Making Mistakes

'Do you know who it is?' Ginny breathed.

'Yes.' Harry looked over his shoulder at the door. It was firmly shut and Harry had added a Muffliato to the Silencing charms that were already on it. He bent his head, until his lips brushed against Ginny's ear and whispered a name.

Ginny reared back, her face white with shock. 'No...'

Harry laid a finger over Ginny's lips. 'Yes.'

******

Ginny stared at Harry. 'But why?'

Harry shook his head. 'I don't know.'

Ginny nibbled a ragged fingernail while she paged through her memory. She remembered reading something in the paper one morning when they still lived in Soho. 'I thought she was under some sort of house arrest or probation or something?' she asked perplexed.

'She was.' Harry wound a strand of Ginny's hair around his finger. 'She gave Magical Law Enforcement the slip.' His eyes narrowed with disgust. 'Idiots. We told them everything we knew about her, and they didn't listen,' he snorted contemptuously. 'Bloody bureaucratic drones.'

'You know...' Ginny began slowly. 'Hermione was responsible for having her put under house arrest.'

'Yeah. I thought about that.' Harry stretched like a cat. 'But that was years ago. Why bring it up now?'

Ginny propped herself up on an elbow. 'You don't like her,' she stated. 'And for good reason,' she quickly added, overriding Harry's splutters. 'But I've haven't been a target of hers, really, just once or twice, so perhaps I can see it more clearly.' Ginny's reporter's mind was spinning furiously, pulling seemingly disconnected ideas together and finding the common thread of it all. 'She bides her time. Waits for the right moment.' Ginny suddenly snorted with ironic laughter. 'Have you ever asked McGonagall or even Dumbledore's portrait what house she was in at school?'

'No, why?'

'And you're supposed to be next in line for Head of your department,' Ginny said, with faint pity.

Harry jerked. 'How do you know that? I don't even know that.'

'Just because I cover Quidditch doesn't mean I don't pay attention to politics,' Ginny sniffed. 'You'd be amazed at what gets said in the press box. Reporters are terrible gossips. Especially when the Cannons are playing,' she remarked.

Harry just stared at her, as if she was speaking Mermish.

'Whoever this is, they sound rather Slytherin-like. Serving revenge stone-cold and all that.' Ginny examined her nails critically, and nibbled a hangnail. 'I thought you were supposed to be good at your job.'

'Stop that,' Harry said distractedly, pulling Ginny's hand from her mouth, as the impact of Ginny's statements put themselves together. 'Wait a minute; I am good at my job.'

'Could have fooled me,' Ginny commented wryly.

'Go to sleep, Gin,' Harry grumbled, stung.

Ginny snickered and settled back down into the pillow. 'You know you love me,' she sang softly.

Harry sighed and pulled his glasses off. He peered at Ginny nearsightedly. 'I think you've finally gone barmy,' he said conversationally, pulling the bedclothes up around his ears. 'I'm brilliant at my job. And there's no way they'll make me the next Head anytime soon. I'm too young.'

'Not in terms of how long you've been there,' Ginny corrected. 'It's been almost eight years.'

Harry snorted. 'Keep dreaming. It'll never happen. It's not really what I want anyway.'

'You say that now...'

Harry wrapped an arm around Ginny's waist. 'And it's true,' he told her. 'I'm not angling for Head anytime soon.'

'You're already doing most of the work,' Ginny argued.

'Just the training,' Harry demurred.

'Not just the training.' Ginny sat up again, glaring at Harry. 'You've organized everything about this assignment, down to the last detail.'

Harry reached up and pulled Ginny back down to him. 'That's still not going to make me Head,' he countered. 'And I don't really want it.' Harry nuzzled Ginny's neck. 'I miss this,' he murmured.

'Wrap up your assignments more quickly next time, then.'

*****

Hermione peered into the room. 'Harry? Are you busy?'

Harry glanced at Hermione over the rims of his glasses. 'I'm not about to dash off anywhere.'

She inched uncertainly into the room, visibly trying not to wring her hands together. Harry noticed with an amused expression. 'Something on your mind, Hermione?' Harry asked, tucking the blanket around Albus a little more.

Hermione brushed at some non-existent lint on her blouse. 'Have you talked to Ginny lately?'

'Yeah. When she and I switched places so she could eat breakfast.' Harry inclined his head toward the empty chair next to him, inviting Hermione to sit. 'Why?'

'Did she tell you about Gwenog's offer?' Hermione asked nervously.

'Yeah. Said she think about it while she's on leave from the paper.'

'That's all she said?'

