FIFTEEN
Harry wasn’t proposing when he told Ginny he wants to marry her eventually, and he feels like they both understand that. Nevertheless, Harry stops by his Gringotts vault at the beginning of February with a very specific intention: getting his mother’s engagement ring.
It was mid-August that first year after the war when Harry was finally able to give the Potter vault the attention it deserved. Bill and Kingsley had, together, convinced the goblins that Harry should have access to his gold by mid-June (the goblins had, naturally, assumed they’d hold on to the contents of the vault as reparations for the break-in), but Harry hadn’t wanted the attention that would come with a trip to Diagon Alley. Instead, he authorized Bill to make withdrawals on his behalf until, after her birthday, Ginny casually mentioned that gold probably wasn’t the only thing in the vault. While Harry supposed it would make sense, that some of his parents’ possessions would have found their way into the vault as well, he’d never actually had full access to his inheritance before. Before the war, Harry had been underage, and only gained full access in the days before the Ministry fell and he went on the run. In short, that August was his first chance to see it.
Ginny offered to go with him that first time, but he’d felt strongly that going through memories of the parents he never knew was something he had to do alone. He may have told Ginny he loved her by that point, but he’d yet to learn how to be open with emotions and he could think of nothing more mortifying than Ginny seeing the blubbering mess that his vault might reduce him to.
With the benefit of hindsight, he now admits he would have been better off having Ginny with him that day; seeing his parents’ belongings — old pictures, a collection of muggle vinyl records, schoolbooks, clothes, and other odds and ends — had brought up familiar but uncomfortable feelings. There had been the resentment, that his parents had been vibrant, real people who had lives full of memories that he’d never get to know; then the guilt, of course, that he was the reason their lives had been cut so short, because even though he knew it was Voldemort who killed them, Voldemort wouldn’t have been after them if not for him; finally, there was just self-pity and melancholy, because he’d been robbed of a chance to be raised by these people. Then, it didn’t make sense to him that he could share that with Ginny. How could he explain to her — someone who’d been raised with a loving family and unfaltering support system — understand how completely bereft of the same things Harry had been and how empty the reminder of that made him feel?
Now, Harry knows that Ginny has a much bigger capacity to empathize with him on this than he ever gave her credit for all those years ago. Then, though, he felt needy for her attention and support and, well, really just for her in general; he didn’t want to share too much and risk making her second-guess their relationship. Ironically — and all too predictably — his demands paired with his lack of transparency were what drove her away in the first place.
He took his second trip to the vault while Ginny was away at school. He missed her desperately, and moping in the flood of emotions that took hold inside the vault seemed like a comfortable outlet for his emotions. Dealing with the loss of his parents, after all, was something with which Harry was intimately familiar; he didn’t, however, know how to handle missing Ginny when he’d only just gotten her back, only just gotten all of her. When she broke up with him, nearly two years later, she told him that being his emotional support witch was exhausting, and it took him months to realize that how he felt when she was back at school was a sign of an unhealthy attachment planting its toxic roots.
That second visit was when Harry found his mother’s engagement ring. There was a little alcove in a dark corner on which a heavy wooden box was resting. Harry opened the box, which appeared to hold a number of assorted objects haphazardly tossed in, perhaps taken from the Potter’s cottage in Godric’s Hollow sometime after Halloween 1981, before anyone could come and loot the place for precious objects. Near the bottom, in a nondescript pouch, was his mother’s ring. A gold band with a rather large, elongated diamond in the center, it was simple and unfussy, while still oozing old money — similar to Harry’s impression of James Potter himself. On the inside of the band was a small carving: L+J 1978. That was how Harry learned just how quickly his parents went from being enemies to friends to lovers to engaged.
He slipped the ring in his pocket on that visit. Then, he figured it was only a matter of time before he asked Ginny to marry him; he’d been so sure it would be in the near future. But then Ginny was signed to the Harpies and she told him that establishing her quidditch career was important to her, and Ginny was important to him, so he held off. She’d feel ready soon, he told himself.
When she broke up with him, he brought the ring back to the vault. He wasn’t sure there was anyone else for him, but even if there was one day, he knew he could never give that ring to another person, not after he spent so long thinking about seeing it on Ginny’s left hand. Mostly, though, he returned the ring because having it with him was a harsh reminder of the dreams he once had, and how he’d fucked them up, just as he’d done for most things that mattered.
