Ain't No Mountain High Enough
Summary: (Post Hogwarts, HG) On a break from his successful but tolling international Quidditch career, Harry Potter returns to England where he encounters the recently widowed Ginny Weasley and her four fatherless sons. What events will transpire from it? Read and find out!
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is NOT MINE…Ain't No Mountain High Enough
Listen, baby If you need me, call me 'Cause baby, Remember the day 'Cause baby, No wind, no rain My love is alive Don't you know that Don't you know that
Ain't no mountain high
Ain't no valley low
Ain't no river wide enough, baby
No matter where you are
No matter how far
Just call my name
I'll be there in a hurry
You don't have to worry
There ain't no mountain high enough
Ain't no valley low enough
Ain't no river wide enough
To keep me from getting to you
I set you free
I told you
You could always count on me
From that day on I made a vow
I'll be there when you want me
Some way,some how
There ain't no mountain high enough
Ain't no valley low enough
Ain't no river wide enough
To keep me from getting to you
Way down in my heart
Although we are miles apart
If you ever need a helping hand
I'll be there on the double
As fast as I can
There ain't no mountain high enough
Ain't no valley low enough
Ain't no river wide enough
To keep me from getting to you
There ain't no mountain high enough
Ain't no valley low enough
Ain't no river wide enough
Michael Mcdonald
August was Ginny Weasley's favorite time of the year. There were no two ways about it. When she was younger, and very much the aspiring poet, she always pictured August as a reckless, wanton, sultry woman. When it was hundred degrees in the shade and heat shimmered off the blacktop, when the only image you could muster was one of iced pumpkin juice, and then you know, August has arrived.
Suddenly there seemed to be plenty of time to do everything you could ever think of. That was exactly how Ginny felt as she walked down High Street in Hogsmeade Village, on the first Sunday of August, her eldest child, ten year old Raphael walking sedately by her right side, her youngest son, Leonardo at four years, laughing and running after his elder brother, seven year old Warren, slightly in front of her, and last but not least, eight year old Gregory trudging alone on her other side, face averted to the sky, seemingly lost in his thoughts.
It had not always been this upbeat since Terry passed away, around a year ago. There were good days, there were bad days, and there were days when she wished she were the one who was six feet under. Today was a good day – it was a Sunday so she had no work and thus, had the luxury of the entire day to spend with her sons whom she barely saw during the rest of the week. With Greg, Warren and Raphael attending Magical Grade School, Leo spending most of his day at The Burrow under her parents' care and she working the entire day at St. Mungo's, the only time she ever saw them was at dinner and bedtime, when they were all too exhausted for quality time together.
"Mum! Mum!" Warren cried out, running back towards his mother, his face glowing with excitement. He was lanky, like his eldest brother, with black hair and hazel eyes but it was the way his eyes sparkled with constant mirth and mischief that reminded Ginny of her twin brothers.
"Some Famous Serie A Quidditch player is having an autograph session at the Quidditch Supplies' shop," he told her, animatedly gesturing towards the recently opened Quidditch store up beside Zonko's.
"Serie A?" Raphael asked, perking up instantly at the mention of the Italian version of the Quidditch Premier League. If there was one thing Terry made sure he passed down to all of his sons, it was his passion for Quidditch. Only Greg seemed rather nonplussed by all of this.
"Which player?" Ginny asked, rather curious herself.
Warren shrugged. "I don't know-"
"Mum, can we go and see, please, please?" Raphael pleaded, all dignity of being the eldest son and 'man of the house' completely forgotten.
"Please, mummy," Leo echoed his eldest brother, slightly unclear as to what they were pleading for but joining in the Greek chorus anyway.
"Well, I don't see why not," Ginny told them.
She knew perfectly well that letting loose her four sons in a Quidditch store was a direct invitation for mayhem and chaos but Ginny had never been a strict parent, especially since Terry's demise. She had started to believe that life was really too short to control anyone, least of all her precious sons. She was pretty lenient with them, never finding it in her heart to be able to punish them severely. A lecture was the most disciplining she could ever manage nowadays.
