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Right Under His Nose
Chapter Twelve: Welcome Home
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A/N:
Hello, dear readers. I'm back.
Yes, I've heard your pleas and cries.
Yes, I know it's been a long time.
Yes, I know that you've been burning to know what happens next.
You all flatter me too much. And I wish that I could say something other than "I'm sorry" to such wonderful readers and reviewers, but... I can't.
So, here it is... my humble apology and dear wish that you'll keep being the wonderful people that you are and tell me how you like the progression of the story. This chapter is all over the place... I'm not really sure how it came to be. I had a plan for it, but then it was late and I had the writing bug and... I produced this. Hope you like it.
Ron just found out about Harry and Ginny in the last chapter, in case you don't remember. Hermione has known since way back in chapter four. The four of them are on the Hogwarts Express, waiting to go to their Christmas hols.
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For the remainder of the train ride, Harry sat next to Ginny, holding her hand and occasionally touching his knee to hers. They chatted easily with Ron and Hermione, discussing what they were going to do once they got to the Burrow and what Hermione was going to do with her parents in Spain. Ron looked a little downcast whenever Hermione mentioned her plans, and Harry saw him staring at their entwined hands with a look of longing. Harry knew he himself would miss Hermione as well… but with Ginny so close beside him… it was hard to concentrate on anything else. Not when she would glance over at him every once in awhile and casually find ways to get closer without Ron noticing. Harry knew Hermione was going to join them the day after Boxing Day, so he couldn’t muster up too many sad feelings. There was too much joy bubbling up inside him.
Ron approved.
He approved.
He knew, and he still approved. He had caught them, he knew they had lied to him (something Harry still felt awful about), and he still didn’t mind. He was happy for them.
One brother down, five to go.
Harry didn’t want to think about Ginny’s brothers if he didn’t have to. Right now, there was only Ginny, Ron, and Hermione. Every so often, Harry would run his thumb over Ginny’s knuckles and enjoy the feeling of her small hand in his. Whenever he did it, she would turn her head just the slightest fraction and give him a small smile, biting her lip a little. He would smile back and wish that he could kiss her but figured it probably wasn’t a good idea, what with Ron and Hermione sitting across from them and all.
Harry tried to listen to Hermione, but he could only take so much information about the sites in Santiago de Compostela and the Roman churches in Oviedo. However, even Hermione couldn’t talk forever, and the rest of the trip passed in relative quiet. Odd, thought Harry, normally these trips are eventful.
He remembered the train trip home last summer where the idea of being more than Ginny’s friend was first planted into his head. But he had had other things on his mind.
Turning his head again, he sought Ginny’s eyes but realized they were closed. Her mouth had fallen slightly open and she was breathing deeply. Harry smiled. She was beautiful.
She was the one who had pulled him through.
Harry kept his eyes on the sleeping Ginny but let his mind wander. Yes, she had gotten him through. The summer before his sixth year had been one of the worst he could remember. But then, one day, he had gotten a note…
Dear Harry,
We’re coming to get you. Don’t send Pig back and tell us no, because we’re already on our way. You can’t stop us, and you won’t be able to make us leave without you. So don’t even try. Hermione’s just read this over my shoulder and says that I’m a horribly awful prat of a best friend. Oh well. I may be horrible, awful, and a prat, but I’m your best friend and we’re rescuing you. Get packing.
See you soon,
Ron
Harry chuckled, remembering his shock and indignation at receiving such a letter. They had come, however”all three of them. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. They showed up on his doorstep, ignoring furious shouts from Uncle Vernon, rude jeers from Dudley, and stubborn splutters from Harry. Both Hermione and Ginny had flung their arms around him, telling him that they were so glad to see him. After Ron had grasped his hand, the three of them stood in a row facing Harry and told him (in no uncertain terms) that he was coming with them and there was nothing he could do about it.
“Harry, don’t you see? We don’t want to hurt you… we want to help you. Oh, God, Harry, you’re a mess.”
Hermione looked away, tears in her eyes. Harry avoided Ron’s gaze and instead found himself looking at Ginny.
“Please, Harry… let us take care of you.”
