Molly couldn’t sleep. Tossing and turning fitfully, she tried to find a comfortable position. It didn’t work.
Fed up with the intermittent shifting of the mattress, Arthur turned to her.
“What is it, dear?” he asked. “Why can’t you sleep?”
Lying on her back, staring at the darkness above her, she exhaled forcibly. “It’s the children,” she confessed.
Arthur wisely refrained from laughing. Trust his wife to refer still to their adult offspring as ‘children’.
“What about them?” he asked, trying hard not to sound belligerent. “Charlie’s just sent an owl, and we had a good dinner with Bill and Fleur tonight. Didn’t you enjoy chatting with Fleur about her pregnancy?”
“Well, yes ...” Molly admitted. “And I am pleased that her symptoms have lessened so much. It’s just ...” She sighed.
“Out with it, luv,” Arthur prodded. “I do have to get up in the “”
“I think he’s the only one who’ll ever settle down,” Molly suddenly blurted out. “Bill, I mean. Charlie’s just finished with his girlfriend. Again,” she added bitterly. “They never seem to last past a few months.”
Arthur opened his mouth to respond, but now that Molly was talking, she wasn’t ready to stop yet. “Percy’s change of heart hasn’t resulted in any new girlfriends and George ... My poor little George ...”
Again, Arthur bit back a laugh at the image of ‘little’ George towering over his mother, but Molly wasn’t finished. “He’s only got his work in his life since Fred “” She broke off abruptly and Arthur, his throat suddenly tight, patted her shoulder.
He cleared his throat. “I know, dear,” he murmured. “It’ll work out, though, I’m sure of it. Percy’s met those new girls at the Ministry. Something might come of that. And Charlie’s a good bloke, I reckon it’s just his line of work that frightens off the young women. It’s simply a matter of finding one who isn’t fussed by it. As for George ... well, he’s always been rather ...” He searched for the right word, “ ... enthusiastic about dating. I’m sure, as soon as his feelings are less ... raw, he’ll start seeing someone. Besides, that’s only the older lads ...” He couldn’t help grinning in the dark. It wasn’t often he had information his wife didn’t; he was enjoying it.
Molly immediately turned on her side to face him. “You know something,” she accused. “Tell me what it is,” she demanded, and Arthur could hear the mixture of anxiety and excitement in her voice.
“Well,” he began, “I saw Ron writing a letter before he left for school.”
“A letter? Ron was?”
Arthur nodded. “To Mr. Granger. From what I gathered, he was seeking permission from Hermione’s parents “”
“To marry Hermione?” Molly cut in, slightly breathless. “But that’s wonderful! She’s such a lovely girl. Have they mentioned a date at all? What did he say?”
“He didn’t. Not really,” Arthur admitted. “Don’t think he’s got quite that far, dear. He plans to ask her only at Christmas.”
He strove to keep the smugness out of his tone as he added, “They’ll probably want to plan things with Harry and Ginny anyway.”
“What did you say?” Molly sat straight up in the bed. “You don’t mean “”
Arthur nodded, and pushed himself into a sitting position as well, to avoid straining his neck if he looked up at her. “Harry asked me what I thought about “”
“Marrying my baby?” Molly practically shrieked.
“Now, Molly ...” Arthur chided.
“Don’t start,” she said. ‘I know she’s of age now, but to me she’ll always be my baby! And she’s so young. Too young to marry!”
“Not that much younger than we were, dear,” Arthur reminded her quietly.
“We weren’t still at school, though!” Molly pointed out, not yet ready to give in. “Did you at least mention that to “”
“How daft do you think me? I spoke to the boy about that and he assured me no wedding would take place until after they’d both finished at Hogwarts.” He peered at her closely. “That’s all it is though, I hope. You’re not against Harry as a son-in-law are you?”
“Don’t be silly, Arthur. Of course not. You know full well I love the boy like one of my own already. It’s just all so sudden. They’re growing up so fast.”
Bemused, Arthur shook his head. “A minute ago you were upset at the thought of them not growing up and settling down!”
He marvelled that Molly actually looked at a loss for a full six seconds before she shot back, “And why didn’t you tell me this earlier? You’ve known for at least two weeks that our two youngest will be engaged and you didn’t let me know straight off?”
