Stars were dancing before her eyes, flickering like a thousand fairies in the dark. Luna’s fireworks were far from ordinary. Still she preferred to watch them from the window of her room, alone, yet not. She winced from a kick. Or so she had thought, at first. In fact she winced from a faint breath on her neck. As her hair was wrapped in a bun, she could feel it. Startled, her head rushed to the side, met a pair of concerned brown pearls – at about her height.
“Goodness, don’t scare me that much!”, she could only gargle.
“Sorry. The others didn’t notice you left.”
“Good to know, because that was my intention, actually.”
“Thought so. Why’re you up here?”
“I – I needed – to – I don’t know. Be alone, I guess.”
“Okay, I’ll leave you to your thoughts then.”
Already back at the door, Hermione stopped her, downright desperate.
“Please – I – I – ”
“Want to sit down?”
“I think so – yes.”
Although she was so apparently close to giving birth, Ginny was still quite agile. With ease she walked over to the bed, which was meanwhile a double bed, and sat down in the middle, cross-legged, her belly resting in her lap. Hermione joined her with bigger difficulty – mostly however due to the room being pitch black between the spells cast outside. The flashes just made it harder, or maybe it was only her current state of mind. That definitely made simply everything harder.
For a long while, they merely tried to look at each other, colours dancing over their faces every few seconds, the cheers from outside slightly muffled by crooked walls. Hermione didn’t know where to start or if to start at all. Part of her told her to talk about it; to let it out so it wouldn’t eat her up from inside, but the other part kept reminding her of her promise. Also she still remembered how it had shattered Ginny and if Dumbledore should indeed turn out to be right, she didn’t want to be the one who sparked her friend’s hope only to find it crushed once more. Perhaps though, this was the moment to break the ice. If not now, when? But if now, what then?
“No need to be afraid.”, Ginevra said blank, jerking Hermione from her thought.
“What?”
“I said, you don’t need to be afraid. Sure, it’s painful, no denying, and a huge change of simply everything, but you’ve known long enough it’s gonna happen and I know you’re both as prepared as you can be. You’ve got enough people with experience behind you. You can manage.”
“Uhm – ”
“James is three now. We managed. And so did billions of people before us, how ever their situations may have varied.”
That was true. All of it. She was scared, yes. But they both had their parents to support them. They were exceptionally lucky. Also Angelina had been of much help so far, trying to prepare her on all that she had seen already but what now laid ahead of Hermione. Still she could only acknowledge Ginny’s words with a chuckle.
“And Dumbledore’s got a point.”
“Huh?”
“You know,”
“What do you mean?”, blinking heavily, she tried to feign nescience as well as hide her panic and interest.
“Come on. It’s Hogwarts we’re talking about. You know as well as I do that there are only three rooms in the entire building that’re – as bugproof as you can have it. One’s the Room of Requirement, one’s the Headmaster’s private chamber, and one – ”
“I know.”, she sighed, upset, however also relieved, if though eager to know who eavesdropped.
“There is – something I need to tell you. It’s both remarkable and scary at the same time.”
“Yes?”
“Want to know one of Luna’s secrets?”
“Secrets?”
“How she always seems to know everything? Besides her wicked ability to read both emotions and thoughts from tiniest body language?”, Hermione indeed became curious.
“I’d like to hear, yes.”
“She used to randomly pick up spiders.”
The pause didn’t actually help. Luna did what? And how was that useful? Was she able to extract memories from spiders?
“Heck, I don’t know how she does that.”, Ginevra murmured.
“Oh.”, Hermione escaped a snicker. “You know, for a second, you had me.”
“Yeah. Noticed that. The truth is, Dumbledore went asking McGonagall if that was true and what she thought about it and Luna just happened to be there. I actually sent her to get some information from Phineas, as he refused to show up in Grimmauld Place. I told her I trusted her ability to quote him by the syllable, but Luna insisted on using Extendable Ears.”
“Oh my god – ”, Hermione breathed, unable to prevent her eyes from getting watery. “Ginny I – I’m so sorry – I should have – ”
“You promised not to tell.”, she faintly shook her head. “I don’t blame you. But yeah, Dumbledore’s got a point. You shouldn’t have told him. You broke your promise.”
“Wait – that’s what you mean? That is the point he has, that you mean?”, her brows narrowed almost automatically.
