Chapter Text
The weeks that followed the final defeat of Voldemort and his forces in the battle of Hogwarts saw Harry apparating up and down the length of the country in his new role as an Auror. On that score, Harry was of two minds. On the one hand, he had already put in a great deal of work, and richly deserved the full twenty-two hours' sleep in his old four-poster. No one would begrudge him more rest. On the other hand, upon awakening and devouring the Cornish pasty and buttered peas he'd found on his bedside table, he'd realized how much new work there was now before them.
He'd sought out Kingsley straightaway and was made an auror on the spot. Ron had to disentangle himself from Hermione first, but he did the same thing a few hours later. For the most part, he conducted interviews under Ministry-mandated use of veritaserum. Sorting out the same old problem from the last war—who was under the imperius curse and who had acted of their own volition. The answers had significant implications for any public trust in this new ministry for the future. They had Ron doing the same thing, albeit in the south and rarely intersecting with Harry's rounds.
In addition, the ranks of Hit wizards had taken an even heavier hit than the Auror corp, so now and then Minister Shacklebolt asked him to help with prisoner transport as well. Kingsley was aware of Harry's discomfort with being deployed in any more public roles, but Harry also trusted that Kingsley's administration was first and foremost a fair and transparent one. As he went about his duties, there was no hint that his function was that of figurehead, or that his role was to simply be present and show his tacit approval for how the Ministry of Magic was doing things. It was his great pride to conduct, as his first interview, Stan Shunpike's vindicating interview. He even consented to a brief interview by the Daily Prophet and a picture of him shaking Stan's hand in front of the Knight Bus for his first day back at work. The “Conductor Vindicated” story was framed and hanging on the wall of his office at Auror headquarters.
The many losses of the Voldemort years had shown everyone how important maintaining their bonds and friendships were. For Harry, that meant that no matter where they sent him, or who he had asked difficult questions that day, he was back at the Tonks house to play with turquoise-haired baby Teddy Lupin. Sometimes he was too late, and Teddy was asleep, but he still gave his grandmother Andromeda a hug. It was small, but he was committed to it. He was able to see a little of Tonk's face in hers now, rather than that of Bellatrix, which made him happy. Add to that a near-nightly visit at the Burrow and by the time he arrived home at Grimmauld Place, it was often quite late. But oddly, whatever fatigue he felt was never bad or bleak. It was the exhaustion of a day well-spent, not the dragging gloom of their year on the run. Even the memories of Fred Weasley's funeral, or that of Tonks and Lupin's, were touched less by grief and more by the hopes for the bright future they had died to create.
Ginny's hand slid into his on the day of Fred's funeral and stayed there for the rest of that awful day. A day which nevertheless had a bright, beautiful ellipsis at the end of it. They took a long walk down into Ottery St. Catchpole and along the river. Harry found himself explaining all of it to her: stealing food, some of the prettier places they'd camped, Horcruxes... The horrible loneliness; the whole grim year he had spent with Hermione and Ron. She had never expressed anger at being left behind, but Harry felt like he had to explain to Ginny that one of the few joys of that time for him were thoughts of her. “So the whole time, you were carrying around a little piece of... him, just like I was, my first year,” she touched his scar without hesitating and Harry didn't flinch in the slightest.
“I had no idea.”
“But you were still good. Even though... Wow.” And that was it, her hand still remained in his, her shoulder still bumped comfortably into his. Their walk continued and they looped around back towards the village.
“You watched a dot with my name on it on the Marauder's map?” she asked, outside Ottery St. Catchpole's village shop and post office.
“I did. It gave me hope,” he nodded, realizing how silly that sounded.
“Limited entertainment options in a tent, I suspect,” she said cheekily.
She went quiet before nearing the mouth of the lane leading to the Burrow. She stared off across the river to the fields beyond. Harry waited, respecting her silence. She turned, looped her arms behind his neck, and kissed him.
Of all the changes, perhaps those in Grimmauld Place were the most jarring. The atmosphere of the dark, vertical old house had taken on a very dorm-like feeling. Kreacher had consented to bricking up the portrait of Mrs. Black—so long as there was an elf-accessible door to go in and dust. Harry paid for the addition of clean, white wainscot throughout the house, which brightened things up considerably. Wizard and witch builders trooped in a few weeks ago to modernize the lighting and pull out all the old drapes and carpets. It was often like life back in Gryffindor tower now, except there were Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs hanging about, no prefects were making bed checks, and there was no girls or boys tower. In fact, male and female accommodations were often in the same bed. Before heading for Australia, Hermione's bed was Ron's bed, and even with her parents' memories restored, she slept here just as often as back at her childhood home in Oxford with them.
