Disclaimer: With humble gratitude to J. K. Rowling for allowing me to build castles in her sandbox once more.
Eighteen
Harry: Finding his Muse
The squeak of the chair cushion gave Lexxie away as the tray of cool drinks silently settled on the low table before them.
“Do you want to see what I’ve written?” Harry posed as he wrapped his fingers around a tall glass.
“Only if you want to share it with me. Are you a budding Tolstoy?” she teased.
Harry gave a derisive laugh. “Hardly. It’s turned into more of a scrapbook of sorts. Souvenirs and a few random line drawings.”
“Just as long as it pleases you.”
“Who wouldn’t be pleased? I’ve never had such an unstructured assignment in all my days.”
“Do you think I’m being too lenient?” she posed mischievously.
Throwing up his hands, he defended, “I’m not complaining!”
“But you’re enjoying your holiday after all.”
Harry tilted his head in consideration. “It’s not so bad.”
“Then I think I will give you something a little more challenging.”
“Just as long as it’s not about the undiscovered properties of moonstone.”
Rising to the bait, Lexxie urged, “Why not?”
“My Potions Master didn’t much care for my attempt.”
“From what you’ve told me of him, he had a jaundiced eye.”
“To match the rest of him,” Harry concurred. “But he was a brilliant wizard, nonetheless.”
In a bare whisper, she confided, “I doubt he would’ve approved of my approach, either. But if you want to wax poetical about undiscovered properties, be my guest. The more wildly imaginative, the better.”
“He’d say you were asking for gibberish,” Harry volleyed back.
“Then you’d be another Lewis Carroll, wouldn’t you?” She flashed him a cheeky grin.
Harry chortled. “If I admit I’d fare better with a bit more guidance, will you take pity on me?”
His pathetic, puppy-dog face was rewarded with a shining smile.
“Write about your holiday, but not so randomly. Organize it in some manner. Perhaps as a long missive home, a letter to a recluse in a rainy climate who dreams of warm sunlight as he waters his flagging petunias.”
“That would be my Uncle Vernon,” Harry deadpanned. “But my Aunt Petunia wouldn’t droop so much if Vernon didn’t possess such a belligerent attitude about everything on the face of the sodding planet.”
Caught off-guard for once, Lexxie doubled over with laughter. “You just made that up!”
“I’m not really that quick. My aunt’s name is Petunia, honest. You must have read it in my file….” He broke off and joined in with her infectious laughter.
“See what I mean about inspiration? The subconscious is a veritable font of untapped potential.”
“Will I get extra points for creativity?”
“Absolutely.”
Harry gave her the patented Marauder’s grin. “Good, my primary school teacher only cared about punctuation and spelling. Sucked the life right out of every assignment.”
“I, too, had an aspiring dementor as a teacher in primary school,” Lexxie commiserated. “Gave the same assignment each year: What I Did Over Summer Break. I considered writing about how the prospect of the dreaded assignment hung like a millstone about my neck, but I doubted she would appreciate black humor.”
“Nor sarcasm,” he chuckled unabashedly. “But as droll as that sounds, how could it have been worth more than a paragraph at best?”
With merriment dancing in her dark eyes, Lexxie expounded, “That’s where you have to get creative, see. If Hamlet could whinge about being misunderstood for a full three or four pages… Well, I never could resist a good challenge.”
“I’m listening….”
After a moment’s thought, she volunteered, “So I could’ve described how the millstone would drag me down to the bottom of the ocean every time I dove in from the pier. Then detail the microcosm that dwelt at the base of the pilings. Well, you get the picture.”
“Sorry you never did it?”
“Not that year. The gorgon who presided over Written Composition could deliver a Jelly-Legs Jinx with a single glance.”
“I thought you attended a Muggle school,” he protested.
“I did! The worst was having to listen to others get up and read their compositions.”
“Tell me about it! There was this one bloke who always wrote about the elaborate holidays his family took to the most exotic locales.”
“Sounds promising.”
“Perhaps if he could’ve imparted any sense of adventure,” Harry admitted as he thought back to those long forgotten days when he was still Dudley’s favorite punching bag. “Instead, his words were nothing but a checklist of what everyone had for dinner and what sights they visited. No details of any sort.”
