A Most Ingenious Paradox

"A Most Ingenious Paradox"

[A Harry Potter Fanfiction by Penpusher]

Chapter Six - A New Beginning

Harry put down his copy of the Daily Prophet with a sigh, noting that his cup of coffee was stone cold. For the second time. He was about to use a heating charm on it again, when it occurred to him that the house was extremely quiet. Too quiet for a Saturday, particularly when he himself was gathering dust in Hermione's study.

The events of the previous weekend had been almost too much, but like the children they no longer were, the gang had bounced back. Fred had moved into his old room and place in Harry's House as though he'd never been away, George had gone home to Ron's flat, and Hermione had continued slaving as though there was no tomorrow during working hours and collaborating with Lee when off-duty. Ron had taken a few days leave to assist Harry in his research on the cup they had taken from the temple.

~ooOoo~

On returning to the World Wizarding Library, Ron and Harry had entertained the vague hope of finding Professor Radcliffe still there. On enquiry of Reception, it appeared he had returned to Florence to write up his notes and was not expected back for several weeks. Undaunted, the two wizards tackled the catalogue themselves for information on the Holy Grail, but they found little of any help.

Ron took a breath, pointing at a passage in a huge leather-bound book. "Look, it says here: 'Holy Grail, The: artefact, believed to be magical, beloved by several pagan Muggle religions during the Dark Ages in England. Close association with the Muggle King, Arthur. Once the property of Merlin (unsubstantiated), it was recovered by the knight Sir Galahad, the only Knight of the Round Table (the entourage of King Arthur) who was pure in body and spirit and therefore worthy to handle it.' Does that mean I'm pure in body and spirit, since I'm the one who took it out of the temple?"

"That sounds about as useful as the stuff I'm reading here," laughed Harry. "Listen: 'The Holy Grail is believed to have been another name for the Cauldron of Ceridwyn, a magical artefact with no physical substance, which could be summoned under certain circumstances to give healing, well-being and great joy to all who desired it.'"

"Harry, what makes you so sure that what we've got is the Holy Grail?" Ron was frowning. "We can't find out anything about it - it could be any old chalice."

"I strongly suspect that it is the Holy Grail, Ron, for several reasons." Harry paused, tapping his fingers on the tabletop. "Firstly, it is without doubt a very powerful magical artefact, one of the most powerful I have ever encountered. Its aura alone, when it's not stifled in your pocket, Ron, is really quite disturbing in its intensity.

"Secondly," Harry scratched his head and gave a perplexed smile, "I can't identify it as anything else, and my speciality is just this sort of thing. Thirdly, putting numbers one and two together, the chances of something as powerful as this being totally unheard of are very slim, and from all we can find out, the Holy Grail is the only possible match. Fourthly, well I just feel it in my gut."

"So, if you're honest, you really have very little to go on, apart from intuition?" Ron smiled sympathetically as he spoke.

"That's about the size of it, Ron," Harry sighed. "There are simply no hard facts. I think we're going to have to go to Florence you know - to tackle the Professor."

"Better take Hermione then," Ron said, drily. "My guess is she'll get more out of him than anyone else!"

Nevertheless, Ron and Harry kept their noses to the grindstone for the rest of the week, and had precious little to show for it by the weekend. It was like old times back in the Hogwarts library. But inwardly, Harry knew that the battle with Voldemort had taken more out of him than he cared to remember, and time spent quietly researching was also recovery time.

~ooOoo~

Harry brooded darkly and in silence. One of the worst things he had ever had to do in his life was tell his friends the bitter truth about Voldemort. He would never forget Hermione's look of hurt betrayal or Ron's ashen-faced dread. Harry hated himself and cursed whatever malign fates there were for consigning him to such terrible times. It was indeed Voldemort who had attempted to materialise on the stone plinth, his faithful servant Wormtail waiting to welcome him, his ranks of Deatheaters ready to protect him. Harry and Ginny's prompt action had thwarted him this time around, but Harry seriously doubted whether Voldemort could be despatched in the same manner again.

Harry stretched, wincing as he activated muscles that were still sore, and got up to pace around the study like a restless panther. At least Fred had been very little affected by his period of incarceration with Voldemort. Most prisoners of the dark side were badly treated, Alastor Moody being a prime example, but Fred seemed to have been reasonably well looked-after, at least physically. He had been held under Imperius for most of the time and his mind had wandered, but aside from that, he had come out of a dangerous situation remarkably unscathed.

So far, Harry had carefully refrained from public speculation as to why Fred had been kept in such good condition, but the other man was not in Ministry Intelligence for nothing. In his usual abrupt style, Fred came upon Harry alone in the kitchen early one morning and stated his conclusion entirely without preamble.

"He was going to use me as a host body, wasn't he? Voldemort, I mean." Fred's voice was remarkably calm. Harry stared for a moment, then carefully swallowed his mouthful of coffee and placed the mug down on the table.

"I think that was his intention, yes," Harry replied, seriously. "I believe complete physical materialisation on this plane would use up too much of his power to be effective. Total possession of your body, plus access to your own powers, knowledge and memories would be more than sufficient for his purposes. My guess is he'd be able to fight off anything we could throw at him."

Fred nodded, pursing his lips in a serious manner.

"Is he likely to try again?"

"Yes, Fred," Harry replied simply. "I think it very likely that he will try again. Very likely indeed."

Returning to the present, Harry shook his head, trying to fit the pieces of information together. In addition to all this, there was also the matter of Hermione's research on the stone with Professor Radcliffe. That had been a real facer.

~ooOoo~

It was several days before Harry could persuade Hermione that he was strong enough to cope with what she had discovered. Unable to snatch even a glimpse of her notes, he fumed in silent frustration, haunting her study until she could stand it no more.

"Alright, I'll tell you. Just let me get the others together first!" Hermione took her hands out of her hair and glared at the bespectacled face peering hopefully around her study door. "I can see I'm not going to get this Opinion finished until I come clean. Ginny's off house-hunting this afternoon, so I'll have to tell her about it later. Honestly, Harry, you can be a right pain at times!"

Ginning disarmingly, Harry resisted the temptation to cheer loudly and dance around the room. He was less than enthusiastic, however, when he found himself unwillingly ensconced on an overstuffed sofa twiddling his thumbs while the others perched on chairs around him and Hermione lectured them on ancient Aramaic.

"It's not a very idiomatic translation," Hermione said finally, shuffling her pages around, "but it's as accurate as the Professor reckoned we could get. It seems to be some kind of - revelation: a prediction or forecast. Anyway, it goes like this."

She cleared her throat.

"'When the dead one returns to claim his own, the living boy and the .. ' well, the nearest we could get was 'dryad' or 'spirit of nature' 'must unite in care, and take the cup of plenty from the hands of the pure one to return it to its rightful place.' That's not exact, and there are a number of anomalies, but I think it's good enough to be getting on with."

"'The Living Boy,'" mused Ron, rubbing a finger pensively down the side of his nose. "Do you think that might be 'The Boy Who Lived'?"

The others smiled at the old name coined for Harry when he was a baby. Hermione chuckled.

"It sounds rather likely, doesn't it?" she replied, as though this had already occurred to her, "And "the dead one" is therefore going to be You-Know-Who, but what about the dryad, or spirit of nature?"

"Aren't dryads something to do with trees?" put in Lee, tentatively. Hermione nodded.

"Yes that's right," she said. "In Muggle mythology, the spirits of trees were depicted as beautiful young maidens. They could leave their trees for a limited amount of time, and were sometimes quite mischievous, leading young men astray and getting them hopelessly lost in deep forest."

"Hang on a mo'," George shifted restlessly in his chair. "I don't want to put a damper on your enthusiasm or anything, but who's to say this revelation, or whatever it is, has anything at all to do with us? For all we know, it might already have come to pass. That is, if it's genuine in the first place."

"That's a very good point, George," replied Harry quickly, before anyone else could jump in. "However, I anticipated someone would ask just that question, so I got Ron to do some research for me in Ministry archives, in the Prophesies Section."

"Yes," Ron pulled a lugubrious face. "And a fun afternoon that was, I can tell you! Well, according to Ministry Records, not only has this prophecy (if that's what it is) not yet been fulfilled, it has never even been recorded. In other words, no one's ever seen it before; this is its first appearance." There was a pause as the group digested the information.

"So what you're saying," put in Lee slowly, "is that as far as we know, if this prophecy has neither been fulfilled nor recorded in any way, it must be genuine. Is that about right?"

"If you care to put it that way, Lee, yes, I suppose it is." Harry was amused. "Although I wouldn't like to put money on it until it's been verified by experts."

"Pshaw!" Hermione made a rude noise. "By 'experts' I suppose you mean that charlatan, Trelawney. Frankly, I wouldn't trust her as far as I could throw a manticore!"

"What about the 'cup of plenty'?" Ron interjected quickly to forestall any further ranting.

"Oh, that's obvious," scoffed Fred. "It's that grail thing you've got in your pocket, Ron; the thing you won't let out of your sight; the thing we've all been gassing about ever since you found it. Wake up! Even if it isn't the Holy Grail, it's got to be the cup mentioned in this prophesy lark. After all, the stone led you to it, didn't it?"