He’s not sure when it will be the right time to propose to Ginny, but he reckons he should be ready for it. Everything is moving at an odd pace, their relationship both strangely accelerated and moving painfully slowly. The right time to propose could be next week or at their son’s first birthday, and if the perfect moment presents itself, he intends to be ready.
It’s easier now, going to his vault, mostly because he’s used to it. He knows exactly where things are, which areas to avoid if he’s feeling fragile, the easiest shortcuts to get to what he needs. He no longer feels like he has to look for the things that upset him, picking a scab on an old wound that would never fully heal even if he let it. The ring is where he left it three years ago, in the top drawer of an antique desk that he thinks might have belonged to his grandparents, though he can’t be sure.
His plan had been clear: retrieve the ring, grab some gold, and leave in time to cook dinner for Ginny. As so often happens for him, however, his plan is derailed almost immediately upon grabbing the ring. The issue is that he’s looking at the ring, allowing himself to imagine what it will look like on Ginny’s hand whenever he gives it to her, and not paying attention to where he’s walking; as such, he ends up in an area of the vast vault he’s not sure he’s explored before. On top of an old chest of drawers in that might also have belonged to his grandparents before they died, there’s a book he’s never seen in his five years of coming here; embossed on the front of the soft leather cover, with peeling gold lettering are the words Harry James Potter, 31 July 1980 .
Harry’s seen his mum’s handwriting, starting with the letter he found in Sirius’ old room when he was 17, so he recognizes that her handwriting fills many pages of the book. It’s a journal, really, more than anything else, detailing all of the things Harry didn’t know about his early life. He was born in Godric’s Hollow ( at home , he thinks absently, so Ginny was right ) at 11:23pm. That detail in particular feels like an arrow to his chest: he’d come so close to being born in August and, if he had, Neville would have been the one in the prophecy instead of him. He wonders if his parents had hoped he’d take a bit longer, if they were scared when they realized he was less than 40 minutes away from not being the child in a prophecy. Now that he’s about to have a son of his own, he can’t imagine anything more terrifying — even considering his experience as the child who lived the prophecy, who was hunted by a madman his whole life.
The book is filled with mundane details of a life he couldn’t remember: even in his first weeks, he already recognized his mum and dad’s voices; he loved to sleep on his dad’s chest; he got distracted at mealtimes easily; he was early to his giggling milestone; when he started eating solids, he loved bananas and hated peas. Some parts are written in a slanted script that looks similar to his, a script that he now knows belonged to his father. In his comments, James marveled at Harry’s curiosity and strength, the fact that even as a baby, he seemed clever and talented already. He also seemed pleased at the similarities he shared with his tiny son; as annoying as Harry’d always found it, it fills him with pride knowing that his father would have loved hearing that Harry looked just like him, but with Lily’s eyes.
He stays in the vault at least an hour longer than he’d planned perusing the book. Then, he shrinks it and slips it inside his coat pocket alongside the pouch holding his mum’s — and, one day, Ginny’s — ring.
…
Truthfully, Ginny doubts her own ability to keep up with something like a baby memory journal. It’s a very nice idea in theory, and one she would love to commit to; still, she knows herself, and she knows she can only be counted on to inconsistently keep up with it for a few months before it ultimately gets shoved to the back of a drawer. Still, when Harry shows her the book, he sounds lighter and less burdened than he ever has while talking about his parents; his green eyes are bright with possibility and he looks so very hopeful. So Ginny agrees that they’ll get a book for Snitch, because if it’s that important to Harry — so important she can see it without him having to ask — she owes it to him to try.
They bring the book with them to the Burrow for Sunday lunch, mostly so Harry can show Ron and Hermione. “I can’t believe you only just found this,” Hermione breathes when Harry hands it to her. She opens to a random page and reads, her eyes growing misty. “Oh, you must do this for the baby,” she declares.
“Do what?” Molly asks nosily, having emerged from the kitchen to try to coerce someone into helping her with the meal. She almost always asks the women first, which both Ginny and Hermione find sexist. That sexism does have benefits as far as Ginny is concerned, however — now that she’s in her third trimester, it seems unlikely that her mother will ask her to do anything until the baby is at least a few months old.
“Harry found a journal of baby memories his mum and dad wrote down,” Ron blurts. “It’s bloody mad that you only found it this week, mate,” he adds for Harry’s benefit.
“I know,” Harry agrees, eyes wide. He turns to Molly: “D’you know where we buy one of these?” He asks her excitedly.
