#robards

He still hated going to that house. Or more so, he hated what it represented. It was a brutally large and gaudy reminder of all the awful things he’d done in his past years, and the final act it had accumulated to. A physical representation of the secrets held close to his chest, never to be revealed, of the horrible mistakes he’d made. Fortunately though, or unfortunately, depending how you looked at it, Percy’s thoughts were not able to stray too far in that direction. Because as soon as he pushed open the door to the living room, he came face to face with a sight that was equally unexpected.

An innocent sight to most, a couple enjoying dinner, sitting close on the sofa, was enough to cause Percy to take a jolted step back as he took it all in. Because it wasn’t just any couple, it was his dad. His dad and Faye McKinnon, of all people, looking way too comfortable for this to simply be a dinner between friends. He looked between the pair, who were looking back at him with the vague expression of being caught out. It felt like a weird case of role reversal, seeing that expression on his fathers face when Percy was the one who so often gave it growing up. “What the fuck?” The words tumbled out of him as his brain fought to catch up.

His father recovered quickly, his trademark condescending expression settling on his features, as if he hadn’t just been caught in the middle of doing something he shouldn’t be. Because it was obvious enough to Percy, pieces slowly slotting together, that whatever this was wasn’t new. “Percival.” John rose from his spot, “What are you doing here?”

Percy’s jaw rose in a stubborn defiance, like it always did on instinct when faced with his father. What Percy didn’t know though, at least yet, was that he had the upper hand here. “Looking for Anna. I got called into work. What are you two doing?” Really, he didn’t need an answer.

The answer John did give however, caused Percy’s fist to clench at his side. “We’re having dinner.” It was a good thing he was holding Billie, that she was there at all, because even just the look on his fathers face — the one that signified his opinion that Percy was too stupid to understand, that he didn’t deserve a real answer — was enough to make Percy want to wipe it straight off with his fist. Every interaction he had with John, his fuse got shorter and shorter.

“Bullshit.” He took a steadying breath, placing Billie down on the nearby lounger. She was much more occupied playing with the cushion there than with the scene playing out in front of her. But she was a living reminder for Percy to keep his cool. It wasn’t even that he cared if his dad had starting seeing Faye, or whatever the fuck this was, knowing about everything that had happened with Atticus recently. But he was reaching the end of his tether on letting his father push him around, no matter how much he needed him. Or more so, needed his money and his nanny. “What’s going on? Here, with you two?”

“John,” Faye’s voice came from behind them, gentle, pleading almost, and Percy could see the way his fathers expression visibly softened. It only caused Percy’s anger to bubble closer to the surface, for which he had no idea why. John sighed, looking over his shoulder at the witch then back to his son, whose jaw was still defiantly set, blue eyes that mirrored that of his late wife staring back at him. The only difference was the way Percy’s burnt, like flames under the ocean, when Susan’s had merely simmered. “Faye and I — we’ve been seeing each other. For quite some time now.”

“How long?” Percy shot back. He had never been one to believe much in the idea of marriage, or the long term loyalty, or commitment. He would switch from woman to woman without a care or thought. Except once, short and fierce, and look how that turned out? No. But John and Faye weren’t him, and his mind couldn’t help but go to the woman who had barely cared enough to raise her own children, yet had given her all to the man standing in front of him, or the godfather that was always there to be the relief that John never was.

John hesitated, and Percy could tell he was delayed telling the truth, seeing how he could twist it in his favour. “A few years now.”

“A few —“ the answer was caught in a laughter, one that bubbled out from the pit of his stomach, void of any humour but full of twenty-three years of bitterness. “Fucking hell. Of course you have.” The answer from John didn’t surprise him in the slightest, and now Faye was lumped in with that. He shook his head, already moving to pick Billie back up. It was only with a little protest from the toddler, who was wiggling her arms towards her grandfather. No, Percy wouldn’t be having that. 

“You two have fun with that.” Percy shot towards the pair as he turned to leave, words like the punch he wished he could give, although he did gain some sick satisfaction from the expression on John’s face -- a mix of shame and embarrassment, one that he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen from his own actions, only ever in response to his children. Yet he was no better than any of them. 

