A/N: The last few weeks nearly every review has asked me, "When will Harry tell Ginny about magic being real?" I've answered, "In the next couple of chapters," and left it at that. We have now reached the point in the story where Harry reveals his identity as a wizard and you can learn what Ginny's reaction is.
Many thanks to Melindaleo, Mutt n Feathers, Brennus, and Cackling Stump. These four editors have taken my rough drafts and helped me bash them into shape with their questions, comments and encouragement.
Finally, thank you, thank you, thank you to those who voted for my story in the Silver Trinket Awards. I about fell over when I discovered A Time for Healing placed first for Best New Story and Best Romance in the May 2020 voting. I appreciate, too, everyone who reviews the story. I always write back, so you won't be left hanging, wondering if I value your opinion.
Chapter Ten
Hermione was frustrated. Every scroll and law book she had consulted was bereft of information about when a witch or wizard could tell their intended or spouse about magic. She'd come across many references to rules and reasons for not telling them, but the specific clause she needed was nowhere to be found. Therefore, she finally went to a friend who worked in the Wizengamot Administration Services office with her problem.
"So, you're seeking an answer for a friend who wants to marry a Muggle?" Glenda asked. "Why would he want to do that?"
"He says she makes him feel complete. He really does seem to love her," Hermione said, letting her annoyance show. "I'd say it was a load of tosh, but when you see them together, you know it isn't."
"All right, then. As far as I know, the only time it's completely legal to tell a Muggle about magic is when it's a Hogwarts teacher informing Muggle parents that their child is magical," Glenda said.
"You mean to tell me that it's illegal to tell your spouse or intended that you're a witch or wizard?" Hermione asked.
"Yes, but there is a loophole," said Glenda. "If the Muggle sees magical things in his or her intended's flat or house and asks about them, the wizard is free to tell her. Unfortunately, most of the time, the witch or wizard is not believed."
Hermione sighed. "I was afraid of that," she said. "Then what?"
"If your friend has already married this woman and he tells her after the wedding and she doesn't accept magic is real, she can divorce him, since their ceremony was civil and the couple wasn't bonded. If they've somehow been magically bonded, they're stuck with each other for life," Glenda said cynically. "Most bonded couples just opt for living apart."
"Is there anything else I should know?" Hermione asked, feeling sick.
"Just hope your friend's fiancée is open-minded enough to accept magic and that he hasn't married her yet," was Glenda's last advice. "If they aren't married, they should part ways. Either way, the Muggle needs to be Obliviated."
With a sigh, Hermione thanked Glenda and went back to her office. She was so shocked by Glenda's news that she hadn't had the courage to ask her about what happens when a mixed-magic couple had a child who started doing accidental magic at a young age, much less when the child received his or her Hogwarts letter. No matter what, Harry wasn't going to like what she had to report.
Harry hadn't seen Hermione since he'd poked his head into her fireplace on Boxing Day and it was now the third of January. In the meantime, he and Ginny had spent a quiet evening celebrating the old year and ringing in the new one on New Year's Eve. They'd only had one blip in their evening and that had been when Harry could find only three good batteries rather than four to power the remote control for his DVD player. They'd solved the problem by manually pushing the buttons on the player. Ginny had been fascinated that neither the telly nor the player was plugged into the wall, but still worked: Harry didn't tell her that this second piece of machinery had been charmed and installed by Hermione after she'd been successful with charming the telly nor did he tell her the house had no electrical outlets. Instead, he explained that both machines were "experimental" and had their own power sources.
Now, he was up especially early because Hermione had sent an owl saying that she would be coming over before going to the Ministry to tell him what she'd learned. Harry was nervous, mostly because he thought he already knew the answer to the questions he'd asked Hermione to research.
The kitchen fire suddenly glowed green and a second later, Hermione stepped out, carrying a Muggle briefcase and wearing a smart set of work robes that resembled a Muggle business suit.
"Coffee?" Harry inquired, holding up the pot.
"Yes, please," she exclaimed, setting her briefcase on the table and joining Harry at the worktop.
He handed her a steaming mug and pushed the sugar bowl and cream pitcher in her direction. She added liberal amounts of both before she took her first sip and sighed happily.
"Breakfast," she explained between sips. "Didn't have time for it this morning. Oh, don't bother making me anything…" She trailed off as Harry set a small paper sack in front of her.
"Homemade granola squares," he explained. "Ginny taught me how to make them. If you've got meetings today this will be easy to snack on as you go from one office to another." He watched as she opened the sack and pulled out a bite-sized square. "The recipe called for rolled oats, dried fruit, almonds, and chocolate pieces. Try it, you'll like it."