As they approached the shop, Ginny realized that her sons were not the only enthusiastic ones. A large crowd was jostling outside the doors, trying to get in. There was a large banner stretched across the upper windows which proclaimed:
HARRY POTTER
Italian Serie A, Medici Messers Seeker
Will be signing any purchases made
Today 9.30 – 11.30 am
"We can actually meet him!" Warren crowed. "I mean, he's won every match of the season for the Messers."
Ginny was barely listening to her son, staring at the poster, blinking in shock, a slight smile playing on her lips as she the words on the poster slowly registered in her mind. It was Greg who noticed the expression on his face. "What's wrong, Mum?"
The rest of the boys seemed to momentarily still, their excitement dissipating – whether it was because Greg had spoken or because of the solemn tones of his voice, Ginny did not know, but they were all staring at her expectantly, anxiously. She felt a brief flash of sadness for her boys, already so used to bad news and tragic events at this young age.
She shook her head at them, smiling reassuringly, "Nothing's wrong. It's just that Harry Potter's actually a rather good friend of Uncle Ron's. We were all at Hogwarts together."
"That's what Uncle Ron always says-" Raphael quipped.
"But we never believed him. He's full of bullcrap," Warren stated, taking great pride in using a swear word that he had learned from his uncles.
"Warren!" Ginny cried out admonishingly, reminding herself to have a word with Ron about his use of language in front of her impressionable sons.
"Is it true, then, Mum? That you know Harry Potter?" It was Greg who had spoken up once again, looking mildly curious. Ginny supposed the enthusiasm of the crowd made up mostly of young wizards was quite contagious.
"Yes, I do," She said.
"That's great then. We can go and talk to him," Raphael decided, his younger brothers' nodding in agreement.
"I haven't seen him in years really, ever since you were born, when he left to play Quidditch in Italy..." She trailed off, realizing that none of the boys were listening.
They were busy trying to squeeze their way through the crowd. Raphael was holding onto Leo's hand so that he would not get lost- or worse, stepped on- and he kept looking behind him to make sure that Warren and Greg were not out of his sight.
Ginny could not help the flood of pride at her eldest son's remarkable sense of responsibility. But the memory of how he had stopped being a boy and started being a grown up was a painful one – it was the day Terry decided to let the children know that he was ill and dying. He had told Raphael that when he was gone, he was to look after his mother and his brothers. Ginny had been shaking her head, crying, but she did not fail to notice the mature glint of determination in her Raphael's eyes as he nodded his head in agreement.
Brushing aside the melancholy inducing thoughts, Ginny followed her sons, squeezing inside the shop. A long queue wound right to the back of the shop, where Harry Potter was signing any purchases made. Ginny could not believe that Harry was finally back. She wondered if Ron and Hermione knew about it and felt a customary flash of irritation at not being kept informed.
Raphael was approaching her. "Mum, we need to buy something-"
"Get whatever you want," she told him, nodding to one of the packaged snitches nearby.
Thankfully finance was not a problem for them. Terry had left them more than enough money to carry on their comfortable living. Also, Ginny's healer job was not just fulfilling but paid pretty well too.
He nodded, grabbing a package and sneaking up the line to where the rest of his brothers were standing.
Ginny joined them, craning over the necks in front of her to catch a glimpse of Harry.
"We'll be able to see him in a minute…" she murmured.
Harry came slowly into view, seated at a table surrounded by large posters of himself on his Firebolt 3.0, zooming all over the place. The real Harry looked mildly uncomfortable with all the overwhelming attention. Ginny fought back a smile; Harry had never really gotten used to all the media frenzy and attention, even after all this time.
He looked the same; his hair was as messy as ever; his green eyes shining behind his black-rimmed spectacles, which were knocked askew by an enthralled, giggly, young witch who wanted his autograph.
A short irritable looking man was dancing around taking photographs with a large black camera that emitted puffs of purple smoke with ever blinding flash,
"Out of the way, there," He snarled at Greg, moving back to get a better shot. "This is for the Daily Prophet."
"Big deal," Greg said, shooting a dark look at the man, rubbing his foot where the photographer stepped on it.