“At least the teacher couldn’t accuse him of copying the evocative words from the travel agency brochures. There was a similar blowhard in my class. Every September, like clockwork, he would puff out his chest and crow about the fabulous places his family visited and how they bored everyone else aboard the ocean liner.”
Following her lead, Harry improvised, “They were clamoring for life jackets despite the shark-infested waters.”
“Demanding parachutes as they flew over icy plateaus!” she added. Looking him right in the eye, her words took on a more serious tone. “Then in my final year, a new teacher surprised me.”
“She didn’t present the dreaded assignment?”
“Oh, he did. But he treated us by choosing the best and reading it aloud to the class himself.”
Clearly intrigued, Harry urged, “Was it yours?”
“Hardly, but I might’ve had a chance if I’d stuck my neck out. Much to everyone’s surprise, he read a fantastical tale about a spaceman who lived inside an empty mayonnaise jar and traveled to all sorts of far-fetched locales as long as the pantry door remained closed. Then Mr. Stuffed Shirt squawks, ‘Leave it to Jeffrey to entertain himself while he was being punished.’ To which our teacher gave him a smile laced with pity and pronounced, ‘Can’t you ever read between the lines, Mr. Coates? To me, that’s one of the most sincere representations of term break I’ve ever read. For Mr. Jordan demonstrates how he wiled away the hours by daydreaming.’”
“None of my teachers were ever that open-minded.”
“Perhaps you never gave them the chance.”
Determined to take the most un-Hermione-like approach to his assignment, Harry stared at the blank parchment for what seemed like hours. Then as a sultry breeze tickled the tips of his hair, he mentally conjured the polar opposite: the shiny black asphalt of a London street after a predawn shower. Next came the barely banked curiosity of three unruly teenagers intent upon finding buried treasure in the most unlikely of places. As he embarked upon his own tangent, the tight band around his midsection loosened for the first time in months.
He was so intent upon his sentence that he didn’t notice her right away. It was only when he looked up to take a bite of his breakfast yogurt that he found Lexxie sitting in the metal chair opposite him. Her right brow was arched in that uniquely amused expression of hers, a warning that a sardonic comment was on its way. Harry took another spoonful of fruit and waited for her opening gambit.
“Still struggling to meet a deadline? I can commute your sentence if you like. Give you an extension.”
“No need,” he mumbled in return. “The completed assignment is on the desk inside.”
“Then that is…” She waved a fork in the vague direction of his parchment as she speared a chunk of ripe melon from his bowl.
“A continuation of my folly,” he replied after a moment’s thought, falling into the irreverent style they used informally with one another.
“A sequel?”
“Chapter Two, I think.”
She gave him that sarcastic look again. “Have you managed to get a serialization deal while my back was turned?”
Harry chuckled playfully. “You’d be piqued if I let anyone else read it first.”
“Not if it was a literary agent.”
Harry stopped to consider his next move in the verbal chess match. “Do many of your patients resort to a literary career? I’d rather hoped to be an Auror one day; sorry to disappoint.”
Lexxie gave him a conspiratorial grin. “I’d be a lousy camp counselor if I didn’t direct you to entertaining activities.”
Her light-hearted comment brought Harry up short. Not because she was wrong, but because she was so inordinately right. He was enjoying himself. Losing himself in the adventures of his alter-ego and his intrepid side-kicks was liberating; and with Lexxie’s no-rules approach, inspiration had not been long in coming.
He could feel her eyes intently upon him as he ventured, “Feeling proud of yourself, aren’t you?”
“Said the monster to Dr. Frankenstein.”
“What made you so certain that you had me properly pigeon-holed?”
She shrugged. “A hunch.”
“Sneaky muse blind-sided me!”
“I got that. You’re hoping I’ll share my deductive reasoning with you.”
“Is that against the rules?” Harry prodded.
“We have rules?”
Harry sniggered at her teasing. “I’m allowed to be curious,” he rebounded.
