The Long Road Home, chapter 19
Rated:R
Summary: Sequel to Ginny's Gift. Read that story first. Harry must deal with the aftermath of Voldemort's defeat.
Ginny no longer had any clear idea how long she'd been flying. Squinting into the distance, she looked desperately for something, anything on the horizon that might be land, but all she saw was haze. For a long time the world had been composed of nothing but low, scudding clouds in the sky above and the dark waters of North Sea below, its sullen expanse scarred with jagged ridges like thousands of old knife-strokes. These were the only constants now, along with the bone-piercing wind.
The first stage of the journey had been easy enough. Following Dumbledore's instructions, she'd flown from Hogwarts castle to the Scottish coast, following its line until she came to a place where the land began to turn, its angle changing to form a rounded corner.
She'd landed on a deserted, windblown beach between two towns, where she'd rested and prepared herself for the next and worst leg. She'd cast a warming charm over an extra jumper before pulling it over her head and putting her cloak back on over it, and then she'd gathered her courage, for she was facing over three hundred miles of open sea with nothing to guide her but a brass compass. Dumbledore had thought of using one, and she'd remembered there was one she could clip onto the broom handle in the Broomstick Servicing Kit Harry had given her over the Christmas holiday. He'd sounded a bit sad, as he'd explained Hermione had given it to him for his thirteenth birthday, but that he no longer needed it. As long as she kept a straight course bearing north-east, she'd strike the Norwegian coast not far from her intended destination.
The thought of how easily she could be blown off course was a daunting one, added to the certain knowledge of the cold she'd suffer and the time the crossing might take. At top speed, she ought to be able to make the journey in less than two hours, but once she'd kicked off into the air once more and felt how easily the wind buffeted her about, she knew she'd be unable to control the Firebolt if she asked it to go too fast. She couldn't risk falling off into the frigid water. That would mean certain death.
Only the thought of Harry had kept her going forward at the beginning, and now, even if she wanted to abandon this idea and turn around, it would be pointless to do so. She had to be more than halfway across. If she didn't manage to become hopelessly lost by giving up and going back, she'd only be prolonging her exposure to the cold.
Glancing at the compass to make sure she was still on course, Ginny let her mind wander back to Hogwarts, where this whole plan had been hatched. With all the time she'd spent in Professor McGonagall's office making up her schoolwork, she'd found herself talking to the portrait of Professor Dumbledore on occasion. He'd given her some useful advice in getting her assignments finished more quickly, and one day he'd asked her how she'd managed to find herself in this predicament.
It had been quite easy to tell him everything. When she'd described how Harry had come to lose his powers, Professor Dumbledore hadn't even blinked in surprise. It was as if he'd known exactly what Harry's intentions had been the previous June. And then Ginny had told him of the fruitless search for a cure at Hogwarts, down to the missing page in the book. And so Dumbledore had encouraged Ginny to approach the search from a different angle, without telling Hermione or anyone else. The only thing left for her to do now was to reach her destination so she could begin.
She checked her compass again. Still on course. Staring ahead of her into the haze, Ginny's heart gave a leap. There was something darker out there in the distance. Land. It had to be. She wanted to shout out in her relief that, at the very least, she'd be able to get off this broom and take a break. She leaned forward and urged the Firebolt onwards.
Several minutes later she found herself dismounting onto shaky legs on a stretch of desolate rock off shore. Peeling her numbed fingers from the handle of her broomstick, she drew out her wand and conjured herself some bluebell flames to warm herself. The final stage of the journey was going to be tricky.
She had no idea how Norwegian Muggles might react to the sight of someone flying on a broomstick. Briefly she wondered if she should have brought along Harry's invisibility cloak after all, but she knew in her heart she'd done the right thing in leaving it behind. She would have been taking it without permission, without Harry even knowing she had it, and if anything should happen to it… The Firebolt wasn't quite the same thing. He'd given that to her, but the invisibility cloak had belonged to his father, and as such, was irreplaceable.
She was just going to have to be careful that no one spotted her, and from the looks of things that might not be such a tall order. From the sky, the mainland had appeared to be sparsely populated, with a few tiny villages on some of the larger islands. Keeping an eye out for aeroplanes would be another concern, as Professor Dumbledore had told her she'd be flying in the close vicinity of an airport as she neared Bergen. On the other hand, if she spotted any, she'd know she wasn't far from her goal.
Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that it had to be afternoon. She'd not managed much breakfast this morning, and now she'd missed lunch as well. Bringing food along with her hadn't really been an option, as it would have aroused tricky questions at home. She'd just have to keep going. Once she found the town, once she found the pub… Then she could relax.
And she'd better be off, she thought. She wasn't sure how much more daylight would be left to her, and it would be much easier to find what she was looking for before sunset. She put out her fire, mounted the Firebolt and kicked off from the rocky ground.
To her immense relief, Ginny discovered that she had, indeed managed to remain on course. Once she was up in the air again and had flown over the mainland, she could see that she was approaching a more populated area. She looked nervously around for aeroplanes but thankfully saw none, although she soon spotted the landing strip below and to her left. Ahead she could see the town itself, and she concentrated on the description Dumbledore had given her. There were seven mountains surrounding the city, and she had to make sure she landed on the right one.
The straightest route to Mount Floien would take her directly over the city, and she already felt conspicuous flying out in broad daylight. Now that she knew she was about where she wanted to be, she could take a bit of a detour, skirting the areas where the buildings were more densely packed.
At last she came to land near the top of the mountain, which overlooked the centre of town and was undoubtedly teeming with tourists enjoying the spectacular view of the surroundings during the summer months. Pausing for the time it took to shrink the Firebolt and hide it in her bag, she pulled out a map she'd copied out of Magical Locations the World Over: A Wizarding Tourist Guide and stuffed it in her pocket. She was going to need it to locate the pub in a few minutes. But her first concern was in getting down from the mountain without being seen.
But as Ginny approached the kiosk and souvenir shop at the very top, she saw that the place was completely deserted on this raw, wintry day. The funicular might be running, but she didn't have any Norwegian Muggle money to pay for passage. In any case, she wouldn't need to rely on Muggle transportation to take her to the centre of town.
She walked to the back of the building that housed the restaurant and looked quickly around. There was no one to see what she was doing. Drawing her wand, she looked for a crack in the shape of a troll's head, which had been carefully described in the tourist guide. When she found it, she tapped the end of the nose with her wand, and the wall before her gave way. Stepping through the magical portal, she found herself in the funicular's lower station at the base of the mountain.
Before passing out into the street, she consulted her map once more. She knew she had a bit of a walk before her, and her heart sank when she realised the pub was almost a mile away from where she was. Her stomach protested, reminding her once again that it was long past lunch time, and her legs suddenly felt rubbery, but she could do nothing about it until she was in a place where she could pay for things in Galleons.
Stepping out onto the pavement, she was immediately faced with crossing a street, and out of habit she looked to the right first. Seeing nothing, she was about to put her foot over the kerb, even as she turned her head to the left. Her heart leapt into her throat and she jumped back, when she saw several cars go screaming past. It was apparent that Muggles here drove on the opposite side of the road from what she was used to, and she wondered if she'd manage to reach the pub without being knocked flat.
Looking carefully in both directions, Ginny tentatively stepped into the street again, and then she practically ran across, panting a bit as she reached the other side. She then set off, her heart-rate slowly coming back to normal once again. It looked as if it was growing dark already, and she quickened her pace. She'd had a glance at a clock in the funicular station, and it had only been about three in the afternoon.
By the time she'd found the tiny, stuccoed pub in Vaskereleven, Ginny was fairly stumbling with hunger and fatigue. Dumbledore had told her the first floor was for Muggles, but that there was a second floor, where she'd find the pub's wizarding clientele. As she entered, the barman looked up from wiping tables. "God middag!" he greeted, and then went on in a string of Norwegian that Ginny felt as if she ought to understand bits of, but somehow couldn't make sense of it all.
She smiled and nodded at him nervously, continuing on towards the back stairs. In passing she saw the barman take in her cloak, and a knowing glint came into his eye. He'd obviously recognised that she belonged on the second floor, and he didn't say another word.
The stairs were narrow and a bit rickety, but Ginny hurried up them in spite of this. It had taken her longer than expected to get here, and she hoped the person she was supposed to meet hadn't given up. At the top, she found herself in much dingier surroundings, reminding her of the Leaky Cauldron. The room was dark, and the ceiling low, but there were quite a few customers in the place, in direct contrast to the room downstairs. Ginny squinted through the murky air, making out a familiar set of surly features at the back of the room. She breathed a sigh of relief. He'd waited for her.
