Bearings
Disclaimer/Author's Notes: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter. This chapter is slightly experimental, being a lengthy interlude. Harry and Hermione are still the focal points, however. Oh…a plot twist some of you may have been expecting finally reveals itself. Read on…
Privately divided by a world so undecided
And there's nowhere to go
In between the cover of another perfect wonder
Where it's so white as snow
Running through the field where all my tracks
Will be concealed and there is nowhere to go
Red Hot Chili Peppers
Snow (Hey Oh)
Interlude: Variations On A Boy Who Lived
Saturday, May 18th, 2002 (continued)
Charlie Weasley surprised himself by admitting-inside his head, to himself, of course-that he was being out-flown. The older, generic Nimbus 2001 he was riding didn't quite hold up to Harry's newer, specialized 2100S, but even if they were flying the same brooms, Harry would still be better.
And Charlie Weasley had to out-fly dragons for his day job. It was no easy feat to move with more aerial grace than the second eldest Weasley son, but Harry was doing just that. Charlie resorted to marking Harry off and on, because the younger man's maneuvers were just too out of control for his broom and his abilities.
"Oi, Fleur!" Bill called out, and Charlie glanced over as his older brother hurled the ball toward the part-Veela. Fleur caught it in a barrel roll…and Charlie brought his attention back to Harry.
"Damn," Charlie muttered, banking sharply to the left as he saw that Harry had gotten away from during the distraction. He would have to focus solely on the snitch and the other Seeker if he had any chance of beating Harry, which was unusual because he'd always been able to keep one eye on the game at Hogwarts. Then again, he'd never played against another world class Seeker.
"Watch out…" someone cried out, and years of experience told Charlie to take evasive action, even if he was unsure if the warning was for him. Bludgers hurt, a lot, and he didn't really want to get hit by any today. He smiled a little as one of the nasty little buggers whispered against his cloak, sought Fred with his eyes, who had hit it toward him, and gave his younger brother the one-fingered salute. He heard Fred's chuckle, as he zipped past, trying to catch up with Harry, who was still circling the pitch very quickly.
Turning sharply, he cut across the middle of the playing field, dodging his father and another Bludger. Harry raced past the halfway point just as Charlie gained the same airspace, and Charlie watched his counterpart perform an impressive sloth roll maneuver to avoid a collision. Charlie tailed Harry closely as they zoomed around and around the pitch.
Just inside the windslip from Harry's body and broom, Charlie finally was able to stay on the younger man's six. Charlie suddenly realized that, other than Bill and Fleur's wedding, the only other time he had seen the Savior of the Wizarding World was during the Triwizard Tournament.
Charlie had loved Hogwarts, but found himself stifled at home, hence his departure for Romania and dragons soon after graduation. His father was an easy-going bloke and smarter than most gave him credit for, and his mother was a loving woman, but they-or Molly, at least-lived too much in the past for him. He had packed his bags relatively quietly, endured several tearful goodbyes from his mum and a brisk handshake and hug from his father, and left Britain.
That was in June of 1991, just after graduation, and ironically only three months before Harry and his younger brother Ron started at Hogwarts. He didn't know why that was ironic to him, as he traveled in Harry's wake, but it was. He had left Hogwarts, and Britain, and Harry had entered.
Bill had already been in Egypt then, as his older brother had graduated in 1989, and Charlie knew Bill had left Britain for many of the same reasons. Home was too backward, too stifling; everyone had forgotten the old war too quickly…
And so Charlie could fathom why Harry Potter had chosen to leave Britain after graduation, as well. He remembered quite well the letter his mother had sent him in either September or October of 1998, filled with various mundane things, but also something about her confusion over Harry's exodus from his home.
That had given him pause, as he considered the young wizard he'd seen at Bill's wedding and briefly at the Triwizard Tournament. He hadn't realized it until that moment, but all of the sudden he pieced together various tidbits of information his family had passed along to him, especially as the Second War had come to a head, and it occurred to him that Harry Potter was an important person in the Weasley family.
Charlie hadn't realized just how far removed from his family he'd become over the years until that moment, and it left a bittersweet feeling in his stomach. His home, for all intents and purposes, was in Romania with the dragons and his Keeper mates. His family, though, and all of his old ties had remained in Britain, except for Bill, but he'd been back for a bit-though he now lived in Paris…
Charlie sighed, pushing his broom forward as Harry pulled ahead a little. Here he was, seven months away from his thirtieth birthday: single, living in a remote Dangerous Creature preserve, removed from everything that had shaped the Wizarding world in the last ten years. He knew he would return to the preserve and love it, but some part of him wondered what his life would be like if he had settled instead of wandering off.
