FicWad

"Are you alone, yet?" Ginny's soft whisper in his mind came after the rest of the house was quiet, after the bedtime lecture he'd received from Fred and George (Ron had been present, but was mostly silent) had finally wound down and they'd departed, leaving him alone but with the distinct impression that his door would be watched these next two nights. It would have been annoying and insulting if their fear and anxiety hadn't been so clear behind the big-brother bluster... fear for both of them, in fact, not just Ginny. As it was, it was still a touch annoying, but mostly it was amusing, and touching in a way, as well.

"Finally," he thought.

_"Then open the window and catch me, my brothers (silly, sweet, irritating, dolts) are watching the doors."_

"Why don't I just Apparate?" he asked. "I don't think they'd forget the windows."

"That's an idea," she agreed. "Can you find me?"

"I can find you anywhere."

He could feel her laughter like a sweet caress in his mind, and through her eyes caught a glimpse of polished floorboards and soft green curtains. "Then come to me, love. I'm in no mood to be without you tonight."

He concentrated, and then he was standing in her room. "I'm here."

She bounced across the room and embraced him. She wore a soft, white cotton gown worn thin by years of use, but full enough as to still provide disappointingly adequate coverage. With her red hair pulled back in a tight braid, she presented a rather disturbingly virginal and innocent image as she nuzzled against his chest, one little hand sliding under the pyjama top to rest against the bare skin of his waist. "Mmhmm. Good. Come to bed?"

Harry swallowed. "O-okay."

She looked up at him and smiled, then took his hand and led him to the bed and tugged him down beside her. "Stay with me tonight?" she whispered, and for the first time, he could see and feel some of his own nervousness reflected in her. "Not anything else, it can all wait, just... don't leave me alone? Please?"

"Anything you want," he said. "Anything."

She closed her eyes and leaned her head against his shoulder. "Just you. Holding me, loving me... that's all I've ever wanted. I needed to feel you beside me, whatever anyone might think."

"I don't care what they think," Harry said, slipping his arm around her. "They'll live."

She cuddled against him, her body moulded to his as if they'd been carved to fit perfectly. "Oh, I know. I'd avoid upsetting them, if I could, though. But I need you. They'll just have to understand that." She craned her head to peer up at him, nibbling her lip nervously. "If you don't mind, though, can we... wait? I didn't really want to, then I got to thinking about the magical benefits of being an actual virgin bride, and then I got to thinking about how likely I'd be to kill one of them if they came bursting in here and... you know. Interrupting. So... it's up to you, really."

"Anything you want, like I said. But...." He looked at her, puzzled. "What benefits?"

"It's nothing huge, really," Ginny said. "I'm not even totally sure it's true, but it could be. It basically amounts to a, um, a 'blessing' of sorts being placed on the union. And the way I see it, we could do with all the extra luck we can scrape up, right? Plus, when everything goes exactly right, and every word in the vow is the absolute truth, then the wedding oath itself is powerful, ancient magic. Part of my side of the vow is that I come to you 'pure in body'." She grinned at him. "Fortunately, it doesn't say anything about 'pure in soul' or we'd be flat out of luck!"

Harry snickered. "True."

She cupped his cheek, her fingers softly caressing. "But if you don't want to wait, we don't have to," she said. "If you can Apparate both of us, we could go somewhere we wouldn't be interrupted. I won't refuse you. I won't ever refuse you."

Harry shook his head. "No, I'm okay with it." He looked away, his cheeks flushing.

"What frightens you, love?" she asked softly, stroking the side of his face. "I won't pry, but you don't have to hide from me."

"I... I don't know what to do," he said.

She curled her fingers in his hair, using that grip to gently tip his head so she could look into his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"You know," he said.

She pulled him down and stretched up to brush a kiss across his lips. "Good," she whispered, and he could feel her honest pleasure at the thought.

He blinked, surprised. "What?"

Ginny's eyes were soft and loving as she smiled at him. "Good," she repeated. "That means that you'll learn with me. That everything we do will be something you want, not something someone once told you you should want. Your reactions will be to me alone, not based on what you think you should feel or like or want. What a wonderful gift!"

