Now And Forever
Chapter 03
By Abraxan
This story fits into the epilogue of "The Time of Destiny" which is REQUIRED READING before you read this, or many things in it won’t make sense to you. This story takes place during the fall, winter and spring after Harry, Ron and Hermione finish Hogwarts and after their defeat of Voldemort. The chronology of my stories goes: "The Refiner’s Fire" (Harry’s sixth year); "The Time of Destiny" (Harry’s 7th year) WITHOUT the epilogue; "A Fox’s Tale," "Beginnings" and then this story. The epilogue itself—which is attached to "The Time of Destiny"—comes after this story, with "On Second Thoughts," "Hedwig’s Tale" and "A Very Harry Christmas" much later in the epilogue timeline). Enjoy!
Many thanks to my brilliant Brit-picker, Kelpie, and my fabulous betas, Alexander, Asad, Iris and Rich! Thanks too to Mark Anders Harrison for help with a Latin incantation, and Mike McKean for his help with a sports question!
Coming soon to Amazon.com! "Star Sons 1: Dawn of the Two" an original fantasy novel by Abraxan (Lynda Sappington)! You can read a sample chapter at www.whimsyhill.com
When Harry and Ron entered the London Lions stadium, they went straight to their lockers and pulled out their practice robes.
"Bob said they’d have a new broom for you," Ron told Harry as they dressed.
"Great." Harry was looking forward to flying again.
"Harry! You’re back!" his team mates called, gathering around him to pound him on the back and tease him for his lack of flying skill.
"Potter," Smithers called. "My office. Now, please."
"See you later, guys," Harry said with an easy smile as he walked toward the captain’s office. This will be where he tells me they’re taking the cost of that broom I smashed out of my pay. He sighed, grateful that money wasn’t one of his problems.
"Sit down, Harry," Smithers invited. "How are you?"
"I’m fine. Marcus said I can fly."
"How are you sleeping?"
"Much better. They gave me a draught that made me sleep right through for two days, then put me on something that isn’t so strong. I used that last night and only had one nightmare. I was able to get back to sleep after it, so I’m much better."
"Good. I want you to do some PR work with Murphy for the next few days. The other lads have already done some of what you’ll be doing. It’s your turn."
Harry was confused. Oswald Murphy, the team manager, was a wonder at merchandising the team, finding numerous ways to create interest in England’s newest professional Quidditch team. But what did that have to do with him?
Smithers saw Harry’s confusion. "Just follow him around, Harry. He’ll explain everything. None of it’s strenuous, and what flying you’ll be doing will be low and slow. We want you to be in top form before you fly at competition speeds again."
"But the healers cleared me to fly! Why can’t I practice?"
"I spoke to your healer, and he said it would be a good idea to get you back up to speed gradually, so that’s what we’re doing."
Harry sighed. He knew better than to argue with the captain. Nobody got away with that. Smithers ran a friendly but well-disciplined team. Anyone who pushed him too far got suspended from the team for some period of time, and of course, there was always the danger of being sacked. Harry and Ron had witnessed a team-mate defying some direction of the captain’s once too often, resulting in a week-long suspension without pay. The boys had vowed to never get in that position themselves. And here Harry was, on the verge of cheeking the man! He pressed his lips together, determined to be a good team member and not give anyone reason to sack him.
"This isn’t punishment, Harry," Smithers added. "You might just find yourself enjoying it. Go on, Murphy’s waiting for you."
"Should I change back to street clothes?"
"Yes. See you later."
"Right."
* * * * *
Harry stood in Diagon Alley in jeans, trainers and a red t-shirt that read, "Give Blood. Play the Lions!" on the front with the Lions logo and "Potter 7" on the back. The sun shining brightly on the stone buildings made the air feel almost summer-like, a rare thing in late October. It was so warm, Harry removed his cloak and carried it over his arm once they reached Diagon Alley. Next to Harry was Team Manager Oswald Murphy, a jovial man well-liked by everyone on the team.