They all agreed that Fred was most likely right.

"In fact," added Harry, seriously, "the appearance of the cup in response to the stone's summoning power is one of the major pieces of evidence for the validity of this prophecy. Prophecies are strange things. Sometimes they can hang around for centuries in plain sight until they're almost forgotten, and people only realise they've been fulfilled in retrospect. Others emerge from the depths of history at the eleventh hour and seem to serve no useful purpose whatsoever apart from to confirm what's already happening."

"In other words, they're about as useful as yesterday's Daily Prophet," Fred replied ironically. "Is that what you're saying?"

"I'll second that!" added Hermione, above the general laughter, eyes flashing dangerously.

"What about the pure one?" Lee asked, looking around at the others. Blank faces greeted him. Harry raised a hand.

"Ron and I found out that during the reign of the Muggle English King Arthur, during the Dark Ages, the Holy Grail was recovered by a knight called Galahad," Harry told them. "He was apparently the only one of Arthur's knights who was pure enough in body and spirit to take the cup and bear it back to Camelot, where it was used to heal Arthur of the wounds he had received from his half-sister, Morgan le Fey. Also, the same idea of purity and healing crops up in the German legend of the Perfect Fool or Parsifal."

"But who can it refer to in our present time?" asked Hermione. Fred gave a mocking laugh at Harry's bewildered shrug.

"Well, I'm afraid none of us here is exactly innocent in spirit," Fred put in, sardonically, "and as for bodily purity - well, I think we all gave up on that one a long time ago. Unless Ron's holding out on us, of course. What about it, Ronnie-boy?"

"Shut it, Fred," Ron growled, his ears turning red. Fred's grin widened as he noticed Hermione's eyes slide away.

"I think you may be barking up the wrong tree, Fred," said Harry, adroitly interrupting him. "I don't think we're talking purity as in virginity, or even innocence of mind here. If the prophecy is as old as Professor Radcliffe seems to think it is, then I think it means morality in the wider sense: decency, honour, integrity and honesty of motive. The putting of the greater good before personal well-being, if you follow me."

"What does it mean to 'unite in care'?" asked George. Hermione frowned over her notes.

"Well, that's a rather moot question actually," she admitted. "There are several meanings to that particular figure, and 'care' seemed the most appropriate translation, but it really depends on the overall meaning of the prophecy which way it could swing." There was a pause. No one seemed to have anything more to add.

"It doesn't look as though we're going to shed any further light on this thing tonight," Harry said presently. "Let's sleep on it and see what we come up with."

But after several nights' fitful rest, Harry himself was no further forward

~ooOoo~

Harry paused in his pacing by the window and gazed unseeingly into the garden. He needed to go through all this with someone completely fresh and objective, he told himself. To his surprise, he found he wanted Ginny, but he hadn't seen anything of her since the previous weekend.

Harry sighed and, suddenly making a decision, he strode across the room and flung open the door. Padding out into the corridor, he went in search of anyone who felt like another cup of coffee, but tracking down prospective company proved less than easy. The kitchen was empty; so was the drawing room, the dining room, the West Room, the library, the guest bathrooms, the utility and, so far as he could guess, the cellars, the attics and the garden. Mystified, he moved to the unfinished west wing where his own bedroom and bathroom were situated and was rewarded by the faint noise of activity and muted conversation. He followed these sounds and emerged into a large, bright room, the existence of which, until then, he had been almost totally unaware.

Hermione was at the top of a stepladder. She was wearing scruffy paint-stained overalls, and her rich brown hair was carelessly piled on top of her head so that several strands were hanging over her face. She grinned broadly.

"Hi, Harry. Come to give us a hand?"

Harry returned her smile.

"Certainly - if you tell me what you're doing."

"Redecorating, mate, what does it look like?" answered someone nearer the floor.

The other voice, Harry noticed, belonged to Fred who, equally dishevelled, was making passes with his wand over several buckets of water. Harry paused to glance around the room. It had a very pleasant aspect, looking out over the overgrown garden, with huge sash windows and French doors leading on to a balcony. He nodded at a further door over to one side.

"What's in there?" Harry asked curiously.

"Bathroom," replied Fred, shortly. "Or, rather, will be when we've built it."

Harry crossed the room and opened the door to the potential ensuite. Fred was right: it certainly needed some work, but the basics were all there. Closing the door thoughtfully, Harry went back to the entrance, intending to go change into some less important clothes. He was struck by a sudden thought.

"Hermione, who is this bedroom for?" Harry looked up questioningly at the girl on the ladder. Hermione stopped washing down the walls and exchanged a swift glance with Fred.

"No one, really," Fred answered for her, with a disarming grin. "Just part of the general renovation." Harry came back into the room and pointed a finger at Fred.

"The truth, Weasley - or you're toast!"

Fred shrugged in defeat and opened his mouth, but Hermione interrupted. She was about to speak, then seemed to change her mind. She stared at Harry critically, with narrowed eyes.

"Harry, you're dark again." Hermione pointed a finger accusingly. "When did that happen?"

Harry ran a hand shyly through his thick hair, fighting against embarrassment.

"Oh, it was you girls really," Harry said with a disarming grin. "I didn't particularly notice, everyone's sun-bleached in California, but you seemed so shocked I thought I'd, well, repair the damage, that's all. And stop trying to change the subject!"

If Harry were to be totally truthful, he would have to admit that Ginny's opinion the previous weekend had really tipped the balance. But he would cheerfully swallow glass shards before confessing such a thing to his housemates. Hermione made a sour face and turned back to the subject in question.

"It's my fault, Harry, but you know you always intended your house to be full of your old friends, so I don't feel too guilty about it."

"About what?"

"And it's not as if you'd need references for her. After all, she's family."

"She? Hermione, just who are we talking about?"

"And it could be said that - well, really, you, Harry, are to blame for making her homeless..."

"Hermione," Harry took hold of the stepladder. "Start talking sense, or I will shake this ladder until you do. Whom have I made homeless?"

"It's Ginny," explained Fred, when Hermione's nerve failed her. "You know she's been living with that Muggle guy who was here that night when the temple went boom. Well, they've been together three years, and he knew nothing about magic. Had no idea she was a witch - can you imagine?" Fred was shaking his head in disbelief.

"She's got to move out of the flat, Harry: the lease is in David's name." Hermione took up the tale. "She's really cut up about the split, and I felt she'd be better among friends than trying to find somewhere on her own."

Hermione stared at him anxiously, trying to gauge his opinion and, finding no appreciable reaction, launched herself into unplanned explanations.

"This guy has been really bad for her. Did you know he's her agent as well as her ex-boyfriend? Well, she's been trying to live all this time without using magic - can you believe it? Pretending she's a Muggle, for Merlin's sake, just to keep that preppy idiot happy, and now the cat's out of the bag, he's dumped her." Harry's expression darkened.

"Harry, please say something." Hermione was really apprehensive now. "I was so sure you'd be happy for Ginny to come and live here ..."

"Eh? What?"

Harry seemed to return to earth, and his face cleared.

"Of course I don't mind. Why on earth did you think I would?" Harry replied in surprise. "Just because my name's on the deeds of this mausoleum doesn't mean I'm the only one who calls the shots around here, you know. I'd be absolutely delighted for Ginny to come live here. Couldn't think of anywhere better." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I was just wondering - about her magical talents, I mean. If she hasn't been using them to any great extent for three years, she's probably going to need some help from the rest of us to get back to her former level. From the events of last weekend, I'd say that none of her raw power has gone, but she must have forgotten a great deal of what we learned at school."

"We can do that!" smiled Hermione, continuing to wield her sponge with renewed vigour. "We can do anything!"

"Except devise a charm to wash down walls, so it seems!" Harry was amused.

"Okay, wiseass: you think of one!" Fred frowned. Harry backed off, hands held in front of him, shaking his head.

"I think I'll just see what can be done with the bathroom."

"Coward!"

Later that afternoon, the trio surveyed the results of their labours with true satisfaction. Walls in a pale eggshell blue with white gloss skirting, bare sanded floorboards, Chinese rugs and a quilt matching the curtains; it looked cool, light and airy. The curtain material was Hermione's own design. However, as she said, it was no trouble to change the colour scheme, in fact, it might give Ginny some well needed practice.

Harry's domain, the ensuite bathroom, required a longer look. Originally a dressing room and therefore not exactly huge, Harry had managed to squeeze into it not only a shower cubicle but a corner bath so luxuriously large that it resembled nothing so much as a small swimming pool. The smooth grey marble floor and the pale rose colour-scheme made the overall effect nothing short of beautiful.

"Harry, I didn't know you had it in you - she'll love it!" Hermione was absolutely entranced, turning round and round, gazing at the room until Harry went pink with embarrassment.

"Well, like you said," Harry mumbled, "she can always change the colour scheme if she doesn't like it."

"Just one thing." Hermione's brow creased slightly. "The windows are enormous. I know she's not going to be overlooked from the road but, well, this is a wizarding house and people do arrive on broomsticks fairly frequently. Much as I hate the things, I really would put at least half-nets at the windows." Harry shrugged.