It was a Friday morning in Grimmauld Place's basement kitchen. Hermione had turned up the night before and stayed over. She and Ron sat casually close to one another, she was reading both the morning Prophet and a small but complicated book about wizard law that Harry had gotten for her from the Auror's library. A journal and self-inking quill were at her elbow.
Harry and Ron were exchanging news from their respective Auror rounds. Harry's assignment up north was the usual business, asking people uncomfortable questions while under guard. The odd part of the day happened at a wizarding pub in Grimsby. To draw less of a crowd, Harry had taken to wearing hats while working, but two women at the pub had recognized him despite the tweed flat cap he had that night. They had been eerily composed in their offer, and Harry politely declined a not-uninteresting invitation to “come 'round to theirs” so that they could “combine their skills” to give him a thorough celebratory shag. That Harry received such offers from complete strangers was something he found unnerving. He didn't even need his wand in hand now, since it was so common for him to utter a quick stinging curse to prevent being groped in pubs by drunk and handsy witches.
“Wish they were lining up to offer me threese... what do muggles call 'em?” Ron said but in a tone of amusement. His old tendency towards jealousy was completely gone nowadays.
“Threesome, Ron,” Hermione said, clearing her throat gently. “And you have very little to complain about,” she finished primly, blushing a little.
“I enjoyed my threesomes. But Hermione is right, last night you sounded very happy to me, Ronald,” Luna said distantly, from behind a copy of Magizoologist Journal. Harry looked along the table to her. She sat serenely at the other end of the table in her chunky plaid pajamas and diaphanous periwinkle dressing gown, sipping pumpkin juice. She had arrived on Wednesday with a “friend” who had yet to come down and who Harry would just as soon never meet. Luna had recovered from her long interment in the Malfoy's basement with her usual dotty matter-of-factness. She had decided afterward that the “special magic” of sex was an undiscovered realm that warranted a full examination, and that she was just the girl to examine it. She had successfully wooed several school friends, a confused muggle hiker, and a Finnish wizard called Aarne who had been personally affronted by the troll foot umbrella stand.
Ron's ears turned vermillion and he excused himself from breakfast. Hermione's face told a tale of sudden embarrassment, pride, resignation to the enigma that was Luna, and then a fondness for Luna's complete lack of affect. She turned a page in the book and went back to her coffee as if nothing weird had just happened. Hermione marked her place in the book Harry had given her and made a note in the journal at her elbow. “Harry, did you know that a pureblood is free to cast whatever minor hex or jinx they like against a muggle?”
“I am,” Harry said.
“Furthermore, did you know that on some of the laws, it is possible to make the argument that a muggle-born is actually a muggle?” She laid a finger gently on the cover of the book she'd been reading. “Depending on who you're tried by, a clever pureblood could get off completely by arguing that they are avoiding being burnt at the stake.”
“Well that's hardly fair, but it would explain why prosecutions always favor certain families.”
“Exactly, it's patently unjust,” Hermione said with feeling. She flipped to a different section in her journal, which Harry noticed had a buff brown cover, little color-coded tabs, and in delicate silver writing on the corner was written The Granger.
“Are you calling yourself, 'the Granger' now?” he asked, amusedly.
“Oh,” she said, smiling, “It has instant referencing charms on each section so I can keep all the notes on one subject together without having to turn the page. It was a gift from Ron.”
Harry thought that was just about the perfect gift for Hermione, but wondered at Ron putting “the Granger” on it. Surely he wouldn't give her what amounted to a title when they were a couple. Ron came down the stairs dressed and hair damp.
“I'm headed in to help George at the shop this morning. I'll worry about my report on the thing in Cornwall later,” he gave Hermione a lingering kiss, a careless wave to Harry, an uncomfortable glance at Luna, and departed for the Leaky Cauldron via the fireplace.
Harry reminded himself to discuss with Kreacher the possibility of including permanent silencing charms in the hallways. Luna was right, and Harry had been discomforted last night to learn that Hermione was effusive and specific with her encouragement of Ron. In addition to discussing soundproofing, there was the question of what to do with the two elves who had arrived at their door insisting that they were now the property of “the most ancient and noble house of Black.” Their previous masters had perished at the Battle of Hogwarts and they seemed sure that Harry, as Sirius' inheritor, was now their master. Harry did not want to ask on which side their families had fought but had a good guess.
“The small, one, Nixxie is an able gardener, Master Harry,” Kreacher intoned in his deep and heavy voice as he cleared the table after breakfast.
“There's that little garden and greenhouse in the back, maybe give him that?”
“Does master have any particular horticultural tastes?”
Harry recalled the significant amount of garden work forced on him by the Dursleys. “Nothing formal, I had my fill of tidy borders with the Dursleys. Poppies, rosemary, lupins, lots of lupins actually. The less order the better.”
“I will tell him.”
