![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aibhinn_ficsChapter 5 - "Tis Better To Give' (Part 2)
Rating: Teens
Length: 11, 207 (Both Parts)
By the time the sun was setting that evening, the party was ready. Harry and Ginny had been chased out of the house during the preparations, and so he had no idea what to expect, though from the way Ginny was grinning, Harry knew it was going to be something special. When they were finally called back in, Harry stopped three steps into the kitchen, staring about him, utterly stunned.
A huge, triple-layer chocolate birthday cake sat on the kitchen counter, with unlit candles running around its edge and the words "Happy Birthday, Harry" written with a flourish across the top. Someone had charmed the icing so that the words changed colour, a rainbow shimmering across the chocolate frosting. More candles hovered above the dining table, which was loaded to groaning with more food than Harry had ever seen in his life, except at Hogwarts. Somehow all of his favourite foods were there: lamb chops with mint sauce, roast goose, steamed broccoli with cheese, mashed potato with garlic, shepherd's pie, steak and kidney pie, bubble-and-squeak--.
I think I detect the hand of a certain red-headed git I shared a dormitory with for seven years.
But the thought was more affectionate than not, for he was really, truly touched by the effort that had gone into this, his first real birthday party. And in the corner--his eyes widened--a huge stack of wrapped presents was waiting for him, more presents than he had ever got for his birthday.
A discreet throat-clearing caught his attention, and he turned to see the whole Weasley clan, including Percy's wife Penelope and Hermione, arrayed behind him, all grinning. Ginny, who had come in with him when they were called, tightened her arm around him. "Like it?" she asked.
"It's--" He closed his mouth, shook his head. "It's brilliant," he said finally, unable to find any other words for it.
"It's about time you had a proper party," Charlie said, his eyes crinkled with his smile. "After those relatives of yours--"
"Oh, don't spoil the day by talking about them!" Mrs. Weasley said. She stepped forward and hugged Harry. He surprised himself by hugging her back. Always before, being hugged like this had made him somewhat uncomfortable, but somehow it felt right this time. "Happy birthday, Harry," she said, pulling back to look up into his eyes and smile.
"Happy birthday!" the family more or less chorused. That seemed to be the cue for the unaccustomed quiet to end, and they all surged toward the table, talking and laughing loudly and pulling out chairs. Harry, to his great embarrassment, was seated at the head of the table, where Mr. Weasley usually sat. Ginny sat at his left, with the others arranged as the fancy took them--though, Harry noticed, Ron and Hermione's chairs seemed to be a tad closer to each other than was strictly necessary. Grinning, he inched his own chair a bit toward Ginny, whose eyes twinkled back at him as she did the same.
Once the food had been passed around the table and everyone's plates were full, Mr. Weasley stood up and raised his glass. "A toast!" he said expansively. "To Harry--who has always been a Weasley at heart, whether he knew it or not!"
"To Harry!" everyone echoed, standing up with a great scraping of chairs and a rousing cheer from Fred and George. Harry felt prickles at the back of his eyes. A thought came unbidden to his mind: So this is what having a family is really like.
"Speech!" George called as they all sat down again. "Speech, Harry! Come on, don't be shy; that's not allowed if you're going to live at the Burrow."
"Merlin, no," Fred agreed. "If you're going to be shy, you might as well give in now, because you'll never get a word in edgewise round here."
"George," Percy said as a ripple of laughter flowed around the table, "don't pressure him. Public speaking isn't for everyone, you know. Some people are perfectly content to work behind-the-scenes to make sure the important tasks get done quickly and efficiently, and you'll only embarrass them if you insist on dragging them into the limelight. If he doesn't want to make a speech--"
"Shut up, Perce," Fred said amiably. "If he doesn't want to make a speech, he doesn't need you making one for him."