“I suppose you are. But it’s not an exact science…”
“So you didn’t use Legilimency. Disclaimer noted.” He waved his spoon to urge her to continue.
“Can I ask why you’re so curious?”
“Only after.”
Acknowledging that he drove a hard bargain, she relented, “One of your earliest memories was of your aunt reading you and your cousin a bedtime story. You were unhappy when she stopped in mid-stream because your cousin had fallen asleep while you hadn’t.”
“My earliest recollection of being treated as an insignificant insect and that’s what you took from it?”
“Love equals attention, sure. But love also equals story.”
“But I’ve never been one for writing assignments,” Harry sputtered. “Hated having to do the research and then find some way to regurgitate what the textbook had already phrased in a much better fashion.”
“You prove my point. You’re intrinsically different from your close friend, the Homework Queen.”
“Hermione is the Undisputed Homework Queen. Says so on her personal letterhead.”
“And she’s the sort who can’t conceive of anyone approaching things in a less methodical manner.”
Harry laughed outright. “If I didn’t know better…”
“You described her accurately enough for me to fill in the little details. Everyone knows someone like that at school.”
“It took Hermione a few months to realize that if she didn’t allow for others to approach things differently, she was destined to be friendless.”
“Give her credit for that. There are many who never figure that out “ and certainly not so quickly.”
“Short learning curve. That’s Hermione, too.”
“Yet you instinctively associate school work with her to this day.”
“She kept trying to infuse us with her enthusiasm, even though she no longer judged us when we ignored her.”
“Did she ever read fiction? Anything other than Hogwarts: A History?”
He’d never really given it much thought. “She read other books, but you’re right on the mark, Lexxie. Books were equated with learning in her mind, not with entertainment or flights of fancy.”
No, it had been Remus who had books of literature vying for attention with magical grimoires in his steamer trunk. Tonks often commented that she would regularly find him relaxing in the library at Grimmauld Place. The heavy weight of guilt shifted like sharp stones against Harry’s heart.
“I had a hunch you’d approach things differently given the chance,” Lexxie explained. “So what did you write about? In Chapter One, that is.”
“What I did over my summer term break,” Harry shot back with a grin.
“A parody?”
“You’ll have to decide that for yourself,” he dared. “But I did manage to incorporate some of those elements you admired.”
“Such as?”
“The alternate approach to reality. The adventurous spirit. And while I couldn’t work in the mayonnaise jar, the hero does hide in the kitchen pantry.”
“You took up the challenge,” she confirmed with anticipation.
“The black humor I saved for Chapter Two, though. Where the hero’s gormless relatives are introduced. I didn’t think I could create characters out of thin air, so I basically wrote what I knew.”
“Then it will ring with truth,” Lexxie affirmed.
The midday rain shower washed out his sand fortress as effectively as a localized tsunami, driving him back inside earlier than expected. Taking a cue from the weather, Lexxie arrived with lunch and proposed an extra long session that still had Harry's head swimming. But it had been worth it; he now had the rest of the day and evening to himself.
The ozone still lingered in the air as he set out on an afternoon hike. The sun had dried the path in minutes and the breeze sang with the salty tang of the sea. A bit of exercise and his taste buds would be primed for an early dinner, Harry decided with satisfaction. The straggling wisps of clouds would make for a technicolor sunset to savor later over a glass of wine.
The tidal pools were teaming with debris and even sea creatures that had been whipped ashore with the angry swells. He watched a translucent crab scurry sideways, its trail like ancient cuneiform writing across the damp sand. A brownish lump that looked like nothing more than wadded cardboard turned out to be a large aquatic sponge.
But glistening alongside was the true treasure: a long, grooved sea shell which tapered to a fine point at one end. The constant wash of the waves had worn the outside ridges smooth in many places allowing the pearlescent inner layer to peek through. Harry turned it over in his hands as the low sun revealed hidden hues within the iridescent patches. He couldn't help thinking that it looked like a tiny unicorn horn. He tucked his prize into his pocket as the sea birds hawked in protest.
Leaving the eager gulls to their bounty, he turned his attention to the scrub pines which clung tenaciously to the cliff side, their dark green needles still glistening like diamonds. The redolent smell of resin was released each time the wind brushed a few droplets his way.