“Sure, yeah, the other’s a good point too, if you talk about how he believes you have no legitimate proof; an extraordinarily good point; but it’s kinda out of question, isn’t it?”
“So you believe me? That he’s alive?”
“It’s not a matter of belief, Hermione. Would I like to believe?”, she chuckled. “Most certainly! Do I agree with your belief because I like the idea? No.”
“Why then? Has he – he hasn’t shown himself to you, has he?”, her hand clapped on her mouth.
“Look. You did well keeping that secret for years, only for then telling, of all, Dumbledore’s portrait. In a non-secure abandoned classroom. Trusting him to not go and have your story verified.”
“He did send away the other portraits, right? He – ”
“Yeah. But spoiling such a big secret to Dumbledore for the mere hope to get attention from Severus’ portrait is sorta lame, don’t get me wrong. Do you honestly believe he’ll come back to you if you keep annoying his portrait? Either way he’s moved on.”
“Has he told you? Personally?”, the insistent stare Hermione gave her, made Ginevra falter.
“How much more proof do you need?”, she grunted eventually. “Is this really what you want? Dragging him out of his comfort zone; out of his new life into his old, to lose all his manners and sensibility and tell you to get lost because you finally annoyed him enough? Is that what your obsessed brain needs to hear? Ask yourself, Hermione. Ask yourself honestly, if you ever loved him or if you’re nothing but a selfish stalker thinking he can only be happy with you and you only. Please, Hermione. For your own good. Ask yourself that question. I don’t even want your answer. Just be honest to yourself.”
She knew the feeling well. Of haunting silence. Of words echoing over and over in an empty skull, trying to make it explode. The flashes had gone from her conscience; failed their try to tell her it wasn’t silent, as it wasn’t silent. Many words, long in the past and recent, had hit her heart hard; pierced her soul. Even words with the very message. But never had they paralysed her as much as they had now. She had ever considered Ginny a friend. Someone who stood by her. Yet maybe she was a true friend, speaking her mind to her without shame. But weren’t friends there to reassure one another? Rather than shattering everything the other held on to, crushing their heart’s castle with both feet after they showered it in petrol and lit a spark?
Her confused brain told her that exactly that would actually extinguish the flames, but that brain throbbed so hard against the insides of her skull she felt being back in the Hospital Wing, years ago, depending on a respirator, yet none was there to help her breathing this time. It had been the same person to cause it. Physically then, mentally now. Worse, now she heaved herself from the bed and left her behind in that room, alone in a dark that got lit with meaningless flashes, thrashed by noises farther away than they were and for some reason, that same moment the door closed, or probably some seconds after, all she craved for was Crookshanks jumping onto her bed, comforting her with his soft purring, brushing his face against her icy fingers. But even he was gone. Even her cat had abandoned her to live with her best friend that had left her sitting in a nutshell on tempestuous water with a thunderstorm raging above and around.
It felt to her as though Severus himself had told her, bluntly, that he had never loved her, which of course, wasn’t the truth. And there it was, another part of her brain, telling her that he had, if she considered thoroughly, never told her that he did love her. Never with those classic three words or alike. But was Severus a classic? Was he – ordinary? Would the words even have meant exactly that if he had said them to her? What was the truth? Did he love her too much for words to express it, enough for abandoning her so as to not crush her with his love? Or not at all?
The truth was that she didn’t know. Neither any of that, nor whether she would ever get to find out – or if obtaining any of that knowledge would ever be in her hands. Though one thing she knew: she would give it her best, and if the whole world thought her for a stalker with a sickening obsession. What did the world care. It was her heart that bled, not theirs. And besides, she believed to know well he too could, quite literally, sing songs about obsession.
~~#~~
“Ron?”
The voice echoed ghostly through the building, unanswered in a mysterious drabness. Footsteps as silent as a cat’s paws, shushed by the dust on the carpets, he searched the floors and lastly found him, lying flat on the back, between the sofas in the salon, in old pyjamas with his bleak coloured jumper thrown over, his red hair in the silvery light from outside sticking out like a drop of blood on a chess board. Only for a tenth of a second, Harry was alarmed, but then he already noticed the fingers crossed on the belly, with the chest above hovering.
“Ron?”, he chuckled. “Are you alright? Had a little too much for breakfast?”