Molly doesn’t need to open the book to recognize it. “Ah, a baby book,” she nods affirmingly. “One of those things you only do for a first baby. By the time the second comes along, you’re too busy to write in one.” She says this dismissively, as though getting busy as you have more kids is a reason not to document their memories at all.
“They’re really popular with muggles,” Hermione pipes in. “They have all kinds — ones with places to tape pictures and prompts for lists and the like. My parents had one for me; I used to love looking at it and making my parents read me stories about Baby Hermione,” she chuckles wistfully.
“I’d definitely like one for Snitch,” Harry tells her with such enthusiasm Ginny can’t help but grin broadly. “And, er, I think it’s nice if there are ever more kids, too,” he adds pointedly. He’s excited about this for lots of reasons, but he can’t pretend none of them are morbid or dark. There are still people who want to see Harry Potter die, and many of them are people he runs an above average chance of encountering in his chosen profession. In the not unlikely even that something were to happen to him — or, Merlin forbid, both him and Ginny — he wants each of his children to know exactly who they were and who he was and how they were together. Starting with Snitch. Even if it took him 22 years to find this book, he’s sure it’s the best thing his parents left him.
“Already talking about more kids, hm?” Molly raises an eyebrow at her daughter. Ginny simply rolls her eyes and kicks Ron in the shin. It’s easier than beginning to touch that subject even to herself; she’s a bit preoccupied with the current baby taking residence in her body, after all. There’s also the matter of what Harry said back in January — that he hopes to marry her, and would ideally do it before they had more kids. She has no idea what sort of timeline Harry has in mind, but she’d ideally play for another four or five good seasons — and hopefully at least one go at the English team — before getting pregnant again, and that seems like plenty of time to get married if it’s going to happen. She doesn’t ever intend to get lazy with birth control again.
Ron grimaces, but ultimately gets Ginny’s message and takes one for the team. “Mum, do you need help setting the table?”
Molly smiles that pleased smile that tells Ron he’s been a good boy — one Hermione typically finds ridiculous even though she gives him a similar one often. “Thank you, Ronald dear,” she coos. “Hermione, why don’t you come, too, hm? I’d like to discuss your wedding plans.”
Hermione shoots Harry and Ginny an apologetic expression and hands Harry’s journal back over to him; she hates to follow, but she’d never dare say no to her soon-to-be mother-in-law. Ginny grimaces in solidarity with Hermione before settling back against Harry’s side body, laying her head lazily on his shoulder. He pulls her closer, his arm snaking around her waist and coming to rest on her stomach.
They’re talking to Bill and Fleur — Fleur commiserating on the miserable final stages of pregnancy with Ginny and Bill giving Harry unsolicited advice on fatherhood — when Percy arrives. It’s shocking, really, that for the first time in recent memory, Percy doesn’t arrive alone; just as at Christmas Eve, Audrey is in tow, nervously holding a bottle of wine that she clearly brought out of politeness.
“You remember Audrey,” Percy tells the group of them in lieu of a greeting. “My girlfriend.”
Fleur arches a pale, delicate eyebrow as Ginny voices the thought they’re all thinking. “Your girlfriend? That’s new, yes?”
Audrey blushes, and just like at Christmas, Harry is struck by just how much color she’s capable of producing despite being so beige. “Not so new,” she hedges. “But new since Christmas, yes.”
“Welcome,” Bill tells her seriously. “If you thought Christmas was mad, Sunday lunch is a step above — absolute chaos.” As if on cue, Victoire screeches from the other room, where she’s playing with Teddy. Bill gestures to Fleur that he’ll handle it, before affectionately commenting to Harry: “That’s you in a few years.”
Harry chuckles into his butterbeer. “I’m looking forward to it,” he calls, and he realizes he genuinely means it.
“You must be getting so excited,” Audrey chirps, seeing her opening to talk about the one thing she’s ostensibly an expert on: magical pregnancy. “You’re in the third trimester now, right?”
Ginny nods skeptically. Audrey is perfectly nice, but Ginny’s not sure she’ll ever warm up to the witch. She gets enough of the healer-thing from her actual healer, after all. She wishes her brother’s girlfriend would talk about something normal like quidditch. Or, given that she’s Percy’s girlfriend, something boring but innocuous that one can tune out, like the theory behind a levitation charm.
“Excited and scared all at once, right Gin?” Harry jokes lightly. He supposes that it’ll fall on him, again, to carry on this conversation, and that doesn’t come easily to him. He’s the introverted one in the relationship, after all.
