Twelve Years Later

Twelve Years Later

At first, Harry wasn't sure what he was seeing, then recognition flooded into his 30-year-old brain, and he stood up. "Ginny!" he shouted, and hugged the woman.

"You rat!" she said, laughing slightly when they finally pulled apart. "You actually didn't recognize me, did you?"

Sheepishly, Harry shook his head, and waved her to a seat opposite himself and his chocolate sundae. He beckoned Florean Fortescue over, and let Ginny order herself a small vanilla cone. "After all, Ginny, it's been about twelve years!"

She smiled, and brushed a lock of her flaming red hair out of her eyes. "Hard to believe, isn't it?" She glanced around Diagon Alley, and saw Susan Bones in a hot argument with her son, Duncan, over why he was too young to own a Firebolt Mark 7. "You're still with the Ministry of Magic, I assume?"

Harry nodded. "Every time I try to leave, the Daily Prophet runs screaming headlines, and a thousand owls flood my office, and I end up staying on. Ever since Rita Skeeter took over as Managing Editor, they hardly ever give me a day's peace!" He paused for a moment, and moved to a different tack. "Percy keeps making noises about retiring early and letting me take over as Minister, but, between you and me, I think the only way he'll leave is with pallbearers!"

Ginny's cone arrived, but Harry noticed she only gave it a few licks. She seemed to be staring into space. "So what about you? How's life with Neville in South Africa?"

She glanced up at him quickly. "Neville and I divorced last year. I thought you knew." When he shook his head she took a verbal tumble. "Didn't Ron tell you?"

Harry sighed. "Ron hasn't spoken to me since Voldemort died."

Her eyes dropped. "Oh. I'm sorry." Harry noticed that, like everyone else, the sorcerer's name no longer caused fear. Since his death, that particular curse had been lifted. She stared at the table, lost in thought. Then she looked at him with a wistful smile. "I thought you two would have gotten over that by now."

"I wish we were, Ginny. I'm still close with everyone else in your family. Your Mum's never blamed me, and Fred & George made me godfather to their kids, after all!" He grinned at the thought, and promised himself a stop in at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes before he went home. He'd enjoy seeing little Harriet! "Ron...well, I guess he's still haunted by that last sight, just as I was when Sirius did it the first time."

The silence stretched on for several moments. "So, if you're not married to Neville, what are you doing?"

She shrugged. "Oh, just enjoying being back in England, really. I've got a flat in Chelsea, and I've done some tutoring." She shrugged again. "Nothing special, I suppose. Neville gave me a nice little separation package in lieu of alimony."

Harry grinned. "Being in charge of the Cape Town Magical Arboretum does give him a fair amount of pocket money, I suppose." Ginny nodded. "I hope the breakup wasn't hard for you."

She shook her head, and licked her cone a couple of times. "Not really. Neville's a good man, but..." she frowned, searching for the words. "I guess 'quiet' is the word I'm looking for. Not boring," she added hastily. "After all the fuss here in England with You-Know-Who Neville left to find some peace. Heaven knows, he needed it after the way his grandmother died." Harry nodded, remembering.

"So you wanted more action?"

"Not exactly." She gestured with both hands, and Harry's eyes widened. He reached out with a napkin. "You're dripping," he said, mopping dribbling ice cream from her fingers.

Ginny cursed and flashed the mess away with her wand, including the cone. "I'd much rather talk to you, Harry. Care for a cup of tea?"

Over a pot of Orange Piko at Cho's Tearoom, the two renewed their friendship. Harry remembered the Ginerva Weasley from Hogwarts: bright, clever, but impatient with Harry and his tendency toward self-involvement. Her "giving up" on him in favor of Michael Corner, he now realized, had really been more out of frustration with his inattention. Of course, his own confrontations with Voldemort had left him with precious little time for relationships, and had left him a brooding, introspective adolescent. Now, older and wiser, she seemed more at ease with him, and he with her.

"No word on Bill, I assume?"

She shook her head. "Mum still hasn't given up hope, but...I think he's dead. With the clock gone, there's no way to be sure, but he was probably ambushed by a Death Eater in the chaos following You-Know-Who's death. There were so many of those 'collateral damage' assassinations following the Fall, after all. Daddy talks about Bill like he's on some Gringotts errand; due to walk back in the door at any moment." She sipped at her cup and smiled slightly. "And that's a nice way to remember him."

"I saw Charlie, the other day."

"Oh?" Her face lit up at the change of subject.

"He and Professor Lupin are finishing up the last touches on their new edition of Magical Creatures and their Quirks. The Department of International Magical Education is making it the new required reading here and on the Continent!"

She clapped her hands. "That's wonderful! Oh, they must be so pleased!"

Harry nodded. "I've been editing their finished manuscripts as a favor before they send it on to the publishers. Since neither of them get out much anymore, it's difficult for them to get the proper help they need."