"It's yours," he said sincerely. "Anything you want."

She lay her head on his shoulder again, and hooked the soft green-checked coverlet with her foot, dragging it up until she could pull it up over their waists. "Then sleep with me tonight, love, and let me dream of you. And remember to refuse any well-meaning advice." She snuggled closer, sliding one knee up over his thighs. "Just tell them I'll teach you all I want you to know. And if you have some way to ensure we wake up first in the morning, that might be best."

He nodded. "I'll wake up."

"Mmm... I don't know how," she murmured, "when this feels so damned good. But if you do, wake me, and no one needs to know anything. Or if they find us, I don't really care all that much, either... just don't tell them how you did it." She smiled sleepily against his chest, her eyes already closed. "It'll drive them mad. G'night, my darling."

"Night, love."

*

The entrance to the Ordeal was, not too surprisingly, in the Ministry of Magic. The Ministry itself, Arthur had explained nervously, had been built to guard several ancient mysteries, and its present functions had all grown up around that over time. So, after a silent, worried breakfast with everyone except Ginny looking sick and mournful, there was no reason to delay. A pinch of Floo powder was all it took to bring them out in the Atrium, from one of the dozen or so huge fireplaces kept burning for just that purpose, and then Arthur's authorisation took them not up, but down to the strange ninth level, the Department of Mysteries.

The lift opened on a plain, dark corridor that ended in a single black door. Through the door was a circular room, lit with blue-flamed candles that cast a watery glow on the highly polished floor. As soon as Arthur closed the door behind them, the room spun dizzyingly, the door they came through quickly lost among 11 other identical doors.

Arthur reached out and put a hand on Ginny's shoulder, then gave Harry a little push on his lower back. "Go on, son," he said, hoarsely. "To the centre, state your intention. Quickly now, before they stop."

Harry stepped forward. "I seek an Ordeal."

The wall, which had been slowing, picked up speed at the words, spinning fast enough that the door were just a black blur. He could taste magic in the air, crackling and sharp, like salty lightning, and then the spinning stopped. Facing him, nestled in between the twelve normal doors (which were now crowded a bit on the wall) was a large stone archway. Black mist swirled inside, and there was no way to tell what lay beyond. Behind him, one of the other doors opened, and he was vaguely aware of the sound of angry voices demanding answers. It all seemed very far away and unimportant, though.

He stepped forward, ignoring the rising arguments behind him. His only hesitation was at the very edge of the portal, when he felt Ginny's sudden surge of fear, her realisation that she might not see him again once he stepped through that doorway. It was quickly suppressed, locked down tightly, but he still stopped for a moment, sending silent reassurance and love back to her. The pause only reminded him of why he was doing this, reaffirmed his decision, and strengthened his sense of purpose. He would be back. Nothing would stop him from returning to her, returning free and unfettered. He felt her silent agreement, the return of her confidence, and he took a deep breath then stepped into the swirling mist, barely hearing the loud shouts of protest behind him.

Black mist surrounded him, cold and clinging as he floated weightlessly through otherwise empty space. The darkness was completely silent, but he didn't notice at first, because the instant the mist closed around him, he was utterly and completely alone. Where Ginny had been held lovingly in his mind, he found only aching, terrifying emptiness. He could find no trace of her, not the tiniest connection; it was as if she no longer existed, or had never existed, and only the lonely blackness was real.

He'd thought he was prepared. He'd more than halfway expected the separation, but it hurt. The pain, combined with the instinctive fear made him forget the calm patience he'd intended to have, and instead he reached for her with everything he had, trying to bring her back, to find even the tiniest trace of her. For a long, terrifying moment, he could find nothing. Then the scar on his palm tingled, and he could, very faintly, smell the lavender scent of her hair. It wasn't much, but it was enough, a reminder of what he was doing and why. He settled down to wait, as calmly as possible.

