15. Dad

Ron and Harry pulled pillows over their heads when they heard pounding on their bedroom door the next morning. From beneath a mound of blankets Ron pointed his wand at the door and locked it. Dimly, Harry thought he heard Hermione on the other side. He pulled the covers up over the top of his pillow. He and Ron both forgot that this was Hermione they were trying to keep out.

“Oh, open up!” she shrieked as the door blasted itself off its hinges. Ron poked his head out of the blankets and looked at her warily.

“Oi, you’d better fix that! We can’t go about with no door!” He missed the gleam in Hermione’s eyes that Harry saw as he emerged from his own covers.

“What do you need a door for? Afraid someone might ogle you? All the way up here? Come on, get out of bed!”And Hermione swished and flicked her wand, levitating Ron’s covers off him and out of the open doorway. They landed on Ginny who was coming up the stairs to see what all the fuss was about.

Harry clutched desperately at his own covers while Ron blushed furiously and grabbed a pillow to place over his lap.

“I’m getting up, I’m getting up, just … get out first … and fix our door!” Harry nodded furiously in agreement with Ron as Hermione’s wand wavered over to his bed. Her hand twitched and his covers moved, exposing his chest and he grabbed at them furiously, scowling at her.

“Oh, stop it, both of you. We shared a tent for months. I’ve seen plenty!” huffed Hermione. Ginny had extricated herself from Ron’s bedclothes and reached the bedroom, throwing the covers back at Ron who grabbed at them gratefully.

“Good view was it Hermione?” asked Ginny, her eyes twinkling with mirth. Hermione winked at her and then turned back to Ron and Harry.

“Just both of you, get your scrawny bums downstairs in five minutes,” her eyes were sparkling. “I’ve got news!” She turned to go down the stairs and Ginny grinned at a red faced Harry as Hermione pulled her downstairs after her, waving her wand at the door to repair it as she went.

“Hey!” yelled Ron after them, “our bums are not scrawny!”

The boys burst into the kitchen a few minutes later, half dressed in jeans and t shirts but without having donned shoes or brushed their hair, Harry still trying to evade Ron’s demanding questions about his derriere.

“Honestly Ron!” he said exasperatedly. “I don’t know if your bum is scrawny! How would I, it’s not your bum I spend my time looking at!” He blushed vividly as the entire kitchen went silent at his admission.

“Yes well, I have news!” said Hermione after a lengthy pause. “I have here a letter from Kingsley and he has managed to prod along the paperwork and an owl should be arriving tomorrow with all the travel details. We can leave for Sydney the day after tomorrow!”

“Brilliant!”

“Well we can if we can get a portkey. I don’t really know how long it will take until we can get one booked. It might take a few weeks,” Hermione clarified.

“So let’s book it today then,” said Harry biting into a piece of toast.

“I did try to get in touch with the Department of Magical Transportation and make an appointment with the Portkey Office but they were singularly unhelpful,” complained Hermione. “Apparently no one can see me today. I suppose Saturday isn’t a good day.”

“I really don’t understand why they wouldn’t at least make an appointment,” said Mr Weasley. “Ethelda Sutton is normally such a good natured woman, although she always has been a bit of a gossip. I expect they are overrun just now. No doubt everyone’s looking to travel now the war is over. Saturday shouldn’t make a difference; everyone’s working around the clock at the moment getting things back to rights. I’m going in for a few hours myself today.”

“What do you mean ‘she’s a bit of a gossip’ exactly, Mr Weasley?” asked Harry.

“Oh, you know one of those witches always in a flap about the latest celebrity on the cover of Witch Weekly,” said Mr Weasley. “She’s always talking about that sort of thing. Opens all her conversations with ‘Did you hear about so and so? Got themselves into a right state on the cover of this here magazine…’ It can be terribly tiresome. She swore to us she saw Dixon Brinley in the Portkey Office once. As if he would deign to come in and organise his own portkey. Honestly she’s always been completely turned by celebrities.”

“Dixon Brinley? Who on earth is that?”

“The male answer to Celestina Warbeck,” shuddered Ginny. “Parvati’s been dead keen on him for ages, have you never heard her say anything about him?”

“Well, I have been a bit busy worrying about things other than wizarding world celebrities,” said Harry a bit more sharply than he’d intended. Ginny looked stung. Harry sighed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it came out.”

“So,” said Ron, swallowing a piece of bacon, “all we need is a celebrity to soften up this Ethelda and we’re booking a portkey so fast we’re out of here before you know it.”

“We could drag Lockhart out of St Mungos,” mused Ginny. “He’s still daft enough we can simply tell him what to do, surely?”

“What about Kingsley,” said Mrs Weasley, “Surely he could do something?”

“Would the Minister of Magic be celebrity enough for her, you reckon?” asked George.

“Oh, I couldn’t bother Kingsley,” protested Hermione. “He already pushed through all the travel paperwork.”

“But what’s the point of knowing high profile types of people like Kingsley if you don’t use that to your advantage?” asserted Ron.

“She’s more into the sensational type of celebrity that makes the front pages,” mused Mr Weasley turning the front page of the Daily Prophet.

Harry just shook his head as he watched the picture of himself on the front of Mr Weasley’s paper wave at the camera. The headline said ‘Harry Potter Makes Eighteenth Birthday’ and the small blurb underneath proclaimed his birthday celebrations so secret this paper had not been able to find out what they were but they hoped he’d had a good day.

Harry got up, and went to the fireplace. Throwing a large pinch of Floo powder in and sticking his head into the fire he called,

“Ethelda Sutton’s Office!” His head spinning madly he felt a bit ill when his head finally stopped spinning and he found himself looking directly up at a rather squat witch in pale blue robes. She was staring at him as if her eyes were about to fall out of her head.

“Hello!” said Harry cheerfully. “Do you think I could make an appointment to arrange an International Portkey booking? I know you’re awfully busy, but if you could just squeeze me in?”

‘Y-you’re H-harry P-potter,” the witch stuttered.

“Yes, I am, you are Ethelda Sutton, are you not?” She nodded dumbly at him but did not speak. At last, his knees going numb, Harry asked, “is eleven o’clock a good time?” She nodded so Harry said he’d see her then and pulled his head out of the fireplace.

“Eleven o’clock, Hermione,” he said as he shook the ash from his hair.