Ginny nodded. "I'll make a point to see them soon, bring them something nice. Veterans with honorable wounds should never be forgotten!"

Time passed, and it was only when Cho herself pointed out that all the chairs had been put onto the tables that the two realized how late the hour had become. Harry gave Ginny his card, and before they separated, they'd agreed to meet for lunch on the following Tuesday.

Over the next several months, Harry and Ginny saw much of each other, and renewed their contacts with old friends. Living in London as they did, it was inevitable that they run into old friends; more inevitable that these friends circulated the tale that "Harry and Ginny are together again". With that talk in the air, trouble soon came calling.

***

"Master Harry. Master Harry!" Dobby shook his master's bedcovers as he'd been taught. The master hated it when Dobby stared him awake, claiming it reminded him of Voldemort's last look before death had claimed him.

"What...what is it, Dobby? What time is it?"

"Sorry, Master Harry. It is half past five, but there is a visitor at the front door, and he is most impatient to see you."

Harry fumbled at the nightstand, and Dobby handed his master's glasses over. Even at age 30, Dobby thought his master had changed little. Still with spiky black hair and beautiful green eyes. He handed his master his dressing gown, and then raced to the bedroom door to hold it open, as the springs had shut it. Master Harry hated open doors, and had put door-closers on all the ones in his flat. Open doors gave him bad memories, he said. "Dobby is most sad to say that the visitor is his master's Wheezy."

"Ron?" Harry sighed, and rubbed his face, scratching at his whiskers. "Well, I suppose this had to happen. Start up a pot of tea, would you, Dobby? I think Ron always likes that when he's upset. And you may as well start up breakfast, too. I don't think I'll be going back to sleep again." Once again he thanked Professor McGonagall's foresight in recommending he hire his favorite house-elf away from Hogwarts.

Harry detoured to the bathroom and splashed cold water in his face, and then as an afterthought went back to get his wand, which he concealed in the sleeve of his robe, just in case! With a final sigh, he went down to the front door to confront the inevitable.

"About time!" Ron snarled, when Harry opened the door. "You've got a hell of a lot of nerve!" He shook a meaty fist in Harry's face, his eyes hot and angry.

"Pot's calling the kettle black," Harry said, looking around the door. "Have you looked at the time, mate?"

"Don't call me that! You've got no right to call me that!"

"We used to be friends, Ron. Best friends."

"I'm not here to rehash old wounds, Harry. They're still fresh! I want to know what the hell you're doing with my sister?"

Harry started ticking the events off on his fingers. "Well, let's see: we've had tea, been to the cinema, had dinner twice, she's told me about her life with Neville in South Africa--"

"Who said you could romance Ginny?" Ron barked, overriding Harry's list.

"Who said I couldn't? You planning on putting her in a nunnery, or something, Ron?" He sighed again, and swung the door open, "You might as well come in, Ron. You woke me out of a sound sleep, and I don't like staring through doorways very much, for the same reason you probably don't." And with that, he turned his back on Ron and walked back into his flat. His back tingled in anticipation, but his former friend's honor still held, and there was no surprise attack. The door slammed shut.

Harry walked into his dining room and sat at the table, which was laid out for breakfast. Dobby had his tea waiting for him, as well as a hardboiled egg and a tall glass of orange juice. "Tea, Ron?"

"Coffee," Ron said to Dobby, who raced away to the kitchen. "I won't have you making time with my sister, Harry! I won't have it!" The years of playing professional Quidditch had made Ronald Weasley into a powerfully built man, certainly not one to cross.

Harry drank his tea in large gulps, embracing the caffeine, and then stared across the table at his former Hogwarts roommate. "Why don't we cut to the chase, Ron? You've never forgiven me for what happened, and though I've tried to make it up to you a dozen times, you won't let me. Now, the way I see it, we can handle this one of three ways. I can go on seeing Ginny and you can go on hating me, and if on the off-chance that Ginny and I do get married, you can show up at the nuptials and make a colossal ass of yourself, break your Mum's heart, lose your temper, try to use one of the Unforgivable Curses on me and get thrown in Azkaban for life!

"Or," he said, grinning, "you and I can have a good breakfast and then go down to the Dueling Club and spend the next two hours trying to kill each other, and failing, at the end of which time you'll get so upset you'll forget and try using Avada Kedavra, which will rebound and burn you to a cinder just like it did to Voldemort."

Despite himself, Ron was grinning, slightly. He waited, and then asked, "What's the third alternative?"

"You and I can try to settle this, once and for all."

"How, if not by dueling?"

Harry helped himself to a piece of toast, and spread marmalade on it. "I was thinking we could have Vicar Smith mediate a discussion between us. He'll stop us from reaching for our wands."