"She could always use an opacity charm. I know a good one which makes the windows let in light, but you can't see in from outside. I don't want to do any more now, I'll ask her later if she wants to use it."

It was early evening before Ginny arrived in a taxi containing all her worldly goods. As Fred and George made trips to and from the car, piling her cases and boxes in her new room, Ginny herself stood rather forlornly in the hall, clutching a cardboard box containing some books, an old set of scales and a full set of Gryffindor Quidditch robes. Seeing she was close to tears, Harry slid a gentle arm round her and pulled her head onto his shoulder.

"It's alright, sweetheart," he murmured. "You're moving house - that's a bit of a wrench under any circumstances, but you've got the added heartache of leaving a relationship as well as a place. You're allowed to be sad, you're even allowed to cry if you want to!"

Ginny smothered a sob in Harry's shirt, but gamely rubbed the tears away with her fists: a curiously endearing, childlike gesture.

"I've cried a river already, as the song goes," she told him. "I knew it couldn't last forever, but I refused to admit it. Now I've got to make my own way." He squeezed her shoulders.

"We'll help you." Pausing to peck her briefly on the cheek, Harry released her and went to supervise Fred and George with the rest of the removals.

Ginny's reaction on seeing her room for the first time was everything Hermione could have wished. The cardboard box slipped from her nerveless hands as she stared around her with delight.

"Oh, Hermione, it's just beautiful!" she whispered, running to the window to look out over the garden, then back to admire the paintwork and the new bedcover.

"You can always change anything you don't like," volunteered Fred. "We won't be offended or anything. We'll just make you do it the Muggle way!"

"Just you go and see what Harry's been doing this afternoon," Hermione smiled, taking her by the hand and leading her to the bathroom door. Ginny peered into the room and gasped in amazement. She moved around turning on the taps, exclaiming at the size of the bath, demurely casting an opacity charm of her own on the window. Then she turned to them all with tears in her eyes.

"Oh thank you!" she sobbed, leaning on Hermione's shoulder. "I don't know what else to say, just - thank you!" Harry felt the lump in his throat begin to ease a little.

Fred and George had volunteered to produce a celebration supper for Ginny's arrival at Harry's House. As it happened, both Ron and Lee turned up later, on spec, but were immediately invited to stay in return for a trip to the local off-licence. This event left the communal wine cellar a good deal better off than it had been for years.

Early on, Hermione retired diffidently to the kitchen in an attempt to restore some order to the proceedings, but Ron eventually plied her with so much good red wine that Fred and George were allowed their head. As it happened, they produced an extremely passable pasta with chicken and wine sauce, followed by fruit salad in champagne (the bubbles disappeared very quickly, so Harry used an enchantment to keep it sparkling until it was eaten).

Many evenings spent in congenial company result in a pleasant feeling of wellbeing, of all's right with the world. Of contentment, if you like. Some occasions go a little further, into the realms of genuine happiness. And one or two, the really memorable ones, have everyone so high on good humour it seems that nothing can ever go wrong again.

The gang had not really partied since long before Harry's return.

The food was a mere memory and the stack of empty wine bottles grew steadily towards the ceiling. Several silly party games were suggested and played amidst increasingly hysterical laughter. When they could finally stand no more rounds of "Truth or Dare" or "Post Owl's Knock", Fred went upstairs to fetch his eclectic anthology of dance music. Soon the "Weird Sisters" were shaking the walls of Harry's House, intermittently drowned by George's guffaws of laughter as he and Lee examined Fred's collection.

"Hey!" shouted Lee, furiously waving a CD. "This is a karaoke disc - where did you get that?"

"So that's where it got to!" exclaimed Hermione, who was dancing contentedly with Ron. "I asked Ginny to get it from Wizarding Radio. It's great, but I still can't sing, whatever she says!"

Lee stuffed the disc into the machine. The sultry tones of a saxophone floated into the room, lazily accompanied by a muted double-bass, brushes and a liquid piano.

"Oh, man!" murmured Fred, stretching out in one of the armchairs. "This is real late-night music!"

Ron took the opportunity to draw Hermione against his chest so that her head fell naturally on to his shoulder. Unprotesting, she swayed in his arms to the music, her eyes closed.

Harry sat in an armchair, silently enjoying the atmosphere, taking the occasional sip at his glass of wine. Unlike everyone else, he had drunk very little and his appearance of relaxation was just that - an appearance. Inside, Harry Potter was one very worried wizard.

Much of the information he had absorbed over the past few days had at first gone over his head. He had been bone-weary after the confrontation with Voldemort, wounded and aching in body and spirit, and his deductive powers had taken a vacation. His hurts, both physical and mental, had healed leaving his body in need of exercise and his brain on overdrive. Somehow he couldn't seem to take his mind off the hook, no matter how hard he tried. He kept making connections, possible scenarios seemed to fly ahead into the distance, 'what ifs' haunted his every waking moment.

Harry glanced towards a small figure sitting cross-legged on the hearthrug, playing absently with her wine glass. By contrast, Ginny had drunk everything emptied into her glass, determined to thoroughly drown her sorrows. What she didn't know was that Harry had charmed out most of the alcohol and replaced it with a relaxing charm that made her sleepy, but without the threat of a hangover. The languorous saxophone tones changed into a recognisable jazz classic. Outwardly serene but still raw inside, Ginny started to sing.

"Stormy Weather" was one of the numbers Harry had heard at Ginny's gig last weekend, and he admired the way she had adapted an old and well-tried number to her own style, fresh and clean and melodious. But her singing of the same song now was quite different. Previously, he had appreciated the purity of her tone, the cleverness of her variation on the melody and her unerring sense of pitch and rhythm. Now, her voice harsh from crying, the real heartache of the song came through, the pain and the loneliness. Harry felt his eyes mist over, and glanced round to see if any of the others were listening.

Fred and George were both dozing, tumbled bonelessly in armchairs. Hermione and Ron had finally collapsed on to the sofa Lee was occupying. Hermione seemed to be falling asleep, until Ron poked her unceremoniously in the ribs. She made a face at him, took a sip of wine and leaned back casually against his shoulder, eyes closing irresistibly. Ron affectionately ruffled her hair before burrowing his way deeper into the sofa cushions. He gave a deep sigh of contentment and closed his eyes. Harry smiled. It was good to see those two getting along again.

The CD came to an end, the music stopped and all that could be heard was the ticking of the clock. Ginny's head drooped and her shoulders sagged as she lost the battle against the sleep that had eluded her for many weeks. Harry looked at the deep shadows under her eyes and decided that it was probably quite some time since Ginny had had a proper night's rest. Placing his glass carefully on the coffee table, Harry slid an arm round her shoulders and another under her knees. Taking care not to disturb her slumber, he lifted her against his chest, raising his eyebrows at her lightness, and carried her up the sweeping staircase into the West Wing and her new bedroom. He left her tucked up under the new bedcover, having removed only her shoes for comfort, coming back downstairs to strengthen the magical wards protecting the entry/exit points of the house.

Harry was not entirely sure why he chose to make a domestic check at this time, but when he had finished he was very glad he had done so: several of the wards were weak, and the one on the vulnerable garden door had faded away altogether. Grimly, he made a mental note to bawl George out for that in the morning. He made his way towards his bedroom, pausing only to peer curiously back into the West Room.

The twins were still out for the count, and Lee, Ron and Hermione were sound asleep, tangled together on the large sofa. Ron's arms were around Hermione's waist as she leaned against his chest, Lee's head cradled in her lap. Harry smiled, lowered the lights with a gesture and closed the door softly.

~ooOoo~

They were back in the temple, that - thing was materialising on the altar, the weird red light was beginning to engulf them all. Harry rose dizzily to his feet. A beam of silver frost had sprung from the end of his wand, encircling the figure, holding the sickly red light contained, and he had begun the Incantation. Strong magic was pulsing through the air, the thing on the pedestal gave an unearthly scream and flickered, writhing, in and out of existence. Suddenly, she froze in horror as it turned its face straight towards her: it was David.

Ginny awoke with cold sweat trickling down her face and leaped out of bed, instinctively reaching for her wand.

"Lumos!" Ginny all but shrieked as the room came into focus: still half-dreaming, she reeled into immediate panic at the unfamiliarity of her surroundings. Heart beating loudly enough to rouse the entire house, she sprinted to the door and stepped out into the corridor, breathing heavily and unevenly: still nothing made sense. She was about to continue down the corridor in search of a staircase, when someone turned on the electric light. Ginny whirled, terrified, bringing her wand reflexively in front of her face then sagged with relief as she saw that it was only Harry.

Harry had obviously been sleeping; his wayward dark hair was on end, and a hastily fastened towelling bathrobe covered his modesty, but for all that his eyes were cool and alert and his stance was anything but sluggish.

"Great Merlin! You startled me," Ginny burst out, all but collapsing on the floor.

"I could say the same," Harry shrugged. "Did you know you were virtually screaming in your sleep? I was already on my way to shake you awake if necessary, but then you shouted for light and started running, so I thought I'd better make sure it really was only a nightmare."

