Mr. Jonathan Taylor

29: Mr. Jonathan Taylor

Disclaimer : I own nothing; it all belongs to J.K.Rowling. I’m just borrowing the characters to play with for a while. This is for pleasure only, no profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.

January’s bitter cold blended with February without the barest hint of change. Remus continued to gain strength as Harry began his training under the practiced hand of his new instructor. Harry wasn’t certain what to expect that first morning as he made his way to the Room of Requirement for his lesson. Whatever it was, it was certainly nothing like the actuality of Jonathan Taylor.

When Harry entered, an older, gray-haired man who was sipping tea greeted him. He had bright blue eyes and was impeccably dressed. He seemed to belong more in an office setting than defense training. He didn’t exude any of Moody’s alertness, Dung’s cunning, or Kingsley Shacklebolt’s control. In fact, he reminded Harry of Percy more than anyone else. Fastidious and well-groomed, he looked very fitting as someone drinking his tea at a party, but not as someone hired to teach Harry how to fight to save his life.

Harry’s lessons with Dumbledore on Legilimency had begun, and the wizened professor had been very interested in Harry’s attempts to use it at the Burrow. Harry still felt slightly sick when he tried to use it in a crowd, but he was now able to easily detect thoughts. He never saw images as with the Occlumency, but Dumbledore had said that that would come with time and practice.

Harry could accept Dumbledore’s wisdom on Legilimency, but held strong reservations about this new teacher. What was Dumbledore playing at? He couldn’t possibly be serious that this was the person who could train Harry to defeat a wizard as powerful as Voldemort? Harry’s first impression was quickly dispelled and replaced with an overwhelming awe and respect for Mr. Taylor when he easily kicked Harry’s arse for the umpteenth time that day.

The first thing Harry’s new instructor told him when he greeted him was that he was not a professor, so he shouldn’t call him one. His name was Jonathan Taylor, and Mr. Taylor would do. He was an Unspeakable who lived abroad most of the time. He had returned to train Harry as a favor to Dumbledore. Harry couldn’t help but wonder what it was he did as an Unspeakable, but didn’t feel comfortable enough with him to ask him yet. Harry remembered reading that his dad had been an Unspeakable, too.

“The first thing we’re going to do, Harry, is to see how far you’ve come in your training with your previous instructors. We’ll start with the swords.” He tossed Harry his sword without really even looking at him. Harry caught it deftly. He felt good about this task. He and Remus had come a long way in his training, and he felt confident he could hold his own with the sword.

Mr. Taylor made the first jab, and Harry managed to parry it. His next move had Harry flat on his back on the floor, his sword clanking down uselessly beside him. “Dead in under a minute,” Mr. Taylor said, frowning. “We have a lot of work to do.”

Harry got back on his feet, feeling annoyed; he could do better than that. He picked up the sword and prepared to try again. This time, Mr. Taylor had him splayed on the ground in three moves, a thin cut on his face, and his body feeling bruised. Harry was getting discouraged, but beginning to take Mr. Taylor more seriously.

After about an hour of swordplay, with Harry’s body growing considerably more bruised, Mr. Taylor decided to call it quits. “All right, then, Harry, let’s move on to the martial arts before we test your dueling ability with a wand, shall we?”

Harry could hold his own against Tonks, and he’d used his martial arts skills in the battle at the Burrow, but once again, it was as if he were nothing when he went up against Mr. Taylor. “You’re more advanced with this than with the swords,” he told Harry as Harry struggled to get up off the ground. “But there is still much you need to learn.”

Harry stood shakily on his feet until Mr. Taylor was back in position. They circled each other briefly before Harry made the first move. He kicked out to the side, actually making contact for the first time that day, before Mr. Taylor’s hand chopped down on Harry’s thigh with such force that Harry once again ended up on the ground. He curled his leg up and grimaced against the pain of a charley horse.

“That was good; you actually got me. I’m impressed.” Mr. Taylor said this with a casual air as he strolled calmly around the room. He never attempted to help Harry up, but waited patiently until he was on his feet. Harry found his calm demeanor unnerving, and instead of being reminded of Percy, Harry was now reminded of some of the secret international spy characters he’d seen on the Dursley’s telly.

By the time they progressed to using their wands, Harry was exhausted, and he could barely focus his mind to concentrate. Every inch of his body ached, and he was covered with bruises that he knew wouldn’t even appear until the next day. After stunning him twice with no effort, Mr. Taylor decided to call it quits for the day.

