The First Day

little_bird

Story Summary:
The first year after the battle at Hogwarts.

Chapter 43 - Living With Ghosts

Posted:
09/17/2009
Hits:
1,638


Harry walked next to Ginny, shoulders hunched against the bitterly cold wind that snaked its way through a gap between his scarf and the back of his neck. Ginny toyed with the ends of her scarf, sneaking glances at Harry. 'What?' he asked. 'Do I have a bogie on my nose or something?' he added, swiping the back of his hand under his nose.

'No...' Ginny hesitated then began walking again. 'Do you really miss it?'

'Miss what? Parseltongue?'

'Erm... sure...'

Harry heaved a sigh and shrugged. 'Not as much as you'd think,' he finally said. 'Considering there were only two of us that could speak it, and one of us is dead, it's not like I need it anymore. It's like when I realized scar quit hurting. I'd lived with it for so long, it didn't dawn on me that it'd stopped for weeks. Like when someone had the wireless blaring in the common room and when they finally turned it off, it took a while to realize the sound was gone, and then the silence was almost as deafening as the noise. Frankly, I'm just glad not to have a bit of Riddle's soul in me anymore.'

'I did,' Ginny admitted so softly, Harry nearly lost it under the sound of their shoes crunching through the snow.

Harry came to a dead stop. 'What?' he blurted incredulously.

Ginny crossed her arms over her chest defensively. 'Just at first,' she muttered. 'You have to understand what my first year was like for me. I know Dad took Percy, Fred, George, and Ron out into the tool shed and admonished them all to look after me. I know he did it, because I overheard Fred and George moaning about it before Ron started school. And you and Ron weren't able to get on the train, and Hermione sort of took me in hand on the train, then I got Sorted and once dinner was over, I was on my own. Sort of got, well... ignored. Even by Hermione. She got wrapped up in whatever it was the three of you were cooking up.'

Harry's lips twitched at Ginny's unintentional irony, but let it slide.

Ginny sighed and pulled her hat off, running a hand through her hair. 'I'm not blaming any of you, mind. But Tom - well, the Tom in the diary - he talked to me when none of you would. Even when I tried to get rid of the diary, I really didn't want to.'

'But he wasn't exactly a friend to you,' Harry objected.

'But when you're eleven, a bad friend is better than none,' Ginny retorted. She tugged her knitted hat back over her head, covering her ears. 'It was just for a few weeks, anyway' she murmured.

'How could you miss someone that was so horrible to you?' Harry persisted in bewilderment.

Ginny stooped to gather a handful of snow, and began to methodically pack it into a ball. 'All those times Ron acted like a prat to you, did you miss him?' she asked rhetorically. 'Of course you did,' she continued, not waiting for Harry to answer. 'But even when Ron was at his worst you still had Hermione.' She shook her head, lobbing the snowball at the low stone wall that bordered the lane leading to Hogwarts. 'I didn't have anyone. And it took not having him in my head all the time like that for me to take it for what it was.' She fixed Harry with a hard glare. 'I don't miss it anymore.'

'I know,' Harry said, reaching for one of her hands. He pulled her toward him, and wrapped his arms around her, the two of them rocking slightly. 'You made it quite clear that you weren't enamored of the git when your dad was in the hospital that Christmas.' He took a deep breath. 'But I won't lie and say I'm not surprised that you did, even for a bit.'

'I'd feel the same way if I were you,' Ginny admitted ruefully. She scrubbed her mittened hands over her face and resumed the walk back to school. 'When do you have to go back?'

'We told your mum we'd be home by seven or eight.'

'So you've got some time?' Ginny said brightly.

'What do you want?' Harry said suspiciously.

'Game in a few weeks. Playing Hufflepuff, who aren't horrible this year.'

'Really?'

'Yeah. Let me put it like this... They beat Ravenclaw so badly; the Ravenclaw team wouldn't come down for dinner.'

'What was the score? Three hundred fifty to nil?'

'Close.' Ginny paused. 'Four hundred to nil.'

Harry's eyes widened. 'Blimey.'

'Wood left a few of those diagrams with the moving arrows lying about in the changing rooms,' Ginny informed him. 'They're dead useful,' she added.

'I have nightmares about those bloody diagrams,' Harry snorted. 'But if it helps...'

'It helps with Dennis. If he can see what he's supposed to do, it works out better for him than for me to try and tell him.'

'And being fifty points behind Ravenclaw in the Quidditch Cup doesn't factor into it at all,' Harry said dryly.