"Only a nightmare!" repeated Ginny feebly, wiping the sweat out of her eyes. "Oh, Great Powers of Light, I hope I never see another one like that!" Harry regarded her critically.

"That bad, huh?"

Ginny nodded feebly, not having the strength to answer.

"Okay." Harry looked at her seriously. "I think some kind of restorative and a little talk are both in order, before either of us attempts to get any more sleep. Ginny, I suggest you go put on the nightclothes Hermione left for you, and I'll meet you in the kitchen in about five minutes: I need to get something a little more decent than this to wear."

Harry grinned mildly in her direction, and Ginny suddenly realised that his meagre bathrobe was likely the only thing he was wearing. Her cheeks flamed and she turned quickly back to her bedroom.

Harry had been right about her need to change clothes, Ginny thought as she stripped off the black jeans and skinny teeshirt she had thought so cool. Now they looked like rags: soaked with sweat and creased beyond redemption. She shook her head; this would never do. Ten minutes later found her swiftly showered and dressed in one of her own nightshirts and Hermione's spare bathrobe. Curled up on the kitchen sofa in front of the warm range drinking Harry's cocoa, Ginny didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed to note that Harry's legs were now covered by striped pyjama bottoms. As warmth flooded through her, she began to feel more human.

"Now," said Harry, placing his mug down on the table. "What caused such a violent nightmare, Ginny? Are you able to tell me?" She nodded.

"I think so, but I don't suppose you'll learn anything useful from it." With that rider, Ginny told him as much as she could remember about her dream, including the horror of seeing David's face at the top of the pedestal on the altar. Harry pondered briefly, then shrugged.

"Ginny, I'm almost positive that Markland is Muggle through and through - he's not even a sensitive." Harry paused to gather his thoughts. "I took a mental reading on him when I first met him." he continued. "I wondered whether he was a latent, and if so, whether your problems with your relationship could be solved that way. Perhaps by trying to shock his abilities into focus. However, I'm afraid he's as psychically dead as the proverbial dodo: absolutely no response, no talent. But," and here he held up a hand to forestall her interruption, "I have been known to be wrong. On occasions, that is." His eyes twinkled. "David Markland's talent may be too deeply buried even for me to uncover."

There was a slight question-mark in Harry's voice, but Ginny shook her head.

"I gave up hoping he was really a wizard deep down a long time ago." Ginny propped her chin in her hands thoughtfully. "It's like - like living with someone who's blind or deaf and pretending you can't see or hear too, just to keep them from realising that there's a whole different world out there that they're never going to be able to experience."

A tear rolled slowly down her cheek, unchecked.

"I wish I could have helped him," Ginny sighed, "or at least have been able to keep my two lives separate." She made a small impatient sound. "I should have stopped deceiving myself. I couldn't make myself into a Muggle any more than I could make him into a wizard."

Harry didn't react immediately, but instead seemed to ponder for a while before answering. Then he leaned forward and took both her hands in his.

"You are a very powerful sorceress," Harry began earnestly. "Minerva McGonagall told me you were way ahead of the rest of your family, including Molly and Arthur, by the time you were sixteen. I think at the time she had a family alliance in mind, but this was before she was aware of, well, of my understanding with Cho." A shadow came over his face momentarily.

"Anyway," Harry continued, making an effort to shake off the past. "Quite apart from the mental misery it must have cost you to suppress your powers over these past three years, it's positively criminal to waste such an ability." He reached out to take her small hands in his larger ones.

"Ginny," Harry said gravely, "you've lost crucial time in the development of your powers by pretending to be something you're not, and you've exposed yourself to psychic suffering of a very acute kind. I know the particular nightmare you experienced tonight had its roots in last weekend's traumas, but can you look me in the face and swear that you have had a dream-free night since you first started trying to deny yourself? Well, can you?"

Harry ducked his head as Ginny looked away, trying to catch her gaze. Forced into a confrontation, the girl stared back boldly and shook her head.

"It's been hell on earth," Ginny stated quietly. Harry gave a slight nod.

"And if you want to sleep peacefully again," Harry added with a grim smile, "I suggest you start giving your powers a regular workout."

Ginny sipped her cocoa thoughtfully, hugging her knees. After a pause, she looked up at him curiously over the rim of her mug.

"Harry," Ginny began, cautiously, "what exactly happened last weekend? In the temple, I mean?"

Harry sighed and looked away, running a hand through tousled hair. Irrelevantly, Ginny noticed how much better it suited him dark, despite his deep suntan. He looked straight at her, his startlingly green eyes bleak.

"Well," Harry began, "the plain facts are as I told you then: Voldemort is alive and powerful, but he exists in a parallel dimension. He still seems to be obsessed with conquering our world, and he's now trying to break through the barrier between planes to materialise physically here. I believe he kidnapped Fred in order to try to use him as a host body."

Ginny shivered.

"Quite," Harry agreed, nodding seriously. "Fred's physical youth and strength, together with his magical powers, knowledge of Ministry secrets and unassailable position with us here make him the front runner. The only better target would have been me: Harry Potter himself." He made a disgusted noise then shook his head. "But Voldemort would never have tried it on with me. It would have meant showing his hand too soon." He reached forward to push a wayward strand of hair away from Ginny's face and smiled.

"As it is," Harry said in a lighter tone, "Voldemort has been forced to change his plans materially. If he had succeeded in taking possession of Fred's body, we would have been hard put to it indeed to stop him. It was purely down to your talent and grit, Ginny, that he hasn't already begun his reign of terror."

Ginny shook her head, unwilling to accept the tribute, then looked up again.

"But how did we do it, Harry?" Ginny asked. "I mean, what happened between us back there? What did we do? I've never heard of any two wizards being able to, well, join. To merge their power in that way before."

"To be totally honest, Ginny, neither have I." Harry favoured her with a wry smile before frowning in thought.

"All I know," Harry continued, "is that I was so sickened by the sight of my worst nightmares becoming real that I couldn't even move, never mind work out a defensive strategy. You were the one who spotted the weakness - how did you do that, by the way?"

"I've really no idea." Ginny responded pensively "I just remember seeing everything tinted in red, and I seemed to know that the brightest object was the one I had to hit - in whatever way was most appropriate!"

"Yet another mystery," Harry shrugged. "You know, I'm beginning to feel a little out of control, like I'm working to someone else's agenda, even when I'm fighting back." He sighed. "I'd really like to be able to return to some kind of normal existence, you know. Preferably while I'm still young enough to enjoy it, but there you go: life is seldom what you would wish."

"But Harry," persisted Ginny, "how did we manage to pool our power like that?" .

"I wish I knew, Gin," Harry frowned, scratching his head. "It's a formidable weapon, you know, particularly if we could expand the pool to include other wizards. Pouring a large amount of magical energy through one outlet must pretty dangerous though, if my physical reaction to the exertion is anything to go on, but we really ought to ask someone a little more adept than we are. How about Sirius?"

Ginny shrugged then bit her lip as though she was debating whether or not to say something.

"It was more than a pooling of power, Harry," Ginny said finally, in a low voice. "I could feel your thoughts, your - emotions."

Harry didn't speak for a while, but his gut twisted. He had suspected, feared that she had also experienced the strange melding that had rattled him so badly. In fact, he had been so unsettled by the experience that he had tried not to examine it too closely, and here she was forcing him to drag it back up for analysis.

"Ginny, I ..." Ginny held up a hand to silence him.

"Please, don't speak yet, let me finish." She swallowed on a dry throat and tried again.

"Harry, you were always aware of the childish crush I had on you when I first met you, weren't you?" Ginny began with a wry smile. "Harry the Hero, the Boy Who Lived! What red-blooded Hogwarts witch didn't fantasise about going out with you? Unlike the others, I got to know you for yourself through your friendship with Ron, and my crush didn't die. It just changed and got stronger; grew up with me, if you like. But I had assumed all the time that it was completely one-sided; that you were so wrapped up in - in Cho, even now, that there could never be anyone else."

"Ginny, please." Harry's face twisted as if in pain. Ginny's knuckles whitened as she gripped the edge of the table.

"I'm sorry to talk about her, Harry," Ginny continued doggedly. "But life has to go on, and you can't ignore the fact that she isn't here any more." Her eyes held nothing but desperate sorrow. Harry shook his head, violently but did not speak.

"This is difficult for me too, Harry, but it's got to be said." Ginny was unconsciously lacing and unlacing her fingers.

"I felt your emotions, Harry," Ginny said in a very low tone without looking at him. "I heard your thoughts. Until now I had no idea that any feelings I had for you might be returned, despite Cho."

Harry looked up sharply, piercing her with the directness of his gaze. Unreasonable anger threatened to spill out of him.

"Well, now you know, don't you?" Harry snapped back. "Much good it'll do either of us."

"I don't understand!" Ginny cried, shaking her head in confusion. "What's stopping you, Harry? I know how you feel, I was there, with you, in you. And it's not as though you could ever have had any doubts as to my feelings, so why did you keep away from me? Why are you holding back even now?"