“I understand you’ve been running. That’s good; I want you to continue. We’ll work in the Quidditch pitch until the snow melts, then we’ll move to running around the lake.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. “Around the lake? That has to be at least twelve kilometers. You want me to run around the lake every morning?”

“Yes, I do. You may have to get up earlier if you still want to have time for breakfast before you go to class. I’ll see you tomorrow, and, hopefully, you’ll be ready to work on some spells with more concentration than you showed today.”

He left Harry speechless as he walked out of the room without so much as a ‘Good Day’. What had he gotten himself into? More accurately, what had Dumbledore gotten him into?

He slowly and painfully made his way back to the common room. He still had Charms and Potions that afternoon, but he hoped that if he skipped lunch he could catch a quick nap before class.

********

The next few weeks went by in much the same way for Harry. On the days he trained with Mr. Taylor, he’d stumble into bed at night, battered and exhausted. Ginny was furious about the amount of bruises covering him, and he had to laugh at the ‘Mrs. Weasley-like’ fierceness she displayed. He was afraid she’d march right up into Dumbledore’s office and let him know in no uncertain terms what she thought of this new training.

It was one evening while in the common room that he realized Ginny did truly understand the importance of what he was doing. He hadn’t had a session with Mr. Taylor that day, so he had enough energy to stay up and play chess with Ron. Ron was watching as Harry gingerly sat back down after he’d gone up to use the loo. Ron asked exactly what it was Harry was doing to get so beat up every day. As Harry explained the sessions as best he could, Ron exclaimed bluntly, “So, he’s teaching you how to kill?” Harry couldn’t help but flinch at the statement, despite its truthfulness.

Ginny, who had been sitting on the couch and frantically doing some work in preparation for her OWLs, rounded on her brother. “He’s teaching him how to survive,” she spat.

Ron’s eyes flew open wide. “I’m sorry, mate. I know that. I didn’t mean–”

“It’s all right, Ron,” Harry whispered. “We’re doing what has to be done. I just wish it didn’t have to hurt so much,” he said ruefully, rubbing his aching back.

Ginny smiled sympathetically and rubbed his back with tenderness. She’d been busy with OWL revision, and neither had much time for the other these days, so these brief encounters were cherished. Harry remembered how snowed under he’d felt with all the work last year and could understand her bouts of hysteria. All in all, he thought she was handling the year much better than he had.

********

During the second week of their training sessions, Mr. Taylor demonstrated his own proficiency with wandless magic. Harry was fascinated to learn he also had this capability. As far as Harry knew, the only other person he’d seen capable of it, aside from himself, was Professor Dumbledore. He assumed Voldemort could, as well. He told Mr. Taylor about his use of it at the Burrow, as they continued to practice.

“I’m not great with it, but I can get by in a pinch. From what I’ve heard of your wandless magic abilities, you’ll be a force to be reckoned with, after you’ve learned to harness it,” Mr. Taylor told him. Harry felt extremely pleased by the compliment. After several weeks of practice and constant trials, Harry knew the proper feelings he needed to use to harness it, and he continued to gain proficiency.

Despite the abuse he endured, Harry had grown very fond of his new instructor in the short span of time they’d worked together. He was tough and expected a lot, but he was fair and willingly gave credit where credit was due. He never once made comment about Harry’s scar, or who Harry was, and, for that, he was eternally grateful. Whenever he would get frustrated that Mr. Taylor seemed to know all about him, while he knew next to nothing about his instructor, he would drop Harry some brief useless bit of information, such as, ‘I don’t like Brussels sprouts,’ or ‘The first girl I kissed was my next door neighbor; we were four.’

Harry assumed Professor Dumbledore must have told him about the prophecy, and that was why Mr. Taylor had agreed to come and train Harry, but he’d never brought it up. Soon, his own curiosity began to eat at him, and it was Harry who eventually broached the topic.

“Were you part of the Order of the Phoenix during the first war?” Harry asked as they sat down to share a cup of tea after finishing a lesson.

They’d taken to doing this at the end of each lesson, and Harry found he enjoyed the brief time they spent talking to each other. With both Remus and Tonks away, Harry hadn’t been aware of the void he felt for having an adult to talk to until Mr. Taylor had filled it.

“I was in the Order, but only on the fringes. Most of the other members didn’t even know of my existence. Dumbledore keeps some things hidden from everyone.”

