Liberating the Tin Man

Chapter 7. Irrepressible, Uncontrollable, and Undeniable Truths

Twenty-three and a half hours after the ill-fated delivery of a half dozen roses, Harry chewed on his lip in a bewildered state, struggling to make a decision. This was a small decision, no doubt, but the discontented wizard was having trouble thinking about anything since he last saw his lovely friend. His frustrating and maddening former girlfriend. His obsession.

"Did you say you wanted the Breakfast Blend, then?" asked Lou, leaning his head in closer to Harry so that he could hear more clearly.

"Umm..." Harry responded, shaking his head slightly.

Lou pointed at the wall behind him, where a faded chalkboard displayed the various offerings of the little coffee shop in quaint, curvy letters. "We've got five brews today, plus a new green tea that's pretty good, I hear. I don't personally go for that sort of thing, but..."

Harry lifted his head and squinted up at the board. "Coffee..." he thought. "You're supposed to be placing an order. Don't be pathetic."

"I'll take the green tea," Harry muttered in a flat, almost robotic tone, simply repeating the last choice that had been offered to him.

Lou raised his eyebrows and gave a nod. "One green tea it is then," he returned, and he directed his wand at a red ornate tin, causing the lid to pop off and a teabag to float out of it and hover expectantly over a stack of mugs. While he did this, his coworker, Laurie, siphoned hot water from a metal urn into a one of the heavy stoneware cups and waited quietly for Lou to direct his wand to drop the teabag into it. Harry stood at the counter and gave his head a few more shakes, pressing his eyes closed and attempting to wake up from the semi-comatose state he seemed to have fallen into.

Feeling like he was pushing himself through quicksand, the weary wizard paid for his drink automatically, hoisted a blue and gold duffle bag over his shoulder, and made his way over to his and Ginny's table. He half-wished some other customers would have taken up the blasted spot so he wouldn't have to sit there and feel Ginny's absence. Plopping down onto the hard wooden chair, Harry braced himself for another round of naked optimism followed by biting disappointment. He knew that Ginny wouldn't want to stay with him today, even if he did have more time, and that she was probably still not likely to be ready to give proper credence to his pleas.

If he could convince himself that moving on to other pursuits was what Ginny truly desired, then perhaps Harry could let it go at that, he reflected. But Harry knew Ginny. He knew that she was smart and charming and incredibly popular and yet had not been on a single date since their last study session together at Hogwarts. Ron had told Harry once that the loss of her brother, Percy, had sent Ginny into a deep depression for many months, and that she only seemed to come out of it after she graduated from Hogwarts. As Harry recalled the dozen or so letters that he himself had exchanged with the girl during her seventh year, he remembered thinking that the normally outgoing witch was not herself, and he'd known even then that she'd been suffering terribly. He was suffering terribly too, he'd told himself at the time, and he had been glad that, if nothing else, he wasn't contributing to Ginny's distractions when she needed to prepare for her NEWTs.

Lost in thought, the wizard blew on the hot surface of his tea and took a sip, observing disapprovingly that it had little more taste than hot water. He had been drinking bold coffees for well over four months now, and he seemed to have lost all affection for his old favorite.

Reflecting back through the hazy fog of his current emotional turmoil, Harry could feel a strong measure of reassuring rectitude making itself a peaceful home inside of his head. It was a righteous path that he was now taking, and he was becoming increasingly convinced of it by the moment. Ginny had buried herself in coursework during her seventh year to keep her mind off of the pain of losing Percy, Hagrid, and the others, and she was using her studies now to keep herself from accepting him. Perhaps she felt that he had tucked her off to the side one too many times, Harry considered, or maybe she had spoken of her intentions more or less in vain -- not really thinking that he would actually take her up on the idea. Whatever Ginny's reasons were for running out of the coffee shop each morning, Harry was finding it more and more difficult over time to believe that they were true and credible reasons, and he was finding it easier and easier to come up with imaginative ways to keep her from reaching the door. His desire for the witch, though perhaps only recently unburied, was disturbingly intense.

As he raised his head to check the time, wondering vaguely if he would be seeing his ginger-haired tormenter soon, Harry spotted Lou and Laurie sharing an intimate hug over by the grandfather clock. It was a discreet, private moment, but Harry couldn't bring himself to look away. For the first time since he could remember and possibly since the last funeral he had attended - Hagrid's -- Harry's eyes began to burn and he felt himself on the verge of crying. Crying.

