Liberating the Tin Man

Chapter 1. Lose the Tea

"I hate you Harry Potter! I simply hate you."

Ginny Weasley dared the words to leave her mouth, just once, and vibrate their way from air molecule to air molecule until they beat the eardrums of the cheerful wizard who sat across from her. Beat them silly.

"So I think Puddlemere might be a better choice, in the long run, but what do you think?" asked the object of Ginny's musings with an excited expression. "I mean, I'd stand a better chance of getting playing time...eventually, right?"

"Want to know what I think?" Ginny continued internally, "I think I hate you." She shot a searing look at Harry Potter, who continued to look back with an expression of academic interest.

"I think you'll play wherever Ron gets in," she said, the intensity in her eyes being replaced by mirth as she spoke, "and you know it." Ginny wrapped her fingers around the thick handle of her coffee mug. "You wouldn't last two days in this world without the constant presence of my idiot of a brother," she smirked, "and you full well know it." She watched with interest as Harry Potter's face -- his beautiful face -- went through the predictable transformations as he once again realized that he wasn't fooling her. Not for a minute.

"See that?" she thought, "See how well I know you? Ha!"

The amused wizard heroically fought back a smile. He seemed placated for the moment and returned to his coffee mug as Ginny watched in triumph. The two sat in silence for the next ten minutes of their visit, drinking coffee and looking through their carefully-divided sections of a wizarding newspaper. This was their habit, sharing their mornings together as they scanned news articles and drank the wonderfully rich, exotic blends of coffee and tea, for which the Caffé dei Dolci was famous. They shared small talk and on some days, like today, they ventured into important areas as they each attempted to steer their lives away from the torrents of war and toward whatever lie ahead.

It wasn't easy for Ginny, placing herself in such close proximity to Harry. She'd left the first five of such get-togethers in tears -- barely able to conceal them from the oblivious wizard. She'd let herself cry, after those meetings, all the way to her classroom building at the London University of Magic where she attended as a first-year student in general studies. Today marked her tenth cup of coffee, her tenth convincing performance as the happy university student who was much too busy to remember that she and Harry Potter had once been involved. It wasn't easy, but it was getting easier.

Harry made a neat pile of the Daily Prophet sections that littered the table, and stared at his empty tea mug. "If only that stuff provided all the healing and revitalization that the whole of England seemed to credit it with," he thought. An almost dizzy, barely awake feeling still sat stubbornly on his brain, and he dreaded the fact that within an hour he'd be called upon to perform at his best, once again.

He was in the midst of an intense training program, preparing his mind and body along with about a hundred other hopefuls in a Professional Quidditch League preparatory program. Harry and his best mate, Ron, had been enrolled in the program for fifteen months now, but the strain on their bodies didn't seem to be lessening over time. If a player showed an improvement, the coaches would respond by packing in more drills of an increased difficulty. It had gotten to the point where Ron had even attempted to hold off showing that he'd mastered his backhand skills -- and it had worked for a week, until he'd been forced to use the impressive move to save a Bludger from connecting with his face. Now, Ron was forced to endure twenty minutes each morning of swatting heavy Bludger after heavy Bludger using the backhand technique. Harry had to admit, though, it was an impressive skill indeed.

"Ugh," Harry muttered, still staring at his mug. "I wish I felt more awake."

Ginny smiled at him. "Why don't you call in sick today?" she asked teasingly. "Say you've come down with the flu or something."

"They'd just order a foul potion for me and make me come in anyway," Harry said, frowning. "Don't think Ron hasn't tried that one already. Believe me, I'd have to be dead three days before Coach would let me out of the daily torture that is my life."

"Poor baby," Ginny said, grinning. She rolled her eyes and folded her section of the Prophet, piling it on top of Harry's sections. As she did so, she spotted the thing that gave her heart the same painful stab every morning -- Harry's cup was empty. Her time with him was almost over for the day.

"Why don't you have another cup of tea," she asked. "Might wake you up a bit more."

"No thanks," replied Harry, "Then I'd just have to use the loo about halfway though laps."

Ginny scrunched her face in disgust. "Too much information, Harry."

"Sorry," Harry said with an embarrassed grin.

"Those dimples..." Ginny thought. She watched Harry straighten up the paper she'd just set down, which was a sure confirmation that he was preparing to stand up and suggest that it was time to go. It was always like this: She, Ginny, drank her coffee as slowly as she possibly could - even if it meant that most of her sips were lukewarm at best - while he, Harry, sailed through a single mug of tea and then tidied up the table, gave a nonchalant wave and that dimpled grin and tossed out some kind words of departure.

"You should try coffee next time," Ginny offered. "It packs more of a punch." She looked up tauntingly and shoved her coffee mug over to Harry's side of the table. "Go on, give it a try."

Harry stared at the brown mug. "Okay," he relented after giving a few moments' thought to the offer. He gingerly lifted the coffee to his mouth and winced slightly. "It's all right," he said.

"All right?" Ginny repeated, laughing.

"It's all right," Harry returned, smiling again. "If it's stronger than tea, then I'll try it," he said. "Anything to wake up faster." And with that, Harry stood up and wished Ginny goodbye, leaving her alone, feeling frustrated and irritated as she always did after morning coffee.

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Harry was beside himself. Absolutely beside himself. He sat comfortably in a sturdy oak chair at the Caffé dei Dolci, reading his letter for the fifth time -- just to be sure he hadn't misinterpreted anything. "Where is Ginny?" he thought, annoyed that ten whole minutes had gone by and he hadn't been able to share his news with her. They'd been meeting for coffee every morning, right at seven o'clock, for two months now and she'd never been late. Not even just a little bit.