He doubled back at the end of the short headland. Intent on the swelling whitecaps near the horizon, the sound of conversation did not register until he came abreast of his balcony. With sudden clarity, he raced up the last steps to the veranda.
No wonder Lexxie had been so eager to rework his timetable today. The brief storm had just been a diversion, after all.
“Oh, Harry!” Molly Weasley cried as she swept him up in a massive hug. “You look so much better rested...and fed.”
“Nice tan,” Arthur supplied as he pumped Harry's hand.
Harry's mumbled responses were vaguely incoherent as his eyes sought out the others in the room. There in the far corner, chatting happily with Lexxie, was Ginny. Her brown eyes caught his almost immediately as her face broke out in a radiant smile.
“It's just wonderful!” she gushed as she released him rather quickly before the probing eyes of her parents. “We saw you on the path below and Lexxie hurried us to the villa to surprise you.”
“The full tour comes later,” Lexxie promised. “Today, I requested afternoon tea in honor of our English guests.” A flick of her wand revealed a laden sideboard in the adjoining kitchen area. The cups began magically filling themselves as she excused herself to see that the luggage had been properly routed by the reception desk.
Plates heaping with all manner of delicacies, they settled themselves in the sitting room. Through the glass doors to the veranda, the majestic ocean seethed restlessly towards the horizon. It was a vista which temporarily halted the conversation as the newcomers drank in their fill.
“It a bit like Egypt,” Arthur noted in a awed tone.
“The rocky coastline similar to the desert?” Molly protested. “Are you mad, dear husband?”
“Just pleasantly deranged,” he answered as he patted Molly's knee lovingly. Addressing Harry directly, Arthur elaborated, “It's the panorama, see. An ocean of water or a sea of sand. Either one makes us seem puny and inconsequential in comparison.”
“Not to mention that was the last time we were on holiday,” Ginny noted.
“That too,” her father concurred.
“How is everyone doing back home?” Harry politely inquired.
“Swimmingly,” Arthur replied. “Kingsley's taking firm control of the Ministry. Trying to sort those who collaborated with the Death Eaters out of fear from those who really bought into the twisted ideology.”
“We hardly even see Percy,” Ginny volunteered. “Even though Mum assures us he's given up his London flat and moved back into the Burrow.”
“And just whose owl do you think you've been using to keep in touch with your friends?” Molly posed.
“Well, Hermes' about,” Ginny confirmed. “But that's only circumstantial.”
Harry chuckled lowly as he caught her impish expression. “What about Ron and Hermione?”
“All ready and excited about returning to Hogwarts,” Molly attested.
“I suspect Ron will miss helping out at the joke shop,” Arthur confessed. “It's more like play than salesmanship in his eyes.”
Harry nodded as he imagined Ron's loopy grin while demonstrating the latest gadget to an eager throng. If it backfired on him, it would be even more hilarious. “Business has been good then?” he posed.
“Better than I rightly expected,” Arthur observed. “Diagon Alley is awash with new optimism even if George is a bit slow to catch the spirit.”
“Go on, Mum,” Ginny whispered under her breath. “You know you're just dying to break the news.”
“Bill and Fleur are expecting!” Molly cried as she clapped her hands in delight. “A baby, you know. Not some ruddy package like the lot of you are apt to claim.”
“A special delivery indeed,” Arthur beamed.
“When?” was the only thing Harry could think to offer in return.
“Late April or early May,” Ginny supplied.
“Fleur's only a few weeks along, but a witch always knows,” Molly affirmed sagely. “She has a certain glow about her already.”
“Molly returned from getting Ron's school things in Diagon Alley to find the Burrow ablaze with lights,” Arthur explained.
“I confess my first thought was of burglars,” Molly tittered.
“From all the noise and clatter that was coming from the upper floors,” Arthur clarified. “So as she waded her way through a cloud of dust, wand at the ready, it turned out to be nothing more than Bill rummaging in the attic.”
“The ghoul was a bit put out,” Ginny interjected. “I could hear his peculiar grunts of displeasure as he lobbed things about.”