He focused on the wizard speeding along in front of him. What would Harry's life be like if there had been no Second War? Or if Harry hadn't left Britain, much as Charlie and Bill had? Here the three of them were, the only three at this gathering who had branched out beyond Britain's borders, back at the place they'd each called home, Harry in a different capacity obviously than Charlie or Bill. What twist of fate had brought them all back here?
Charlie knew he would be returning to the preserve the next day or possibly the day after, and that Bill and Fleur were due back in Paris early on twenty-first, but where would Harry go? Did he have some place he would be returning to; leaving everyone's lives once again, as Charlie and Bill often did. Somehow it seemed more relevant with Harry than it did with himself or his older brother, the leaving and returning and then leaving again thing, but that might have only been because Harry Potter was a flashpoint for his family, Hogwarts, Britain, and possibly even history itself.
But, they were issues larger than Charlie wanted to contemplate-how history would remember everyone gathered-so he instead turned his wandering thoughts onto the game at hand. And it was a good thing he did, because he suddenly found himself assaulted by Bludgers.
Rolling around an invisible axis to present less of a stable target for Fred and Neville, he continued trailing Harry. Dipping slightly to avoid getting bashed in the side, and then rolling again to prevent a crack in the head, he was about to tell them off for harassing the Seeker when Harry suddenly dove.
Charlie's brain could barely process the falling-off-the-cliff motion of Harry and his amazing broom in enough time for him to react accordingly, but he then experienced the familiar sensation of weightlessness as he followed Harry over the unseen precipice. His world tilted suddenly, with ground filling his vision instead of the horizon, and the wind began to whistle in his ears as he and Harry accelerated at a monumental pace, straight toward the hard earth. He searched frantically for the golden flutter of the snitch as blades of grass began to take shape-
----------
Ronald Weasley saw his younger sibling, Ginny, line up for a shot on the hoop to his left, but the cut of her eyes told him she was really going for the one on his right. He feinted left and then lunged right as she released the ball. It smacked his hand and dropped for the earth, before he had it in his hand again. Sudden shouts drew his attention to the dueling seekers, who were plummeting toward the ground, more blurs than any solid forms. He chucked the Quaffle back out toward Hermione, who moved to intercept it, and watched with riveted eyes as Harry and Charlie neared the grass.
An incredibly sense of deja vu washed over his senses as he watched his slightly estranged best friend perform a perfect Wronski Feint on one of his older brothers-for what reason, he knew not, because he didn't think he'd ever seen Harry actually perform the move. He wasn't sure though, and he winced as Charlie hit the ground, not as hard as less skilled seeker would have, but hard enough to deliver some bruises.
Meanwhile, he noticed, as Charlie took flight once again, shakily at first but then stronger, Hermione had the Quaffle and was streaking toward Remus and the far hoops. He had never known Hermione to willingly play Quidditch before this day, or fly at all for that matter, but she seemed completely able to handle her broom. Granted, Harry had bought her the premier Chaser broom in the world, but they only worked well if the user had the skill to control them.
He watched Hermione rear back and take the shot, and idly wondered why Harry had so easily and suddenly dropped six thousand galleons on their mutual friend. As far as Ron knew, it had been a long time since Harry and Hermione had seen each other, as long as it had been for Harry and him. Maybe he could get Harry to buy him the Nimbus 2100K…
But he squashed that train of thought ruthlessly, because he now had more than enough money to buy the broom if he really wanted to. The fact of the matter was, though, he didn't need the top of the line Nimbus to be an almost unstoppable Keeper, and would rather keep the six thousand galleons for something more useful. Harry's old Firebolt was more than good enough.
It was odd, at first, flying Harry's broom while the Boy Who Lived was absent, but Ron had quickly gotten used to it as his star had risen at the Wimbourne Wasps. Ron knew that the only reason the Quidditch League existed, the only reason he had been able to play a professional sport during the past four years, was because of what Harry had accomplished during their last year at Hogwarts. He knew and he acknowledged it, but he hadn't really thought much on it, since Harry had been gone for most of said four years.
Now that his best friend was back, however, he wondered what the world that had done such a good job moving on from the horrors of the Second War would do now that the best reminder of those dark times was back. Would it continue to forget everything that had occurred, or would it embrace the returning hero?
Bill was streaking toward him, and he centered himself in front of the hoops. Ron wasn't bitter at all about whatever fame Harry might have or might get; he'd long ago left the `jealous prat' part of personality behind. He grabbed the incoming Quaffle with practiced ease, smirking at Bill's disappointed look, and then threw it back out to the woman who had helped along the aforementioned change in his personality.