"Come on, Harry. Our sponsors love meeting team members. It’s good to bring you lads around to visit them every so often. This will be fun for you!"
Harry had his doubts. Meeting fans on the street or after a game still unnerved him, but he’d learned to hide it fairly well. He followed Murphy into shop after shop, shaking hands with the owners and chatting to them about the team’s prospects. He faced frequent questions about the war as well, but Murphy usually managed to change the subject back to Quidditch without too many objections from anyone.
"I think you’ll really enjoy this one," Murphy said as they entered another shop.
Harry hadn’t been inside a wizarding photography studio before. The only wizard photographers he knew were his friend Colin Creevey and the Prophet’s slimy photographer, Bozo, who had followed Rita Skeeter around until she ended up in Azkaban for life a few months ago.
Harry looked around with interest at the numerous moving photographs displayed on the walls. He was surprised to see some mosaic picture frames much like those he made as part of the display.
"Harry Potter! On my stars, how wonderful to meet you!" a very thin young man said, grasping Harry’s hand in both of his with tremendous enthusiasm. "I am such a fan, I can’t tell you!" By now, he’d noticed Harry standing near the mosaic frames. "Oh, you’ve seen them! When I read that you made mosaic picture frames, I had to contact Mr. Joyero and order some! Are you still making them?"
"I haven’t had time for a while," Harry said. Mr. Joyero, the Hogsmeade jeweller who marketed Harry’s picture frames, hadn’t told him that some of the frames he'd sold had gone to another shop.
"I love these! I couldn’t possibly sell them. I use them for display. However, if you ever decide to make more and want a London outlet for them, please think of me, all right?"
I guess that explains it. "Right." Harry began to relax a bit. The man was somewhat hyper but seemed good-hearted enough.
"Sorry, Harry, I haven’t introduced you two properly," Murphy said. "This is Trent Baird. He’s quite a famous photographer. Trent, Harry Potter."
"Who is quite famous in a great many ways!" Trent said, smiling broadly. "Everyone knows who you are, Mr. Potter!"
Harry was embarrassed, as usual, by the man’s effusive greeting, but at least he didn't blush quite as often as he used to. "It’s Harry. Just Harry."
"Oh, what an honour! Thank you, Harry! Do come in!" Trent led the way deeper into the shop.
"I don’t remember seeing your shop before," Harry said as he leaned closer to study a lovely landscape photo with a herd of deer racing across a meadow.
"I’m new to Diagon Alley. I had premises in Coventry before, but I thought being based in London would improve my business. And so it has!"
Trent escorted Harry around the shop, showing him picture after picture. The man was obviously proud of his work, and justifiably so. Harry had never seen such beautiful wizarding photos. Colin was good but still had a way to go to reach this man’s level.
"Your work is fantastic," Harry commented now.
Trent looked as if he might burst from excitement. "Oh, thank you! I can’t tell you what it means to me to hear you say that!"
Harry smiled. The man reminded him of Dobby somehow, nearly falling over his own feet in his eagerness to please.
After a bit more conversation, Trent said, "Shall we get to it then?"
Harry frowned. "Get to what?"
Trent turned to Murphy in confusion. "Doesn’t he know?"
"I haven’t had a chance to tell him," Murphy said, looking a bit uncomfortable.
"To tell me what, Murphy?" Harry said. He could sense whatever it was he hadn’t been told yet was something he wasn’t going to be the least bit happy about.
"Well . . . the team is doing a calendar, Harry, for charity. It’s a great way to get the team members’ names and faces out there where people can get to know you lads," Murphy began. "Most of the others have done their photos. Since Smithers wanted you to do the rounds with me today, we thought it would be a good time to do your photo shoot."
Harry stared at the man. "My photo shoot?"
"Yes."
"But I’m not in my uniform."