“What about the other one?”
“She is,” Kreacher looked uncomfortable, “Kreacher thinks she would be ill-suited to a... House as—progressive as Grimmauld Place.”
“If she's not happy with how you run my house I could offer her clothes and we'd be shot of her.”
Kreacher's look of discomfort increased. “That is perhaps too extreme if Master were to suggest a punishment...”
“No punishments,” Harry said firmly.
“Of course not, Master. But the threat of one would be more in line with her custom,” Kreacher said slyly.
“No, no threats, either. But good thinking.”
“As master wishes,” Kreacher said.
“Send her to Hogwarts, I guess. Plenty of work there, especially with repairs.”
“Very well, master.”
“And speaking of Hogwarts, Kreacher. I could not be prouder of your conduct during the battle,” Harry said, feeling silly and overly formal but knowing full well that was the best way to address the wizened old elf. “You honored Regulus' memory by finishing his good work, and you brought honor to this house. Well done.” Kreacher was obviously caught out by this declaration, his oversize eyes welling up with tears. “Let's not speak about it again, thank you, Kreacher,” Harry said, as Kreacher stood unsteadily and wept tears of joy.
Harry dressed for his afternoon out with Ginny in khaki trousers and a linen shirt. After getting ready and coming downstairs he found her in the kitchen having a giggly talk with Luna, who was still in her pajamas. Outside it was one of the rare, warm summer days that England treasured above all others. All the chosen one stuff was confirmed, and now he was the savior of all of the magical world. Surprisingly, there were no reporters waiting on the street, no photographers half-heartedly hiding in the private garden across the street. Harry wasn't sure what to make of this muted and respectful thankfulness.
“Did you order this weather for our date?” Harry asked Ginny, who giggled and smoothed down the front of her sundress.
“No,” she said firmly, “but I'll say I did for a kiss.”
Harry obliged and she flushed, smiled, and took his hand. They strolled down the sunny streets together. Harry's plan had been to go for a walk. Simple, and since it was in the muggle world, unlikely to be disturbed by any of the fawning wizarding public. He didn't know the neighborhood around his home all that well, so when Ginny asked what was in one direction, he honestly could say that he had no idea.
“None?” she asked.
“Nope, let's go find out,” Harry said and steered her left down a street flanked by well-heeled clothing shops, wine bars, and antique stores. It became one of the best days Harry could remember. The street eventually led to a large park, where they strolled across rolling lawns and running trails dappled in sunlight. They had lunch on the patio of an excellent Vietnamese restaurant facing the park and after a walk through a garden, got tart lemon ices from a wizened Nigerian lady with a cart. Ginny insisted on buying him a hat for work.
“Something less old-fashioned than one of those tweed ones. For blending in with muggles from this century,” she said, placing the simple grey ballcap on his head experimentally.
“Are you sure you can afford it?” Harry asked carefully.
“I think my funds can manage. And if not I can just offer Witch Weekly an exclusive about this date,” she said playfully.
“I went for spicy noodles with the chosen one, doesn't sound very interesting.”
“Oh, you'd be surprised how interesting it's about to get,” she said, looking around the store carefully. She checked that they were screened by displays of jackets and backpacks before hooking a single finger and drawing the skirt of her dress up to her hip. Harry's eyes widened and he saw nothing but skin—up past her thigh and all the way to her waist. She smiled at him wickedly, raising her eyebrows, “all day, with nothing on under this dress. All those places we went... Like this.” She had been daringly nude the entire day. She took his hand, currently frozen in shock, guiding it between her legs and looking casually around the shop.
Harry's throat had gone very dry. He guessed that explained a couple of times she'd nervously grasped its hem when there'd been a breeze. Smirking, Ginny let the dress fall and put her lips close to his ear. “Going to do something about it?” She briefly sucked on his earlobe, “please, do something about it.” she growled.
“So this is how it feels to be the envy of the entire world,” Ginny said, cheeks still flushed, her naked body nestled against Harry's. The gingham sundress she had selected for their date had been flung vaguely towards Harry's en suite bathroom. He was honestly impressed that he hadn't torn it from her in the time it took them to get from the shop to his front door.
“Not quite the entire world, surely?” Harry chuckled, his face nestled into her shoulder, Ginny's blush-colored nipple near enough to his lips that he could draw the little bundle of waiting nerves back into his mouth with only a slight tilting of his head.
“Okay then, nearly all the witches... and probably some of the wizards,” she smiled, one of her hands straying to Harry's cock, still slick from their frenzied lovemaking. “Mine,” she said, grasping it gently.
“I couldn't envy anyone for anything right now,” Harry said, tracing his hand across her belly and down into the copper-auburn curls of hair above her pussy. “Everything's perfect,” he said, his fingers straying lower to pet the lips of her heated entrance with three flattened fingers.