In a rare moment, Percy couldn’t help but think of Susan, wondering if she knew, if she’d spent the last years of her life giving everything to a man who was sneaking behind her back with a best friend. If he was more self aware, or if he allowed himself to focus on it, he’d know it was the guilt of his own that caused those thoughts. After all, it was his fault Susan was no longer here, no longer able to even find something similar to whatever this was that John and Faye had. The thoughts were quickly squashed down with a frustrated huff as he moved to push the door open.

If it had been up to the two Robards men, the conversation would have ended there. Percy would have left, found someone else to look after Billie. Probably gone to Gawain, and then later Clem once he’d calmed down a bit. And John would have continued on exactly as he had been doing, no care for the fall out that may have come. But then Percy heard it again, Faye’s urging, a quiet “John,” and then footsteps were following him. Even his fathers name in her voice irritated him.

“Percival.” The voice was stern, calling after him as if he were the one who’d done something wrong. Even the tone was enough for Percy’s defence to rise even more so, like hackles along his spine. He didn’t bother though, like he may have in his youth, to hide his eye roll as he turned back to face his father, jaw square and set. He didn’t bother saying anything, his expression saying everything.

“I would appreciate it --” John’s voice was strained, as if the words were somehow so difficult to say, as if asking anything of Percy was the hardest thing. He knew his son, the one who was the disappointment, not the golden child he was so proud of, had the upper hand, and it killed him to even ask. “ -- If you didn’t tell your siblings.” The laughter that came now was somehow even more sour than the one before it. If Percy hadn’t grown up with this, he’d have been shocked at the gall of it all. He adjusted Billie on his hip. She had begun to whimper, obviously being able to sense the tension. It only made Percy madder. 

“Why the fuck should I do that?” His voice was hushed, but the words were sharp enough to cut through ice.

John looked from Percy to Billie as she began to unsettle, a small smirk settling on his face, as if he was holding the winning card but no one knew it. It was enough to set Percy on edge. He’d seen that look before. When John wanted something of him growing up, when he used Percy’s allowance to make sure he joined the Warlocks. Most recently, when he tried to ensure Clem would apply to the Academy, lest he cut her off completely. In the past, it only caused Percy to fall into line. First to pay for his vices, and now to support Billie. But in that moment it only caused his blood to boil, holding the scissors to a string already so close to snapping.

“Don’t forget everything I do for you, Percival. That you need me.” There it was. The threat, barely veiled. He briefly wondered if Faye could hear, if she stood by the way John treated his children, just like Susan had, or if she’d oppose. Not that it mattered much, Percy knew it wouldn’t make a difference. John was who he was. Keep his secret or else. But John didn’t know Percy had already been thinking about that. Figuring out ways he could make it without his fathers help, if you could call it that. It did more harm than good, to any of them. The way Billie curled into the crook of his neck now only proved that. No, John Robards had damaged enough lives. 

“That’s where you’re wrong.” The words were measured, no angry impulse behind them. Percy didn’t miss the small flicker of shock in his fathers eyes. He hadn’t expected Percy to say so. The shock quickly disappeared though, replaced with a pitying amusement. It was now John’s turn to laugh, the sound dripping with contempt. “Am I? Is it not me who pays for that flat the two of you live in? And is it not me who allows you to use my staff to look after your child every day?” He shook his head, his own defenses, the ones Percy had inherited, coming up as sharp blow by sharp blow. “You really think you’re capable of giving her the life she deserves? You can hardly --” he didn’t get to finish his sentence, two things happening at once. 

The first was his son, suddenly much closer than he had been seconds before, a large step forward and fist curled in the air between them, the rage clear as day on his face. John may have felt a sick sense of satisfaction from it, if it hadn’t been Billie’s loud wails suddenly erupting that had snapped Percy out of it. Taking a shaky exhale, Percy took a step back, and then another, attempting to sooth Billie as he went. He felt awful, and John’s words only mirrored the things he regularly thought, that he wasn’t enough for her. That maybe she’d have been better off if he’d let her go when it first came to it. He shook his head, pulling Billie close and gently rocking her side to side in a bid to sooth her tears. It did no good to go down that trail of thoughts, to let John further his insecurities. He was already backing away, his voice low. 