“Cor, how did you manage that, Harry?” asked Ron in awe. “Hermione was saying she was most unpleasant to her.” Harry rolled his eyes and taking Mr Weasley’s discarded paper he thrust the front page under Ron’s nose.

“What’s the point of knowing sensational front page celebrity types if you don’t use that to your advantage?” Harry snatched up a piece of toast and banged out of the back door, going to sit on an old tree stump at the edge of the garden and contemplating the garden gnomes as he ate. He finished his toast and decided to degnome the garden. He heard Ginny approaching as he picked up the third gnome and hurled it over the hedge.

“I really am sorry,” he said as he caught a fourth gnome. “About before. I didn’t mean to sound so snappy.” Harry flung the angry gnome over the hedge.

“That’s okay,” said Ginny softly. She paused. “Ron feels a bit stupid about what he said about using high profile people to our advantage.” Harry looked at her startled. She continued. “He wanted me to come out and talk to you first, reckons I’ll soften you up a bit before he has to have a go at apologising.”

“He thinks I’m angry?”

“Yeah, well you did leave pretty abruptly and you’re throwing gnomes like you’ve just spent an hour in detention with Snape.” Harry dropped the gnome and it bit him on his bare foot.

“Ow!” yelped Harry and he swore violently. “I’m not angry. Not with any of you. It feels a bit weird though to use my fame like that though. I never do that. Maybe I’m a bit angry at myself; for that, and for snapping at you. I’m sort of pleased with you lot though.” And he looked ruefully at his foot which was bleeding copiously from the gnome’s bite marks.

“Pleased?” asked Ginny as she moved to take a look at his foot. “Better come inside and let mum fix that up.” The two of them started back to the house, Harry leaning on Ginny a little as he hopped along.

“Yeah, pleased,” reiterated Harry. “Not one of you even thought of me. Sitting there discussing high profile, front page celebrities, and there is my picture, on the front page of the daily paper and you start wondering if you can get hold of Lockhart or about Kingsley. That’s brilliant is what that is.” Ginny smiled up at him from under the arm he had draped around her shoulder.

“Well, you’re just Harry, aren’t you?” Harry smiled at her and wrapped his other arm around her shoulders before leaning in to give her a kiss.

Mrs Weasley tutted about the state of his foot, healed it, bandaged it and then pushed him into a chair and made him sit with his foot elevated for an hour. Ron had laughed at the fact that he would defy Voldemort but be cowed by his mother.

“Oh shush, Ron,” said Hermione briskly. “He likes being mothered, leave him alone.” Harry blushed, embarrassed and stuck out his tongue at Ron who reciprocated and they were both scolded by Mrs Weasley.

“No one would know you two are eighteen,” Hermione sighed as she went upstairs to gather some documents for the appointment at the International Portkey office.

At precisely eleven o’clock Harry and Hermione arrived at Ethelda’s Office door. It had been an interesting journey through the Ministry and Harry was rather glad Hermione had insisted that they leave early as he had been waylaid by some ten different people as he tried to make his way to Level Six. He’d been detained in a lift all the way to Level Two and finally managed to extricate himself from a well meaning wizard who just wanted to shake his hand – for ten minutes – to find Hermione had located Mr Weasley who was able to guide them back through the Levels and back up to Level Six in straight to the door of the Portkey office without further delay.

The door swung open at Hermione’s knock to reveal the same squat witch in pale blue robes that Harry had seen earlier. She also appeared to be as star struck as she had been before. When Hermione asked her about booking an International portkey to Australia as soon as possible, Harry had to repeat the request before Ethelda came out of the trace she was in. The first available portkey to Australia was not until seven o’clock in the morning the following Friday. So it was virtually a week away but not even Harry could change the International Portkey schedule. After booking six open ended return portkeys and a one way for Hermione – who would fly home the Muggle way with her parents – Harry and Hermione bade Ethelda goodbye and made their way back through The Ministry.

Once back on the streets of London Harry had a sudden thought.

“Hey, Hermione,” he said as he stopped suddenly on the street outside the phone box, “how long do you think we’ll be gone?”

“I really don’t know, Harry,” she replied thoughtfully. “It could take a couple of days to get to Yackandandah from Sydney. I’ve been able to find out precious little about Australian Magical transportation and we’ll arrive on Friday. We may not be able to travel until after the weekend, so it might take us until Monday or Tuesday to arrive there. I think we’re looking at a week, and if I am coming home on a Muggle plane well, I’ll take longer. I wouldn’t count on being home before the eleventh.”

“Oh,” was all Harry said and began walking along the street. Hermione caught up to his thought process pretty quickly.

“Oh no,” she exclaimed hurrying up alongside him. “What about Ginny’s birthday?” Harry nodded and stopped in the middle of the footpath, holding up several Muggles who huffed as they stepped around him. Hermione grabbed his arm and pulled him across the street.

“Come on, let’s go somewhere and figure this out,” she said. “Next question, Grimmauld Place or the Leaky Cauldron?” They decided to go to Grimmauld Place as it was also a good chance to check out what, if any damage had been done to it by Voldemort’s minions.

They found that Number Twelve was structurally sound but the Death Eaters had obviously had a field day redecorating the inside. They obviously weren’t all completely stupid and had managed to dismantle Moody’s curses but the staircase was half missing, most of the wallpaper in the hallway scorched off and the kitchen not at all as gleaming as Kreacher had left it. A falling beam from the dilapidated staircase narrowly missed their heads and they quickly decided head to The Leaky Cauldron instead.

When they entered however Harry was entirely unsure if that had actually been the wisest course of action. Half an hour later he made it through the pub to the bar, having shaken at least thirty different hands along the way, some of them more than once. He was reminded of the first time he came there with Hagrid. Tom greeted them warmly and tried to give them a butterbeer on the house. After Harry had convinced him to let him pay he and Hermione sat at a little table in the corner. The table was so tiny their knees bumped and when they leant their hands on the table their fingers were touching. They did mange to get a few words out before their conversation was abruptly stopped.

“What will the Weasleys say if we are in Australia for Ginny’s seventeenth birthday?”

“Oh, so you are running off to Australia then? The two of you?” Hermione’s face paled as she stared at the person behind Harry’s head. Harry recognised the voice. He did not want to turn around and then a camera flash went off. Harry groaned as Rita Skeeter pulled up a chair and situated herself at their tiny table.

