An Invitation for Tea ~ Chapter One
Title: An Invitation for Tea
Author: goingbacktosquareone
Ship: Harry/Ginny
Rating: R
Warnings: Adult Situations, Explicit Language
A/N: If I had a witty summary for this story, I would give it to you. The most I can say is it's about healing, redemption and Dudley.
Author’s Notes: After taking a bit of a sabbatical from writing, I am here to offer you another sampling of the relenting voices in my head. This story might not have made it this far without the help and encouragement of several people who deserve my deepest thanks: Kezzabear, my dear friend and staunch supporter; Wolfie, the guy to makes Harry less girly; LonelyRiddle, my ifriend who makes me push when I’m sure I have no words left to write (even if he doesn’t realize it); Melindaleo, whose comments and encouragement nearly derailed an entire PouFWa podcast with my celebratory inebriation; and finally, LadyChi…beta extraordinaire, whose snark and wit keep me centered and remind me I’m not nearly as good at this as I think I am. This story wouldn’t have made it past my hard drive without the five of you! ::bows gratefully::
As for the rest of you: Thank you for reading my story. Your thoughts and concrit are extremely welcome. I love feedback!
Giddy with new story excitement,
Jen2
goingbacktosquareone
Chapter One
Procrastination and Sensitive Toenails
As Harry opened his library door, he entered with an unwavering objective to finish filing the remaining casework on his desk. After crossing the threshold into the large room however, distraction was inevitable.
He immediately set about tidying, expertly ignoring the stack of progress notes containing months of information and incidents reported by the Auror department. He carefully moved them to corner of his large mahogany desk and then picked up stray bits of parchment from the working area on the blotter, storing the important things and binning the rest.
After setting a cup of quills and ink bottles back in their proper places, Harry carefully situated the posh nameplate Hermione had given him for Christmas - purchased for his Ministry office, which Harry immediately deemed too stuffy - cast Dusting and Cleaning Charms over the entire area and then finally vanished all the paper in the bin.
He sat back and surveyed his work: this was certainly a desk meant for someone important. Harry could see this being in Professor Dumbledore’s office or even Professor McGonagall’s desk - but never his. It had come as part of the sale of the house and Ginny had squealed when she first saw it. A matching credenza was situated behind it, which Harry turned to next. He straightened the picture frames strewn along the top: he and Ginny from their wedding; James and Lily holding him as a baby; Barny and the Weasleys at Bill and Fleur’s wedding, the last family picture with Fred; Ron and Hermione’s wedding portrait; a baby picture of Ginny; Molly and Arthur as newlyweds; and finally little Teddy Lupin, missing several teeth. A quick double-check of his parchment supplies in the lower cabinet revealed the secret compartment housing his Chocolate Frog stash. Grabbing one and tearing the package open with his teeth, he lamented the day Ginny discovered his endless supply of sweets. Smiling, Harry closed the compartment - he was willing to risk it.
Satisfied his desk was in order and he was now stuck with the filing, Harry wrinkled his nose grudgingly and surveyed the room. The large publicity posters he’d had mounted and framed of Ginny playing for the Holyhead Harpies were due for a good dusting… Producing a special flannel and lemon oil from his desk, he crossed the room to the two pictures on either side of the door and cleaned them both by hand until he was satisfied. Harry then spent several minutes completely captivated, simply watching Ginny fly around on her broom, grinning at him and tossing the Quaffle from hand to hand.
He completed his dusting project by removing the last, and the largest, of the posters from over the mantle, cleaning it just as thoroughly. He paid special attention to the frame ensuring he removed all the soot and dust created by the fire and the Floo. When it, too, was sparkling he went back to his desk, sat down and gazed out the window into the garden.
Two hours later Harry was still sitting, his feet up on the credenza, in deep analysis of the bark on the maple outside the window. A light breeze was rustling the meddlesome stack of papers still waiting to be matched with their file jackets. As he considered the tree and its branches reaching high above the eave, Harry felt grateful. A similar tree in the Dursley’s garden had levied hours of back-breaking work when it shed its leaves in the fall. Now a simple wave of his wand would clear this tree’s leaves to the secret place of vanished leaves. He steepled his hands and shuddered. Oh, to be back at the Dursleys’…how did I ever survive them?
“Harry?” said Ginny as she popped her head into the room. “I’m not interrupting?”
“Nope…” said Harry, pulling his legs down quickly from the credenza and wheeling around in his desk chair to face the opening door.
“Good!” she said, entering the room carrying a tray with tea for two. Ginny looked around the room and then eyed the case notes.