There was an undertone to Hermione's seemingly innocent query that made the hair on the back of Harry's neck stand up. He stood up and laid Albus in the cot, grasping Hermione's arm, and taking her out into the deserted waiting area. 'What are you getting at?' he demanded.

'This is not how I meant this to go,' Hermione sighed. 'We talked about it, last Sunday afternoon before lunch.'

'Talked about what?' Harry asked nonplussed. It had been another rough night with Albus, and Harry was not in a mood to dance around the topic.

'Ginny going back to the Harpies,' Hermione said with slight impatience. 'Keep up.'

'Don't start, Hermione,' Harry warned. 'I've been up most of the night.'

Hermione remained unperturbed by Harry's flash of annoyance. It took more than that to dislodge her once she got a topic of conversation in her grip. 'Did she tell you why she might go back?'

Hermione shifted on her feet, clearly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation's mood. Harry's face had smoothed ominously into a neutral expression Hermione knew far too well. 'No,' he said shortly. 'I had to go feed Albus, and we never got back to it.'

'Oh, well, maybe you could... Wait... Albus?' Hermione gave Harry astonished glance. 'Albus? You named the baby Albus?'

'Yes,' Harry replied stiffly.

'Do you want him to get beaten up in primary school?'

'Why does everyone seem to think he'll be beaten up?' Harry sighed.

'Maybe he can use his middle name,' Hermione said brightly. 'What is it?'

Harry looked straight into Hermione's eyes. 'Severus,' he declared, all but daring her to say something about it.

'Not Remus?' she blurted. 'I mean he was your father's best friend,' she covered hastily.

'That's for Teddy, in case he has a son, and he can name him after his father.'

'But Harry,' Hermione began timidly. 'You despise Snape.'

'That's his name, Hermione, all right?'

'All right.' Hermione knew when to make a strategic retreat. She gathered her handbag and briefcase. 'But maybe you should talk to Ginny about the Harpies a bit more,' she advised.

'Hermione, I'm leaving in two days,' Harry began, irritated. 'I don't want to get into another strop with Ginny. We just started talking to each other again.'

Hermione nodded and adjusted the strap of her handbag.

Harry ran his hand through his hair. 'I'm sorry,' he said softly. 'It's been...'

'It's been a difficult week,' Hermione finished for him. 'Not the first time you've snapped at me,' she said, trying to inject some humor into the conversation.

'I'll try to talk to her,' Harry acquiesced. 'But I won't make any promises.' He stooped and kissed Hermione on the cheek. 'If I don't see you again before Sunday...' he enfolded her into an embrace. 'You do realize you only get away with being a brat because that's how sisters are supposed to be?' he commented.

Hermione returned the hug. 'I'm just worried.' She released Harry and started to leave. 'Be careful, won't you?'

'Hey, I'm not seventeen anymore!' Harry protested.

'Doesn't mean you've totally changed,' Hermione scoffed as she left.

Harry watched Hermione Floo to the Ministry, a thoughtful expression on his face. He turned around and went back through the double doors to Ginny's room. Ginny was slumped in a chair, a half-eaten scone in one hand, while she propped up her head in the other, asleep. Harry gently pried the scone from Ginny's lax grip and laid it on a plate on the table next to her. He went back to the baby, unwilling to wake Ginny, just to talk to her about something that was at least a year away. 'We can talk about it later,' he mumbled, dropping into the rocking chair. There had been something in the tone of Hermione's voice that made him think there was more to Ginny's considering playing Quidditch again.

And it wasn't because Ginny itched to get back on a broom.

Harry could clearly remember the poorly concealed relief on Ginny's face when she informed him she wouldn't be signing her new contract at the end of the season.

Harry wasn't foolish enough to believe Ginny had suddenly developed an interest in playing again. He had seen her shaking with the effort to hold back her sobs as he Apparated from the Burrow a month ago, not to mention the unease in her eyes when he had told her the assignment was somewhat indefinite.

If she went back to the Harpies... If... Harry knew things would change. And not necessarily for the better.

******

Hermione opened the shop door, giving the small box over it a long-suffering glance. Charlie may have been one of the more reserved members of the family, but like all the Weasley men, he couldn't resist a challenge. At Arthur's last birthday party, Bill had dared him to burp the first line of 'God Save the King'. She waved to George, making one last sale before lunch, and ducked into the back room, clattering up the stairs to the flat.

Ron was in the tiny kitchen, stirring a pot of soup. 'Hello, hen.' He leaned down and kissed her. 'How are things?'

'Just talked to Mum and Rosie's fine.'

'And other things?'