Harry looked around the table at the faces bathed in flickering candlelight, the friends who meant more to him than anything. This was nearly perfect. There was only one thing he would change, if he could--
"No, that's okay, Percy," he said, suddenly realising he did have something he wanted to say. He stood up slowly, picking up his glass of butterbeer and fingering it pensively. The talking round the table settled into silence as everyone looked at him expectantly.
At last he looked up. "Thank you," he said, meeting each person's gaze. "Thank you for everything. Not just this birthday party, though this is--amazing, really. Thank you for bringing me into your home. Thank you for your friendship. Thank you for being there for me when I was growing up, when I had...." He trailed off, though the words nobody else echoed in the silence anyway.
After a moment, he continued, "I don't want any of you to think this isn't enough, because I don't think that at all. But if I could change anything, anything at all about this night, it would be to have the other people I loved here with us. All the ones we've lost over the past few months. This is their celebration, too." He raised his glass, feeling a lump forming in his throat. "To absent friends," he said hoarsely.
Quietly, seats were pushed back and glasses raised again. "To absent friends," they said in a soft rumble, and more people than Harry brushed away a stray tear. Ginny's hand found Harry's, and he gripped it tightly, knowing that she was thinking of their baby, just as he was. He sat back down, and the others followed suit. Silence followed.
After a moment, Mr. Weasley cleared his throat. "Well," he said hesitantly, "let's eat."
Conversation started again as they picked up their forks. It was a bit tentative at first, but gradually picked up strength and volume until it was a normal Weasley family dinner again.
Harry picked up what looked like a stuffed mushroom and bit into it, only warned that something was going to happen by the sudden tingling feeling that shimmered through him, and the overly-innocent expressions on Fred and George's faces as they looked intently toward his end of the table. Suddenly, he felt himself shrinking until all he could see was the tablecloth and the chair seat he stood on. He looked down at himself, taking in the green, clawed toes and the scales on his forelegs, then looked up at Ginny, who was staring down at him in shock, her jaw open.
She rounded on the twins. "You've turned him into a newt!" she accused.
"A newt?" Hermione repeated in a horrified voice. He saw the top of her bushy head and her eyes, as she apparently stood up to get a good look at him. He heard Ron's snort of laughter and saw Hermione's shoulder jerk. She must have smacked him on the arm, he thought, a bit amazed that his brain still seemed to be his own.
Fred shrugged. "He'll get better," he said carelessly. "We needed someone to try them out on. Newt Nuggets--look just like stuffed mushrooms."
"We've decided to branch out a bit from sweets," George added, as though this were the most ordinary business discussion one could have. "Get into the hors d'oeuvres market. Liven up cocktail parties! Let your boss know what you really think of him!"
"FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY!" their mother roared over the scattered sniggers around the table, obviously just finding her voice. But before she could say anything else, Harry felt a sensation as though he were Apparating--not a common sensation yet, though he, Ron, and Hermione had got their licences earlier in the summer--and abruptly he was back in his seat, his glasses askew but otherwise perfectly normal.
"Yes, Mum?" Fred said innocently.
Mrs. Weasley was huffing, her face red, obviously just about to thoroughly lose her temper. "I've TOLD you not to bring those--those--TRICKS into this house!" she shouted. "And on Harry's birthday, too! This is his PARTY, you don't do that kind of thing at birthday parties!"
"Actually, Mum, you do," Ron put in, but subsided when Hermione dug an elbow into his side. "Ouch!" He glared at her and rubbed his ribs.
"It's okay," Harry put in, trying to head off a lecture and get Mrs. Weasley to calm down, if he could. "Honestly, Mrs. Weasley, it's fine. I think it's kind of funny." He adjusted his glasses, risking a glance at Ginny, who seemed as incensed on his behalf as her mother. The expression on her face was so much like Molly's that he couldn't hold in the snort of laughter any more, and that set Ron off as well. After a bit, Charlie and Bill joined in. Percy sat stiffly, though Penelope's mouth twitched slightly at the corners.