Ginny purred, stroking his cock back into rigid life with little effort and capturing his lower lip between hers and sucking gently. She rolled astride him, lean and beautiful; all red hair, pale skin, and freckles. “Fuuuuck,” she said, sliding her tingling pussy down onto Harry's already well-exercised dick. She settled a moment onto him and rocked her hips left to right, then backwards and forwards. She locked her brown eyes with Harry's green ones and smirked like a conqueror. She continued her left to right rocking. Already? She thought, disbelieving, as the waves started almost immediately—biting her lower lip and gasping. Then a loosening, superheated sparkling sensation radiated from somewhere folded up deep inside herself—unspooling slowly and insistently. She placed a steadying hand on his stomach and as the sparks faded away she saw him looking back at her in wonder.
“Oooh,” she said with a laugh, the flush renewed on her neck and cheeks, a slight sheen of sweat now glistening between her small, freckled breasts. “You know, Luna is right. Sex is a sort of magic.”
“I know you are, magic that is,” Harry said, unafraid of sappiness with her. He sat up, cupping her right breast reverently and sucking hard on her nipple, making her gasp. He then flipped her gently onto her back, still inside her, and began long slow thrusts. Their third time proved the best so far.
Before her return to the Burrow, she beckoned Harry into the shower. “Mum said 'no overnights' but that was all she said other than telling you hello and trying to make me bring you a jar of homemade jam. I hope you don't mind that I didn't bring you jam,” she said sarcastically, she turned and looked fetchingly at him over her shoulder. He took in her toned legs, small but lusciously round arse, and found that he could not speak, he could only open his mouth.
“Good answer. I didn't think so. And it is that skill with words that makes you the odds-on favorite for the next World Cup announcer,” she said cheekily, then cupped her hands under her bum, and gave each cheek a small jiggle. Harry hurried to join her in the shower.
He had spent one of his first free weekends using a charm the wizard builders had sold to him to change every other black tile in his Grimmauld Place bathroom to a nice bright white. He'd then decided he didn't like the chessboard effect, so next weekend he turned most of the remaining black tiles white, but at every twelfth tile he made a little flower design by surrounding a black tile with petals of proper Gryffindor crimson. The effect was a bathroom that filled him with hope and bright energy. This was a substantial improvement over the mortuary theme of the Black family's bathrooms.
They stood naked beneath the steaming water, still exploring one another and giggling. She soaped up her chest, but turned and left the scrubbing to Harry, and he only took a few liberties with his job. Ginny took more than a few liberties with hers upon lathering him up. “I love your cock,” she said, reverently washing his penis. Harry knew this since she'd said so repeatedly over the last few hours as he plunged it into her, and once when she'd taken it out of her mouth to survey it greedily. He'd found it just as easy to praise her freely. But a thought occurred to him.
“Ginny, I know you said not to worry about it, and that you had it all sorted. But we just had lots of sex. So how do you, that is, how do witches prevent pregnancy?”
“If you're my mum you declare to your daughter that the secret family contraception potion is perfectly adequate.”
“And have seven kids,” Harry said. Ginny suddenly went a little quiet, ceased her washing, and gave him a solemn hug.
“Seven,” she said shakily, thinking of Fred and a place at the table that would remain empty forever—not seven anymore, only six. But the moment didn't hurt as much as either of them expected. Having someone else there who understood a little helped and they broke the hug. Ginny turned Harry to wash his back, their shower a little less playful now. “So I didn't use the secret family concoction. I bought some Mrs. Skower's Preventative at the apothecary. What was it said on the label? 'Guaranteed prevention for four months and eleven seconds or I'll come to babysit' it said on the bottle.”
Harry laughed at the bizarre honesty of advertisements in the magical world. Perhaps the one thing he was least likely to get used to about life in the magic world if he was being honest.
“According to Slughorn, Skowers makes good potions, and she's never had to babysit for anyone.”
“Slughorn talked with you about birth control potions?” Harry said, having a hard time aligning the portly potions master with any discussion of something so intimate.
“Last year got weird,” Ginny said matter-of-factly. “First term was bad enough that Sluggy started secretly handing out euphoria potions to some of us that were having a particularly bad time. I considered taking one a time or two.”
“I wonder if Hermione knows about Mrs. Skowers,” Harry mused, remembering their breakfast conversation the other morning.
“Are you kidding? She's probably used it and worked out how to make it work better or taste like mint ice cream instead of railway seat cover.”
After some extra time in the shower, Harry and Ginny realized there was no further washing or rinsing left to do, and Harry turned off the taps while Ginny got their towels. “There, your dangly bits are clean, my perky bits are clean, and I should probably get home before dinner.”
“I could feed you before you go,” Harry offered.