'They're talking,' Hermione answered cautiously. 'Decided on a name for the baby.'

'They did?' George closed the door of the flat with a sigh. 'It's about time.'

'So?' Ron prodded. 'What is it?'

Hermione took a seat at the table, and picked up her glass of water. Taking a sip, she ran a fingertip around the rim. 'Albus,' she revealed.

'Do they want the poor kid to get beaten up?' George asked incredulously. 'Even Percy had more bloody sense than to name his kid something like that.'

'Could go by his middle name,' Ron interjected judiciously.

Hermione shook her head. 'No, he can't.'

George's face took on an almost-comical expression of apprehension. 'Why?'

Hermione took in a deep breath. 'It's Severus,' she gulped.

George dropped his spoon into his bowl with a messy splat. 'Please say you're joking,' he begged, his hand unconsciously stroking the right side of his head where his ear used to be.

'He seemed rather adamant about it.' Hermione toyed with her own spoon.

Ron, who hadn't said anything yet, cleared his throat. 'He must have a good reason,' he stated loyally.

George gaped at his youngest brother. 'Don't you know?' he asked in disbelief. 'I thought the three of you knew everything about each other.'

Hermione shook her head. 'I've been thinking about it all morning. I keep drawing a blank.'

'I thought he'd use Remus,' Ron mused. 'Since he was best friends with Harry's father and all.'

'That would follow his pattern,' George agreed.

'You don't think Harry's finally gone out of his tree, do you?' Ron asked with more than a bit of worry.

'No,' Hermione said. 'Do you remember, a week after Fred's funeral and he was sitting by the river?'

'Yeah,' Ron said slowly.

'Don't you remember what he said?'

Ron's brow wrinkled as he sifted through his own hazy memories of the weeks after the battle. 'Something about owing Snape...?' Ron gave Hermione a skeptical look. 'You think this is his way of paying Snape back?'

'That's too bloody noble. Even for Harry,' George declared, turning his attention to his lunch, and changing the subject to the end of the school term tomorrow and the extended hours for the shop.

******

Charlie looked up from his position on the floor, where he was playing with Isabella before she went to bed. George's owl tapped the window again. 'Go let Uncle George's owl in, Izzy,' he told his daughter, who bounded to the window and unlatched it, allowing the barn owl into the house. She raced to the kitchen, and found the box of Owl Treats in a cupboard and carried a double handful back to the sitting room. 'Here, Daddy,' she said, holding her hands out.

'Thanks, Izzy,' Charlie said. He untied the letter from George and set it down on the floor next to his sketchbook. He took the treats from Isabella and offered a few of them to the owl, which ate them gratefully. Charlie picked up one of the cups from Isabella's toy tea set and murmured, 'Aguamenti,' filling it with water. He held this out to the owl as well. The owl hooted softly, drank some of the water and flew out of the window again. Charlie placed the letter inside his sketchbook for safekeeping, and Banished it to the kitchen table.

Charlie could see the edge of the envelope out of the corner of his eye for the next few minutes while he helped Isabella put her wooden blocks away. He picked her up and tucked Isabella into bed. He could hear Bronwyn come into the house from her shift at the infirmary and met her in the kitchen. 'We got a letter from George,' he said, pulling it out of the sketchbook.

Bronwyn stretched and poured herself a cup of tea from the pot Charlie had been keeping warm on the table. 'Hope everything's all right.'

Charlie shrugged, and pried the envelope open. His eyes widened and he wordlessly handed the letter to Bronwyn. She scanned it quickly, choking on her tea. 'This has to be a joke,' she spluttered.

'I don't think so.'

'How could he?' Bronwyn wondered aloud. She looked at Charlie with a glint in her eye. 'If you had asked me to name my child after that git, I'd have you committed to St. Mungo's ward for Permanent Spell Damage.' When Charlie gave her a dubious look, she snorted. 'I can do it, too.' She shuddered. 'He made Potions a living nightmare. It was the only class I dreaded.'

Charlie looked back down at the letter. 'He must have a damn compelling reason, or Ginny'd never agree to it.'

Later, when Bronwyn had gone up to bed, Charlie sat in the sitting room, restlessly sketching out random images that came into his head. One of them was an exaggerated portrait of Severus Snape from Charlie's first year of school. He ground the point of his pencil into the thick paper, trying to make the lines of Snape's bat-like robes heavy and sharp. The point violently broke and Charlie threw the sketchbook down on the floor. He pushed himself off the sofa and glanced down at his watch. It was late, but Bill would still be up. Charlie threw a handful of Floo powder in the fireplace and stuck his head into the emerald flames. 'Shell Cottage.'

