A/N: Finally the sequel is here! I’ve had this under my belt since May. I look forward to seeing what you all think, Happy Reading!
A/N2: As many of my faithful readers will remember, I dedicated The Girl Who Lived to my little sister Jo. I knew I wanted to dedicate this to someone and for a little while I wasn’t sure whom (I happen to know a lot of very wonderful people). That was until the answer came to me at the dinner table one night…
I would like to dedicate this work of fiction to my parents, who, much like Harry, have struggled with silly prejudices that were held against them. We don’t always get on because sometime their dreams for my life are different from my own but I have never ever doubted their love for me (despite what I may have said when I was getting my ears pierced!). They have always been sure to put our family before all else, even when this entailed difficult decisions, criticism for friends and family, and huge sacrifices on their part. We are stronger, prouder and more dedicated people for it. They are my personal Molly and Arthur Weasley (you have no idea how literally I mean!). So thank you, mum and dad, for giving me life along with the knowledge, skills and strength to take whatever it throws at me. Thank you for my bratty siblings who keep me on my toes and make life a whole lot more interesting. I wouldn’t be without you.
A dark haired boy looked out over the scene from his bedroom window with delight. All that could be seen for miles around were green hills and pale blue sky. He knew that this wasn’t really the view from his window but then again this wasn’t really a window. He knew this because the wall, which this window was in the middle of, was actually the wall separating his house from the one next door and also because the house, number 12 Grimmauld Place, was standing in the heart of London. But then again this was no ordinary house and he was no ordinary boy.
He noticed that in the last year he had changed a lot, his shoulders had broadened, his jaw had squared, and the skin on his hands had toughened. Unfortunately his height was remaining the same; he often wished he could be a little bit taller but alas, he was doomed to be an average height. He pushed his hand through his messy black hair and glanced in the newly hung mirror that was just to the left of the window. His unruly tresses were the same as ever: sticking up in all directions. His black-rimmed glasses still circled the emerald eyes that he had inherited from his mother. The biggest difference showed in his clothes, for once they actually fitted him. For the first time they were his own clothes, bought for him, to fit him. He had filled out a bit and was looking rather stocky these days, which was what came from hearty meals and very little exercise. Every time he looked in the mirror he looked more and more like his father and he wasn’t about to complain about that.
Harry James Potter was no average sixteen year old; he was a wizard, who had been attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for six long years. All his favourite memories involved the school and the time he spent there. In his first year he became the youngest seeker in a century for his House Quidditch team and rescued the Philosopher’s stone from the clutches of Lord Voldemort. Voldemort was the darkest wizard for a century and was the man who had stolen Harry’s family from him. In a six-month killing spree he had then executed Andrew and Jane Potter, Harold and Eliza Potter, and James and Lily Potter, Harry’s parents. All that was now left of the Potter family were himself and his elder cousin Elizabeth.
During the course of his second year at Hogwarts Harry had stopped Voldemort once again and rescued Ginny Weasley from the Basilisk that lay within a secret chamber that was hidden in the castle. That had been the beginning of their friendship that had now blossomed in to love.
His third year of education had brought the surprise that he had a godfather, Sirius Black, who had been his father’s best friend and previously owned the house he now stood in. Harry had helped him escape the wizard gaol Azkaban and a Dementor’s kiss. That year had been full of revelations; he had learned to conjure a Patronus, something that many adult wizards couldn’t do. What made this achievement all the more special was the fact that the form his Patronus took was that of a stag “ his father’s secret animal form.
At the beginning of his forth year he had ended up in the Tri-Wizard Tournament, a dangerous Wizarding competition. Despite being the youngest contender he had gone on to win the cup but because of this achievement and some evil trickery on the part of an imposter, he was forced to duel with Voldemort and witnessed the death of his fellow student Cedric Diggory.
His fifth year was the only time he hadn’t enjoyed life at school, but that was due to the fact the Ministry of Magic were interfering with the running of the establishment. He had been banned from playing Quidditch, had to serve countless detentions with the awful Professor Umbridge, and on top of that he was forced in to extra lessons with his least favourite teacher; Professor Snape. It was at the end of this year that Harry had lost Sirius; he was killed during a battle at the Ministry of Magic while Harry had escaped thanks to the help of Professor Dumbledore. At the beginning of that summer Harry had thought that his life was on a downhill slope and was convinced that he would never be happy again. That was until he met Elizabeth; she had been pushed in to an Italian education and only returned to Britain after Sirius’s death. It was during his sixth year that Harry had found out that she was his cousin and it felt as though a match had been struck in the dark room that was his heart. She had returned smiles and laughter to his life and was taking care of him like a brother; just a couple of months ago she had almost died for him. She had pulled him away from a desolate summer in Privet Drive to a comfortable and enjoyable time at Grimmauld Place.