"I'm a bloody mess," he muttered. He drew out a piece of blank parchment from the right pocket of his winter cloak and a well-worn quill from the left, setting both on the table in front of him. Shaking the coat off from his shoulders, Harry draped it over the back of his oak chair, and resigned himself to getting a bit of work done. Today, Harry thought somewhat despondently, he would be heading off to his first Quiddich playoff game as a member of the Puddlemere United, and he was going to have to find a way to pull himself together in the off chance that there became a need to employ the reserve seeker.

Outside on the pavement, Ginny stopped walking just as she approached the Caffé dei Dolci. Pausing just in front of the clear glass door of her destination's Romanesque entrance, she took a moment to let her heart go through its course: first delivering an electric jolt that sent a brief jet of pain throughout her body upon seeing Harry once again; then accelerating its pace until she felt a throb in her neck as memories and feelings resurfaced themselves; and finally settling down a bit while she worked to still her muscles, taking several deep, calming breaths and determining to gain control over her emotions.

Images, hazy pictures in musty shades of gray and muted pastels, appeared in Ginny's mind as she stared through the glass at Harry. He was sitting alone at their table, sipping from a stoneware mug and studying a piece of parchment. She could see the grown wizard inside of the caffé as plain as day, but her subconscious wanderings were also presenting her with other, more poignant offerings, floating in and out like ghostly reminders. Inside Ginny's head, a barely-twelve-year old boy was standing at the bottom of the stairs at the Burrow and looking up at her, curious and a little bit scared. A bloodied and beaten boy was standing on a stone floor, holding limply onto a sword that looked to be taller than himself, and he was saying, "C'mone Ginny, let's get out of here." Her mind zoomed in on a stubbly jawline, moving closer and closer as a rare, carefree moment was recalled. She remembered, in her school days, staring at Harry's new manly face whenever she could find an occasion to get close enough to it and kissing the steady lines of his jaw and neck while she silently marveled at how very capable he had suddenly looked - and indeed had become: ready to face the world and its enemies.

And he had faced them, she recalled, bringing the handsome and grown wizard in the coffee shop back into focus. "This is Harry."

Ginny's heart gave one last little current of discomfort as she succumbed to the truth that had always lingered unwearyingly within her: there would be no other wizards for Ginny Weasley; she'd pounded her stakes in long ago. Even when it meant that she had to live the lifestyle of a nun. Even when it hurt.

Taking one last opportunity to fill her lungs with the brisk, January air, Ginny pushed open the door to the little shop. "I miss this," she thought as she slowly approached Harry. He was sitting in his usual chair, Ginny noted, and was making marks on the paper that he'd set out. A mostly full mug looked to have been shoved off to the side as he labored over his scribblings.

"That wouldn't be a secret game plan, would it?" Ginny asked as quietly as she could manage, but feeling as if the words had been delivered by Sonorus charm. Harry lifted his head and looked up at her. He seemed to be under a slight spell of confusion, making measured movements and studying her with unblinking eyes. "You should be more careful with that," she continued. "This place is probably loaded with Irish spies."

"Yeah," Harry responded. He gathered up his scroll and stood up, motioning to the chair opposite him and speaking with a carefully restrained voice. "Are you...would you like a seat or are you just getting a cup to go?" he asked.

Ginny's chest gave a heave. What she wouldn't give to have seen Harry happy and confident before going off to his first play-off series -- and in his first year as a professional at that. What had she done, in the interest of guarding her own selfish interests to make him look this way now -- so lonely and so lost? She braved a small smile and gave a nod toward Harry's drawing, accepting the seat that Harry offered and placing her hands nervously on the table as he too sat down.

"Is there anything interesting in there?" she asked.

Harry scratched his neck. "No," he said. "Coach makes us draw up plans - even the reserve players. But to be honest...right now my big game plan is to throw fairy dust in the air make a desperate plea for Tony Jones to stay healthy so that I won't have to make an idiot out of myself."

Ginny grinned. "Oh, Harry. I'm sure you'll be brilliant if something does happen to Jones." She tilted her head and looked directly into Harry's eyes. "You're always brilliant."

"Well," Harry returned flatly, "I haven't been so brilliant lately." He dropped his eyes briefly to the parchment and returned to Ginny, who had adopted a skeptical smirk. "If you don't believe me, just ask your brother. He's almost ready to toss me off the team himself, I promise you."