“You gotta see this.”
“What have I got to see?”
“Come here.”, he did, and laid down left to him, eyes straight on the ceiling as well. “Look.”
“What’s there?”
“I thought I was going mad yesterday, but I just figured I wasn’t. Look. The chandelier.”
“What about it?”
“It’s not symmetrical. I mean, yeah, it is. But that one crystal. There. At the right. It’s not the same as the others. Almost like it’s made from a different material.”
“I know,”, Harry smirked. “Sharp eyes.”
“Thanks. Wait – you know?”
“Yeah. I needed it.”
“What for?”
“Birthday present for Luna.”
“Huh?”
“Don’t ask. I took it down and duplicated it. Didn’t quite get the copy right. I think I could, meanwhile, but I don’t really bother.”
“Oh. Okay,”, Ron sighed, still looking up and drifting far off into the world of his thoughts again.
“You didn’t say much during breakfast. Is everything alright?”
“What? Oh yeah, yeah.”, nonetheless he pondered.
“Don’t be an idiot. I can see something’s troubling you.”
Several minutes passed then, minutes Harry had decided to wait for Ron to sort his thoughts and words, minutes in which both silently stared up at the chandelier and its shimmering crystals in the gloom. The clouds had gotten thicker and the silver of the light become more grey. Very quietly, drop after drop knocked on the windows, but wouldn’t be granted entry.
“You think Hermione loves me?”
“Yes.”, was Harry’s quick but gentle answer.
“Really?”
“Definitely more than she cares to admit to herself. Maybe more than she realises. Why?”
“Dunno. It’s just – she does tell me, every once in a while, when she’s not super mad at me for no reason,”
“That’s just the way she is.”
“I know.”, Ron sighed. “But I think she’s not entirely honest with me.”
“What d’you mean?”
It took Ron a few more seconds to answer, yet neither would dare take their eyes off the chandelier.
“I don’t know if you’re actually – if I’m supposed to tell you at all, seeing as – damn, I don’t know. She’s – ”
“Hunting shadows from the past, yes. I didn’t fail to notice.”
“So I’m not insane?”, he frowned.
“Not that I noticed, no.”
“I don’t know if I should be glad now or worried.”
“Either way, you’re welcome.”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re not dumb, Ron. Regardless of what others might think. Or yourself.”
“But you can’t deny, I’m not exactly someone who gets everything instantaneously.”
“Now who does that anyway. I actually meant that you do perceive more than you want to admit to yourself. Hermione doesn’t understand why I still let you work as an Auror? Because I need your different way of thinking. Yes, she’s right. I am biased. And so are you. But while I noticed my bias to have grown even more over the years, yours has reduced. The truth is, I need you and your plain way of thinking. I need your way of observing things. It makes you see things others might overlook in their mania to catch every tiny hint on anything, whatever that may be. You’ve gotten more things right than she believes you ever could. Or yourself. And that is your only lack. Your lack of faith in your own judgement. But at the same time, it is exactly that which makes you the humble man you are. While it is a lack, it is also your most admirable trait.”
“If you say so,”
“I mean so. You lack the obsession others are owned by an thereby overlook the obvious, which you see.”
“The obvious. The only obvious thing I see is that Hermione – and others – trust my judgement as little as I do, or even less. Or why else do you think she still believes I’m incompetent for the job?”
“You know she doesn’t think that.”
“She partly does. Well, at least, that is the message she keeps conveying. But part of me tells me she’s nothing but scared. Scared that I take the job too serious, and that I don’t. That I either will get owned by it, or die because I wasn’t cautious. She still doesn’t understand why I also help out George. I’m not indecisive. He’s my brother and I want to help him however I can. He needs help however he can get it. What Hermione doesn’t understand is that humans do have a certain need to play pranks on each other and then have a good laugh about it, in the end. But they also request justice, if another has gone too far. She doesn’t get that I want to serve both human needs. I want to do the serious job, where I help getting the bad guys off the streets, but I also want to replace them with laughter.”
“Have you ever told her this with exactly these words?”, for a few seconds, they just gazed at each other.
“No.”, chuckled Ron flat. “I’m scared she’d be so focused on her own opinion that she won’t even listen.”