Charlie opened his eyes, and softly called out, 'Bill? You there?'

'Yeah,' Bill's voice floated from Charlie's right. 'What's wrong?' Bill came to crouch in front of the fireplace.

'Nothing, really.' Charlie chewed his lip, gazing at the toes of Bill's worn slippers. 'They named the baby,' he said abruptly.

'Oh?'

'Albus -' Charlie began.

'That's not so bad,' Bill remarked. 'Harry did look up to him quite a bit.'

'That's not all,' Charlie continued. 'It's Albus Severus.'

'Have they both lost their minds?' Bill gasped.

'I hope not,' Charlie muttered. 'It's an odd choice, that.'

'You can say that again,' Bill sighed.

*****

Arthur wearily pulled the blanket over James. He didn't have to heart to tell Harry just how much it affected James when he woke from his nap and Harry wasn't there. Harry had guiltily noticed the fatigue evident on Arthur and Molly's faces, offering with increasing urgency to come stay at the Burrow with James at night. Arthur merely waved him off, and said he would have to leave in a couple of days anyway. He trudged up the stairs to his bedroom and all but fell into bed next to Molly. He turned his head on the pillow, and saw Molly look at him out of the corner of her eye, then quickly glance away. 'Spit it out, Mollywobbles.'

'Severus?' she blurted. 'Honestly? Severus,' Molly repeated for emphasis. She turned on her side huffily. 'If he'd wanted to name the baby for somebody he could have used Gideon or Fabian. Or even Remus? Why do you suppose he didn't use Remus?'

'Does it really matter?' Arthur asked gently.

'Do you want your grandson to be named for a traitor?'

'He wasn't a traitor, Molly.'

'As good as one,' she argued.

'He didn't have a choice.' Arthur reached for Molly's hand, bringing it to his lips. 'He had to play both sides for Harry to succeed. He died an ignominious death, with not a soul in the world to mourn him. Let Harry have this.'

*****

Percy blinked sleepily at the owl tapping on his bedroom window. He slid out of bed and shuffled to take the letter, recognizing Ron's owl, praying it wasn't bad news. He untied the letter, and turned in befuddled circles. Owl Treats... Did we bring any up here? he thought, still only half-conscious. By the time he had come to the conclusion there were no treats in the bedroom, the owl had left.

Percy shoved his glasses on his nose, and took the letter into the kitchen, turning on a dim light. I wonder what would make Ron write to me this time of night? Percy turned the letter over and opened the envelope, sliding the short note from it. He felt his eyebrows rise several inches when he read Ron's terse announcement. -This is a dream, he told himself. I'm going to wake up in a minute, and it will all be a dream.

Percy set the scrap of parchment down on the table, as if it were one of the more "exciting" products from the shop. He looked down at his arm and pinched it viciously, emitting a muffled yelp. Guess I'm not dreaming it after all.

He eyed the parchment on the table. Of all the people, he has to use Severus? Percy shook his head in disbelief. He would never begin to understand Harry.

*****

Harry faffed about a bit in the bathroom, slowly brushing his teeth and shaving with exquisite attention to detail. He pulled on his pajama bottoms and a clean t-shirt, carefully folding his clothes. Finally with nothing left to do, but get into bed, Harry opened the bathroom door.

Ginny lay curled on her side, exhausted. Albus hadn't had any apnea episodes since last night, but it hadn't kept either him or Ginny from obsessively watching the baby's chest rise and fall. Harry had heard Ginny counting the seconds aloud between breaths before dinner.

He laid his clothing on the chair and slid into the bed, next to Ginny. Harry shifted for a moment, settling in to spoon Ginny before his opened his mouth. 'Gin? Why do you want to play again?'

'I don't,' she said, and Harry felt the back of her neck grow warm against his cheek.

'Liar.'

'I really don't!' she insisted.

'All right, then.' Harry propped himself up on his elbow. 'Then why are you considering playing?'

Ginny turned in the narrow bed, her face stormy. 'I'm not even going to think about it until after the boys are older,' she asserted.

'Hypothetically, then.' Harry shrugged. 'Let's pretend we don't have kids for five minutes.'

Ginny stared at him. 'It's complicated,' she mumbled.

'Try me. I can do complicated,' Harry suggested calmly.

Ginny opened her mouth. 'It's childish,' she snorted, playing with the hem of the sheet.

'Ginny,' Harry warned.

Ginny picked at a thread in the sheet. 'So I can leave you behind,' she mumbled.

Harry felt the blood drain from his face.