She strode towards his table, perhaps a bit too quickly, drawing stares from some of the other patrons. A blush heated her cheeks, as she felt their eyes follow her. Viktor Krum had also spotted her, and he rose out of his chair, catching her as she stumbled at the last minute and holding onto her arm until she'd regained her balance.
"I'm sorry, Viktor," Ginny said, as she sank down into a chair at his table. "I didn't think the trip was going to take me this long."
Viktor stared at her for a moment in confusion. "Trip? What are you talking about?"
"I came by broom."
His eyes widened. "All the way from Hogwarts? That's complete madness. Why didn't you just Portkey?"
"Because I can't make one myself, and I didn't want to ask anyone else to make one for me. Listen, I'm very cold and tired and hungry. Do you think…"
Viktor raised his hand immediately and signalled to the barman, who appeared at their table so quickly, Ginny was sure he'd Apparated. Apparently Viktor Krum was well-known enough to warrant top-notch service. It also explained the curious glances that were still being cast in their direction from the other patrons. Ginny hunched over in her seat, not particularly liking the way some of them were looking at her.
Viktor jabbered something at the barman, who disappeared and soon came back to the table bearing a large, steaming tankard of Butterbeer. Ginny drank deeply, letting the hot liquid flow through her.
"He'll be back with some food," Viktor informed her, nodding after the retreating barman. "What in the hell were you thinking? Can you tell me that? Why couldn't you just ask someone to make you a Portkey?" He'd managed to keep his voice down -- he had to be as aware as Ginny of the amount of attention he attracted -- but she could hear the anger in his tone all the same.
"Because no one knows I'm here, and I don't want them to know. I couldn't ask."
"So you thought it would be fine to risk your life? Do you realise how dangerous it was for you to come here by broom?"
"Yes, Viktor, I know, but this is very important. I told you in my letters I was doing research for a project for school, but that's not quite the truth. This goes far beyond that, but I'd rather not discuss this here. This has to remain a dead secret. I'm willing to tell you about it, but not in a place where someone might listen in. Do you mind if we waited to get to Durmstrang for that? I'll tell you everything then."
"I suppose I don't have much choice if I want to know what made you risk your life to come here."
"No, you haven't."
"I do want to know one thing, though. Who knows you're here?"
"Nobody does." Professor Dumbledore's portrait didn't count in Ginny's mind.
"I see. And what's going to happen when your family realises you're missing?"
"I've arranged for that. They think I've gone back to school early to catch up on my work and prepare for my NEWTs. And no one at Hogwarts expects me back until the beginning of term."
"That gives you a week before anyone knows that you're missing."
"Yes, that's right."
"It's not enough time."
"Does that mean you've found something?"
"I may have, although I don't like it very much. But it's going to take longer than a week to follow up on. You're going to have to let people know where you are."
Ginny opened her mouth to protest, but at that moment, the barman came back with a plate of food for her. It looked to be some sort of creamy stew made with mutton, cabbage and potatoes. Ginny didn't particularly care at this point. The food was hot and filling, and that's what mattered to her most.
She could feel Viktor watching her as she applied herself to her food, and she knew he was waiting for her to reply. She continued to eat, ignoring him, but after a while she couldn't stand any more. "Stop it," she hissed at him, barely looking up, not wanting to meet his eyes.
"Stop what?"
"What you're doing. I know you're trying to read my mind right now."
"No, Ginny, I'm not," he replied quietly. "If I were doing anything of the sort, you'd know about it. Still, there are some things I can sense without really trying," he went on. "I can tell you've been telling a lot of lies to people. Keeping things to yourself. And that you're not very happy about that."
"I haven't had any choice. Once I've explained everything, you'll understand why this has to remain a secret."
"You're still going to have to let people know where you are. They're going to miss you at Hogwarts next week, and then your family will be contacted. They'll be worried about you. You're going to have to let them know you're all right. And what about Harry?"
Ginny looked up sharply. In all the letters she'd written to him in the past six weeks, she'd never once mentioned any of this had anything to do with Harry. Her stomach tightened uncomfortably, as she wondered just how much Viktor Krum could pick up without even trying. "What about him?" she replied, trying to sound casual.
"Ginny, if I'm going to help you with whatever you're doing, we need to have one thing clear from the beginning. Don't try to lie to me. For one thing I can tell when you're doing it, even if I can't always discern the truth. And I can tell when you're trying to cover something up." He leaned closer on one elbow, while putting the other hand on her forearm and lowering his voice. "I can see how you feel about Harry without even trying. It radiates from you. So don't try to tell me he isn't going to be concerned when you turn up missing."
Ginny swallowed hard and fought off a blush. "All right," she said sullenly, pushing her plate aside. "I'll let them know I'm safe, but nothing else. No one can know what I'm doing."
She rifled in her bag until she'd found a small roll of parchment, a quill and some ink. She tore the parchment into three sections, and scribbled off hasty notes to her mother and Professor McGonagall. The only letter left to write was to Harry, and that was going to be the hardest of them all.
She looked up, considering what she was going to say to him. Krum was scowling around at the other patrons. "Are you almost finished?" he asked, when he turned back to face her. "I don't trust everyone here. There's something…"
"I won't be a minute." She started writing, trying to explain as best she could why things had to be this way. When she'd finished, she folded the parchment, addressing it to The Burrow, sealed it and laid it next to the other two. "How are we going to send these? We haven't got an owl."
"We can leave them with the barman. If we give him money for postage, he'll send them off for us."
That brought up another matter that Ginny was unsure about. She'd brought as much money as she could with her, but it still didn't amount to very much. She was going to have to pay for her meal here, as well as postage, and she had no idea how much that would come to.
Krum was signalling the barman once again. Ginny fished her money bag out of the pocket of her cloak, but Krum was faster. He handed the letters to the barman, along with several coins. The barman nodded and pocketed the letters. "How much do I owe you?" Ginny asked.
Krum was getting up. "Don't worry about it."
"But…"
"I insist. Now please don't argue. I'd like to get back to Durmstrang now, if you don't mind."
"How are we going to do that? I can't Apparate yet."
"You can't Apparate on the grounds in any case, and it's quite far. But it doesn't matter. There's a village nearby. We can Floo to the inn in the village and walk from there. When you get to the fireplace, you must be very careful to pronounce the name of the inn correctly. It's in Swedish. It's like this: Trollet och Draken. Can you say that?"
It took Ginny a couple of tries before she could master the strange pronunciation, and all the way over to the fireplace, she repeated the words under her breath, so she wouldn't forget them. If somehow she managed to mispronounce them, once she was in the Floo network, there was no telling where she might come out.
Viktor took a pouch out of his pocket, and offered it to Ginny, who took a pinch of Floo powder. "Let me go first," he said. "That way you've got more of a chance if you can see me on the other end when you come through."
Ginny watched apprehensively as Viktor Krum cried out the name of the inn and disappeared into the roaring green flames. She concentrated hard, threw her pinch of powder into the fire in her turn and called, "Trollet och Draken!" The next thing she knew, she was whirling past grate after grate.
*
Almost before Harry knew it, it was New Year's Eve. He realised it only as he arrived at the Ministry's Apparition point that morning, and overheard a couple of witches talking about their plans for ringing in the new year. Since he'd said good-bye to Ginny and gone back to work the day after Boxing Day, he'd barely had time to breathe. Many of the other Ministry departments had either closed or were running on a reduced staff over the holiday season, but not his division. Some of the earliest cases they'd begun when he'd started working here the previous August would be ready to go to trial soon after the new year, and the entire division was working overtime in preparation.
So that was what constituted Harry's plans for the evening. More work. Not that he had anything better to do with Ginny back at school. He might have toyed with the idea of meeting her in Hogsmeade this evening, but he hadn't even heard from her since she'd left. She had to be too busy with school work, he told himself. After all, he hadn't had any time to write her a letter, either. He'd have to make time for that over his lunch hour.
When he got into the office, he found Gervaise St John had already arrived. He was sitting at his desk, quite absorbed in whatever he was reading. Harry could see his lips moving, as he followed along in the text with an index finger. Harry ignored St John and moved towards his desk.
There were several files on it already; he'd left them there last night when he'd gone home, too tired to really care about putting them away when he knew he'd just have to get them out again the next morning. Sighing heavily, he sat down at his desk and opened the first file. Laying aside a piece of parchment, which he'd covered with doodles of broomsticks while pretending to take notes during a particularly dull staff meeting, he pulled out his quill and picked up where he'd left off.
It wasn't long before a shadow fell across his desk. Harry looked up, perturbed at the interruption, to find St John leering down at him.
"Do you mind?" Harry asked, not bothering to hide his irritation. "I'm trying to work here, and you're in my light." Mentally, he tagged on Mrs Mutt's favourite descriptor.