Harry was having the best summer of his life. It was unquestionable and without doubt.
Every minute since their return to number twelve had been filled with activity, several things were happening at once. The student members of the household were hurried in to unpacking their trunks, Mrs. Weasley was preparing for an Order meeting, Charlie wanted to get started on planning his wedding straightaway and Fred and George were trying to foist some of their latest inventions on the newly arrived victims. “My dearest little Gin-Gin, my favourite little sister,” George said in a sugary voice as he wrapped an arm around his sister’s shoulders and guided her towards the sitting room where there was a vast array of sweets laid out on the table.
“I’m your only sister,” Ginny answered sceptically.
“Duly noted. How would you like to do your big brothers a little favor?” Fred responded.
“That would depend on what it involved.” She was looking at the sweet covered table suspiciously. Everyone had filed into the room behind her; all of them interested to see just what it was that the twins were up to now.
“Not much. You’ve just got to pick a sweet and eat it,” George told her.
“And what will those sweets do to me?”
“Nothing…much,” Fred answered.
“No, I won’t do it.” Ginny folded her arms across her chest pointedly.
“Fine! How about you, Ron? You’ll help us out, won’t you?” George turned on his next prey.
“Forget it,” Ron said, taking a step backwards so that he stood on Charlie’s foot.
“Watch it!” Charlie hissed painfully.
“But, Ron, you love to eat.” Fred manically waved a sweet under the boy’s nose.
“Not when it’ll do something nasty to me.” Ron screwed his face up and drew away from the sweet’s alluring smell.
“You eat mum’s chicken pie and that does something nasty to everyone,” George argued. “Don’t suppose there’s any chance of you taking one is there, Hermione?”
“Absolutely not,” she replied sternly.
“You lot are a bunch of wet blankets, you’ll battle Voldemort at the drop of a hat but ask you to try a little sweet and you want to run from the room screaming. What’s wrong with you? Give it here, George, I’ll try it.” Ellie put her hand out for the pink cellophane of the confection. She unwrapped it and popped the ball of chocolate that fell on to her hand in her mouth. She chewed it thoughtfully and after a minute she began to giggle. They all watched with breathless anticipation as her giggling got stronger and became a deep throaty chuckle; and she then began to double over with laughter. Tears trickled down her face as she collapsed on to the floor and actually started to roll about. The whole time she was laughing her head off manically and suddenly she stopped. “What are you going to call it?” she asked as Charlie helped her up off the floor.
“The Tickling Truffle. What d’you think?” Fred stood poised with a notepad, he had scribbled continuously while she had been laughing.
“Brilliant, I haven’t laughed so much in years. The chocolate was delicious too.” She enthusiastically licked her lips.
“Professor Potter, you’re a trooper.” George and his twin immediately stood to attention and saluted Ellie.
After the scrumptious dinner, put on by Dobby and Winky, Ellie and Charlie disappeared to the drawing room to talk about the wedding some more. The four young adults remained at the kitchen table, Ron and Harry were playing Exploding Snap and the girls were chatting persistently about the upcoming nuptials.
“Ellie was talking about having the wedding in the church at Hogwarts,” Ginny reliably informed Hermione.
“Well, I suppose it makes sense, her family’s history is steeped in the castle,” Hermione added.
“There’s a church at Hogwarts?” Harry was only half listening to the conversation they were having, to play Exploding snap you had to have your wits about you.
“It’s on the north side of the castle. If you’d read Hogwarts a History then you’d know that,” Hermione complained.
“You know, I’m really starting to think that we should read that,” he said to Ron.
“Finally,” Hermione sighed in exasperation.
“Nah, why read it when we have the talking version?” Ron threw his thumb in Hermione’s direction. “Besides it always annoys Hermione that we don’t know everything about the castle.”
“Good point,” Harry agreed.
“You two can be so infuriating,” Hermione snapped.
“Look at it this way, we care about you enough to spend time thinking of ways to annoy you,” Harry tried to lighten the mood. “Tell me more about this church.”