"It’s okay, Harry," Murphy replied. "That’s what we want for this project. We have enough photos with you lads in uniform already. We want different shots of you as individuals to fill it out."
Harry sighed, then squared his shoulders. He’d agreed to participate in team publicity despite his dislike for such things. "All right, let’s get it over with."
"Oh, wonderful!" Trent cried, nearly clapping his hands with glee. "Come with me."
Trent led the way to a room in the back of the shop where three cameras stood on tripods and various strange instruments were set up on tall metal staffs.
"What are those?" Harry said, nodding toward the things on the poles.
"They provide lighting, atmosphere, all kinds of things to enhance the photographs," Trent explained as he took Harry’s cloak and hung it on a hook near the door. He stood back and appraised Harry’s attire, his chin in his hand, his index finger tapping the side of his face. "Yes, that will do nicely, I think. It will need just a bit of adjustment." He reached out and tugged at Harry’s shirt, pulling at the shoulder seams until they set squarely on Harry’s broad shoulders, then drawing the sides back until the shirt was quite tight across Harry’s chest.
Harry didn’t like the way this was going. "What are you doing?"
"Why do you wear such baggy clothes?" Trent said as he tried to tuck Harry’s shirt more tightly into his trousers.
"They’re comfortable. I can dress myself," Harry said, pulling away from Trent’s busy hands. "I’m a grown man! Give over!"
The photographer looked abashed. "I’m sorry! You’ve been photographed so often, I thought you would be used to being prepped for photos."
"Not like this, I haven’t. They usually just aim their cameras and take their pictures."
"Oh, I see. Well, these are portraits, and we want them to have a certain style. How about this? I’ll put a spell on your clothes to make them fit properly. Will that be all right with you?"
Harry’s body stiffened as he restrained himself from a visible shudder. The man didn’t look or act like an enemy, but Harry wouldn’t just allow some stranger to hex him, either. "What kind of spell?"
"A Sizing Spell. It makes clothes fit better. I’ll cast it so it wears off in half an hour."
Harry didn’t like the sound of this. "Show me on yourself or Murphy first."
Trent looked surprised, but then his face fell. "Oh my stars, how thoughtless of me! You were in battle not that long ago. Your concern is completely understandable! After what you’ve been through, I’d be very hesitant to let someone cast a spell on me, too. I’ll be happy to do the spell on myself and Murphy both, if you wish."
Harry watched the man warily. "Go on, then."
Trent waved his wand at both himself and Murphy. A moment later, Trent’s clothes, which had fit him quite neatly before, became rather tight. Murphy’s robes lost their fullness and fit him as if tailored to his form.
Trent smiled at Harry. "See? My clothes fit well to start with, so now they’re too tight. Yours fit loosely, like Mr. Murphy’s robes, so this spell will simply make them fit you better." With another wave of Trent’s wand, the spell was removed.
Harry still felt uneasy about the whole thing. "It looks OK, but I’d rather learn it and do it myself, if you don’t mind. Can you teach it to me?"
Trent beamed. "Of course!! I just want you to look your best for the photos. Oh my, I’m teaching the great Harry Potter a spell! What an honour!"
Harry grimaced and hoped the spell wouldn’t be too difficult to learn quickly.
"It’s just a flick and a double swish," Trent said, demonstrating, "and the incantation is Magnitudo Accommodatus. If you want the robes to be tighter, you simply use faster wand movements. If you want them looser, you move your wand more slowly."
"And how do you end the spell?" Harry said, practicing the wand movement slowly while aiming at a nearby tablecloth. The cloth grew bigger until nearly a foot of excess cloth lay puddled on the floor.
"Well done, Harry!" Trent said, clapping his hands in excitement. "You’re so quick! I thought you would be. Oh, and you end the spell with a Finite."
Harry aimed at the tablecloth again and said, "Finite Incantatem." The tablecloth returned to its normal size in an instant. He nodded approvingly. "Cool." Then, turning to Murphy with a smirk, he raised his wand and said in a deadly voice, "Don't move."