“I do, yeah. She’s better off without your help.” The world help was spat like an insult. He was making good enough money at the Academy to get by, and he knew more than enough people who he could afford to pay to babysit. Above it all though, he knew he would be more of a father to Billie than John had ever been. And that was a promise. “I don’t need it. I don’t want you anywhere fucking near her.” 

He’d scared even himself, the way he’d just reacted, the way it had affected Billie. No, if he had anything to say for it, John would have nothing to do with his daughter. But his voice was sure, solid. Percy knew John knew he meant it. “You tell them. Soon. Or I will.” And with that he was gone, wanting to get Billie far from that house. He knew the rest of his siblings would be more affected by this than he ever would be, and he wasn’t going to be the one to hold his fathers secrets. 

She blinks rapidly and the door tugs open further, treating Harry to a view of Ginny in worn men’s boxers, an oversized Harpies t-shirt, and swathes her creamy freckled skin.  “Pardon?”

Apparently his brain-to-mouth filter is on holiday because Harry blinks twice and says, “Are those my pants?”

When Ginny splutters and her cheeks flush, Harry only feels a little guilty at his relief that he’s no longer the only one doing an excellent impression of a flobberworm.

After a beat, he manages to regain himself, pushing his hair over his scar habitually.  “I mean – what I came here – I wanted to ask you on a date.”

Face still red, Ginny still manages a grin as she leans against the doorframe. “Is that a question or?”

Harry swallows.  “A question. For you.”

“Alright.”

Two blinks.  “Alright? As in yes?”

Then her lips are on his, brief, but warm and sure before she pulls away and whispers against his mouth.  “It’s a yes.”

Harry nods and their noses brush, his glasses fogging with their shared breaths. “Yes.”

Ginny’s hand comes up to cup his cheek, stroking his evening stubble gently. “Took you long enough, eh?”

And if they have a bit of pre-first date snog because Ginny’s roommate is out for the night, Harry figures a combined wait of nearly fifteen years is enough.

Which is why it’s so bizarre that he’s nervous enough that he almost uses his first sick day just to lay in his bed like a blob the Thursday before their date. But a combination of his healthy work-ethic and a knowledge that sitting at home will involve nothing but mentally calculating all the ways this date can crash and burn, means Harry is sitting in his cubicle with Ron late that night when Ginny’s escorted in by a ruffled looking man wearing Magical Law Enforcement Patrol robes.

Harry’s on his feet and halfway across the office, Ron on his heels, in no time and Ginny’s face regains some color when she sees them, but there’s a tremor in her voice when she says, “Fancy meeting you here.”

Luckily, it seems she’s being escorted and not arrested – hand on lower back and not on cuffed wrists – so at least Harry doesn’t have to keep Ron from throttling someone who arrested his sister.  Still, it means Ginny’s been in the vicinity of dark magic to such a degree that she’s being brought in for questioning, rather than just giving a statement at the scene.

He and Ron make it to the door of the conference room where Ginny’s been taken before the escorting wizard from MLEP gives them a calculating glance, apparently sizing them up and trying to decide if he should kick up a fuss about letting them in.   Which is fine because Harry’s getting in that room one way or another, and he could use a bout of fisticuffs to de-stress, and Hermione’s not here to talk him and Ron out of it.  Plus, like any good friends, they’ve never let her little boxing match in Third Year go.

As it turns out, the point is moot, because Robards comes striding out of his office and barks, “Weasley, Potter, follow me,” and proceeds into the room. Harry decides to be the bigger man and not stick his tongue out.

Ginny’s fiddling with one of their ‘guest’ biscuits – the ones that don’t taste like sawdust – and biting her lip when they enter.  Her face brightens when she sees Ron and Harry are to be there as well. Harry takes a seat diagonal from her and lets his boot slide toward hers, pressing against it comfortingly, while Ron simply plops down in the closest seat and glances around, daring anyone to question his choice.