'No, of course not,' Ginny insisted, with wide-eyed innocence. 'Pity you can't fly yet,' she murmured. 'We could try a few things.' She went through the gates of Hogwarts and clattered through the courtyard, making her way to the Quidditch pitch. Once inside the changing rooms, Ginny swiftly unbuttoned her coat and let it fall off her shoulders, tossing it over a bench. Her scarf, hat, and mittens quickly followed. Harry let the door swing shut behind them and pulled off his own coat, shuddering in the warm, humid air of the changing rooms.

'Still smells like broom polish and sweaty socks,' he said wistfully, straddling one of the benches that ran down the middle of the room. Ginny dropped to the bench in front of him, scooting backward until her rear wedged between Harry's thighs, while she Summoned one of Wood's old diagrams. Harry let her wriggle until she found a comfortable position, then wrapped an arm around her waist. 'You didn't just bring me in here to talk Quidditch strategy, did you?'

Ginny prodded the diagram with her wand. 'Your powers of deductive reasoning astound me,' she drawled. 'Have they taught you that in your Auror department?'

Harry slid a hand under Ginny's heavy hair and swept it aside, revealing the column of her neck. He nipped her, just under her ear, making Ginny giggle a little, but she tilted her head all the same to allow him better access. 'Yes. Yes, they did,' he murmured against her skin. 'And I'd just like to say before things go any further, that this has got to be the most stereotypical setting for a slightly illicit tryst...'

Ginny's head fell against his shoulder. 'Right. Because no one's ever snogged in here before.' She shivered as one of Harry's hands slipped under her jumper and slid across the skin of her stomach. 'At least it's not an abandoned classroom.' She pressed her lips against the underside of his jaw.

'Or the top of the Astronomy tower...' Harry hissed, as she found a particularly sensitive spot.

Ginny maneuvered so she faced Harry and began to pull the tails of his shirt from the waistband of his jeans. 'So... Have any new scars to show off?'

*****

Katie turned the dial of the wireless aimlessly, searching for something - anything - that would allow her to shut out the conversation she'd had with her mother about George that played in an endless loop, over an over. It galled her to admit that possibly nothing she could do would ever be enough to make George happy, but at the same time, she mentally berated herself for contributing to George's unhappiness. The sound of knocking on her door made Katie quickly turn down the wireless. She opened the door to discover her neighbor standing on their small landing. 'Sorry, Mr. Grevas... Was the wireless too loud?'

'Not at all,' the older man said cheerfully. 'But I was wondering what a pretty young lady such as yourself was doing all alone on a Saturday afternoon.'

Katie smiled wanly. 'Don't feel much like going out,' she replied.

'Haven't felt much like going out for the past several weeks,' Mr. Grevas pointed out.

'It's not like I went out a great deal before Martin and I stopped seeing each other. And I've been working a lot.'

'Your friend hasn't been round, either,' the older man commented idly. 'The one with all that glorious ginger hair...?'

'George? Erm... no.' Katie traced the grain of the wooden floor with a toe.

'You have any plans today?'

Katie shook her head. 'No.'

Mr. Grevas beamed. 'Well, then! You must come to my flat for tea.' He gestured to the open door on the opposite side of the landing.

Katie looked down at her ragged Gryffindor Quidditch sweatshirt. 'I'm not really dressed for visiting...'

'Pish-posh,' Mr. Grevas dismissed. 'You look fine. Humor an old man for one afternoon.'

Katie nodded. 'All right.' She kicked off her slippers and shoved her feet into a pair of battered clogs that sat next to the door and crossed the landing into Mr. Grevas' flat. While he puttered around the tiny kitchen, Katie wandered about his sitting room, pausing to examine the photographs clustered on the mantle of his fireplace. She picked up a small black-and-white Muggle photograph in a silver filigree frame, studying the young woman with upswept hair, smiling shyly. 'Mr. Grevas? Who is this?' she asked.

Mr. Grevas set a tray with sandwiches, scones, and fairy cakes on the small table near the window. 'Oh, that's my first wife. Amelia. She was a Muggle.'

'What happened to her?' Katie asked curiously.

'Oh...' Mr. Grevas returned to the kitchen to fetch a pot of tea. 'She died many years ago.' He gazed at the photograph, his eyes growing misty. 'In nineteen forty-four.' He set the teapot on the table and poured a cup of tea for Katie. 'How do you take your tea, dear?'

'Milk, please,' Katie replied distractedly. 'I'm sorry about your wife...'

'I should go back a bit,' Mr. Grevas murmured, pouring his own tea. 'Come, sit, eat, and I'll tell you.' Katie slid into the seat across from his and took a sandwich. 'I ought to go back a bit... How much do you know about Muggle history?'

'More than most,' Katie allowed.