Arthur tread carefully; he still wanted to be able to sleep tonight. “Well, dear,” he began, in what he hoped was a soothing voice, “they didn’t really want anyone to know, I don’t think. I just happened to go to Ron’s room as he was writing. And Harry sought me out. A Muggle tradition of some sort.” He had a flash of inspiration. “He’d have known how much Ginny would want to tell you once he’s asked her ...”
She looked mollified at this and Arthur leaned in to give her a kiss, hoping to change the subject. “It’s rather late, let’s lay back down now,” he suggested. When they had, he murmured, “And Mollywobbles ...” He whispered something in her ear that made her giggle.
“You’re a charmer, you are,” she told him, but she was smiling before she pulled him closer.
Harry leapt from his bed early, despite a very late end to the previous day. Now that he and Ginny had made it up, he didn’t want to waste any of the time he could spend with her.
Washed and dressed in record time, he bounded down the stairs from the dormitory to find Ginny already waiting for him in the common room, broad grin splitting her face.
Luna (who had been sharing one of the female Gryffindor dormitories with Ginny and Hermione so as not to be alone) gave him a wave from one of the chairs. She smiled at the two of them kissing good morning.
“Things should be much more comfortable around the castle now that you two are together again,” she observed to no one in particular.
Harry and Ginny shared a grin but didn’t reply; sometimes it was just easier to let her remarks go by without comment.
They left Gryffindor tower hand in hand and headed down to the ground level of the castle. As it was much too early for breakfast to be served, they directed their feet towards the main doors, only to find the way blocked by a gambolling Peeves. The poltergeist was sitting cross-legged in mid-air, his back to them, flipping over and over as he sang loudly a decidedly off-colour song. Sensing Harry and Ginny’s approach, he gleefully informed them, “Not going this way today, ickle students!”
Ginny sighed and rolled her eyes, but Harry simply said firmly, “Move aside, please, Peeves.”
The prankster immediately stopped spinning and swooped to face them, bobbing in place. “Wee Potter!” he cried. He glanced at Ginny. “And his squeeze!” Peeves brought his hands together in a rather suggestive gesture before cackling madly at his own rapier wit. But with another swoop, and a single rude noise, he was gone: soaring down the right-most passage off the Entrance Hall, starting up his song again.
Ginny stared after him for a few moments before turning to Harry in disbelief. “Well, he must think very highly of you!”
Harry nodded. “That was downright respectful coming from him.” He took her hand again and indicated the doors. “Shall we?”
They strolled companionably through them and on into the grounds, intending to return shortly in time to eat with the others. When they did finally race each other to the Great Hall, though, pink-cheeked and breathless, the majority of teachers and students had already eaten and left to begin the day’s repair work. Ron, Hermione, Seamus, and Professor Oblongata were the only ones left at the long table.
“Where were you two?” Ron demanded in between forkfuls of scrambled eggs.
“We just went for a walk,” Ginny informed him indignantly, though her cheeks had reddened further.
Ron noticed. “A likely story,” he said, glaring at them both as they sat and pulled plates towards themselves.
“Honestly, Ron!” Hermione cried, coming to their rescue. “Is there no pleasing you? You were upset when they weren’t together, and now that they are again, you’re still not happy.” She passed him the bacon, hoping to distract him.
He took it from her grudgingly and didn’t say anything more, though they could hear him muttering to himself.
Fortunately, Professor Oblongata slid down the bench just then and pointed at Hermione’s Daily Prophet which was folded at the younger witch’s place. “Are you finished with that?” Oblongata asked. “I wanted to check the standings.”
Ron’s head snapped up. “You follow Quidditch?” he asked, somewhat surprised. With the exception of Dumbledore, none of the professors had ever shown the slightest interest in the game outside of the House teams.
Oblongata shrugged. “Like to keep up,” she replied.
“What’s your team?” Ron wanted to know.
The professor smiled. “My Canadian friends and colleagues would like my answer to include nothing but the Moosejaw Meteorites,” she said, “but as a woman, I’ve always admired the Harpies. The way those women can fly ...”
Ginny nodded her approval, but Ron didn’t look impressed. “Not a Cannons fan, then?” he asked, distaste obvious in his tone.