Before Ginny could tell him to mind his manners, though, she was momentarily distracted. Harry had heard Greg's remark and looked up. He saw Greg – distinct red hair, brown eyes and freckles – and then he saw Ginny standing beside him. He stared right at Ginny. Then he leapt to his feet and positively shouted, "Ginny Weasley?"
The crowd parted, whispering excitedly. Ginny could feel her neck grow warm and her cheeks flush from all the curious stares from everyone around her, not to mention the eager looks on her sons' faces. Harry stepped forward towards her, ignoring the crowd and the staring, "Ginny," he said, smiling warmly, glad that he had not been mistaken.
"Harry," She smiled back at him hesitantly, wishing that they had met under different circumstances. "I didn't know you were back in England," she said as a form of apology for her lack of friendliness.
"I just got back yesterday, really. I hadn't told anyone; thought of surprising you all." He leaned forward, speaking quietly so everyone else who was staring at them could not hear.
"Well, it's been a long time." Ginny felt distinctly uncomfortable, to be under the scrutiny of so many strangers at one time.
Harry must have noticed this because he said, "Yes, it has. Why don't we get out of here? Go grab a drink at Three Broomsticks? I'm almost done."
"Okay," Ginny agreed, somewhat reluctantly.
She had never really been that close to Harry during Hogwarts. They got along rather well, no mistake about that. They had worked together during the Second War as part of DA and were part of the same social circle but they had never really been close. Even after Hogwarts, after the Second War, Harry was just her brother's best friend, an honorary member of the family. He had not been her friend, per say, not like Hermione was.
"Wow, I can't believe we're going out with Harry Potter!" Warren exclaimed as they filed out of the shop, the fresh air awfully revitalizing after being stuck in the crowded shop.
"Please," Ginny began, checking her reflection in the store window, making sure her hair and her robes were in place, "No star struck acts, Warren, and watch your language. He's a family friend, so behave, please," she lectured her sons while they waited for Harry to wrap up his autograph session and join them.
"He doesn't look like a Quidditch star to me," Greg commented, sagely.
"His hair is too messy," Leo spoke up, running a hand through his mop of red hair, "Mine's neater, right, mummy?"
Ginny nodded, biting back a smile. "Of course it is, and you're tons more handsome than he is." She leaned down to kiss him on the cheek affectionately. He was her favorite; always would be; the baby of the family; the perfect image of a cherub.
That was how Harry found them as he stepped out of the shop. He paused to take in the scene before him - Ginny surrounded by her sons, leaning down to kiss the smallest one - taking the opportunity to observe Ginny, his best friend's younger sister, the spunky vivacious red head he used to be acquainted with.
She looked very much different from the dreamy, hopeful young woman who had married Terry Boot many years ago. There was about her face and person strength of color and of feature that rendered her neither delicate nor pliant. There was also about her a quality of a well-worn façade, as if that smile or the usual sparkle in her eye was concealing something beneath, some greater sorrow hidden deep inside.
"Oh, I see I already have competition," he joked mildly, walking towards, them, smiling amusedly.
Ginny straightened up, blushing with embarrassment at Harry's comment. Harry could not help but note that she still blushed as easily.
"And you are?" he asked, looking down seriously at Leo who looked just as somberly back at him.
"Leonardo Boot."
"Humph, with a name like that, I dare say you win hands down," Harry concluded.
"What do I win?" Leo asked, puzzled.
"The fair lady's affections, of course," Harry replied, gesturing towards Ginny.
"She's my mummy, not a fair lady," Leo stated, very fiercely. Any other adult would have laughed patronizingly but Harry looked Leo straight in the eye and nodded in an act of resigned defeat and said, "fair enough."
He straightened up, directing a smirk at the somewhat impressed by thoroughly bemused Ginny. "My goodness, Ginny, he's got your spunk alright."
"You obviously have not met my other sons then." Ginny gestured to the other three boys.
After a polite round of introductions, they made their way to Three Broomsticks.
"You have beautiful children." Harry commented, as he walked beside her, Raphael on her other side, Warren at his side, Greg and Leo in front. They all exchanged pleased grins at his compliment.