"Now, Molly," Mr. Weasley said in a placating sort of voice, "the boys were only having a bit of fun, and as Harry isn't upset, why don't we just let the whole thing go, hm? I'm sure that Fred and George were intending to help you with the washing up, too, so that you can have the fun of helping serve Harry's cake. Right, boys?"
"Oh--er--right, Dad," Fred said as Mr. Weasley fixed him with a significant look. "We'll do the washing up tonight. Absolutely."
The rest of the meal was slightly less exciting, but still highly enjoyable, and Harry even watched with fascination as the twins got the dishes to rise up from the table and line up in a neat queue before the sink, each waiting its turn to be cleaned and dried before it flew to its proper place in the cupboard. Summers at the Dursleys would have been so much easier if I'd been allowed to do my chores this way! he thought as he marvelled at the efficiency of the assembly line that had formed.
"Come along, Harry, dear," Mrs. Weasley said at last, putting a hand to his shoulder and gently guiding him back to the table. "Time to blow out the candles."
The cake was now in front of Harry's place at the table, and Mr. Weasley had just lit the last candle. "Eighteen of them," he said proudly as Harry came up beside him. "That's right, isn't it? One candle for each year?"
"Yeah, that's right, Mr. Weasley," Harry reassured him. He knew the tradition, even if he'd never been allowed to do it himself. He leaned forward, getting close enough to blow the candles out, and shut his eyes to make his wish. An image of red hair and twinkling brown eyes filled his mind, and he grinned before opening his eyes again and blowing out all eighteen candles with one breath.
The family applauded, the twins even throwing in a whistle or two. "So what did you wish for, Harry?" Fred called as Harry straightened, grinning.
"He can't tell you that, Fred," Mr. Weasley said importantly, looking at Harry for confirmation. "The tradition is that if he tells, it won't come true."
Harry caught Ginny's eye and his grin softened into a small smile. "It already has," he said before he could stop himself. Ginny blushed but smiled back, her eyes shining.
Ron gagged, and Hermione thwapped his arm again with the back of her hand.
"Now, now," Mrs. Weasley said in a warm voice, bringing a knife to Harry so he could cut the cake. "Here you are, Harry dear. Go ahead."
It was both odd and wonderful to be able to participate in the kind of birthday rituals he had watched for years but never been allowed to do himself. Even just cutting a cake and putting slices onto plates took on a whole new meaning when it was his cake and his birthday. When everyone else had been served, he took his own, and no cake had ever tasted so delicious--not even the ones that had been sent to him the summer before his fourth year, when Dudley had been on a diet and his aunt and uncle had forced him to follow it as well.
After the cake was done, the twins set their cleaning charm again, and all of them went out into the garden, where the evening had turned comfortably cool. Presents were next, of course, Summoned out to the garden to stack themselves neatly next to Harry.
From Hermione, he got a book ("What else?" Ron had muttered under his breath, low enough that only Harry heard) of curses and counter-curses, something he thought would likely be very useful in the Department of Mysteries; from Ron, a book as well ("Ron! A book for Harry? Are you sure you're feeling well?" Hermione had said, shocked), Seeker Strategies: A Handbook. Mrs. Weasley gave him a tin of fudge, which was very good, and a new money pouch that she had obviously made herself; it was quite handsome and magically charmed to appear almost empty even when it was full, to discourage pickpockets. Fred and George presented him with a sample pack of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, complete with a small booklet describing the effects of each one. Not that Harry was planning to believe the booklet, of course; it would be just like the twins to write a joke booklet and laugh themselves sick when Harry tried to pull a trick, to find that it backfired or something.
The real surprises came from Charlie and Bill. He opened Charlie's first, and pulled out a black vest. It felt like extremely supple, strong leather--more like alligator skin, really, as it had a sort of scaly finish to it. There were all kinds of pockets and loops on it, as though it were meant to hold a great deal of small objects.
"Dragonhide," Charlie said with a grin. "You might find it useful once you're out of training and in the field. I never go anywhere without mine, personally." He tugged on the vest he wore, which was brown, not black, but otherwise looked nearly identical to Harry's.