“You did feed me,” she said, looking significantly at Harry and quirking a fiery eyebrow downwards. "I'm full." Harry didn't think that she could still make him blush after their afternoon's lovemaking—or make him hard with nothing but a quirked eyebrow. He was wrong on both counts.
“It's a letter from McGonagall,” Harry said, currently ignoring the packet of papers that came with the letter and the morning post. The large Hogwarts owl tapped her beak on the table and Ron slid the plate with the bacon to her.
“What does Headmistress McGonagall want?” Hermione said.
“She's reviewing Defense professor candidates, she wants me to sit on the board of review. 'Representing the student body' she says.”
“Harry, that's an enormous honor. Usually, it's just the headmistress that hires staff.”
“She says here that considering the change in the times and the... troubles... with selecting a Defense professor in the past, the school governors (and me I guess) will be in on it. Two final candidates to review. I'm to go up and sit in on the interviews next week. Odd to be included on a committee.”
“I expect you could turn up at the East Grinstead Kneazle Fanciers' Association and ask for a seat on the board and they'd welcome you with open arms,” Hermione said, sipping her coffee.
“Probably try and set you up with their granddaughters, as well,” Ron said.
“Pretty sure I'm spoken for,” Harry said, a fond memory of Ginny and yesterday afternoon passing through his mind, of her tongue, curling out, open mouth slowly dipping. The head of his penis disappearing... He shook his head, clearing the memory, and glancing guiltily around his table. He ripped into the parcel, finding two applications from two candidates and a green book.
“Out of school and she's still assigning you reading,” Ron said, picking up the book. “Magical Law Enforcement: Great Lakes 1975-1990 by Coleman Green,” Ron read.
“One of the applications is for a Coleman Green. Hogwarts, Ilvermorny, Auror, Kalamazoo Auror training school, Ilvermorny again, Auror again,” Harry read off highlights that jumped out at him from the application.
“An American at Hogwarts?” Hermione said, surprised.
Harry flipped pages in the application, “Canadian.”
“Oh but Harry, does she know you're not coming back for seventh year?”
“Right, you can't represent students if you're not coming back as a student,” Ron said.
“She must know, I spoke with her right after Kingsley made me an Auror. We actually joked a little about not having to worry about NEWT potions. She said, 'I think you are very well-prepared, Harry.'” He said, with a note of pride. On review, it was among his proudest memories.
Harry grabbed a quill and scrap of parchment. “I'll just send her a reply and make sure she realizes I'm not coming back. If nothing else the fact that I would have been a student if not for the whole undesirable number one business...” he handed his reply to the school owl and then took the green book back from Ron.
“I don't think she'd have sent you all this if that wasn't her plan in the first place,” Hermione said.
“No, I guess not. Now let's see what this is like.”
The book turned out to be fantastic, and nothing like a transfiguration assignment at all. Harry ignored the applications for the rest of the day to read in the garden as Nixxie puttered around nearby, planting and weeding. Green wrote short, concise chapters about various events in his law-enforcement career. Most chapters were just seven to ten pages, a couple were perhaps fifteen. There wasn't a hint anywhere that Harry could see of self-aggrandizement in the stories, as there was with Lockhart's books. In fact, Green described his failures with just as much honesty and dry humor as he did his successes. Each chapter ended with a spell or potion that proved instrumental or pertained in some way to the case. Harry recognized a few of these, polyjuice and incendio were in here. Some, like the spell in chapter 14, were completely new to him and fantastically useful.
“Green has a spell in here to increase gravity,” Harry said, seeking out Hermione in the library.
“What?!” Hermione said, standing from the couch and rushing to the open book in Harry's hands. “Not increase weight, but actual gravity?”
“And this one freezes the uh... endolymph.”
“That's the fluid in the inner ear! Oh, that one would be nasty! They wouldn't be able to stand or aim.”
“And they usually vomit,” Harry said, placing a finger on the line describing effects.
“So simple too,” Hermione said, watching the small line drawing move to demonstrate the wand movement. Harry had to read carefully for context before realizing what the spell was freezing. He wasn't surprised in the slightest that she knew off the top of her head what endolymph was.
“Oh that's awful,” Hermione said, catching sight of part of the chapter Harry was on.
“Yeah, I didn't realize imperius could be used for...” Harry got uncharacteristically shy for a moment and as usual, Hermione disregarded it.
“Used for rape? Common, I should think. How did they catch him?” Hermione said, plucking the book from him and Harry lost Green's book to her for the rest of the day. How Green eventually caught the wizard that was using the imperius curse to command muggle girls out of their homes was actually one of Green's failures. Muggle girls in Detroit losing track of their memories for an evening and occasionally getting pregnant wasn't something Magical law enforcement knew about. In fact, Green was sure they wouldn't have cared even if they had known. It was only when apparently immaculately conceived babies started showing magical ability that Green got curious and started investigating. The entire chapter was, if anything, more about how the magical world disregarded Muggles and it was to everyone's detriment than it was about a long-overdue investigation into at least thirty instances of rape.