"Yes, I know. Frightfully difficult to tell them off when they look so adorable and charming."
"It's not really our fault, Mum," Warren quipped, "It's hereditary."
"Now that's a ladies man, if I ever saw one." Harry said out of the corner of his mouth so that Ginny could only hear him.
She laughed, one of those earthy, husky, knowing laughs that her boys loved to hear and had not really heard in a long time. Even Greg could not help smiling at the sound of his mother's amusement though he was rather wary of the source of her amusement – this man, Harry Potter.
For the rest of the way, Ginny watched Harry talk and laugh with the children; he was very easy with them, something she had never expected. He had always been a rather introverted person, seemingly uncomfortable in his own skin and unsure of who he was; this was especially so after the War. Playing Quidditch professionally seemed to have done him wonders – he was so much more easygoing and amiable and self-possessed. Ginny guessed it was living overseas by himself and pursuing his passion that had aided in this change in character.
"So what brings you back to England?" Ginny asked as they stepped inside Three Broomsticks, which was extremely crowded and noisy for a Sunday afternoon.
"Haven't you been reading the well informed Daily Prophet?" Harry asked mockingly, scanning the place for an empty table, ignoring the curious stares thrown in his direction.
"No, not really. I barely have time to sit," she said matter-of-factly.
Harry shot her a sympathetic look. "Well, I'm on hiatus from my Quidditch career. Taking a year off."
"If you're on a break, how come you had an autograph session today?"
"My horrid agent arranged it, obviously trying to make a profit out of me," Harry explained, annoyed with his agent.
"Are you planning to retire soon?" Ginny asked, knowing very well that most Quidditch players lasted only till the late thirties and Harry was already thirty two.
"Maybe, I'll see how it goes..." He shrugged a non-committal gesture as they wound their way to the back of the room where there was a large, vacant table, which stood by the window.
"Raphael, why don't you go get us some drinks?" Harry suggested, smiling at the older boy.
"Sure," He glanced at his mother who handed him a few galleons. Harry thought of offering to pay for the drinks but he knew Ginny well enough to know how she would react to such a gesture, no matter how well intentioned. She had always been the independent sort.
"Get me a Butterbeer," she told him.
"Me too," Harry added.
"I'll come with you," Warren spoke up, eyeing the rowdy bunch of warlocks up at the bar with something akin to keen edged excitement.
"Me three!" Leo crowed, always going wherever Warren went, having a respect bordering on outright devotion for his elder brother.
"Why don't you join them?" Ginny urged Greg, who glanced at his mother thoughtfully before shrugging and obediently sliding off his stool to follow his brothers, trailing behind them disinterestedly.
Ginny watched him, her brows creased in a concerned frown.
Harry, who was sitting on the stool beside her, interrupted her reverie. "How have you been?"
"I'm fine." Ginny shot him a puzzled look.
"I mean, how are you? How are you managing….without Terry?"
"Fine, everyone's been a big help, the boys especially, regular darlings." She glanced at the bar where they were ordering their Butterbeer.
"Ron told you about it, I presume?" she asked, remembering that Ron had said about how apologetic Harry was about not being able to make it for the funeral.
"Yeah, he did. He was quite worried about you, still is; didn't know how you were going to manage the four boys, the house and your job all by yourself-"
"Well, I've done it, haven't I?" Ginny asked peevishly, irritated by her brother's pity and over protectiveness.
She had had more than enough pity the past two years to last her a lifetime. She was sick of being felt sorry for. Pity was the most despicable emotion in the world, as far as she was concerned. That was one reason why she had insisted on keeping her job and raising the boys in their home, Blue Creek Manor – the Boot ancestral home, instead of moving to The Burrow where her mother could take care of everything. She had wanted to prove to everyone, even to herself, that she could do it by herself, that she was capable enough and did not need a single ounce of pity.
"You certainly have," he told her with a certain crisp certainty that made Ginny look up, and really look at him, ponder this man sitting before her.