"Oh, wow," Harry said, lifting it up and angling it toward the candles that had followed them outside and now hovered above them, looking it over carefully before excitedly exploring all the pockets and attachment places. "Oh, Charlie, this is brilliant."
"Glad you like it," Charlie grinned. "Take a look at Bill's; you'll like that just as much."
What can I possibly like as well as this?
But obediently he laid the vest down across his lap and opened Bill's gift, which was much bigger and heavier than Charlie's. The box came open easily under his hands, and then--
"Oh."
Harry couldn't manage more than that as he pulled the dragonhide boots out and looked them over. They had low heels and a high-traction sole that virtually guaranteed he'd be able to walk on nearly any surface without slipping. The tops had a cuff that folded down, but when Harry pulled off his trainers and slid his feet into the boots, wrapping the legs of his jeans tightly around his calves so they'd fit inside, he realised the cuffs could actually be unfolded to tie around his knee and lower thigh. He promptly did so, marvelling at the way this gave his legs added protection, as well as adding support to his knees.
"With the vest and the boots, it should be hard for any curse to hit a vital area," Charlie said. "If they can't kill, attackers tend to aim for the knees to disable; if you've got the cuffs tied on properly, the dragonhide will deflect the curse and give you that couple of seconds you need to either get your attacker, or get into cover."
Harry nodded as he slid the vest on over his t-shirt, buttoning it up the front. It fit well, though it was a tad loose.
"I bought it a bit big," Charlie said, "since you'll fill out more than a little at training camp. But don't worry; it's charmed to fit to you. See?"
And indeed, after only a few seconds on him, the vest was suddenly fitting snugly, but not too tight. He ran his hands down the front of the vest, taking in the texture of the dragonhide, then looked up at Bill and Charlie. His mouth opened, but he couldn't quite manage to get anything to come out. Bill and Charlie seemed to understand, though.
A little dazed, Harry sat back down on the ground, still in his dragonhide. He glanced over at Ginny, who was staring at him, her jaw hanging open. "What?" he said, brow furrowing.
She didn't respond for a moment, then she swallowed, looking at him. "Harry," she said softly, "you probably should put that dragonhide away now."
"It's fine, Ginny," Charlie said, chuckling. "That stuff will turn away anything but an Unforgivable. It's not going to be hurt from being out in the night air."
Ginny flushed, still looking at Harry. "That's not what I meant," she said, and her voice had definitely taken on a lower timbre. Almost a growl.
Huh? Oh!
He felt himself blush as he looked into her desire-flushed face, his own body starting to react to her expression. Without a word, he turned away, unbuttoning the vest and sliding it off, making sure to put it carefully back into the box. The boots were next, unlaced and slipped off and folded carefully away. He was very aware of the strange looks he was getting from the family--and the knowing ones from a few pairs of eyes, including Fred's and George's. Don't say anything, he pled silently as he tugged the boots off. Please don't say anything. And for once, they didn't.
Once he was back in his trainers, he turned to her. "Better?" he asked. Her face was still flushed, but she no longer looked as though she wanted to attack him.
Which is good. I think.
"Much." She reached over to the last present and held it out to him. "Here, Harry," she said, smiling at him. "This is from me."
"Gin--" he breathed as the wrapping came apart and he opened the dark blue cover. It was a picture album of his years at Hogwarts. There he was in his first Quidditch game, on his old Nimbus 2000--there he sat with Ron, learning to play wizard's chess--a picture of him at the Burrow in the summer before his second year, the old Ford Anglia sitting quietly in the background--him in the hospital wing, his boneless arm bound up, his face relaxed in sleep, the singing Get-Well Card Ginny had given him propped on his night table (he chuckled at the sight)--Ron and him by the fire in their third year, glowering into their copies of Unfogging the Future--himself on the shoulders of nearly all of Gryffindor House, holding the Quidditch Cup aloft for the first time--Buckbeak by Hagrid's cabin--the World Cup stadium--the Durmstrang ship in Hogwarts' lake--the great, powder-blue coach from Beauxbatons--
There were more pictures, but he couldn't go on. He looked up at Ginny, his eyes prickling with tears. "Ginny," he whispered, touched. "How...when...where did you get all these?"