Harry could tell Oblongata strove to keep her face serious as she remarked, “Underdog supporter, eh?” She nodded gravely. “They do train hard. I’ll give them that.” Oblongata caught Harry’s eye and looked away quickly. Harry’s face split into a grin but Ron hadn’t noticed and seemed appeased by the professor’s comments.
Oblongata turned back to Ron as a thought occurred to her. “Of course, spending so much time in Canada, hockey’s more my game now, anyway.”
“Hockey?” Seamus repeated. “That anything like football? If so, Dean’s mad about the game. He’ll talk your ear off about it once he’s here ...”
But Oblongata was shaking her head. “Nothing like soccer, I’m afraid,” she said. “Well, actually,” she added as she reconsidered, “the goals bear a passing resemblance ... No, picture field hockey with much more padding on the participants and played on ice.” She glanced at her audience to gauge their understanding: Ron and Ginny looked completely lost, but Harry, Hermione, and Seamus were nodding vaguely, having at least heard of field hockey.
“What team do you follow for that game, then?” Ron asked. Harry suspected that he was less interested in the answer than in keeping the professor talking to put off working as long as possible. A smirk danced at Oblongata’s lips, and Harry knew that she suspected the same thing. He felt he was really beginning to like this new professor.
Despite her suspicions, she replied, “I’ve always loved the Montreal Canadiens. They’re a great team. If you promise not to tell any Canadian wizards, though,” she added conspiratorially, her voice lowered, “I also support the Pittsburgh Penguins.” Although no one seemed about to question her remark, she quickly went on, “After all, Crosby is from Nova Scotia.” She looked at them all again and realized that they were staring at her blankly. With a smile she apologised and started to tidy up Hermione’s paper.
Harry just managed to catch Ron’s kick to Hermione under the table. She frowned at him and shook her head but he gestured impatiently and with a sigh, Hermione addressed the professor.
“Where were you from, originally, Meldrum? I mean Mel,” Hermione amended quickly.
Oblongata smiled at the correction. “I was born in Jamaica in a town about fifty kilometres from Kingston.”
“Fifty kilometres? How far’s that again?” Ron asked.
“About thirty miles,” Hermione told him.
“That’s right,”Oblongata agreed. “Lived there for just over ten years and we loved it, but Dad had gone to Hogwarts and my parents wanted me to as well. As Jamaica to England is a bit of a commute for school holidays, though, we immigrated to London just a few months before my eleventh birthday. I got a job in London, at the Ministry, right after I finished school.”
“What did you do?” Ginny asked.
“I’m afraid I can’t really discuss that,” replied Oblongata, reluctantly. “Due to the nature of my duties, it’s still strictly ‘need to know’. I can tell you, though, that one aspect of my job I thoroughly enjoyed was when I acted as liaison between Muggles and Wizards.”
Harry had listened without comment and was about to ask a question, but Ron beat him to it.
“If you were enjoying it so much here,” he said, “why’d you end up in Canada?”
Oblongata didn’t answer right away, and they could see that her eyes had become shiny with tears. She straightened a fork that wasn’t out of place before answering.
“A, uh, friend of mine,” she told them, “was killed. By Death Eaters. I couldn’t face working there any more without him. When I heard of an opening overseas, I jumped at the chance.”
“I’m so sorry,” murmured Hermione, and Ron nodded vigourously, perhaps embarrassed that he had been the one to elicit the information.
“Thank you,” Oblongata replied. “It was a long time ago.” She placed her palms flat on the top of the table to push herself into a standing position. “But now, I think we’ve let Ron here stall long enough. It really is time to get to work.”
As Hermione elbowed Ron, presumably for encouraging her part in the proceedings, Ginny quickly stood as well. “I’m with you,” she said to Oblongata.
“Volunteering to be stuck with the professor?” Oblongata said. “Are you joking?”
Ginny grinned. “Is a bit odd, isn’t it?” she agreed. “But seriously, the chance to spend the day with another Harpies’ supporter? I’d be mad not to take the opportunity!”
That evening after dinner, the handful of students present at the school remained in the Great Hall with the faculty as Hagrid regaled them all with his half brother’s latest escapades.
