Forced to Love by Nephthys Moon

Chapter 5 - Return

Ginny sat in the wooden chair at Hermione’s breakfast table, reading the job advertisements in the Daily Prophet. The Ministry was looking for Aurors. Even if women were allowed into the office, working with Zacharias did not appeal. Granted, if the Ministry hadn’t forbidden women in the first place, he would probably have never been able to become an Auror. It seemed to her that the fall of Voldemort was setting the community back several hundred years; forbidding women in Law Enforcement, arranged marriages in which the female had no voice. Ginny wouldn’t be surprised if more absurd laws were passed in the coming years. Many times, a country couldn’t function properly for a few decades after a war. It seemed the Magical Community was having that problem.

Sighing, she continued to read. It looked like Hogwarts was in need of a Potions professor. Dimly, Ginny recalled reading about Slughorn’s death at the beginning of the summer. She decided it was a possibility. She’d always been more than a fair potioneer. She could stay at Hermione’s house in Hogsmeade during the summers and spend the rest of the holidays at the Burrow. Further perusal provided her with several other possibilities. Gringotts was searching for Curse Breakers and Muggle Money Recirculators. Ollivander’s, reopened after the war, was looking for a wand maker’s apprentice, and the Three Broomsticks was for sale. The announcement that Madam Rosmerta was marrying Aberforth Dumbledore that weekend had been on the front page. As the wedding had been planned before the law was passed and they were both past childbearing age, they were exempt from the decree.

Vaguely, Ginny thought of her account at Gringotts. There was a fair amount of gold in it, but not nearly so much that she could buy the pub. Perhaps she could get a loan. She sighed. It was time to go home. Her mother was going to have a fit as it was that she hadn’t returned to the Burrow as soon as she received her Contract. Leaving her trunk at Hermione’s, she Apparated home.

***

Ron awoke in his tiny flat. Dean had stayed out all night at Pansy’s, for which Ron was eternally grateful. He still wasn’t sure how, exactly, that relationship had begun. She’d fought with the Order during the war, he knew, and she was the Half Blood daughter of Jason Parkinson, a Healer at St. Mungo’s, and a Muggle woman he’d met in France many years before. From the time they’d arrived in London, married and pregnant, Pansy’s mother had pretended to be a witch of little talent. Voldemort, however, had detected the lie and ordered her mother to be murdered. Pansy had watched her love, Draco, destroy her mother. When he’d turned his wand on her, she’d Stunned him without hesitation and fled to Hogwarts, where she’d begged McGonagall for protection.

Two years ago, Dean had begun to date her. He never told Ron how it had come about. Pansy was an Unspeakable at the Ministry. Though many of the Ministry’s studies had become public knowledge during the war, the project that Pansy worked on had not. That was all she was able to tell them. Ron still had a few qualms about trusting a turncoat Slytherin, but he kept his reservations to himself.

He sat on the edge of his bed, head in his hands, elbows on his knees. He’d walked out on the only woman who was ever likely to love him, because he couldn’t forgive his former best friend. In the cold light of day, Ron realised what a foolish decision he’d made. Standing, he decided that there was only one thing to do. He dressed quickly and Disapparated.

***

Harry awoke, feeling more refreshed than he had in years. Putting his plan into action, he began to pack a small valise with two sets of robes, his personal hygiene items, and a small box. He dressed in his finest robes, made of Kelly Green silk. Looking down at himself, he realised he still looked rather shabby. Hurrying to the bathroom, he pulled out his razor. He glanced at the blade; it was dull and rusted . He returned to his bedroom and retrieved his wand from under his pillow.

His hands were shaking as he pulled it out. He needed a drink. Eyeing the dim figure of Severus Snape in the corner of the room, he decided he’d pass on the firewhiskey. Ignoring the dead man, he returned to the bathroom. He cast a cleaning charm on the blade and watched the rust disappear. A quick sharpening charm put a fine edge on the previously dull blade. He conjured shaving cream and smoothed it over his skin. Drawing the blade over his face , he watched as months of growth disappeared down the drain. When he was finished, the face staring back at him bore a remarkable resemblance to that of his father. The only differences were the hair and eyes. His black hair now forcibly reminded him of Snape’s: lank and greasy . He shuddered.