And take care of him they had. The rest of that day blurred together. He and Ron had packed quickly, talking about nothing in particular. Harry had dragged his trunk down the stairs and faced a somewhat placated Aunt Petunia. (Uncle Vernon had gone into the living room and turned the television up to the maximum volume.) She simply nodded when he told her he was going away and even gave him half a smile. This was significant progress in their relationship and shocked Harry as much as anything. Harry and the others left the house and walked (with an invisible escort) to Mrs. Figg’s house, where they could use Floo Powder.
“One of the few advantages to being a Squib,” she had whispered joyfully. “The Ministry has overlooked my house on the Floo Registering Network. They can’t monitor my fire.”
Much to Harry’s dismay, they were forced to go to Grimmauld Place. His arrival this year, however, was quite different from his arrival the year before. He had wanted to retreat into a silent bedroom, maybe visit Buckbeak for awhile, but his friends had refused.
“You’re not going through this alone,” Hermione had stated simply, with Ron nodding his agreement. “You’ll just blame yourself for something that’s not your fault, and we won’t have it. You deserve to be happy, Harry.”
That night, Harry cried for the first time. He felt ashamed for a minute or so, but then the deluge of emotion overtook him and he was lost. Why, why, why Sirius, why now, it was all his fault, it was all his fault, it didn’t have to end this way, it wasn’t supposed to end this way…
Mrs. Weasley had come to him that night and held him like a mother would. His sobs had wracked his body with surprising force. Gradually, however, they subsided and he remained in her warm, loving embrace. Harry only had one other memory of being held like this and it was with the same person, just after the Triwizard Tournament had ended.
Just after Cedric had died.
And then he was crying again, this time for his parents, his parents, and Cedric, whose death was his fault as well. Harry didn’t know how long he had cried, only that it was too long and that he would never do it again.
Harry had slept for more than a few fitful hours for the first time all summer. He had come down the stairs after lunchtime, silently hoping no one would mention the previous night. No one did. In fact, they barely seemed to notice Harry at all, except when Mrs. Weasley looked up upon Harry’s entrance into Grimmauld Place’s kitchen.
“Oh, good. We could use another set of hands. Here, Harry, dear, address these for me, would you?” Harry looked at his hands. In them was a list of addresses and a bundle of envelopes.
“Er… what’s all this about?”
Ron looked up from the kitchen table, a sour expression on his face. “Bill’s wedding,” he muttered with ill-concealed disgust. “Mum’s been fretting over it for weeks now.”
“Wait a minute, Bill’s”Bill’s wedding?”
“That’s right, chaps,” said Bill, suddenly entering the kitchen. “Now get moving. We’ve only got””
“Eight more days until you’re no longer a bachelor,” chorused the table.
“Right,” said Bill, grinning. “You lot are great to do this for me. I’ve got to run.”
Mrs. Weasley spoke to Bill warningly, with a stirring spoon in her hand. “Don’t you keep Fleur out too late. I want to have a word with her about flowers for the ceremony before the day is over.”
“All right, Mum,” said Bill, but he rolled his eyes at the table. Ginny and Hermione giggled.
Harry stood completely still, gobsmacked by this new information.
“Bill’s getting married? To Fleur? Fleur Delacour?”
“The very same,” said Hermione, with a smirk in Ron’s direction.
“Apparently she was a big fan of her “private English lessons,” Ginny said with a giggle.
Harry had attended the wedding of Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour at the Burrow just over a week later. It was there that he learned Remus was to become his new guardian. It was there that he learned Ron and Hermione had become a couple.
It was there that he finally understood that everything was going to be all right.
Oh, thoughts of Voldemort and the prophecy still scared him sometimes (not that he ever admitted it). But at Bill’s wedding, surrounded by so much love and joy, Harry was suddenly confused as to why he spent so much of his time in such a bad mood. Being angry was so much more taxing than being happy.
Most luckily, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny held the same opinion. They refused to let Harry be alone for long periods during the day. Ron was always available for a joke; Hermione was always on hand for a nice discussion. Ginny, of course, held her sharp tongue at the ready in case his mood ever dared to slip back into surly and selfish again.
They had changed his life, that summer. He wasn’t sure if he had ever thanked them…
A shrill whistle brought Harry back to the present with a start. The train had stopped moving; students were starting to pass by the compartment door on their way out to the platform. His jolt of surprise was echoed in Ginny, who drew in a quick breath and opened her eyes.