“Tell me about it,” Harry muttered.

Mr. Taylor smiled, and Harry saw a brief glimmer of sadness behind his eyes before it was gone. “I suppose you, better than anyone, would be aware of that.”

“Did he tell you about the prophecy?”

“He did…reluctantly, after I’d refused to come back to England when he asked me the first time.”

“And why did that make you change your mind?”

Mr. Taylor laughed, a brief, bitter sound. “For the chance to assist in taking down that bastard who calls himself ‘Lord’. You may be the one who’s destined to actually do it, but I can train you in everything I know to help you succeed.”

Harry was slightly taken aback by the venom in his statement. Everything he’d seen so far of Mr. Taylor had been so cool and emotionless. “What did he do to you?” Harry whispered, already knowing the answer, but still needing to hear it.

Mr. Taylor stared at him hard for several moments before answering. “Much the same as he did to you. Killed my whole family: wife, and two kids. She was Muggle-born.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be; you have nothing to be sorry for. You’re the one who is going to make him pay.”

Harry swallowed hard at the certainty of Mr. Taylor’s words. “I’m going to try.”

“You’re going to succeed. I’m going to make certain of it. He’s taken as much from you as he has from me or from anyone. You have the right to avenge your losses; no one can begrudge you that.”

“Did you know my parents?”

“Not personally, only by reputation. Of course, everyone knew them afterwards, but before, your father worked in the same field as I. I never met him and only knew who he was by his connections to Dumbledore.”

“In your work… when you’re on assignment… have you ever had to kill anyone?”

“Yes,” he said, nodding gravely. “And I remember each time, even when they occurred so frequently during the war. I won’t lie to you, Harry; it takes something out of you. But be happy that it does, because if it didn’t, you’d be on the other side.”

Harry blinked at him in confusion.

“He’s an evil monster, Harry,” Mr. Taylor continued, talking softly. “He’ll continue to kill and destroy anything and anyone he feels necessary. This is war, and the rules are different. You know what has to be done. I’m not going to say it won’t affect you; from the little I’ve learned about you in our time together, I can tell that it will. Most likely, it will affect you deeply, but you have to focus on what you are saving, not on what you are destroying. You have people in your life that mean something to you, you’re giving them the chance to live.

“Voldemort will still go after them if he kills you, because of what they represent. He can’t understand their love for you. Don’t focus on the killing; focus on the life that destroying him will bring. He’s not really human anymore, from what I understand. He has to be stopped. I’d love to be the one to do it, but I can’t. This is your destiny, so I’ll do my part to help you.

“I’m not certain how it will be done, but I’m confident you will find the way to do it. We’re showing you how to defend yourself, for that, in essence, is what you are doing. He will not allow you to survive; your survival depends on you.”

“How can he be killed, though?” Harry whispered his greatest concern.

“I think it will come down to hand-to-hand combat. Your magic is strong, but so is his, and, from what I understand, your wands don’t work against one another. Dark magic is tricky business, Harry. A child could use a Muggle handgun and kill someone else without any realization of what he’s done. Magic doesn’t work that way; you have to have knowledge of the spell and what you’re doing to make it work properly.

“Dark magic takes that up another level entirely. To perform the Killing Curse, you have to have some powerful hate behind it. I understand you’re capable of the Patronus Charm; there aren’t many wizards who can master that. It comes from the same kind of intense emotion, but on the other end of the scale. It’s not in you to hate like you would need to in order to perform the Killing Curse, so we have to find another way for you to destroy him.”

Harry’s head was spinning, and his heart was pounding painfully as he walked back to the common room. Voldemort would kill his friends even if he were already gone, but more likely, he’d want Harry to watch it and make him suffer first. He could understand what Mr. Taylor was talking about, but he didn’t know if he could just push those thoughts aside.

Everyone kept telling him that his friends were his strength, and Voldemort couldn’t understand the love he felt for them. If he loved them so much, though, shouldn’t he try to push them out of his life and away from this? Wasn’t he being selfish for needing them so much? But even if he pushed them away, Voldemort would still use them to get to him. He couldn’t just turn his feelings off; he didn’t know how. He didn’t even know how they started or from whence they came. There was no way just to stop caring.

Harry sighed in frustration. There were times when he wished he could wake up and find himself in the cupboard beneath the stairs and find out this was all just a dream. But then he would realize that this would mean there were no Weasleys, or Hermione, or Remus. He knew he didn’t want that at all. He just wished this all could be over.