She stayed firmly buried in the book all through dinner, barely acknowledging Ron's return and halfhearted assault on her neck.
“I didn't realize they still had execution in America,” Hermione said, without preamble, having spent the evening reading, she closed the book with a snap.
“For him, I expect they were eager to make an exception.”
It was clear from her manner that Hermione wasn't sure if she agreed or not as they sat in the silence of the library. “He's a phenomenal candidate. What about the other?” she eventually asked.
“Eugenie Caracaraticus Paul Tofty.”
“Professor Tofty? That examiner we had for OWL's? I liked him, but isn't he a bit...” Ron said.
“Ancient, yeah. But this is his daughter or granddaughter, as near as I can tell. Maybe daughter,” Harry said, paging through the application and finding himself flummoxed by the name. “She's tutored here and there. Editor at Dark Force Defense League's newsletter at the moment. Her references look good, people like her as a teacher, but it all seems a little tame. No indication she did anything other than hide during the wars. Dumbledore never considered her during the years Defense was a cursed post.”
“Can't fault her for being sensible. Understandable to avoid the job if you knew the defense against dark arts job was cursed. Not everyone wants to run directly towards trouble.”
“Maybe don't give too much weight to who Dumbledore didn't consider, yeah?” Ron suggested. They exchanged a look and all started to laugh.
Harry didn't debate very much the how of getting to Hogwarts for interviews. Any excuse to avoid apparition was fine with him. Most work days he had to apparate at least twice, but the arrival at King's Cross and passage via Hogwart's Express seemed almost perfect. Wreathed in steam on an empty platform 9¾ Harry found the bright red train as if an old friend. He confirmed that the benches looked like those strange ghostly benches of the King's Cross station where he'd said his final goodbyes to Dumbledore. Not one of them had that strange twisted vestige of Tom Riddle under them though; just Droobles wrappers and ticket stubs.
For his trip north, he packed a small backpack. Remembering the endless usefulness of Hermione's beaded bag, his bag also carried an undetectable extension charm. His first attempt at the unreasonably difficult charm resulted in an expensive messenger bag turning itself inside out and catching fire. His next attempt (with a slightly cheaper bag) resulted in a bag that vomited out a combination of tapioca pudding, 20 pence pieces, and an occasional pigeon. “Let it go long enough and you'll have the price of a coffee,” Luna said, composedly collecting coins and vanishing the pudding for him. Harry eventually worked it out, and the gray Craghoppers daypack now possessed almost endless depths. Inside it was a spare wand (the one he'd wrestled from Draco), a collection of basic potions, and some paperwork for the office. Most particularly though, in the bag was Harry's new broom.
Well, not his, strictly speaking, but near enough. The Victory Special that the owner of Quality Quidditch Supplies had pressed into Harry's hands earlier in the week was difficult to decline. “It's a collaboration between the original Silver Arrow designer and the firm that makes Firebolts. The handle is a composite of hickory for strength and oak for a little flex. It's just as fast as a Firebolt, but they made it a little heavy to make for snappier handling, a little more stability.”
“And they're not selling them?” Harry asked, rolling the beautiful broom back and forth in his hands.
“Not yet, Mr. Potter, though I'm sure that's coming. They're sending out test copies for feedback and the like. It's common practice with a new broom.”
“To send me free samples?” Harry asked wryly.
“They sent me two, I'm giving one to you, and one to Josef Wronski.”
“Sir, I'm hardly the man to... Wait, sorry, Wronski?”
“He's the conditioning coach for the Polish national team. He was their seeker once upon a time.”
“No, I know who he is, he's maybe the greatest Seeker alive. It's just that sir, I'm hardly in the same...”
“I saw you play at Hogwarts, I know fliers,” he cut across Harry politely, “you're absolutely the man. Take it, keep notes if you notice anything you'd change. Let 'em know what you think. Have that Weasley girl from the Gryffindor house team give it a try. She's a fine flier, too.”
“I will. Wait, how do you know Ginny?”
“Oh, I do a little scouting work now and then for the Wasps. She caught my eye a few years back, same as you did.” He stood from the chair in Harry's sitting room. “Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Potter,” I'll leave it with you.” He left Harry standing at the door of Grimmauld Place holding a prototype racing broom. It was humming slightly in his hand.
“No room to fly it in London, that's begging for trouble,” Harry told Ron.
“Take it with you to Hogwarts for the interview? Can't be sitting around all day, I'm sure there would be time for some flying.”