“Are we at King’s Cross?” she mumbled, rubbing at her eyes with an awkward left hand, seeing as her right one was currently entwined with Harry’s. He let go of it, eyeing Ron and Hermione. Their eyes, however, were on one another. They looked to be having a private conversation with only their eyes. Which, Harry considered with a smile, they probably were.
“Yes, we’re at King’s Cross,” he answered. His voice felt rough after not having used it for the past few hours.
“Well, then, let’s go.”
***
“Mum! Bill, Charlie! Fred, George! We’re home!”
Ron’s voice rang throughout the kitchen in the Burrow. Harry stepped inside, watching Ginny run to the window to meet Errol and Mr. Weasley go around to turn on the lights. Harry caught Ron’s eye and, indicating himself and Ginny, shook his head slightly. Ron nodded in understanding.
“Oh, my goodness!”
Mrs. Weasley stood in the doorway to the kitchen with an apron over her dress and a tremendous smile on her face. She lifted her hands in the air, gesturing them all to come inside.
“Oh, goodness, you’re here, you’re all here… you’ve arrived so quickly, I wasn’t expecting you for at least half an hour!” Mrs. Weasley flicked her wand toward the stove and Harry watched as the flame underneath a pot grew low. He swept his eyes over the kitchen of the Burrow and nearly sighed in relief. It was exactly as he had remembered.
The Burrow was very nearly sacred to Harry. It defined home in a way that Privet Drive never could. The absurdly clean, straight, and narrow Privet Drive seemed like a doll’s house when compared to the tumbledown comfort of the Burrow. It didn’t matter that the Burrow was only held up by charms and other magic. To Harry, it was the most wonderful place on Earth (besides Hogwarts, that was).
Grinning, he watched as Mrs. Weasley came forward and hugged each member of their party. Ron’s ears went pink when she whispered something in his ear, so Harry could only assume that she was talking about Hermione. She gave Ron a final kiss on the forehead (she had to go up on her tiptoes to do it) and moved on.
“Oh, Ginny, darling,” murmured Mrs. Weasley, stroking Ginny’s hair while she engulfed her daughter in a hug.
“Hey, Mum,” Ginny said, laughter in her voice.
“Oh, my baby girl… my darling baby girl…”
Harry knew Ginny was sensitive to being called a baby but was glad when she didn’t say anything to potentially muss up her reunion with her mother. Mrs. Weasley gave Ginny a kiss on the forehead like she had for Ron (only she didn’t have to reach nearly so far this time) and moved on to Harry.
“Harry, dear,” she said. Harry allowed her to grasp him close to her and closed his eyes, reveling in the feeling. Her arms tightened around him one final time and she pulled away.
“Right,” said Ron, clapping his hands together. “Dinner.”
Mrs. Weasley smiled. “Just wait a few minutes, Ron, I need to see to something with your father.” Mr. Weasley stood and followed Mrs. Weasley out of the kitchen.
“Honestly, Ron, can’t you think of anything except food?” Harry turned quickly and grinned when he saw Bill, Charlie,
Fred, and George standing in the doorway. All four of them were sweaty, flushed, and filthy. They had probably been playing Quidditch.
“Yes,” said Ron, with an injured look on his face. “And hello to you, too.”
Bill strode forward. “Hello, Ron,” he said, trying to reach up and ruffle Ron’s hair. Ron, however, was nearly taller than Bill now, and jerked away with a “Geroff, Bill.”
“Oh, look,” said Charlie, joining Bill. “Ron’s too old for us to say hello to him the proper way. So sorry,” he said, grinning. “Guess I’ll just have to say hello to my other sibling.” Charlie turned to Ginny and swept her up in a hug. “Hey, Gin-Gin,” he said, and Ginny made a face.
“Don’t call me that, Charlie””
“What’s that you say? What was it? Oh, you love your nicknames? Well why didn’t you just say so, I’ve got plenty more””
“So do we,” chorused the twins together.
“Ginger””
“Ginger muffin””
“Ginger pie””
“Ginnysweet””
“Stop! Cut it out!” Ginny protested, attempting to shove Charlie away. Bill took his place and whirled Ginny off the ground, placing her over his shoulder and parading around the kitchen. Charlie, Fred, George, and Ron stood behind Bill, shooting nicknames at Ginny. Unsure of what to do, Harry hung back and watched as Ginny’s face grew redder and redder.