Murphy blanched. He’d never expected to be on the receiving end of a spell cast by Harry Potter! "Er, Harry, uh, Mr. Potter, maybe now would be a good time for me to apologize for dragging you in here without warning and—"
After Harry cast the spell, Murphy’s robes fit him much more neatly. The older man nearly sagged in relief.
"Actually," said Harry, "when I wasn't pointing a wand at you would have been a better time for that apology."
"You’re right," Murphy said with a nervous smile. "I'll do better in future."
Harry thanked him, then removed the spell. "Your robes do look better when they aren’t so baggy, though."
"I do like a nice draft around my, erm, legs," Murphy said with a wink and a smile.
Harry returned his smile. He liked Murphy a lot, but he wasn’t at all happy about having this photo session sprung on him by surprise. He tried to shake off his resentment, and looked at Trent. "I think I have it now." Harry aimed the spell at himself with a quick wand movement. A moment later, his shirt and trousers fit him snugly, nearly to the point of discomfort. Harry felt as if he were stuffed into his shirt and pants now.
Harry sighed. "Damn. That’s too tight." He raised his wand to reverse the spell, but Trent put his hand on Harry’s wand arm.
"No, it’s perfect!" Trent said carefully. "Leave it like that, if you don’t mind."
Harry couldn’t believe it. His clothes felt like a second, not-flexible-enough skin, they were so tight. "But—"
"You will look wonderful in your photos now. That fit is perfect. Trust me."
Trent led Harry to the portrait area in front of his camera and tapped one of his instruments with his wand. A breeze issued from the instrument, making Harry’s long hair flutter around his head. A tap of another instrument resulted in the background becoming a bright blue sky with a few wispy clouds scudding across it.
Harry looked at the sky backdrop in surprise. Magic still amazed him, even when the magic wasn’t anything fancy. He wriggled his shoulders, annoyed with the tight fit of his shirt. To tell the truth, I’m just annoyed by this whole thing. Lost in his thoughts, he nearly jumped when the photographer’s voice broke through his reverie.
"Look this way, Harry. That’s it. Oh, my, that grim look is quite sexy! This calendar will sell fabulously!"
Harry went from feeling annoyed to feeling a bit ill-used, edging over into renewed anger rather quickly. Trent seemed to think every nuance of Harry’s irritation was fascinating.
"Wonderful! Move around just a bit, these are moving pictures, after all! Yes, yes, that’s it! Wonderful!"
Harry shifted his weight from foot to foot, wondering whether it would make a good picture if he bolted and ran. The thought almost made him smile, which sent Trent into raptures of excitement.
"Yes! Oh, that tease of a smile! Do it again! And that glint in your eye! You’re very expressive! Have you thought about modelling?"
Harry almost snorted as the memory of billboards he’d seen in Muggle London showing young men in nothing but their briefs flashed through his mind. "No."
"You should, you know. But I know how busy you are, with Quidditch, Auror School and teaching at Hogwarts."
Harry scowled at the man, his temper simmering just below the surface now. "How do you know all that?"
"No, Harry, that’s too much of a frown. Just a slight frown is sexy. This one is a bit too much."
"I asked―"
"I read the biographical information that will accompany the photo of each team member on the calendar," Trent said off-handedly. He straightened up and came toward Harry again. "Right! That’s enough with the shirt. Take it off now, please." He held out his hand expectantly.
Open-mouthed with shock, Harry stared from Trent to Murphy and back again. He really thinks I’m going to just hand over my shirt? Murphy, at least, had the grace to look a bit uncomfortable. Harry’s mouth snapped shut as his temper flared. He took a deep breath, tamping down his anger with an effort. "What?"
"Your shirt. Take it off," Trent said, wiggling the fingers of his outstretched hand.
"No!"
Murphy sighed. "Harry, everyone else has. It’s for charity, remember?"