St John shrugged. "I just thought you'd be interested in your latest press clippings."
He tossed a newspaper onto Harry's desk. It wasn't the Daily Prophet; it was about half the size of the wizarding paper, with large, red lettering across the top that proclaimed it to be the Grand Inquisitor. Harry's eye was immediately drawn to a very large picture of him that had to have been taken on Halloween. Next to the picture, the headline screamed, "Harry Potter's Secret Life: Boy Wizard No Longer." Harry didn't even have to look at the by-line to realise who had written it, but his eye fell on Rita Skeeter's name anyway. She hadn't been heard from since early November, and Harry had to wonder if she'd been sacked from the Prophet as a result of that article. If that had been the case, she'd obviously found herself another job.
"Quite an enlightening article, Potter," St John sneered at him. "You ought to enjoy it."
If he were clever, Harry told himself, his heart sinking, he'd just toss the paper into the waste bin. But something made him look, something deep inside of himself forced him to look at the worst. From the headline, he knew in advance what the article was about. She'd discovered his secret somehow. But how? He thought he'd been so careful. He should have known better. Perhaps if he read the article, there would be some sort of clue.
Harry Potter is an eighteen-year-old like no other in the world. Just last June, while still in his last year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he performed a spell, which has since been credited by the Ministry of Magic for banishing You-Know-Who. He has since disappeared into relative obscurity. But what is the life of such a well-known wizard really like?
This was the extent of the text that went along with the photo on the front page, but a jumpline indicated there was more within. With a sense of foreboding, Harry swallowed hard and turned the page, knowing that in spite of the neutral beginning, Rita Skeeter was no doubt just warming up.
Like so many of us Harry Potter gets up in the morning, eats breakfast and goes off to his job at the Ministry of Magic. Like so many other Ministry employees, he appears at the designated Apparition point and walks to his office in the Department of Magical Law enforcement. He was hired on by Badon Hill in an entry-level position, which requires a great deal of skill with filing procedures. In the evening, he returns to Ottery St Catchpole, where he resides as a houseguest of the Weasley family, often bringing work home with him. If he is not too fatigued from his strenuous existence, he may even pen a letter to his girlfriend, Ginny Weasley, who is currently in her final year at Hogwarts. Like so many boys his age, he is faced with the decision of whether to strike out on his own.
To the casual reader, all of this might seem like a perfectly normal, and even mundane, existence. If one were to question things even further, one might even ask how such a seemingly powerful wizard -- one who managed to defeat You-Know-Who when no other wizard, not even the renowned Albus Dumbledore, had found the means to do so -- has come to be living such a life.
Why isn't he playing professional Quidditch? After all, he was known at school as the youngest Seeker in over a century, playing for his house team since his first year. For five of his seven years, he was one of the keys to the success of the Gryffindor team, such as it was, and one would suppose that had Quidditch matches not been entirely cancelled in the other two years he was at Hogwarts, his record would be even more impressive.
Why hasn't he become an Auror like his good friend, Ron Weasley? Surely someone with the means to defeat You-Know-Who would be perfectly qualified for the position. Why isn't he doing any number of more high-profile and exciting jobs with the sort of NEWT results he attained?
Thanks to the efforts of this reporter, the Grand Inquisitor can now exclusively reveal those reasons, reasons which Harry Potter himself has taken great pains to hide. Harry Potter cannot play professional Quidditch or serve as an Auror for the simple reason that he no longer possesses any magical powers.
This may seem quite a sensational accusation to the reader, but this reporter has gone to great effort to prove that this is true. Harry Potter may appear to Apparate to his place of work every morning, but research into Department of Magical Transportation records shows no Apparition license was ever granted to Harry Potter. One can find the records for his friends and fellow classmates, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, as well as those for other students in his year at Hogwarts, but none for their most famous school-mate. And yet he takes great pains to appear as if he's Apparating to work like everyone else.
Further investigation has revealed that Mr Potter performs the most basic of tasks using no magic at all. He shaves in the morning using a Muggle razor, rather than an Imberbus Charm. At work, if he is asked for a file, he does not Summon it, he fetches it. He attended a recent league Quidditch match, travelling not by Apparition, but by Muggle transport and on foot, while he arrived at the Winter Solstice Ball at Hogwarts using a Portkey. Indeed, he does almost all of his travelling by means of a special Portkey, which he keeps hidden in his pocket at all times, making it look as if he's Apparating.
In a recent conversation with friend Ron Weasley, Harry Potter was even heard to admit he no longer possessed any magical powers. The two were discussing the possibility of moving out of the elder Weasleys' home and into a flat of their own when Mr Potter claimed aloud he had no magic.
This now begs the question of why. Why all the deception, Mr Potter? Why have you gone to such lengths to keep your condition a secret? How many other secrets have you been keeping, and what damage have they done to the innocent people who worship you?
The article continued onto the next page, and Harry turned it in spite of himself. He'd known from the beginning that this was it, that his secret was out, and that knowledge had helped him steel himself against the blow. This wasn't as bad as he'd thought. He could deal with this. He already knew how Rita herself had discovered his secret. She'd dug into the Ministry records simply because that was what she did and had found that he possessed no Apparition license. From there, she'd kept her eyes and ears open. She'd obviously been at the Falmouth match he and Ron had attended, and it looked as if she'd been crawling through his pockets in her Animagus form. She'd probably even sneaked a ride home with him in the pocket of his cloak a time or two. Harry forced himself to breathe.
Then he got a good look at the next page and felt as if all the wind had been knocked out of him. There on the page was a picture of Ginny, and she wasn't alone. Was that Viktor Krum with her? It was difficult to tell, since his back was partially turned towards the camera, and the angle seemed to be funny, as if the photographer had been hiding under something nearby. Ginny and Viktor looked to be sitting at a table in a dingy pub that Harry didn't recognise, but he wasn't paying much attention to their surroundings. He was too busy watching them stare intently into each other's eyes, while Viktor stroked Ginny's arm.
No, he told himself, that couldn't be right. The picture had to have been doctored in some way. This wasn't exactly a reputable newspaper from the looks of it. In any case, Viktor was at Durmstrang this year, and Ginny was back at Hogwarts.
He turned back to the article, angry now for Ginny's sake. He'd read to the end, and if Rita Skeeter had done anything to Ginny's reputation, there would be hell to pay.
Does the secrecy have anything to do with the nature of the spell you used on You-Know-Who? the article went on. Because you were in possession of your powers at least up until that point, and a spell which would rob you of your powers can be nothing less than Dark Magic.
It is well known that the Dark Arts are nothing new to Mr Potter. He revealed himself to be a Parselmouth in his second year, and it is a known fact that the ability to speak to serpents is the sign of a Dark Wizard. His godfather is a convicted murder who consorts with werewolves. And we cannot forget that Cedric Diggory died under very mysterious circumstances. Even if You-Know-Who did kill him, as Harry Potter has claimed, the fact remains that Mr Potter stood by and did nothing to stop this tragedy.
Given his history, it comes as no surprise that Mr Potter would resort to such means to defeat You-Know-Who. Part of the spell evidently backfired, however. Not only was the world stripped of a Dark Lord, but Mr Potter's powers were stripped from him as well. Had he known this was a possibility he would never have used such means. There is a lesson to be drawn from his experiences: if you play with fire, you are very likely to be burnt.
It looks very much as if Mr Potter's lack of magical ability matters to at least one person, his girlfriend, Ginny Weasley. Or perhaps former girlfriend would be more accurate. She has, by all appearances, taken up with Viktor Krum. Alert readers will recall that Mr Potter has had similar problems in the past when his fourth-year girlfriend, Hermione Granger, was also torn between him and Mr Krum. While Miss Granger maintains an amicable relationship with both Mr Potter and Mr Krum, she's evidently found both of them lacking in the romance department, as she is currently dating Ron Weasley, a very tall boy, who is no doubt well endowed in other ways than mere height.
Ginny Weasley and Viktor Krum were seen meeting publicly a few days ago, and she was sporting a new and very expensive cloak. This reporter wonders which of the two famous wizards bought it for her. Her family isn't particularly well known for its wealth, and Miss Weasley obviously has a taste for the finer things. She'll want a wizard who is able to provide her with them, and it looks very much as if Mr Potter is no longer able to satisfy her needs.
One also has to wonder in which other areas the young Miss Weasley might be comparing the two wizards. This reporter overheard a conversation between Mr Potter and Miss Weasley's older brother, in which they made plans to spend the night with their respective girlfriends, and in doing so planned on deceiving Molly Weasley. It is obvious that the holier-than-thou Molly Weasley hasn't the slightest idea of everything her numerous brood gets up to. She might be well advised to keep a closer eye on her daughter.