“I thought you were coming in here to file?” asked Ginny with a smirk. “You’ve been locked away all morning. You’ve not made it very far…” she teased, setting the tea tray down on a coffee table situated in a sitting area to the side of Harry’s desk. Plopping herself comfortably on the loveseat with a clear view of her husband, Ginny continued her assessment of the library.
Harry lifted his nose in the air and sniffed, drew in his eyebrows and smiled. “Something smells heavenly. Do I smell pudding?”
“Possibly,” replied Ginny coyly as she poured water over their tea. “I smell lemon. I wonder why?”
“To what do I owe such an honor? Refreshments? Pudding?” asked Harry, drawing Ginny’s attention away from his obvious procrastination.
“A wife can’t bring her husband high tea on a Sunday afternoon? You’ve been slaving away in here for hours. I thought you’d be ready for a break,” she replied, winking. Ginny then sat primly and squared her shoulders, drawing her teacup and saucer up into her hands and scrunching her face into her best McGonagall impression. “Biscuit?” she said with a royal lilt.
“Why, thank you,” said Harry, reaching across the expanse of his desk to take the sweet. “This has all been quite tiresome.” He gestured grandly for her to continue, as though he was the lord and she the lady of the manor.
Ginny laughed out loud. “There’s a limit to my naïveté when you’re concerned,” she joked. “Your pile of paperwork is still there; however, the frames of my professional publicity posters are burnished to a glowing shine. Why is that?”
“I’ll have you know, cleaning those frames was hard work!” gasped Harry in mock horror. “I nearly lost a nail!” He held out his hands to her to show her the evidence.
“Goodness, Harry. Such melodrama! What else have you done with your time? I mean, of course, after you spent a good portion manually cleaning my expensive collector’s items?”
“I’ll have you know I also removed an errant string from my right cuff,” pronounced Harry proudly, standing from his chair to grab his teacup.
“Really, though…” said Ginny, changing the subject from their light-hearted banter, “what’s up with the paperwork? Isn’t there a spell that would be easier and faster?” She took a careful sip of her tea.
“I just like doing it manually,” answered Harry cheekily. “These are all for cases we haven’t closed - the latest progress notes. By doing it this way I give each one another go-through. It’s one more chance to see if we’ve missed something. You can’t do that if you’re just waving your wand at it,” he explained, gesturing toward the pile. “Every now and then after they’ve sat awhile and I go back through, something jumps out at me and I wonder how I could’ve missed something so simple…” said Harry, lost in thought.
“Like seeing the forest for the trees?” asked Ginny keenly.
“Exactly. If going through the paperwork one more time catches someone we’ve been hunting for months, the two hours it took me to file are worth the effort.”
“And once again, my brilliant husband saves the day,” quipped Ginny with a grin. “Now,” she said, diverting his attention back to her, “I’m surprised you haven’t said anything else about that pudding...”
“Treacle tart,” stated Harry simply. “Why are you making the effort when we’ll be at the Burrow in three hours, where your mum’ll be plying me with more treacle than my stomach can handle?”
Ginny chuckled. “Because Mum isn’t making you a treacle tart,” she replied with a knowing smile. Harry startled in surprise. Holding her hands up to stop his objection, she quickly explained herself. “Mum has other plans for your poor, starving, deprived stomach.”
Harry blinked and let out a slow, deep breath. “Wow. You were scaring me for a moment.”
“The treacle tart is for tonight,” winked Ginny.
“Tonight?” asked Harry in surprise, completely confused. “Why do we need a treacle tart for tonight?”
“You know, Harry, for being Britain’s brightest, hottest Auror, you sure are dim sometimes,” said Ginny, shaking her head.
Harry nodded, eyes widening with realization. “Oh! I get it. You want something!” he crooned.
“Not something,” answered Ginny sweetly, absently rubbing her tummy, “just a few hours of your time.”
“Why?” asked Harry, lowering his head with furrowed brows to look over the rims of his glasses. “What can possibly be so awful about spending a few hours with my beautiful, vibrant, sexy wife?”
“I’ve invited Dudley and Elizabeth round for tea next Saturday,” she answered.
* * *
Just as Harry was finishing the last of the filing, Ginny stepped through the office door. “Are you ready? It’s nearly time to leave.”
“I’m just finishing, actually,” replied Harry thinly.
Ginny crossed the room and stopped in front of the desk, smiling at Harry’s earlier tidying. She straightened his nameplate nervously and took a deep breath as she gathered her thoughts.
“I’m sorry I dropped this on you. I was afraid you’d say no,” she said, still fiddling with his quills.
“What if I still say no?” asked Harry with an indignant look. “What happens then? I suppose it makes me the arse,” he muttered under his breath.