Harry only nodded on it, with a sigh, but also moved his right hand over to wrap his fingers around Ron’s left hand, comforting, and fingers weaving, eventually, his thumb brushing Ron’s when he mirrored him. With an initiating squeeze, he then held it more firmly, but not so firm it would stop the blood circulation in either hand. Staring back up, Ron bit his lips, but not because Harry moved closer in a weird angle, for leaning his head against his shoulder. Risking to distort his neck, he nonetheless tilted his head to the left, until his cheek met with the jet black waves.
“You’re quite the cosy gorilla, you know that?”, that cost Harry an amused snicker.
“I’m glad you agree with your sister, at least for once.”
“Seriously! How can something so shrubby, be so soft?”
“Some genetic mystery, I suppose,”
“Yeah. You’d reckon your dad’s and uncle’s hair was the same?”
“One, I couldn’t say. It’s been too long and I’d been too young. The other,”
“I should ask Hermione.”, Ron said, surprisingly determined.
“Why’d you think she’d know?”
“I just – gosh, it’s been bugging me for years, you know.”, sighed Ron, nervousness in his voice now. “She’s been kinda obsessed during our Hogwarts time already. Sure she tried to hide and I tried to ignore, but – but she’s been – ever so keen on defending Snape. Uh – I mean Severus. Sorry.”
“It’s okay;”, Harry meant leisurely, “You don’t need to try calling him by his first name just for me,”
“But I want to, you know. And that’s actually my point. I can see that you defend him whenever necessary, ever since you found out how much he was devoted to protecting you, and especially since you found out that you’re related. But why was Hermione always so focused on it? Or is it just me, summing up snippets of moments in time, making them appear as a mass and grander than they are?”
“No. As I said. You’re not.”
“So I’m right, you think?”
“Yeah.”, laughed Harry. “With multiple things. Manners say you shouldn’t talk about that with me or the other way round, but I know it’s not just your imagination.”
“So they did have – you know, a thing?”, Ron briefly lifted his head and eyed the black patch, but quickly went back to looking at the chandelier, cuddling against his friend’s head on the answer.
“Yes.”
“Wow.”
“And I can see your concern. I think she fell in love with him more than it’s good for her. But that doesn’t mean she loves you less, trust me.”
“Well, I’m not really worried that she doesn’t love me, you know, actually. As long as she’s happy with what she does. But that’s the point. I don’t think she is happy. I keep wondering, every time I see her lost in thoughts, whether she thinks about him, you see. I fear losing her to her own thoughts. If she does love him still, after so many years, and isn’t able to let go, okay. He didn’t stop loving your mum either. I’m not mad at her for that. But – I dunno – I’m worried that she – that she blusters into her thoughts so much she’ll start to believe he’s still alive or something.”
“Once again, I understand your concern. Yet wouldn’t it be more helpful if you phrased that the way you actually wanted to?”, he didn’t respond. “I’m not stupid either, Ron. I know you believe she’s already thinking that.”
“Oh.”
“And yeah! I absolutely agree with you!”, Harry sang in an approving tone in addition. “I too think she does believe that.”
“So I’m really not going round the bend?”
“Not in my opinion, no.”
“Hm.”, eyes drifting around, he processed the words. “I did somehow have the feeling that she’s lying. About why she was never at the Battle of Hogwarts Memorial Celebrations. Yeah, Luna was never there either, but I think Luna’s just covering up for her.”
“She is,”, Harry meant casually, causing Ron to narrow his brows.
“Is she. So Hermione doesn’t pack sturdy clothes and food into her beaded bag because she always goes hiking with Luna at around that date, no?”
“Nah. They never went hiking. Not once. Luna doesn’t like hiking. She walks the nature, but stops every few steps to study something. The concept of a hiking tour is against her idea of being in the wilderness.”
“Thought so. You think she’s going looking for him?”
“Most definitely, yes.”
“Where? I mean, let alone why even, where would she go looking for him anyway?”
“Wherever it is, she might have her reasons for assuming his possible whereabouts,”
“But she won’t find him! That’s ridiculous!”
“You’re right,”, sighed Harry, smiling at the still crystals, “No matter how much she’ll try, how thorough her search is, she will never find what she is looking for. And that frustrates her, clearly. But she thinks she’s on a mission and that alone gives her something to carry on year after year. She’s given herself a task. That much is certain. As much as it is certain that Jeanne and I have a bet going on how long it’ll take her until she actually gives up and accepts that he’s moved on.”
