Harry took a long swallow of his pint, the rich taste of Guinness flooding his senses. He set down his glass and wiped the foam off of his mouth. Across from him, Ron grinned and shook his head. “What?” Harry asked. “Did I miss some?”
“You just really looked like you needed that, mate.” Ron lifted his own pint and took a drink just as long as Harry’s had been.
Glancing around the busy pub, Harry cast his mind around for a topic of conversation. It had been ages since he’d had the time to sit down with his best friend of over thirty years and he’d been looking forward to the evening, but now that they were here together, he found himself struggling to find something to talk about.
“So, how’s Hermione and the kids?” he finally said, wondering just how it had come to this.
“I don’t know that you can really call them kids anymore, yeah?” Ron said, pride evident in his voice. “Did you get the invitation for Rose’s wedding?”
“Yeah, I got it,” Harry said, draining more of his pint. He’d been expecting the invitation, but its arrival had still been a surprise. He’d stood there holding it in his hand, reliving the moment when an exultant Ron had reported the news of his daughter’s arrival.
“Hard to believe, isn’t it? Whoever would have thought that we’d be old enough to have—” Ron started, cutting himself off in the middle of his sentence. He cleared his throat and drank more of his beer. “Who would have thought that a Weasley would marry a Malfoy?”
Harry ignored Ron’s aborted statement and smiled back at his old friend. “Yeah, how did that happen, anyway?”
“I don’t know. I can’t quite get my head round it, can I? She went off to school and then suddenly there’s this little blond Malfoy at my Christmas table.” Ron shook his head and ran his fingers through his graying hair. “And then she tells me she’s going to marry the runt.” He shrugged. “What could I do?”
“I’m sure Hermione had a few things to say,” Harry said, remembering the time that she’d walloped Draco Malfoy a good one outside of Hagrid’s hut.
“Did she ever. But you know her. Adjust, overcome, turn it to her advantage. D’you know that she’s got Malfoy working on fundraising for her house-elf retraining initiative?”
“I don’t think I even have the words to describe my feelings about that.” Harry leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I might know a couple of things about our old friend that might have, erm, greased the wheels.”
Eyes huge with delight, Ron leaned towards him, clearly primed for some good gossip. “I swear the thing I miss most about the Aurors is the gossip.”
“Well, this is only something I heard about, mind you, but I have it on good authority that our friend Malfoy is into …” Harry leaned into the story, relieved that the earlier awkwardness between them had evaporated.
At the end of the third round, Harry looked at his watch. “Time to go?” Ron asked after swallowing the last of his pint.
“Yeah. I don’t like to abuse their generosity.”
Ron nodded. “I went by with Hermione the other day.”
“Yeah? How was she?”
“The same.” Ron shrugged and looked down at the table, tracing a pattern in a puddle of beer.
Harry frowned at him. “But you said last time that she—”
“It’s all reflex, mate. You know what the Healers have said as well as I have.” Ron looked back up at him, holding Harry’s gaze. “It’s been fifteen years. She’s not going to get up, yeah? Nothing’s going to change.”
Ron’s quiet words hit Harry like bricks. Fury coursed through Harry, heating his cheeks and making his fingers itch for his wand. He took several deep breaths through his nose until his heart slowed down and was certain he wouldn’t try to blast his friend out of the booth. “It was good seeing you,” he said as he started to slide out of the booth.
Ron slid out with him and put his hand on Harry’s shoulder, stopping him from walking out. “Mum asked if you’d be around tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yeah.” Ron cocked his head and grinned. “Christmas? Did you forget?”
Embarrassment flooded Harry and he looked away. “No,” he mumbled. “I’ll see if I can make it, all right? No—”
“Promises. Yeah, all right.” Before he realized what was happening, Ron had pulled him in for a hug and was clapping him roughly on the back. “Tell her I said hello,” he said, pushing Harry away. Numbed by the unexpected hug, Harry stood in the crowded pub and watched Ron walk away.
***
Harry walked down the silent halls of the long-term spell damage ward at St Mungo’s, nodding to the familiar faces at the Medi-witch stations. He turned one last corner and approached the station, leaning against the counter.