“Ginner””
“Put me down, Bill””
“Firehead””
“Stop it””
“Sweet tea””
“Oh, honestly, Fred””
“Sweet pea””
“George, no one calls me that””
“Punkin””
“Oh, shut it, Ron””
“Sweet thing””
“Put me down! ””
“My darling baby girl”” said George in ridiculous falsetto, mimicking Mrs. Weasley. Ginny’s brothers collapsed into laughter, Bill included, and Ginny seized her opportunity. She wrenched herself off Bill’s back, twisting his arm in the process.
“Ow, Ginny””
“I” told” you ” to” put” me” down,” said Ginny, pausing with each word to punch one of her brothers on the shoulder. Bill ended up with three punches for what Harry could only assume was good measure.
“Geez, Ginny””
“All right, we’ll stop””
“We’ll stop””
“Good,” said Ginny simply. She began to leave the kitchen but paused and threw a look over her shoulder. “Oh, and I’ll need someone to bring my trunk up the stairs.” With those words and a smirk, Ginny disappeared.
“Good Lord,” said Charlie when Ginny had finally left. “She’s strong.”
“At least you’re not in school with her,” said Ron darkly. “You’re only subjected to her abuse during hols. I have it all year round.”
“Oh, stop whinging, Ron,” said Charlie, coming forward to shake Harry’s hand. “Harry, how do you do? Sorry about the whole Ginny thing.”
Harry shook Charlie’s hand and said “Don’t worry about it. It was funny.”
Bill was next, then the twins. “Harry,” said George enticingly, “come up to our room later on. We’ve got something new we’re working on””
“Prototype,” whispered Fred.
“” and we want our top financial investor to see it first hand.”
“All right,” said Harry with a grin.
Fred and George broke into identical evil grins that he had seen more than a few times at Hogwarts and Harry laughed. “What is it?”
“Well…” George turned to Fred, considering. “I suppose there’s nothing wrong with telling him now.”
“Yeah,” said Fred. “I had wanted to tell Bill and Charlie about it, too.”
“Tell me about what?” asked Charlie, who had been punching Ron affectionately on the shoulder while Ron flushed.
“Our latest invention,” said George with an even wider grin.
“Another one?”
“Oh, yes, and this one will have quite a large selling audience.”
“You mean other than every other student at Hogwarts?” said Bill with raised eyebrows. Charlie and Ron laughed.
“Yes.” Fred rubbed his hands together and faced his brothers with obvious glee. “Every single brother and father will have to want this at some point in their sister’s or daughter’s life.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Harry.
“A boyfriend repellant,” said George in a quiet voice.
“A boyfriend repellant?”
“A boyfriend repellant.”
“Excellent,” said the three brothers together. Harry didn’t speak. He was too busy pondering possibilities of where this conversation could lead and not liking any of them.
Don’t ask, don’t tell, Potter. Keep your mouth shut.
“Tell us about it,” said Ron in an excited whisper, glancing towards the stairs in case Ginny suddenly appeared.
“Well, we really can’t talk about it much””
“Just that it involves smell””
“And taste””
“And a lot of murtlap essence.”
“Murtlap essence?”
Fred shrugged. “It did the trick.”
“Well, good,” said Bill with finality. “All we need to do no is give that to every boy at Hogwarts and we’ll be set.”
At these words, a prickling feeling started to creep into Harry’s arms and chest. He shot a glance at Ron, but Ron was still looking excitedly at Fred and George.
“That’s where Ron comes in,” said George. “Who is it that Ginny’s dating now?”
Harry’s eyes grew very wide and his heart started pounding.
Come on, Ron, don’t say anything… please don’t tell them…
“A bloke in our year,” said Ron, with his eyes on Harry. Harry let out a huge breath of relief.
“Well, all you have to do is slip some in his morning pumpkin juice, and he’ll instantly become extremely unattractive to Ginny.”
“Isn’t that a bit… unfair?” Harry asked quietly. When all four brothers turned to face him with indignant looks on their faces, his courage bucked up a little. “It is unfair. Ginny didn’t mess around with your love lives, why should you mess around in hers?”
“We’re not messing around””
“We’re protecting her.”