Harry turned to Murphy, disbelief and rage warring within him for dominance. The delicate instruments shivered on their long poles in response to his anger. "Did Ron agree to this? Does he know what you have planned?"
‘Not yet," Murphy said with a shrug. "Everyone else is doing it, Harry. It will look odd if you don’t. And you did agree in your contract to cooperate with our publicity programs."
"Publicity, yeah. Interviews when I have to, signing autographs after every game and whenever someone approaches me on the street or in shops. I agreed to that and I’m doing it. Nobody said anything about half-naked photos of me being part of the deal!" He looked from one man to the other. "They are only half-naked, right? You don’t expect me to get my kit off entirely, do you?"
Trent looked a bit hopeful, then shook his head. "No, of course not. We just want a bit of muscle showing to please the ladies."
"I’m engaged," Harry said, trying to muster some patience. "I don’t need to please any ladies but Ginny."
"We’ll send her a calendar with our compliments," Murphy said quickly. "Please, Harry, it’s not a big deal. Just take your shirt off and we’ll be done in no time."
Harry took a step closer to Murphy. "I have scars, remember?"
"They barely show," Murphy replied. "I’ve seen you in the locker room. You look fine. Just cooperate, lad. It’ll soon be over."
Nearly growling with frustration, Harry yanked his shirt out of his jeans and tugged it over his head, dislodging his glasses in the process. He straightened his glasses and tossed his shirt aside, then ran his fingers roughly through his hair and glared at Trent. "Let’s get this over with."
Trent stood staring at Harry with his mouth hanging open. "Oh. My. Stars."
Harry was near the breaking point. "What now?"
"What kind of workout do you do, Harry? I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anyone in such excellent nick!"
"I fly." Harry wasn’t about to tell him that his torso and arms were so developed because of his flying as a phoenix, raven or thestral when he was in Animagus form.
Trent swallowed hard, then held his wand up, adjusting the lights and the wind machine. He bent down and looked through his camera at Harry, who stood glaring at the camera with tremendous defiance.
"Dear Merlin’s ghost. If I were a Death Eater ― and mind you, I’m not! ― I’d simply surrender if you glared at me that way. You do know you’re scaring me, right?" He straightened up and looked at Harry directly. "But it’s a great look! Really!"
Harry sighed and did his best to stop scowling. "What do you want me to do?"
Trent walked up to Harry and moved around him, using his wand to adjust the lights from time to time. He stopped and gasped when he got behind Harry.
Harry looked over his shoulder at the photographer, who was standing totally silent, simply staring at Harry’s scars. After a long moment, the man cleared his throat roughly.
"I, um, I read about how you suffered during the war," he murmured, looking uncomfortable now. "Your scars tell the tale." He looked Harry in the eye, a much more respectful expression on his face. "I’m sorry to put you through this, Mr. Potter."
The sudden change in the man’s attitude made Harry nearly smile. He’s only doing his job, and he’s trying to be nice. He sighed, then said, "What happened to ‘Harry’?"
Trent blushed. "Yes, well. Shall we get on with it then?"
"Yes, let’s."
For about twenty minutes, Harry posed with his shirt off, trying not to blush too much when the photographer got silly with his comments again. Then Harry had to pose with a broom.
"But I don’t fly with my shirt off," Harry protested.
"Perhaps you’ll start a new style," Trent replied with a teasing grin.
Harry gave in, made the broom hover and mounted it, then posed in front of the sky backdrop again, this time reaching out as if to catch a flying Snitch. Then Trent handed him a Snitch, which Harry held in his fist as he pumped it overhead in a triumphant gesture, with as much of a winner’s grin on his face as he could manage.
Finally, it was over. Harry heaved a huge sigh of relief as he grabbed his shirt and dragged it over his head. He straightened his glasses, raked his fingers through his hair again and shoved the tail of his shirt roughly into the waistband of his trousers, giving Murphy occasional annoyed glances. We’re just going to visit some sponsors, he said. Right!