Robards rolls his eyes at the show, but doesn’t object.  “I’ve only had the briefest of updates on this situation, Miss Weasley, so if you’ll start from the beginning – ”

She clears her throat, and despite her steely gaze and tight jaw, Harry sees the slight tremble in her hands, almost can’t resist the urge to grab one in his. Ginny brushes the crumbs from her fingers and begins, “I was in Diagon Alley – “ she sighs, “I was dumb, trying to avoid a swarm of photographers and so I took a short cut through Knockturn.”

“I thought we cleared Knocturn Alley out,” Ron cuts in, and Robards flicks his wand toward the quill taking dictation, “We have, essentially.  But nothings foolproof, as you know.”

Ginny sips from the lukewarm tea in front of her and blows out a steady breath as the quill resets.  “It was still bright enough – I knew where I was, over by the potions supply shop? And I heard a scuffle.  I kept hidden, but by the time I got to the alley the second man was dead.  And the man said something like ‘no loose ends.’”

Harry frowns.  “Were you seen at all?” “That’s partially why she’s here,” Robards answers gruffly, “aside from the fact that the killer who saw her is Artz – the illegal potions dealer we’ve been tracking for months.”

“I got out of there, since he didn’t seem prone to letting me live to tell the tale – if the spells he shot were any indication – and got into the busiest section of Diagon I could find,” Ginny shrugs, “figured he wouldn’t like to chance getting photographed.”

After Ginny gives a description of the man she saw, views an array of mug shots, and leaves her contact information, she makes to leave, but Robards stops her. “I’m not particularly comfortable with you going off on your own until we’ve got a handle on this.  Artz is still out there, plus he’s got quite the criminal network.  Every time we’ve had a witness willing to testify, they’ve been – taken care of.”

Ginny frowns, “Well I can’t just stay here forever.”

Robards glances toward Ron and Harry, then back at Ginny.  “That’s why Potter’s taking you to one of our safe houses.  Just until we bring in our kingpin.  Artz isn’t messing around anymore – aside it’s more than illegal potions now, he’s getting bloodthirsty, as I’m sure you noticed.”

Harry leaves to get the portkey paperwork set while Robards gives Ron instructions on heading up the search team for Artz, and he’s caught by surprise when Ginny comes up behind him.  “This is a much more elaborate first date than I expected,” Ginny jokes, elbowing him in the side as he checks over the requisition form once more.

He gives her a lopsided smile, “Trouble is, don’t know how I’ll top this.”

“Big talk, Potter.  Hope your safe house measures up,” Ginny says with a laugh, but there’s a hint of worry in her eyes, “Are mum and dad ok?  D’you think he knows who I am?”

His hand finds hers without conscious thought, squeezing gently.  “Ron’s already sent a couple aurors over, plus he flooed Bill to check the wards.  And a couple more headed to check on your flatmate in Holyhead.”

Ron waves a quick goodbye from across the office and then Harry and Ginny wrap their fingers around a rusty tin can and disappear from the Auror Office in a swirl of robes.

Small.

That’s Harry’s first impression of the cottage when they land just inside the front gate, the wards shimmering behind them.  Whipping wind sends a shiver up Harry’s spine.  “It’s supposed to be stocked with provisions so – ”

Ginny spins slowly, taking in their surroundings, from the rolling hills that reach litter the horizon, to the dense tree line that backs the small home. When she’s facing Harry again, she dips in a low bow.  “Lead the way my gallant knight.”

Snorting, Harry gives her shoulder a small shove and pulls her toward the front door.  He presses his palm to the jamb and the wood glows around his fingers before the door slides open with a creak.  “I’d say after you, but protocol says I have to do a sweep first.”

“How about together,” Ginny suggests, renewing her grip on his hand as they shuffle into the dark house.

When Harry flicks his wand to light the lamps, they find themselves in a one-room cottage with roughly plastered pale yellow walls and creaky wooden floors covered with thickly braided rag rugs.  There’s a tiny kitchenette with a stove and a water pump, a small rickety table in the corner with two chairs, and a settee shoved in the corner next to the wireless.  