She grinned at him, obviously very proud of herself. "Colin," she said. "For the most part. But I got the ones from your first year from a few other Gryffindors before we left school." Her grin turned a bit shy. "I thought you might like it. You know...the way it used to be."
Again, he was struck speechless by a gift. Setting the album down, he reached toward her and wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug, clutching her to him. The twins made their obligatory "Awwwww!" sound, but he didn't even care.
"Ginny," he whispered into her hair, "you are absolutely unbelievable. Thank you. Thank you."
He loosened his hold after a moment, and she dropped a small kiss on his mouth as they parted. Their eyes met, and she smiled as she reached up to push a lock of hair off his forehead.
There was a pause, as nobody seemed to want to break the mood. Certainly Harry didn't. He almost couldn't process it, the marvellous day it had been and the unbelievably wonderful sight of Ginny beside him, smiling at him, loving him.
"How about some music?" Mr. Weasley said tactfully, and with a wave of his wand, the wireless came on. The mood dissolved gently, not abruptly, and Harry was able to look away at last, to join in with the laughter and the talking and enjoy the rest of his party. But he didn't release Ginny's hand; and she didn't release his, either.
-------------
Without a doubt, this was my best birthday ever.
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had been the first to call it a day, and had gone upstairs about an hour ago. Bill and Charlie had Disapparated back to the flat they shared not long thereafter, followed shortly by Percy and Penelope. The twins had hung round for another half hour or so, trying in vain to slip another Newt Nugget to Harry or, failing that, to Ginny, but finally they had given up and returned home to their flat above their shop.
Now it was just Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione, sitting on the grass outside the Burrow, talking in muted voices and looking up at the stars. Harry tilted his head forward and dropped a kiss on the top of Ginny's head. He was sitting with his knees pulled up and his forearms resting on them; she sat between his legs, her back to his chest. Ron and Hermione were in a similar position, the two couples angled toward each other, looking out over the fading lights of Ottery St. Catchpole.
"One more month," Ron sighed, resting his chin against Hermione's temple. "It feels like forever."
"'Till I leave for Hogwarts, you mean?" Ginny said with mock indignation. "What a thing to say! Do you really want me gone that badly?"
"That's not what I meant and you know it," Ron said mildly--surprisingly mildly, Harry noticed. He'd expected a bristly, defensive retort. Even Hermione seemed surprised; she turned her head and raised her eyebrows at her boyfriend. "I meant until we go to training camp. This waiting around is killing me."
"I daresay two days into it you'll be remembering the summer with longing," Hermione grinned. "From what Charlie and Bill were telling us yesterday, it's not going to be a picnic."
Harry nodded emphatically. Ron's two eldest brothers had taken the three of them aside the day before and given them some stern advice for the last month of summer.
"You've had your holiday," Bill had said quietly. "It's time you start taking this seriously."
"Taking what seriously?" Ron had asked.
"The Department. Training camp will be the toughest thing you've ever experienced, and they won't be taking it easy on you lot just because of the
"So what are you saying?" Harry had said, half joking. "We should go out running every morning?"
"Wouldn't hurt," Charlie had said soberly.
They'd all stared at him.
"Believe me," Bill had added, "you'll be glad of it if you do."
Coming back to the present, Harry glanced over at Ron. "So what do you think?" he said. "Do we want to take their advice?" He was inclined to do so; he couldn't imagine Bill and Charlie leading them wrong.
Ron groaned and flopped backward, lying on his back in the grass. "I really don't fancy the idea of getting up just to go running," he said.