He went to bed that night with a very heavy heart. His friends had done their best to cheer him up to no avail. He appreciated the effort, but his spirits felt just too heavy to be lifted. He should have expected it to be a rough night. The dream began almost instantly.

********

Harry was on his broomstick, flying over the Quidditch pitch. When he landed, however, the broom started attacking him, and he needed to use a stick as a sword against it. Soon, there were many brooms, all in battle as if they were swords.

The scene flickered and changed, and he was in the Room of Requirement. Ron and Hermione were both there, dressed as Ninja warriors, kicking at him while he tried to sidestep, demanding, “What’s going on? Ron! Hermione! Stop!”

It flickered again, and he was in the common room this time. Dean, Neville, and Seamus were using Muggle handguns against the other occupants of the room, laughing and giving each other high-fives as they shot.

“What’s wrong with you? What are you doing?” he screamed. He saw a bullet coming towards him in slow motion before everything flickered again.

Next, he found himself in the Chamber of Secrets. He could see Ginny lying on the floor, but it wasn’t Ginny at eleven, it was Ginny as she looked now…and she wasn’t breathing.

“Ginny! Ginny, wake up. You have to wake up; we have to get out of here.” He kept shaking her lifeless body. He looked around the Chamber; it was dark and empty and eerily silent. He could see the remains of the Basilisk skeleton on the floor.

His heart clenched painfully. “Ginny, please.”

She turned her head and opened her eyes – dead, lifeless eyes with none of their sparkle. “Why didn’t you come, Harry?”

He shook his head in revulsion and took several steps back. “Ginny…”

The eyes turned to red, and a hideous laugh that didn’t belong anywhere near Ginny emitted from her mouth. “So, here we are again, Potter,” Voldemort-as-Ginny hissed.

“Let her go,” Harry demanded.

“My dear loyal servant Lucius told me all about the bond I share with Ginny, here in this Chamber. She will be loyal to me.”

“You leave her alone.”

“I can feel your desire to protect her, but she was so useful to me in that role before. Led you right to me, as I understand. Let’s face it, Harry…” The way he spoke reminded Harry of his manipulative tone during Harry’s encounter with him first year. Then, he’d wanted Harry to join him, promising to resurrect his parents. “Protecting the ones you care about isn’t exactly your strong suit, is it?”

After the Voldemort/Ginny monster finished speaking, she disappeared from the spot on the floor where she had lain. Harry glanced around the room frantically, but Ginny was gone. He was alone again…

He woke up panting, his body drenched in sweat. He bolted upright and buried his head in his hands. Voldemort knows about Ginny. This was all his fault. He never should have let her get close; he was like a walking time bomb. Harry wrapped his arms around himself and lay back down, drawing up his knees in a fetal position. When would this ever stop? Harry lay in bed pondering his life that night; sleep never returned to claim him.

Harry spent the next several days avoiding spending any time alone with Ginny whenever possible. He’d claim he was either too tired or too busy and repeatedly pushed her away. He’d told Dumbledore about his dream, but the Headmaster insisted that Ginny was safe while at Hogwarts. Voldemort was trying to rattle him, and he couldn’t let him succeed. That was easier said than done.

Both Ron and Hermione tried to find out what was going on, to no avail. Even if he couldn’t change how he felt about her, some distance couldn’t hurt appearances. Somebody was paying attention and reporting back to Voldemort.

He was sitting up late in the common room one night, waiting for Tonks, who had promised a fire call to talk about Remus. He was conscious now and asking incessantly about Harry. The others had all gone up to bed, even Ginny. She’d had enough of Harry’s distance and was pointedly ignoring him.

“You know where to find me when you’re ready to talk,” she had yelled as she stormed up the stairs in a huff that left Harry feeling even worse than before.

He saw the flames turn green, and Tonks’s head appeared. Her hair looked blue today with little streaks of purple blended into it. Harry couldn’t help but smile; he missed Tonks.

“Wotcher, Harry!”

“Hullo, Tonks. How’s Moony today?”

“He’s better and beginning to drive them all crazy with his petitions to get out of there. I think that by the end of the week we may have him back at Grimmauld Place. It’s going to take a lot longer to get him back to full strength than I think he realizes, but he’s getting there. He’s anxious to see you.”

“I want to see him, too.”

“What’s wrong, kid? You look like you just lost your best friend.”