He stowed his wand in the pocket of his robes and went to the bedroom to retrieve his valise. He ambled down the stairs and tossed Floo Powder on the flames. He stepped into his fireplace and shouted, “The Leaky Cauldron!” The now unfamiliar spinning of the Floo Network rattled him, and he realised irritably that he’d forgotten to remove his glasses. They were sure to be broken.

He got out onto the spacious hearth of the pub that guarded the entrance into Diagon Alley and brushed himself off. The stares that greeted him were reminiscent of those he’d received on his first visit, at eleven years of age. When he’d finally bested Voldemort, the lightning scar that had marred his forehead for so long had disappeared, but he was recognizable even without it. Several patrons quickly dropped money on the bar and scurried out, casting fearful glances at him as they did. He resisted the urge to laugh with great difficulty.

Nodding a hello to Tom, who was looking rather ancient, he passed through the pub and drew his wand. He tapped the brick that revealed the secret entrance into Diagon Alley and an archway appeared. Stepping through it, Harry looked around at the bustling street that carried everything a wizard could ever want or need. He smiled. It was then he realised that his glasses had not, in fact, been broken. His smile grew wider . It seemed that he had finally learned how to travel by Floo Powder properly. He hurried along the street, drawing curious and frightened stares as he went. He finally reached the gleaming white building that housed the wizard’s bank, Gringotts. Stepping through the doors, he marched down the marble corridor until he found a desk with an available goblin.

“Harry Potter to make a withdrawal, sir,” he told the goblin respectfully. The goblin looked at him curiously for a moment.

“Do you have your key, Mr. Potter?” the creature asked. Harry nodded and pulled the key out of the neck of his robes, where he kept it on a fine silver chain. The desk goblin called another over, and the new arrival led Harry down the stone hall to the tracks that held the carts. Remembering the pace these took, Harry braced himself against the side. The goblin stopped it outside the vault Harry recognised as his own, though it had been a number of years since he’d been to it. He’d always sent Dobby in the past, but the elf had abandoned his post two months before.

The goblin unlocked the vault and handed Harry a leather pouch. Harry took it gratefully. He stepped inside the small room and scooped a fair amount of coins into the bag, then tucked it into his pocket and exited the vault. The goblin locked the door and ushered Harry back to the cart. Within a matter of minutes, Harry was walking down the steps of Gringotts and rejoining the bustle on the street.

***

Neville sat in his grandmother’s fussy parlour. Though she’d been killed in the war, he couldn’t bring himself to change the room. It had been her private retreat in life, the place she’d gone to recover her nerves after one of his many mishaps. In this room, he could imagine she’d return at any moment and scold him for invading her sanctuary . He sighed. Luna was off on another expedition with her batty old father. He always felt a little down when she wasn’t there.

Luna’s father was getting along in years, but he was still determined to provide the community with proof of the existence of creatures like the Wrackspurt and the Crumple-horned Snorkack, however dubious that proof might be. Luna, just as dotty as he, was just as resolved and never failed to join his excursions. Neville thought they were both mad, but he loved Luna very much and so supported her in her journeys, and had even closed Longbottom’s Tonsorial Parlour to accompany them once. Luna, knowing of his passion for Herbology, a love that had never abated, often brought him rare species of flora for garden or his greenhouse.

The blue Contract in his hand was momentarily forgotten as he thought of the rare fungus that had attacked his Mimbulous Mimbletonia the prior week. He shook his head violently. He needed to write Luna about the new law and put a Contract on her . He had to make sure that no one else did first. He sighed again and dipped a quill in ink. Tongue between his teeth in concentration, he filled in the Contract and sent it to the Ministry. He pulled out a clean sheet of parchment and wrote an affectionate letter to Luna, begging her to return quickly.

***

Ginny arrived at Hogwarts early the next day. She’d sent her owl, Mirena, to Professor McGonagall upon her arrival at the Burrow. The owl had returned in record time with an invitation to the Head’s Office for an interview. She meandered slowly through the halls, reliving a multitude of memories, before stopping in front of the stone gargoyle.

“Discipline,” she said hesitantly. It was the password given in the letter she’d received. The gargoyle moved out of her way and she ascended the stone stairs. Knocking on the door, she entered when bid to do so.

“Good afternoon, Ginevra,” said McGonagall crisply.