"Thank you for your cooperation, Harry. I hope my photos do you justice," Trent said as he walked Harry and Murphy to the door. "Have a wonderful day."
"Yeah, you too."
As he and Murphy walked down Diagon Alley, Harry walked with his head bowed, lost in thought. He was angry that neither his team mates nor the team manager had warned him about the photo shoot. He drew his wand suddenly when a man burst out of a shop toward him.
"Don’t hex me, mate!" Fred Weasley said, laughing, but with his hands in the air. "I saw you coming and thought I’d say hello. George would be out here too, but he’s with a customer."
Harry relaxed and pocketed his wand, glad it was a friend. "How are you, Fred?"
"Spiffing, simply spiffing! What are you doing on Diagon Alley? I thought you’d be at practice now."
Murphy touched Harry's arm briefly. "Harry, if you want to chat for a mo’, I’ll just pop into the pub here."
Harry nodded, then turned to Fred and told him about the photo shoot that was sprung on him with no warning.
"Yeah, that would be a bit annoying," Fred agreed, then lowered his voice when he continued. "About as annoying as those fans hovering just a few feet behind you."
"What―"
"Don’t turn around now, mate, but there’s a whole gaggle of females behind you, wondering if that’s really you or just some bloke wearing a shirt with your name on," Fred murmured.
Harry didn’t have the patience to deal with fans right now. "Great." He blew out a hard breath. "What are they doing?" He didn’t really want to turn around and encourage them. If he stayed turned away from them, maybe they’d just leave.
"They’re sending scouts round to peep at you from the side." Fred smirked. "Want to hide in the shop?"
Harry sighed. "No. This is why I’m out here, to meet and greet and do publicity for the team." He’d no sooner finished speaking than one of the girls from the group whooped with delight.
"It is him! Look, it’s Harry Potter! Right here in Diagon Alley!"
Harry made a face at Fred, who was chuckling, then pasted on a smile and turned to the girl who’d spoken. "Hello."
"Oh!" The girl seemed to be startled when he spoke directly to her. "Hi! I’m, um, so glad to meet you."
"Hi." Harry looked at the other women and girls now surrounding him. "Are you ladies here on holiday, or just shopping?"
"Both!" another girl said. "What are you doing here? Do you come here often?"
Harry didn’t have a good answer for either question, but was spared having to think of one by the other girls, whose questions soon tumbled over each other. He finally held his hands up for quiet. "I can’t answer so many questions at once, sorry. How about this?" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of the team cards. "These will get you a ten percent discount on tickets to any of our home games. The schedule’s on the back." He began passing them out.
The cards were snatched by eager hands and soon the girls were commenting excitedly over the picture of Harry on the front. While they were swarming around him, Harry felt a hand very definitely squeeze his arse. He spun around, but didn’t catch whoever did it. Before he could say anything, the girl who’d talked to him first spoke up.
"Harry, will you sign this for me? Make it ‘To Nancy with love.’"
Harry smiled and signed the card with only his name, then did the same for the others, keeping his back to Fred and hoping his friend would stay there to protect his backside. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Nancy react with disappointment to the signature on her card.
"Are you still seeing that redhead?" Nancy asked, her tone a bit aggressive, Harry thought.
"She’s my fiancée." He kept signing cards, hoping the girl would back off.
"She isn’t that pretty. You could do better," she said now, her tone snippy.
"Hey, that’s my sister―" Fred began, his voice uncharacteristically harsh.
Harry stopped what he was doing and looked at the girl seriously, then spoke, interrupting Fred. "She’s beautiful, and she’s perfect for me. We’re very happy together." He almost smiled when he heard Fred muttering something about "stupid fangirls" behind him.
The other girls elbowed the rude one roughly to the back of the group, some of them apologizing for her behaviour.
Harry finished signing their cards and turned to grin at Fred. "Thanks for watching my back, mate."