If Miss Weasley has suddenly left Mr Potter after the consummation of their relationship, might it be because she found something lacking in his attentions. Perhaps a lack of magic has rendered Mr Potter impotent in more ways than one. Or perhaps she's merely concerned about a pregnancy, since Mr Potter is unable to cast a contraceptive charm. A look at her family history on both her mother's and father's side would bear this out…
There was more, but Harry couldn't stand to read another word. He was tempted to crumple the paper into a ball and throw it into St John's leering face. St John was back at his desk, but it was clear to Harry that he was only pretending to work. He had to be waiting for an angry outburst from Harry. Well, Harry wasn't about to give him that satisfaction.
He took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. He remembered Hermione's oft-repeated advice of, "Ignore them, ignore them, ignore them," whenever Draco Malfoy had started in on him. But this was far, far worse than anything Malfoy had ever dished out. Before he could even stop to think what he was doing, his hand had balled itself into a fist. He wanted to hit something. He had to hit something. But he couldn't. He couldn't let anyone see that this was affecting him. He began to shake with the effort of suppressing the anger.
"Is everything all right, dear?"
Harry looked up to find Mrs Mutt peering at him the concern evident in both her eyes and tone. He fought for control. "Yes, everything's fine."
He knew as soon as the words were out that he didn't sound convincing. As he watched, Mrs Mutt's eyes glanced down at his desk, where the tabloid still lay open. He made a grab for it, but Mrs Mutt was surprisingly quick for her age. She picked up the paper and clucked at the picture. He remained silent while she glanced at the front page.
"You can't put any stock in this, you know," she said. "They can doctor pictures."
"She's up at school…" Harry croaked. He knew he wasn't really responding to Mrs Mutt's statement, but it was the best he could do at the moment. "I need… I need to go. Tell Hill there's been an emergency."
He knew what he had to do now; he had to get to Ginny. She was going to hear about this article eventually, he was certain of it. Harry didn't want her hearing about it from the wrong people, and he knew from her letters that there was a pack of Slytherin girls who would be all to happy to gloat over the article in front of her, much as St John had done to him. Without a further word to anyone, he left the office, went to the Apparition point and activated his Portkey.
When he came out in Hogsmeade, a harsh wind whipped at his face, its merciless fingers finding their way through his thin shirt. He hadn't brought his cloak with him from The Burrow, as he hadn't expected to have to go outside today. As cold as the blast was, it did nothing to cool his anger… Ginny… He had to focus on her. She was most important at the moment. He ignored the voice in his head that told him she wouldn't be there. Once he'd broken the news to her, he'd decide what he was going to do about Rita Skeeter.
He walked as quickly as he could up the drive which led to the steps in front of the castle. Climbing them and going through the front doors into the deserted entrance hall, he hesitated a moment. He could go up to Gryffindor Tower and see if Ginny was there, but there was no guarantee she would be. In any case he had no idea what the password was. Perhaps she was still at breakfast.
He entered the Great Hall. The long room stretched out before him; the parallel house tables pointing towards the staff table on its dais were all empty. There were no staff in sight, either. Harry let out a sigh of frustration. Many of the staff had to have gone home for the holidays, along with most of the students. He knew Hermione was spending the rest of the time off with her parents.
He turned around, resolved to argue his case with the Fat Lady, but he'd got no more than halfway up the marble staircase when he nearly ran into Nearly-Headless Nick. He halted just in time to avoid walking through the Gryffindor ghost.
"Nick!" he said. "It's a good thing I've run into you."
"Harry Potter!" Nick greeted him jovially. "What brings you here in the middle of the Christmas holiday?"
"Yes, well, perhaps you can help me. I need to find Ginny, and I haven't got the password into Gryffindor Tower. Do you think you could give it to me? Or go in yourself and get Ginny to come out so I can talk to her?"
"Ginny?"
"Yes, Ginny Weasley. She's in seventh year."
"Yes, I know, but she's not here."
"What do you mean, she's not here? She's got to be here!"
"No, she hasn't come back from holiday yet. I looked in on the meal last night. There are very few students who stayed on this year. None of the seventh-year Gryffindors stayed any longer than the ball."
"She's GOT to be here! You don't understand! I brought her back myself just a few days ago! If she's not here, then where the hell has she gone?"
Nick looked concerned. "I'm sorry, but she hasn't been back here."
The Burrow. Harry had to get back to The Burrow. Ginny would never have gone off somewhere without letting her mother know where she'd be. The voice in his mind was back, reminding him mockingly that by all appearances, she'd done just that. She hadn't sent any owls to her mother in the past five days, either.
He turned and began to careen down the marble staircase, across the entrance hall and out the door, as if he could outrun the voice, or at least drown it out with his thudding footfalls. He didn't stop until he'd reached the front gate where he'd said good-bye to Ginny for the last time. Then he reached into his pocket and activated his Portkey once again.
He landed in the kitchen with a crash, expecting to shock Mrs Weasley with his unexpected arrival. But once he'd got to his feet, he realised the house was far too quiet.
"Mrs Weasley?" he called. But there was no reply.
"Dammit," he muttered to himself. And then his eye fell onto the kitchen table, where the morning post usually lay. It was empty. There hadn't been an owl today, either. He began to open drawers and cupboards, looking for anything that might be an envelope. There had to be one. There just had to.
But he found nothing. Ginny's room. Perhaps she'd left some sort of clue there. Bounding up the stairs, he burst into her room. It was neat and clean, the faded blue walls belying nothing. He went over to her desk, pulling out the drawers and spilling their contents onto the floor, but discovering nothing beyond some old, dried-up ink bottles, several dulled quills, and a few limp scraps of parchment. He turned towards her wardrobe and yanked the doors open. There was nothing in it but a few articles of summer clothing, and her dress robes. He pulled everything out and tossed it to the floor. Nothing. There was nothing! Then, just as he was leaving, he noticed her night table. The glimmer of hope that rose in him briefly was dashed when he saw the picture of them from the ball. Wherever she'd gone, she hadn't taken it with her. He swiped the frame angrily to the floor as well, and went back down to the kitchen.
He'd just have to try harder. He pulled the drawers completely out of their cabinetry this time, dumping out their contents, the cutlery clattering onto the floor. He even went as far as looking into the waste bin, but the contents of the waste bin were far worse than anything else he'd unearthed so far. This was worse than finding nothing. For there in the bin lay a crumpled copy of the Grand Inquisitor. Harry knew immediately that he'd been sent a courtesy copy. Rita Skeeter had wanted to be sure he saw her exposé. He kicked the waste bin over, not caring that its contents were now strewn about the floor among the forks and spoons. He aimed his foot at the tabloid a few more times, intending to stomp it to shreds and making an even bigger mess of things, but the action brought him no comfort.
There was no letter. There never had been a letter, and there never would be. Ginny had done the unthinkable and left him. She'd told him she wanted to marry him on Christmas Day. Had all that been a lie?
He took a step backwards and came into contact with the wall. Slowly he slid down it until he was in a heap on the floor, and a wild, desperate roar of pain burst from his gut at last. Then he buried his face in his hands and began to sob.
He didn't know how long he sat there, while he poured out his pain. It might have been a few minutes, or it might have been hours. He no longer had any way of knowing. After a while, a voice reached his ears from seemingly far away. He noticed his hands had moved up into his hair, and he was tearing at it.
Swiping at his eyes, he looked up. From across the room, he could see someone's head in the fireplace, calling out for Mrs Weasley. He didn't think he could be seen from the grate, but he didn't want to take any chances. Slowly he inched his way along the wall until he'd rounded the corner into the living room.
He was going to have to get out of here. Mrs Weasley might come back at any time, and he couldn't let her see him. Not when he knew she'd read that article. He got to his feet and dashed up to the top of the house. If he was going to leave, he'd have to do it now.
Hedwig hooted at him from her cage, as he entered Ron's room. He ignored her, as he began to take clothes out of the wardrobe and toss them carelessly into his trunk. Hedwig hooted again, sounding more indignant this time.
"Quiet," he snapped at her. "I've got to get out of here."
Hedwig let out an angry screech.
"I'm leaving, and nothing you can say is going to stop me, so you might as well shut it."
He shut the lid of his trunk with a loud bang, and reached out to lock Hedwig's cage. "Ouch!" She'd managed to bite his finger hard, through the bars. "You can try all you like, but you're still not going to stop me."
He picked up the cage, gripped the handle of his trunk, and activated his Portkey for the final time that day, disappearing from The Burrow.
A/N: Thanks to everyone who continues to read and review this story.