Ginny began to shake her head to discount Harry's tale, but he cut her off. "Yesterday, I got hit by my third bludger of the week, and then succeeded in knocking a female training coach clear off her broom when I leaned over too far trying to avoid a fourth one. Ron told me to 'pull my head out of my trousers and go catch a snitch or something' and other similarly helpful bits of advice." Harry grimaced. "I don't think 'brilliant' is how Ron would describe my Quidditch skills lately." He looked down at the table and added softly, "I've been distracted, it seems."

"Okay then," Ginny said, "you'll just have to turn that around, won't you." She gave another very slight smile, adding, "We just can't have Harry Potter looking the fool, can we?"

It took a moment, but Harry finally brought himself into the realization that he was sitting there, across from Ginny, and they were having a conversation. Not a real flattering conversation, from his perspective, but it was like drinking water after nearly dying of dehydration to hear her voice again, talking to him like she was. He did his best to maintain a line with Ginny's eyes, and he noticed that as she sat there, the pretty witch seemed to be slipping into a daze. She had coasted into unfamiliar territory and he could tell that she was as nervous as he was. As Harry struggled with ideas for how to turn the topic of interest away from his abysmal Quidditch performance as of late, Ginny lifted her index finger into the air in front of her face and stared at it, scrunching her forehead slightly as she did so.

"I've burned my finger," she stated plainly. "Yesterday at the bank. I was supposed to erase the contents of a customer's will, so that they could replace it with a new one, but I set the scroll on fire by mistake." Harry didn't look at the burned appendage, but continued staring at Ginny's face -- trying to get her to reestablish eye contact. Still appearing to be in a slight trance, Ginny rotated her finger so that Harry could see the deep purple burn mark that stretched from the pad to just above the first joint, frowning.

"You were distracted," Harry said.

He reached into the pocket of his trousers and drew out his wand, tapping it gently on the point of Ginny's injury and muttering a soft healing spell that Hermione had taught all of them during the war. "Why didn't you heal it?" he asked, as he watched the skin morph from purple to bright white and then settle down to a benign, pinkish cream color.

"Seems I like pain," Ginny replied.

Her eyes gave a flicker to the sizable duffle bag that Harry had set haphazardly beneath the table, by his chair. "Ron stopped by last night," she said. "He brought Hermione with him." Her lip curled up just a bit when she watched Harry try to pull an innocent face, turning his head to look at the bag as well. "Quite a little fan group you have there, eh?"

"Ginny..." Harry began.

She shook her head, still displaying the faintest hint of a smile while she stared at the official, Puddlemere United luggage, wondering abstractedly what would be in it. "In addition to telling me what an idiot I am and such, Ron did tell me that you both were going to leave for Ireland this afternoon for the playoffs." Harry reached over the table and tapped Ginny's hand with his index finger, causing her gaze to return to his face. Oh, that face, she thought.

"I was going to send you an owl if I missed you here," he said. "Coach wants us sequestered until the games are over. We're not even allowed out during the evenings."

Ginny smiled. "That's good thinking," she said, smirking. "Do you leave real soon?"

The answer was written on Harry's brow, she thought even as she asked the question. Of course he was, and was there anything in this world that Ginny wanted more than just a half-hour more...or maybe an hour...perhaps two? There was so much that they needed to say to one another. She felt a bit like she was being deflated as she watched Harry taking a deep breath and preparing to deliver her the news.

"Yeah," Harry responded. "I'm actually late. We were supposed to gather at the pitch just about now for a team meeting before we depart." He smiled slightly and made no motion to get up from his chair.

"Go, Harry," Ginny prodded. She could practically feel the little wheels in Harry's head whizzing around, trying to interpret her comment, and she added quickly, "Just promise that you'll meet me here the very first morning you get back, okay?"

Harry smiled, took in a lungful of air and released it in a loud sigh of relief. He nodded quickly and grabbed his duffle. "I'll send an owl to let you know when we're back in London, and we'll...we'll get together, okay?"

Ginny closed her eyes. She felt dizzy, struggling with a dawning comprehension that Harry was actually going away for a few days. She wondered how many more days he would have to stay in Ireland if the P.U. won their first match. Were she and Harry really, really making plans to talk this whole mess through when he got back? Her heart felt like it was sitting on top of her chest and when she looked down at it, she could actually see her blouse vibrating with its quick thrusts.

"We'd better," she said aloud. She wasn't sure how much more drama she could sustain at the moment, and she certainly couldn't survive many more "visits" from Harry's well-meaning posse of friends.