Blond hair and fair skin raced toward the Quaffle; Luna caught it on the fly. Ron admired her chaser form for a moment, in more ways than one… Luna had done an excellent job of mellowing him out during their very satisfying relationship. He still had that Weasley temper, somewhere in him, but it rarely showed itself these days. Luna seemed to be his perfect counterpart-he chuckled suddenly as memories of his and Hermione's brief `romance' flitted across his mind-because they offset each other's slight abrasiveness (him) and battiness (her) wonderfully.
His eyes tracked the Quaffle as it soared from Luna's hand, between enemy Beaters George and Tonks, into Arthur's quite nimble hands, and then onto Hermione. His best female friend, other than Luna, dipped slightly, confusing Remus, and hurled the Quaffle for the highest hoop. Remus got his fingertips on it, but it wasn't enough, and Ron cheered out loud as the Quaffle soared on through.
"All right Hermione!" he heard Harry yell, from his vantage point high above the pitch. Ron knew even then Harry's eyes were relentlessly searching for the snitch-he smiled as he watched Charlie desperately follow Harry.
It seemed to Ron that Harry and Hermione were awfully cozy with each other for having been apart for the last eighteen months, and for the first time he wondered where Hermione'd been for the past two weeks or so. She had disappeared, and then suddenly reappeared just at the same time as Harry, and she had been the one they could have contacted Harry through.
He put the pieces together as he blocked another shot, from Ginny once again, and knew that Hermione had gone to see Harry in California. Ron had no desire to go to America, for any reason really, and he couldn't fathom why Hermione would have wanted to…unless…
A grin flew over his features as he pondered the possibility. Had Harry and Hermione finally pulled their heads out of their arses, after so long? Had the four years for Harry off in distant lands and for Hermione toiling away at the Ministry finally revealed to them their true feelings? Ron had known at Bill and Fleur's wedding-yes, the teenager with the emotional range of teaspoon had figured it out five years before Harry and Hermione.
His career and girlfriend had taken some of his attention away from his friendship with Hermione, and the distance between himself and Harry had done a good job of that there, so he had never really had the opportunity to discuss it with either of them. He wondered if he would have to now.
His attention shifted toward Harry as the seeker performed a rising barrel roll, out-maneuvering George's best efforts to hit him with a Bludger-
----------
Fred smacked the Bludger that had just seemingly flown through Harry's scant clothing toward Fleur, trying to draw Tonks and George's fire off of Harry, though the younger wizard wasn't having much trouble avoiding the enemy projectiles.
"Neville, focus on Ginny and Fleur," Fred called out, to the slightly burly man flying near him. The Longbottom patriarch nodded-his Gran had died the year before and his parents had finally succumbed during the last year of the Second War-and sent another Bludger away from Harry toward the opposing chasers.
Fred loved Quidditch once again, especially because Harry was on his team. He had supremely enjoyed watching Charlie hit the dirt off of Harry's textbook Wronski Feint; Fred knew his older brother was an excellent seeker, and had in fact brought glory back to Gryffindor house when he was at Hogwarts, but Fred also knew that Harry was special.
Beyond the immense, Dumbledore-like store of magical power Harry possessed, and that Fred had witnessed only or twice, Harry's reflexes were preternatural. Instant acceleration, so fast it almost looked like Apparition; instant or near-instant braking, jarring enough so that Fred sometimes wondered how Harry never got whiplash; almost perpendicular pivoting abilities, even at a high speed…
Fred enjoyed just watching Harry seek the snitch, and this impromptu game with everyone back at the Burrow, under some strange coincidence, because Bill, Fleur, and Charlie were almost never around, brought back memories of the Hogwarts pitch and the Gryffindor glory days.
Those were simpler times, though the darkness had been gathering even then, when the most any of them had to worry about was whether or not they'd be able to force down breakfast the day of a match.
Fred dove twenty feet to intercept a Bludger Tonks had sent flying for Luna, and smacked it back to Ginny, who didn't see it until too late. It grazed his younger sisters arm, and he saw her wince; the Bludger flew off toward the edge of the temporary pitch. He watched Neville move to intercept it.
Things hadn't stayed simple, of course, and Fred really wondered how different his and George's lives would now be if Harry hadn't somehow escaped Voldemort that terrible night at the end of the Triwizard Tournament, and then given them his winnings. At first, he and his twin had wanted nothing to do with the gold, since it had seemed like blood money, but when they realized that Ludo Bagman was probably gone for good-dead or hidden, they did not know-they turned to the gold as a last resort.
And so had begun Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes; at first, it had been a glimmer of a hope, mail order or something like that, but after their rather dramatic exit from Hogwarts just before the end of their seventh year, they found themselves with a pile of gold and a lot of free time. They'd opened the shop soon after and the rest, as they say, was history.