“Where were you?” Harry wondered.
“I took refuge in the orchard,” she explained. “That way nothing could be blamed on me later.”
“Turns out Bill was searching for Ginny's old crib,” Molly continued. “Wanted to make sure that I didn't offer it to Mrs. Granger.”
Ginny flashed him a look that begged what Jeanette Granger would want with a faded third- or fourth-hand crib.
“Did he find it?” Harry urged.
“Eventually,” Arthur conceded. “After the rest of us returned home to lend a hand. George recalled he'd helped his brother to disassemble it “ with the unexpected facility for tools unique to boys the world over. Molly then remembered reducing it and tucking it into the back of a disused bureau. The drawer was labeled 'baby things', but Bill assumed there was nothing but hand-me-down clothes inside.”
Lexxie returned with the suitcases and trunk and expertly Levitated them in the proper directions.
Taking the lead, Harry offered, “Arthur and Molly, you'll have the double bed in the back bedroom. I'm afraid it doesn't have as wide a view of the ocean as the other but the scent of night flowering jasmine flows in from the garden. Ginny, you're in the small study there at the end of the hall. Yes, the room with the desk. The settee folds out into a bed.”
“Where should I hang my things?” she asked.
“There's no closet, I know. But there's large closets in the two other rooms, so we should be able to share.”
It was only later, when they had all settled down to sleep after a late supper, that Harry recalled he’d forgotten to ask after Charlie.
The next day, he found her sitting at the desk that overlooked the craggy headland in the distance. It was a favorite writing spot of his, especially when the late summer sunsets colored the restless sea with all manner of improbable hues. There was no denying that the landscape was inspiring; and in less than a week, Harry had come to see what had drawn Dumbledore himself to this very site.
Or was it just the presence of his very own muse that enticed him?
“I’m sorry if I was poking about,” Ginny stammered as she hastily rose to her feet. He could see that his current manuscript had been tucked to the side and the folder with the beginning chapters lay open on the desktop.
“I often scribble here in the afternoons,” Harry allowed with a reassuring smile. “If those journals were that confidential, I would’ve removed them to my trunk before you arrived.”
“Still should’ve asked permission first,” Ginny maintained. “Guess I got caught up in the plot.”
“Oh.”
“That’s a compliment.”
A bit awkwardly, he acknowledged, “Thanks.”
“I just felt compelled to go back to the beginning. Didn’t want to miss a crucial clue that would unmask the perpetrator in the end.”
Harry laughed at her obsessive approach. “It’s not that kind of a mystery. Voldemort does it -- or rather tries to. I’d like to think the hero prevents the pall of darkest evil from settling over the land.”
“But you’re not sure?”
“Haven’t gotten there yet. These things take on a life of their own,” Harry candidly admitted.
“So there’s more characters to be introduced besides Ron, Hermione, and the hapless Muggles?”
He knew what she was getting at, but wasn’t ready to give in just yet. Aloud, he tendered, “Sure, Tonks and Remus are waiting at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.”
“So they board the Hogwarts Express?”
With a casual shrug, he replied, “I couldn’t come up with anything to top your dad's flying Ford Anglia so I went with the traditional approach.”
“Do I figure in the tale?” Ginny asked point blank, the glow from the sunlight against her radiant hair giving her an aura of sorts.
“Of course. You’re the love interest.” At her quizzical look, he elaborated, “Something that has to be introduced with delicate strokes. A hint of flowery perfume before she flits tantalizingly out of reach. You do remember Professor Slughorn’s Amortentia Potion?”
By the coloring of her cheeks, it was clear that lesson had been presented to her class as well. “You make it sound like she’s a right vixen,” she protested.
Looking deeply into her warm eyes, he clarified, “Elusive. Like a rare butterfly.”
A blue morpho from the jungles of Brazil, he considered as his eyes swept the deep azure of her summery top. But flowery words would never be his style, so he kept those thoughts to himself.
“A temptress who plays hard to get?” she playfully provoked.
“Not really. But the hero’s a bit clueless so it takes him a while to formulate a plan.”