Chapter 20
Summary: Sequel to Ginny's Gift. Read that story first. Harry must deal with the aftermath of Voldemort's defeat.
Ginny no longer had any clear idea how long she'd been flying. Squinting into the distance, she looked desperately for something, anything on the horizon that might be land, but all she saw was haze. For a long time the world had been composed of nothing but low, scudding clouds in the sky above and the dark waters of North Sea below, its sullen expanse scarred with jagged ridges like thousands of old knife-strokes. These were the only constants now, along with the bone-piercing wind.
The first stage of the journey had been easy enough. Following Dumbledore's instructions, she'd flown from Hogwarts castle to the Scottish coast, following its line until she came to a place where the land began to turn, its angle changing to form a rounded corner.
She'd landed on a deserted, windblown beach between two towns, where she'd rested and prepared herself for the next and worst leg. She'd cast a warming charm over an extra jumper before pulling it over her head and putting her cloak back on over it, and then she'd gathered her courage, for she was facing over three hundred miles of open sea with nothing to guide her but a brass compass. Dumbledore had thought of using one, and she'd remembered there was one she could clip onto the broom handle in the Broomstick Servicing Kit Harry had given her over the Christmas holiday. He'd sounded a bit sad, as he'd explained Hermione had given it to him for his thirteenth birthday, but that he no longer needed it. As long as she kept a straight course bearing north-east, she'd strike the Norwegian coast not far from her intended destination.
The thought of how easily she could be blown off course was a daunting one, added to the certain knowledge of the cold she'd suffer and the time the crossing might take. At top speed, she ought to be able to make the journey in less than two hours, but once she'd kicked off into the air once more and felt how easily the wind buffeted her about, she knew she'd be unable to control the Firebolt if she asked it to go too fast. She couldn't risk falling off into the frigid water. That would mean certain death.
Only the thought of Harry had kept her going forward at the beginning, and now, even if she wanted to abandon this idea and turn around, it would be pointless to do so. She had to be more than halfway across. If she didn't manage to become hopelessly lost by giving up and going back, she'd only be prolonging her exposure to the cold.
Glancing at the compass to make sure she was still on course, Ginny let her mind wander back to Hogwarts, where this whole plan had been hatched. With all the time she'd spent in Professor McGonagall's office making up her schoolwork, she'd found herself talking to the portrait of Professor Dumbledore on occasion. He'd given her some useful advice in getting her assignments finished more quickly, and one day he'd asked her how she'd managed to find herself in this predicament.
It had been quite easy to tell him everything. When she'd described how Harry had come to lose his powers, Professor Dumbledore hadn't even blinked in surprise. It was as if he'd known exactly what Harry's intentions had been the previous June. And then Ginny had told him of the fruitless search for a cure at Hogwarts, down to the missing page in the book. And so Dumbledore had encouraged Ginny to approach the search from a different angle, without telling Hermione or anyone else. The only thing left for her to do now was to reach her destination so she could begin.
She checked her compass again. Still on course. Staring ahead of her into the haze, Ginny's heart gave a leap. There was something darker out there in the distance. Land. It had to be. She wanted to shout out in her relief that, at the very least, she'd be able to get off this broom and take a break. She leaned forward and urged the Firebolt onwards.
Several minutes later she found herself dismounting onto shaky legs on a stretch of desolate rock off shore. Peeling her numbed fingers from the handle of her broomstick, she drew out her wand and conjured herself some bluebell flames to warm herself. The final stage of the journey was going to be tricky.
She had no idea how Norwegian Muggles might react to the sight of someone flying on a broomstick. Briefly she wondered if she should have brought along Harry's invisibility cloak after all, but she knew in her heart she'd done the right thing in leaving it behind. She would have been taking it without permission, without Harry even knowing she had it, and if anything should happen to it… The Firebolt wasn't quite the same thing. He'd given that to her, but the invisibility cloak had belonged to his father, and as such, was irreplaceable.
She was just going to have to be careful that no one spotted her, and from the looks of things that might not be such a tall order. From the sky, the mainland had appeared to be sparsely populated, with a few tiny villages on some of the larger islands. Keeping an eye out for aeroplanes would be another concern, as Professor Dumbledore had told her she'd be flying in the close vicinity of an airport as she neared Bergen. On the other hand, if she spotted any, she'd know she wasn't far from her goal.
Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that it had to be afternoon. She'd not managed much breakfast this morning, and now she'd missed lunch as well. Bringing food along with her hadn't really been an option, as it would have aroused tricky questions at home. She'd just have to keep going. Once she found the town, once she found the pub… Then she could relax.
And she'd better be off, she thought. She wasn't sure how much more daylight would be left to her, and it would be much easier to find what she was looking for before sunset. She put out her fire, mounted the Firebolt and kicked off from the rocky ground.
To her immense relief, Ginny discovered that she had, indeed managed to remain on course. Once she was up in the air again and had flown over the mainland, she could see that she was approaching a more populated area. She looked nervously around for aeroplanes but thankfully saw none, although she soon spotted the landing strip below and to her left. Ahead she could see the town itself, and she concentrated on the description Dumbledore had given her. There were seven mountains surrounding the city, and she had to make sure she landed on the right one.
The straightest route to Mount Floien would take her directly over the city, and she already felt conspicuous flying out in broad daylight. Now that she knew she was about where she wanted to be, she could take a bit of a detour, skirting the areas where the buildings were more densely packed.
At last she came to land near the top of the mountain, which overlooked the centre of town and was undoubtedly teeming with tourists enjoying the spectacular view of the surroundings during the summer months. Pausing for the time it took to shrink the Firebolt and hide it in her bag, she pulled out a map she'd copied out of Magical Locations the World Over: A Wizarding Tourist Guide and stuffed it in her pocket. She was going to need it to locate the pub in a few minutes. But her first concern was in getting down from the mountain without being seen.
But as Ginny approached the kiosk and souvenir shop at the very top, she saw that the place was completely deserted on this raw, wintry day. The funicular might be running, but she didn't have any Norwegian Muggle money to pay for passage. In any case, she wouldn't need to rely on Muggle transportation to take her to the centre of town.
She walked to the back of the building that housed the restaurant and looked quickly around. There was no one to see what she was doing. Drawing her wand, she looked for a crack in the shape of a troll's head, which had been carefully described in the tourist guide. When she found it, she tapped the end of the nose with her wand, and the wall before her gave way. Stepping through the magical portal, she found herself in the funicular's lower station at the base of the mountain.
Before passing out into the street, she consulted her map once more. She knew she had a bit of a walk before her, and her heart sank when she realised the pub was almost a mile away from where she was. Her stomach protested, reminding her once again that it was long past lunch time, and her legs suddenly felt rubbery, but she could do nothing about it until she was in a place where she could pay for things in Galleons.
Stepping out onto the pavement, she was immediately faced with crossing a street, and out of habit she looked to the right first. Seeing nothing, she was about to put her foot over the kerb, even as she turned her head to the left. Her heart leapt into her throat and she jumped back, when she saw several cars go screaming past. It was apparent that Muggles here drove on the opposite side of the road from what she was used to, and she wondered if she'd manage to reach the pub without being knocked flat.
Looking carefully in both directions, Ginny tentatively stepped into the street again, and then she practically ran across, panting a bit as she reached the other side. She then set off, her heart-rate slowly coming back to normal once again. It looked as if it was growing dark already, and she quickened her pace. She'd had a glance at a clock in the funicular station, and it had only been about three in the afternoon.
By the time she'd found the tiny, stuccoed pub in Vaskereleven, Ginny was fairly stumbling with hunger and fatigue. Dumbledore had told her the first floor was for Muggles, but that there was a second floor, where she'd find the pub's wizarding clientele. As she entered, the barman looked up from wiping tables. "God middag!" he greeted, and then went on in a string of Norwegian that Ginny felt as if she ought to understand bits of, but somehow couldn't make sense of it all.
She smiled and nodded at him nervously, continuing on towards the back stairs. In passing she saw the barman take in her cloak, and a knowing glint came into his eye. He'd obviously recognised that she belonged on the second floor, and he didn't say another word.
The stairs were narrow and a bit rickety, but Ginny hurried up them in spite of this. It had taken her longer than expected to get here, and she hoped the person she was supposed to meet hadn't given up. At the top, she found herself in much dingier surroundings, reminding her of the Leaky Cauldron. The room was dark, and the ceiling low, but there were quite a few customers in the place, in direct contrast to the room downstairs. Ginny squinted through the murky air, making out a familiar set of surly features at the back of the room. She breathed a sigh of relief. He'd waited for her.