Harry shrugged and avoided looking in her eyes. “Something like that.”

“You and Ginny having a spat?”

“No, not really. It’s just, er…complicated.”

“You like her. She likes you. It’s not that complicated, Harry. Don’t you dare push her away over some misguided notion that you’re protecting her.”

“He’ll go after her to get to me.”

“He’ll go after her, anyway. Don’t let him take away the parts of your life that make it worth living. Your parents did more living in their short lives than most people do with a lifetime.”

Harry was confused. Tonks was saying the same things everyone else had said, and, somewhere inside, he knew it was true, but it was still so hard. He just wanted Ginny safe and alive.

“I don’t want her hurt,” he whispered brokenly.

“Ever had a broken heart, Harry? It really doesn’t get much worse. She knows the risks, and she wants to be with you. Her feelings are her own, and you have no control over them. This is her decision, not yours. I know what I’m talking about. I’ve been on the receiving end of one of these nobility complexes. They bite. I’m certain you’ve been a total prat, but that’s part of being a teenage boy, and she’ll forgive you. I know you’re trying to do what’s right, and I’m certain you’ll make the right decision.”

“Have a good night, Harry,” Tonks said as she disappeared from the fire.

Harry sat there for a while, thinking. Do the right thing. What was the right thing, and why was it always so hard to see?

The next day passed much the same as the ones before. Mr. Taylor beat him to a pulp during martial arts training, Professor Snape sneered and told him he’d messed up his potion, Ron was no longer speaking to him, angry over his treatment of Ginny, and Ginny…Ginny wouldn’t even look at him.

He knew he had to talk to her – explain his concerns. He just didn’t really know how to do that. He’d always been rubbish with all this feelings stuff. He rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses tiredly; he really needed a good night’s sleep.

The common room was empty when he entered, and he was on his way over to the staircase to throw his book bag in his room when he ran into Ginny coming down. She averted her eyes and tried to go around him when he grabbed her arm. “Ginny.”

She looked at him coldly, although her eyes blazed with an intense fire beneath the chocolate brown. “Finally decided I’m worthy of your time?” she snapped.

“It’s not like that, Ginevra,” he gritted out, using the long form of her name he knew she hated.

“No? Why don’t you tell me what it is like then, Harry, since I’m not the Legilimens here and can’t read your bloody mind.”

Harry flinched slightly at her fury; this was going to be harder than he thought. When Ginny was angry, she lashed out and usually hit her mark with unerring accuracy. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“Protect me? Protect me?” Uh oh. He knew instantly that he had chosen the wrong words to start this conversation.

“I don’t need your protection, Harry, nor do I want it. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, in case you haven’t noticed while you’ve been busy moping.”

“I’m not moping.” Harry was really getting angry now, and the color in his face had risen to match hers.

“No? What do you call it, then? You go off and brood and won’t let any of us in when we’re just trying to help. I thought we had moved past all this, Harry. I thought we’d finally broken through, and you had accepted we’re in this for the long haul…whether you like it or not!” They were standing toe to toe, with fists clenched, glaring at one another while they screamed their fury.

“I do know you want to help. I also know he’ll kill you for the simple reason that you care. It’s dangerous to be around me!”

“That is my choice to make! I won’t let him dictate what I do and don’t do with my life EVER AGAIN. Do you get that? I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember. It’s my choice to wait for you, to fight for you, to stand by you. I’m always here and always will be. There is nothing you can do to change that.”

Harry was stunned by her words. He wasn’t even certain how it had happened; one minute they were standing opposite each other screaming, and the next, he had grabbed her upper arms and pulled her close to kiss her passionately. She responded in kind, and the air was charged with electricity as he clung to her as fiercely as she did to him.

They only broke apart at the sound of the portrait hole opening. Other students began filing in as classes had ended for the day. They stood there, chests heaving, panting heavily, and looking at each other. Both were slightly confused over what had happened and not certain where they stood in their fight.

Bloody Hell, how did we go from a blazing row to snogging each other senseless in the blink of an eye? They stood there, staring at one another, before he gently took her hand and moved to the couch, talking quietly so as not to be overheard. Harry was aware that both Parvati and Lavender, who had been observing their row over the past several days, were straining their ears to hear what was happening.

“I had a dream the other night, Ginny. Voldemort knows about us; he knows that you mean something to me and about what happened in the Chamber. I’m afraid he’ll try to get to you again, and I can’t let that happen,” he said, sighing. His mind was reeling – had she just admitted she loved him? How could she love him? Why would she? No one had ever said those words to him before, and he couldn’t even begin to wrap his thoughts around it.