Harry saw the look on her face, the twist of her lips and he knew what she felt. All those looks of sympathy passed his way when everyone found out about the prophecy, about the inevitable responsibility that had befallen his shoulders. At one point during his teenage years, Harry had not been sure which was worse – the prospect of fighting Voldemort and possibly getting killed by him or the overwhelming pity everyone seemed to feel towards him. Everyone save a few and one of them had been Ginny Weasley.
Harry had never forgotten what she had told him the day before his battle with Voldemort, during the Second War. He remembered that evening so vividly, could recall every single detail if asked to do so even though he had never been one for details. He remembered the somber stifling atmosphere at 12 Grimmauld Place, as they waited for dawn to break, for another day of war to begin. He remembered how young yet old he had felt, sitting there in the living room, by himself.
Then Ginny had walked in, having just visited with Terry who was mildly injured and recovering at St. Mungo's. She had seen the look on his face, shook her head, not with pity but with a frown.
"Stop feeling sorry for yourself," she had told him sharply. "So if you don't kill him, he'll kill you. That makes it clear what you have to do, doesn't it?" Her words resounded with firmness and assured him in a way nothing else had.
"Kill him," Harry muttered.
Ginny smiled slightly. "Exactly, it's your duty; nothing more." She made it sound as if everyone in this world was born to kill Voldemort and he could not help but believe her.
It was simple, he could it. It was at that moment his resolve had been strengthened.
His jog down memory lane was briefly interrupted by the arrival of Raphael carrying three foaming tankards of hot Butterbeer, his brothers behind him.
"Here is yours, Mr. Potter." Raphael placed his Butterbeer on the table in front of him.
"Thanks. Please, just call me Uncle Harry."
"Uncle Harry? You're not my brother!" Ginny protested mildly, smiling amusedly.
"Certainly not," Harry agreed a tad too vehemently for his liking.
He studied Ginny in profile as she helped Leo take a sip of his Butterbeer, his small hands unable to grip his big tankard. The light from the window defined the planes of her face, those prominent cheekbones, her dark brown eyelashes framing her almond colored eyes, the sloping hairline at the temple, the flaming hair pinned up in a messy bun, the long throat, only faintly lined.
His gaze was broken by the prickly sensation of being watched and that was when he noticed that Greg, the second oldest son, was observing him intently, almost suspiciously.
He looked at all of them – Ginny and her sons - and the gravity of the situation finally seemed to set in. This family seemed to have gone through a lot together – from the quiet cynicism in Greg to the unnatural maturity in Raphael to the optimistic façade Ginny seemed to be wearing like a well worn cloak – all these were simply results of the tragedy that had swept through their lives, taking away the one person that had mattered the world to all of them, leaving a gaping chasm in its wake.
For most of his young life, Harry had done things had been obligated to do. That was why a few years after the Second War, he had left to do what he wanted to do – play Quidditch professionally. Now, though, in his middle age, he was beginning to desire very much to do something that would not only make him happy but also make the people around him, people he cared about, happy as well.
"I have a brilliant idea." Harry announced, his green eyes glowing with excitement behind his spectacles, his face breaking into a boyish grin.
"What?" Warren asked, leaning forward eagerly, nearly knocking his Butterbeer.
"Are you doing anything after this?" Harry asked, looking pointedly at Ginny's direction.
"Nothing I can think of." she replied.
"Let's go up to the shrieking shack," Harry offered, eyes glinting merrily.
"Oh, yes!" Warren looked as if Christmas had arrived early.
"Harry, come on now…." She trailed off at the eager looks on her sons' faces, especially the expression of muted interest on Greg's face. They needed to do things that normal boys did and checking out The Shrieking Shack was definitely one of them.
"Well, I guess, we can just have a look. Nothing more."
The whole table broke out in loud cheers, cries of 'hurrah!' and 'Mum, you're the best!'
"I heard that the Shrieking Shack is supposed to be the most severely haunted building in Britain," Raphael spoke up knowledgeably.
Harry caught Ginny's eye and they both looked away to hide their amused, knowing smirks.