She strode towards his table, perhaps a bit too quickly, drawing stares from some of the other patrons. A blush heated her cheeks, as she felt their eyes follow her. Viktor Krum had also spotted her, and he rose out of his chair, catching her as she stumbled at the last minute and holding onto her arm until she'd regained her balance.
"I'm sorry, Viktor," Ginny said, as she sank down into a chair at his table. "I didn't think the trip was going to take me this long."
Viktor stared at her for a moment in confusion. "Trip? What are you talking about?"
"I came by broom."
His eyes widened. "All the way from Hogwarts? That's complete madness. Why didn't you just Portkey?"
"Because I can't make one myself, and I didn't want to ask anyone else to make one for me. Listen, I'm very cold and tired and hungry. Do you think…"
Viktor raised his hand immediately and signalled to the barman, who appeared at their table so quickly, Ginny was sure he'd Apparated. Apparently Viktor Krum was well-known enough to warrant top-notch service. It also explained the curious glances that were still being cast in their direction from the other patrons. Ginny hunched over in her seat, not particularly liking the way some of them were looking at her.
Viktor jabbered something at the barman, who disappeared and soon came back to the table bearing a large, steaming tankard of Butterbeer. Ginny drank deeply, letting the hot liquid flow through her.
"He'll be back with some food," Viktor informed her, nodding after the retreating barman. "What in the hell were you thinking? Can you tell me that? Why couldn't you just ask someone to make you a Portkey?" He'd managed to keep his voice down -- he had to be as aware as Ginny of the amount of attention he attracted -- but she could hear the anger in his tone all the same.
"Because no one knows I'm here, and I don't want them to know. I couldn't ask."
"So you thought it would be fine to risk your life? Do you realise how dangerous it was for you to come here by broom?"
"Yes, Viktor, I know, but this is very important. I told you in my letters I was doing research for a project for school, but that's not quite the truth. This goes far beyond that, but I'd rather not discuss this here. This has to remain a dead secret. I'm willing to tell you about it, but not in a place where someone might listen in. Do you mind if we waited to get to Durmstrang for that? I'll tell you everything then."
"I suppose I don't have much choice if I want to know what made you risk your life to come here."
"No, you haven't."
"I do want to know one thing, though. Who knows you're here?"
"Nobody does." Professor Dumbledore's portrait didn't count in Ginny's mind.
"I see. And what's going to happen when your family realises you're missing?"
"I've arranged for that. They think I've gone back to school early to catch up on my work and prepare for my NEWTs. And no one at Hogwarts expects me back until the beginning of term."
"That gives you a week before anyone knows that you're missing."
"Yes, that's right."
"It's not enough time."
"Does that mean you've found something?"
"I may have, although I don't like it very much. But it's going to take longer than a week to follow up on. You're going to have to let people know where you are."
Ginny opened her mouth to protest, but at that moment, the barman came back with a plate of food for her. It looked to be some sort of creamy stew made with mutton, cabbage and potatoes. Ginny didn't particularly care at this point. The food was hot and filling, and that's what mattered to her most.
She could feel Viktor watching her as she applied herself to her food, and she knew he was waiting for her to reply. She continued to eat, ignoring him, but after a while she couldn't stand any more. "Stop it," she hissed at him, barely looking up, not wanting to meet his eyes.
"Stop what?"
"What you're doing. I know you're trying to read my mind right now."
"No, Ginny, I'm not," he replied quietly. "If I were doing anything of the sort, you'd know about it. Still, there are some things I can sense without really trying," he went on. "I can tell you've been telling a lot of lies to people. Keeping things to yourself. And that you're not very happy about that."
"I haven't had any choice. Once I've explained everything, you'll understand why this has to remain a secret."
"You're still going to have to let people know where you are. They're going to miss you at Hogwarts next week, and then your family will be contacted. They'll be worried about you. You're going to have to let them know you're all right. And what about Harry?"
Ginny looked up sharply. In all the letters she'd written to him in the past six weeks, she'd never once mentioned any of this had anything to do with Harry. Her stomach tightened uncomfortably, as she wondered just how much Viktor Krum could pick up without even trying. "What about him?" she replied, trying to sound casual.
"Ginny, if I'm going to help you with whatever you're doing, we need to have one thing clear from the beginning. Don't try to lie to me. For one thing I can tell when you're doing it, even if I can't always discern the truth. And I can tell when you're trying to cover something up." He leaned closer on one elbow, while putting the other hand on her forearm and lowering his voice. "I can see how you feel about Harry without even trying. It radiates from you. So don't try to tell me he isn't going to be concerned when you turn up missing."
Ginny swallowed hard and fought off a blush. "All right," she said sullenly, pushing her plate aside. "I'll let them know I'm safe, but nothing else. No one can know what I'm doing."
She rifled in her bag until she'd found a small roll of parchment, a quill and some ink. She tore the parchment into three sections, and scribbled off hasty notes to her mother and Professor McGonagall. The only letter left to write was to Harry, and that was going to be the hardest of them all.
She looked up, considering what she was going to say to him. Krum was scowling around at the other patrons. "Are you almost finished?" he asked, when he turned back to face her. "I don't trust everyone here. There's something…"
"I won't be a minute." She started writing, trying to explain as best she could why things had to be this way. When she'd finished, she folded the parchment, addressing it to The Burrow, sealed it and laid it next to the other two. "How are we going to send these? We haven't got an owl."
"We can leave them with the barman. If we give him money for postage, he'll send them off for us."
That brought up another matter that Ginny was unsure about. She'd brought as much money as she could with her, but it still didn't amount to very much. She was going to have to pay for her meal here, as well as postage, and she had no idea how much that would come to.
Krum was signalling the barman once again. Ginny fished her money bag out of the pocket of her cloak, but Krum was faster. He handed the letters to the barman, along with several coins. The barman nodded and pocketed the letters. "How much do I owe you?" Ginny asked.
Krum was getting up. "Don't worry about it."
"But…"
"I insist. Now please don't argue. I'd like to get back to Durmstrang now, if you don't mind."
"How are we going to do that? I can't Apparate yet."
"You can't Apparate on the grounds in any case, and it's quite far. But it doesn't matter. There's a village nearby. We can Floo to the inn in the village and walk from there. When you get to the fireplace, you must be very careful to pronounce the name of the inn correctly. It's in Swedish. It's like this: Trollet och Draken. Can you say that?"
It took Ginny a couple of tries before she could master the strange pronunciation, and all the way over to the fireplace, she repeated the words under her breath, so she wouldn't forget them. If somehow she managed to mispronounce them, once she was in the Floo network, there was no telling where she might come out.
Viktor took a pouch out of his pocket, and offered it to Ginny, who took a pinch of Floo powder. "Let me go first," he said. "That way you've got more of a chance if you can see me on the other end when you come through."
Ginny watched apprehensively as Viktor Krum cried out the name of the inn and disappeared into the roaring green flames. She concentrated hard, threw her pinch of powder into the fire in her turn and called, "Trollet och Draken!" The next thing she knew, she was whirling past grate after grate.
*
Almost before Harry knew it, it was New Year's Eve. He realised it only as he arrived at the Ministry's Apparition point that morning, and overheard a couple of witches talking about their plans for ringing in the new year. Since he'd said good-bye to Ginny and gone back to work the day after Boxing Day, he'd barely had time to breathe. Many of the other Ministry departments had either closed or were running on a reduced staff over the holiday season, but not his division. Some of the earliest cases they'd begun when he'd started working here the previous August would be ready to go to trial soon after the new year, and the entire division was working overtime in preparation.
So that was what constituted Harry's plans for the evening. More work. Not that he had anything better to do with Ginny back at school. He might have toyed with the idea of meeting her in Hogsmeade this evening, but he hadn't even heard from her since she'd left. She had to be too busy with school work, he told himself. After all, he hadn't had any time to write her a letter, either. He'd have to make time for that over his lunch hour.
When he got into the office, he found Gervaise St John had already arrived. He was sitting at his desk, quite absorbed in whatever he was reading. Harry could see his lips moving, as he followed along in the text with an index finger. Harry ignored St John and moved towards his desk.
There were several files on it already; he'd left them there last night when he'd gone home, too tired to really care about putting them away when he knew he'd just have to get them out again the next morning. Sighing heavily, he sat down at his desk and opened the first file. Laying aside a piece of parchment, which he'd covered with doodles of broomsticks while pretending to take notes during a particularly dull staff meeting, he pulled out his quill and picked up where he'd left off.
It wasn't long before a shadow fell across his desk. Harry looked up, perturbed at the interruption, to find St John leering down at him.
"Do you mind?" Harry asked, not bothering to hide his irritation. "I'm trying to work here, and you're in my light." Mentally, he tagged on Mrs Mutt's favourite descriptor.