'Wonderful. What do you know about the Second World War?'

'Nineteen thirty-nine to nineteen forty-five,' Katie supplied. 'It involved a great many of the world's countries, divided into two factions - the Allied and the Axis Powers. Britain fought as part of the Allied forces with the United States and the Soviet Union.'

'Impressive,' Mr. Grevas said.

'My dad's a tutor and runs a library in Oxborough.'

'Well, as you know, the magical world does not meddle in the affairs of Muggles. Something like the Prime Directive.'

'The what?' Katie mentally reviewed every History of Magic lesson she could remember, but that wasn't a term she could recall.

'Never mind,' Mr. Grevas sighed. 'However, we had heard of horrible things going on in the European continent. Terrible things. So a few of us volunteered to help the Muggle armies. The Minister of Magic at the time managed to communicate this to the British Prime Minister. We were then told of an Allied plan to invade northwestern France in an effort to try and liberate the continent. We didn't do much, aside from putting Shield charms around some of the units of soldiers. The Normandy invasion was their best hope to turn the tide of the war. At any rate, I was still in northern France when the Germans bombed London almost a week after the invasion. Amelia was one of the casualties. I didn't find out for weeks.'

'How long had you been married?' Katie asked.

'Just a few years.' Mr. Grevas sipped his tea. 'I did manage to remarry in time.' He Summoned another photograph from the mantle. 'Violet.'

Katie accepted the proffered photograph. 'Was it hard for her? To live with Amelia's ghost?'

'At first. But she once told me after a row that if I hadn't had Amelia, I wouldn't be the man I was.'

Katie frowned and handed the photograph back to Mr. Grevas. 'Good point,' she murmured.

'Poor Violet. She put up with a lot of my rubbish early on,' Mr. Grevas said with a hint of regret. 'Took a while for me to stop comparing her to Amelia.' He shook himself and set both photographs on the windowsill. 'So why hasn't your friend George been round lately? He seemed to like you.'

'You must have an awful lot of free time on your hands,' Katie commented dryly. 'You seem to know everything that goes on here.'

'Ah...' Mr. Grevas took an embarrassed sip of his tea. 'Well. I don't have a telly since I moved into Diagon Alley after Violet died. Won't work. And most of what's on the wireless is rubbish. So I read, mostly. And you're a young lady all on her own. And while I'm sure you're more than able to look after yourself, keeping a bit of an eye on you makes me feel better.'

Katie leaned across the table and gently kissed the older man's cheek. 'Thanks, Mr. Grevas.'

Mr. Grevas gently patted Katie's cheek. 'So how do you feel about George?'

Katie gazed at a fairy cake before she took a bite of it. 'I'm not sure,' she finally said. 'I mean, I do - like him, that is - but...'

'But what?'

Katie blindly reached for her cup. 'I've treated him rather shabbily, I'm afraid.'

'Because...?' Mr. Grevas prompted.

'Because he asked me to have dinner with him. Not too long after New Year's Eve...' she said, trailing off embarrassed.

'Ah...' Mr. Grevas breathed in comprehension. 'I heard about what happened at that party in the Leaky Cauldron...'

Katie blushed. 'Yes, well,' she demurred. 'At any rate, when he asked me out, I turned him down. Said I thought the two of us and his brother's ghost in a relationship were too many,' she added, squirming in chagrin, recalling what Mr. Grevas had said about how his second wife eventually felt about his first wife.

Mr. Grevas didn't say anything. He just gave Katie a penetrating look and peered through the window. Soft light spilled from the windows of the shop into the snowy street, falling rapidly into grey twilight. 'He's at that shop of his,' he told Katie.

'Oh...' Katie selected a sandwich and ate it slowly, keeping her eyes away from the lace-curtained windowpane.

Mr. Grevas smiled. 'Go on...' he said, tilting his head toward the window. Katie's eyes flew up to meet his and he nodded at the window once more. Katie stood up and darted to the door of the flat.

'Thank you,' she said sincerely, before slipping out the door and stumbling halfway down the stairs before common sense took over. I can't go to George looking like this! she thought, looking down at her shabby sweatshirt and worn jeans. She dashed back into her flat, grabbed the first clothes she laid hands on out of her wardrobe and threw them on, yanking a brush through her hair, and hastily brushing her teeth before running down the stairs, and into the street. She didn't stop until she burst through the door of the shop.

George sat on a tall stool behind the counter, his cheek resting in an upturned hand, a cup of cold tea at his elbow, frowning at columns of numbers in the ledger book. He gazed at Katie for a moment, his eyes sweeping over her. 'Aren't you a bit underdressed?' he asked mildly.