“So, how long has this been going on then?” asked Rita sinuously, her ghastly Quick Quotes Quill hovering behind her left ear. “Heading off to Australia are we? Romantic rendezvous away from it all?”

“No, as a matter of fact, not so much,” said Hermione firmly.

“You’re a bit fickle, aren’t you, Harry,” said Rita, ignoring Hermione completely. “It was just six weeks ago you were spotted conspicuously with Miss Weasley, was it not? What does she have to say about your abrupt change of heart?”

“I haven’t had a change of heart,” protested Harry.

“Oh, since fourth year then?” nodded Rita in what Harry assumed she thought was a knowing way. “You’ve forgiven her for the dalliance with Krum then, or are you two still rivals?” Harry looked at Hermione desperately, a look that Rita obviously mistakenly interpreted as a look of love as she began gushing about their unhidden passion for each other and the veritable fairytale ending this was to the tale of Harry Potter.

“It’s hardly the end of my life!” Harry exclaimed. He indicated himself and Hermione, “and we’re not going out! We never have!”

“How does it feel to be the most eligible bachelor in the wizarding world, Harry?”

“I’m not eligible,” said Harry grumpily. Rita’s eyes lit up and he regretted ever opening his mouth; to say anything to her at all.

“So you are off the market then? I say again, does Viktor Krum know you have won the heart of Miss Granger?”

“Hermione, I think we need to go now,” muttered Harry. Hermione nodded feverishly in agreement and they both hastily stood up and edged away from Rita Skeeter who was following them, her acid-green quill scribbling furiously in her wake as she screeched after them to enquire if Hermione was still using love potions. Harry and Hermione dove almost headfirst into the fireplace and left her far behind.

As he tumbled out of the kitchen fireplace in The Burrow Harry stumbled on the edge of the hearth and landed, sprawling on the kitchen floor just as Hermione came through and tripped over him, the pair of them lay stranded on the kitchen floor as they caught their breath. George wandered in as they lay there, panting.

“What have you two been up to then?” he asked. “You look like you’ve been running from some of Hagrid’s half breed creations.”

“Not far wrong,” muttered Harry. “Which publication do you expect we’ll have to keep our eye on, Hermione?”

“Better keep a look out on the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly I suppose. It’s going to be horrible, isn’t it?” Harry grimaced and nodded.

“Do you think we need to warn Krum?”

“Probably best.” At that moment Fleur came bustling in from the living room.

“Why do you need to warn Viktor?” she asked curiously.

“Rita Skeeter,” answered Hermione and Fleur nodded sagely.

“What’d she do?” asked George eagerly. Hermione explained the way she’d ambushed them.

“And so there’s bound to be an article full of incriminating pictures and all sorts of terrible lies and probably something about me breaking Viktor’s heart this time,” she finished exasperatedly.

The Daily Prophet, unable to find out anything about Harry for weeks now and frustrated by their inability to uncover his birthday party secrets had obviously decided to print Rita’s idea of truth instead. Three days later the front page sported a rather large photograph of Harry and Hermione, squashed into their little table at The Leaky Cauldron and the Headline

LOVE HAS LONGEVITY

The recent hiccup in their romance not withstanding it seems that the love affair between Harry Potter and the rather plain Miss Hermione Granger is not yet over. Spotted in London recently making plans for an overseas getaway the couple appeared cosily in love as they planned their upcoming trip to Australia.

Harry Potter, wizarding Britain’s most eligible bachelor, has denied that tag, stating very clearly to this reporter “I’m not eligible.” Could it be, perhaps that this trip is more than a simple holiday and perhaps an elopement? It appears that Mr Potter’s interest in the Weasley girl is no more than a passing fancy, or perhaps she too used the Love Potions which made Mr Potter so attached to Miss Granger during her undoubtedly less than enchanting years at Hogwarts. It appears that Miss Weasley did indeed use illegal means to obtain her desires.

“She had him completely bewitched, you know,” says Miss Romilda Vane, one of Miss Weasley and Mr Potter’s Hogwarts classmates. “I mean one minute she’s got more boys than you can count twisted around her little finger and the next she’s got Harry Potter snogging her in front of everyone. That’s just not like Harry at all. She had to have bewitched him. I expect she slipped it to him in some food, or chocolates or something.”

So could it be that all along it was Miss Weasley using the Love Potions to secure herself boyfriends and not Miss Granger. Perhaps Miss Granger and Mr Potter have a relationship that has simply withstood the test of time and betrayals that all other dalliances are mere rumours or red herrings? Viktor Krum doesn’t seem to think so.

“We had a very good time when we were together,” says Mr Krum, of his relationship with Miss Granger during what was her fourth year at Hogwarts. “She was a bit at odds with one of her male friends at that stage though. I do not think he approved.” Undoubtedly the male friend to which he refers is Mr Potter. One can only assume that such a good time with another is what led to Mr Potter seeking the affections of other girls, for a time. One such girl reassures us that he is definitely not interested in her now. Miss Cho Chang says she once kissed Mr Potter and they enjoyed a brief relationship but that it was always undermined by Hermione Granger, lurking there in the background. She speculates that Miss Granger kept young Mr Ronald Weasley also dangling as he was never seen with any other girls until his sixth year.

“It is entirely possible,” says Chang, “that Lavender [Brown] obtained some of the Love Potion Ginny Weasley was brewing. They were after all, in the same house at Hogwarts.” Investigations by this reporter reveal that Mr Weasley is indeed going with the couple to Australia. Is he the witness to their secret wedding or is there something more to their threesome than meets the eye?

“Imagine if she got hold of the fact that we spent most of last year alone in a tent together, some of it without Ron,” sniffed Hermione as she threw the paper down on the Weasley’s kitchen table. “If she can twist Viktor’s innocent words like that what can she do with something that actually does look questionable!” Ron snorted into his breakfast and said something that sounded suspiciously like ‘innocent, ha!’ Hermione fixed him with a glare.

“There was nothing questionable about the tent, Hermione,” said Harry exasperatedly.

“Well I know that and you know that and Ron knows that, but would Rita and the rest of the world believe that?”

“Good point,” said Harry gloomily as he stabbed his eggs with a fork. The three of them were alone in the kitchen, Mrs Weasley having gone to roust Ginny from her bed right before the Daily Prophet had arrived. They sat morosely picking at their breakfast when the fireplace flared to life and Viktor Krum’s head appeared in the flames.