Now, and Fred was not ashamed to admit it, for modesty had never been one of his strongest traits, WWW was respected worldwide as the premier brand of gag and joke gifts, but also, and lesser known, as the premier name of offensive and defensive combat gear.
That branch of their enterprise began as an aid to the Six, as they'd been called, and their fight against Voldemort. Fred and George had just about suspended research and development on new humorous items during that last year of the war to develop items that would be of use for the Light in their fight, and after the war's end, they'd continued that section of their business…quietly of course.
Right now, Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes supplied the British Auror Corps with about seventy percent of its combat gear, and they were in the middle of negotiating a deal that would make it one hundred percent. Apparently the Aurors had been so satisfied with their products they wanted to use WWW, exclusively. Fred and George weren't complaining.
Fred again wondered how much would be different if Harry hadn't given them that initial start-up gold. Fred wasn't in it for the money, and he knew his brother wasn't either. Harry had once said, to him or George or maybe both of them he couldn't remember anymore, that a joke shop was a worthy ambition because they'd all need laughter, everyone did. That bit of `Harry wisdom', as he and his twin had dubbed Harry's random pearls of philosophy, had stayed with both of them for a long time, and that was what drove them to push their products to their limits, the gag stuff and the combat items.
"Dad, watch out!" Fred suddenly called out, stalling his train of thought. A Bludger hit by George was heading straight for his father, and Arthur was oblivious. He was concentrating on the Quaffle in his hand, and whom he would pass it to. Fred would have to ask McGonagall sometime if his dad had played Quidditch at Hogwarts, and if so what he was like…
Arthur turned out of the way and Neville whacked the Bludger back into play, toward Bill and Fleur, who were both flashing toward Arthur. Fred saw his dad realize the other chasers were moving to intercept him, and chucked the Quaffle toward Luna. As one, Bill and Fleur flocked toward the pretty blond, who passed the Quaffle on toward Hermione. Ginny joined Bill and Fleur and George hit a Bludger toward Hermione as the brunette moved toward Remus. Fred pushed his broom forward, hoping to intercept the iron ball.
"Lookit Harry!" a voice called, one that sounded suspiciously like his mother, and the game slowed as every head turned as one to find the returned Savior. Time seemed to slow for Fred-and everyone else-as they all watched Harry climb straight into the sky, rapidly ascending away from them, with Charlie straggling behind.
Harry reached an apex, and the time warp intensified, slowing everything almost to a stop as Harry hung upside down for just a fraction of second. Fred saw a look of utmost concentration in Harry's eyes, which to his great surprise were almost black, and then everything accelerated forward at once-Hermione and the Quaffle toward the hoops; time onward again; and Harry straight down toward the ground-
----------
Bill couldn't help the amazed laugh that escaped his throat as he watched Harry rocket toward the ground, gaining speed at an unbelievable rate. He somehow knew that this wasn't a Wronski Feint, not this time, and he saw that, sadly, Charlie wasn't aware of that fact.
His immediate younger brother hung back, letting Harry accelerate away from him, and Bill knew the game was over. Harry dropped the final thirty feet to ground in an impossibly short time, and also impossibly avoided hitting the ground. Bill pulled his own broom to a stop as Harry raised his fist into the air. He could see the fluttering golden wings of the snitch glinting in the early evening sun.
"Game's over, Harry's got it!" Ron called out, and all other action on the pitch ceased. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Fred and George beat the Bludgers toward the box on the ground, where McGonagall was suddenly waiting. Hermione had never had a chance to shoot the Quaffle, and she held onto it as all the players sunk to the grass.
"Shite Potter, you can fly," Charlie bemoaned as his feet touched the ground. Harry just grinned at him, and Bill almost laughed again as he saw everyone do a kind of double take at the lopsided grin, which was once again shining on them all.
"Thanks, your not half bad yourself," Harry said, graciously, which did cause Bill to laugh.
"Are you kidding me?" he asked. "You just handed Charlie his arse." Bill ducked a punch from Charlie and grinned at him. "Come on, Charles, you must admit you were out-flown."
"Boys, boys…" Molly bustled in, smiling at everyone and mock glaring at Bill and Charlie, somehow at the same time. It was uncanny how she could do that; how she could make Bill squirm even those he was in his thirties.
"Come on over to the picnic table, all of you, dinner is ready and I know the lot of you are hungry," she continued, herding everyone in the general direction of the food. Bill could smell his mother's cooking from where he stood, and that was one thing he did in fact miss while living in Paris-hearty home-cooking.