"You'd better start fancying it," Hermione said severely, turning to face him fully. "'Binding, magical contract,' remember? I'd be very surprised if they didn't haul us out of bed for a good run every day, the entire time we're in training camp." She leaned over Ron, propping herself on one arm. He let his bent leg slide down to lie flat on the ground as she leaned forward to brush a kiss against his lips. "And you wouldn't like to have me outdistancing you every morning and making you look like anutter idiot, would you, O Great Gryffindor Keeper?"
Harry chuckled and turned back to grin at Ginny. Ginny craned her neck around, looking up at him, her eyes twinkling. "And another great Ron and Hermione row begins," she whispered. He chuckled again and kissed her.
"Outdistancing me?" Ron repeated, leaning up on his elbows to glare at Hermione. "My legs are longer than yours. There's no way you'll outdistance me."
"Not in a sprint," she agreed. "But on a long jog, you'll use up all your energy and end up in my dust."
"I most certainly will not!" he huffed, scooting out from under her to sit up and glare. "Which of us was in Quidditch training the past three years? You spent the entire time with your nose in a book!"
"You sat on a broomstick and waited for a Quaffle to come hurtling your way!" Hermione snapped, obviously stung by his last comment. "Sounds much the same to me, except I was actually learning something!"
"Fine!" Ron snapped back at her, his face gone red in the light from the kitchen door. "We'll just see tomorrow, won't we? I'll go running with you and we'll see who eats whose dust!"
It was all Harry and Ginny could do to keep their laughter more or less silent. "Harry," Ginny said in a strangled sort of voice, trying to keep her giggles from coming out, "maybe you should go with them to keep them from killing each other. Or from killing themselves out of sheer stubbornness and the inability to admit the other was right!"
"I wouldn't--“ Hermione began hotly.
"Harry doesn't need to--" Ron started to say, at the same time.
"Yeah, I think I will," Harry said loudly, drowning them both out. "I need to make sure I'm in shape for September, after all."
Ron turned to glare at Harry, then turned his glare on his girlfriend as he struggled to his feet. "I'm off to bed," he said. "If I'm to get up at an ungodly hour just to prove that Hermione can be wrong about something, I'm going to get some sleep. Coming, Onyx?"
Harry rolled his eyes--when Ron started in with the code names, especially in front of Ginny, Harry knew better to argue with him--and started to stand up, but Ginny put her hands on his knees to hold him still. "Ron," Ginny said in a patient tone of voice, "It's Harry's birthday."
Ron rolled his eyes. "Yes, Ginny," he said in an exaggerated parody of her own tone. "I figured that out when we had the great huge party for him. Actually--" he glanced at the position of the moon in the sky. “--it was Harry's birthday. It's got to be after
"Ron," Ginny said, her voice rising slightly, "it's his birthday."
"I'm not deaf, Ginny. I--"
"I still," Ginny said, a bit more loudly, "have a present to give him."
Ron froze, and Harry had to bite his tongue to keep from commenting as her meaning finally dawned. Poor Ron was nearly glowing with his blush. "Er--" Ron said, fumbling for words.
"Oh, Ron, honestly!" Hermione said exasperatedly, getting to her feet. "This is Harry and Ginny we're talking about. It's not like this is news to you! Come on, let's go. Good night, Harry. Happy birthday. Night, Ginny."
"Good night," Harry said, watching with ill-repressed amusement as Hermione took Ron's arm and all but dragged him inside. "Well," he said in a much lower tone, "at least we know they'll each get roughly the same amount of sleep."
Ginny burst out laughing, turning around to face him. "I suppose that's a good thing," she said. She sat back on her heels, still between his thighs, her hands resting over his diaphragm. She tilted her head to the side and cocked an eyebrow, grinning mischievously. "You know," she said in a would-be-innocent voice, "since you're going running with them in the morning, perhaps it'd be best if you went on to bed too. I mean, I can give you your present any--"
Harry slid his hands around her waist and pulled her to him, claiming her mouth for a deep, rich kiss. Her hands slid upward to curl around the back of his neck, one twining itself into his thick hair as their tongues met and caressed. Harry could feel his breathing growing ragged as she pressed herself against him, and he let himself fall gently backwards, pulling her with him until he was lying on the grass and she was atop him. The kiss ended, and she raised her head, looking into his eyes. Her lips were parted and swollen, her own breath coming in short pants. God, she was beautiful. "I hardly think it's fair that I get more sleep than my best friends, do you?" he whispered, and was rewarded with a brilliant smile.