“Harry,” said Ginny with a note of desperation in her voice, “please trust me on this. I’ve been Owling Elizabeth. It’s not Petunia and Vernon - it’s Dudley… and Elizabeth. And if there’s anything I can say, Elizabeth isn’t the type of person to marry the sod you grew up with.” Ginny’s eyes searched Harry’s. “Please trust me. Please give it one chance. If next Saturday doesn’t go well, I promise you’ll never have to see them again.”
“I don’t even know Elizabeth,” grumbled Harry, turning in his chair to look back out the window at the maple. “I know nothing about her. I never made the effort. Why did you?” he asked quietly.
“I don’t really know,” said Ginny, leaving her spot from the front of the desk to sit on Harry’s lap where she could force him to look at her. “It started three years ago after they were married. She wrote me. It was just a short note. I didn’t answer. The following Christmas she sent a card, and I thought a reply couldn’t hurt. She did go to the effort after all,” Ginny explained.
“I told her we were well and your position at the Ministry kept you busy. I told her my game schedule was hectic and we were happy to finally be settled in the house instead of cooped up at Grimmauld Place. I wished them well. I never really expected to hear much back from her,” admitted Ginny with a hint of sadness and regret in her voice.
Harry looked at his wife and sighed as she explained the details of her correspondence with Dudley’s wife. “You know you owe me for this, don’t you?”
Ginny raised her eyebrows and pulled her chin back, amused. “Owe you? What could I possibly owe you other than a delicious treacle tart and a healthy child, Mr Potter?”
“The treacle tart is a peace offering; a white flag waving, if you will,” answered Harry. “The baby doesn’t factor. You owe me big time,” he said seriously as he engulfed her in a one-armed embrace, burying his head against her neck and inhaling deeply while caressing her rounded belly. “I’m doing this because I love you. Remember that. Only because I’m so mad with love for you I can feel it in my toenails,” he murmured against her chin as he kissed it.
Letting her head drop back with an exasperated sigh, Ginny extricated herself from Harry’s lap and stood up, offering her hand to her husband. “You ruin some of the best moments with some of the worst words, Potter. Let’s go have dinner. Somebody’s hungry,” she said, pointing.
Harry shrugged and placed the last of the files into his briefcase. “I don’t know what’s so horrible about it, love,” he quipped. “My toenails really do ache with love for you. I can prove it.”
* * *
The Burrow was typical for Sunday afternoons: mass chaos. After Flooing into the sitting room and brushing themselves off, Harry and Ginny escaped to the parlour to await dinner. Their arrival, however, did not go unnoticed.
“Thank Merlin! Ginny, dear,” said Molly, popping her head in from the kitchen, “I need you desperately. I’ve got Hermione helping me,” she said, with an overly-large gesture of her head behind her and wide, mournful eyes. “I’m afraid the meat pies will never make it to the table without your help,” she begged, sotto voce.
“And Harry, we’ll be eating in the garden,” continued Molly without as much as a breath. “I’ve got all the boys setting tables and de-gnoming, if you don’t mind.” Molly then gave Ginny one last, desperate glare and disappeared back through the kitchen door.
“Damn, we’ve been caught!” laughed Ginny. “If Hermione’s at the meat pies, we’ll all be at St. Mungo’s later. Best to stay away from them,” she chuckled.
“Why does it not matter how old I am, I’m still stuck pitching gnomes in the garden?” grumbled Harry lightheartedly.
“Because you’re a Weasley, dear,” answered Ginny over her shoulder, pushing open the kitchen door.
Rolling his eyes, Harry wondered exactly when being a Potter turned into being a Weasley. He sighed and went to meet his fate with the rest of the poor Weasley sods.
Later, when dinner was finished and everyone languished round the tables laughing at George’s usual antics and Audrey’s admonishments of Percy, Harry was glad for the distraction from Ginny’s earlier bombshell. He’d been caught off-guard.
Of all the things Ginny could have dropped on him, asking him to sit through tea with Dudley was the most unexpected and alarming. He’d been through a war and worked against dark magic every day, but facing the demons of his past was something Harry had resolved he’d never do. He’d never have to do - because it just wasn’t necessary. The Dursley era was over. They walked out the door with Hestia Jones and Dedalus Diggle without so much as a ‘Kiss my arse’ or ‘Hope you die trying.’ Though Dudley had appeared to waver toward the end, his offer was too little too late. Too damn much water had passed under that bridge to attempt any sort of reconciliation.