"Harry," McGonagall suddenly called, drawing the attention to her and Harry. Bill noticed that Harry had his arm around Hermione's shoulder, and that she was leaning into him. His eyebrows crept up a little at that interesting development…
"Can you cancel the hoops?" she asked. Her wand was in her hand and she looked slightly annoyed at something.
"Sure Minerva, but you couldn't?" Harry asked, removing his arm from around Hermione and drawing his wand.
"No…" she said, and trailed off. Bill watched as Harry casually waved toward the far hoops, and then once again at the closer ones. They shrunk rapidly into the logs they really were and dropped to the ground with a loud thunk.
"Hmmph," Minerva said, and put her wand away. She looked at Harry a touch queerly. He just shrugged, put his wand away, and put his arm back around Hermione. After they had all drifted toward the long table and found seats, Bill broke the odd silence that had fallen.
"About time for you two, I'd say?" he commented, staring at Harry and Hermione. Bill felt the attention of the group collectively zero in on Harry and Hermione. Several people started speaking at once, but quieted down when Harry held up his hand. That tangible `leader' quality in Harry clearly still existed, though Bill had never been able to pinpoint exactly what made it so palpable, and so real.
"For what?" Harry asked, innocently enough. Bill saw him cut his eyes toward Hermione for a fraction of second to contain the humor in them.
"For finally pulling your heads out of your arses," Bill responded; unbeknownst to him, Ron had thought something similar only five or ten minute before. Bill was happy for them, he really was. If anyone deserved to be with each other, it was Harry and Hermione. They had been through so much together, from the stories about Harry Potter Ginny and Ron and even Fleur, to a lesser extent, had regaled him with at various times over the years. Most of them had included Hermione, far more than both Hermione and Ron.
"He bloody well has it right," Ron said, cutting over the murmur of voices that had started again. Ron was looking at Harry and Hermione, for once ignoring the food in front of him. "Only took you four years-"
Hermione cut him off, sharply, but Bill saw a small smile on her face. "I believe you are presuming an awful lot, Ronald, and who are you to talk? Thought about popping the question to Luna yet? It's been five years for you two…"
"It's not just an assumption, though," Luna interjected, airily, though she was staring at Hermione. Hermione conceded the point and smiled, leaning into Harry some more.
"Ooo, zis iz wonderful!" Fleur exclaimed. "I always knew you two were perfect for each uzzer, after the Triwizard."
And Bill knew that Fleur's statement was very true, because Fleur had mentioned once or twice the unusual bond between Harry and Hermione that had existed during Fleur's stay at Hogwarts for the duration of the tournament. The bond went deeper than any Fleur had ever seen in a platonic relationship, deeper than most in romantic ones too, but Harry and Hermione had been only the best of friends.
Fleur hadn't understood it then, and never really had, but Bill was sure it was because Harry and Hermione were both subconsciously avoiding putting the other in danger. Harry because he knew Hermione would become more of a target if they were involved and Hermione because she knew she'd be putting Harry in a hard place if she ever approached him about it.
They had probably never consciously thought about those things, but for Fleur to be amazed at the strength of their bond it must have been incredible-and it probably still was, even though four years and thousands of kilometers had separated them. As a part-Veela, Fleur could sense many kinds of bonds and relationships between people, and she had said that Harry and Hermione's was one of the strongest.
"How did this happen?" Molly asked, looking slightly bewildered. And frankly, Bill noticed, most of the rest of those gathered around the table looked curious as well. Harry had been absent for so long, and Hermione had been holed up at the Ministry for almost as long, from what his brothers had told him, that they were probably wondering about the disconnect.
Harry and Hermione shared a glance, one similar to the looks that passed between Fleur and himself, the quick gaze that spoke innumerable words, and they both smiled at everyone.
"That is a long story…" Harry began. He took a breath, as if to say more, but another voice cut him off.
"Can we eat?" William asked, slightly petulantly. Bill looked over at the young boy and saw he was staring longingly at the food on the table. He seemed to have inherited Remus's wolfish appetite…
"Of course," Molly answered, and whatever story (that would later become legend) Harry had been about to tell was postponed until afterward, as myriad hands reached for food and utensils.
----------
Fleur was ecstatic for Harry and Hermione, and she knew the grin across her face as she ate showed her true feelings. She couldn't help it, though; she'd waited for them to come together for so long, and to finally see it happening, literally right in front of her eyes and Veela senses was truly magic.
Of course, as a part-Veela, Fleur was also aware of the consequences of forcing a relationship upon those with such strong bonds. Results opposite the intended ones most often occurred, ending in disaster for the linked pair and the person or people trying to force it. That's why she'd only ever told Bill of what she'd sensed between Harry and Hermione, all the way back during the Triwizard Tournament, because she knew he could be trusted with the knowledge.