He didn't have long. Images began to flash through his mind. His earliest memories were brought to the surface, and he relived them mercilessly. Days and weeks and years flickered by, pain and fear and neglect... and then they started over again, and he saw it all from his aunt's point of view. The jealousy was poisonous. She'd loved her sister, at first, then hated her for being different, for being better, but most of all for leaving her with parents who had never wanted her. Vernon hadn't been much, but at least he'd wanted her, wanted someone like her, plain and dependable and ordinary, and not someone like Lily. She hadn't been happy, but at least she'd been at peace, and then she'd had a baby to love, and it would have been so nice except Lily had to ruin everything and go get herself killed. And then history repeated itself. Lily's boy was prettier, smarter, special, just like she'd been. And she just knew he had that same gift that he didn't deserve to have along with the rest! And she should have hated the child, but he was such a sweet baby, when Dudley had been such a messy, snotty, blubbery thing. So she took care to not ignore her own child for the little monster, and let Vernon treat the boy however he wanted, and as he got older, it was easier to hate him because he never fought back so he must know he deserved it... and she did hate everything he stood for, and hated him for not showing human weakness and putting them all out of their misery. The little thread of guilt was always there, but the old wizard, the same old bastard who'd come and taken Lily away, had told her that living with them was all that would save the boy's life, so that made it all okay, then... no one could complain because they'd saved the brat's life, could they?

Rewind, and he saw it again, from Vernon Dursley's point of view. His feelings of betrayal when his plain, satisfactory wife turned out to be tainted with that filth. His disgust when she agreed to take her sister's monstrous brat in. His smug satisfaction at disciplining the little demon, and the fear that kept him from wringing its scrawny neck. That fear got stronger and stronger as even his slow, weak mind started to realise that one day, there might be a reckoning. Fear for himself, his home, his position, and his own son who he knew had no chance of defending himself. The frightened, hateful, perverted trip left Harry nauseated by the end of it. He'd known his uncle hated him. He'd known the man was stupid and prejudiced. He hadn't realised exactly how willfully vile the inside of his head really was, though. He had only a tiny moment to recover, however, before he was dragged back to live through it again, this time watching through Dudley's eyes.

Some surprises there. A tiny toddler saw his mother smiling at the other boy and tried to imitate him... then father came, a yelling, frightful figure, and made mother cry. Little Dudley learned again and again that Harry-like behaviour was abhorrent, punishable by humiliation and fear, so he avoided it at all costs, even when he couldn't understand why. His entire early childhood was a confusing blend of half-formed memories and associations, and at some point he just started eating to escape. His first memory of praise was his father complimenting his 'healthy appetite', his first memory of comfort a cookie from his mother's hand. By the time he was old enough to realise his shape opened him up to ridicule, it was too late, and he had no way to change. He became a bully almost in self-defence. He wasn't clever enough to find another way. Harry was an easy target, and he didn't fight back, and it won praise from his father. He felt guilty sometimes, but then he'd look at Harry and see exactly what in meant to not be praised by his father, and he wasn't strong enough to live with that. He couldn't just take it without crying. He couldn't survive for days without eating. He'd slit his wrists if his mother ever looked at him like she did Harry. It was a matter of survival, and there was no room for scruples. Things were the way they were. Period. Wishing wouldn't change them. Then, the letter came, and Harry got to leave and he didn't and he knew once and for all what being a weak, stupid, blob had cost him. He was terrified of his cousin after that... if he'd been given magic and could suddenly take revenge on people who'd treated him like that, he doubted very seriously he'd be honourable enough to let them live. Of course, that's probably part of why he wasn't picked, too. He didn't deserve to be, and he knew it, but if he'd just known... he'd probably still have been a weak blob of a boy. Damn it. But at least this way he was there and could protect his mother some. And he only had to follow Father's rules until he was out of Father's house, and then there was the Service, and he could make a real man of himself, and then he could take care of her and she wouldn't have to live with Father, and maybe if he tried really hard to become someone else, he could even find a young lady of his own someday, if he could just get through the next few years without doing anything irrevocable.

There was a dizzying flicker of viewpoints, too fast to follow, as people here and there watched him at the Dursleys', watched how he was treated, how he grew. He recognised the teacher he had in the first month of the first year of school, a sweet, soft-spoken woman who'd gathered him up in tender arms and hugged him until he cried and cried. Saw her angry confrontation with Vernon and Petunia, saw Dumbledore arrive and felt a cold, empty blankness replace fury in her mind just before the old wizard took her away. He saw old Mrs. Figg next door, watching unhappily but accepting reassurances that wizards wore watching over the boy, that he was in the best place despite appearances.