St John shrugged. "I just thought you'd be interested in your latest press clippings."
He tossed a newspaper onto Harry's desk. It wasn't the Daily Prophet; it was about half the size of the wizarding paper, with large, red lettering across the top that proclaimed it to be the Grand Inquisitor. Harry's eye was immediately drawn to a very large picture of him that had to have been taken on Halloween. Next to the picture, the headline screamed, "Harry Potter's Secret Life: Boy Wizard No Longer." Harry didn't even have to look at the by-line to realise who had written it, but his eye fell on Rita Skeeter's name anyway. She hadn't been heard from since early November, and Harry had to wonder if she'd been sacked from the Prophet as a result of that article. If that had been the case, she'd obviously found herself another job.
"Quite an enlightening article, Potter," St John sneered at him. "You ought to enjoy it."
If he were clever, Harry told himself, his heart sinking, he'd just toss the paper into the waste bin. But something made him look, something deep inside of himself forced him to look at the worst. From the headline, he knew in advance what the article was about. She'd discovered his secret somehow. But how? He thought he'd been so careful. He should have known better. Perhaps if he read the article, there would be some sort of clue.
Harry Potter is an eighteen-year-old like no other in the world. Just last June, while still in his last year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he performed a spell, which has since been credited by the Ministry of Magic for banishing You-Know-Who. He has since disappeared into relative obscurity. But what is the life of such a well-known wizard really like?
This was the extent of the text that went along with the photo on the front page, but a jumpline indicated there was more within. With a sense of foreboding, Harry swallowed hard and turned the page, knowing that in spite of the neutral beginning, Rita Skeeter was no doubt just warming up.
Like so many of us Harry Potter gets up in the morning, eats breakfast and goes off to his job at the Ministry of Magic. Like so many other Ministry employees, he appears at the designated Apparition point and walks to his office in the Department of Magical Law enforcement. He was hired on by Badon Hill in an entry-level position, which requires a great deal of skill with filing procedures. In the evening, he returns to Ottery St Catchpole, where he resides as a houseguest of the Weasley family, often bringing work home with him. If he is not too fatigued from his strenuous existence, he may even pen a letter to his girlfriend, Ginny Weasley, who is currently in her final year at Hogwarts. Like so many boys his age, he is faced with the decision of whether to strike out on his own.
To the casual reader, all of this might seem like a perfectly normal, and even mundane, existence. If one were to question things even further, one might even ask how such a seemingly powerful wizard -- one who managed to defeat You-Know-Who when no other wizard, not even the renowned Albus Dumbledore, had found the means to do so -- has come to be living such a life.
Why isn't he playing professional Quidditch? After all, he was known at school as the youngest Seeker in over a century, playing for his house team since his first year. For five of his seven years, he was one of the keys to the success of the Gryffindor team, such as it was, and one would suppose that had Quidditch matches not been entirely cancelled in the other two years he was at Hogwarts, his record would be even more impressive.
Why hasn't he become an Auror like his good friend, Ron Weasley? Surely someone with the means to defeat You-Know-Who would be perfectly qualified for the position. Why isn't he doing any number of more high-profile and exciting jobs with the sort of NEWT results he attained?
Thanks to the efforts of this reporter, the Grand Inquisitor can now exclusively reveal those reasons, reasons which Harry Potter himself has taken great pains to hide. Harry Potter cannot play professional Quidditch or serve as an Auror for the simple reason that he no longer possesses any magical powers.
This may seem quite a sensational accusation to the reader, but this reporter has gone to great effort to prove that this is true. Harry Potter may appear to Apparate to his place of work every morning, but research into Department of Magical Transportation records shows no Apparition license was ever granted to Harry Potter. One can find the records for his friends and fellow classmates, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, as well as those for other students in his year at Hogwarts, but none for their most famous school-mate. And yet he takes great pains to appear as if he's Apparating to work like everyone else.
Further investigation has revealed that Mr Potter performs the most basic of tasks using no magic at all. He shaves in the morning using a Muggle razor, rather than an Imberbus Charm. At work, if he is asked for a file, he does not Summon it, he fetches it. He attended a recent league Quidditch match, travelling not by Apparition, but by Muggle transport and on foot, while he arrived at the Winter Solstice Ball at Hogwarts using a Portkey. Indeed, he does almost all of his travelling by means of a special Portkey, which he keeps hidden in his pocket at all times, making it look as if he's Apparating.
In a recent conversation with friend Ron Weasley, Harry Potter was even heard to admit he no longer possessed any magical powers. The two were discussing the possibility of moving out of the elder Weasleys' home and into a flat of their own when Mr Potter claimed aloud he had no magic.
This now begs the question of why. Why all the deception, Mr Potter? Why have you gone to such lengths to keep your condition a secret? How many other secrets have you been keeping, and what damage have they done to the innocent people who worship you?
The article continued onto the next page, and Harry turned it in spite of himself. He'd known from the beginning that this was it, that his secret was out, and that knowledge had helped him steel himself against the blow. This wasn't as bad as he'd thought. He could deal with this. He already knew how Rita herself had discovered his secret. She'd dug into the Ministry records simply because that was what she did and had found that he possessed no Apparition license. From there, she'd kept her eyes and ears open. She'd obviously been at the Falmouth match he and Ron had attended, and it looked as if she'd been crawling through his pockets in her Animagus form. She'd probably even sneaked a ride home with him in the pocket of his cloak a time or two. Harry forced himself to breathe.
Then he got a good look at the next page and felt as if all the wind had been knocked out of him. There on the page was a picture of Ginny, and she wasn't alone. Was that Viktor Krum with her? It was difficult to tell, since his back was partially turned towards the camera, and the angle seemed to be funny, as if the photographer had been hiding under something nearby. Ginny and Viktor looked to be sitting at a table in a dingy pub that Harry didn't recognise, but he wasn't paying much attention to their surroundings. He was too busy watching them stare intently into each other's eyes, while Viktor stroked Ginny's arm.
No, he told himself, that couldn't be right. The picture had to have been doctored in some way. This wasn't exactly a reputable newspaper from the looks of it. In any case, Viktor was at Durmstrang this year, and Ginny was back at Hogwarts.
He turned back to the article, angry now for Ginny's sake. He'd read to the end, and if Rita Skeeter had done anything to Ginny's reputation, there would be hell to pay.
Does the secrecy have anything to do with the nature of the spell you used on You-Know-Who? the article went on. Because you were in possession of your powers at least up until that point, and a spell which would rob you of your powers can be nothing less than Dark Magic.
It is well known that the Dark Arts are nothing new to Mr Potter. He revealed himself to be a Parselmouth in his second year, and it is a known fact that the ability to speak to serpents is the sign of a Dark Wizard. His godfather is a convicted murder who consorts with werewolves. And we cannot forget that Cedric Diggory died under very mysterious circumstances. Even if You-Know-Who did kill him, as Harry Potter has claimed, the fact remains that Mr Potter stood by and did nothing to stop this tragedy.
Given his history, it comes as no surprise that Mr Potter would resort to such means to defeat You-Know-Who. Part of the spell evidently backfired, however. Not only was the world stripped of a Dark Lord, but Mr Potter's powers were stripped from him as well. Had he known this was a possibility he would never have used such means. There is a lesson to be drawn from his experiences: if you play with fire, you are very likely to be burnt.
It looks very much as if Mr Potter's lack of magical ability matters to at least one person, his girlfriend, Ginny Weasley. Or perhaps former girlfriend would be more accurate. She has, by all appearances, taken up with Viktor Krum. Alert readers will recall that Mr Potter has had similar problems in the past when his fourth-year girlfriend, Hermione Granger, was also torn between him and Mr Krum. While Miss Granger maintains an amicable relationship with both Mr Potter and Mr Krum, she's evidently found both of them lacking in the romance department, as she is currently dating Ron Weasley, a very tall boy, who is no doubt well endowed in other ways than mere height.
Ginny Weasley and Viktor Krum were seen meeting publicly a few days ago, and she was sporting a new and very expensive cloak. This reporter wonders which of the two famous wizards bought it for her. Her family isn't particularly well known for its wealth, and Miss Weasley obviously has a taste for the finer things. She'll want a wizard who is able to provide her with them, and it looks very much as if Mr Potter is no longer able to satisfy her needs.
One also has to wonder in which other areas the young Miss Weasley might be comparing the two wizards. This reporter overheard a conversation between Mr Potter and Miss Weasley's older brother, in which they made plans to spend the night with their respective girlfriends, and in doing so planned on deceiving Molly Weasley. It is obvious that the holier-than-thou Molly Weasley hasn't the slightest idea of everything her numerous brood gets up to. She might be well advised to keep a closer eye on her daughter.