She'd waited, and during the wedding she thought she'd seen glimmers, but then the Second War had shattered everything and Harry had left after graduation. Bill and Fleur had left for Paris soon after, but Fleur had heard that Hermione was burying herself in her work at the Ministry. Without her bonded, Hermione was adrift…and the most frustrating part of it all, for Fleur at least, was the fact that the bond existed.
There was no reason it should have, because Harry and Hermione had never shown overt romantic feelings toward each other before, well, now; nor had they had sex, which was more often than not the event that solidified magical and spiritual bonds between people. And yet, Harry and Hermione's bond had grown inexorably between the Triwizard Tournament and the end of the war, until it was almost painful for Fleur to be in the same room as them and not comment on it.
But she couldn't interfere, so she didn't. She just let them do their thing, which turned out to be going their separate ways. Fleur didn't want to know the pain that Hermione had felt-she never wanted to experience something like that-when Harry had left, because Fleur knew that Hermione had been at least somewhat aware of her own feelings. Harry, on the other hand, had been as clueless as ever.
There were many times when Fleur had wanted to pull Harry aside and push him in the right direction, but she resisted. It would have gone against everything she'd been taught, to force something on Harry and Hermione when they weren't ready, even though almost every sign said they were. The most important one was missing, though, and that was acceptance in both their hearts and minds.
Relative silence settled over the occupants of the table as dinner slowly progressed, with only occasional thrusts of conversation to keep everyone interested. Really, Molly's food was just too good to put forth much effort into talking when eating.
"So Bill," Molly said as desert popped onto the table. She was looking at Harry and Hermione as she addressed her oldest son.
"Mum?" Fleur's husband asked.
"Do you and Fleur have any plans for children soon?" Molly queried. Fleur thought the question was rather blunt and suppressed a soft smile as Bill sputtered on his treacle tart for a moment.
"Mum!" Bill eventually said, in a completely different tone of voice than his previous utterance.
"What?" Molly asked, somewhat innocently. "Arthur and I would like to be able to spoil grandchildren, sometime," she added, looking pointedly at all of the other Weasley brothers. The only one who made eye contact with her was Ron, but Fleur wasn't sure if he wasn't just staring into space as he savored the desert.
"When ze time iz right, Molly," Fleur put in, hoping to mollify her mother-in-law. She looked over at Bill and smiled, which he returned. She loved Bill Weasley more than anything in life, except maybe her little sister Gabrielle, but that was a different kind of love. When she and Bill thought they were ready for children, they'd start down that path, but until then she was perfectly content with their life.
"And Charlie, any girls you have your eye on?" Molly asked, continuing what was quickly becoming an interrogation of her sons.
"Girls, mum? How old do you think I am?" Charlie quipped.
"Oh, you know what I mean," Molly said, rolling her eyes. Her gaze turned on the Twins. "Fred? George? Maybe you two should take some time off and get started in on your lives…"
"We have lives, thank you very much mum," George said, sharper than Fleur had ever heard either Twin speak.
"Someday, but right now we're still busy," Fred said, easily, diffusing the sudden tension. Molly continued to look at them for a few seconds, before turning to Ron and Ginny, who were sitting near each other.
"And what about you two?" she asked. Fleur heard a note of sadness in the matriarch's voice, and she knew then that Molly wasn't just nagging. Molly really did want grandchildren to spoil.
"Honestly mum, give it a rest," Ron huffed, apparently able to draw his attention away from the treacle tart. Ginny said nothing, and instead glanced at Neville and gave him a soft smile. Fleur watched Neville smile back…
Ron and Luna; Ginny and Neville; and now Harry and Hermione, or at least it seemed so. The Six had split evenly into three pairs, interestingly enough, and Fleur was probably the only present who had been able to sense the slow evolution of all three couples during the Second War. She might have even been more aware than the couples themselves were, and Fleur knew that was true of at least Harry and Hermione.
"What about `arry and Hermione?" Fleur asked, directing the attention once again onto the two that so far had been very quiet. Molly pursed her lips and nodded her head, looking at the named witch and wizard. Fleur caught Harry's eye for a moment and winked at him. In his eyes, she saw a promise of future playful retribution from the Boy Who Lived.
They looked at each other and shrugged. "I just graduated," Harry said. "I've only been back for two days." Fleur could tell there was something he had left out, but didn't ask what it was.
"That's right," Hermione put in. "Let's not be hasty…" she finished, which drew a general laugh from the crowd.
"So you're admitting that you and Harry are together now?" Ron asked, and Fleur looked over at the younger man with a new kind of respect. From Ron's tone of voice, it was evident to her that he had known of something between Harry and Hermione.