“What? No way!”, Ron laughed. “What’s your guess?”
“We both added several years to our guesses, so far. I’m at a decade from now.”
“Ten years? Blimey. You have a lot of faith in her persistence,”
“Jeanne said eleven and a half. Abelarda’s not participating, but said she might actually never give up.”
~~#~~
“Oh god, why can’t you just fall asleep.”, she urged, but James was eager to hear more. “Please!”, nevertheless the little boy hammered his small hands flat on the book, expressing his demand, making his father laugh quietly. “Stop laughing!”, Ginevra murmured. “Honestly. My eyes hurt.”
“Well, he loves the story. Please read on.”, he grinned.
“You’re just as much a child as he is, aren’t you?”, she grunted and wanted to continue, but a distant cry stopped her. “Oh no – ”
“I’ll do that,”, Harry meant and slipped off the bed, towards the open door. “Just go on reading.”
Following the heartbreaking crying, he crossed the corridor and went to a door that stood just a wee bit open so they would hear exactly that if it was to happen. But when he slowly pushed it further in, the crying had almost stopped. Harry stepped inside, feeling the cold immediately. The window was open. Alarmed, he meant to draw his wand from the waistband of his pyjamas, but then remembered that it had been several years since he had last stored it somewhere around there. A voice, soft and quiet, from a corner to his left. He flicked his hand at the lamps so as to startle the stranger, but didn’t achieve the desired result. The woman didn’t even stir, let alone, turn. She whispered on, to the child she had taken from the cradle.
Harry knew the voice. He had heard it before. It was rather deep for a woman’s, but the appearance was definitely that of a woman. Her black, slightly scrubby waves fell a bit past her shoulders, over a plain white cloak. As if automatically, Harry lowered his hand and listened.
“Sh, sh, sh.”, she visibly rocked the baby that calmed down on her arms. “Dun’ cry. I din’ mean ter wake ye. Sh. Sleep on, me lil emerald, sleep on.”
“Jeanne?”, Harry called quietly.
On that only, she turned around, rather slow, and a bit awkward, but she turned. Striking familiarity hit him. As pale as he had used to be, as thin, the face looked back at him with dark marbles behind round metal-rimmed glasses. Those rested on a nose as big as he knew his to be, but it wasn’t that crooked. For her assumed age, she looked rather young. But maybe it was due to the makeup she wore, perhaps to cover some wrinkles, even though it was subtle, only spotted by Harry due to his trained eye. Her eyes, however, were framed by thin, slightly blurred black lines.
“Mrs Snape?”
“There is no need fer addressin’ me ’is way, ye know tha’.”, she said, with a faint but warm smile.
“Grandma?”, Harry did another hesitant try, but her smile grew only a little bigger. “But – well, you died in your son’s arms – he – he said that – ”
“Did ’e say tha’?”, the slightly amused frown confused him a bit, but he somehow knew what it meant. “Well, I s’ppose, if me son ’imself said it, it is true, no’?”
“Seems he must have been wrong then, right?”, Harry’s sarcasm didn’t quite have the effect he had meant it to though. “I mean – everyone can be mistaken sometimes – ”
“Yes, ev’ryone can sum’times be mistaken.”, she stepped closer and Harry noticed that she had some difficulties to walk, like Jeanne.
“Why are you here?”, he asked when she carefully placed the baby on Harry’s arms, letting him comfort his now silent son on his own.
“Shouldn’ I be?”
“No idea – I mean, I don’t mind – ”
“Then dun’ wonder. It is true, I shouldn’ wander amon’ tha livin’ anymore. Tha’s why I will return ter me dead sis’ers eventually.”
“No!”, the word just sprang out of his mouth, yet he was glad that it hadn’t been too loud. “I – er –how’s Abelarda? Still carving people?”, it took her some moments to answer.
“Yes.”, her smile was gone. “Ye see, no matter ’ow lon’ ye lock ’em in or ’ow much ye punish ’em, no real monster sto’s bein’ one.”
“That’s also my opinion. But doesn’t that make her a monster as well?”