Hermione giggled. "You sound like a television commercial."
Harry shrugged. "I admit to watching a lot of television in the last year, thanks to you," he said. "Maybe the adverts have started rubbing off on me."
"Harry, these are really good. Can I take the bag with me?" Hermione asked, sounding hopeful.
"Only if you tell me why you wanted to see me this morning instead of just saying whatever you have to say in a letter," Harry replied.
Hermione retrieved her briefcase, put the paper sack inside and locked it before saying, "It's pretty much what I thought. There are all sorts of laws, regulations, stipulations, and guidelines for not telling a Muggle you're wizard, but the only time it's legal to tell someone about magic is if you're a Hogwarts teacher informing a parent that their child is magical and that you are a representative of the school who has come to help the family with the child's schooling decisions."
Harry groaned. "I thought so, too. Did any of your books or scrolls tell you what to do if the Muggle starts asking about magic?"
"There is a loophole that allows you to talk about magic, if the Muggle asks first," Hermione told him. "It's when you start performing spells in front of a random Muggle that you get in trouble. However, this house is so well hidden that everyday spells won't be detected at all. I think you getting into trouble for doing magic that summer had more to do with Dolores Umbridge than anything else."
"I remember," Harry said, thinking back to the summer before his fifth year. "I think Umbridge was looking for any possible offense so she could justify snapping my wand. The crime of performing magic in front of a Muggle didn't make much sense since Dudley already knew about magic." He sighed, then asked, "So what do you recommend? Do I just let Ginny ask about the strange things she sees here on her own, or do I tell her I'm a wizard and hope I won't get in trouble with the Ministry?" He stopped, then said regretfully, "Unfortunately, Madam Pomfrey would have my head if I started doing magic before she says I can."
"Harry, if you want my opinion, the safest thing to do is let Ginny ask, I think. That way, you're not forcing something on her that she's not ready to accept," Hermione said. "But I have to warn you, if she doesn't accept that magic is real, she will need to be Obliviated." Harry scowled, even though he knew she was right. "I know that isn't what you want," she continued, "but it has to be done. It would probably be best if I am around when you tell her so I can do that if necessary." She glanced at her watch. "I've gotta go. Please don't do anything rash, Harry. I know you want Ginny to know you're a wizard, but let her come to you. And when she does, contact me so I can be there to help you explain."
Harry scowled, turning back to the Aga to pour himself another cup of coffee as he muttered, "Not bloody likely."
Apparently, Hermione didn't hear him. She grabbed her briefcase, kissed Harry lightly on the cheek and headed up the stairs to the entrance hall. Harry was halfway up the stairs when he heard the front door close and Hermione's parting "pop" as she Apparated away.
Harry stood on the stairs contemplating what his next move would be. As he considered Ginny, he concluded that she would have an open mind and would embrace the idea of magic. She loves me; there's no reason to wait. Then, smiling to himself, he climbed up to his bedroom, opened his wardrobe and rummaged through his old Hogwarts trunk: at the bottom, wrapped in his old Quidditch jersey, was his box from Ollivander's. Lifting the lid, he gazed lovingly at his wand. If there was anything that defined who he really was, it was this wand. Oh, how he longed to touch it, but Madam Pomfrey had told him it was still too early for even handling it because of the powerful connection between the wand and its wizard.
With his idea firmly in mind, he closed the box and sifted through the rest of the trunk, extracting a few photographs, the album Hagrid given him at the end of his first year and a Hogwarts banner. He taped the banner on the back of the bedroom door, then took the photos, the album and his wand box to the library where he propped the photos above the fireplace and displayed his wand on a pen stand he found in his desk. The album he centred on the pouf. His stage was set. If Ginny didn't ask about the magical objects this coming Saturday when she came for dinner, he decided that he was just going to tell her. She needed to know and he wasn't going to keep who he really was a secret from her any longer.
The doorbell rang right on time on Saturday evening. Harry opened the door to see Ginny standing there in her nurse's scrubs, holding a small case. She looked exhausted and in need of an immediate hug. As soon as she crossed the threshold, he administered his remedy for tiredness. Ginny snuggled into his hug, dropping her handbag and case on the floor with a thud.
"Long day?" he asked.
Ginny nodded on his shoulder. "You have no idea. We have a new patient, a teenaged boy who was hurt in a motorcycle accident," she said. "He's angry at the world right now and he refuses to stay in bed. I found him on the bathroom floor after he tried to help himself and he got as far as one of the waiting rooms before he collapsed a second time. He reminds me of Fred a little — stubborn, determined — but Fred was always cheerful when he escaped to the paediatric floor. This kid is just surly. The matron assigned me full time guard duty so that every time he escaped, I had to run after him today!"