Person after person, starting with those who'd known him longest, showing the effects living with the Dursleys had had on him, then coming closer and closer to the present, skimming through his recent memories of things he'd done on his own, no one to protect or shelter him, and somehow, he developed the impression that whatever it was was looking for something, searching and sorting through his memories and those of others. It lingered over the past few days, letting him feel from their own viewpoints the concern and care those around him felt, letting him relieve the happy bits with the same reality with which it had forced him through the miserable ones, and then, suddenly, everything was still again. Then there was a flickering image: Vernon and Petunia Dursley, standing together, Dumbledore behind them. A quiet, whispering voice came from the darkness. "It has been found that you have reason for grievance against these, your guardians. For what do you ask?"

"Freedom," Harry said. "Freedom, so that I can do what's right."

"Freedom? Would you rather have vengeance?" And there was an image of them suffering and begging, screaming for mercy. "Or perhaps another chance, a new beginning?" And he saw a young couple looking down at a cradle with obvious joy. "Come now, consider before you decide."

"No," Harry said, reluctantly. "Vengeance... it's not something I can do, not really, and I won't leave Ginny, not ever."

"You are certain, then? Once you have decided, it cannot be undone. This choice comes only once."

"I'm certain," he said. "Freedom is what I need."

There was a sense of amusement. "Not everyone has the ability to sort need from want or the strength to choose wisely if they can. Very well then, young wizard. You will have what you need, with Our blessings. Be well." Then he was falling, cold mist sharp against his cheeks as it tore past him, and he stumbled as his feet touched down on stone.

He felt whole again, awareness of Ginny seeping back into the spaces that had been left empty, but at the same time, it didn't feel quite right. There was no consciousness in the reassuring presence, no greeting, no emotion other than a vague, numbed fear. He blinked, his eyes finally starting to work again, and looked around for her. His eyes slid past Dumbledore and Fudge, both of whom took a few steps towards him, their faces showing surprise, and Arthur, standing outraged between two Aurors he didn't recognise, and found her against the curved wall, unconscious on the floor, wrapped in her father's coat, and surrounded by four formidable guards of her own.

Harry took a step forward. "What happened to her?" he snapped.

The four Aurors surrounding Ginny raised their wands, and Fudge bustled forward. "She's fine," he said dismissively. "She became hysterical and we had to sedate her for her own safety. The spells won't hurt her. Now, young man, do you want to explain what this foolishness was all about?"

Harry gritted his teeth. "You stunned my fiance? My lawyer will be in touch, Minister. You had no right to interfere in my Ordeal."

"Your silly gesture wasn't interrupted, Potter," Fudge said, waving his hand irritably. "And if your little girlfriend hadn't tried to throw herself through a solid wall, we wouldn't have had to enchant her. That's unimportant. Frankly, you're lucky to be alive, and there's going to be a definite inquiry into how you found out about such a dangerous and archaic habit. Your guardianship was already being settled. We were finalising the paperwork when the alarms went off, in fact."

Harry ground his teeth. "Sucks to be Dumbledore, doesn't it?" he said. "Minister Fudge, as Lord Potter, I request a private meeting with you. Now. Release my fiance, get rid of this meddlesome old man, and let's go to your office."

"What?" Fudge blinked, confused, and Arthur shoved through the two Aurors blocking his way.

"I've been telling you, Cornelius. The Ordeal is the final decision. And his right. Anyone's right," he snapped, his mild face contorted with anger and worry. "By custom and law, none of us have the right to make any of the boy's decisions for him anymore. He's a legal adult. And if you don't call your goons off of my daughter I'll see that every newspaper in the country knows just how much the current administration respects our wizarding traditions!"

Harry smiled slowly. "And so will I, if I have to buy the Daily Prophet to do so."

"Now, there's no need for threats," Dumbledore interjected calmly. "Arthur, Ginny was going to hurt herself. Regrettable, but I don't see that there was any other choice." Fudge, for his part, had a calculating look on his face, and his expression was growing a bit more green every second.