So he compartmentalized the pain, used what little Occlumency skills he did have and locked it inside him, deep where he vowed he would never go again, along with the last horrific day with Dumbledore and the time immediately following the final battle - times for which he had no further conceivable use.
Now, as Harry sat twirling his fork in the last of his steak-and-kidney pie, he was surprised when Molly broke his reverie and asked him to help her with the dishes and bring out the apple crumble.
“Of course, Mum,” he replied, automatically substituting Molly’s name, something he only did when he was lost in thought.
As he entered the kitchen levitating the last of the dinner dishes, Molly set a Dish-Scouring Charm on the sink and went about gathering things for pudding.
“Knut for your thoughts?” asked Molly, who had stopped what she was doing and was surveying him evenly.
“It’s nothing,” evaded Harry, feeling guilty for lying to the woman he considered his mother. “Just some stuff going on in the department. It’s made me a bit barmy,” he said with what he hoped was a convincing smile.
“Harry, dear,” said Molly, shaking her head, “you’ve always been a horrible liar. Ginny Flooed and told me not to make treacle tart and now you’ve got the same pensive look you had on your face every summer from the time you were twelve until the day you turned seventeen. She’s told you about Elizabeth Dursley, hasn’t she?”
Harry whipped his head up from examining the floor around his shoes. “You knew?”
Molly patted him on the shoulder as she led him to the table, gesturing for him to sit. She Summoned two plates and spoons and a dish of apple crumble and served them both a generous helping.
“Won’t the rabid lot outdoors be expecting us to come back?” asked Harry incredulously.
“Oh, no,” chuckled Molly. “I’ve already sent pudding out to the table for them. I’m sure they’re all quite happy at the moment. We’re probably not missed at all, I suspect,” she winked. “I had a feeling we’d be having this conversation.”
“Oh.”
“Ginny told me about Elizabeth’s first letter straight away. She was concerned about upsetting you. She didn’t think the letters would come to anything. I agreed it was probably best not to stir up old troubles…” Molly hesitated a moment, searching Harry’s eyes. “Was I wrong, Harry?”
“I don’t know, Molly. I don’t know how to feel about this.”
“You know it wasn’t done maliciously, surely?”
“Of course!” said Harry, shocked Molly would insinuate he didn’t trust their motives. “I’m sorry,” he groaned, elbows on the table and dropping his head into his hands. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. It’s not your problem.”
“Why of course it is,” answered Molly gently, ruffling his hair. “You’re family. You always have been. I’ve been trying to protect you since the first moment you stepped through my kitchen door.”
Lifting his head and straightening his shoulders, Harry took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. He picked up his spoon and took several bites of the apple crumble, remaining silent as he considered Molly’s words.
“You’re not a boy anymore, Harry,” said Molly with a reassuring smile. “You’re a man. You’re a man with a lovely wife, a beautiful home and a respectable job. You’ve accomplished more in your short lifetime than scores of wizards lumped together could ever hope for. You’ve the most loyal and steadfast of friends - very few people ever experience that sort of friendship, Harry.
“You’ve a baby on the way. If the Healers are right, you’ll be the proud father of your own son in just a few scant months… All these blessings exist despite whatever Vernon and Petunia Dursley said you were worthy of. They were wrong. They were sick, sick, sick people, Harry…awful people who will surely come to their due.” With Molly’s last comment, she struck the table forcefully with her fist, causing the dishes to rattle.
“Sorry, dear,” blushed Molly, “I tend to get carried away when I - ”
“Not a problem,” chuckled Harry, interrupting her with a show of his hand. “I’ve been that way a few times myself.”
Molly smiled warmly and patted Harry on the cheek. “If it’s any consolation, Ginny believes this Elizabeth girl is a good egg. If Ginny’s come to this conclusion, well then I’m inclined to believe her. If this girl really is what Ginny thinks she is, you may be very surprised by the change in your cousin, Harry. I’m not telling you to forgive him. I’m not telling you to forget a single thing that happened in Surrey. But, possibly, one afternoon tea wouldn’t be a bad thing, if only to finally put matters to rest between you, once and for all.”
“You have to be the smartest woman I know,” noted Harry. “Where have you learned all this stuff?”
“Save the compliments until after the meeting, dear. You may change your mind,” chuckled Molly. “Shall we join the rest of the family in the garden or do we dare venture forth into the unknown?” she asked with mock trepidation.
“Never fear, milady. You have the world’s most accomplished wizard to defend you. Let us press onward into the next great adventure,” said Harry, waggling his eyebrows. When Molly gave him a quizzical glance, Harry replied, “Dumbledore said something like that once …seemed fitting. Maybe not,” he grinned.
Laughing out loud, Molly took her son-in-law’s arm and they walked back into the garden.