"I think you're right," she purred, sliding her hands up under his shirt and wrenching a groan from him. "Bad form and all that. We can't have you accused of chea--" She stopped, her hand having encountered something it didn't expect.
He sighed, closing his eyes briefly as his rapidly rising passion abruptly thumped back to earth. He hadn't found the time to tell her about this. He'd meant to as she'd come down from McGonagall's office, but the news that she would be studying to become an Animagus had eclipsed it. He opened his eyes again and gently took hold of her hands, pulling them out from under his shirt as he sat up, bringing her with him.
She looked puzzled. "Harry, what's--didn't Madam Pomfrey and Dr. Stone--?"
"Yes, they did." He released her hands, leaned forward to drop a soft kiss on her lips, then reached over his head and grabbed hold of his shirt collar, hauling the garment over his head and tossing it aside. He was facing the house, so the light from the kitchen door fell across his body; he knew Ginny would be able to see the burn scarring that still marred the outer edge of his left pectoral muscle, about an inch wide and about four inches long.
She touched it gently, then ran her hand down the now-unmarked skin that had been repaired that morning before returning to the scar. "Did you ask to keep this?" she asked softly.
"Yes."
"Why?"
Harry hesitated, looking for the words. "I'm really not sure," he said slowly. "I'd always intended to get the whole scar removed. But somehow, once I got there today..." He paused. "It felt like getting rid of the whole thing was--I don't know--forgetting what had happened, or trying to. Pretending it didn't exist. I...we... lost so much that day, lost so many people we loved, that I just... couldn't let myself have the whole thing removed." He shook his head, looking off into the distance. "A bit silly really," he said. "None of them will ever know anything about the scar, whether it's there or not. And I'll never forget the
"It's a memorial," Ginny said softly, and he met her gaze again. Her eyes were warm and soft and filled with understanding. Her finger traced the scar again. "And a tribute."
Harry blinked. "That's exactly it," he said slowly. "Exactly." He looked into her eyes for a moment. "Since when have you been able to read my mind?" he said, only partly joking.
"Since always, Harry," she said with a smile. She tilted her head slightly, looking at the clean, unmarked flesh where his scar had been. "Why did they shoo me out of the hospital wing so quickly?" she asked suddenly. "And why didn't you want me to stay, either?"
He raised his eyebrows. He'd expected this question. "Well, unpleasant was about the biggest understatement Madam Pomfrey could have used for the procedure," he said dryly. "I knew it was likely to be quite nasty, and I really didn't want you to go through all that with me. Selfish, I know, but I really didn't."
"How unpleasant could removing a scar be?" Ginny said, brow furrowing.
"Fairly," Harry said, still in that dry tone. "You don't want to know the details."
A flash of irritation shone in her eyes. "Oh, I don't, do I?" she snapped. "So glad you could read my mind for me, Harry, so I know what I do and don't want to know. Makes things so much easier on me."
Harry glared at her. "Ginny, that's not fair and you know it."
She sighed and her shoulders slumped, the irritation clearly gone as quickly as it had come. "Yes, I do," she said in a resigned tone of voice. "I'm sorry. But I do want to know, Harry. What did they do to you?"
He sighed too, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes with the heels of both hands. "All right," he said, pulling his hands away, "but it's not pretty. Madam Pomfrey set an Imperturbable Charm, then the two of them merged their magical signatures so that they could work together on the surgery. Once their signatures had merged, Dr. Stone removed the skin from my burn, down to well below the scarred tissue, and then used their combined magic to rebuild and heal the muscle and skin so that the scarring was gone."