“That's the best option I can think of. Then give it to Ginny when I come back.”
Ron made a grumbling sound at him but was still smiling.
“Or I could give it to my friend Ron so that he can fly it,” Harry said with a chuckle.
“Hoped you'd get there,” Ron said, watching the broom disappear into Harry's daypack.
Now Harry sat in the very same carriage on the Hogwarts Express where he'd first met Lupin. All the old ghosts were still in his memory, but he was on friendly terms with them now. He dug out paperwork and a self-inking quill and started to settle in for a lazy trip to Hogsmeade reading up on reports from fellow Aurors. A flash of red at the door into the compartment just as the train whistle sounded and the express lurched, brought his attention away from Dementor eradication operations in Orkney. Ginny sidled in through the open compartment door, slid the door shut with a smirk, and then sat primly across from him on the opposite bench.
“Well Mr. Potter, what a surprise.”
“Miss Weasley,” Harry said, after a surprised pause, then matched her playful tone. “Good morning.”
“Train rides can be so boring when you're all alone, wouldn't you agree?” Ginny said, slipping off her battered corduroy jacket to reveal a silk blouse underneath. “What a fortunate thing to find you here.”
“Extremely fortunate. Whatever shall we do to pass the time?” Harry said, dumping some of the paperwork back into his bag.
Ginny sat back with a smirk, and smoothed the front of her blouse, bringing his attention to where her nipples stood out beneath the electric blue fabric. “What is it I hear all these girls offer to the great Harry Potter?”
“Oh, um. Various delights.”
Ginny's act dropped slightly as she suppressed a laugh and glanced briefly to the corridor. “'Delights?' Like sucking your cock during a train ride?” She said, and stood, looking down at him.
“That's not, no. That's a new one. That wasn't among them,” Harry said, instantly hard and flustered.
“Would you like a blowjob, Mr. Potter?” She took a step forward, the scent of roses and her arousal swirling around the compartment.
Harry nodded.
“I'd love to suck your cock dry, but I want to hear it.” She said, voice low and commanding. "Say it."
Harry licked his lips but overcame the momentary prudishness. “Suck my cock, Miss Weasley.”
Ginny tilted her head and smiled, a flush spreading across her cheeks. “No 'please,' Mr. Potter? Such presumption,” she said in mock indignation, sinking to her knees. She slid her hands up his thighs, one stroking him through his trousers, the other undoing the button of the jeans he still wasn't sure would be appropriate for his appointment today. “Already so hard,” she said, sneaking her hand into his trousers and freeing his cock from the constraints of his shorts. “Great indeed,” she said, pulling down the foreskin to reveal all of his proud length. “Would you mind getting the windows, Mr. Potter? I'm busy,” she said, before lowering her moistened lips over the smooth tip of his penis. Harry fumbled for his wand as the aching of his cock was replaced with the heat of Ginny's mouth and swirling tongue. He stabbed his wand at the windows between the compartment and the corridor and they darkened and turned opaque. Another wave and a firm thought of “Colloportus” at the door locked it fast. Ginny's tongue was making slow circles around the head of his penis and she looked up at him, managing an innocent look despite the fact that his penis was steadily growing slicker as she licked away at him.
“Leave them,” she said when he turned his wand to point towards the windows and the passing outskirts of London rolling by. She then slowly slid her mouth downwards, completely enveloping the whole of Harry's cock, until her nose was nestled in the dark hair above Harry's penis. He was able to feel her tongue peek out and lick the loose skin of his...
“Ginny!” Harry gasped, his wand forgotten in his hand and the image of Ginny on her knees devouring his cock commanding absolutely all his attention. She applied wet suction and slurped her way back to the head of his cock. She removed it from her mouth with a pop and a gasp before gently nibbling the side, covering her teeth with her lips.
“Do you like that, Mr. Potter?” She said, cupping his testicles with one hand and pumping his shaft gently.
“You know I do,” Harry said, dimly wondering how long this game of Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley could continue. Out the window, the view had gone completely green with rolling fields and patches of forest, but neither of them was aware of it except that the quality of light was different. She resumed daintily licking the head, keeping her eyes locked on Harry's. He correctly interpreted a look as discomfort, when she rolled sideways to sit. With an amount of focus that he was distantly aware was impressive, he twirled his wand and conjured a thick crimson pillow.
“Oooh, so kind,” Ginny cooed in a giggly tone that was completely unlike her and shifted to sit on it. She took a preparatory breath, his slick cock in her hand, and slid her mouth down to take in his complete length again. Harry moaned, sat back, and watched his girlfriend slurp, suck, and slather away at his penis. She was deliberately drawing this out; his breathing got ragged when she spent a full minute plunging her mouth down onto his full length. She slowed, stopped, dropped lower, and sucked one of his testicles into her mouth, leaving his slick shaft quivering above. Harry whimpered and she giggled.