He’s just moving to search out the bedrooms when he sees it.  The bed.  Singular. The only remaining door leads to a small washroom which luckily includes a shower and toilet, but one bed for the both of them to – “Er- I’ll take the couch?”

Ginny folds her arms and glares up at him.  After a moment, she saunters over to the couch and pokes the loose springs dramatically.  “Becoming a human shish kebab more fun than sharing a bed with me?”

Harry ruffles his hair.  “I er- no. I’m sure you’re very fun in bed – NO! I mean – I just.”

“I think it’s time we put that sentence out of its misery, yeah?” Ginny offers with a grin as she moves to stand before him, her hands sliding up his chest to wrap in his hair.  “S’not like we’re strangers.”

‘Death by flirtation with Ginny Weasley’ – that’s what his obituary will say.

Somehow, he manages to grunt out a response and take the four steps necessary to reach the kitchen, where there’s luckily a fully stocked icebox and a cabinet full of canned goods.  “I’ll get dinner going?  Pretty hungry myself.”

Ginny narrows her eyes but nods shortly and when she disappears into the loo Harry takes a steadying breath.  Because even though they’d planned a date, he feels all strange about being with her here, now, because of work, like he’s – taking advantage.

So he sets about making a meal of sorts from the selection, cold ham and cheese on crusty bread, tomatoes and lettuce set out for preference choice.  He hears the shower turn on and then his brain decides to think about who’s in the shower so he rummages around and finds a couple of tinned soups to heat on the stove top that are nearly warmed by the time Ginny emerges from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, towel wrapped around her middle.  “A chef too?  How’ve you not been snatched up?”

Grinning, Harry wins the battle to keep his eye-line above Ginny’s collarbone as he flicks his hand toward the bed.  “Robards sent over my emergency pack.  It’s got some spare clothes and toiletries so feel free to – “

He hears the towel drop to the ground in a soggy thud and trains his eyes on the thin vegetable soup that has never in its history been stirred with such devotion. Ginny comes up beside him and he nearly jumps out of his skin when her hand lands on top of his, and he can hear the laughter in her voice, “I think that’s enough stirring, Harry.”

The self-depreciating smile he manages to work onto his lips drops when he turns and finds Ginny Weasley in one of his flannel shirts, only partially buttoned with a pair of his mismatched pants beneath, her shapely legs mainly bare and highly enticing.  Somehow though, he tears his eyes away and manages to re-enter reality in time to find Ginny, hands on hips, staring at him as if waiting for an answer.  “You didn’t hear a word I said, did you Harry James?”

“What are the chances you believe I just have hearing problems after portkey usage?”

“Slim to none.”

“Worth a shot I suppose,” Harry sighs as he takes the soup off the burner and splits it between two earthenware bowls, flicking his wand so they float toward the table where their sandwiches wait.  He scratches his neck nervously.  “I didn’t check for drinks yet.”

Ginny graciously lets the gawking drop, at least for the time being, and digs around in the icebox until she emerges with a few bottles of Butterbeer in hand. “Soup and sandwiches?”

Harry nods and a pair of filled bowls and one large platter float lightly to the kitchen table.  “I reckon we can just pick off one big plate.”

“Sharing’s the theme of the night I suppose,” Ginny agrees with an easygoing shrug. In no time, they demolish all the sandwiches and their servings of vegetable soup alike, talking about everything and nothing while Ginny’s chilled toes seek his sock covered feet beneath the table.  And if he’s honest, Harry almost forgets this isn’t the date he planned and that Ginny’s currently in hiding to avoid the wrath of an internationally wanted illegal potions dealer – almost.

He’s getting lost in the haze of Ginny’s bubbling laughter, her hand placed casually atop his, when a chime sounds through the cottage and Harry jolts from the table.  “That’ll be the office.  Secret state of the art communication system.”

“Look at you Mr. Auror,” Ginny teases, wriggling her brows as she begins clearing their dishes while Harry strides toward the fireplace where a tin box the size of his fist trembles and chirps loudly.  His thumbprint opens the lid and he pulls the scroll from inside, skimming Ron’s familiar scrawl that arches across the page.