If Miss Weasley has suddenly left Mr Potter after the consummation of their relationship, might it be because she found something lacking in his attentions. Perhaps a lack of magic has rendered Mr Potter impotent in more ways than one. Or perhaps she's merely concerned about a pregnancy, since Mr Potter is unable to cast a contraceptive charm. A look at her family history on both her mother's and father's side would bear this out…
There was more, but Harry couldn't stand to read another word. He was tempted to crumple the paper into a ball and throw it into St John's leering face. St John was back at his desk, but it was clear to Harry that he was only pretending to work. He had to be waiting for an angry outburst from Harry. Well, Harry wasn't about to give him that satisfaction.
He took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. He remembered Hermione's oft-repeated advice of, "Ignore them, ignore them, ignore them," whenever Draco Malfoy had started in on him. But this was far, far worse than anything Malfoy had ever dished out. Before he could even stop to think what he was doing, his hand had balled itself into a fist. He wanted to hit something. He had to hit something. But he couldn't. He couldn't let anyone see that this was affecting him. He began to shake with the effort of suppressing the anger.
"Is everything all right, dear?"
Harry looked up to find Mrs Mutt peering at him the concern evident in both her eyes and tone. He fought for control. "Yes, everything's fine."
He knew as soon as the words were out that he didn't sound convincing. As he watched, Mrs Mutt's eyes glanced down at his desk, where the tabloid still lay open. He made a grab for it, but Mrs Mutt was surprisingly quick for her age. She picked up the paper and clucked at the picture. He remained silent while she glanced at the front page.
"You can't put any stock in this, you know," she said. "They can doctor pictures."
"She's up at school…" Harry croaked. He knew he wasn't really responding to Mrs Mutt's statement, but it was the best he could do at the moment. "I need… I need to go. Tell Hill there's been an emergency."
He knew what he had to do now; he had to get to Ginny. She was going to hear about this article eventually, he was certain of it. Harry didn't want her hearing about it from the wrong people, and he knew from her letters that there was a pack of Slytherin girls who would be all to happy to gloat over the article in front of her, much as St John had done to him. Without a further word to anyone, he left the office, went to the Apparition point and activated his Portkey.
When he came out in Hogsmeade, a harsh wind whipped at his face, its merciless fingers finding their way through his thin shirt. He hadn't brought his cloak with him from The Burrow, as he hadn't expected to have to go outside today. As cold as the blast was, it did nothing to cool his anger… Ginny… He had to focus on her. She was most important at the moment. He ignored the voice in his head that told him she wouldn't be there. Once he'd broken the news to her, he'd decide what he was going to do about Rita Skeeter.
He walked as quickly as he could up the drive which led to the steps in front of the castle. Climbing them and going through the front doors into the deserted entrance hall, he hesitated a moment. He could go up to Gryffindor Tower and see if Ginny was there, but there was no guarantee she would be. In any case he had no idea what the password was. Perhaps she was still at breakfast.
He entered the Great Hall. The long room stretched out before him; the parallel house tables pointing towards the staff table on its dais were all empty. There were no staff in sight, either. Harry let out a sigh of frustration. Many of the staff had to have gone home for the holidays, along with most of the students. He knew Hermione was spending the rest of the time off with her parents.
He turned around, resolved to argue his case with the Fat Lady, but he'd got no more than halfway up the marble staircase when he nearly ran into Nearly-Headless Nick. He halted just in time to avoid walking through the Gryffindor ghost.
"Nick!" he said. "It's a good thing I've run into you."
"Harry Potter!" Nick greeted him jovially. "What brings you here in the middle of the Christmas holiday?"
"Yes, well, perhaps you can help me. I need to find Ginny, and I haven't got the password into Gryffindor Tower. Do you think you could give it to me? Or go in yourself and get Ginny to come out so I can talk to her?"
"Ginny?"
"Yes, Ginny Weasley. She's in seventh year."
"Yes, I know, but she's not here."
"What do you mean, she's not here? She's got to be here!"
"No, she hasn't come back from holiday yet. I looked in on the meal last night. There are very few students who stayed on this year. None of the seventh-year Gryffindors stayed any longer than the ball."
"She's GOT to be here! You don't understand! I brought her back myself just a few days ago! If she's not here, then where the hell has she gone?"
Nick looked concerned. "I'm sorry, but she hasn't been back here."
The Burrow. Harry had to get back to The Burrow. Ginny would never have gone off somewhere without letting her mother know where she'd be. The voice in his mind was back, reminding him mockingly that by all appearances, she'd done just that. She hadn't sent any owls to her mother in the past five days, either.
He turned and began to careen down the marble staircase, across the entrance hall and out the door, as if he could outrun the voice, or at least drown it out with his thudding footfalls. He didn't stop until he'd reached the front gate where he'd said good-bye to Ginny for the last time. Then he reached into his pocket and activated his Portkey once again.
He landed in the kitchen with a crash, expecting to shock Mrs Weasley with his unexpected arrival. But once he'd got to his feet, he realised the house was far too quiet.
"Mrs Weasley?" he called. But there was no reply.
"Dammit," he muttered to himself. And then his eye fell onto the kitchen table, where the morning post usually lay. It was empty. There hadn't been an owl today, either. He began to open drawers and cupboards, looking for anything that might be an envelope. There had to be one. There just had to.
But he found nothing. Ginny's room. Perhaps she'd left some sort of clue there. Bounding up the stairs, he burst into her room. It was neat and clean, the faded blue walls belying nothing. He went over to her desk, pulling out the drawers and spilling their contents onto the floor, but discovering nothing beyond some old, dried-up ink bottles, several dulled quills, and a few limp scraps of parchment. He turned towards her wardrobe and yanked the doors open. There was nothing in it but a few articles of summer clothing, and her dress robes. He pulled everything out and tossed it to the floor. Nothing. There was nothing! Then, just as he was leaving, he noticed her night table. The glimmer of hope that rose in him briefly was dashed when he saw the picture of them from the ball. Wherever she'd gone, she hadn't taken it with her. He swiped the frame angrily to the floor as well, and went back down to the kitchen.
He'd just have to try harder. He pulled the drawers completely out of their cabinetry this time, dumping out their contents, the cutlery clattering onto the floor. He even went as far as looking into the waste bin, but the contents of the waste bin were far worse than anything else he'd unearthed so far. This was worse than finding nothing. For there in the bin lay a crumpled copy of the Grand Inquisitor. Harry knew immediately that he'd been sent a courtesy copy. Rita Skeeter had wanted to be sure he saw her exposé. He kicked the waste bin over, not caring that its contents were now strewn about the floor among the forks and spoons. He aimed his foot at the tabloid a few more times, intending to stomp it to shreds and making an even bigger mess of things, but the action brought him no comfort.
There was no letter. There never had been a letter, and there never would be. Ginny had done the unthinkable and left him. She'd told him she wanted to marry him on Christmas Day. Had all that been a lie?
He took a step backwards and came into contact with the wall. Slowly he slid down it until he was in a heap on the floor, and a wild, desperate roar of pain burst from his gut at last. Then he buried his face in his hands and began to sob.
He didn't know how long he sat there, while he poured out his pain. It might have been a few minutes, or it might have been hours. He no longer had any way of knowing. After a while, a voice reached his ears from seemingly far away. He noticed his hands had moved up into his hair, and he was tearing at it.
Swiping at his eyes, he looked up. From across the room, he could see someone's head in the fireplace, calling out for Mrs Weasley. He didn't think he could be seen from the grate, but he didn't want to take any chances. Slowly he inched his way along the wall until he'd rounded the corner into the living room.
He was going to have to get out of here. Mrs Weasley might come back at any time, and he couldn't let her see him. Not when he knew she'd read that article. He got to his feet and dashed up to the top of the house. If he was going to leave, he'd have to do it now.
Hedwig hooted at him from her cage, as he entered Ron's room. He ignored her, as he began to take clothes out of the wardrobe and toss them carelessly into his trunk. Hedwig hooted again, sounding more indignant this time.
"Quiet," he snapped at her. "I've got to get out of here."
Hedwig let out an angry screech.
"I'm leaving, and nothing you can say is going to stop me, so you might as well shut it."
He shut the lid of his trunk with a loud bang, and reached out to lock Hedwig's cage. "Ouch!" She'd managed to bite his finger hard, through the bars. "You can try all you like, but you're still not going to stop me."
He picked up the cage, gripped the handle of his trunk, and activated his Portkey for the final time that day, disappearing from The Burrow.
A/N: Thanks to everyone who continues to read and review this story.
Chapter 20