Author: goingbacktosquareone
Ship: Harry/Ginny
Rating: R
Warnings: Adult Situations, Explicit Language
A/N: If I had a witty summary for this story, I would give it to you. The most I can say is it's about healing, redemption and Dudley.
Author’s Notes: After taking a bit of a sabbatical from writing, I am here to offer you another sampling of the relenting voices in my head. This story might not have made it this far without the help and encouragement of several people who deserve my deepest thanks: Kezzabear, my dear friend and staunch supporter; Wolfie, the guy to makes Harry less girly; LonelyRiddle, my ifriend who makes me push when I’m sure I have no words left to write (even if he doesn’t realize it); Melindaleo, whose comments and encouragement nearly derailed an entire PouFWa podcast with my celebratory inebriation; and finally, LadyChi…beta extraordinaire, whose snark and wit keep me centered and remind me I’m not nearly as good at this as I think I am. This story wouldn’t have made it past my hard drive without the five of you! ::bows gratefully::
As for the rest of you: Thank you for reading my story. Your thoughts and concrit are extremely welcome. I love feedback!
Giddy with new story excitement,
Jen2
goingbacktosquareone
Chapter One
Procrastination and Sensitive Toenails
As Harry opened his library door, he entered with an unwavering objective to finish filing the remaining casework on his desk. After crossing the threshold into the large room however, distraction was inevitable.
He immediately set about tidying, expertly ignoring the stack of progress notes containing months of information and incidents reported by the Auror department. He carefully moved them to corner of his large mahogany desk and then picked up stray bits of parchment from the working area on the blotter, storing the important things and binning the rest.
After setting a cup of quills and ink bottles back in their proper places, Harry carefully situated the posh nameplate Hermione had given him for Christmas - purchased for his Ministry office, which Harry immediately deemed too stuffy - cast Dusting and Cleaning Charms over the entire area and then finally vanished all the paper in the bin.
He sat back and surveyed his work: this was certainly a desk meant for someone important. Harry could see this being in Professor Dumbledore’s office or even Professor McGonagall’s desk - but never his. It had come as part of the sale of the house and Ginny had squealed when she first saw it. A matching credenza was situated behind it, which Harry turned to next. He straightened the picture frames strewn along the top: he and Ginny from their wedding; James and Lily holding him as a baby; Barny and the Weasleys at Bill and Fleur’s wedding, the last family picture with Fred; Ron and Hermione’s wedding portrait; a baby picture of Ginny; Molly and Arthur as newlyweds; and finally little Teddy Lupin, missing several teeth. A quick double-check of his parchment supplies in the lower cabinet revealed the secret compartment housing his Chocolate Frog stash. Grabbing one and tearing the package open with his teeth, he lamented the day Ginny discovered his endless supply of sweets. Smiling, Harry closed the compartment - he was willing to risk it.
Satisfied his desk was in order and he was now stuck with the filing, Harry wrinkled his nose grudgingly and surveyed the room. The large publicity posters he’d had mounted and framed of Ginny playing for the Holyhead Harpies were due for a good dusting… Producing a special flannel and lemon oil from his desk, he crossed the room to the two pictures on either side of the door and cleaned them both by hand until he was satisfied. Harry then spent several minutes completely captivated, simply watching Ginny fly around on her broom, grinning at him and tossing the Quaffle from hand to hand.
He completed his dusting project by removing the last, and the largest, of the posters from over the mantle, cleaning it just as thoroughly. He paid special attention to the frame ensuring he removed all the soot and dust created by the fire and the Floo. When it, too, was sparkling he went back to his desk, sat down and gazed out the window into the garden.
Two hours later Harry was still sitting, his feet up on the credenza, in deep analysis of the bark on the maple outside the window. A light breeze was rustling the meddlesome stack of papers still waiting to be matched with their file jackets. As he considered the tree and its branches reaching high above the eave, Harry felt grateful. A similar tree in the Dursley’s garden had levied hours of back-breaking work when it shed its leaves in the fall. Now a simple wave of his wand would clear this tree’s leaves to the secret place of vanished leaves. He steepled his hands and shuddered. Oh, to be back at the Dursleys’…how did I ever survive them?
“Harry?” said Ginny as she popped her head into the room. “I’m not interrupting?”
“Nope…” said Harry, pulling his legs down quickly from the credenza and wheeling around in his desk chair to face the opening door.
“Good!” she said, entering the room carrying a tray with tea for two. Ginny looked around the room and then eyed the case notes.