“Hiya, Harry,” said the witch sitting at the desk. She closed the file she’d been making notes on and looked up at him. “I don’t have anything to report.”
Harry grunted and nodded, not really surprised. He still held a thin hope that he’d be greeted by excited Healers with news of a miraculous recovery, but that hope became thinner with each passing visit. “All right, thanks. All right if I …?” he asked, well aware that it was long after visiting hours.
“Of course. Stay as long as you like.” Harry knocked twice on the counter and turned away, eager to escape the Medi-witch’s mournful gaze. He didn’t have far to go; the room he was headed for was right across from the monitoring station.
He paused for a moment in the doorway, letting his eyes adjust to the dim lighting in the room. Unlike Muggle hospitals, there weren’t any beeping machines, glowing screens or endless yards of wires. In here there was one chair and one bed with one occupant.
Ginny looked like she was simply asleep, her red hair spread out on the pillow and the blanket on top of her completely wrinkle-free. Her chest rose and fell with her breath and Harry found himself matching his to hers. Taking his seat in the chair next to the bed, he took her hand, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the soft skin on the back of her hand. He squeezed, entertaining a brief notion that she’d finally squeeze back. When she didn’t, he simply sighed and raised her hand to his lips, giving it a soft kiss.
“I saw Ron today,” he said after clearing his throat. “Had a drink at the Leaky. It’s Christmas tomorrow.” Harry shook his head. “I don’t know where the year went. Seems like they go by faster the older I get.”
Just as it had with Ron, the awkwardness gradually faded and he settled into the one-sided conversation. He told Ginny about his latest cases, having long discovered that even though she couldn’t talk back, she still made an excellent sounding board. He’d had several case breakthroughs in this very room and he was hoping to have one tonight.
“It doesn’t make any sense, though. Why would a Muggle have that sort of residue on them? On their clothes? It’s as if they’d been spending all of their time in Snape’s dungeon,” he said, still holding Ginny’s hand. “All of the ones we’ve questioned show clear signs of memory tampering, but unfortunately you can’t just tell who’s behind the charm.”
He fell quiet, thinking over the case. Snape’s dungeon. Huh. He narrowed his eyes, thinking over the Muggles they’d found in various states of dishevelment and disorientation. Several had been found in and around Wembley and so far, they hadn’t found anything suspicious.
Glancing at his watch, he saw it was midnight. He set Ginny’s hand back down on the bed and stood up, stretching his arms high above his head. His eyes roamed over her unlined face; she looked far younger than her age and had none of the laugh lines Hermione had accumulated over the years. Bending over, he kissed her on her forehead. “Happy Christmas, Gin.”
A few moments later, he was walking out of St Mungo’s, turning up the collar of his dragonhide jacket against the softly falling snow. Slipping into a secluded alleyway, he Apparated to Wembley, popping back into existence beside an overflowing bin. As he’d expected, the new snow didn’t show any evidence of footprints this late in the night and he stepped out onto the pavement, alert for any sounds that might give him a clue as to what was going on with Muggles in this area.
He was walking through an alley between two decrepit buildings when he thought he saw something in the snow. Lighting the tip of his wand, he bent forward, the bright splash of red stark against the white snow in the wand light. Blood? But no footprints. Looking further down the alley, he saw another splash and before too long, he was following a trail of blood down the alley.
After about a hundred yards, the trail ended. Still no footprints and the spots had been strangely uniform. Making sure he was still alone, he cast a spell, nodding when the blood gave off a luminous glow. Definitely blood. Where did it come from, though?
He retraced his steps, following the trail back to where he’d started and found himself standing in front of a battered wooden door. It looked old and like it had seen its fair share of kicks. The brass knob was dented and in one of the dents there was a small smudge of blood.
Harry’s heart sped up. If this isn’t the source of the memory-charmed Muggles, then something else is going on here. He reached out for the knob, pausing just before touching it. He waved his wand in a particular motion and a silvery stag erupted from the tip, galloping away down the alley. There. I’ve let them know at headquarters.