A low murmur of many voices erupted around the table, and suddenly it died off as Harry, and then Hermione, started to laugh. Fleur saw many confused looks.
"It's like a soap opera around here," Harry said, still laughing. Hermione nodded. "Yes Ron, I suppose that what Hermione just said does indicate that." Harry passed the back of a hand over his eyes, wiping away the laughter tears that had started to collect there.
"Well I'm happy for you two, I really am," Ron said, redeeming himself admirably.
As people finished their deserts, they began to drift into their own conversations and away from the table. Fleur leaned against Bill, drinking in the soft late evening light; the sun was just getting ready to dip below the trees in the west; the low rays cut through the tall grass of the meadow between them and the tree line, spreading gold and dark speckles over everything.
Fleur glanced around, noticing that Arthur, Molly, her, Bill, Harry, and Hermione were the only ones still at the table. Everyone else had wandered off, though they were all still in the yard. Fleur observed Arthur swirling a dark amber liquid around in a small tumbler; he appeared to be considering it, deep in thought. He raised his eyes toward Harry just then and set the short glass down on the table.
"Harry?" he called. Harry and Hermione looked over to Arthur, as did the others still at the table.
"Arthur?"
"Might I have a word with you…in private?"
----------
"Uh, sure…Arthur," Harry answered, haltingly. Arthur watched as Harry stood from the table, leaned over to whisper something in Hermione's ear, and then turned toward him. Harry had grown during his stay abroad, and although Harry had been home eighteen months before, the changes were much clearer now that Harry was dressed in shorts and a tee. He was an inch or two taller, much darker, and broader than he had been. Though not bulging, Harry had some muscles along his arms and Arthur could tell that Harry had taken care of himself.
Arthur turned away from the table and started toward the orchard off to the east of the Burrow, toward the slowly darkening sky. Harry fell in step beside him; they were silent until they had cleared the lawn and slipped between the trees.
"If you wouldn't mind, Harry, could you ensure our privacy?" Arthur asked, quietly. He had been thinking long and hard on several issues during the past week or so, and had finally reached what he hoped was an acceptable conclusion.
"Yeah," Harry grunted, and waved his hand in a slow arc around them as they meandered through the small trees. Arthur felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and then settle slowly back down as Harry's privacy charm took full effect. He marveled slightly at the pure strength of the charm.
"What's this about, Arthur?" Harry asked, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his khakis and looking sideways at him. Arthur took a deep breath.
"Are you back here for good, Harry?" he asked. He glanced at Harry, and saw confusion and some surprise there. Not what he had expected-
"Why do you want to know?" Harry queried. They reached the eastern edge of the orchard and turned south, following the edge of the squat trees. Their shadows had lengthened further during the past few minutes.
"I have something I need to ask of you, Harry," Arthur explained. "And it requires the knowledge of whether or not you intend to stay in Britain." Glimmers of light reached Arthur's eyes, and he looked through the orchard to his left to catch glimpses of the Burrow's lights, sparking in the fading light of day.
"Probably," Harry eventually said, although it was almost too quiet for Arthur to hear. He looked back over at the young man, who had saved the world he had lived and raised a family in for so many years now, and saw a pensive look on Harry's face. The younger wizard seemed to be contemplating something, but what it was Arthur could not fathom.
"I see," Arthur confirmed; he then had trouble getting the words he really wanted to say out of his mouth, and so redirected the conversation slightly. "How was Stanford, Harry?" he asked. They stopped at the corner of the orchard, which was to their left and behind them. In front of them, across a meadow and to the south, lay the road toward Ottery St. Catchpole, and to their right was a dark line of trees, dark green as the light left the eastern sky. Arthur had his back to the west and hence could see Harry's face clearly against the almost-set sun. He looked confused again.
"Good, Arthur. I'm glad I went through with it."
"That's good, Harry," Arthur said, congenially, briefly wishing he'd had the ambition to branch out from Britain more when he was younger. It was only a passing thought, though.
"How have things been around here?" Harry asked, not looking at him. The startling emerald eyes were instead focused over his shoulder, on the glittering lights of the Burrow and the yard, where Arthur could hear everyone talking or laughing.
"Better, Harry, since…you know…" Harry's eyes came back to him and he slowly nodded, and in that instant Harry looked much older than his twenty-two years. It served as a reminder to Arthur-those old, depthless eyes, full of knowledge and memories no twenty-something should have-of whom he was talking to, and it renewed his desire to ask Harry a very specific question.
"But not the same," Arthur said, finishing his thought. "Not the same since you left," he repeated, personalizing it. Harry just gazed at him with those ancient eyes, considering some hidden knowledge that Arthur wasn't sure he wanted to know, and just then he got deja vu, back to that time at Bill and Fleur's wedding when Harry had judged him with only his look.