"Are you his minder forever?" Harry asked.
"Thank goodness, no. The matron assigned each of the ward's nurses a day of the week to mind him for as long as he's with us. My day is Saturday," Ginny explained.
"Why don't they restrain him or put him in a room with a locked door?" Harry asked. "That's what the hea—doctors did with me at one point."
Ginny made a derisive noise. "And violate the patient's rights? Ha! How can you suggest such a thing? I wish we could restrain him. He hurts himself every time he leaves his bed," she said, "but tying him down would be too traumatic the little darling and violate his right to freedom. Besides, the matron thinks we nurses need some extra exercise! As if!" She yawned.
"Why don't you go up and change," Harry suggested. "Tea downstairs or in the library when you're ready?"
"Library… and if you have any of that cognac left, put a slug of it in my cup!" Gin suggested while extracting herself from Harry's embrace.
Harry handed her bags to her. "See you in a few," he said and made his way to the kitchen stairs. He paused at the top and listened hard. It wasn't long before he heard Sirius murmur, "Hello, Ginny." Ginny's footsteps paused, then resumed their steady pace upwards as she replied, "Hello," back. Harry went down to prepare their tea.
He found Ginny lounging on the library sofa when he brought up the tea tray. She was staring at the new photographs he had put on the mantle with an expression that Harry had come to identify as her "puzzling" face. He set the tray on the pouf and went to his liquor shelf to get the cognac. On the way back, he took a photo off the mantel and handed it to Ginny.
"That's Dean Thomas, the football nut I went to school with. I told you about him at the Arsenal game we went to," he told her as he poured a small amount of the cognac in Ginny's mug, then added tea to the brim and put it on the end table next to her.
"Harry, does the photograph move?" she asked. "I could have sworn Dean was moving when you handed me the picture."
Harry looked over her shoulder at the picture. In it, Dean had frozen holding the ball at chest height with a look on his face that seemed to be asking Harry if he could move. Harry nodded and Dean resumed tossing the ball and catching it repeatedly, the way he always had in life. Colin Creevey had done a great job capturing their friend that last September they were at Hogwarts as he once again attempted to explain his favourite game to a bunch of Quidditch fanatics.
Ginny dropped the photo. "What the hell?" she exclaimed. "Dean's tossing the football!" She picked it up again, looking at it from all sides. "I've heard about digital frames before, but this one is remarkable. Are all of the electronics in the paper? Where did you get it?"
Harry sat down next to her, sipping his own tea. "Most of my photographs move," he said, reaching for the album that sat next to the tea tray. "These are the only photographs of my parents I have and they all move. Want to see?"
Ginny shook her head. "Not yet. I need to wrap my head around the fact that a photograph on a piece of paper can move without the benefit of any visible batteries or solar panels to power the animation," she said shakily.
Harry sat back against the sofa cushions, watching Ginny. He hoped she was open to the idea of magic. The fact that she was sitting quietly and hadn't left was, perhaps, a good sign. He exhaled when she reached for the photo album. She opened the leather cover and stared at the first page, then closed the book and inspected the cover and spine just like she did with the photograph.
"Trust me, Ginny," Harry teased, "you won't find any power source."
Giving up her search, she started paging through the album, Harry pointing out his parents and their friends.
"They're so young!" she exclaimed as she gazed at the last few photos that included some of Harry as a toddler playing with his parents and the rest of the Marauders. There was even one of Harry flying on a toy broom around his father's legs. Ginny lingered on this one longer than she had the others.
"They were twenty-one when they died," Harry told her.
"You told me they died young, but you never told me how they died."
This was it. Once he told her about Voldemort and his Killing Curse, she would either accept him and his magic or she wouldn't. "It was a magic spell called the Killing Curse, cast by a wizard named Lord Voldemort, that killed them, Ginny," he said softly. "You see, Dad was a wizard, Mum a witch, and so were Professor McGonagall, Sirius, Remus and Tonks. I'm a wizard, too."
Ginny set the album on the floor next to the sofa. "You're kidding me. Did George put you up to this?
"No, it's true."
"You actually believe your parents were a witch and wizard? You really believe they were killed by a magic spell?" she asked incredulously.