“It was built a year or two after the castle when Godric Gryffindor decided to marry his mistress. Three of the four founders are buried in the graveyard that sits alongside it,” Hermione enlightened them. It never ceased to amaze him how much she actually knew; she was a veritable fountain of knowledge.
“How come we’ve never seen it?” Ron quizzed her.
“Not everything is as it seems at Hogwarts. I thought you might have learned that by now. It’s hidden from view and only appears when you have need of it,” she admonished.
“What date does she have in mind?” Harry asked.
“They can’t settle, Charlie wants it as soon as possible but Ellie’s opting for something later on in the summer,” Ginny muttered as she snuggled into his shoulder.
“Ten galleons says that Charlie wins,” said Ron cheerily.
“I’ll take that bet, ten galleons on Ellie getting her way,” Harry retorted.
“Prepare to lose your gold, four eyes!” Ron yelled triumphantly.
The next morning after a whole two minutes home Ron and Hermione were arguing loudly. “That’s not fair, Ron. I spent the whole of last summer here and Christmas!” Hermione protested.
“But your parents came here for Christmas so that doesn’t count!” he replied.
“Ron, I haven’t been home in over a year!”
“So what neither have I? In case you’ve forgotten my home doesn’t exist anymore!” he shouted at her.
“Your home is where your family are and that’s here so don’t you dare pretend that you know what it feels like!” she scolded. “It’s only two weeks. Why are you making such a fuss?”
“Because I don’t want you to go!”
“You are being unbelievably selfish, Ronald. I don’t understand why you’re being like this!” Hermione was close to tears.
“I told you that I don’t want you to go!” Ron said a tad more fiercely than he intended.
“Well, you’re not the one making the decision. If my parents want me to go on holiday with them then I will. I’m not going to put my whole life aside so that you can get on with yours. This isn’t just about what you want it’s about what I want and I want to go to Italy with my parents!”
“FINE! Do what ever you want. It’s not like I care or anything!” Ron stormed towards the door.
“Ronald Weasley, if you leave this room now don’t you dare bother trying to come back. If you go now that’s it, we’re finished,” Hermione called. Ron paused for a second, looked around at her sorrowfully and left, slamming the door behind him. As the door clicked shut Hermione burst into tears, she leaned over the table where she and Ron had first kissed and sobbed on to the letter that lay open in front of her.
“Hermione?” Ginny said tentatively. She had opened the library door just enough to get the top half of her head through the gap. “What happened?” she asked purely out of politeness. She had heard the argument between her brother and his girlfriend from Harry’s room where the pair had been canoodling away from the scrutiny of her family.
“Ron’s being his usual pig-headed self,” she sniffed.
“What were you arguing about?” Ginny asked gently as she sat beside her friend.
“My parents sent me a letter this morning asking me to go on holiday to Italy with them. They made a point of mentioning how little time I spent with them last summer and I just feel terrible. It’s not that I don’t want to go home but I feel like this is home now. My parents don’t really understand… I just don’t fit in with their world anymore. This is my world and they aren’t able to share it,” she cried.
“Tell them about it. You can’t go on feeling like this, Hermione. You’re seventeen, you’re an adult, and you’ve got to start thinking about your life and where you want to go. You need to decide what you want to do and who you want to do it with.”
“I think Ron has made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t want to do anything with me,” she sulked.
“Ron is just being his typical self, if he doesn’t get his own way he goes in a strop. He’ll snap out of it as soon as he realizes how much he misses you,” Ginny told her authoritatively. “Go to Italy. Talk to your mum and dad and when you get back give that brother of mine a good smack around the head, I find that usually works quite well,” she smirked.
“Thank you, Ginny.” Hermione smiled as she gave the younger girl a hug.
“You’re welcome. Now if you don’t mind I need to find Harry.”
“I don’t mind at all. Go and have fun.” Hermione tucked her parent’s letter back inside its envelope and smiled encouragingly at Ginny. The red head left the library and went in search of her boyfriend.
“You need to talk to Ron,” Ginny told Harry as she re-entered his bedroom.
“What’s he done now?” he asked.
“He and Hermione have broken up,” she said as she sat down on his lap.
“WHAT?” He was so startled that he almost threw her from her cozy position.
“They were arguing about her taking a holiday. He doesn’t want her to go and he’s being so stubborn about it. She told him if he left the room that they were finished and he left.” She shrugged her shoulders.