Harry did not respond or even look at her; his face could have been graven in stone. A long moment passed. Ginny's shoulders sagged and a deep sigh escaped her. She uncurled her legs from the sofa, placed her mug carefully on the coffee table, and stood up.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Ginny whispered. "I just don't understand. But it hurts anyway."

Ginny laid her hands on Harry's shoulders and pressed her lips lightly to his cheek. He made a harsh, painful sound deep in his throat and wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face in her abdomen, breathing in the fragrance of her skin.

"Oh, Ginny, if you only knew ..."

Harry's voice was harsh, tight. He raised his head to look at her. Tendrils of long red hair brushed his face as she tentatively angled her head towards his.

For a moment, just for an instant, it seemed that Harry would surrender. They were so close Ginny could feel his breath on her lips; smell his hair, the heat of his flesh. She closed her eyes in anticipation then with a groan, Harry turned and almost fell away from her, his breathing harsh.

"I can't do this to you." Harry whispered. "The risk to your safety, and you're on the rebound anyway. How could I even think of ..." He trailed off, shaking his head and started to walk towards the stairs.

"Harry."

Harry stopped dead as Ginny spoke. He didn't turn round. He heard her footsteps, felt the warmth of her body as she drew near to him, placing a hand on his arm.

"I'm not on the rebound, not with you," Ginny told him quietly. "I've always known that David was no good for me, but I refused to believe it until you came back. Then as soon as I saw you in the Green Room of the Café Royale, I knew it was all over between David and me. I stayed with him so long because I couldn't have you, because you'd left me here in England, because I believed you never cared for me. How could you deny me for so long?"

Ginny's eyes were bright with anguish.

"Deny you?" Harry blurted, incredulously. "Deny you! Ginny, don't you understand? Voldemort kills people who are close to me - my parents, Remus, Albus, Cho - I couldn't risk any of your lives by close association with me, I had to go away, pretend I didn't care. I didn't dare have any sort of romantic liaison - I've been celibate since Cho! - even friendships were out of the question. I gambled on Voldemort's weakness for a whole year in London, while I found this house and started to renovate it, but when you graduated and it looked as though you would be moving in with Hermione, I knew I couldn't risk it any longer. That's when I decided to take the job in LA."

"And I moved in with David," mused Ginny, stroking her bottom lip with her index finger. Harry shook his head.

"Even then, the fact that you and I were close - I've coped with a lot of grief and pain in my life, Ginny, but losing you to Voldemort's evil would have broken me wide open." Harry put a hand to his forehead in frustration.

"I feel as though I've been living in a vacuum," Harry finally burst out. "Any sort of emotional involvement on my part exposed the other person to danger. Ergo the only kind of relationship I could form was with someone I didn't care about. And even then, if I caused the death of an innocent person, the guilt would destroy me. Why try? It's a Catch 22 situation, just like the fiction the world believed about Voldemort."

He paced the room, flailing his hands wildly in agitation.

"Harry Potter destroyed Voldemort when he was still at school, so now the world is free," Harry began breathlessly. "Consequently, no one keeps a watching brief on his possible return - because he's not going to come back. Nobody bothers correlating all the pointers, large and small, which have been building up over the years - because he's been neutralized. I'm one of the few people who know that isn't the case, that it'll take more than a sixteen-year old schoolboy, however special, to rid the world of that menace, but I can't ask for help BECAUSE VOLDEMORT IS DEAD!"

Harry practically shouted the last four words, hands tearing at his wayward dark hair. He paused for breath.

"And I couldn't explain," Harry continued tightly. He was shaking his head over and over again. "I had to leave you, all of you, my family - and I couldn't even tell you why." He stared at the floor. Gently, Ginny pushed his hair back from his forehead.

"'A paradox, a paradox, a most ingenious paradox,'" Ginny sang quietly almost to herself then tilted Harry's chin up to meet her eyes. "Let me help." He looked at her uncomprehendingly.

"Harry, you can't live your life like a clam," Ginny continued. "You can't foreswear all emotional relationships for the rest of your life for fear of the unknown." Harry merely continued to shake his head, beyond words.

"I'm supposed to be some sort of wizkid sorceress, aren't I?" Ginny smiled wryly, the light of challenge in her eyes. "Well, use my powers, take me on to your team. Let me into your life."

Harry stared with wide eyes. He seemed temporarily robbed of speech.

"Harry," Ginny said uncertainly. Tentatively, she reached for him. "Harry?"

Time stood still. And then, hesitantly, Harry extended a shaking hand. Slowly, slowly his fingers traced the contours of Ginny's face, down to her neck and shoulders, never quite touching the skin. Motionless, her breathing quick and shallow, Ginny made no sign of protest or assent, no move either to check or to encourage his actions. Trancelike, Harry continued his lingering exploration, moving down her arms, on to her hands and fingers. She felt his wayward hair brush her ear; his breath was hot on her cheeks, lips lightly grazing her skin. Then his trembling mouth settled over hers.

The contact was so fleeting that at first Ginny was unsure whether they really had kissed. Harry's eyes snapped wide open. An expression resembling nothing so much as abject terror chased its way across his face.

"Oh, gods!" Ginny could hardly hear Harry's panicked whisper above the beating of her own heart. Their eyes met, wide and scared. He swallowed dryly, then reached for her again, his mouth firmer this time; more assured.

Harry tasted of chocolate and fear. Ginny felt his body shake convulsively against hers, his heart pounding fit to burst. He thrust her away from him, staring intensely, almost angrily into her face. Then suddenly he snatched her once again into his arms, kissing her as though he were a drowning man and she a straw in the ocean. She took a quick shuddering gasp and pulled his mouth down onto hers again, desperate to hold him, to keep him from running away from her once more. He freed his lips, burying them in her hair.

"Ginny," Harry breathed, his eyes closed. "Stop me. Please. I - I can't... Don't let me do this."

Ginny silenced his protests with another kiss, which rapidly progressed into something much more serious.

"You'll never be safe again," Harry muttered, when he could breathe. Ginny broke free and stared at him, her eyes almost black, her lips swollen and pouting. His mouth parched, dry as dust in a desert. Silently, she took him by the hand and led him out of the kitchen, upstairs into the warm, velvety darkness.

"A Most Ingenious Paradox"

[A Harry Potter Fanfiction by Penpusher]

Chapter Seven - "On the Wings of the Morning"

Harry watched the moon go down, pressed pale into the horizon by the approaching sunrise. It was going to be another warm day, he reflected, observing the clarity of the sky, the morning mist barely shadowing its beauty.

And I have betrayed a trust, he thought. Not just to Ginny, but to a family who have loved and supported me since childhood.

Harry looked back to the double bed with its single occupant outlined against the plain dark blue sheets, and smiled a little sadly. Ginny's red hair contrasted starkly with the colour. She was deeply asleep, sated and exhausted after the fulfilment of years of longing and frustration. Harry's heart melted as he gazed at her.

She is so beautiful, Harry thought, smiling gently, and so vulnerable. So was Cho. He shifted awkwardly, unwilling to deal with those particular memories right now.

Silently, Harry opened the glass doors to the balcony and stepped out into the pre-dawn chill. He gazed out over the garden, standing perfectly still, listening to the rustling of the leaves in the faint breeze. The temple was not visible from his room, being obscured by trees, but he knew it was there and that it would not simply disappear.

Voldemort has ruined my life, Harry found himself thinking. He killed my parents. He threatened my every move throughout my young life. He tried to kill me on average once a year until I was sixteen. He destroyed my friends ...

Harry felt his throat tighten as he thought of Albus Dumbledore and Remus Lupin, both dead at Voldemort's hand while he, Harry Potter, lived on to vanquish the evil wizard. Or so everyone thought. He turned away and went back into the bedroom, closing the glass doors silently. Ginny turned over, murmuring softly in her sleep as he left the room.

Down in the kitchen, Harry was slightly startled but not entirely surprised to find Fred moving around, fully dressed, making coffee. He looked up as Harry came in.

"Hiya," Fred said, smiling. "Care for a caffeine hit? What are you doing up at this time?"

Harry eyed him suspiciously but nevertheless retrieved a large mug from the draining board, bringing it over to be filled.

"I could ask you the same question," Harry replied, "and I, at least, am appropriately dressed for this early hour. Do my eyes deceive me, or are they last night's clothes?"

Smiling enigmatically, Fred filled two mugs with a dark, strongly aromatic brew and handed one to Harry. Harry sniffed appreciatively before taking the first reviving mouthful. Fred sipped his own coffee, frowning critically at the other man over the rim of his mug. Harry raised an enquiring eyebrow; Fred grinned in reply.

"I was trying to work out what's different about you," Fred said. "It's your hair, isn't it? You've enchanted it back to its original colour. Sun-bleaching a little out of place anywhere but LA, huh?"

"Not bad, Fred," Harry scowled and involuntarily raked a hand through his fringe,

"But you haven't answered my question."

"No, I haven't, have I?" Fred riposted, cheerfully. "Just for the record, did you change your hair because Hermione commented on it or because Ginny did?" Harry felt his face flush.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Fred!"

"Now who's not answering questions!"