“I wun’ deny, it does. Bu’ it was ever ’er decision. An’ tha’s why I am proud o’ ye, Harry. ’Cause wha’ever ’appened, ye always found a way wit’ou’ killin’. I wish, I could as well, bu’ after all ’ese years I am tired o’ sparin’. I believed ter spare ’em would be a greater sufferin’ fer tha pain ’ey ’ad caused be ’eir ac’s, bu’ ’ey showed no remorse. No’ even in tha seconds before ’eir death. ’Twas clear ter me ’en, tha’ it was only those lef’ be’ind who suffered, be tha knowledge tha’ tha ones who killed ’eir families, were still ou’ there, ready ter destroy more lives. Such decisions are never easy, Harry, an’ ye, mos’ o’ all, can’ understan’. Ye never killed. Ye dunno wha’ it causes. Ye know ter be tha victim, bu’ ye dunno wha’ it’s like ter – Harry, if ye know wha’ it feels like ter commi’ a murder tha’ feels justified ter yerself, ye ge’ an impression o’ wha’ it migh’ be ter ’em an’ tha’ it’s jus’ no’ acceptable ter le’ ’em dwell in ’eir joy. If ye ’ave at leas’ sum’ hear’, ye will know.”
“So you did kill? Other than – you never really told me – ”
“Yes.”, that word left her with such sadness that Harry knew he would collapse instantly from the weight if he had to carry that burden for only a second. “Bu’ no’ a single time since tha end o’ tha war. At leas’ no’ direc’ly. Surely ye wish ter know why. ’T’s no’ all revenge. Me son sacrificed ’imself fer tha mere chance o’ a better world. Would ye wan’ ter see it in vain?”, Harry hesitated.
“No.”, he answered equally sad, but definite.
“’En I see no reason ter argue.”
“And actually, the only reason I never bothered is – I no idea – maybe I was glad you took away from me what I could have become otherwise. You gave me a reason to control myself.”
“’S tha’ so.”
“I said, I don’t know. How would I know now anyway. But why are you here – ”
“If it is yer wish tha’ I leave,”
“That’s not what I meant you to think I mean,”, Harry cut her off. “Why are you here – like that?”, he repeated more softly, but with a curious chuckle.
“Can’ ye think o’ a reason?”
“Because you wanted to see whether you can reach the bottom of the macabre-well or something?”
“Charmin’,”
“Or lost some bet?”, no reply. “Trying not to lose a bet right now?”, he could have sworn to have seen some peculiar flicker in those dark eyes – and decided to play along, pondering, for the chance of the discovery of an indeed profound reason. “You – ”, taking a deep breath, Harry nevertheless weighed whether it was even necessary to have this conversation, but he continued it for the sake of gaining time, with his eyes down on the baby that had closed his, and he needed to make up for that sudden ruthlessness, although it was indeed a bit unexpectedly macabre. “You wanted to see me. You wanted to come as a relative, not a friend. And if it asked the worst of you.”
“Tha’s righ’.”
“But you know it’s not necessary, I mean, who d’you think might – ”
“Maybe it is necessary, maybe it’s no’. Actually, I – ”
“You merely wanted to see again whether – whether my life’s not just a mask. Whether I’ve really become the father I always longed for having myself.”
“An’ ye ’ave.”
“And now you’ll be leaving. Again. And without even telling me if there’s any news on the cannibal.”
“Oh there is; I know I broke me promise, but ye’ll be findin’ sum’one sittin’ in a Ministry cell termorrow. Termorrow definitely.”
“Really?”, Harry blinked. “Walking around with a ton of sheets all the time, just in case you’d need a chair?”, both chuckled.
“Well, ter be ’ones’, yes. An’ as I said, I am no’ s’pposed ter be ’ere,”
“Okay.”, sighed Harry. “One question.”
“Go ahead,”
“Brothers.”, he looked up straight into the dark tunnels. “Was he ever that debauched?”
“Sum’ people would consider it; if ye only ’ave one las’ question granted; ter be foolish ter ask fer confirmation o’ a confirmation, after such a lon’ time even. I however see it as sum’thin’ wise, an’ soothin’; tha will ter ’ear encouragin’ knowledge again an’ again.”
“And of course you know that’s not the answer to my question who was the bigger crank. But yeah. It’s not like you judge people by the scale of their psychotic tendencies, right?”