"Can we go now?" Greg asked, his impatience almost surpassing his brothers'. Who could blame him? As wary as he was of Uncle Harry, he had always wanted to see The Shrieking Shack, having heard a lot about it from his uncles and cousins. Seeing was believing, as far as Greg was concerned. He was not willing to put any credit to all the stories he had heard about it, till he saw it for himself.
"Not till I've had my Butterbeer." Harry told him, smiling amiably. He lifted his tankard to his lips and drank deeply. "Merlin, I miss this stuff."
"They don't have it in Italy?" Warren asked, incredulous.
"I don't know about other parts of Italy but they definitely didn't have it in Florence, where I was staying. Trust me, I looked everywhere." Harry explained. Everyone laughed.
No one felt like staying indoors much longer on such a fine summer day, so they left Three Broomsticks and climbed the slope to visit the Shrieking Shack. It stood a little way above the rest of the village, and even in daylight was slightly creepy, with its boarded windows and dank overgrown garden.
"Uncle Bill said that even the Hogwarts ghosts avoid it," Warren said as they leaned on the fence looking up at it. "Non one can get in; Uncle Fred and Uncle George tried but all the entrances are shut…"
Ginny shook her head, laughing at her son's blatant admiration for her brothers.
Before Harry could refute Warren on the claims made by the Weasley men, Greg spoke up, "I don't believe all their stories though. Aunt Hermione said there's a logical reason why it's haunted."
"Oh, pish posh, Greg!" Warren cried out hotly. "You never believe in anything!"
Something about Warren's tone, or maybe it was the sneer on his face, riled Greg up so much that the usually unaffected boy flew at his brother, tackling him to the ground. Raphael and Leo were on them in a split second.
"Let him go!" Raphael yelled, tugging at Greg's robes, trying to physically pull him off but to no avail.
Leo had thrown himself over Greg, his little fists landing punches so light that Greg barely noticed, shouting at the top of his voice. "Leave Warren! Leave Warren alone!"
Ginny was beside herself with the unruly way her boys were behaving. Their tendency to get into fights had largely increased ever since Terry's death, possibly because she was and had always been the more lenient parent.
Harry stood, frozen, not so much in shock but more because of the hidden poignancy of the scene in front of him. He knew what this fight represented; not a simple quarrel between brothers but more like a conflict of beliefs – Warren's idealism against Greg's skepticism, growing up versus remaining a child.
"Boys!" Ginny yelled sharply, the authority and anger in her voice palpable. "Stop fighting!"
Greg stopped wrestling with his brother and struggled to stand up. Warren, too, got to his feet, tugging his robes into place, running a hand through his hair that was almost as messy as Harry's. Greg looked very much sheepish while Warren was playing the part of the indignant victim rather well. Fortunately, there seemed to be no physical maiming.
"Mum, it was all his fault!" Warren pointed an accusing finger at Greg who was staring at the ground, desolately scuffing the grass with his toe.
"Shush, not another word," Ginny stated, looking reproachfully at the both of them. "I'm very disappointed in the way you," she looked pointedly at Warren, "provoked your brother and the way you," here she looked at Greg, "reacted."
She seemed visibly appalled by their manners, especially in front of an outsider. "Where are your manners?" she asked admonishingly.
"I'm sorry, Mum," Warren said softly, his dark eyes pooled with sincerity.
"So as long as you don't repeat it, please," Ginny reminded him. She glanced at Greg, "Do you have anything to say?"
He looked at his mother, then his brother and shrugged, "I'm sorry too," he mumbled.
"That'll do, I guess," Ginny sighed wearily.
"And you two," She turned upon her eldest and youngest sons who had been standing beside Harry, during her lecture. "I trust you both know that this kind of behavior is not condoned in this family," she told them mildly.
They nodded, obediently.
"Are you alright?" Leo asked Warren, looking up at him concernedly.
"He's alive, isn't he?" Greg muttered darkly, receiving a glare from his brother and a warning look from his mother.
"Well, I think we'd better head back then," Ginny decided, looking at Harry who nodded agreeably.
They took the path back down the slop, Harry walked beside Ginny, as the rest of the boys trailed behind.
"Sorry about that," he apologized to Ginny, who shot him a baffled look.