“So then,” he was saying, “Grawpy, bless ‘im, had me tied up against the tree when “”
He broke off abruptly as Nearly Headless Nick swooped down the table. Nodding to the Gryffindor students, his head wobbling dangerously within its cuff, he soared to a spot immediately before Professor McGonagall.
“Sorry to disturb, Headmistress,” he intoned, formally.
“Not at all, Sir Nicholas,” she replied politely, looking if anything slightly relieved at the interruption. “What is it?”
He executed a tiny bow, one hand on the top of his head to prevent it flopping, before continuing. “I have another message from the Bloody Baron, madam,” he informed her.
“I’m surprised at you, Sir Nicholas,” McGonagall chided. “Doing the Baron’s bidding in this manner.”
Nearly Headless Nick grimaced his displeasure. “I know, Professor,” he said mournfully, his formal demeanour dropped, “the Bloody Baron did say that he would be putting in a good word with the Headless Hunt in payment for my ... ah ...services, though.”
“What is the message, then, Sir Nick?” McGonagall asked, looking as if she would rather not hear the answer.
Nearly Headless Nick pulled himself up to his full height and with his formal tone back, reported, “The Bloody Baron is furious at the lack of progress being made in repairing the dungeons and demands to know why both the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw towers have been completed while the lower levels have yet to be begun.”
McGonagall let out a tiny, though exasperated, sigh at the news. “Kindly inform the Baron,” she said, “that his opinion on the order in which we are proceeding with the repairs has already been duly noted and remind him, again, that these restorations must continue from top down. The laws governing magical enhancements and mending can not be altered to allow for his wishes in the matter!”
Sir Nicholas beamed at her response but cleared his throat and grew sombre again as he replied, “Very good, madam. I will be sure to pass on your message,” before swooping out of the Hall again.
There was silence for but a few seconds before Hagrid spoke again, clapping his enormous hands onto his tree-limb size thighs.
“As I were saying ...” he said, pointedly, and the others slowly slid their gazes back to him. “Grawpy don’t know his own strength, see, an’ he had meself up by the tree there, and when he pulled the rope taut, like “ ” He broke off abruptly again, his eyes fixed on the doors into the Entrance Hall. “Well, look what yeh’ve got here ...”
The others swivelled immediately to see what had captured his attention this time. Standing just inside the doors were three people: Hannah Abbott, Ernie MacMillan, and Dean Thomas. Smiling, they waved at the assembled group. Their words of greeting were lost as Seamus, with a yell, led the tremendous stampede of students and staff who rushed to welcome them.
What followed were many loud, happy moments as good friends reunited with one another. It was just as the din had started to die down, though, that an audible gasp was heard. Dean was standing near to Professor Oblongata and it was she that had made the sound, her hand pressed to her lips.
“Sorry?” Dean said, puzzled, and more than a little taken aback at her reaction.
Oblongata shook her head, lowering her hand to shake his. “Meldrum Oblongata,” she introduced herself. “And it is I who must apologise,” she went on. “I was caught by surprise. Minerva had told me“” She stopped. “I just had no idea how much you looked like your father.”
Dean smirked. “Like Jack Thomas? Hardly. He adopted me when I was“”
But Oblongata was shaking her head again. “No. Your rea“ Your biological father.”
Dean stared at her, stunned. Everyone else had stopped talking, but Harry was sure Dean hadn’t noticed.
After a few moments, Dean asked, “You knew him?”
“Yes, we worked together at the Ministry. I miss him terribl“”
“Wait a minute. Worked? Miss him? Is he dead?”
Oblongata didn’t reply immediately. She swallowed hard before nodding. “Yes. He was killed when“”
“Killed?” Dean’s face was implacable. “Good. Bastard finally got what he had coming. Worthless piece of “”
“Don’t!” Her jaw set, Oblongata’s dark eyes were steel and they bore into Dean’s. Harry had never seen the professor angry. With what seemed a enormous effort, she took a deep breath and exhaled forcibly. “There’s a lot you don’t know, Dean,” she said, and it was obvious she strove for a calm tone. “And I’ll tell you everything. But I will not,” she added, and her voice was taut again, “allow you to speak ill of your father. He was a good man.”