"Zacharias actually talks to you?" Ron accepted a cup of coffee from Dobby, who then hurried over and refilled his master's teacup.

"Actually, Ron, we're good friends. Not everybody's as unforgiving as you." He took pleasure in seeing Ron's face screw up in confusion--undoubtedly remembering only the antagonist Zacharias Smith from Hogwarts. Of course, Ron had buried himself in his career as Keeper for the Chudley Cannons following graduation, and had rarely left the Quidditch field since then. According to the Daily Prophet, he rarely left his broom, never took vacations, and hardly even spent the thousands of Galleons he'd earned, which bewildered Harry. All his life, Ron had groaned about being poor, and having to wear second-hand clothing. But now, when he had money, he lived a Spartan existence, hoarding his thousands of Galleons until Gringotts ended up having to (reportedly) give him three extra vaults to hold all his gold!

"At last," Vicar Smith said, looking at his two friends walking into the rectory. "You're finally going to do it."

Ron looked at the shaven, proper-looking man in clergyman's clothes, trying to reconcile that with the snide Hufflepuff heckler he remembered, and failing. In the end, he just thrust his burly hands into his jacket pockets and said nothing.

"Come into my office," the vicar said, "we can talk privately there." They followed him into the back room, and he held out his hands. "I'll need your wands." They turned them over, and he put them in a drawer and locked it.

The two former friends sat in chairs on opposite sides of the room, with Zacharias sitting slightly between them, his back to a wall. He lit a few candles and sat smiling for a moment, and then turned to Harry. "I'm glad to see you here, Harry. Congratulations on taking the first step towards reconciliation. Helga Hufflepuff always said that true friends could persevere over any obstacle."

"I've never wanted the silence and the distance, Zach. That was Ron's idea."

"Is that true, Ron?"

Ronald Weasley stared at the floor and then burst out, "It shouldn't've happened! There was no reason for it!"

"Death is rarely reasonable, Ronald. And certainly none of us thought it could happen again, especially to someone we all cared about." Vicar Smith's voice was calm and soothing.

"But it was Harry's fault!" Ron roared, pointing at the Man Who Lived. "It's because of him that Hermione died! It's his fault she fell through that door just like Sirius did!" He thrust his hand in his pocket, and then stopped, remembering that the wand wasn't there.

"Is that true, Harry?"

"No," Harry said quietly. "The plan which killed Voldemort was Hermione's idea. I only accepted it when I realized that it was the only way to destroy him."

"Liar!" Ron barked.

"I was afraid of this," said Vicar Smith, and he reached into a pocket and brought out a Jewel of Truth. "You've seen these, I'm sure. It will glow blue if lies are uttered in its presence."

"Good." said Ron. "Repeat that, Harry. If you dare." But Harry did so, and the jewel remained unchanged.

Ron and Zach stared at him, and then the vicar nodded. "Go on. Let's hear your side first."

Harry took a deep breath, and then turned his mind back to that terrible day. "The Death Eaters and the Order of the Phoenix were at a standstill. The last three engagements had been inconclusive, and after Dumbledore had died, the weight of decisive action had fallen to me. I'd never wanted to be the leader, but that was the way it was.

"But Hermione was a natural leader. She was always clever, smart, and had far more ideas than most of us put together. She became my counselor, poking holes in my bad plans, and giving me ideas on how to fight the Death Eaters to a standstill. The trouble was that after the Edinburgh Incident, Hermione couldn't take credit for her actions."

"Why not?" Ron jeered. "You didn't want to share your glory?"

Harry's temper kindled, but he kept it under control, and took a breath. "Because it would have undermined the strategy that ultimately defeated him." At their looks of confusion, he plunged on, hardly stopping to breathe. He wanted to get it all out in the open now. Although the Ministry of Magic still had this part classified as secret, he knew that Zacharias would treat it the same as a confession. "Do you remember what happened in Edinburgh, Ron? That was where Voldemort massacred a thousand of his own followers, just to cover his escape when Percy and I brought the kelpies in to attack him! After that, most of Voldemort's followers realized he didn't give a damn about them; his promises were worthless! After that, a lot of them started to turn over to our side. For the first time, we had reliable information about what he was doing.

"But, in order to gain their trust, we had to expel a few Muggle-born wizards."

"That was your idea?" Ron was shouting now. "She came to me in tears! Said she didn't know what she was going to do now. But she wouldn't tell me who had voted her out!"

"It was her idea." Harry said simply, saying a silent 'forgive me' to Hermione's spirit, wherever it was. He'd promised never to tell Ron this, but he couldn't live with the anger anymore.

Ron gaped, and then whirled to look at the jewel, which had not changed in appearance.