Ginny’s eyes had flown wide open at the mention of the Chamber. She swallowed visibly, and he could feel her body tremble. “In that case, I’ll have to be extra careful and take some of the same precautions you do, won’t I?” She seemed so lost in thought that he was tempted to try and read her thoughts but didn’t want to anger her again.

“Ginny, I think the best way to keep you safe is to keep you far away from me.”

“Will that change your feelings?” she asked abruptly.

“What? No, of course not. But…”

“Then it won’t really matter, will it? He can get in your mind and will then know your heart. I’m not going anywhere, Harry.”

He dropped his head in defeat. Truth be told, he didn’t want to give her up, but he wanted to protect her, too.

She used a finger to raise his chin until he met her gaze. “You’ve got this crazy notion that you can give up your life for anyone you care about, but we’re crazy if we’re willing to do the same for you. You may not have a family in the traditional sense, but you do have a family who loves you and would do anything for you. We want you safe, Harry – safe and healthy, and happy, and whole.”

Harry wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair. “I do need you.” His voice was muffled as he held her tightly. “But I don’t understand why you want to risk so much for me .” That’s it; she loves me like family – the way Ron and Hermione do.

Ginny could hear the tremble in his voice, begging for reassurance, and she cursed the Dursleys silently for the millionth time for making him feel so unworthy of simple love. In the heat of her anger, she’d admitted her love for him, and now felt very insecure herself about having done so. It was true, however, and he seemed to need to hear it. “Well, I do, and that’s my choice to make.”

He used his thumb to brush against the swell of her cheek. “It’s going to get worse before it gets better – if it ever gets better.”

She turned her face to lean into his hand. “It will. You have to believe that.”

Harry turned his tortured gaze to meet her eyes. “I’m so bloody scared, Gin. I don’t know what I’m going to do.” He hung his head in defeat as if the admission that he was scared had cost him some great internal price.

Ginny wrapped her arms around him. “You will do this, Harry. I know you will. I wish I could do it myself for all he’s put you through.”

“Don’t say that! I don’t want you anywhere near him, and most certainly not because of me.”

“Why not? You did it for me — when you were twelve.”

“It…that’s not…I…”

“Why now, Harry? I know you said you had a nightmare, but why are you, all of a sudden, pushing me away again now? Something else must have happened.”

He sighed and leaned his head back against the couch. “It’s because of all these defense lessons with Mr. Taylor. He’s good, and I’m learning a lot. We’ve talked a bit about ending it and how it can be done. I don’t know… I suppose I’ve just been thinking a lot more about it. The reality of the situation isn’t good, Ginny. Do you really want to stick around and watch me die?”

“You are NOT going to die,” she spat. “Don’t start thinking that way, or we’ll have already lost. This isn’t fair, Harry. I know it isn’t. But it is what it is, and this is what we have to work with. You have to do this, but you will never be alone.”

Harry realized there were other eyes in the common room watching them now, trying to figure out what they were talking about so intensely. He assumed they’d be the main topic of the rumor mill again tomorrow. He kissed Ginny lightly on the lips before saying, “Thanks, Ginny, for everything. I think I’m going to head up to bed.”

Her gaze, so fierce a moment ago, softened instantly. “That’s a good idea; you look exhausted. Promise me that next time, when it all starts to get to you, you’ll talk to me about it?”

“Deal. At least…I’ll try.”

“I suppose that’s about the best I can expect from you, Mr. Hero.”

“Yeah. All hail the Bloody Boy-Who-Lived,” he said bitterly.

“No,” Ginny replied sternly. “Try the Bloody Boy friend -Who’s-Going-To-Get-His-Arse-Kicked if he doesn’t stop trying to take on everything himself.”

Harry couldn’t keep his face straight. His lips started to twitch, and he chuckled out loud. “I like that title better. Can I keep that one?”

“You got it.”

“Night, Gin.”

“Night, Harry.”

A/N: Okay, in my original outline for this story (which has been rewritten so many times I’ve now lost count!), the separation between Harry and Ginny was supposed to go on for several chapters. It just didn’t work that way. I think (hope) that Harry has done some growing over the year and it wasn’t working to keep them apart just to torture you! Ginny wouldn’t have it! Anyway, this is how it came out instead.

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