"No problem. Next time you think someone’s going to squeeze your arse, though, call George and me. We might enjoy running interference for you under those circumstances!"
"You’re welcome to it." Yeah, Fred and George would think it a laugh to have strange girls groping their bums. He wished he could pass the fan girls off to them. It would certainly make his life simpler.
Harry turned back to the girls, who were still standing as he’d left them, clutching their signed cards and staring at him in awe. Their devotion saddened him somehow. When they saw him looking at them, they surged forward again. Harry held his hands up and backed away, trying to smile at them while fighting his flaring temper.
"I have to go, ladies. I hope you enjoy the game when you come. See you later, Fred." Harry stalked off toward the pub. Before he reached the doorway, Murphy stepped out of the pub and joined him.
"Well done, lad. I was watching," Murphy said now.
"Why didn’t you come and help me? They were swarming all over me!"
Murphy raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I thought you were doing fine."
"I didn’t feel fine." Harry walked along silently for a bit as his temper continued to simmer. "Do we have more appointments?"
"Nothing’s set up. We’ll just visit shops as we come to them."
Harry stopped and turned toward Murphy. "Then I’d like a break."
"Why? You’re doing so well―"
Harry glared at the man. "You don’t understand how hard this is for me! I hate it!" he hissed, trying to avoid being heard by passers-by.
Murphy looked gobsmacked. "Why? You’re so popular―"
Harry continued in a hoarse whisper. "I don’t care! I just want to be left alone! People seem to think they own me or something. They treat me like an object, not a person. It’s creepy." He blew out an impatient breath. "One of them squeezed my arse!" He shook his head, fighting back his indignation. "You took a break in the pub while I talked to them. I’d like a break as well."
Murphy smiled and held an arm toward the pub invitingly. "Shall we have a pint, then?"
"No. I’ll be back in a while," he said, then Disapparated. When he reappeared, he was standing outside the forest behind Hogwarts. Harry glanced around, saw he was alone, and changed into a raven so he could fly onto the grounds. He soared over the familiar grounds, watching students walking and jogging to class with Hagrid or in the greenhouses or back at the castle.
A group leaving the greenhouses caught his eye. In the centre of the group was a very familiar mane of long red hair. He landed out of sight, changed back into himself and walked to meet them. When Ginny caught sight of him, her face glowed with joy. Harry felt better immediately.
"Hi." He reached out and took the heavy bag off her shoulder, nodding to her friends as he drew her away.
Ginny slipped her hand into his and fell into step with him. "You look so much better! What are you doing here? Not that I mind, of course!"
"I’m fine. I just needed to see you. I was having . . . well, I’ve had what might be called ‘a day.’"
She studied his face, her eyes sympathetic. "That bad, huh?"
"Yeah. But it’s better now." They’d reached a small copse of trees. Harry pulled her to him and kissed her thoroughly. "I missed you."
"Mmm, me too."
"Are you free now?" He raised his eyebrows hopefully.
"No, I have to go and work on a project for Transfiguration with Colin and Luna. This was the only time the three of us could get together today. I’m sorry."
"That’s OK. I just needed to see you for a bit. You go on." He wished they had time for more than a few stolen kisses, but at least seeing her had calmed his temper.
"Are you sure you’re all right?"
"Yeah, I’m fine. Honest." Seeing her doubtful look, he grinned and tilted his head, acting as if he hadn’t a care in the world. "I just missed you, that’s all."
"I’ll see you Tuesday, then, right? You have a game this weekend?"
"Yeah. See you next week. Have a good day. Good luck with your project."
"Thanks."
With a quick kiss goodbye, they parted, Ginny heading toward the castle, and Harry watching her go before changing back into a raven and leaving the grounds. He Disapparated and returned to Diagon Alley, where he found Murphy back in the pub.
"Ready to move on, then?" Murphy said with a genial smile.
Harry shrugged, resigned to doing publicity the rest of the day. "Yeah."