"Everyone seems to be doing just fine," Harry commented. And just like that, the wizard standing in front of him was a young man again. "And look at you, you old man, playing Quidditch…"
Arthur smiled instantly, remembering how it felt to be back on a broom again. "It might surprise you, but I played a mean Chaser at Hogwarts. It's been a very long time since I've flown, though."
"You fly well," Harry said, and although Arthur didn't need his approval, or anyone's really, he felt a little better knowing Harry had appreciated his efforts.
"If I fly well, I don't know what to call what you were doing."
"Oh, don't start that shite Arthur," Harry said, laughing a little. Arthur could almost see the memory of diving and catching the snitch dancing in Harry's eyes.
"Anyways…" Arthur trailed off, drawing them both back to their previous topic. "You know that Amos Diggory is Minister of Magic, right?" Harry nodded. "And that I'm Vice Minister?" Another nod.
Here was the hard part. "Amos came to me recently, Harry. He told me that he wasn't going to run again, this November actually. He wants me to run for Minister," Arthur said, looking carefully at Harry's face. The sunlight was slowly fading as the orb slipped completely behind the trees in the west, at his back, and Harry's features were a little harder to see.
"Ok…" Harry said. "Why are you telling me this?" He sounded slightly wary.
"I'm not sure what I'm going to do-"
"You'd make a great Minister, Arthur-"
"And I'd need a Vice Minister if I were going to run-"
"Many people respect you at the Min-"
"I'd like for you to be my Vice Minister, Harry," Arthur said in a rush, cutting off further interjections from Harry. A shocked and loaded silence hung in the air for a moment, and then Harry audibly exhaled.
"What?" Arthur heard perplexity in his voice.
"I said I'd like for you to run with me as my Vice Minister."
Silence, and then: "But, but Arthur-"
"But what, Harry?" Arthur overrode him. "But what?"
"But I've been gone for the past four years, that's what!" Harry exclaimed, and although dusk was rapidly enveloping them now, Arthur saw the bewilderment spread plainly across Harry's features. "Why would anyone want me to run a world I left? Why would I want to run a world I left?"
"Because Harry," Arthur said, "you still care about this world. You came back, didn't you? You saved it in the first place, didn't you?"
"I had help from everyone here tonight-"
"Bollocks, Harry. Sure, they might have helped you along the way, but it was you that stood against Voldemort. It was you that defeated him and brought real hope to this world for the first time in nearly thirty years." Arthur stopped. Harry turned away slightly, staring toward the northeast, where the first stars were twinkling in the sky.
"What made you think I'd want to be Vice Minister? You must realize how much I despised the Ministry when I was still in school." He paused. "No offense, of course."
"None taken," Arthur responded. "The Ministry has changed since then, though. It's a completely different place. There are still some problems, and still many inequalities and injustices and hypocrisies, but you could fight them as Vice Minister. You would be a policy maker, Harry. You wouldn't just be the weapon or the Savior anymore. You'd be an instrument for real change."
He heard Harry sigh; he still did not turn back toward Arthur. Stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets, Harry let his head fall forward slightly. Arthur watched this and knew that silence was better than an outright refusal at the moment.
"Harry," he said, softly. "One of the last conversations I had with Albus was about the future of the Wizarding world, and how it would slowly shrivel and die if nothing changed after you killed Voldemort-yes, Albus was always sure you would prevail.
"But that's not the point," Arthur got back on track, tiredly. He removed his glasses and rubbed his temples. "Our society needs a new impetus for change, to survive more than the next fifty years, and I know you're it."
He put his glasses back on and waited for some kind of response from Harry. He could only see the outline of the younger wizard now, lit slightly by the blues and purple in the western sky against the pitch-blackness of the east.
"I don't know what you want me to say," Harry said, very resignedly.
"Think about it for a week or two," Arthur suggested. "Really think about it." Silence fell over the pair again, and after about a minute, Arthur could just make out Harry nodding his head.
"Alright."
"Thank you, Harry," Arthur said. He rested a hand on Harry's shoulder for a moment, and then turned to head back to the Burrow. A thought occurred to him, however, and he paused, back still turned to Harry.
"The Victory Day Celebration is next Sunday, the 26th, at Hogwarts. You and Hermione should come…" Arthur trailed off, not expecting a response and getting none. He continued on, shivering involuntarily as he passed the boundary of the privacy charm. Its power was enormous.
He walked back into the lit yard, where everyone was still mingling. Hermione caught his eye, a question in her gaze, and Arthur nodded back over his shoulder. She gave him an oddly penetrating look and then swept on past him into the dark orchard.
-->