“Ye canno’ spell `psychotic´ wit’ou’ `hot´.”
All Harry could do was stare. For a very long while. Until an ironic chuckle started to overwhelm both of them.
“True.”, Harry sighed when they calmed. “I should know. After all I’m married to a real Harpy.”
“I’d rather say, a Valkyrie. Speakin’ o’ which, I should follow tha call o’ me own.”
“So that’s really it, then.”
“I s’ppose,”
“And you’re actually going now, into nowhere, just like you came.”
“I believed, ye’d be used ter it be now?”
“Sort of,”, Harry mumbled. “I just wish sometimes you’d include me as a secret keeper every time you renew the spells, no matter how much I agree with your method. So I wouldn’t need to keep knocking on your brain to let me in, you know.”
“Tha leaves on me family’s tree are said; if no’ even famous fer it already; ter ’ave a certain talen’ fer appearin’ ou’ o’ thin air an’ leavin’ alike, Harry. Others are claimin’ ter know tha’ we are indeed successfully annoyin’ ’is miraculous thin’ called Death. An’ if one believes tha rumours, ye seem ter ’ave established both as well.”, of course he had known his plea would be ignored. “Bu’ I ’ave ter admi’, tha’ radical ’aircu’ o’ yers is awful.”, she sceptically eyed his undercut, the wavy Mohican bundle on top falling just in the right way to cover his scar.
“Ginevra’s fault. Suggested matching her is the only viable solution. There were so many split ends already and they kept tangling horribly with every movement, even in a plait. She’s really good at grooming and extending her dreads now, but my hair was impossible to work with.”
“Cu’ more often, an’ use a shampoo ye made yerself. Tha’s wha’ keeps mine alive.”, she smiled softly, turned and was gone, her voice though remained, and Harry knew which ability he still needed to train more.
“Thanks – er – will I be seeing you again, this year?”
“Wha’ d’ye think, hm?”
“That the year has still just begun. And not like that, I hope. Er – I guess.”
“No, I dun’ think so. Besides, I believe, Bel’s finally overcome ’er selfpitty fer no seein’ tha obvious. So ye should be good ter visi’ wit’ou’ ’er tryin’ ter drown ’erself in tha pool.”
“Wait – I thought you got rid of the pool for – ”
“Feng found it funny ter blow a hole inter tha ground.”
“You’re joking.”, Harry narrowed his brows.
“No.”
“You have a – cellar now?”
“Quite stable even. An’ yes, because Feng complained abou’ tha lack o’ a pool bein’ equivalen’ wit’ arthritis pains gettin’ worse. She’s go’ a poin’, ter be ’ones’. Tha sea isn’ exac’ly an option if ye wanna do water gymnastics. Also tha pool is bigger now.”
“Worth taking a dip myself?”
“Definitely worth. Bu’ ’til ’en, take care, me son.”, Harry felt the softest hint of a kiss against his forehead.
“Er – just one more thing – ”, but his mourning call remained lonely – nevertheless he added the truth he felt right to say. “I had the best father I could wish for. I hope you know that.”
The silky curtains waved slightly and he knew that he had been heard. It seemed to be an eternity. A very long time in which he only held Albus Severus on his arms, rocking him in his calm slumber. He didn’t turn for the other’s call either, but just looked at his sleeping son, neither of them feeling the cold coming from the open window.
“Harry?”, Ginevra stood in the doorway, with James on her own arms, who held to her neck with the same worried look on his small face. “Are you alright? I heard you talking – ”
“I talked him into sleep. That’s all. You know, I can’t really sing – so I thought, maybe that helps. And it did.”
“You’re still a terrible liar, no matter how often you try. Who was here.”
“Maybe I am. But there’s nothing like a nice little chat with a dead relative.”
“Great that you’re making fun of me.”, she huffed and stomped away. “Next time call me, goodness. I’m sick of writing to a book.”
“Oh yes.”, Harry whispered to his younger son and placed a tender, smiling kiss on his forehead. “What a terrible liar I am. Now what do you say. Should I give the advice a chance let my hair grow again, hmm?”
~~#~~
“Is he for real?”
“Huh?”
The piece of half bitten bacon nearly fell back out to its brothers in – eggs. Not even caring if it would wake her daughter upstairs, she slammed the Sunday Prophet onto the table, making dishes and cutlery jump and chink.