“Hello Viktor,” said Hermione listlessly.

“Hullo Herm-own-ninny,” said the head in the fireplace. Ron snorted. “Hullo Veasley, Potter.”

‘Er, yeah, hi,” stammered Ron blushing.

“I am sorry about that article. That voman has tvisted my vords.”

“Don’t worry about it Viktor, she twisted ours too,” said Harry, sighing.

“Vell, should you like I take care of her?” Hermione choked on her bacon.

“What do you mean take care of her?”

“She cannot be allowed to get avay vith this!”

“She always gets away with it!” Ron said. “What are we supposed to do?”

“Vell,” mused Viktor, “in my experience it is better to refute such things rather van let them go on. You should make a statement.” He swung towards Harry.

“Me?” Harry squeaked.

“Yes, you,” said Viktor definitively. “Clear up the rumours, convirm or deny the trip to Auztralya, clarify your statement that you are not eligible. Vat does zat mean, anyway? You are unmarried, yes?” Harry nodded.

“I’m only eighteen! What on earth makes her think I am even thinking of getting married?” he said exasperatedly. “Who gets married at eighteen anyway?”

“I did, dear,” said Mrs Weasley as she came back into the kitchen. “Oh hello Viktor dear!” she said as she noticed his head floating in the fireplace. Harry backpedalled quickly.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with someone getting married at eighteen of course it’s just, well I don’t know anyone who did, or I thought I didn’t and well I couldn’t…” he trailed off uncertainly and Mrs Weasley smiled at him.

“And why are you discussing marriage anyway Harry?” she enquired as she bustled about the stove. Harry blushed to the roots of his hair; Ron looked shiftily at the floor while Hermione tried to surreptitiously hide the morning paper.

“I shall be going then,” said Viktor from the fireplace. He looked at Harry. “Get a press representative.” Then he was gone.

“What do you need a press representative for dear?” said Mrs Weasley briskly as she brought another plateful of piping hot bacon to the table just as Ginny and George entered the kitchen behind their father. The three newcomers slid into their seats just as Mrs Weasley spotted the edge of the Daily Prophet that Hermione had been trying to slide under her plate. Hermione wasn’t quick enough and Mrs Weasley pounced on it.

“Oh good, it’s finally arrived. Tuesday is household cleaning tips day,” she said briskly as she rifled through the pages, completely ignoring the front page. Unfortunately this meant she held it up for the rest of the table to look at. George let out a low whistle.

“Oh, she got you two a good one. Lovely photo,” he said. Ginny looked up from her eggs and promptly spat them out all over the table.

“Really Ginny,” said Mrs Weasley as she lowered the paper, “you shouldn’t eat so fast if you’re going to spit everything out like that.” Ginny said nothing but snatched the paper from her mother, smoothing out the front page. Harry and Hermione watched her warily while Ron took another bite of toast and then waved the half eaten piece in Ginny’s face.

“It’s a load of rubbish,” he said unnecessarily. Ginny finished reading it and glared at him.

“I know that, dunderhead,” she snapped, “but just you wait until I get my hands on Romilda Vane!” Mrs Weasley was peering at the front page as Ginny read it. As she finished the article she tutted and shook her head.

“That woman,” she huffed, “Viktor does have a point though, perhaps you do need a press representative; someone to refute these ridiculous claims.” Harry sighed and ran his hands through his hair before resting his head in his hands. Mr Weasley took the paper to have a closer look. He frowned as he read through the article.

“Well, you do need to say something,” he eventually said. “She’s got you eloping to Australia! And what possessed you to say you weren’t eligible?”

“It was practically the only thing I even said to her and … well I’m not!” protested Harry hotly.

“Perhaps you don’t think so,” said Mrs Weasley gently.

“The witches will consider you eligible until you’ve got a ball and chain, Harry,” said George. Ginny and Hermione glared at him. George continued, “and some of them will probably still consider you eligible.” Harry sighed again. Ron groaned.

“What?” asked Harry. “What now?”

“Don’t open any mail!” he barked at Hermione. “Even if it’s addressed to you; especially if it’s addressed to you!” Everybody looked at him strangely.

“Why not, Ron? I’m still waiting for my Hogwarts letter. I just has to get here before we leave.”

“Well, you can open that one,” conceded Ron grudgingly, “but don’t open any others.”

“Why not, Ron?” asked Hermione impatiently. “You can’t tell me what to do!”

“Well it’ll probably be hate mail, won’t it?” reasoned Ron. “D’you fancy pus filled fingers again?” Hermione subsided. Apparently she saw his point. Mr Weasley stood up.

“Not to worry, Harry,” he said. “I’ll have a chat to Kingsley today see if we can’t sort this out. Okay I’m off now, see you all tonight!” He kissed Mrs Weasley on the cheek and left out the back door to apparate to London. Ron and George left soon afterwards to go to Diagon Alley. They planned to open the shop as soon as they returned home from Australia, so there was a fair bit to do.

It turned out that the whole reason Harry and Hermione had stopped in The Leaky Cauldron to discuss Ginny’s birthday was a non issue for her family. Ginny had been excited to spend her birthday in a different country and although Mrs Weasley had been reluctant to let her go at first she soon realised that with most of her brothers away she wouldn’t have a particularly festive birthday at home with Percy and her parents in any case. She sighed and said Ginny could still go and they’d have a special birthday dinner when they all got home. This kept things on a tight schedule to ensure all was ready for their departure and Hermione soon chivvied Harry and Ginny upstairs to finish packing.

“We aren’t leaving for three days, Hermione!” protested Ginny.

“You can’t leave everything to the last minute, Ginny!” huffed Hermione. “No wonder we are always late leaving for Hogwarts!” Harry gave Ginny a rueful smile as Hermione pushed her into her own bedroom and sent Harry up to pack his own things. Ginny evidently packed in record time and managed to satisfy Hermione at the same time because it was only a short while later that Harry looked up from sorting his laundry to find Ginny slipping in the door. He hastily shoved the underwear in his hands behind his back. Ginny laughed as she threw herself on Ron’s bed.

“I’ve seen it before, Potter,” she smirked. “Who do you think helps my mother with the laundry?” Harry sighed and inspected the contents of his hands before tossing it into the laundry basket near the door.