Ginny’s just set the dishes to wash when she asks, “Anything important?”

Harry shrugs, “Your family is safe, flat’s locked down, search is still on for Artz, and the safe houses are selected with a kind of randomized lottery.”

The fire roars to life beneath Ginny’s wand as she settles in on the loveseat and pats the cushion next to her.  “If I hadn’t actually seen someone die today I might think this was an elaborate plot to get me alone in a romantic countryside cabin for our first date.”

“Tinned soup and forced bed share weren’t really what I had in mind,” Harry sighs, letting his head drop back against the couch, eyes drifting closed as Ginny’s fingers slide through his messy locks.

“S’not so bad – good story at least,” Ginny murmurs, placing a gentle kiss to his shoulder, then nuzzling his jawline, “’Sides the night is young.”

Harry turns his face to her and Ginny’s lips slide across his before he has a chance to object.  Not that he particularly wants to.  His hands span her hips and she’s nearly fully seated in his lap when the box chimes again and Harry pulls away abruptly, chastising himself for letting himself drift into Harry mode rather than Auror Potter mode.

When he finishes reading the second missive, Harry turns back toward the couch and finds a slightly debauched looking Ginny Weasley and he’s not quite sure which of them undid two buttons on her flannel but he’s got to clear his head.

“Ron’s asked us to floo and check in tomorrow morning at eight,” Harry offers as he carefully avoids the couch and skirts toward the loo, “I’ll just take a quick shower,” and shuts the door sharply behind him.

By the time he’s gone about his business and gotten back on track, it’s past eleven and Harry figures Ginny’ll already be asleep.  But as he tiptoes from the bathroom, he finds the lamps still lit and the wireless is eeking out a smooth instrumental ballad.

Ginny jerks when the floorboard creaks beneath his bare foot and he curses himself for being such a wanker, she’d seen a murder and his best solution was to snog the daylights out of her and then lock himself in the loo.  She offers him a light smile.  “Shower’s pretty alright, yeah?”

He nods and folds his clothes, setting them on the small chest at the foot of the bed, next to hers, and can’t help but wish they’d come together under more pleasant circumstances.  “You must be beat Gin.”

Her lip quirks up in a sort of smile as she toys with the tail of her borrowed shirt. “I couldn’t manage to relax just yet. My minds too wild I suppose.”

“We can leave one of the lamps lit if you like, and the wireless on?” Harry offers quietly, fingertips brushing her shoulder.

She tilts her head back and considers him for a moment before agreeing and claiming the right side of the bed.  Harry extinguishes all but one light and lowers the radio until it’s a gentle melody swirling through the one room home.  Once they’ve settled in and the bed stops creaking beneath their movements, Harry places his glasses on the nightstand and murmurs, “Night Gin.”

And that’s that.  Or it should be.  Except Ginny can’t seem to get into a comfortable position for more than two minutes at a time.  And Harry would complain except he can’t manage it either.

Eventually, they end up mirroring each other, nose-to-nose, hands brushing in the center of the mattress and Ginny whispers, “Was it bad?”

Harry narrows his eyes in confusion, “The murder?”

Ginny snorts, “The snog.  Of course the murder was bad.”

“Oh – er- no,” Harry blusters, neck flushing, “I just – I’m supposed to be protecting you and I was just thinking about what I wanted.”

“My needs were pretty well taken care of up until the time you stopped,” Ginny answers dryly, “Or do you think I haven’t figured out you being a self sacrificing git is the reason we didn’t get together during your sixth year? What kind of Gryffindor doesn’t grab what he wants?”

Her challenging gaze doesn’t waver and Harry can’t seem to break it, so he surges forward and presses his mouth to hers, his hand cupping her jaw and guiding her closer to him as he whispers between kisses, “How’s – this – for grabbing – what I want?”

It’s a mess of teeth and lips, neither finessing the other as their mouths split into twin smiles.  Ginny’s hands slide up under his t-shirt and Harry’s works his way down her neck while she sighs,  “Pretty ok I – suppose.  There could be more grabbing though.”