Squaring his shoulders, Harry gripped his wand in his right hand, reaching out for the knob and turning it. The door didn’t answer his initial push, so he pushed harder, finally ramming into it with his shoulder. The door gave a mighty protesting squeal and flew open, sending Harry stumbling forward into an impossibly bright light.
***
Harry turned over onto his side and buried his face in the pillow, trying to avoid the sunlight coming in through the gap in the curtains. Just a few more minutes and I’ll get up. Wait, what? He opened his eyes and took in the warm yellow painted walls for a split second before a wave of vertigo swept through him and his vision blurred. He shook his head and sat up, heart thumping in his chest.
“Harry?” Ginny mumbled, looking up at him with sleepy eyes. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, fine.” Harry lay back down, snuggling up next to her. “I think I was having a dream.”
Ginny leaned over and kissed him. “About me, I hope.”
Ginny’s pale face, eyes closed, dark red hair spread out on a hospital pillow case … Harry’s skin tingled and he suppressed a shudder. “Always.” He pulled her towards him and ran his lips against the soft skin on her neck. Ginny sighed and melted into him. He was just starting to wonder if he’d be able to get a leg over when she groaned and pushed him away.
“You’re going to make me late,” she said, tapping her finger on the tip of his nose before sweeping the blankets off and hopping out of bed.
Harry grabbed his glasses from the bedside table and put them on so he could properly appreciate watching her move around the bedroom in all of her naked glory. “Last game of the season.”
“Unless we win,” Ginny sang as she grabbed a clean pair of knickers. “And then we go to the playoffs and then the championship.” She turned to look at Harry. “You are coming today, right?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there,” Harry said, sitting up to lean against the headboard.
Ginny raised an eyebrow, fixing him with a skeptical look. “You haven’t come to the last three I’ve left you tickets for.”
“I’m sorry, love. There’s a lot going on right now with the investigation.”
“The investigation you can’t tell me anything about.”
Harry’s heart dropped at the disappointment on her face. “I promise—”
Ginny held up her hand, cutting him off. “No, don’t make promises you can’t keep.” She leaned down and kissed him, the heat of her lips against his making his scalp prickle. “I’ll wait for you to make the promise you can keep,” she said, skipping away from his grab on the way to her shower.
“I could join you,” he shouted.
“No! I need to wash you off of me!” she shouted back and Harry heard the bathroom door close.
The promise I can keep. “What could she possibly mean by that?” he asked the empty room, knowing perfectly well what she meant. He scrubbed his hands over his face and got out of bed, picking up his clothes that had ended up scattered on the floor last night. He got dressed and then opened the bathroom door, sticking his head into the steam-filled room. “I’m going,” he said, interrupting Ginny’s singing.
“See you after the game,” Ginny said, shouting about the sound of the water hitting the tiles.
Back at his flat, he stripped down and got into the shower, thinking about his current case. It was a tricky one, involving a Muggle MI5 pencil-pusher that had gone missing before being found zipped into in a large duffel bag in his own bathtub in his very empty and very hot flat. The Muggle authorities hadn’t been able to find a cause of death. There wasn’t a mark on the body and it likely would have ended up a death by misadventure if it hadn’t been flagged for possible magical involvement by one of their MI5 liaisons.
The dead Muggle had been the source of Harry’s preoccupation for several weeks now and both the Ministry for Magic and MI5 were leaning on him for answers. To make things even more complicated, he was saddled with a Muggle MI5 agent who had been completely bowled over and fascinated to learn that magic truly did exist in the world. Unfortunately, along with the fascination, he harbored a stunning lack of self-preservation, forcing Harry to keep a watchful eye on him whenever they were out on the case.
Thank God he’ll be Obliviated when we’re done, he thought as he rinsed the shampoo out of his hair. But today is Saturday and even us spooks get the weekend. Last game of the season for Holyhead. Ginny’s hopes aside, they both knew that the team were well out of the race for the championship this year.