“That’s not the point,” he grumbled good naturedly as he continued sorting his socks.

“Haven’t you finished packing yet?”

“No, I have not, it’s not everyone can be as speedy as you Miss Ginevra,” he replied as he shook out a pair of maroon pyjamas that he realised were actually Ron’s. Ginny took a good look around the room then and sighed.

“You two live in a pigsty. You know that don’t you?” she said conversationally. “Hermione never warned me about that.”

“Hey, it’s not me who lives in a pigsty, it’s Ron!”

“You can’t fool me Harry, I know that particular pile over there,” she pointed to a rather untidy heap by the wardrobe, “is yours.”

“But how do you know Ron didn’t put it there?” he smirked at her as he wadded up a pair of jeans and lobbed it into his bag. Ginny rolled her eyes at him and climbed off the bed.

“Honestly Harry, is that how you always pack?” she asked as she began to pull all of the contents from the bag on Harry’s bed. Harry started to protest and then sighed heavily before slumping onto his bed, defeated.

“Oh no you don’t Potter, I’m not doing this while you laze about doing nothing! Go and sort out that festering pile over there, we need to get this stuff cleaned if you are going to take it with you,” she began sorting through the items on his bed and discarding most of them into the laundry basket.

“Hey, it took me ages to pack all that!” protested Harry, swiping at a pair of boxers as they sailed through the air towards the basket. “And how do you know those are dirty?”

“I assume,” Ginny stated loftily. “I can see I shall have to train you if you ever wish to call yourself not eligible.” Harry studied her intently before asking softly,

“You think I’m eligible right now?” Ginny looked up at him startled. “Because I’m not. I haven’t been for over a year. I’ve been yours. I’ll always be yours.” He studied Ginny who stood motionless, a pair of socks covered in Snitches dangling from her right hand. She blinked at him, and looked down at the socks in her hand.

“It’s not – “ she broke off, hesitating, “I hadn’t really thought about it. Dreamed maybe, but not serious thought.” She put the socks back in the bag, mechanically following them with a pair of matching boxers and folding the jeans Harry had wadded up moments before. Harry put out a hand to stop her, causing her to look up at him.

“I might not be getting married, or even engaged, heck I’m not even planning to get engaged right now, but that doesn’t make me eligible,” he reached over and took her hand, forcing her to drop the jeans she was holding. “I might not be planning to get engaged but I know who I’m planning to marry. She already has my heart. I’m not eligible for anyone but her.” He heard Ginny swallow audibly as she stared at him. Her eyes were wide and he could see the pulse beating erratically in her neck. He lifted his other hand to touch it and with his fingertips resting on her pulse he pressed a feathery soft kiss to her lips. He pulled back slightly but found his lips captured once again as Ginny launched herself at him.

He could feel her arms around his neck, her lips as they played across his own, her hair as it caressed his arms as he wound them around her waist. He opened his mouth willingly as she demanded entrance, her tongue dancing over his teeth and lips. He felt her familiar warm hands slide down his back and then creep up his shirt. His own hands traced patterns up and down her back as her tongue found his and as she stroked it with her own he realised his hands had moved south, travelling over new, curvy territory and he was pressing her hips to him as he began to chase her tongue back into her own mouth. The kiss that she had so boldly started had turned the tables on her and blindly Harry backed her towards Ron’s bed and they fell on it in a tangled heap. Harry reached out to break his fall but did not break the kiss.

His hands moved back down to grasp her hips before travelling back up her sides, finding more new curves and he melted bonelessly into her as he crawled onto the bed on top of her. There was a distant bang as she tangled her feet with his and her own hands travelled to unexplored territory, pressing his hips closer to her own. Harry wasn’t embarrassed this time when he realised that it was his reaction that had prompted her boldness. Neither of them saw the door swing open as they lay on Ron’s bed kissing fiercely, Ginny’s hands caressing Harry’s considerably less than scrawny bum and his hands pinning her beneath him as his mouth plundered hers.

“It’s a good thing I’m not her mother.” Hermione’s voice broke through their passion. Indeed it cooled it considerably. Harry broke off the kiss and they both sat up hurriedly, straightening their clothing as Hermione continued, dropping a clean pile of laundry on Harry’s bed as she did so. “Equally, I am sure you are more than relieved I am not Ron either. He’d have something to say about that sort of activity on his bed, I’m sure. Now if you could finish packing?” She left, taking the dirty laundry basket with her as she went.

“Bet Ron wouldn’t have a problem with it if he was the one doing it with her,” muttered Harry. Ginny giggled nervously.

“She’s right. It’s a good thing she wasn’t mum.” She stood up and began nervously folding the jeans she had dropped earlier, refusing to look at him.

“Ginny,” said Harry as he scrambled off the bed, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lost control like that. It’s just I … I’m sorry.” He raked his hands through his hair as Ginny stuffed the jeans into the bag. She finally looked up at him.

“Oh Harry,” she said, “don’t be sorry. I’m not. A trifle embarrassed that Hermione walked in on us perhaps, but not sorry.” She gazed up at him and the light from the window cast a glow on her face that made him catch his breath and he leaned down to kiss her softly.

“One day,” he whispered, “one day I will marry you and the whole world will know I’m not eligible. Right now maybe only you know it, but that’s enough.” Ginny looked more than a little flushed but she smiled at him and reached out a hand to stroke his cheek.

“We’d better get packing then so we live long enough to make that dream come true,” she said. “Hermione will be back in a minute to supervise. I am sure she doesn’t trust us at all now.” Sure enough only a few minutes later Hermione was back to make sure they kept busy packing rather than busy with each other but she couldn’t stop them sneaking longing glances at each other as they finished packing Harry’s bag and began straightening up the bedroom.

*******************

Wednesday night at The Burrow Mrs Weasley started running through a checklist of things to ensure that everything had been done for their trip.

“Laundry all done?” Harry and Ginny stifled giggles while Ron looked at them strangely and Hermione glared at them.

“All done Mrs Weasley,” she replied.

“Toiletries packed?” They all nodded. “Paperwork?”

“Really, Mrs Weasley,” said Hermione, “everything has been taken care of. All we need do is show up to the portkey at the right time and we’re set. Bill and Fleur have a separate portkey for convenience but we should arrive in Sydney at around the same time, late afternoon Friday.”

“And you know where your portkey is?”

