reflected that.  I was in no mood to be lectured yet again by my parents for something they had no business interfering in.

 

‘Ginny,’ said Dad in a gentle voice.  ‘You’ve got to understand something.  Whether you like it or not, Harry is a very famous wizard.  There will be stories, lots of them, for years to come, and if you two keep this up, you will be involved, too.’

 

I glared at him.  ‘If we do?  If?  You think this is some fly-by-night thing, don’t you?  That we’re going to break up, don’t you?  Or maybe that’s what you want.’  I was getting almost incoherent in my indignation, and slammed my lips shut before I said anything too terrible.

 

‘That’s not what I said, Ginny.  You need to be aware of what your life will be like, that’s all I’m saying.  You’ll have to be better than best to avoid nasty slander, and that’s a hard life to live.’

 

‘You’re not kidding,’ muttered Harry.  Dad smiled at him kindly and I squeezed his hand.

 

‘And you need to understand that I don’t care.  There will be stories no matter what we do, so while I’m not going to be stupid about it, I’m not changing the way I live just to pander to them.’

 

I turned to look at Harry, who was shuffling in his seat with and uncomfortable expression on his face.  Looking into his eyes I felt suddenly calm, even during this prickly conversation.  I held his gaze for several seconds and the tension in his face relaxed, too.  I looked over at Mum.  She was looking at us with an almost unreadable expression on her face, but there was a tenderness in her eyes and I knew that she was almost converted.  Maybe Hermione had been right about Mum’s motives for the howler.  She was uncharacteristically quiet for this conversation, allowing Dad to do the honours, and I knew that the fight was already won; it was just a matter of how long it would take for the white flags to come out.

 

‘Look, I’m seventeen.  I’m of age so there’s nothing wrong with being with my boyfriend.  The press will always say what they want to say, but we know the truth.’

 

Mum sighed, and looked over at Dad, who nodded at her.  ‘We know that, dears.  It’s just that we don’t want you to be hurt ... either of you.’

 

‘I won’t hurt her, you know that, right?’  Harry’s voice held a slight hint of anxiety along with the defiance he was trying to portray, and I squeezed his hand again. 

 

 

 

 

 

‘It’s not you we’re worried about, Harry.  It’s what being with you means.  These articles ...’

 

‘Are crap and you know it, Mum,’ I interrupted her, ‘it won’t matter who Harry chooses or if he chooses no-one.  His life is going to be under the spotlight.  That’s no reason to make him suffer just because you want to protect me.  I don’t need protection.  I can look after myself, and this is making me happy.  Isn’t that what’s important?’

 

‘Of course it is,’ Dad said.  ‘And we’re not trying to stop you seeing each other.  Just ... be careful and discreet, OK?’

 

‘What do you mean?’

 

‘Well, with everyone here for the holiday we all need to double up.  So you two will have to be in together.’

 

I gaped at him.  ‘But, Hermione ...’

 

‘Will be in with Ron.’  Mum chuckled as she took in our faces.  ‘Oh, yes.  This is not the only one of these talks we’ll be conducting today.’

 

‘But ... I don’t understand.’

 

‘No use shutting the cage door after the kneazle’s escaped, is it?’  She pursed her lips, and it was obvious to me that she wasn’t as happy about this as Dad seemed to be.

 

She left the kitchen with Dad in her wake, leaving Harry and I sitting at the table, still stunned.

 

Hours later I was making a huge pile of paper chain decorations for Christmas when Mum came and sat down with me.  Everyone else was talking together in the main part of the lounge and Harry had challenged Ron to a game of chess.  Mum and I were on the edges, watching what was happening.  She picked up some paper pieces and began twisting them together.  Doing this by hand was traditional to our family, since it allowed the underage family members to join in on some of the Christmas preparations.  Even though it was now unnecessary, I still enjoyed the physicality of twisting the paper by hand.

 

‘Are you OK, Ginny?’ Mum asked after we’d been there for a few minutes.

 

‘I’m fine, Mum.  It’s been difficult, but I’m surviving.’

 

‘You know this was all your father’s idea, don’t you?’

 

I smiled at her, sensing her intense discomfort over this, and said, ‘I guessed.’

 

‘I’m not happy about it, Ginny, but he reminded me that you’re of age and we don’t want to drive you out of our home.  I just ... I’d rather you waited until you graduated, at least.  I don’t want you to throw your life away over some boy.’

 

I bristled.  ‘He’s not some boy, Mum.  And you know I won’t even be seeing him that much ‘til I finish school.  Just this holiday and a couple of Hogsmeade visits and that’s it.’

 

‘I know.  But the articles, Ginny,’ she pressed.  ‘They’re so interested in him, and they are so rude about you.’