“I thought you were coming in here to file?” asked Ginny with a smirk. “You’ve been locked away all morning. You’ve not made it very far…” she teased, setting the tea tray down on a coffee table situated in a sitting area to the side of Harry’s desk. Plopping herself comfortably on the loveseat with a clear view of her husband, Ginny continued her assessment of the library.
Harry lifted his nose in the air and sniffed, drew in his eyebrows and smiled. “Something smells heavenly. Do I smell pudding?”
“Possibly,” replied Ginny coyly as she poured water over their tea. “I smell lemon. I wonder why?”
“To what do I owe such an honor? Refreshments? Pudding?” asked Harry, drawing Ginny’s attention away from his obvious procrastination.
“A wife can’t bring her husband high tea on a Sunday afternoon? You’ve been slaving away in here for hours. I thought you’d be ready for a break,” she replied, winking. Ginny then sat primly and squared her shoulders, drawing her teacup and saucer up into her hands and scrunching her face into her best McGonagall impression. “Biscuit?” she said with a royal lilt.
“Why, thank you,” said Harry, reaching across the expanse of his desk to take the sweet. “This has all been quite tiresome.” He gestured grandly for her to continue, as though he was the lord and she the lady of the manor.
Ginny laughed out loud. “There’s a limit to my naïveté when you’re concerned,” she joked. “Your pile of paperwork is still there; however, the frames of my professional publicity posters are burnished to a glowing shine. Why is that?”
“I’ll have you know, cleaning those frames was hard work!” gasped Harry in mock horror. “I nearly lost a nail!” He held out his hands to her to show her the evidence.
“Goodness, Harry. Such melodrama! What else have you done with your time? I mean, of course, after you spent a good portion manually cleaning my expensive collector’s items?”
“I’ll have you know I also removed an errant string from my right cuff,” pronounced Harry proudly, standing from his chair to grab his teacup.
“Really, though…” said Ginny, changing the subject from their light-hearted banter, “what’s up with the paperwork? Isn’t there a spell that would be easier and faster?” She took a careful sip of her tea.
“I just like doing it manually,” answered Harry cheekily. “These are all for cases we haven’t closed - the latest progress notes. By doing it this way I give each one another go-through. It’s one more chance to see if we’ve missed something. You can’t do that if you’re just waving your wand at it,” he explained, gesturing toward the pile. “Every now and then after they’ve sat awhile and I go back through, something jumps out at me and I wonder how I could’ve missed something so simple…” said Harry, lost in thought.
“Like seeing the forest for the trees?” asked Ginny keenly.
“Exactly. If going through the paperwork one more time catches someone we’ve been hunting for months, the two hours it took me to file are worth the effort.”
“And once again, my brilliant husband saves the day,” quipped Ginny with a grin. “Now,” she said, diverting his attention back to her, “I’m surprised you haven’t said anything else about that pudding...”
“Treacle tart,” stated Harry simply. “Why are you making the effort when we’ll be at the Burrow in three hours, where your mum’ll be plying me with more treacle than my stomach can handle?”
Ginny chuckled. “Because Mum isn’t making you a treacle tart,” she replied with a knowing smile. Harry startled in surprise. Holding her hands up to stop his objection, she quickly explained herself. “Mum has other plans for your poor, starving, deprived stomach.”
Harry blinked and let out a slow, deep breath. “Wow. You were scaring me for a moment.”
“The treacle tart is for tonight,” winked Ginny.
“Tonight?” asked Harry in surprise, completely confused. “Why do we need a treacle tart for tonight?”
“You know, Harry, for being Britain’s brightest, hottest Auror, you sure are dim sometimes,” said Ginny, shaking her head.
Harry nodded, eyes widening with realization. “Oh! I get it. You want something!” he crooned.
“Not something,” answered Ginny sweetly, absently rubbing her tummy, “just a few hours of your time.”
“Why?” asked Harry, lowering his head with furrowed brows to look over the rims of his glasses. “What can possibly be so awful about spending a few hours with my beautiful, vibrant, sexy wife?”
“I’ve invited Dudley and Elizabeth round for tea next Saturday,” she answered.
* * *
Just as Harry was finishing the last of the filing, Ginny stepped through the office door. “Are you ready? It’s nearly time to leave.”
“I’m just finishing, actually,” replied Harry thinly.
Ginny crossed the room and stopped in front of the desk, smiling at Harry’s earlier tidying. She straightened his nameplate nervously and took a deep breath as she gathered her thoughts.
“I’m sorry I dropped this on you. I was afraid you’d say no,” she said, still fiddling with his quills.
“What if I still say no?” asked Harry with an indignant look. “What happens then? I suppose it makes me the arse,” he muttered under his breath.