In his bedroom, he grabbed a pair of socks, his fingers brushing against the small box he had stashed in the drawer. He took it out and opened it, looking at the ring inside. He’d been told that an engagement ring wasn’t really typical in the Wizarding world, but he wanted to give Ginny a ring. And he had to admit to himself that a small part of him wanted the whole proposal experience, too. Just a small bit of normal. He closed the box with a click and put it in the pocket of his jeans.
“Did you bring it?” Ron asked when they met later that morning at the Leaky for a pre-game breakfast.
“Yeah,” Harry said, swallowing the burst of butterflies in his stomach. Hermione held out her hand and he gave her the box, watching as she opened it and examined the ring inside.
“She’ll love it,” she said, handing the box back to him.
“I just hope she says yes.”
“Don’t be daft,” Ron said, sipping his pint. She’s been ready to marry you for ages.”
Harry was just going to respond when he saw an eagle owl come soaring into the pub through one of the high windows that were always open. It clutched an official purple envelope in its claws and his heart plummeted as it flew straight for him.
“Bloody hell,” Ron muttered as the owl swooped over the table and dropped the envelope right in front of Harry, flying back out of the pub on silent wings. The three friends stared at it before Harry finally picked it up. “Maybe they found the bastard that did it?”
Harry snorted as he pulled the message out of the envelope. “Unlikely.” He scanned the message and groaned. “MI5 want to meet today. They say they have some new CCTV footage to review and some new contacts.”
“Today?” Hermione asked. “Can’t you reschedule?”
“Yeah,” Ron said, nodding in agreement. “Or can’t that … Blevins bloke handle things for an afternoon?”
Harry sighed and tossed the message up in the air where it disappeared in a bright flash of heat. “I wish. It’d be my luck he’d stumble into a pack of Quintapeds and then I’d have another thing to investigate, wouldn’t I?”
Hermione put her hand on his arm as he stood up from the table. “Why does it have to be you? You need to learn to let go or it’ll always be like this.”
“I—” Harry started and then stopped, realizing that he didn’t have a good answer. He tossed a Galleon on the table. “Tell Ginny I’m sorry I wasn’t able to be there.”
“Maybe it’ll be nothing and you’ll be done early,” Ron said, trying to sound hopeful.
“Yeah, maybe.” Harry turned on the spot and Apparated away.
***
“Promises. Yeah, all right,” Ron said. Harry stiffened in his grip, alarm bells ringing through his head. A moment later, Ron pushed him away and left the pub. “Tell her I said hello.”
What? What just happened? Harry shook his head, trying to clear the ringing in his ears. Did I have a stroke? He checked his watch, noticing that time seemed to have gone backwards and he’d regained the time he’d spent with Ginny in hospital and … That door!
He recalled the flash of bright white light, the sensation of falling as if from a great height and then … I woke up. I was with Gin and it was her last game. Realizing he was standing still in the middle of the pub, Harry shook himself and left, walking quickly for the door.
He could have Apparated to St Mungo’s, but chose to walk instead, hoping the cold air would help clear his head and figure out what happened. I had the drink with Ron, then I spent some time with Gin and then I found that blood and the door. And then it was summer again. How did I end up there? How did I end up back here?
Inside the hospital, he passed by the Medi-witch station without stopping to say hello. He glanced over, expecting the witch to comment on how it was his second visit, but she didn’t say anything. Heart pounding, he went into Ginny’s room, expecting something to be different, but she was the same. Still, quiet, pale.
Harry stared, trying to reconcile the bright, vibrant young woman with the one in front of him now. He sat down in the chair and took her hand in his like he had so many times before that it almost seemed like a ritual. Squeezing hard, hoping for a response, he swallowed his disappointment when her hand remained limp and passive in his.
“Ginny,” I had something strange happen tonight and I’m not sure what it was or how it happened,” he said, rubbing his thumb against hers. “I don’t know if you remember, but I’ve already been here once tonight. I talked to you about what I’m working on and then I found this door.” He paused for a moment, shaking his head. “This is going to sound daft, but I went through it. I know, I never look before I leap, but Gin, the door. I woke up with you.”