"But she kept her hand in, Ron. She kept sending owls with ideas and strategies. Even later, when she was married to you, Ron, she was always sending suggestions, or apparating by my side to give me her latest thoughts on the war effort. Well, on the night when you were off fighting with Oliver Wood over the All-England Quidditch championship, she came to me with a desperate gamble of an idea. If we could lure Voldemort back to the Department of Mysteries, maybe he could be forced through the Doorway to the Afterlife. It would kill him for sure, which was something none of us had ever been able to do. Not even me.

"Well, I embraced the plan because nothing had worked so far, so I talked to Percy about it, and he said 'Go!' so we went ahead."

Ron's mouth was moving, but no sound came out.

"Even then we had contacts in his inner circle, so we spread a rumor that we were hiding Merlin's old wand--long thought to be lost--in the Department of Mysteries, where no one would look for it. Our double agents confirmed that it was there, and he and his Death-Eaters came charging in. And that's when it started to go wrong."

"You loused it up with your stupid heroics, didn't you?" Ron growled.

"Harry?" Vicar Smith asked.

He plunged ahead, "No, Hermione loused it up." The jewel did not flicker, and Ron's eyes bugged. "You know what she was like, Ron! A perfectionist, fussy, absolutely sure that something wouldn't go right if she wasn't there to see it through! I thought she'd apparated home, but she was hiding in the room under my invisibility cloak. When we sprung our trap and caught Voldemort unawares, he was flying back towards the doorway--but at the last minute he grabbed hold of Hermione and tried to catch himself. That's when you burst into the room! My cloak came off, and you and I saw our best friend tugged through the doorway...." Harry stopped, as all the old memories came up, and he stared at Ron, as tears started to course down both their faces. "And then you tried to follow her, and I couldn't allow that! I grabbed hold of you and held you back until the rest of the Order had killed or captured the Death Eaters. I couldn't let you follow her, because I couldn't stand to lose you, too, just like I'd lost her and Sirius."

Ron stared and stared, and finally he exclaimed, "But...you told me it was your fault. You told me that!" He was staring at the Jewel of Truth, which was both silent and deafening in its testimony.

"What else could I do? Tell you that your own wife had killed herself out of her own foolishness? Added to the pain you were already feeling? I couldn't do that to you!"

Ron was stupid with shock, his breath coming in ragged gasps, "All these years, I never knew."

Vicar Smith said nothing, but inside he was smiling beatifically. As the Fat Friar always told me, Anger is foolish, and recrimination is pointless.

The talk and counseling went on for many more hours, but the worst was over. By the time Evening Vespers had begun, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley had progressed from staring at each other to a handshake. The healing had begun.

* * *

The following spring, when the first blossoms had begun to open, Ron Weasley stood as Best Man while 30-year-old Harry Potter and 29-year-old Ginerva Weasley were married. Vicar Smith presided, of course.

It was a small wedding held in the garden of the Burrow. The old house had long since been refurbished via contributions from the various Weasley children, but the long table that Harry remembered was still there--now covered with a white tablecloth and many of the wonders of Mrs. Weasley's kitchen.

There were few guests in attendance, as the war had claimed so many, but the Weasleys were there, and of course the children and grandchildren. Arthur Weasley, slow of movement and fragile to the touch due to his war wounds, still managed to kiss his only daughter and take his new son-in-law's hand in a clasp of fatherly affection. "I'm so pleased, Harry. So very, very pleased." Molly Weasley simply glowed, her silence speaking more than words ever could.

The reception soon became a noisy party, as most weddings do. Little Harriet, Fred's daughter, Harriet, a beaming flower girl, was soon racing across the lawn chasing the gnomes. Luna Lovegood's son, Landry, was streaking along beside her.

Even Neville Longbottom showed up, plump and smiling, his gift a tall sunflower whose petals changed to whatever colors you asked. He showed no anger toward either bride or groom, for which they were both grateful. Of course, the willowy, unnamed blonde on his arm might have had something to do with that.

Vintage champagne, provided by Mundungus Fletcher, was soon flowing freely.

Percy, plump and pompous, passed his deputy an envelope. "The master suite at Tintagel Castle, reserved for you both; my gift. Two weeks vacation, paid of course." He smiled at his deputy.

Harry saw his new wife in deep whispers with Luna, but guessed it to be feminine and beyond his understanding. From Ginny's blushes, probably naughty, too! Though he and Luna had never married, they had shared a close relationship for several years, and 'Loony' probably felt obligated to pass along a secret or two.

Harry accepted a cup of punch from Percy, and passed it to Ron, who was absolutely elegant in a white-tie-and-tails outfit. Ron set the cup down on a table, and clasped his brother-in-law's right hand in a tight handshake. "Good luck to you, Harry. Take care of her."

"You know I will, Ron. And...thanks for...well, you know."

"That I do, mate." Ron smiled.

"Mate," Harry said, and pulled his best friend into a crushing bear hug. "It's so good to hear you say that again!"