Harry pulls back and his toothy smile glints in the low light.  “Got to save something for the second date.  Wouldn’t want you to think I’m too forward.”

Ginny laughs, and they trade heated kisses and quiet murmurs until Harry slows pulls away.  “Perhaps we should pause?”

With a longing gaze at his bare chest – when did that happen – Ginny nods but doesn’t let him pull any further away, just tangles her legs with his and snuggles close, pressing her lips to his pulse point before she settles in, nose against his neck.

Harry dims the light until the glow is just faint and tucks his wand beneath his pillow before tugging Ginny closer and drifting off to sleep after her.

It’s still dark, that inky black that only really happens in the countryside, when Harry wakes, unsure what exactly jarred him from sleep.  Ginny nuzzles closer and the non-on edge part of him wants to pull her to his chest and fall back asleep to the sound of her quiet breaths. But then he hears a shuffle in the gravel outside and slips from the bed and grabs his wand and his glasses, shaking Ginny awake quietly.  “Gin – Gin wake up.”

She blinks blearily and Harry wishes he could take the moment to enjoy sleep-soft Ginny, but he pushes the urge aside and whispers sharply, “Someone’s outside.”

The bedsprings creak as Ginny sits up abruptly, hair a wild mess about her face. “How?  No one’s supposed to be able to even see this place?  I’m leaving a nasty note in the guestbook.”

Smirking, Harry squeezes her hand.  “I’ll just poke around outside.  You stay here,” Ginny narrows her eyes and Harry raises both hands defensively, “With your wand – because you’re the one in danger and the one we need to testify to end all this.”

She only looks half convinced so Harry stands and stations her at the kitchen table. “It’s probably just a drunk Muggle that accidentally wandered on the property.”

“Past the high level wards set by Gringott’s best cursebreakers?  Sure,” Ginny drawls, dubious, but at least temporarily compliant as she settles in at the table, wand in hand.

Harry runs his thumb over her cheekbone gently and turns toward the door, padding slowly across the room and doing his best to avoid the noisiest floorboards. His hand is about to close around the doorknob when it twists open seemingly on its own, if not for the sound of boots and the dull brown wand held aloft in the darkness.  Luckily, he hasn’t been spotted by the intruder yet, hidden by the door as he is, so Harry’s ready to stun the invisible figure when the spell is removed and the man becomes clear as anything.  The sickly grey complexion, perfectly coiffed greying hair, watery grey eyes, and squashed nose he’s memorized from the wanted posters plastered around the Auror Office.

Quicker than a flash, Artz glances around and advances toward Ginny, muttering angrily with his wand threateningly aimed and before Harry does more than disarm the crime lord, Ginny fires three spells in quick succession, bombardimenta sending him backward into the door, langlock silencing his hatred, and petrificus totalus locking his limbs together as he collapses sideways to the rough hewn floor.

While Harry sends an urgent patronus to Ron and Robards, Ginny lets her hand drop dully to the scrubbed wood table, eyes fiery as her chest rises and falls in measured breaths.  He crosses the room in three quick strides, pulling her up from her chair and tight into his bare chest, her flyaway hair tickling across his arms.  “Alright, Weasley?”

Ginny chuckles a tad shakily as she burrows further into his embrace.  “I’m alright.  Nice way to take the edge off.  No wonder you went into law enforcement.”

Harry buries his nose in her hair as he murmurs lightly, “Too right.  I’ve got seventeen years of angst to work off.”

They’re wrapping Artz in magic bonds and stowing his frozen body against the wall when Harry freezes, brow furrowed as he stands straight.  “How did he know – ”

Before he can finish the thought, Ron’s silvery terrier bursts to life in front of them and Ron’s voice practically shouts something about a turncoat and an attack before it cuts off into a plume of dust.  

Harry blinks twice and mumbles, “No loose ends – ” before he’s grabbing Ginny and Artz’s prone form and dragging them toward the property line.  They’ve just crossed over when the charges go off and the cottage explodes behind them in a plume of smoke and fire.  Abruptly, he turns to Ginny, both covered in sooty black streaks across their faces like tiger stripes.  “We’re not safe here.”