“Is. He.”
“I sh’ppose,”, Ron munched on, semi-agreeing to avoid drama although he had no idea what it was this time and she knew, yet appreciated the gesture, even if it wouldn’t be enough to calm her.
“For real?”, she shrieked on.
“What is it, Hermione, dear?”, Molly came out of the laundry cabinet under the stairs with a basket and put it down on the table, leaning over to spot any article Hermione might have been referring to.
“He can consider himself lucky that I was busy crying my lungs and Rose out or otherwise I would have beaten up the priest for allowing that!”
“Wha’! ’T’s jus’ a name!”
“Are you defending me now or not?”, the bright red in her face around the huffing was no short of her husband’s hair colour.
“I do! But why are you fussing about it?”
“Why am I – why – ”
“What did they even name the boy?”, Molly breathed and snatched the paper with the notification. “I can understand that you are upset about having to find it out through the press, but if any, I should be the one to be upset. It is my grandson after all. But I also hope you forgive me that I rather stayed with you during the birth than witnessing a baptism, as rare as such are these days, especially considering that neither of the two are particularly drawn to any religious group. Therefore I personally think it is a huge step to – oh.”
“Yes, oh.”, Hermione snorted.
“Well, Hermione,”, Molly tried to calm her, “I really don’t think you should be upset about this at all.”
“Yeah. Could have been worse.”, snickered George and carried his now empty plate to the sink. “They could have called the poor boy Dobby.”
“That’s not funny,”
“Oh it is.”, meant Percy, who too was home for once in a century. “If I remember correctly, it used to be you who kept complaining about Harry distancing himself from his all-time-mentor. I could not think of a better reconciliation, actually.”
“Exactly.”, meant George. “Do I have to remind you of my wife who’s still asleep upstairs? Carrying our second child? And that nobody disputed when she decided to call our first one after two people who had not only shared names, but fate? To honour both her grandpa and my brother who gave their lives in wars? Fred Johnson in Vietnam and – ”
“Have it however you like.”, Hermione grunted, not only because she was sick of George pointing the fact out at least once a week. “But the boy will have to live up to so many expectations. Or he will be mocked all his life long; I can see it coming.”
“More than a Rose?”, coughed George under his breath, drying the clean plate.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Just saying.”, he shrugged, his back on her.
“Rose is a perfectly normal name.”, she pouted.
“Yeah. If you wanna blend in with average British wanna-be upper class snobs.”
“Excuse me?”
“And while Harry’s heritage or achievements might still make him belong to the part without the wanna-be, you should know that he’s got a mind of his own and doesn’t want to blend in. Before he blends in with people, he’ll rather blend in with a forest, never being seen again.”
“Very true.”, meant Molly, looking at the photo by the mention. “Also what is this haircut of his!”
“Apparently he is blending in with one thing then.”, noticed Percy. “His wife.”
“It was actually her idea.”, clarified Ron. “Well, formerly, mine. She only put it in action. No, Mum, I wasn’t suggesting that particular hairstyle. I was for a full shave, if you care to know.”
“And he just went for the half?”, Hermione moaned. “Shaved both sides of his head? But left – whatever that is on top? Honestly,”
“Personally, I think it looks cool.”, George noted.
“And I agree.”, continued Ron. “Also it still serves the purpose of hiding his scar. But no, Hermy, not he shaved it off. She.”
“Ginny did that to him?”, now Molly shrieked.
“Relax, Mum! It’s just hair!”
“But you are right.”, she took a closer look. “She did do it well. Very clean lines.”
“Now that we are done talking about their rebel heads, can we for a moment go back to the ultimate doom they brought upon their son?”
“Hermione. You know you have become like a daughter for me.”, Molly sighed. “And yes, I neither fully agree with their hair, nor getting to know the name of one of my grandchildren from the Prophet rather than my own daughter, but it is their child. If I had listened to the people around me, Ron would have been called Reginald instead.”
“Really?”, that one choked on the remains of his breakfast.
“Not that far off, is it?”, laughed George.
“Oh leave it, Malcolm.”
“No way! That would have been – my name?”
“Yes.”, she too was now as red as Hermione had been before.
“Thank god!”, moaned Ron. “I was called Reginald once! It ended in a disaster!”
~~#~~