“Yeah. Good for nothing,” Dean retorted.
“Dean“”
“Go to hell!” he spat out. Spinning on his heel, he strode from the room without another word.
In the silence that followed, Oblongata’s quiet, “Damn,” was easily heard. No one else spoke. The stricken looks on everyone’s faces told Harry they were as astonished and embarrassed as he at the situation. After many long awkward moments, Seamus started for the door after his friend.
With a resigned sigh, Oblongata called out, “No. Wait.” She reached him before he could go out the door. “I’ll go. I have to.” She grimaced apologetically at the young man, who nodded his understanding.
With a last glance at the others in the room, Professor Oblongata left.
That evening, the Gryffindors sat quietly in the common room, waiting for Dean to reappear, anxious to learn what had transpired between him and Oblongata. They were bored but unable to settle to anything. Ron and Harry had tried starting a game of chess, and Hermione and Ginny a round of exploding snap, but they had all given up when they couldn’t concentrate. Likewise, any conversations that were begun, soon dissolved into silence. The minutes ticked by, turning into hours and still there was no sign of their fellow Gryffindor. It wasn’t until the young men had said goodnight to Ginny and Hermione and made their way to their dormitory, though, that Dean returned.
Ron, Harry, Neville, and Seamus had changed into pajamas and were all grouped around Seamus’ bed, speculating whether Dean had finally allowed Oblongata to speak with him, when the door opened and Dean himself walked in. His expression indecipherable, he strode to his bed and flopped on top of it without a word to anyone. The others froze, noting that he hadn’t closed his curtains, but still unsure if they should initiate conversation with him.
Finally, Neville once again proved himself worthy of his House when he turned to his friend. “All right, Dean?”
Without looking at Neville, he said, “Yeah.” With a sigh, he added, “Or I will be, I s’pose.”
“Did, uh, Oblongata know your dad, then?” Ron asked.
Staring straight up at the ceiling, Dean nodded. “And he was a wizard. Damn fine one, too, according to Mel.”
He paused so long after this that the others thought he wouldn’t continue, but eventually he went on. Meeting their eyes finally, he told them, “It’s why he left Mum and me: Voldemort’s followers were onto him. They wanted him to join them. When he refused, the Death Eaters killed him.”
Dean got off his bed and made his way to the window, his back to the others who exchanged glances at this startling news.
“Mel said he never stopped loving us, though,” Dean added, quietly.
“How’d she know that?” Seamus demanded.
“Since the day he left, he kept track of us,” Dean explained, “made sure we were all right, that the Death Eaters never found us. Besides, Mel admitted she was mad for him herself but he always considered her nothing more than a friend, never let anything more than that develop between them. He said he only ever loved one woman his whole life.”
Dean faced them again and they could see his eyes were shining in the candlelight. “Mum,” he clarified, his voice no more than a whisper. He looked absolutely miserable.
“Isn’t that a good thing, mate?” Ron asked, surprised at his friend’s glum expression.
“Well, yeah. Course it is,” Dean replied, sounding as if it was anything but. ‘It’s just “” He sighed heavily. “All my life I’ve thought my real father was the worst kind of scum, a worthless, pathetic sod. And now “” He stopped abruptly, apparently not able to put it into words.
Harry, remembering full well how he’d felt when he’d learnt of Snape’s true story, finished the thought for him: “And now you know, you feel a right git.”
Dean didn’t reply, but nodded silently, and Harry could tell he was grateful to be understood.
As Happily Ever After As They're Gonna Get by cjbaggins
Chapter Notes: Many thanks to my dh who gave me the suggestion for Meldrum's comment about the Cannons. And thank you to my dd for her continuing assistance with editing and just plain putting up with my rambling on about this fic. Love you!
Chapter Endnotes: While Oblongata is my own invention, the story she brings to Hogwarts about Dean isn’t. Dean Thomas’ background story and the demise of his birth father are Ms Rowling’s own ideas, not mine. I found them on the author’s official website. She has stated that she had originally planned a larger role in the books for Dean, but that Neville’s story took over and she went with his growth instead of Dean’s. While I love Neville and his character arc, I felt it was time we heard Dean’s story as well. I hope you feel I have done it some justice.