Even without his glasses, he could see the shock and horror in her expression. "I told you it wasn't pretty," he reminded her.
"Yes, but--my God, Harry!" She stared at him. "And you knew that's what they'd have to do?"
"More or less, yes. Madam Pomfrey described it for me before we left Hogwarts, when I was still in hospital after the
"And you--you suffered all that in silence?" she asked, still in shock.
Harry snorted. "In silence? Bloody hell, Ginny, the man literally flayed me. My throat still hurts from screaming. But it would have hurt even more," he added thoughtfully, "if they hadn't been able to use my own magic as well, to dampen the sensations." He grinned suddenly. "Good thing Madam Pomfrey can set an effective Imperturbable Charm, though I really don't want to think about why she needed to practice it so much."
She was still staring at him, and he could almost feel her growing guilt at not having been there with him. He pulled her to him, settling her between his knees, facing him. "Do you see now?" he said quietly, his thumbs brushing her lower ribs through her thin cotton t-shirt. "That's why I didn't want you there. You would have been horrified, and you couldn't have done anything."
"But why, Harry?" she asked, looking into his eyes with a complete lack of comprehension. "Why did you go through all that? I don't care if you're scarred. I don't care if your whole body looks the way your burn did! Why?"
He'd asked himself this same question for the past month, as he tried to decide whether he was going to go through with it, and had finally come up with a satisfactory answer. "Because just as I'm not going to forget what Voldemort did," he said, touching the small remnant of his scar, "I'm also not going to let his touch mark me any more than it has to. It was a huge scar. It would have been hard to hide. And someday, in the Department, my life might be depending on not having that identifying mark. Smaller scars can be hidden--yes, even this one." He touched the lightning bolt on his forehead. "But a scar stretching the whole length of my side--that's far too much for a glamour to cover. So I had it removed." He shrugged, smirking. "And besides," he added, "I'm vain."
She poked him in the ribs, drawing a stifled laugh. "Yes, you are," she said severely. Then realisation dawned on her face, and she poked at his ribs again. He stifled another laugh, batting her hands away. "You're ticklish!" she crowed in triumph, and dived in with both hands, tickling him mercilessly.
He fell backward, twisting, trying to capture her hands, but she was too fast for him. He laughed until he couldn't stop, laughed until no sound came out of his mouth and his face and stomach hurt. "Gin!" he gasped finally. "Gin--please--stop!"
She stopped, letting him catch his breath. He grabbed her hands just in case as he panted, recovering. "That wasn't fair, either," he growled, looking up at her.
She grinned and bent down in a lightning change of mood, lacing her fingers with his as she lowered herself to lie down atop him. "Neither is this," she whispered, and fastened her mouth on his for a soul-searing kiss.
Rational thought disappeared, and he raised his arms above his head, pulling her closer before tugging his hands free and sliding them along her back, one toward her hips, the other upward to tangle into her hair. Her legs separated, sliding along the outside of Harry's thighs, and he moaned as he felt her hips shifting against his. She pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. "I think," she purred in a throaty voice very like the one she'd used when she'd seen him in the dragonhide earlier, "that it's time for your other present."
"'Tis better to give than to receive," he agreed, and kissed her again.
A/N: I thank my beta-readers in every chapter because honestly, every chapter is hugely improved by these folks who take time out of their day to read through my work and make suggestions. Several of them even read multiple versions and commented on each one! Every one of them has made a difference to this work, and every one of them deserves just as much recognition as I do. I provided the framework; they helped me make it sing.
For this chapter, in no particular order, they are:
Ahmie, Fang-Face Dreamweaver, Michele40, Noji8, Sherylyn (who came up with the idea for the photo album), ProfessorJo, Imogen, Vaughn, Sue, and Helen. Thank you all. Without you, I'd be just another writer who spent way too much time in academia and whose convoluted sentences prove it!
Twenty House points to anyone who catches the hidden Disney reference in this chapter.