Possibly, he would have offered some conciliatory statement. He even had his mouth open to do so. Then one of the Aurors said, "The doors are back, Sir. Do you still want us to take the girl to a cell?" And he nudged Ginny with the toe of his boot, causing her arm to fall from beneath Arthur's coat, revealing badly bruised fingers on her right hand.

Harry's eyes blazed. "Forget it," he said. "Find a new job. You won't be Minister in a week."

Fudge winced, then hastened to rectify as much as he could. "Now, let's all calm down. There were obviously some mistakes made here," he said, glaring up at the Aurors. "Of course Miss Weasley isn't to be held for anything. We'll get those spells off of her immediately, now that she's no longer in any danger of injuring herself. She tried to go through the wall, P-- Harry. Right through a brick wall, and pulled her wand on the men when they grabbed her. The poor thing was obviously not herself at the time, and I'm sure she wouldn't have wanted to be responsible for hurting anyone, yes? But..." He smiled, sickly and ingratiating. "Strong, isn't she? No one meant to hurt her, just disarm her and calm her down. Now that you're out, we can get a healer to her immediately, in fact... Thomas, see to it!" One of the Aurors nodded and headed for one of the identical black doors that ringed the room. "Now. Shall we all go to my office?" he asked. "I'd be greatly interested in knowing what drove you to such dangerous-- though, of course, completely legal, thank you, Arthur-- lengths, young man... Harry... ah, my Lord?" he finished anxiously.

Harry smiled coolly. "Yes, you would be. Why don't we go discuss things?"

Fudge relaxed visibly. "Of course, of course. Jamison, if you'd revive Miss Weasley? And, ah, return her and her father's wands, of course." The tall, black Auror nodded and knelt by Ginny with his own wand out.

Usually, a person is groggy and slow when waking from a sleep spell. So really, the Auror had no reason to expect her to wake up instantly, grab his wand out of his hand, and kick him hard just beneath the left knee, making it bend backwards with a sickening crunchy sound, then hop to her feet, snarling, and point his own wand at his throat. Really, such a thing was totally unprecedented.

Really.

Harry watched, a slight smirk on his face, ready to interfere if any of the others looked like they might attack her. Surprisingly, they all seemed to be smarter than that, and were watching calmly, their wands in hand but not aimed. Fudge, of course, was opening and closing his mouth with stupefied horror, and Dumbledore looked shocked. The stricken Auror rolled around on the floor, moaning, and two of his comrades carefully sheathed their wands and approached cautiously, hands raised, to kneel down beside him. "Easy, Miss," said one, soothingly. "Everything's going to be just fine. See now?" He jerked his head over his shoulder, towards Harry, then nodded with satisfaction as all of the wildness drained from her face and she dropped the wand.

She leapt over the groaning Auror with an inarticulate cry, and wrapped herself around Harry. Gut clenching terror and mindless, overwhelming relief poured into him, and as she clung to him, shaking, he realised that she hadn't expected the Chamber of the Ordeal to cut them off, hadn't been prepared for that sudden, permanent feeling emptiness, and hadn't been able to press through the pain to find any trace of him within her. She'd believed he was gone, and that they wouldn't allow her to go with him.

"It's okay," he murmured, pressing himself into her mind. "I'm here. I'm fine."

She'd fought. Hard. If they hadn't managed to disarm her through the sheer surprise of a physical attack, she would have killed them. If they hadn't cast the sleep charm at the same time, taking her wand wouldn't have done them any good... in another heartbeat, she would have remembered the need for a wand was just a habit. The fear and the panic were still there, barely held in check, but gradually it faded, and the wild violence faded with it, until at last the terrified shuddering eased. She still held to him tightly, he could still feel fear and pain, but she could think once more. She looked up at him, raising her hand to cup his cheek, tears still trickling down her face. "D-don't leave me alone again," she whispered.

"I won't," he promised. "Never alone, never again."