Giving up on finding any more useful information in the rereading of his letter from The Puddlemere United Professional Quidditch Team - with its pewter embossed emblem printed on fancy parchment, Harry finally tucked it in the pocket of his trousers and sauntered up to the counter to order a cup of coffee.

"What'll ya have?" asked Laurie, who worked the counters.

"House blend is fine," Harry said, tapping his fingers on the counter and peering at the storefront in hopes of spying Ginny. "Where is she?" he asked himself again. For once, he actually had something to say to her, other than to complain about his sore muscles, and she was nowhere to be found.

"Looking for the ginger-haired girl?" Laurie asked, as she slid a steamy mug carefully toward Harry and accepted a Galleon from him. She smiled shyly when Harry looked up. "Sorry love, didn't mean to pry, I've just seen you two in here every time I work the morning shift."

Harry glanced back toward the door and pocketed his change. "Yeah," he replied to Laurie, "I am looking for the ginger-haired girl." He felt embarrassed and terribly solitary all of a sudden. This "having coffee" thing had been Ginny's idea in the beginning, but he'd gotten quite used to sharing his mornings with the spirited girl. She had a way about her, thought Harry. Ginny made everyone laugh, and Harry knew that it was a special privilege to get her all to himself once a day. Sitting together and not really talking, but beginning the day together: it felt important, like a ritual. And now, now he really, really wanted to tell Ginny how excited he was to be joining Ron as the reserve seeker for Puddlemere -- and watch her gloat a little at having been proven right once again. "Where is she?"

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Ginny wrapped her scarf tightly around her neck to guard against the cool morning breeze. It was autumn, and she was in a terrific mood as she walked the fifty-seven paces that carried her nearly every morning to hers and Harry's little Italian caffé. "Mine and Harry's, Harry's and mine," she hummed inside her head as she finally arrived at the thick glass door and yanked on its handle. Her mood was light because today marked the end of another one of her self-imposed "no-caffé" periods and she was once again allowed to spend her morning staring at Harry while he flipped through the manly sections of the Daily Prophet.

"Ah, and there he is," she mused. "Looking mighty anxious if you ask me..." Ginny plopped her bookbag down on the floor and gruffly pulled back a chair across from Harry's.

"Hi!" she said, cheerfully.

Harry looked up over his coffee and greeted Ginny with an ever-so-slight dip of his head.

"Yep," Ginny thought, "he's good and irritated this time." She could barely control the bounce in her step as she made the trip to the counter and ordered a coffee. As the Caffé worker siphoned a dark-roasted, Jamaican brew into one of the shop's sturdy mugs, Ginny did her best to keep from looking back at the table. It was frightening, how well she could pull Harry's strings. And yet, though she could tell he had been upset, hurt even, each time Ginny had failed to show up without so much as giving him the courtesy of a forward warning, Harry had never said anything. She had expected it at first, and had prepared various reasons for her absences. But, he never spoke a word about being slighted. He just gave her a bit of the silent treatment and then they fell back into their usual conversation.

"Hi," Ginny said again as she slid into her chair and took a sip from her mug. "How're things going with P.U.?"

Harry smiled. He couldn't help it, Ginny was relentless that way. "We prefer to be called by our full name, actually," he quipped.

"Okay," Ginny returned, "Fine, ruin all the fun. How are things with Puddlemere United, then?" she asked, using an aristocratic drawl.

"Fine," Harry said, chuckling. He glanced at his mug, which only contained one or two good sips in it. It would pain him to leave just after Ginny had arrived, but he never had more than one drink in the morning. He and Ron were still the youngest, newest members of a very established Quidditch team and they always made sure to be on the pitch first, working the hardest. It would hardly do to ask the practice coaches for a potty break before speed drills began...

"Sorry I'm late," Ginny said. "I haven't got a class today until ten, and I didn't set my wand." Her eyes made a momentary dip to Harry's coffee mug. "I slept in."

"Was that an apology?" Harry asked, rising from his chair and grabbing his mug. "Finally," he thought. "Finally, she thinks to apologize for standing me up...or at least for being late." Pleased with this new turn of events, he made a brash decision: If Ginny was witch enough to apologize, then he was wizard enough to hold his bladder after a second cup of coffee.

When Harry returned to the table with his mug all full again, he found Ginny deeply involved with reading an article in the Prophet. She was holding the paper up in front of her face with one hand, as she always did, while she absently twirled her hair with the other. This image made Harry smile. It evoked a rare fond memory of his days at school -- when he and Ginny were dating. They'd spent a good many nights studying together, and Harry had witnessed the hair twisting many times as Ginny studied furiously for her fifth-year tests. He remembered how he would always have to try gallantly to pry his eyes off the ginger-haired beauty so that she could be left alone to concentrate properly. The romance had only lasted a few weeks, and it was the only bit of a love life that Harry had ever known, really. Flirtations and a brief snog with Cho Chang added to an almost-month with his best friend's sister summed up Harry's entire dating career. His life, Harry had determined, was just not cut out for matters of the heart.

As he settled in to his first-ever second cup of coffee, Harry decided to become a better morning companion to Ginny. Perhaps if he showed more interest in her daily goings on, then she'd at least see fit to let him know the next time she decided to skip the Caffé dei Dolci. At least then, he wouldn't have to sit there alone, and suffer through the disappointment.