 

‘Mum, I have to ask you something,’ I said, abruptly changing the subject.  ‘Why did you send me that howler?’  I kept my eyes fixed on the chains I was making, not wanting to show Mum the depth of the betrayal I had felt over that letter.

 

‘I hadn’t had time to think about it, love.  Before I talked to Harry I wanted to believe it was all lies, but I knew somehow that it wasn’t, and it hurt that you’d been laid open to the sorts of accusations in that article.  I just wanted to protect you and I knew I couldn’t.  So I did the only thing I could think of.’

 

‘You squashed all the fake rumours in the story.’  My voice was flat as I thought about how she had done it, and how it had hurt.

 

‘You worked it out?’

 

‘Hermione did, but it still hurt Mum.  Until then, no-one knew if any of it was true or not.  After that, they all knew, and it was awful.’  My voice cracked a little on the last word.  Mum dropped the chains she was working on and pulled me to her in a quick hug.

 

‘I know and I’m sorry.  I didn’t really think it through.  I don’t like the idea that you’re growing up, I guess, but your father made me see that I had to let go.  You’re of age and we can’t protect you any longer.  Besides, if we keep you apart that will just give that Skeeter woman more ammunition.’  The smile she directed at me was almost cheeky, and my heart lightened a little. 

 

‘Thanks, Mum.  And I promise I will try not to do anything that will rile the press up anymore.  It’s not like we want to live so much in the spotlight, it’s just  -- it just seems to happen.’

 

Despite the parental permissions we’d received, neither Harry nor I was all that comfortable with the idea of sleeping together.  It was one thing to want to shag him spontaneously, but quite another to consciously do it with the weight of familial expectation hanging over us.  That first night I stared at him for a few wordless moments before grabbing my pyjamas and dashing to the bathroom to get changed.  When I got back to the room we were just as awkward, so he left and went to the bathroom himself while I sat down on the bed to wait.  When he got back, we stared at each other for a bit longer, tense and ill at ease.  We hadn’t been together in the same place for more than a day since I went back to school, and to be thrown into this situation felt so odd; we still didn’t really know each other, still hadn’t had much time to talk.  I thought Mum might have had some inkling of how we would feel and that was why she had given in with such good grace to the arrangement.  I really had no idea how to approach Harry, and he was clearly as awkward as I was.  In the end, I sighed in frustration, took his hand and pulled him down to sit next to me.

 

‘Why don’t we just sleep, Harry?  This has been a weird day, and ... and I just want to sleep.’

 

He relaxed visibly, and nodded.  We climbed into the bed, and curled up together, the way we used to when sharing a couch in the common room.  The sigh I let out this time was contented.  No matter how weird it was to have my parents aware of us together in one bed after all Mum’s outraged comments on the subject, it still felt right to be here with Harry.

 

‘Aha! Caught in the act!’  George shouted as he burst through the door next morning;  Bill and Charlie close behind him, both grinning madly.

 

I peered up at him through gritty eyes, while Harry sat up, startled.  ‘Think again, prat,’ I said to George.  ‘And what’d you have to wake us up at the crack of dawn for anyway?’

 

‘Because we wanted to interrupt your Christmas shag, but you are disappointing to say the least.’

 

‘Still fully clothed and all,’ added Charlie.  ‘Guess I win the bet then.’

 

‘Get out of here, if you know what’s good for you, you gits!  Go bother someone else.’

 

‘Oh, don’t worry, we will.’  George grinned evilly as they all backed out the door.

 

Christmas Day itself was really weird.  That sense of double vision I’d had when returning to Hogwarts also hit me that day.  On one hand it was the same sort of joyful, boisterous celebration that we’d always had.  People laughed and cracked jokes.  George played pranks, and after his morning visit a very red-faced Ron and Hermione emerged from Ron’s room.  But underneath it all was the gaping hole that no-one could ignore.  George finally summed it up in a heartbreaking tribute to his twin before we sat down to dinner.  Instead of making us feel maudlin, though, he conjured Fred in words so that it felt like he was sharing the time with us.  It wasn’t as hard as I had expected it to be and I got a feeling that one day, with time, we would heal as a family.

 

During the rest of that holiday Harry and I may have taken advantage of sharing quarters once or twice, but it certainly wasn’t the shagathon that some of our life’s chroniclers would have it.  Sharing my room gave us more time to talk than we’d ever had before, and by the end of that short week we had a far more stable foundation for our relationship than we’d attained through all the snogging sessions over the summer, or in the floo conversations we’d had up ‘til now. 

 

I missed him fiercely as we headed off back to school, of course, but was happier than I had been last time, because I was far more secure in what we had together.  The more time I spent with him, the more being together felt ‘right’ and the less important all the outside things became.

chapter five   chapter seven