“Harry,” said Ginny with a note of desperation in her voice, “please trust me on this. I’ve been Owling Elizabeth. It’s not Petunia and Vernon - it’s Dudley… and Elizabeth. And if there’s anything I can say, Elizabeth isn’t the type of person to marry the sod you grew up with.” Ginny’s eyes searched Harry’s. “Please trust me. Please give it one chance. If next Saturday doesn’t go well, I promise you’ll never have to see them again.”
“I don’t even know Elizabeth,” grumbled Harry, turning in his chair to look back out the window at the maple. “I know nothing about her. I never made the effort. Why did you?” he asked quietly.
“I don’t really know,” said Ginny, leaving her spot from the front of the desk to sit on Harry’s lap where she could force him to look at her. “It started three years ago after they were married. She wrote me. It was just a short note. I didn’t answer. The following Christmas she sent a card, and I thought a reply couldn’t hurt. She did go to the effort after all,” Ginny explained.
“I told her we were well and your position at the Ministry kept you busy. I told her my game schedule was hectic and we were happy to finally be settled in the house instead of cooped up at Grimmauld Place. I wished them well. I never really expected to hear much back from her,” admitted Ginny with a hint of sadness and regret in her voice.
Harry looked at his wife and sighed as she explained the details of her correspondence with Dudley’s wife. “You know you owe me for this, don’t you?”
Ginny raised her eyebrows and pulled her chin back, amused. “Owe you? What could I possibly owe you other than a delicious treacle tart and a healthy child, Mr Potter?”
“The treacle tart is a peace offering; a white flag waving, if you will,” answered Harry. “The baby doesn’t factor. You owe me big time,” he said seriously as he engulfed her in a one-armed embrace, burying his head against her neck and inhaling deeply while caressing her rounded belly. “I’m doing this because I love you. Remember that. Only because I’m so mad with love for you I can feel it in my toenails,” he murmured against her chin as he kissed it.
Letting her head drop back with an exasperated sigh, Ginny extricated herself from Harry’s lap and stood up, offering her hand to her husband. “You ruin some of the best moments with some of the worst words, Potter. Let’s go have dinner. Somebody’s hungry,” she said, pointing.
Harry shrugged and placed the last of the files into his briefcase. “I don’t know what’s so horrible about it, love,” he quipped. “My toenails really do ache with love for you. I can prove it.”
* * *
The Burrow was typical for Sunday afternoons: mass chaos. After Flooing into the sitting room and brushing themselves off, Harry and Ginny escaped to the parlour to await dinner. Their arrival, however, did not go unnoticed.
“Thank Merlin! Ginny, dear,” said Molly, popping her head in from the kitchen, “I need you desperately. I’ve got Hermione helping me,” she said, with an overly-large gesture of her head behind her and wide, mournful eyes. “I’m afraid the meat pies will never make it to the table without your help,” she begged, sotto voce.
“And Harry, we’ll be eating in the garden,” continued Molly without as much as a breath. “I’ve got all the boys setting tables and de-gnoming, if you don’t mind.” Molly then gave Ginny one last, desperate glare and disappeared back through the kitchen door.
“Damn, we’ve been caught!” laughed Ginny. “If Hermione’s at the meat pies, we’ll all be at St. Mungo’s later. Best to stay away from them,” she chuckled.
“Why does it not matter how old I am, I’m still stuck pitching gnomes in the garden?” grumbled Harry lightheartedly.
“Because you’re a Weasley, dear,” answered Ginny over her shoulder, pushing open the kitchen door.
Rolling his eyes, Harry wondered exactly when being a Potter turned into being a Weasley. He sighed and went to meet his fate with the rest of the poor Weasley sods.
Later, when dinner was finished and everyone languished round the tables laughing at George’s usual antics and Audrey’s admonishments of Percy, Harry was glad for the distraction from Ginny’s earlier bombshell. He’d been caught off-guard.
Of all the things Ginny could have dropped on him, asking him to sit through tea with Dudley was the most unexpected and alarming. He’d been through a war and worked against dark magic every day, but facing the demons of his past was something Harry had resolved he’d never do. He’d never have to do - because it just wasn’t necessary. The Dursley era was over. They walked out the door with Hestia Jones and Dedalus Diggle without so much as a ‘Kiss my arse’ or ‘Hope you die trying.’ Though Dudley had appeared to waver toward the end, his offer was too little too late. Too damn much water had passed under that bridge to attempt any sort of reconciliation.
So he compartmentalized the pain, used what little Occlumency skills he did have and locked it inside him, deep where he vowed he would never go again, along with the last horrific day with Dumbledore and the time immediately following the final battle - times for which he had no further conceivable use.