"Look, Fred, Hermione's my best friend, apart from Ron, and Ginny - well, Ginny's ..."

"Upstairs asleep in your bed at present, so if you don't want to completely arse-up your relationship before it's even off the ground, you'd better take her the extra cup of coffee!"

Fred held out a further full mug, grinning wolfishly. Harry stared at him, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, then spluttered violently as he forgot to swallow before breathing. Fred, enjoying every moment of Harry's confusion, patted him solicitously on the back as he fought for control.

"What - did you just say?" Harry whispered hoarsely, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his bathrobe.

"You heard," Fred responded. "I'm not the best intelligence officer in the Ministry for nothing, you know. Hey, relax - chill out!" He grinned in genuine amusement at Harry's horrified face.

"I'm not going to rip your balls off for bonking my sister, and neither is George: as a matter of fact, we couldn't be more pleased," Fred continued affably. "She's been aching for it for years and let's face it - you've got to be a better prospect than the pratt who's just given her the push!"

Harry was stunned almost into immobility. Fred crowed loudly.

"Oh, if only Ron were here to see this!" Fred exclaimed, jubilantly. "The famous Harry Potter, completely lost for words!"

"Oh, my owl - Ron!" Harry whispered, his face abruptly panic-stricken.

"Now Ron's reaction could be a touch tricky," Fred admitted more soberly. "He's a mite protective when it comes to our little sister." He shrugged. "But I guess you'll have to cross that bridge when you come to it."

Fred raised his mug in a mock toast and smiled genially over the rim. Ignoring him, Harry refilled his own mug, picked up the fresh full one and, nodding his thanks to Fred, departed back to the West Wing.

Ginny wasn't yet awake when Harry opened the door, but the smell of the coffee seemed to act like an alarm clock and, as he placed her mug gently on the bedside table, she stirred, stretched and opened her eyes. Harry smiled as she gazed mistily up at him, her eyes unfocussed, like a small child, then she gave a dreamy yawn and stretched languorously.

"Good morning," she said, her voice husky.

"Good morning." Harry replied, sitting on the edge of the bed and handing her the coffee. "Did you sleep well?"

Ginny gave him a sharp look as though she expected there to be some sting behind the query, but his eyes were bland and innocuous.

"Thank you, yes," Ginny replied. "Your bed is very comfortable. And thank you for the coffee too." She sat up, reaching carefully for the mug, the sheet held strategically over her torso. Harry's eyes traveled over the long line of her back to where it disappeared under the covers. He swallowed, quickly shifting his gaze to her face.

"Ginny," Harry said, his expression serious. "Are you sure you know what you're getting yourself into?" Ginny pouted, making a sound of annoyance.

"Harry Potter, for goodness sake, we went through all this at length last night!" she said, glaring at him in exasperation as she sipped her drink. "I'm a big girl now and I have every intention of behaving like one. I've waited years for this, and you're not going to talk your way out of it by harping on and on about You-Know-Who."

Harry put down his empty mug and took her hands; his skin tingled at the touch.

"Ginny, you know how I feel about you," he began quietly. "You saw into my heart only too plainly." He paused and continued in a quieter, more hesitant voice. "But, you see, there's still - Cho."

Ginny cringed inside. The spectre of Cho Chang had haunted her throughout her life, it seemed. Doomed Harry Potter, who triumphed over the Dark Lord when all was thought to be lost, only to subsequently lose his girl in a tragic accident which broke his heart beyond all mending: this had been the substance of many a glossy Witch magazine's speculations. Ginny had read them all, and had cursed Cho over and over again, largely for being dead and therefore unassailable. A living Cho could perhaps have been supplanted, a dead one, never.

"Do you often think about her? Cho, I mean," Ginny asked. Her voice trembled slightly; Harry seemed not to notice. He sat silently brooding for a moment then he shifted awkwardly in his seat and looked back at her.

"All the time, Ginny," he replied, huskily. "Every day."

Ginny lowered her eyes into her empty mug, but Harry hadn't finished.

"I can't avoid thinking about her constantly when I know in my heart that I was responsible for her death."

Ginny raised her head and stared at him.

"What do you mean? Harry, it was a Muggle car that ran her down, I read the newspaper reports..." she trailed off in confusion. He was nodding.

"Oh yes, I know what the rags said about it," Harry replied, coolly. "I read them all, several times. Then I burnt them."

A silence descended between them, thick as marsh mud. Ginny's free hand pleated and unpleated the edge of the sheet; she could think of nothing to say that would help.

"Ginny, I can't protect you from Voldemort." Harry continued finally. His face was sad. "I'm one of the most skilled wizards in the world, and yet I can't guarantee your life." He rose to his feet and began to pace the room.

"I know it'll be difficult," he said, not looking at her, "especially after last night, but the safest thing by far for us both would be to put what happened between us on the back burner. For me to solve this riddle concerning the temple in the garden, try to stop Voldemort returning at this time, and then to go back to LA. We can, of course, see each other occasionally when I return to England, but otherwise we've got to call a halt. He must never know that I... that we've... Well, anyway, it's the only way you're going to be truly safe from him."

"Are you kidding?" Ginny sat bolt upright, forgetting her state of undress. "Harry Potter, I have absolutely no intention of letting you out of my sight! I think all this analysis has gone to your head. I'm a witch, Harry, and a far better one than Cho ever was, despite my lack of practice. You-Know-Who is not going to get the better of me in a hurry. Just let him try, that's all!" Harry smiled.

"No wonder they put you in Gryffindor, my little red-haired lion." he teased, quickly looking away as he realised just how far her sheet had slipped. Ginny flushed, scrambling to restore her dignity, then she stopped, let the bedclothes fall away from her body and looked up at Harry through thick, dark eyelashes.

"Let's just enjoy each other while we can," Ginny whispered, opening her arms to him. "Whatever happens in the future, at least we can have this brief time together. Please?"

And Harry could find no good reason in his heart to hold back any longer.

~ooOoo~

This time was better, Harry thought.

The first time had been born of desperate hunger and a backlog of emotional confusion, and while the results were not exactly brief, they had certainly been intense. When it was over, Ginny had fallen instantly into the oblivion of exhaustion, leaving Harry physically drained but his mind working overtime.

This second time was different. Now with the freedom to move more slowly, Harry began to uncover memories and to rediscover delights he had thought he would never experience with a woman again. He moved more surely now, no longer frantic to relieve the ache, but able to pace himself. I'm the one who's out of practice here, he realised with amusement, but we'll get there.

Much later, Harry kissed Ginny gently and settled her head in the crook of his shoulder before they both drifted into an untroubled, dreamless sleep.

~ooOoo~

"Lee, Ron, I'm really sorry but we're going to have to have our coffee and wait until Harry surfaces."

Hermione was as flustered as any of them had ever seen her.

"It's so unlike him to sleep in," Hermione continued worriedly, "but I really don't want to disturb him after all he's been through lately. And another thing," she turned an anxious face towards Fred. "I can't seem to find Ginny. Her bed's been slept in and she's obviously changed clothes at some stage, but she doesn't seem to be anywhere in the house."

Like the experienced intelligence officer he was, Fred remained outwardly calm, betraying none of his inner amusement.

"Don't get into a state, Hermione," he began soothingly, his face bland. "It's not as though she's likely to run away. She's probably just gone to the newsagents." Hermione looked at him scathingly.

"The Daily Prophet comes by owl, you know that Fred!"

"She's lived with a Muggle for three years," Fred suggested, shrugging. "Perhaps she has a favourite Muggle Sunday paper."

George turned away and unnecessarily filled the kettle with water to hide a smile.

"Ah well," said Ron, flinging himself on to the sofa with exaggerated abandon. "We've got all day, I suppose - except that Lee and I have a lunch date round the 'Cat & Warlock'."

"Really," said Hermione, too casually. "Anyone I know?" Lee giggled.

"Yeah." Ron replied heartily. "The heats of the Quidditch World Cup, England -v- Transylvania, and a couple of pints of butterbeer!" Hermione sniffed.

"Louts!" she muttered, but she refilled their coffee mugs all the same.

~ooOoo~

Ginny woke first, stretching gently and registering that the window was much lighter than it had been earlier. She turned towards Harry, kissing his neck and snuggling closer. Still half-asleep, Harry wrapped his arms more tightly around her, his lips searching drowsily for hers. After a very pleasant few moments, he opened his eyes and smiled.

"What a wonderful way to wake up," Harry murmured indistinctly, hands and mouth busy. Ginny submitted just long enough to make sure he was really interested, then wriggled free and slid out from beneath the sheets.

"Hey!" protested Harry, sitting up. "Where are you going?"

She giggled and, throwing on Hermione's bathrobe, opened the bedroom door, pausing in the doorway

"There's a huge new corner bath in my bathroom," she whispered, mischievously. "Want to come christen it?"

She gave a piercing shriek as Harry bounded out of bed, not even bothering to grab his robe, and pelted down the corridor after her.

~ooOoo~

Hermione paused in her conversation with Lee and frowned, looking towards the West Wing staircase.

"I thought I heard - wait a minute, I think Harry must have surfaced." Hermione smiled in relief.

