"C'mon, Granddad, pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?” the little girl begged, tugging on the old man’s hand.
“No.”
“Just one little peek?”
The old man let out a sigh as he allowed himself to be pulled into Eeylop's Owl Emporium. He had been young once, after all, and he remembered how thrilled he’d been to visit the magical pet shop. Still, he had one lingering question.
“Why do we even need to come in here? Your parents spoil you so much. You’re not even to Hogwarts yet and already you have an owl.”
The little girl rolled her eyes. Wasn’t it obvious? Letting out an even bigger sigh than her grandpa’s, she said, “Not for me, Grandpa, but for you!”
“Me?”
“Yes! Mummy says you’re being so silly. Your owl died years and years and years ago, and you still refuse to get a new one. How are we supposed to keep in touch once I go to school?”
The old man held back a laugh, because he knew how much it would hurt his granddaughter’s feelings. Still, he had to reply, “What do you think your owl is for? Besides, you’re only eight years old. You’re not going anywhere for another three years!”
The girl stamped her foot. “Don’t rub it in!”
“Okay, I won’t. But now that we’ve come in and seen the owls, can we go?”
“No!”
“Why not?”
“I’m not leaving until you get an owl!”
The stubborn look on the little girl’s face, with her eyes narrowed, her mouth in a hard line, and her chin tilted just the tiniest bit to the left, reminded the old man of another fiery redhead he’d loved.
~*~
“Dad!”
The old man had returned from a disastrous day with his granddaughter and decided to distract himself by playing a game of Wizard’s Chess with himself. Hours later, still immersed in his game, he was interrupted by a beautiful woman stepping out of the fireplace “ his daughter. She flicked the soot off of her coat. The gesture would have looked undignified had anyone else done it.
“Yes, Lily?”
“You do realize that you broke Ginny’s heart today, don’t you?”
Why did his daughter have to give her child that name? Every time he heard it, he stiffened, his grief raw once again.
“Dad!”
“What?”
“I see that you’re gazing off into space! Pay attention!” she snapped.
“I’m sorry, Lily.” How could he tell her that he was paying attention, but just hated his granddaughter’s name?
“It isn’t me you should be apologising to, Dad, it’s Ginny. You ruined her day. She’s been in her bedroom crying all evening. All evening, Dad! She wouldn’t come down for dinner, and there was treacle tart for dessert. Treacle tart, Dad! It’s her favourite.”
Lily resembled her mother in everything from her long red hair to her short temper. She even knew how to cast a good Bat-Bogey Curse, which had a feeling he was in for soon if he didn’t get her calmed down soon.
Suddenly, all the figures flew off his chessboard and crashed onto the floor. He gave them a worried glance, afraid that some of the damage might be irreparable. He loved the chess set dearly, as it had belonged to his now-deceased best friend.
“What was that for?” Harry demanded angrily. “I think you broke one of the bishops!”
“You’re not listening to me!”
When Lily felt ignored, all hell would break loose. He knew he had to head this one off quickly, so he said, “Would you like me to go apologise to her, then?”
“Yes! If you were listening to me, you’d know that!”
Harry settled himself into his chair. He knew that Lily’s anger was beyond reason now. Nothing he could say would placate her. The best thing to do was to get comfortable and ride out the storm. He’d try to put things right the next morning.
~*~
Tentatively, Harry climbed the stairs to his granddaughter’s bedroom. He hesitated a moment before knocking at her door. Her temper was even more like her namesake’s than her mother’s was. Steeling himself, he gently on rapped the door three times.
“Who is it?” Ginny called.
“Your granddad,” he replied.
“Go away!”
“Ginevra…”
“I said, ‘Go away!’”
Harry gently twisted the doorknob and let himself in. With a little flick of his wrist and a muttered “Expelliarmus!” he prevented his granddaughter from launching The Tales of Beatle the Bard at his forehead. “A most useful little spell,” he murmured thoughtfully to himself.
“Ginny,” he said quietly as he sat down at the edge of her bed, “I’m really sorry that I hurt your feelings. I guess it meant a lot to you that I got an owl, didn’t it? You wanted to make me happier, right?”
She nodded and wiped a few tears from her eyes.
“Look,” Harry said, brightening his tone, “how can I make it up to you? What about a game of Quidditch in the orchard, just you and me?”
“Grandpa,” Ginny whispered reproachfully, her eyes big, “I hate Quidditch. You should know that!”
Harry resisted the urge to shake his head. He never could understand how his granddaughter could have Weasley blood in her veins and hate Quidditch.
“And besides, Grandpa,” she added, “Mum says that at your age, you really shouldn’t be on a broom.”
“Me? Too old to fly? Never! I’m the best Seeker in a century, after all!” Harry replied, his eyes twinkling.
“Grandpa!” Ginny shrieked. “You’re being so silly!”
With Ginny cheered up, it once again seemed safe to approach the original topic. “So if Quidditch is out, how would you like me to make it up to you?”
~*~
So Harry Potter found himself in Eeylop's Owl Emporium for the second time in twenty-four hours after avoiding owls, and especially places selling them, since he was seventeen. He was dragged up and down the aisles of owls by his very enthusiastic granddaughter, pausing every now and then to admire a specific bird at her insistence. Still, despite all of Ginny’s help, he couldn’t seem to find the right owl.