“Stoatshead Hill, same as for the World Cup.”

“Money!” said Mr Weasley suddenly. “Have you got enough money? If you’re arriving in the middle of a Muggle airport I expect you’ll need some Muggle money. Oh you’ll be able to find out how planes stay up won’t you?”

“I hadn’t thought about that,” cried Hermione in alarm as if forgetting anything at all was a crime. “We’ll have to go tomorrow and change some Galleons at Gringotts. Do they do exchanges to Australian dollars there?” Mr Weasley nodded.

“They’ll exchange anything at Gringotts. Don’t know how fair the exchange will be.”

“How will we know how much to exchange,” fretted Hermione. “I did a bit of research about it but it’s very confusing because all the exchange rates changes so frequently and I don’t know how much we’ll need. I suppose we’ll have to convert it to pounds first and then dollars, or do you think they’ll go straight from galleons to dollars? They do use galleons in Australian wizarding society, don’t they? I hadn’t even thought!”

“Calm down Hermione,” said Harry as he swallowed a forkful of treacle tart. “It’s not an issue anyway. I said I’d go and see Teddy tomorrow before I left but just take Ginny with you, change whatever you think we’ll need and then some. Grab some extra galleons too so we don’t have to worry about wizarding money either, okay?”

“What’s Ginny got to do with it?” asked George. Harry didn’t answer and shoved another forkful of treacle tart into his mouth. Eventually Ron, throwing an evil look at Harry, replied.

“Harry gave her access to his family jewels. She can go down anytime she wants.” Harry aimed a hard kick at him under the table and glared while George paled and looked at Harry suspiciously.

“I beg your pardon?” he asked. Ginny was glaring at Ron, blushing to the roots of her hair.

“My vault, George, relax,” said Harry. He smiled wryly.

“Got you a beauty though,” beamed Ron. “That’s payback, that is.” George threw a dinner roll at his head and looked pointedly at Harry.

“Yeah well, just you see that she doesn’t have access to anything else!”

“Must we discuss this at the dinner table?” asked Mrs Weasley fretfully, looking frantically to Mr Weasley for support. For his part Mr Weasley was buried in some parchment he had pulled out as soon as he’d finished his own treacle tart and only nodded along absently to the conversation going on around him. Ginny suddenly exploded.

“Must we talk about this at all? Why is it any of your business anyway?” she demanded. “What I choose to do in my sex life has got nothing to do with you!” Mrs Weasley looked frantically at her husband and slapped his arm to get his attention.

“Say something Arthur!” Mr Weasley looked up to see Ron and George glaring at Harry who was bright red and Ginny who looked as furious as anyone had ever seen her.

“Yes, yes, she’s quite right,” he said forcefully, clearly not wishing to get on the wrong side of his daughter who was evidently working up a head of steam.

“You have got to be joking, dad!” exclaimed George. “She can’t just … they can’t … and you’re letting her go off to Australia with him!” Ginny leapt out of her chair.

“How do you know what we do? It’s none of your business!” she screeched. Mr Weasley looked puzzled. It was obvious he had no idea what was really going on. Harry looked at Ginny who was furiously glaring at George and could tell she was moments away from getting her wand out.

“We don’t have a sex life, George,” he said without showing a hint of the embarrassment he was actually feeling. “But she’s right, it is none of your business.” He saw Ginny look at him and then subside back into her seat as he stared at George, daring him to comment.

“Who wants more treacle tart?” asked Mrs Weasley a little louder than was necessary.

“No thanks, Mrs Weasley,” said Harry quietly as he rose from his chair. “Excuse me.” He slipped quietly out the back door without saying anything else to anyone. He wandered across the garden and stopped at the shed, leaning his shoulder against it, looking up into the darkening sky were stars twinkled faintly, hands in his pockets. He turned as he heard someone coming across the garden behind him.

“They’ll look different in Australia, won’t they,” said Mr Weasley as he stood next to Harry looking at the sky.

“Yeah, Hermione read about it.”

“Come help me in the shed, Harry,” said Mr Weasley as he unlocked the door and pushed it open. “I had to move the motorbike in here. I think Molly still doesn’t know, she can’t tell the difference between all these Muggle bits.” Privately Harry thought Mr Weasley might have been hoping a bit much to think that his wife did not know he had practically a whole flying motorbike in his shed but he followed Mr Weasley into the shed which was crammed with the oddest assortment of items that Harry had ever seen.

Along one wall was a series of boxes and Harry could see that they were full of plugs. Three old toasters were sitting on the bench at the far end of the shed and no less than six electric frying pans littered the edges of the floor. Extension cords, table lamps and old digital clocks were dangling from a beam that ran the length of the shed and a bar fridge was stuffed in one corner, the door hanging open to reveal that it housed approximately twelve screwdrivers, an electric drill and a box of nuts and bolts. Harry thought he could see a television and a computer keyboard on another bench but he was only guessing because whatever it was had been taken apart thoroughly. Pieces of Sirius’s motorbike were lying haphazardly in the middle of the floor and a rusty lawnmower was shoved behind the door.

Harry wandered around the shed uncertainly, staring at the things that Mr Weasley tinkered with in his spare time; while Mr Weasley himself lit the lamps scattered around the shed and pulled a dusty box out from under one of the benches. Digging through it, and tossing aside a worn out cordless kettle, four packs of Muggle playing cards and what was once a Discman, Mr Weasley extracted two cans of soft drink. Setting them on the bench he refilled the box with the other items, added one of the electric frying pans for good measure and pushed it back under the bench.

“Now, Harry,” he said eagerly, “can you tell me what these do?”

“They’re drinks, Mr Weasley,” he said.

“Ah, splendid! Splendid!” crowed Mr Weasley. “I told Perkins that is what they were!” Harry smiled at his exuberance.

“Would you like me to show you how they open?” he offered. Mr Weasley nodded eagerly.

“Do you think we could drink them?”

“I guess so,” Harry studied the cans, “although they’re normally served chilled. How long have you had them?”

“Oh, got them in the last raid before things went completely rubbish after Easter and we went into hiding at Muriel’s,” replied Mr Weasley as he applied a cooling charm to the cans. “Middle of The New Forest and the snacks in one of the pubs started flying around the room; most disconcerting for the Muggles. We had to collect a whole lot of things, sort out a right mess that time. These came back with the enchanted snack food but we weren’t able to find anything odd about them at all.” Mr Weasley seized the cans and sat down on the floor in a clear spot between the lawnmower and what looked like the exhaust pipe of the motorbike. Hesitating, Harry sat down, cross legged opposite him. Mr Weasley handed him one of the cans.