She tried to smile, shakily, and then the blood drained for her face and she whirled around. "Oh! Oh no, are you alright?" Clinging to Harry's hand, she drug him with her as she knelt by the Auror who's knee she'd broken. "Oh Merlin! You poor thing! I'm so sorry, you shouldn't have stood so close to wake me up... um, can we get a Healer down here?" She looked up at Harry pleadingly.

Harry nodded to the Minister. "That would be a very good idea. If he has to go to St. Mungo's, I'll pay all the expenses, of course." He paused, holding out his hand. "Did you realise we were heart-bonded?"

Fudge paled even further. "I... we didn't realise. And of course, no one's summoned the Chamber in living memory... she knew you were going in, though, Arthur said. Oh dear." He shook his head. "Well. Don't worry. We have a very good healing plan, here, and Jamison will be as good as new shortly. The rest of you can take him to the infirmary," he said, to the other Aurors. "I'll have no further need for you." They nodded, and one of them handed Arthur two wands on their way out. Two of them did glance back with thoughtful, rather suspicious looks on their faces, though. "Well!" Fudge said, with forced cheerfulness. "Let's all go up to my office, shall we? I'll have some tea and cakes brought."

Harry nodded. "Headmaster, I'll see you when I return to Hogwarts."

Dumbledore frowned at him, his creased face wrinkled in apparent hurt and confusion. "No one here wanted you or Ginny to be hurt, Harry. As Arthur said, it was your right, but... it wasn't really necessary, son. We all just wanted to protect you, myself included. It's a hard world, to try to stand in on one's own."

"That's my choice to make, Headmaster," Harry said, letting some of his anger show. He took a deep breath and visibly calmed himself. "I'll want to have a long talk with you, at some point, about my relatives. I'm really mad at you right now, and if I tried to talk to you right now, I'd just end up acting like a child and yelling at you. That's pointless. We need to be concentrating on Voldemort."

Dumbledore's eyes drifted to Ginny and her stranglehold on Harry's arm. He looked back at Harry and pointedly arched a brow. "Really?" he asked, and his tone was the same gentle, teasing voice he'd used for years to coax Harry out of his bad moods. "I thought perhaps you'd found happier things to concentrate on, if only for a while. You know why I felt it was the best place for you, Harry. And I know that you don't agree. I decided your view held some truth, which is why I was here today to ensure you wouldn't go back to them. It's beneath you to hold a grudge."

"I agree," Harry said honestly, feeling Ginny's surprise at his words. "That's why I don't want to talk about it yet. I want to wait until I can be rational about it. I can't yet."

The old man sighed, looking at him sadly. "Very well, Harry. But you still need someone to look out for your interests. Legal adult or not, there's still much you don't know about our world, you know."

Harry nodded. "I know. Sir, I'm not saying I won't forgive you. I'm saying I can't think about it yet. I need time."

"He's not alone, Albus," Arthur Weasley said irritably. "I believe I know my way around Wizarding Law, thank you, and I'm quite happy to help my soon-to-be son-in-law get his affairs in order. I'm sure you have things to arrange at the school, what with only having a few days to cobble some sort of married student housing together."

The tightening around the Headmaster's watery blue eyes only lasted for an instant, but Harry caught it. Then Dumbledore smiled tightly. "A few days, Arthur? Surely you and Molly will insist on a longer engagement than that?" His tone was mildly chiding.

"Of course not," Arthur said, sounding scandalised. "Didn't you hear Harry? They're heart-bonded. I won't have my Ginny made ill by unnecessary separation from him. Work something out, Albus, or we'll have to help them find a different school. Beauxbatons would likely be more accommodating to bonded couples, if you can't manage it."

Dumbledore, for another frozen instant, seemed to be at a loss, then he recovered and gave them an avuncular smile. "I see. Well, if a girl's parents don't object... however young she is... then I suppose it's not the schools place to do so, either. I'll speak with the head of their house, and see what can be arranged. There will be gossip, of course, but I'm sure none of that is important."

"No, it isn't," Ginny said, her voice practically dripping icicles.

"Besides, they won't gossip much," Harry said. "Not once they know what heart-bonding means."

"Of course, I'm sure you know your own mind," the Headmaster said, with apparent cheerfulness. "I'll just be going, then. I'll speak with you later, Cornelius."