Audrey nods with understanding. “Totally normal to feel that way,” she says in a soothing voice. Harry wonders if the voice is something one learns in healer training, because he’s never met a healer who wasn’t a pro at it. Or maybe, the people who have it as an innate skill are naturally drawn to healing. He doesn’t suppose he’ll ever know — no amount of practice could give him that particular gift. “I’ve never been pregnant myself, of course, but I’d say roughly two-thirds of my patients feel that way at the end.”
Ginny nods disinterestedly. She just really doesn’t want to talk about being pregnant, though all things considered, she doesn’t mind being pregnant as much as she thought she would.
“All anyone wants to talk about is the baby and the pregnancy,” Harry tells Audrey, not quite able to muster sounding apologetic about it. “I reckon a change of conversation would be welcome.”
Audrey looks embarrassed and almost physically affronted by the request. “Oh, of course,” she titters nervously. “I’m so sorry! With my job — I’m just really passionate about this, that’s all, and I tend to forget that most people actually don’t want to discuss the benefits of pain potions in labor,” she winces. The apology is honestly much more profuse than the situation calls for — it’s very American of her, Ginny thinks.
That is a topic Ginny actually is interested in, but Harry just went out of his way to change the topic of conversation, so she’s not about to give Audrey an invitation to babble on about the not-so-hypothetical act of Ginny giving birth on this occasion. “Do you work at St. Mungo’s?” Ginny asks politely instead.
“Sort of,” Audrey smiles more widely than the situation calls for, clearly pleased that Percy’s sister is participating in this conversation. “Part of my contract is doing research and treatment for the public benefit, so St. Mungo’s fits in there. The other part is that we have to fund that research and public benefit work—”
“The Ministry doesn’t have the resources to invest as much as we’d like,” Percy cuts in. “We’re still recovering financially from the war.”
Ginny would like to reach over and smack her brother for interrupting his girlfriend like that, but Audrey looks positively smitten instead of upset.
“Right, so the other part of my contract — about two-thirds of it —”
“Didn’t you say that about two-thirds of your patients feel both excited and scared?” Ginny can’t help but ask. “Is two-thirds your go-to statistic?”
“No, it just happens to be accurate in both instances,” Audrey recovers confidently; it registers with Ginny that as easily embarrassed as Percy’s new girlfriend is, she clearly feels assured in her knowledge. It buys Audrey some begrudging respect from the youngest Weasley. “Anyway, the other part of my contract is doing work with private patients, and for that I’m affiliated with Mayfair Centre for Magical Mothers and Children.”
“Oh!” Harry lights up with recognition. “That’s where Ginny’s going to deliver,” he tells Audrey. Ginny glares at him; he steered the conversation back to her pregnancy, quite without realizing he was doing it.
“Great choice,” Audrey smirks approvingly. “The maternity ward really is above and beyond what you find at St. Mungo’s — feels less like a hospital and more like a really nice hotel with state of the art care. Who’s your healer?”
“Harris,” Ginny mumbles.
“Oh, I adore Helena!” Ginny isn’t sure what’s more surprising: Audrey’s gushing tone or the fact that her brother’s girlfriend is on a first name basis with her healer. “She’s one of the smartest healers I’ve ever worked with, and she’s been great about helping me learn the ropes of wizarding Britain, too. She was the one who helped me figure out which Hogwarts house my Ilvermorny house corresponded to.”
“Which one?” Ginny can’t help but ask curiously.
“Well, I was a Horned Serpent, and when I got here, everyone assumed that was like Slytherin? Something about snakes, I don’t know. But then Helena — well, she was a Ravenclaw and apparently Horned Serpent at Ilvermorny is really closest to Ravenclaw at Hogwarts so,” Audrey giggles. “The more you know!”
“We were all in Gryffindor,” Harry comments lamely.
“Yes, Percy and I figured out that’s most like Wampus,” she informs them brightly. “It’s a little different, though. It’s not exact.”
Harry’s about to ask what she means by that, exactly, when George and Angelina arrive — late, as they often are — and lunch is served. Bill is correct: when Sunday lunch at the Burrow is in full swing, it’s absolute chaos. And Harry wouldn’t trade it for anything. With the baby book stored safely in Ginny’s bag, he feels grateful for both the family who gave him life and this one, the family that taught him that the only life worth living is one filled with love and chatter and bickering and laughter.