“You open that one and I’ll copy you,” he said. Harry grasped the can and levered the ring up a little, Mr Weasley copying him exactly. When Harry cracked his can open by pulling up hard on the ring and pushing the end down the can’s contents spurted out the top and drenched Mr Weasley in a foamy mess. Harry was mortified. Clearly Mr Weasley relished it as part of the experience because he simply laughed and cracked open his own can, showering Harry with orange foam.

“Most people try to avoid that actually,” murmured Harry wryly as he shook the fizzing liquid off his hands. “Must’ve been a bit shaken up.”

“I think we’re all a bit shaken up lately,” said Mr Weasley as he used his wand to siphon up the spilled fizzy drink. He then took a sip and laughed delightedly as the bubbles tickled on the way down. Harry sat staring at the can in his hands, contemplating Mr Weasley’s words. “All right Harry?” He looked up at Mr Weasley who was looking at him for all the world like a concerned father.

“Yeah,” he croaked out. “It’s just I thought things would be easy now but sometimes I wonder if they’ve just been replaced by different, confusing things. At least it was straightforward before. Rid world of Voldemort, live happily ever after.” He laughed bitterly.

“What’s confusing, Harry?” asked Mr Weasley gently. Harry fixed his eyes on the lawnmower, fiddling with the can in his hands.

“What to do now,” he whispered. “I sort of feel like I am supposed to help fix things up but I really don’t know how, or if I want to. I don’t know anything about the Ministry or politics. I want to finish my education but is it silly to go back to Hogwarts? One moment I feel a bit too old to be there and the next like I need it’s a safe haven.” He looked up at Mr Weasley who nodded at him to continue.

“I’d still like to be an Auror but it’s like I’m not old enough yet,” Harry shook his head. “Which is just ridiculous because normally that’s what I’d be doing this year, starting Auror training, and I am of age, have been for a year. One minute I feel really old, like I have been everywhere and done everything … I think dying and spending time on the other side does that to you. The next minute I feel like I haven’t done anything, that I know nothing.” He stopped, staring hopelessly at Mr Weasley.

“I’ll tell you a secret, Harry,” said Mr Weasley, his eyes looking suspiciously wet. “It’s like that for everyone. Not exactly the same obviously, but sometimes I think being a grown up means that you know you know nothing. Thinking you know everything is reserved for youth.

“Molly and I ran away and got married during the first war. We were eighteen, the same age as you. At the time I was so sure it was the right thing to do. We were adults, we could handle it. As soon as I slipped that ring on her finger and we were alone it hit me. I was absolutely petrified. What had we done? I felt responsible for her now, her safety, her happiness. We’d gone off and gotten married without her family knowing. Not that they didn’t approve of course but it was terribly exciting, going off secretly like that. Perhaps it wasn’t the smartest move I ever made. Marrying Molly certainly was but running off to do it … I advise you not to do the same. Molly’s temper is a lot bigger than her own mother’s.” Mr Weasley smiled as Harry felt a slight flush infuse his cheeks.

“How did you know you were ready to get married, Mr Weasley?” asked Harry.

“Well, I didn’t, not really,” Mr Weasley replied. “I think in the end I took a leap of faith. It was Molly who knew.”

“Do women know everything?” sighed Harry. Mr Weasley threw his head back and laughed.

“You’ve spent a lot of time with Hermione, son. She’s uncommonly gifted and very smart,” he answered. “No women don’t know everything. But sometimes it would be a lot easier if they did, wouldn’t it?” Harry nodded in agreement. He stared at the can still in his hand before taking a sip. Swallowing he looked at Mr Weasley.

“Is it possible though, for one woman to know everything about you? Know you inside out and back to front?” Harry asked him. “You know, even if you still can’t figure them out?”

“Eventually you can. I think they often just get there first.” Harry nodded his head vehemently before taking another sip of his drink. Mr Weasley studied him carefully for a moment and Harry looked up.

“I think you know Ginny better than you think you do,” Mr Weasley said. Harry sat motionless; they were no longer talking in vague, general terms. They were no longer talking about growing up, relationships and women as a whole, but specifically about Ginny. “Why did you speak up to George before?”

Harry was silent, thinking. Had he done the wrong thing, said the wrong thing? Mr Weasley said he knew Ginny better than he thought he did so did that mean he’d done the right thing? Eventually he shrugged.

“Because Ginny was about to hex him,” he answered honestly. “She was going to hex him for invading her privacy and trying to tell her what to do. She hates when her brothers try and tell her what to do, even if they’re right.” Mr Weasley tilted his head to one side, studying Harry intently.

“You think George is right?”

“Yeah,” Harry’s voice was almost a whisper. “That sort of relationship is … not something either of us are ready for. But it isn’t for him to decide. Ginny was embarrassed and she doesn’t want those sort of … details discussed as a family at the dinner table. Not that there’s anything to discuss.” Harry sighed heavily.

“See, you do know her,” stated Mr Weasley. Harry looked up at him in surprise. “She lets you defend her. That’s rare for Ginny. She does it partly because she knows you well enough, you like defending people, and partly because she trusts you. She trusts you to know where she’s coming from. Instead of telling George to butt out on your own account and taking over you backed her up.

“You know her well enough to know which part had really upset Ginny and the best way to defend her. You put aside your own embarrassment to help her and defend her, not your own actions or worries. Being questioned over your intentions and activities with the woman you love by her brothers is never very fun. The automatic reaction is to defend and justify yourself. To know what to do for her is something special.” Harry got the distinct impression that Mr Weasley could remember a time when he’d defended himself to his wife’s brothers. He felt a sudden kinship to Mr Weasley.

“I thought at one point they were going to hurt me,” the older man mused. “When I took Molly home to break the news that we’d eloped to her parents her brothers were waiting for me. It’s a good thing Bill didn’t arrive for several years, they were positive we’d got ourselves into … well a spot of bother. Instead of standing up for my wife I defended my own actions.