"Yes, I do," Harry said levelly, "because I fought Voldemort for more than five years before we duelled for the final time two and a half years ago. The wars with him and his Death Eaters killed so many good magical people; my parents, Sirius, Remus and Tonks, Professor McGonagall were among the unlucky ones who fought and died so that good would triumph over evil. The Dark wizards and witches brought out the ugliness in people because of greed and a superiority complex that puts some of what non-magical people do to each other look like child's play. They wanted to take over the magical world just like Hitler wanted to rule Europe during the Second World War.
"But that's not the type of magic I want to show you," he continued as Ginny opened her mouth to say something. "The magic that makes photos and portraits move powers a lot of things in this house. The Aga down in the kitchen stays warm because of magic, not gas piped into the house. I've recuperated much faster than I should have because of magic potions. Broken dishes repair themselves with a simple spell. My favourite sport is Quidditch, which is played on brooms, and is made possible by all sorts of magical enchantments. Ginny, I am a wizard. I went to school in Scotland to learn all about magic at the age of eleven." He grabbed her hands and stared into her eyes. "Please, Ginny, I need you to believe me."
Ginny had sat quietly while he spoke, but pulled her hands from his before responding. Now she said, "That's a lovely story, Harry, but I think you're either lying or delusional. Show me something to prove what you are claiming."
Harry pointed to his wand. "That's the wand I've used since my eleventh birthday. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for that wand. It kept me safe all through those dark years I was fighting Voldemort."
Ginny stood up and went over to examine the wand. "Can I pick it up?" she asked.
"Sure, but I doubt it will do anything," he said.
She wrapped her hand around the handle. "It's certainly well used," she said critically, while examining the worn wood. She held it out to him. "Do a spell. Maybe I'll believe you easier."
"Ginny, I can't," Harry sighed as he put his hands in his pockets. "I'm not supposed to use it until Madam Pomfrey, my Healer, says I can. Not performing magic is part of my recovery."
"Convenient," she said sceptically. "Then show me something I can understand," she demanded.
"Leave my wand here," Harry requested, and Ginny put it on the tea tray. "Let's go talk to my parents and the other portraits."
Out in the stairwell, Harry addressed the portraits. "Mum, Dad, Sirius, Ginny thinks I'm fanaticizing about being a wizard. Tell her I'm not pranking her."
His dad spoke first. "Harry is not—"
"Portraits that talk and move? Very clever, Harry. You must have some very sophisticated electronics hidden in the frames if they can carry on a conversation with someone," she cut in.
"Ginny, we're not made of electronic hocus pocus," Remus said. "Please believe us when we tell you that every one of us was magical. Harry is a wizard."
Ginny stepped forward and took Sirius' portrait off the wall. She turned it over so the back faced upward, running her fingers over the seams of the frame and inserting her fingernails into any cracks or crevices she found. Sirius moved into James and Lily's frame, holding his head. When she couldn't find what she was looking for, Ginny fished her phone out of her pocket and tried to turn on the torch function. Nothing happened.
"My phone's dead again!" she exclaimed angrily. "What is it about this house that kills batteries?"
"It's the centuries of magic that permeates the walls, Ginny," Lily said quietly. "Sirius' family lived here for over two hundred years. The walls absorbed the magical energy that powered their spells. Part of the compulsion to leave that you feel when you try to access the house is magic in the walls protecting the inhabitants."
"OK, but what about the telly and the DVD player? You said the other day that they had specially batteries that powered them." Ginny asked. "How do they run?"
"Magic," all six portraits chorused. Ginny jumped when she realized Sirius had spoken to her from another frame. She looked repeatedly between the frame in her hands and the one on the wall.
"There's no electricity in the house," Harry said quietly.
Ginny handed the frame to him and went back into the library. Harry followed her, leaning Sirius' frame against the sofa. Ginny was inspecting the wires connecting the DVD player to the telly. "So, these two machines have been enchanted to work while surrounded by magic?" she asked sceptically. "Why not enchant the remotes?"
"Hermione tried, but couldn't get her spells to work," Harry explained. "We think the remotes are just too small to handle the magic needed to power them. That's why I go through so many batteries. The magic in the house drains them. Hermione brings new ones every time she comes over."
"Is that what happens to my phone?" Ginny asked.
"It is."
"Why doesn't the magic scramble my data or apps?"
"Your phone shuts down before that can happen because of the low battery function. The same thing happens to Hermione's phone."
I'm starting to wonder if this Hermione even exists," she muttered under her breath. She looked Harry in the eyes and said, "You still haven't shown me anything to prove the existence of magic. Everything so far could be explained by elaborate electronics."