He looked at the device that tracked her heart rate, convinced he’d see some reaction, but it was the same steady metronome that it had been all of these years. “It was the morning of your game and I met with Ron and Hermione before and then I got that owl.”
Frowning, he thought back to that day. Both MI5 and the Ministry had been leaning on him hard, wanting the case of the unfortunate man in the duffel bag wrapped up with a satisfying result. Naturally, they disagreed on what qualified as satisfying. Wanting the agencies off of his back, he’d gone to the meeting, spent hours reviewing the CCTV footage and the contacts which ended up being complete dead ends and missed the game.
And Ginny went out and had her accident and here we are. Rightly miffed at him for missing the game, she’d gone out with the team to mourn the loss of their last game and none of them were quite sure how she’d ended up hitting her head. It seemed like such a small thing for one so full of life as Ginny to succumb to, but he knew that head injuries were tricky and even one that looked minor could hide deep damage.
Everyone that loved her held out hope that she’d wake up and come back to them, but as the years went by, that hope faded. Bereft, Harry had thrown himself into work, building up an impressive clear rate and a reputation for dogged determination even as his relationships and friendships faded away. “Can’t go back and change things, though, can we?” he whispered in the quiet room.
He squeezed her hand again and sucked in a startled breath as her hand fluttered against his. Eyes wide, he squeezed once more and was rewarded by a twitching of her thumb. “Holy shit,” he said, carefully putting her hand back on the bed before practically running out of the room to the Medi-witch station.
Alarmed, the Medi-witch on duty stood up. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing! She squeezed my hand! Get the Healer!” Harry could barely restrain himself from shouting in the quiet hallway.
The Medi-witch frowned. “Harry, she’s done it before. It’s a reflex that happens sometimes.”
“Not this time. She’s done it twice in a row now. Please get the Healer. Please.” He stood and stared at her until she sighed and tapped her wand on the small speaker on the counter, calling for the Healer on duty.
After what seemed like forever, the Healer on duty arrived. Harry had been holding Ginny’s hand and squeezing gently, but she didn’t give any kind of response. He stood aside as the Healer examined her, waving his wand over her body in that eldritch way that they all seemed to have. “I was talking to her and I squeezed and she squeezed back,” Harry said, compelled to explain himself.
“Oh, aye? And was it a strong squeeze?” the Healer asked once he was done with his examination.
“Erm, not exactly. More like a twitch. But I felt it!”
The Healer looked at him and Harry’s stomach twisted at the expression of pity in the other man’s eyes. “Harry, you know that people in a comatose state can exhibit reflexes to outside stimuli.”
A hot flush of anger raced through him and he took a deep breath. “Yes,” he said through clenched teeth.
“That’s all it was. There’s no change.” He put his hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeezed. “It’s good that you visit her and talk to her, but it’s been fifteen years.”
“Yeah, all right.” Harry nodded and let out a shaky breath, his anger draining away and leaving him weak-kneed. He sat down and picked up Ginny’s hand again. “Thanks for checking,” he said, not looking up when the Healer left the room. A few minutes later, he checked his watch and saw that it was midnight once more. He kissed the back of Ginny’s hand and put it back on the bed.
Walking away from the hospital, he thought about the door and how it had led him back. So many times over the years he’d wished for the opportunity to make a different decision than the one he had and … I ended up making the same damn one. What did Dumbledore say that one time? It’s our choices that show what we are? Am I just some sad workaholic?
He Apparated back to Wembly, reappearing in the shadow of the stadium. He paused, taking in his surroundings. He scanned the ground, looking for any splashes of blood, but only saw dirty snow. Breaking into a jog, he retraced his steps, the light from his wand trained on the ground in front of him.
There! The splash of red caught his eye and he saw the footprints he knew came from his boots. He set aside the thoughts of how that could even be possible and jogged on, his breath coming out in great white puffs of steam in the cold air until he stood in front of the door that had put him back with Ginny.