“She was of age, I was of age, it was nothing to do with them. They had nothing to do with what I chose to do thank you very much. I asserted my right to do as I pleased with my wife. Not once did I think to defend Molly’s right to privacy or to remember that it was not just my actions I was describing or justifying. They took her aside next and had a word or two with her. If I’d spoken to them properly in the first place …” Harry contemplated what Mr Weasley had said.

“I love Ginny,” he said suddenly to his own surprise. He’d not meant to blurt that out right then. Mr Weasley nodded. “I can’t be away from her again. If that’s the only reason I’m going back to Hogwarts, is that a selfish reason? Maybe I could be doing so much more helping Kingsley or something.”

“Even if it is a selfish reason,” said Mr Weasley, “and I don’t think it is, I still think it’s the best thing for you to do. Even if that is only because she couldn’t bear to be away from you again either and I think she’ll need you if she’s to go back there again. If you look at it that way, it’s not selfish at all.” Harry stood up suddenly, spilling some of the drink in his hands and it made a small fizzing puddle on the floor. He turned to examine the pieces of the motorbike noting the scratches along a piece of what was possibly once a mudguard. Something Mr Weasley just said made him pause.

“It was hard for her at school last year wasn’t it?” he asked as he turned to look at Ginny’s father and saw the pain briefly flash across his face. Harry ran his hand haphazardly through his hair. “Neville told us a bit about it and we heard some things but I haven’t really given much thought to what it was like at Hogwarts last year. There’s been so much to think about, so much to deal with and there’s still stuff I haven’t even thought about.

“I mean we’ve talked about it a bit but Ginny only ever told me how she and Neville and Luna defied the Death Eaters. She’s never let on that it still hurts. How did I miss that?”

“Probably because she hasn’t shown you that. Her biggest hurt was being away from you and so the biggest part is healed because you’ve come home,” said Mr Weasley as he too rose from the floor and walked over to look out of the shed’s tiny window at the stars now twinkling brightly in the night sky. “Some of the things that happened at Hogwarts last year are going to mean it’ll take effort for the castle to seem like home again. She’s happier now than she’s ever been but going back there after last year …”

“Professor Snape did his best to protect the students,” said Harry and Mr Weasley nodded. He picked up one of the toasters and rubbed the shiny metal side of it. Harry gulped down more of the drink in his hand and they stood in silence for a moment.

“Look after my baby girl, Harry,” Mr Weasley said suddenly, putting down the toaster and turning to look Harry in the eye. “The only thing I want for all of my children is for them to be happy, but Ginny … Ginny is something special. When you have a daughter you’ll know what it’s like. That little red headed princess will capture your heart and you’ll be the only man in her life, the only man who can make her smile, make her happy. Then one day you’ll realise she’s given her heart to someone else, another man and he’s the one who makes her smile. If you’re lucky, like I am, you’ll be able to hand her happiness over to him and know that he’ll take as much care of her smile as you always have. “

“Once I never thought I’d even live long enough to get married or have children,” said Harry. “But I would like to, very much. I haven’t thought much about it. I know what I feel when I’m with Ginny, but it’s about more than how you feel in the moment isn’t it?”

“Marriage is definitely about more than the heat of the moment,” agreed Mr Weasley. He paused and then said, “it will be the most amazing experience in the world to share yourself intimately, when you are both ready.” And Harry knew then that Mr Weasley was bestowing on him perhaps the most precious thing he had. His daughter and her happiness, it was in his hands now. But with that gift came responsibilities, ones that Harry would gladly bear. He felt no embarrassment as he had earlier but looked Mr Weasley in the eye and asked,

“Does she tell you when you’re both ready then?” and Mr Weasley laughed. Harry smiled and continued, “because I have absolutely no idea!”

“Some people rush into it,” began Mr Weasley sobering slightly, leaning against the bench behind him. “For me I knew that I could only … claim that part of her once I made the bigger commitment to be her husband. There’s no going back afterwards so I wasn’t prepared to take that step until after I’d proven my commitment in a way that was … more permanent. I knew a long time before we got engaged that Molly was the only woman for me but I figured if I wasn’t ready to be her husband and shoulder that responsibility I wasn’t ready to bear the bigger responsibility and take her to bed either.” Mr Weasley blushed slightly then and Harry grinned at the candid way he’d spoken.

“So you think it should wait for marriage then?” asked Harry.

“I certainly waited until then because I know it was the right decision despite Molly’s protests,” answered Mr Weasley, “Not everybody waits. It’s what I advised my sons. I’m not your father though ...”

“Well, you’re her father!” said Harry blushing profusely. He sighed loudly and sat on a nearby upturned packing crate. “I wonder what my father would have said …” A lone tear trailed unbidden down his cheek as he realised he had no idea and no one left to tell him what his father would have said. Mr Weasley crouched down in front of Harry and tenderly wiped away the tear.

“I don’t know what he would have said but I know that he loved you and I know what it is like to love your son and I can tell you that he would have only wanted for you to be happy,” Mr Weasley paused, reaching out a hand to lift Harry’s head up to look at him. “And he’d want to be sure that the woman who stole his son’s heart from his wife was worthy of that affection. Maybe I am biased but I think James Potter would have been pleased with the woman who holds your heart in her hands.” Harry held Mr Weasley’s gaze steadily.

“She could shatter it into a million pieces,” he breathed.

“Terrifying, isn’t it?”

“Worth it though,” said Harry and Mr Weasley nodded in agreement.

“I know I’m not your father, Harry but –“ and Mr Weasley found himself unable to finish his sentence because Harry and put his arms around him and given him the same sort of heartfelt hug he had given Mrs Weasley on his birthday last year. Mr Weasley returned the hug and then they both stood up.

“Thanks, Mr Weasley.”

“It’s probably time we turned in, son,” he said as he led Harry out of the shed door. Looking thoughtfully at Harry he said, “Mr Weasley’s getting to be a bit formal. You can call me Arthur if you want to.” Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and began tracing a circle in the dirt with his toe, staring at the swirling dirt and the puffs of dust he could see floating up in the lingering lamplight as Mr Weasley snuffed them out.

“You keep calling me ‘son’, d’you think … well … would it be okay if sometimes I could call you dad?” he said, barely audible. He hurried on. “I don’t think my dad would mind and you’re the only one I’ll ever know –“ Mr Weasley put his hand on Harry’s shoulder and Harry looked up at his face to see the older man with tears gathering in the corners of his twinkling eyes.

“I’d be honoured, son.”