Startled, Katie looked down at her clothes. She had forgotten her coat and wore a skirt and blouse more suitable for spring or summer. 'I was in a hurry,' she murmured.

'Obviously.' George slid off the stool and ducked into the back. 'Don't go anywhere,' he said over his shoulder as he dodged between the magenta curtain and the edge of the doorway. He quickly returned with Katie's book that he'd inadvertently taken home with him New Year's Eve. He mutely pushed it across the counter to her, but Katie made no effort to take it.

'I'm sorry...' she began. 'For what I said about being with you. It was...' She shrugged, feeling her face burn. 'I was wrong. You wouldn't be you without...' She cleared her throat. 'Without Fred. And I shouldn't have... Well, I shouldn't have held that against you.' Katie trailed off and turned her gaze to her feet. She could still feel George's eyes burrowing into the top of her head. 'Well, then...' she muttered, after the silence became too much to bear and turned to leave.

It wasn't until George heard the door close that he realized Katie had left the book on the counter. He stared at it until the edges blurred, Charlie's voice ringing through his head. If Fred were here, I'd never hear the end of it for buggering this up... If Fred were here, I wouldn't even think about going after her... 'All right, bro...' he said softly to the empty shop. 'I think this might be my last chance...' He grabbed the book and ran after her, chasing her down the street. 'Katie!' He darted between the shoppers, hurrying home with their purchases until he came to Katie's building. He staggered up the stairs to her flat and pounded on the door, panting. 'You forgot your book,' he told her when she opened the door.

Katie took the book from George. 'Thank you...' They stood on the landing, wrapped in an uncomfortable silence until a muffled voice broke through it.

'Oh, for the love of Godric, kiss her already!'

Katie started and clapped a hand over her mouth, giggling. George followed her gaze to the door on the other side of the landing. Just under the crack was a small, flesh-colored string. He turned back to Katie and spent one more moment examining her, then stepped toward her, his free hand tangling in her hair, as they moved into Katie's flat.

On the other side of the landing, Mr. Grevas toasted the ceiling with a small glass of wine, as he turned up the music on his wireless. Swelling melodies filled the room. 'Sometimes, it just takes a bit of the nudge in the right direction, doesn't it, Amelia...?'

*****

George pulled his mouth away from the juncture of Katie's neck and shoulder. 'This isn't some sort of 'Oh, poor George, he's never shagged a girl' kind of pity fuck is it?' he growled.

Katie's hands managed to undo his jeans and she shoved them roughly down his legs to crumple at his feet. 'Of course not!' she snapped. 'Don't be ridiculous!'

'Brilliant,' he muttered, managing to unbutton Katie's skirt without ripping the buttons off. The skirt floated to the floor and Katie kicked it off to one side. She attempted to pull his limp, crumpled shirt off his arms, but she'd forgotten to undo the cuffs. George let go of Katie and impatiently yanked his hands through the sleeves, throwing the offending garment aside carelessly. He glared at Katie's shirt, at the row of small buttons that mocked his shaking hands. He tried to slip the top button through the buttonhole, but his fingers couldn't seem to get it all the way through.

'Oh, just rip the damn thing!' she spat. 'That's what Reparo is for.'

'If you say so,' George breathed, gathering a handful of fabric in each hand and pulled. The gauzy shirt slithered off Katie's shoulders, leaving her standing in front of George clad in only her bra and knickers. He began to push her backwards, following in her wake until both of them fell across Katie's bed. Dizzy, he slid the pale pink knickers over the swell of her hips and tugged until they slipped over her toes. He shoved his boxers down and nudged Katie's thighs apart with his knees.

Fumbling slightly, he slid into Katie, unable to hear her squeak of surprise through the roaring of in his ears. 'Open your eyes,' he demanded, gratified to see Katie's eyes flutter open. 'Who do you love?' he hissed with each thrust into her. 'Who do you love?'

Katie pulled her knees back and wrapped her legs around George's waist, her body arching to meet his. 'You,' she gasped. 'I love you.'

George stilled, and with his teeth clenched, began to move slower. 'That's good,' he said breathlessly. He didn't know what had come over him, but he needed to have Katie, to take her. She was his now. He trailed the fingers of one hand over the lines and hollows of her face. 'I love you...' He felt his body convulse in a familiar, yet entirely unknown sensation, then lay sprawled over Katie, her body still twined around his.

He took a few minutes to allow his breathing to slow, his face buried in the crook of Katie's neck, feeling her pulse jump under his cheek. Slowly, George turned his head to meet Katie's grey eyes, heavy lidded and shimmering. 'I'm sorry,' he rasped.

'What ever for?' she murmured.