"What are you apologizing for?"
"I brought them up here, didn't I?"
"It's not your fault, Harry. At least you got Greg interested in something. He's been so quiet and indifferent ever since Terry died. I've been worried about him. He hasn't even had a good cry about it."
"Well, people grief in different ways, don't they?"
Ginny glanced at Harry and remembered then that he too knew how it felt to lose someone you loved. "I suppose so." She regarded him thoughtfully and Harry knew why. He, too, remembered the way he had reacted to Sirius' death - very much the same way Greg reacted to his father's passing away - withdrawing from everything and everyone around him.
He casually hung back to join Greg who was walking slowly, some distance behind the rest of his brothers.
"Hey."
"Hey," Greg responded, with very little enthusiasm. Up ahead, Raphael was talking to his mother, while Warren and Leo raced each other down the slope.
"Can I tell you a secret?" Harry asked him, in the manner of a man sincerely seeking the confidence of another man.
"Okay." Greg looked at him cautiously.
"You must promise not tell anyone, not even your brothers."
"That's fine." Greg shrugged.
"It's about the Shrieking Shack." Now Harry had gotten Greg's full attention. His brown eyes, exactly like his mother's, stared up at Harry, brimming with curiosity.
"Aunt Hermione's right. There's a reason why everyone thinks it's haunted. That's because many, many years ago, there was a student at Hogwarts who was a werewolf-"
"Like Grandpa's friend, Remus?" Greg asked, his eyes as wide as saucers.
Harry smiled, nodding. "It was him actually who was that student and every full moon, he would turn into a werewolf. Since it was unsafe for the other students for him to assume his wolf form in school, Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts at that time, created the Shack so that Remus could spend the night there every full moon."
"But the screams and noises?" Greg asked.
"His transformation used to be very painful so he would shout and scream. The other villagers, who heard this, did not know anyone was inside and simply assumed that it was haunted."
"Wow," Greg breathed. Harry nodded, pleased.
"Don't tell anyone, okay?"
"I promise," Greg stated, resolutely. He looked up at Harry then, opening his mouth as if to say something but very much hesitating.
"What is it, Greg?"
"I-I…thank you for telling me the truth, Uncle Harry," he murmured, so quietly Harry barely heard him.
By then they had reached High street and he no longer had the chance to ask Greg what exactly he had meant.
"Thank you so much for spending your afternoon with us," Ginny said, tilting her head to one side to see his face, a grateful smile painted on her lips.
"My pleasure, really." Harry smiled back at her, meaning every word. He had not had such a carefree, glorious and satisfying afternoon in a while. Somehow Quidditch began to lose its appeal when the pressure of the media dictated every aspect of your life.
"I had a wonderful time with all of you, you boys, especially." He beamed at them.
"Do drop by The Burrow and let Mum and Dad know you're back," Ginny told him.
He nodded, "I certainly will. I'm planning to surprise Ron and 'Mione tonight," he said with a wicked smile.
Ginny laughed, placing her hand on Harry's arm, leaning towards him so that her sons would not hear her. "Please knock before you go in. Those two can never keep their hands off each other."
Harry laughed as well, but he was for some reason only aware of the slight pressure against his arm, pressure caused by Ginny's hand placed casually on his arm, a gesture of complete camaraderie.
"Well, I'll be off then," Ginny said brightly.
"I'll see you around then."
"We'll see." Ginny shot him a coy smile, that made him forget for a moment that she was a widowed mother of four boys, but merely a pretty, flirty, spirited woman.
Then with a wave and a chorus of 'bye, Uncle Harry' from the boys, they took off down High Street towards Honeydukes to Floo back home.
Harry watched them till they were out of sight, having safely reached Honeydukes, before Apparating back to his apartment. As he stepped into the shower a few minutes later, hot water beating down on him, the only thing he could see in his mind's eye was the form and face of Ginny Weasley, and feeling anew the exquisite pressure of her hand against his own arm. Fortunately, the shower, as a hot shower would often do, produced drowsiness sufficient to send him off to his bed, without anymore befuddling thoughts.
TBC
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