"I'll go check," put in Fred quickly, getting to his feet, but he was just slightly too late.

"It's okay," said Ron, already halfway to the stairs, holding a mug. "I'll see if he wants some coffee."

So much for breaking it to Ron gently! mused Fred as he returned to his seat, mentally cringing in anticipation of the forthcoming explosion.

Ron climbed the West Wing staircase towards Harry's room, noting the muffled sounds of giggling and splashing coming from Ginny's bathroom. He smiled: she sounded happy enough with her new quarters. At least Hermione could stop worrying about where she was.

"Come on, mate," he announced loudly, striding into Harry's room coffee in hand. "Time for another council of war, all the gang are here. Get up, you lazy ..."

But Harry was nowhere to be seen. Ron crossed to the bathroom and knocked gently on the door: it swung open revealing a totally empty room. He turned slowly and surveyed Harry's bedroom. The curtains were still drawn, the bed unmade and in extreme disarray, and various items of clothing lay in unceremonious puddles on the floor. Hardly knowing what he was doing, he picked up a vaguely familiar pink nightshirt, regarded it with his jaw hanging loose then draped it unseeingly over the bed. Still holding the cup of coffee, he left Harry's room and followed the splashing sounds almost as though his feet were doing the thinking for him. On autopilot, he walked through Ginny's bedroom, across towards the wide-open bathroom door and peered around it.

They were both in the new tub Harry had designed with their backs to the door. Harry was washing Ginny's hair, pausing occasionally to brush away the bubbles dripping down his face from his own drenched head.

"I don't have to use the conditioner on my hair too, do I?" Harry grumbled as he worked the shampoo through the long red mane. Ginny giggled.

"Oh, alright, I'll let you off, but you've still got to do mine - and comb it through!" Harry groaned, pausing in his ministrations to look around for a comb.

"Do you mean to tell me I've got to get out and drip all over the new carpets just so that you can look beautiful?"

Ginny turned her head and grinned at him, kissing his nose briefly.

"S'right, lover boy. Time you learned what it is to have a girlfriend!"

Muttering under his breath, Harry stood up, turning round to get out of the bath, and froze.

"Oh, gods." Harry breathed.

"What?" said Ginny, starting to turn round. With incredible presence of mind, Harry thrust her back into the bath water.

"Mmmf! Harry!" she shrieked indignantly.

"Don't get up," Harry told her, calmly enough. "Just keep under the bubbles."

Harry looked back at Ron. The readhead's jaw was hanging slackly, his eyes goggling, and as Harry watched, the cup of black coffee slid unheeded from his hand to splash its contents over the new carpet. Harry sighed and got out of the bath, wrapping a towel around his waist, giving Ginny a suddenly unobstructed view of the doorway. She gasped in horror and let out a sharp scream.

Down in the kitchen, every eye suddenly jerked towards the stairs. Fred winced involuntarily.

Harry walked over to Ron and picked up the fallen mug, shaking his head.

"Nice of you to bring me coffee, mate, but I guess it could have waited until I'd got downstairs."

Ron did not react, he seemed in shock. Harry shrugged, took Ron's wand out of his pocket and muttered a brief charm. The coffee immediately levitated out of the carpet and back into the mug. Having just about recovered from the intrusion, Ginny leaned over the side of the bath, careful to keep most of herself hidden.

"You'll have to teach me that one," she said conversationally. "I still have to deal with spillages the Muggle way."

"Serves you right for letting things slide for four years!" Harry replied, smiling wryly, then looked at her critically.

"Much as I like your present attire," Harry began reluctantly, "I think it might be as well if you got dressed now, Ginny. I'll deal with Ron."

Ginny nodded, and modestly waited for them to leave.

Steering Ron back into the bedroom, Harry then walked him into the corridor and propped him up against a wall.

"Stay here," Harry ordered. "I'm just going to throw some clothes on."

Two minutes later, Harry emerged with bare feet, pulling a teeshirt over his head. Ron was still where Harry had left him, frowning and absently sipping the recovered coffee. Harry paused, unsure from which direction the inevitable attack was going to come, then Ron did something which floored him completely: he smiled.

"Well, it's certainly taken long enough," he said amiably. "I'd written you two off - I never expected in a month of Sundays... Well, well, well - and in a bath too! I never had you pegged as the adventurous type, Harry." Harry paused, looking slightly uncomfortable.

"Whatever perverted conclusions your twisted little mind is jumping to, Ron," Harry protested, "I can assure you the situation in the bathroom was entirely innocent. We were just - getting clean."

Ron's laughter had become hysterical before Harry had even finished the sentence.

"Getting clean?" Ron spluttered when he was once more capable of speech. "My owl, that's the most original name for it I've heard in a long while - and you can stand there spouting that sanctimonious load of codswallop with a totally straight face too!"

Harry stood feeling rather foolish while his friend bent over almost double with laughter.

"Ron," Harry began, warningly, "if you so much as think about teasing Ginny on this subject, I'll drag you straight back into that bathroom, and drown you in that nice, new tub!"

Ron's eyes were out on stalks.

"Flamel's Stone, Harry; water sports with my sister is one thing, but I had no idea you were into team events! It just shows, doesn't it? You never really know your friends till you share a bath with them. Come to think of it, perhaps Hermione should try to persuade Colin Creevey he'd like to move in here with you after all - I hear on the wizard grapevine he has an interest in both teams..."

Glaring at his laughing friend, Harry punched Ron none-too-gently on the shoulder.

"Ow!" said Ron, jumping about and holding his arm, still laughing. "Hey, don't shoot the messenger! I only came up here to call you downstairs. The whole gang's here. Or had you forgotten the meeting?"

Harry's blank look rapidly shifted into one of sudden enlightenment and he clapped his hand to his forehead.

"Great Merlin, I had forgotten!" Ron smirked.

"So many other things to concentrate on that it sort of slipped your mind, huh?"

"Ron, if you don't go downstairs right now and stop winding me up, it'll be the Furnunculus curse, no messing about, I promise!"

"Okay, okay!" Ron thrust the coffee mug at Harry and held up his hands in surrender. "We'll see you two in - a few minutes, yes?"

Still chuckling, he disappeared back to the kitchen. Harry sighed and started to drink the remains of the coffee Ron had brought him. He made a face - it was really too cold to bother with now. He went back into Ginny's bedroom, pausing to knock on the door before entering, and found her drying her hair with a desiccating charm.

"It's not good for the hair," she explained at Harry's puzzled look. "I have to use a repair serum afterwards, which almost defeats the point, but I think speed is of the essence this morning, seeing as we were due in a meeting half an hour ago."

"If you knew that, why didn't you tell me?" Harry protested. Ginny smiled.

"I didn't like to," she replied, "You seemed to be having so much fun I thought it would be a shame to spoil it ..."

Ginny didn't get to finish her sentence as Harry, having endured quite a bit of teasing already that morning, made a lunge for her that narrowly missed. With the agility of a monkey, Ginny dodged his outstretched arms, skirted the bed and scuttled out of the door, coming to an abrupt stop at the top of the stairs. She eyed him solemnly as he skidded to a halt beside her and took his hand. He raised his eyebrows questioningly at her change of mood.

"Harry," Ginny said, timid but determined, "It's make-your-mind-up time now, okay? If this was a one-night-stand then you'd better come out with it before we go downstairs. By now, Ron will have told them everything. And with a good deal of embroidery, if I know my brother. They're really going to let us have it, so we'd better make sure we're on the same page. What's it going to be?"

"A one-night-stand? Ginny, you could never be that. No one who knows you would even consider such a thing." Harry put an arm protectively around her. "Besides which," he continued wryly, "your brothers, while seeming to be reasonably content with the situation at present, would have no hesitation in castrating me and hanging the bits from the chimney pots if I let you down."

"You could be right at that." Ginny replied, raising a speculative eyebrow. Harry tightened his arm, squeezing her shoulders. He looked down into her eyes, his face serious and shadowed.

"Don't worry Ginny," he said in a curiously empty tone. "I'd rather die myself than let Voldemort harm you. I won't let that happen - whatever it takes."

~ooOoo~

Harry was first through the kitchen door. Ginny felt him release and drop her hand like a discarded glove before he entered the room. Surprised and unsettled, she slipped into the kitchen after him, trying not to attract attention.

"I'm sorry I'm so late for this meeting," Harry began in such a serious manner that Ron's potential barracking died on his lips. "It's particularly bad-mannered of me considering that I deliberately set an early time. Please accept my apologies. Now, Hermione, if we could borrow your study for an hour or so, I'd be very grateful. Somehow our kitchen is not terribly conducive to meetings; people tend to digress on to matters totally unrelated to the subject in question. I've often wondered why."

Harry turned on his heel and left the room, evidently expecting the others to follow him. George raised his eyebrows at Fred who shrugged, picked up his coffee mug and strolled casually out into the hall. Lee followed closely on Fred's heels. George exchanged a further glance with Ron and, evidently deciding that discretion was the better part of it, rose from his chair to follow his brother. A baffled Ron trailed in George's wake, uncertain as to how Harry had managed that particular manoeuvre.