'I didn't mean to be so...' One of George's shoulders hitched slightly. 'Are you all right?' he asked, anxiety drifting into his voice.

A smile spread over Katie's face. 'Yeah...'

George managed to shift his body to one side of Katie, still keeping one of his arms wrapped around her. 'Next time...' he sighed sleepily. 'Better...'

*****

Katie cringed a little as George's hand slid up her inner thigh. Her hand pushed his away. 'Don't...'

'Don't what? Touch you?' he asked incredulously, replacing his hand.

'Yes... No...' Katie shifted toward George. 'I'm pudgy there... Always have been...'

George propped himself up on an elbow and stared down at Katie. 'You have curves,' he pronounced. 'Where you're supposed to.' He let his hand slide upward. 'If I got aroused by broomsticks, I'd be somewhere else, wanking off with my broomstick, looking at pictures of bowtruckles.'

Katie chuckled. 'I think they have people at the Ministry who frown on that sort of behavior.'

'I'm sure they do.'

Katie's own hands roamed over George, palms sliding over him. She looked up at him. 'Read to me...'

'What? Now?'

'Yes. Now.' Katie slid off the bed and padded into the sitting room, retrieving the book George had brought back with him earlier. She took it back into the small bedroom, where a lamp cast the bed into a dim pool of light. She curled on the bed next to George, her head on his shoulder, leafing through the book. 'This one...' she said, holding the book out to him.

George took the book, and felt his brows shoot up in surprise as he skimmed over the words. He'd read it to Katie when she was unconscious a few times. It had been as close as he'd come to admitting how he'd felt about her. Self-consciously, he cleared his throat. 'A woman waits for me, she contains all, nothing is lacking...' He felt his face flush as he looked up at Katie. 'Are you sure...?'

'Please...'

George nodded and dropped his eyes back to the page. He continued to read, phrases interspersed with pauses filled with kisses - demanding, pleading, but always just to the brink. And George continued to read. 'I am for you, and you are for me, not only for our own sake, but for others' sakes, Envelop'd in you sleep greater heroes and bards...' He stopped and looked down at Katie. 'This feels so much more foolish when you're awake, I'll have you know.'

'Why...?'

'It's so...' George ran a thumb over the edge of the book cover. 'Naked,' he finished lamely.

Katie felt a rush of giggles bubble to the surface. 'Considering what we've just done, you're going to worry about a poem?'

George set the book down and tipped Katie's head back. 'Because the difference is,' he began, threading his fingers through her tangled hair, 'we're both awake... And it's so much more than this...' he muttered, his free hand sweeping in a gesture encompassing the bed.

'I meant it...' Katie said softly. She didn't have to tell George what she meant.

George smiled crookedly. 'How long?'

Katie sighed and shifted until she was partially draped over George, her chin resting on his chest. 'I really don't know... But after you stopped talking to me after the new year...' Katie shrugged. 'I missed you,' she said simply.

'You just missed me?'

Katie straddled George's hips and cradled his face between her hands. 'I missed you,' she told him simply. 'It was always you and I was too thick to see it. Or I just didn't want to,' Katie admitted. 'Because what if it doesn't work out? I'll lose my best friend...'

George pulled Katie down to kiss her. He took a deep breath and licked his suddenly dry lips. Telling Katie he loved her had been difficult enough. Putting himself in a position to lose someone he loved, terrified him. There were a hundred things that could happen to Katie on a daily basis, and while none of them involved Dark magic, their result was another grave for him to visit. 'But we won't know if we don't try...' he said tentatively. His head lowered until it rested on Katie's shoulder, and his arms slipped around her waist. 'I think I'd... I'd like to try...' he whispered.

*****

George's eyes fluttered open. One of Katie's hands rested on his chest. He traced the lines of her hand with his eyes. It was small and fine-boned, but George hadn't realized a hand could communicate more than words could - whispering against his skin in open-palmed supplication; clutching with the desperation of one drowning; fingers digging with urgent demand, unwilling to take "wait" for an answer.

It was a decidedly odd sensation for George to share a bed with someone else. He hadn't done that since he and Fred were small. He was intensely aware of his body in relation to Katie's. The sound of her breathing. The feel of her breath against his shoulder. He was almost afraid to move, lest he wake her. The hands that had so recently roused him past the point of coherent thought, now lay still and quiet, resting in the twilight of satiation.

Carefully, George turned his head on the pillow and gazed at Katie's sleeping face. Aside from how strange it felt to sleep in the same bed with her, he realized everything else hadn't felt strange at all.


George read 'A Woman Waits For Me' from _Leaves of Grass_ by Walt Whitman