Ginny shoves his arm.  “No shit, Harry.”

The first spell comes from the treeline and Harry throws his body over Ginny’s as he answers with four of his own, three finding their mark if the dull thuds are any indication, but the fourth goes wide and crackles through the trees.  As the remaining back up emerges from over the hills, five pops sound and Ron appears with four other Aurors and he barks at Harry, “Get Ginny and that scum bag out of here.  We’ve got this.”

Harry fights the impulse to stay and wraps one arm around Ginny’s waist, the other hand grasping Artz roughly as they disappear with a quiet pop and reappear in the Auror Office, which is in a state of chaos.

An Auror, Thompson he thinks, shoves past before he realizes the nearly naked man standing in the middle of the Ministry at four in the morning is in fact Harry Potter and more importantly he’s dragging the most wanted criminal in the wizarding world at the moment.  Harry waves away the blustered apologies and asks for Robards who is apparently injured – but in his office.

Remarkably, he’s not too concerned that he’s living his ‘I went to work in only my pants’ nightmare and Ginny seems eager to stick close to his side so they make their way toward Robard’s office and find the man in question slumped back in his leathery chair, a bloody cloth held to his forehead.  He eyes Harry in his state of undress.  “Yes, we all know you’re in better shape than me Potter. No need to rub it in.”

Harry snorts but doesn’t linger on pleasantries, setting Artz down as he places silencing charms around the office.  “We have a mole.  In the office.”

Robards scowls but doesn’t question the truth of his statement.  “Who?”

“Someone who could find our secret location.”

“You think the requisition officer?  Walsh?”

Ginny chews her lip before she cuts in, “It was the officer – from MLEP.  Or isn’t it strange that he just happened to be there when Artz was taking that hit out. And that he was so hesitant to let Harry Potter in on the witness interview,” she pauses, “Plus, he lingered close enough when we got the portkey that he could’ve read the paperwork.”

Robards glances at Harry, who nods shortly, and sends an urgent missive to the MLEP office two doors down before triggering something beneath his desk that sends a palpable thrum through the room.  Robards grunts, “Ministry lock down – can’t have that bastard getting away. Assuming he’s still in the building.”

Harry nods.  “He’s likely not figured we’ll have caught his trail this quickly.”

The first Auror arrives from the cottage, dragging one of the attackers into lock-up and Robards looks Harry and Ginny over.  “You two should get out of here – away from people who actively tried to kill you in the last hour,” Harry nods and Robards shoos them out the back door, “And find some clothes too, Potter.  Never wanted to be this close to you.”

Harry snorts and sneaks with Ginny toward the Department of Magical Law Enforcement emergency apparition point, and every time they hear someone barreling down the corridor, they slip into the shadowy alcoves.  Unlike his daydreams, which generally involve having Ginny shivering in his arms in shadowy corners for more enjoyable reasons.

At the last turn before the apparition point, Ginny pulls Harry back and presses him flush against the wall.  “Before we get out there and you start being all gentlemanly telling me to go back to my flat, I’m cold and tired and not afraid to say a bit shell-shocked from recent events.  And I’d like you to take me home,” Harry nods readily but Ginny realizes he’s likely misunderstanding, “Home with you.  To your flat.”

He nods slower this time, and Ginny clarifies again, “To your bed.  That we will share.”

A smile rises on his lips.  “Anything else on the itinerary, Miss?”

Ginny pinches his bare side and their shared laughter echoes in the marble hallways, reminding them both they aren’t in Harry’s cozy flat where no one can see them.  So he leads her toward the apparition point and gathers her close. “Ready then?”

Her answer comes with a blistering kiss that sends Harry’s heart racing so that he has to pull away.  “Don’t get me all distracted before Apparition.  Have to remember the Three D’s.”

Nodding in understanding, Ginny puts a bit of space between their bodies, eyes sparkling mischievously.  “Ah yes, must remember the Three D’s to protect the Fourth D.”