“Hello, Professor,” she answered.

“Ginevra, I’ve asked you to call me Minerva many times,” McGonagall reminded her, eyes glimmering with humour.

“Yes, ma – Minerva,” she muttered.

“Sit, please,” Minerva said. Ginny did so. “I’m very pleased to see that you’ve stopped running,” she told the younger woman bluntly.

“You were well on your way to become Deputy Headmistress before you left.” The stern look she gave Ginny reminded her of late night parties being broken up in Gryffindor Tower. It seemed those days had happened a hundred years ago.

“I’m sorry, Minerva. I didn’t mean to leave you in a bind,” she apologised.

“It’s quite alright, Ginevra. I understood your reasons. Though I believed running was the coward’s way, I knew why you found it necessary.”

Ginny said nothing. What was there to say? McGonagall was right. A true Gryffindor would have faced her fears – a true Gryffindor wouldn’t have run away from them.

“Ginny,” Ginny started at the use of her nickname. “The position is yours if you truly want it.”

“I do. I appreciate this, Minerva. I won’t let you down again.” Shaking hands with her new boss, Ginny exuberantly exited the office.

“No, my girl, I don’t believe you will,” McGonagall muttered when the door had closed behind her.

“A wise decision, Minerva,” came a voice from the wall behind her.

“Thank you, Albus,” she replied, turning to face the portrait with a smile.

***

Harry’s first stop was Longbottom’s Tonsorial Parlour . Neville froze in the middle of his greeting as he realised who had come for a visit.

“Harry?” he squeaked.

Harry hid the grin that threatened. Of course Neville would feel awkward in this situation. “Hello, Neville,” he said cheerfully. “I need a haircut, rather desperately, as you can see.” He sat in the chair.

“Uh – of course, H-harry,” he stuttered. Over the course of the hour it took Neville to be satisfied with the results of an old-fashioned, hot lather shave, sharp, silver scissors and a splash of bay rum, he and Harry managed to get reacquainted. The discussed the new law, and Neville confessed that he’d Contracted Luna. Harry smiled at that, paid his old friend, said good-bye and left.

He made his way to Madam Malkin’s and browsed the racks of various coloured robes. The old woman was busy with a customer, so Harry selected several sets of plain work robes and a new set of silk dress robes. The new dress robes were so fine that the silk could be torn by a dull fingernail.

Madam Malkin staunchly refused to make any alterations to Harry’s robes. It wasn’t until Harry promised her several hundred Galleons that she agreed to sell them to him at all. Even still, she worked more quickly than he’d ever seen her do. In a matter of mere minutes, she’d completed the five robes and stood, arm outstretched, awaiting the promised payment. Harry counted fifty Galleons and removed them from the bag. He tossed the pouch to the anxious woman and strode from the shop, his new black dress robes billowing behind him and a bitter taste in his mouth. He slipped the remaining coins in valise with his new robes and Apparated to the Ministry of Magic.

***

Percy paced his office. He’d done this a rather lot in recent days. When he’d Contracted Hermione, he’d expected a challenge from Ron, but he hadn’t expected one from Krum as well. He knew he’d beat Ron in a dispute trial, but Krum was another matter entirely. He heard the sound of someone clearing their throat behind him and turned rapidly.

“Harry? What are you doing here?” Percy was struck by how handsome Harry looked, his new robes shimmering, hair clean, gleaming, and back to it’s usual untidiness. His eyes were no longer cloudy and unfocused and the pleasant scent of bay rum replaced the stench of liquor that had hung about him like a cloud for so many years. Percy noticed the younger man’s eyes scanning the room. Harry resolutely turned his back on the corner nearest the door before he spoke.

“I’ve come to ask for a favour,” he said. The Junior Assistant to the Minister stared, open-mouthed, at the man that had once been the Boy Who Lived.

***

Hermione heard the buzz of gossip before her office door opened. In the doorway stood Harry, looking so like the Harry of Hogwarts that a lump came to her throat . He flicked his eyes to a corner and gave a grim smile. Refusing to look around the room, his green eyes settled on her instead.

“I’ve gotten a job,” he said, the smile changing to smug.

“Really?” she squealed, jumping to hug him.

“Really. Percy spoke to the Minister and MacMillan. It’s all worked out. I start tomorrow.”

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