Hermione, left alone with an abandoned Ginny, absently helped her clear the coffee cups from the table to the draining board.

"Is everything - well, okay?" Hermione asked, looking intently into the other girl's face. Ginny averted her eyes, blinking slightly and shrugged.

"To be honest, Hermione," she replied in a slightly higher voice than usual, "I'm really not sure myself. Ask me another time, why don't you?"

Stiffly, Ginny turned to walk out of the kitchen leaving Hermione to bring up the rear. She was the last to arrive at a meeting being held in her own study.

~ooOoo~

"Right then, let's make a start."

Harry was brisk and businesslike. He had commandeered Hermione's desk and was seated in her swivel chair, twiddling his thumbs, waiting impatiently for the others to settle themselves. Ginny slid into the last remaining chair in the far corner of the room. With remarkable composure, Hermione drew up a footstool and, moving to the front, placed it prominently in front of Fred. Harry turned to her first.

"Hermione," he began. "I take it you've managed to check up on those planetary correlations?" She nodded. "And the results were near enough to my calculations?"

"Spot on, actually," Hermione told him firmly. "When I contacted her on the matter, Professor Sinistra confirmed your numbers without a trace of dissent. I even," and her mouth fixed in a moue of distaste, "took the courageous step of contacting Sibyll Trelawney. To my astonishment, she agreed in every particular. The prophecy has every chance of being genuine, and she can find no indication that it has already been fulfilled. That, I admit, was my major hesitation."

There was a respectful silence: for Hermione to voluntarily go within half a continent of her former Divination Professor, the situation had to be grim.

"Okay," Harry swivelled round. "Ron, what did the Ministry records have to say about the previous owner of this house?"

"Well, Harry, that was very interesting indeed." Ron fished out a notebook and flipped diffidently through the last few pages.

"On the surface," Ron began, "she was exactly as she represented herself - a lone witch, stuck with a large, magically augmented property, renting it out for years for lack of anything else to do with it. Rather than let it fall into disrepair, she looked for a wizard buyer, and you were the first to appear. However, I checked with Criminal Records, Court cases, connections with you-know-who, witness statements, etc., and I found her." He looked round at the others in triumph.

"It was a small reference," Ron continued, "and easily missed. I was lucky to find it. She was involved peripherally in two events that make her somewhat suspicious: the first was a witness statement regarding the theft of Morgana's Mirror. She was on the premises when the theft took place and gave evidence to Aurors about the perpetrators, including descriptions. For the record, the Mirror is still missing, and the thieves haven't yet been caught.

"Secondly, I found a note in one of the original transcripts from the trials of Voldemort's supporters. It was a very small infraction, but evidently she had been on the fringes of a Deatheater-incited riot near Diagon Alley, during which a number of Muggles were killed and two Aurors were badly injured. Again, she gave a witness statement, but there was some disagreement amongst the Aurors on duty as to whether she was just an innocent bystander or part of the disturbance. Eventually, they gave her the benefit of the doubt and let her go."

Ron paused. Harry was silent, stroking his chin with his fingertips, deep in thought. Eventually, he expelled a heavy breath and turned towards the others.

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid this is a worst case scenario." Harry said at length. "We are all in very great danger, particularly while we remain in this house, but Fred is in far greater danger than anyone else."

All eyes turned to Fred, who immediately looked indignant.

"Just a moment," Fred protested. "I'm as good as any of you in a pinch, better than some ..." Harry was shaking his head.

"It's not a matter of strength, Fred," Harry began. "I have been researching the basic procedure for the possession of another person's body - not by Imperius, but by total occupation. A number of preparations are necessary to attune the body to the potential new spirit. If these measures are not strictly adhered to, the body may reject its new symbiote or go immediately into positive feedback. Either way, the possession will not be complete and the consequences could be extremely dangerous to the possessing spirit. And, of course, fatal to the host."

Ginny gave a shudder.

"These procedures can take quite some time," Harry continued impassively, "and they're difficult and exacting to perform. Voldemort has put a great deal of effort into preparing you for possession, Fred. He's not going to let you off the hook easily."

"Plus," added Hermione, getting out her notes, "the alignment of the planets during this celestial phase puts You-Know-Who's plane closest to us at this time. From now onwards, the potential crossover points get further apart and more difficult to negotiate."

"So when's the next crossover point?"

"In two days' time." Hermione didn't even have to check. There was a general gasp. Fred stood up looking as agitated as they had ever seen him.

"Are you telling me," Fred began, rapidly, "that tomorrow night, You-Know-Who's going to have another go at me?"

"I think we can safely assume that he is, yes." Harry did not mince his words. Fred sat down heavily then stood up again, struck by another thought.

"These - preparations, Harry, are they harmful?"

"I don't think so," Harry replied. "They have more to do with the adjustment of that part of Voldemort himself which is planning to relocate, than any sort of tinkering with your own internal systems."

Fred wiped imaginary sweat off his brow.

"Just so long as he hasn't been tampering with anything personal." Fred muttered lightly, but his eyes were worried. Harry continued.

"The upshot of all this research, if you hadn't already gathered, is that I have screwed up royally."

The gang looked at him uncomprehendingly. Harry ran a despairing hand through his hair.

"How did I manage to beat off opposing bids for this property at the height of the development heyday, when rival companies were virtually tearing each other to shreds to get a piece of the action?" Harry sighed. "I was too ready to believe that the wizard connection guaranteed me preferential treatment, and when I saw the scale of the augmentation charm on the garden, I thought I knew why it would have been difficult to sell it to Muggles. Instead, I fell for the oldest trick in the book - the double bluff."

Harry fell silent. Eventually Hermione, her forehead creased in a frown, leaned forward.

"Harry, I'm afraid I don't understand you," she told him urgently, "and I'm sure I'm not the only one. Please explain - what double bluff? How could you possibly be to blame for our situation here?"

"I was led by the nose!" Harry burst out. "Surely you can see that? This previous owner - I bet if we tried to find her now we couldn't. She'll either be abroad or disappeared without trace. She was one of Voldemort's creatures! She was told to sell to me!

"Flamel's Stone, it must have been one hell of a shock to Voldemort to find me walking into his parlour once again in total innocence!" Harry continued, shaking his head, lost in a morass of self-reproach. "He must have thought Christmas had come early! What an opportunity! And that's what I thought it was - a gods-given opportunity to make a home for myself, for my - family. Merlin's wand, what an idiot I was!" He paused and leaned his head wearily into his hands.

"Don't beat yourself to death, mate," George spoke for the first time. "Anyone could have made the same mistake."

"I'm supposed to be one of the world's most powerful wizards!" Harry spat back. "And I fell for it hook, line and sinker. Voldemort must be laughing his socks off."

"Snap out of it, Harry. Cut out the self-pity and let's think about this." Ron snapped sharply. "Look at it this way: You-Know-Who made his primary attempt to get back to our dimension, and failed solely because of your efforts. If you hadn't realised what was happening in time, we'd all be dead. So just stop with the emotional wallowing and start thinking!"

Harry's surprised open mouth would have been comical if the situation had been less serious. He closed his teeth with an audible snap and flushed a deep brick red.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"Not your fault, mate, goes with the territory." Ron replied, patting him on the back. "Now. You tell us the Big-V is going to have another go in two days' time. How, where and what can we do to stop him?"

"Okay," began Harry, briskly. "I'll tackle 'where' first. Frankly, it doesn't matter: all he has to do is kidnap Fred one way or another then take him to a place where the magical lines of power which run through our dimension intersect. Our temple is one of those places. Not the only one, I'll grant you, but it would take some further study for me to pinpoint any of the others. That will have to wait.

"'How' and 'what' come more or less into the same category. He'll go for Fred with everything he's got, so we have to stay as a group to protect him. He won't pull any punches or worry about being subtle, and any of us who get caught in the backlash, well, that would just be a welcome bonus to him. Hermione, you discovered that the next crossover point is tomorrow night. What about the one after?" Hermione pursed her lips and consulted her notes.

"The following Tuesday," she replied, "but after that there's a two week break until the next intersection, and the planes will have drifted considerably further apart by then."

"Right then." Harry turned back to his friends. "So Voldemort's got to make the transition either tomorrow night or, as a last ditch attempt, next Tuesday. It's my belief he'll be very keen to do it as soon as possible, so I'm banking on him making an all-out effort to get Fred back during the hours of darkness tonight." There was a tense silence.

"What can we do to stop him?" It was George speaking. "I know all the standard Ministry defences, of course, but you must have some special tricks up your sleeve, Harry, after having studied him for so many years?" Harry nodded vigorously.

" Oh, yes," Harry replied. "There's quite a lot we can do to safeguard ourselves, both tonight and tomorrow. I believe we can construct sufficient protection to keep him at bay until the window of opportunity closes. Each time we resist him, it will become more difficult for him to manifest himself the next time.

"But make no mistake: the crux of what I'm telling you now is that tonight Voldemort will be at his most powerful and he will exert his greatest efforts to defeat us. We will have to use every ounce of our talent, skill and ingenuity to resist him. And what we must endure during the next few hours will be beyond imagining."