The dented brass knob with the smudge of blood were the same and he cast a Revealio, looking for any evidence of magic on it. Nothing. Just a door. But how did it … ? Harry took a deep breath and steeled his nerves before reaching out for the doorknob. “Here goes nothing,” he said as he opened the door.
It swung open into a dilapidated room full of old, broken furniture that reeked of cat urine. Harry waved his wand around, sending the light at its tip around the room. He jumped at a crash as he sent a startled cat streaking through a hole in a window and let out a rueful laugh at himself.
Disappointment washed through him when it became obvious that he wasn’t going to be whisked through time back to Ginny and he nearly Apparated back to his flat. Well, something led me here, so I might as well have a look around. He began to search, slipping into a mindless auto pilot that let him think about other things.
His hand tingled with the ghost of Ginny’s squeeze and he knew in his heart of hearts that it had been on purpose. That she’d been responding to his voice. He wracked his brain for what he’d been telling her when she’d done that. I was telling her about my adventure. How we can’t go back and change things. Was she agreeing? Disagreeing?
A rustling sound drew his attention and he turned to face a broken-down old wardrobe. One of the doors hung only by one hinge and he heard the rustling again. “If you’re hiding in there, you’d better come out,” he said in his best Auror Potter voice. Probably another cat.
Keeping his wand trained on the wardrobe, he reached out and threw the broken door open, tearing it off of its remaining hinge. The biggest black and white cat he’d ever seen boiled up out of the wardrobe and jumped at him with a screech. Before he could react, the beast had put all four of its enormous feet against his chest and pushed off, sending Harry reeling backwards.
Stumbling, his heel caught on a broken stool and he fell. He had a split second to anticipate the sickening crunch of his head hitting the concrete when there was a brilliant flash of light.
***
“Harry. Harry, are you going to sleep all day?” Harry opened his eyes and squinted, trying to make Ginny’s face above him come into focus.
“Are you staying in bed with me?” he asked, his voice rough with sleep.
Ginny pouted. “That’s not a fair question. You know I have a game today.” She leaned down and kissed him, her lips soft and warm against his. “Unlike you, I can’t be lazy and stay in bed all day.”
She hopped out of bed and Harry watched as she moved around the room, an odd sense of deja vu playing at the edge of his mind. Ginny grabbed a pair of knickers out of her drawer and turned to look at him. “You are coming today, right?”
Even though he was lying in bed, he would have sworn he was falling and he shivered. Ginny frowned at him. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, of course.” He got out of bed and stretched, hoping to shake the falling sensation. “You’d better get going. Don’t want Gwenog to bawl you out for being late.”
“As if she would. Besides, I’d just tell her it’s your fault for keeping me in bed so late.”
Harry raised his eyebrows and gave her a grin. “Why lie?”
Ginny laughed, the sound of it music to his ears and the falling sensation abated a little. “Go on with you. I have to get my game face on, don’t I?”
After several more kisses, Ginny finally shooed him away, the sound of her singing in the shower staying with him as he Apparated to his flat. Post shower, he grabbed a pair of socks and his fingers brushing against the small box he had stashed in the drawer. He took it out and opened it, looking at the ring inside, the strange falling sensation lessening.
Just as he finished pulling on his jeans, he heard a tapping on the glass of his window. A regal looking eagle owl was waiting for him outside, a purple envelope clutched in its beak. He opened the window and his stomach swooped down to his toes and he grabbed into the window sash to steady himself. He took the envelope and he nearly cried out in surprise as a vision of an older Ginny came to him, her face quiet and still.
He lifted the flap on the envelope and the falling sensation increased, almost making him sick to his stomach. Harry glared at the owl. “Are you doing this, Absalom?” The owl blinked at him and ruffled his feathers, giving Harry the impression that such trickery was beneath the owl.
Harry looked at the envelope again and shook his head, giving it back to the owl. “Not today, mate. You tell them you couldn’t find me, yeah?”
Absalom hooted and took the envelope before flying away on soundless wings. As Harry watched him fly off, the falling sensation gradually faded until it was gone. Still standing at the window, he shook himself and took a deep breath of the morning summer air. “Wonder what the hell that was all about?”