“To catch a butterfly all you need is a bit of netting.”
“The hero takes the better part of the story to figure that out. Sound familiar?”
“Maybe.”
“I’m trying to make it sound like he’s a bit tortured, but I suspect you might just see him as a royal tosser.”
Ginny gave her silvery laugh. “Now that sounds vaguely familiar. Does it have a happy ending?”
“Overall, yes. Haven’t worked out the details with the love interest yet.”
“Why?”
“Lack of material, I suppose.”
She gave him a small pout. “Is that why you invited me on holiday?”
“How could it be? I had no idea Lexxie would set me on this task when I arrived.”
“Point taken.”
Perhaps he had taken some things for granted, but no one had forced her to join him in Greece. With a sudden burst of courage, he added, “I never did ask you to be my girlfriend. Not even back at Hogwarts when we celebrated the Quidditch victory.”
“Your lips did. Not in words, but the intent was conveyed nevertheless.”
He could accept that. “Perhaps I should’ve re-established myself after the battle.”
“Had your position changed?”
Uncertain whether she was teasing him or not, he returned, “Not really. But I very much wanted to take back the harsh words about our not being together.”
“So it’s the circumstances that changed.”
He considered her words for a moment before capitulating, “That’s a fair way to put it. My heart never wavered, Ginny. You must believe me. All those lonely nights while we searched for Horcruxes, you were the last thing I thought about each night.”
“I forgave your rashness a long time ago, Harry. That was what I wanted to convey with your birthday present last year.”
“How could I forget the snoggis interruptus?” He gave her a saucy grin.
Ginny blushed even as she tittered self-consciously.
“Seems your lips told a rather compelling story themselves,” he pressed softly, leaning closer to her. “One that seemed clearer and clearer the more I thought about it.”
“Perhaps it was just wishful thinking on your part,” she hedged without backing away.
“Or I was too much of a fool to not cement our relationship that very moment,” he dared as he closed the distance between them.
As they broke apart, Ginny breathed, “I’m fairly certain Godric Gryffindor’s wife thought him a noble prat as well.”
Harry chuckled into the silkiness of her hair. “Despite my clumsiness, I want you to know that I’ve never stopped loving you.”
“I love you, too, Harry.”
“Somehow I got that from the wanted poster McGonagall returned to you,” he sniggered.
“Really?” she countered. “What’s to say it wasn’t just a schoolgirl crush like Romilda Vane’s?”
“No poisoned chocolates,” he retaliated merrily. “You were kind enough to demonstrate that when you took a bite of the frog first!”
Her eyes sparked with passion as she geared up for a heady retort. Then catching sight of the retreating figures of Molly and Arthur through the window, she relented. Lexxie’s avid hand motions indicated she was fully enjoying her role as the afternoon’s tour guide along the cliffside path.
“Looks like we’re finally alone,” Harry observed.
“They could turn back any moment,” Ginny cautioned.
“Not with Lexxie acting as their Pied Piper,” Harry snorted. “She’ll draw them into her web sure as anything.”
“Is that what she’s done with you?”
“She’s easy enough to talk to. Has a devilish streak a mile wide.”
“She’s too old for you,” Ginny emphasized.
“Told her that from the start. Mentioned your prior claim.”
Ginny bit her lip as she weighed the alternatives. Her eyes watched the tiny figures in the distance. “What if we don’t catch sight of their return?”
“I’ll set a Caterwauling Charm around the perimeter.” At her skeptical look, he elaborated, “I often helped Hermione to ring our campsite each night. Just adding a few tweaks of my own.”
“Don’t you think the klaxon will shatter the mood?”
“Not as much as a Stinging Hex to the bum,” he returned with a dry laugh.
“Or worse!” she giggled. “Give me two minutes and I’ll surround the back bushes with an Odiferous Oracle. Auntie Muriel preferred defenses that would make intruders retreat.”
Not to mention that it will look like just a prank, Harry considered inwardly as he congratulated her on her brilliance.
Chocolate Frog by L A Moody
Chapter Endnotes: For those who have not read my other stories, Harry is penning the first chapters of Harry Potter and the Hero's Lament.