“Teenage boys are creeps.”
“And none of them are good enough for our Gin-Gin.”
“Don’t you think you’d better let Ginny decide that?” asked Harry, ignoring Ron’s warning glance. He was starting to get angry. He might not be good enough for Ginny (who could be?), but he certainly wasn’t a creep.
A strange look crossed over Bill’s face. “Harry… you don’t… like her… do you?”
Harry spluttered…
So much for keeping it a secret.
… but was saved by Mrs. Weasley, who came barreling into the kitchen just as each of Ginny’s brothers turned to face him. She stood in the middle of the room, her hands on her hips.
“Boys!”
Each of them jumped, even Harry, who had witnessed her entrance.
“What do you think you are doing? We have supper to prepare, dishes to cook, things to do, and you’re sitting around doing nothing? Have you even washed?”
The boys scrambled to their feet, even Bill and Charlie, who were grown men.
“Sorry, Mum.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Weasley.”
“Do you need help?”
“What can we do?”
Eyes sparkling, Mrs. Weasley addressed each of them. “Bill, Charlie, silverware. George, plates. Fred, glasses. Ron, napkins.” The Weasleys all sprang into action. “And for heavens sake!” burst Mrs. Weasley, “wash your hands!”
“Yes, Mum,” the five of them said together.
“And that leaves the cooking to me,” said Mrs. Weasley to herself. She turned to go to the stove. Harry found himself standing in the middle of a whirlwind of activity with no assignment.
“Er… Mrs. Weasley?”
She faced him with a kind smile, one hand stirring soup and the other grabbing for the faucet. “Yes, Harry, dear?”
“What can I do?” asked Harry, reaching over Mrs. Weasley’s groping hand and turning on the tap for her.
“Oh, you don’t have to help with anything””
“But I want to.”
She considered him for a moment, then smiled. “Well… I suppose if you’re dying for something to do…”
Say that Ginny needs her trunk. Say “Take Ginny’s trunk up the stairs.”
“Ginny does need her trunk in her bedroom, but I supposed one of the boys could just levitate it””
“Oh, no, Mrs. Weasley, I’ll do it. They’re busy,” said Harry quickly, fighting back a huge smile. A warm feeling very much like the one he had felt on the train was starting to envelop him again.
“All right, dear. Ginny’s room is on the first floor, second door on the left.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Weasley,” said Harry, leaving the kitchen with a huge grin on his face. Ginny’s trunk sat just outside the door, and Harry managed to heave it inside.
Sweet Merlin, what is she carrying in here? Bricks?
Harry was very glad that he just had to go up one flight of stairs, because he wasn’t sure if he could have carried Ginny’s trunk much longer. He came to a halt outside Ginny’s room and paused before knocking, mostly to catch his breath. A small sign told him that this was indeed the door to “Ginevra’s Room.”
Harry knocked. “Ginny? You there?”
“Harry?” Her voice was muffled.
“Yeah,” he answered back, his hand on the doorknob. “Can I come in””
“Stop!” she cried. Harry heard frantic shuffling behind the door.
“Ginny,” he said, starting to worry, “are you all right?”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine, I’m just… changing my clothes.”
Impossible images, fantastic images, images that Harry only thought about very late at night, suddenly raced through his head without warning. “Oh,” he said in a somewhat strangled voice, trying very hard to think of anything but Ginny’s unclothed figure on the other side of the door.
Quidditch. Bludgers. Snitches. Madam Hooch. Professor Sprout.
“Yeah,” said Ginny uncomfortably.
Professor McGonagall. Dumbledore.
“Well, I’ve got your trunk””
Snape.
Harry wrinkled his nose in disgust. He was sufficiently distracted now. “I’ve got your trunk out here for you. I’ll just… leave it, shall I?”
“All right.”
“Well… see you.”
Harry took off down the stairs, trying and failing not to dwell on Ginny’s image in his brain.
***
A/N: Bit of an anticlimactic ending, I know. My apologies.
Two quick notes:
My English friend informed me that what we call the first floor in America is called the ground floor in England. So when Mrs. Weasley says Ginny's room is on the first floor, she really means the second floor. Or something like that. :)
The nickname "Ginnysweet" comes from Alchemilla's The Test of Time. Go read it. It's at the Sugarquill.
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