“Why does your brother have to be such a dim-witted numbskull?”
“Probably for the same reason you sometimes do!” she protested.
“Right. Sorry.” He shifted her weight slightly so that she slid off his knees and on to the bed. “I suppose that I need to go find Ron before he actually talks himself in to breaking up with Hermione on a more permanent basis.”
He went down the hall and knocked on the door that had ‘Ron’ emblazoned on it in bright orange. “What?” Ron’s moody voice called from within.
“Why are you arguing with Hermione?” he asked, entering the room cautiously.
“None of your business,” his red-haired friend snapped grumpily.
“Actually it is,” Harry tried not to snap back.
“How do you figure that?”
“What would you do if Ginny and I had just argued like you and Hermione?”
“Probably tell you to get over yourself and stop being a prat,” he mumbled irritatingly.
“Precisely, and Hermione is just about the closest thing that I have to a sister and that gives me the right to tell you to get over yourself and stop being a prat. She just wants to go on holiday what’s the big deal?”
“The big deal? I thought you of all people would understand!” Ron yelled at him.
“Understand what exactly?” he replied, matching Ron’s decibels.
“She wants to go away!”
“It’s just a holiday. She’ll be gone two weeks at the most.” There were just no words for Harry’s state of confusion.
“But it’s not safe! She’ll be in the middle of nowhere with no wizards or witches to help if they go after her! There’s no protection in Italy, they could kill her at any time!” Ron cried hoarsely.
“So that’s what’s wrong with you? You’re worried that she won’t be safe and she could get hurt? Why didn’t you just tell Hermione that?” he asked disbelievingly.
“She would just say that I was being stupid…”
“You’d rather she thought that you were being selfish? Ron, she’s downstairs thinking that you’re a selfish, pig-headed git who doesn’t love her!”
“I do love her but I don’t want her to leave.”
“So go and tell her that. You won’t settle properly till you do.” Harry stomped from the room leaving Ron to think his predicament over.
“Ah, Harry, just the young squire we were looking for,” said the sickly sweet voice of Fred Weasley. Harry froze in his tracks. His bedroom door was only about two feet away from him if he moved quickly he could dash inside and pretend that he hadn’t heard them.
“Come with us.” Before he had even had a chance to move an inch he had a twin on either side of him steering him towards the stairs. They kept a firm grip on Harry’s arms as they marched him down the stairs and into their room. It had originally been two rooms but they had apparently knocked down the adjoining wall to make one cavernous space. It was full of cauldrons with things bubbling away in them and the walls were adorned with complex diagrams that Harry could make neither head nor tail of. A big flashing banner hung along one wall with the Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes logo flashing on it. They pushed him into a chair by the fire and seated themselves opposite him; there was a long silence as they surveyed him incredulously.
“There’s something we need to talk about, Harry, it’s very important,” George said seriously.
“A matter of life or death, your life or death that is,” Fred continued with such a grave look on his face that Harry was genuinely fearful.
“We heard you at the station yesterday,” George waited for Harry to say something and when he didn’t Fred carried on.
“We overheard you making a certain admission to our dear little Ginny…” Fred’s hand twitched ever so slightly as though he wanted to reach deep in to Harry’s throat and pull the words out of him.
“You used a certain L word…” George prompted.
“You mean I told her that I loved her?” There was more conviction in Harry’s voice than there was in his chest.
“Precisely. Now George and I believe that love is a very strong word and it should be used with extreme care…”
“A nasty accident could befall someone who said it but didn’t mean it.” George leaned forward in his chair.
“Well that’s all right then because I did mean it,” Harry said boldly.
“That’s what worries us,” Fred said victoriously.
“What exactly are your intentions, Mr. Potter?” his twin asked suspiciously.
“What do you mean?” Harry asked.
“Well are you intending to love and leave our little Gin-Gin or should we look out our top hats?” Fred inquired.
“Well you’re going to need your top hats anyway when Charlie gets married but I would leave them somewhere you can find them quickly just in case you need them again soon,” Harry said defiantly as he rose from his seat and left the room.
“Well, well, I think we under-estimated him, Fred,” George said disbelievingly. Neither would have thought the Boy Who Lived could have pulled that out of the hat.
A/N: I hope that has satisfied those reading on from The Girl Who Lived. The next chapter is called… Freeing Neville. Hopefully it will be with you soon.