“How about this one?” she asked.
He felt a tear forming at the corner of one of his eyes and hastily wiped it away. The cage at which they’d stopped contained a snowy owl, one exactly identical to Hedwig. Perhaps his granddaughter had thought that an owl just like the one he still mourned would bring him comfort, but the opposite was true. Somehow, buying a bird that appeared to be her clone seemed to be a betrayal of the owl that had been his loyal messenger, his first friend, and a victim of Voldemort.
Ginny wrapped her arms around his waist. “It’s okay to cry, Grandpa,” she said, looking up at him. “I understand that you miss her.”
Harry supposed that she spoke of Hedwig, but her words could have also applied to his wife, who’d died weeks before their granddaughter’s birth; Hermione, who’d passed away two years before among a stack of books as she’d always been in life; or even his mother, who he couldn’t remember but whose absence he’d always felt in his life. So he stood there in a magical pet shop in Diagon Alley, his granddaughter wrapped around him, with tears streaming down his face for the whole world to see. At one point in his life he might have been embarrassed, but there were fewer and fewer people these days who recognised him.
Besides, he really needed to cry. He’d spent his whole life being strong. He’d lost many people and creatures in general who had meant so much to him throughout his life. He’d received plenty of helpful advice for grieving, but nobody had ever before come out and told him that it was fine if he cried.
Suddenly, from the back room, he heard the sound of a man, a rather angry sounding man. “Stupid bird!” yelled the man. “If somebody won’t take you soon, I might as well Avada Kedavra you myself. I won’t put up with you and your ruddy tricks, and I doubt anyone else will, either!”
“Sir?” called Harry.
A moment later, a rather harried-looking little man came out. “How can I help you?” he asked, but sounded rather tired and uninterested.
“Grandpa, it’s perfect!” squealed Ginny.
Indeed it was. The little owl the man held wasn’t much to look at. It was small, round, and was a dusty brown colour, but it held a certain charm. Harry was suddenly overcome with memories of a very similar-looking owl he had once known. It made him think of his godfather, whose gift it was; his best friend, whose pretended curse it was; and his wife, who’d named it. He’d avoided thinking of them as much as possible a reason. The memories, because of the losses, were painful. Yet they were also in themselves happy thoughts, and they certainly were necessary thoughts.
“We’ll take him,” he heard Ginny say confidently.
The Owl Emporium owner only raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“How much?” Harry asked in way of confirmation.
He handed over the money, and the two of them happily made their way out of the shop. After a stop at Fortescue’s, where Harry could still count on free ice cream, the two of them strolled through Diagon Alley, sporting ice cream cones and a caged owl. Just before stepping into the fireplace of the Leaky Cauldron to Floo home, Ginny turned to her grandfather.
“Happy birthday, Grandpa!” she said.
“What?” he asked, bewildered, before realising that his birthday was indeed in three days.
“That was my birthday gift to you,” she explained. “I knew you’d be happier if you had an owl to keep you company.”
~*~
Harry sat in his favourite armchair once again. He’d pulled the coffee table close, and resting on it was a piece of parchment. He twiddled a quill in his hand, as he stared at his new owl.
Soon, he’d begin work on some letters to the few living survivors of the Battle of Hogwarts. Within the last several years, as he began to overcome the loss of his wife, he had realised that the memories of the time they’d met and grown up in had started to become fuzzy. He hoped that people like Justin Finch-Fletchley, Susan Bones, and Dennis Creevey might be of some help. For months, he’d gone back and forth, trying to decide whether or not it was worth it to relive the pain of his youth. One of his main justifications for not contacting them was his lack of an owl, and the high cost of owl rental. Now he didn’t have that excuse.
First, before he sent those letters, he decided that he had a thank-you note to pen. His granddaughter was right. He was already feeling happier with a new owl, and he’d only had it for a few hours. That girl was bright, just like her grandmother.
He gazed at his new owl. Pygmalion, Ginny had insisted that he’d call it, but Pig for short. She’d recently gone to a production of the Muggle play My Fair Lady, which, despite her age, she’d loved. He thought back to another owl very much like this one, which had born the same nickname. The original Pig had drove Hedwig crazy. Somehow, though, he suspected she’d approve of this new owl in his life. Hedwig had always been a smart bird. She’d have known that Harry needed both to remember but also to move on, something this new owl would help him do.
Harry also knew that if Hedwig were alive now, she’d be tapping on his knuckles with her beak, telling him start writing. So he dipped his quill in the ink and did just that.
Flying Over Memories by sorrow_of_severus
Chapter Notes: I am not the owner of Harry Potter, Lily Luna, or his universe. J.K. Rowling is. (But you should know that!)
Chapter Endnotes: Thank you so much for beta'ing this story, Becca (twilightHPgirl18) and Emma! Becca, you caught so many of my spelling, grammar, and capitalisation issues, and Emma, all of your comments drastically improved the quality of my story. Also, a big thank-you goes out to Black-Sand, who suggested the perfect title for the story.