Thinking that he was mucking up introducing Ginny to magic, Harry beckoned her to follow him and led her into his bathroom. He opened his medicinal cupboard and pointed to the rows and rows of brightly coloured potions. "These are the potions that are helping me heal. They use my body's magical energy to work. You've seen this one before." He pointed to a row of bright blue vials; each one had "For Pain" marked on the label.
"The experimental pain killer," Ginny scoffed, scowling. "I found that hard to believe the night we met, and I still don't believe that all these sweet-coloured liquids will actually work. Muscle Relaxant, Strengthening Potion, Nutritional Potion, Dreamless Sleep? I suppose that one works like sleeping pills do. How are they made?"
"In cauldrons over an open flame," Harry told her, his heart sinking with every word. "They're made using ingredients like chopped Flobberworms, grated daisy roots, syrup of belladonna, moonstone powder, newt eyes and boomslang skin. All those ingredients and so many others have magical properties that when combined, create potions that do all sorts of things."
Ginny laughed derisively. "You're sounding like an alchemist in a fantasy novel! Flobberworms and boomslang skin… whoever heard of such nonsense, and frankly, belladonna is so poisonous it can kill you with a few drops! Why put poison in something that's supposed to cure you?" Her hand swept in a graceful arch. "This is daft! For all I know, these are just coloured syrups."
"Do I question the medicines you give your patients?" Harry demanded. "Why should I believe that a little pill will cure someone's cancer or help them sleep? Isn't it the same thing?"
"No, it's not."
"Why isn't it the same? The form of the meds I take is different from the ones you administer, but they still do the same thing. Why is it so hard to believe? What will it take for you to accept that I'm a wizard and you're a Muggle?" Harry cried, his voice raising. He shut the cupboard door and stepped out into the hallway again.
"Oh, that's rich! Now you're calling me names just because I won't believe you," Ginny spat as she followed him back into the library. "If you're convinced you're a wizard, you need a psychiatrist!"
Harry hung his head. "I already see one. She's a mind Healer in my world."
"She must be a crackpot, then, because she's going along with your delusions." Ginny took off her engagement ring. "But I won't. I don't want to marry someone whose mind is stuck in a fantasy world because he can't cope with reality."
"Ginny! I'm not insane! I'm telling the truth!"
Ginny threw the ring at him. It hit him in the dead centre of his chest and bounced in the direction of the telly. "Until you can pull your head out of the clouds, I don't want to have any part of you or this horrible house! Good-bye!"
"Ginny, don't go!" Harry cried, lunging toward the tea tray, his hand closing around the handle of his wand. He barely registered the warmth that spread through his hand and up his arm as he was reunited with his wand. Sparks immediately issued from its tip as Ginny hurried into his bedroom to get her things. "Don't go! I'll try to show you some easy spells!"
"I don't want to have anything to do with you, Harry Potter!" she yelled as she passed the library doors.
"STOP!" Harry commanded, pointing the wand at Ginny.
She froze, her angry eyes boring into him. "Oh, now you're going to use it? Give it your best shot, Harry. I'm still not going to believe you and I want to be as far away from you as I can possibly get!"
Tears sprang from Harry's eyes, clouding his vision. "You get your wish," he murmured as he raised his wand, aiming at her temple and concentrating on making Ginny think he was something other than a wizard.
"OBLIVIATE!" he bellowed, and in a rush similar to the one that had drained his magic as he stared into Voldemort's red eyes though a haze of pain, the spell left his wand and hit his ex-fiancée squarely between the eyes. Ginny's eyes went glassy and she clutched the door frame.
Harry swayed where he stood and concentrated on the look in Ginny's eyes. The thought of making her think he didn't want children, when all he had ever wanted was a family of his own, tore at his heart. Still, he summoned the last of his strength and closed the distance between them saying, "Ginny, I'd make a terrible dad because I don't have the references to be a good one. I'm too selfish; I've put all my money into refurbishing this house and what I have left isn't enough to raise children the way you'd want. I hope you'll understand why I don't want children."
"You selfish bastard!" she sobbed. "I hate you!" She started down the stairs and Harry grabbed her wrist, holding on with all his remaining strength.
"Please don't hate me, Ginny!" he begged. "We can have a good life together without children. A family isn't a means to happiness and fulfilment."
Ginny struggled to shake off his grasp, not knowing that she was actually holding Harry upright. "For the last time, Harry, I want children and if you don't want to have them with me, then it's best of we go our separate ways. Good-bye!" She shook her arm violently, loosening his grip.
Harry let go and sank to the floor as Ginny clattered down the stairs. His vision faded and he knew no more.