“Your time will come,” she said, with her mouth full. She gave each of his testicles full attention, kissing, licking, and rolling each around in her lips before returning to rapidly slurp the head of his cock. Harry floated along on waves of ecstasy, not realizing his orgasm had arrived until it was too late to warn her. She was swirling her tongue just at the tip of his cock when it did.
“Ooooh,” she exclaimed in surprise as the thick white fluid erupted over her lips and quickly slipped her mouth fully onto Harry's twitching, erupting penis to catch the rest of his seed, her eyes watering and her throat accepting. As his orgasmic spasms stilled she continued gently licking and sucking—apparently enjoying the feeling of his cock going limp in her mouth due to her efforts. Harry could only gasp and laugh.
“I suppose that was for saving all of wizardkind, Miss Weasley?”
“No Harry, it was because I love you,” she answered, swallowing the last of his semen and tucking an errant strand of red hair behind her ear. Her manner showed that their little game of pretending to be strangers meeting by accident was over. “It was fun though,” she said, accepting his hand pulling her up onto the seat for a kiss.
“Was this your plan?” He asked. When he tried to put his limp cock back into his trousers she batted away his hand and reached for him, simply resting her hand on his penis.
“I told Mum I'd keep you company for the train ride up and then floo back from the Hog's Head. I wanted to go up and see Aberforth anyway.”
“Molly knows?” he said, feeling an increased need to cover himself despite the empty carriage.
“As far as she knows we're swapping chocolate frog cards and snogging a bit,” she said. He laughed and then gave her a lingering kiss. She stole her tongue into his mouth and melted into him.
“There, see? Kissing,” Harry said, coasting his palms over the raised points of her nipples beneath her blouse causing her to rise to her knees and growl. She reached down and raised her blouse so that her pert nipples and lightly freckled breasts were exposed to him. Harry kissed one, then sucked the other, reaching into the waistband of her knickers for her cool, slick folds. Finding her so wet he almost jumped at the contact, it was Ginny who jumped as if shocked when Harry's finger slid between her lips.
“Gently!” She gasped.
“Sorry. Are you okay?”
“Yes, I'm okay. But the night before last I got quite the workout and my little girl parts are still a little tender from the pounding,” she said with a dramatic pout and a laugh. “So be gentle.”
“A workout?” Harry asked, playing gently with the tender flesh of her pussy. Sliding his finger forward and backward between her lips until he arrived at the hardened and hooded kernel above her slick entrance. Drawing lazy circles around it once he had found it. “I'll bet he loves you very much, that fellow that gave you the workout.”
“Does he?” she asked, her breath coming in short gasps.
“Yes, I do love you,” he answered, meeting her eyes and smiling as he played. She gasped when his finger finally settled on her aching clitoris, he paused but she gave him tiny encouraging nods while pressing her lips together. “I love you, Ginny.”
“I'm about to.... Mmmm, launch without you,” she managed to say, reaching out and completely unsurprised to find him hard again.
“Please do, this is all for you,” Harry said, lowering his lips to her neck. He made his touch firmer, his circles faster, finding no resistance now in Ginny's loose, slick flesh. Watching, he saw her orgasm rise as a blush up her neck with her mouth open in inarticulate gasps. She screamed, then moaned, her thighs capturing his hand and holding it exactly where she needed. Her orgasm striking in waves—her muscles going rigid first, then limp.
She slid to the side, almost falling off the seat if Harry hadn't gently pulled her back from the edge. “Lucky there's that cushion down there.” She settled next to him, both of them flushed and their clothing in disarray.
“I'm going to look rumpled for this meeting,” Harry eventually said.
“I think you look rather dashing. Dressing up just enough for appearance's sake. When did you get this jacket?”
“Oh, not long ago. The one I wore during the battle was a bit of a loss.”
“I expect someone will turn up asking if they can have it for a museum display.”
At that, Harry laughed outright and kissed her again.
“That's an interesting spell. Making them opaque,” Ginny said, nodding to the windows.
“It's a modified concealment charm. From the hallway, it looks like the compartment is empty.”
“So you really are an auror then. That's advanced magic.”
“Of course I'm really an auror. I only feel like I'm pretending and about to be found out occasionally.” Harry laughed, “I'm still working on that one though. If you get it just right you can make it one-way so that we'd be able to see into the corridor. I haven't managed it yet.”
“Be a little unsettling, wouldn't it? To see the witch with the trolley wander by and peer in at us,” she said and waggled his half-hard dick in her hand to prove the point.
“I have no idea when the tea trolley witch might come by. Will you want something?” he eventually asked.
“Ooh, I'd love a scone and some tea,” she said.