Now, as Harry sat twirling his fork in the last of his steak-and-kidney pie, he was surprised when Molly broke his reverie and asked him to help her with the dishes and bring out the apple crumble.
“Of course, Mum,” he replied, automatically substituting Molly’s name, something he only did when he was lost in thought.
As he entered the kitchen levitating the last of the dinner dishes, Molly set a Dish-Scouring Charm on the sink and went about gathering things for pudding.
“Knut for your thoughts?” asked Molly, who had stopped what she was doing and was surveying him evenly.
“It’s nothing,” evaded Harry, feeling guilty for lying to the woman he considered his mother. “Just some stuff going on in the department. It’s made me a bit barmy,” he said with what he hoped was a convincing smile.
“Harry, dear,” said Molly, shaking her head, “you’ve always been a horrible liar. Ginny Flooed and told me not to make treacle tart and now you’ve got the same pensive look you had on your face every summer from the time you were twelve until the day you turned seventeen. She’s told you about Elizabeth Dursley, hasn’t she?”
Harry whipped his head up from examining the floor around his shoes. “You knew?”
Molly patted him on the shoulder as she led him to the table, gesturing for him to sit. She Summoned two plates and spoons and a dish of apple crumble and served them both a generous helping.
“Won’t the rabid lot outdoors be expecting us to come back?” asked Harry incredulously.
“Oh, no,” chuckled Molly. “I’ve already sent pudding out to the table for them. I’m sure they’re all quite happy at the moment. We’re probably not missed at all, I suspect,” she winked. “I had a feeling we’d be having this conversation.”
“Oh.”
“Ginny told me about Elizabeth’s first letter straight away. She was concerned about upsetting you. She didn’t think the letters would come to anything. I agreed it was probably best not to stir up old troubles…” Molly hesitated a moment, searching Harry’s eyes. “Was I wrong, Harry?”
“I don’t know, Molly. I don’t know how to feel about this.”
“You know it wasn’t done maliciously, surely?”
“Of course!” said Harry, shocked Molly would insinuate he didn’t trust their motives. “I’m sorry,” he groaned, elbows on the table and dropping his head into his hands. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. It’s not your problem.”
“Why of course it is,” answered Molly gently, ruffling his hair. “You’re family. You always have been. I’ve been trying to protect you since the first moment you stepped through my kitchen door.”
Lifting his head and straightening his shoulders, Harry took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. He picked up his spoon and took several bites of the apple crumble, remaining silent as he considered Molly’s words.
“You’re not a boy anymore, Harry,” said Molly with a reassuring smile. “You’re a man. You’re a man with a lovely wife, a beautiful home and a respectable job. You’ve accomplished more in your short lifetime than scores of wizards lumped together could ever hope for. You’ve the most loyal and steadfast of friends - very few people ever experience that sort of friendship, Harry.
“You’ve a baby on the way. If the Healers are right, you’ll be the proud father of your own son in just a few scant months… All these blessings exist despite whatever Vernon and Petunia Dursley said you were worthy of. They were wrong. They were sick, sick, sick people, Harry…awful people who will surely come to their due.” With Molly’s last comment, she struck the table forcefully with her fist, causing the dishes to rattle.
“Sorry, dear,” blushed Molly, “I tend to get carried away when I - ”
“Not a problem,” chuckled Harry, interrupting her with a show of his hand. “I’ve been that way a few times myself.”
Molly smiled warmly and patted Harry on the cheek. “If it’s any consolation, Ginny believes this Elizabeth girl is a good egg. If Ginny’s come to this conclusion, well then I’m inclined to believe her. If this girl really is what Ginny thinks she is, you may be very surprised by the change in your cousin, Harry. I’m not telling you to forgive him. I’m not telling you to forget a single thing that happened in Surrey. But, possibly, one afternoon tea wouldn’t be a bad thing, if only to finally put matters to rest between you, once and for all.”
“You have to be the smartest woman I know,” noted Harry. “Where have you learned all this stuff?”
“Save the compliments until after the meeting, dear. You may change your mind,” chuckled Molly. “Shall we join the rest of the family in the garden or do we dare venture forth into the unknown?” she asked with mock trepidation.
“Never fear, milady. You have the world’s most accomplished wizard to defend you. Let us press onward into the next great adventure,” said Harry, waggling his eyebrows. When Molly gave him a quizzical glance, Harry replied, “Dumbledore said something like that once …seemed fitting. Maybe not,” he grinned.
Laughing out loud, Molly took her son-in-law’s arm and they walked back into the garden.