Harry Potter and the Third Riddle

Chapter 3

A Year of Celebrations

Together since before the fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be named, no doubt those long nights in a shabby, drafty tent come to mind for these two lovers. Ron Weasley, partner at Weasley Wizard Wheezes and Hermione Granger, muggleborn and a junior aid in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures today announce their engagement. The couple have not released the date of the prospective nuptials, but no doubt the eyes and ears of wizarding Britain will be waiting in anticipation for any more news on the upcoming ceremony.

One does wonder whether Harry Potter shares his friend's happiness, however. Since his break up with Mr. Weasley's sister, Ginny, Mr. Potter's love life has been non-existent, though no doubt he has had no shortage of options. Working diligently in the Auror's Department during the day and caring for his adoptive son, Tom, in the evenings it can be said that Mr. Potter has had little time to find his own romantic match. Could he possibly be happy as his closest friends move on into a life without him.

The story went on to speculate on wedding locations, possible dress designers, who might bake the cake, whether or not anyone famous would be on the guest list, and other things that made Harry want to laugh out loud in front of his entire office. If any of these "reporters" actually knew either Ron or Hermione, they would know the affair would be quiet, stayed and devoid of extraneous entanglements like worrying about which famous people to invite. Though no doubt Ron would try to find some reason why it would be okay to invite the entire Chudley Cannons quidditch team.

Spellbound. What a rag, Harry thought as he tossed the lastest issue containing Ron and Hermione's engagement announcement into the nearest rubbish bin. Of course, it had hardly been a secret to the wizarding world that they were together, nor had they tried to make it one. The everyday lives of "the golden trio," as Harry, Ron and Hermione had been dubbed by the press, had been anything but private from the moment they walked off the battlegrounds at Hogwarts. Not the least in thanks to Rita Skeeter, now the editor and contributing reporter for the aforementioned rag.

Harry took a bite of his corn beef sandwich, courtesy of Mrs. Weasley-Molly's weekend care package, and shuffled back through the case file. There had been an uptick in the sale of illicit potions being sold across London in the months following the new year. These all following a rather organized breaking at St. Mungo's in which several vaults of potion stock were emptied. To Harry, the whole thing felt like and inside job and the subsequent uptick in illegal trafficking of the potions seem to coincide rather well with the late-January incident. He packed up his wand, slid on his robe and handed in a travel report to Humphrey Instantent. The man looked up.

"Potter you've already been to St. Mungo's twice. Why would you think I'd authorize a third?"

Harry rolled his eyes, "It just doesn't add up Humphrey."

He was no longer a trainee Auror. No, soon after the millennium came in, without incident, he might add, himself and his fellow trainees were made official junior Aurors. Their supervisor, however remained Humphrey. He was an exhausting man to tolerate, unfailingly by the book and unequalled in his loyalty to the ministry, but such things often got in the way of how Harry processed the cases with which he was tasked. It wasn't as though Harry thought himself above the rules, it was just… well sometimes going through a thousand checkpoints to get to a simple yes or no answer got in the way of his process. Still, under it all, Humphrey was a good man, and begrudgingly Harry had grown to respect. Him.

They stared each other down for several long seconds before Humphrey finally relented. Perhaps it was the lateness of the afternoon, or he was simply in a good mood. Harry nodded to Neville on his way out the department door. The other man gave him a lopsided grin, lower lip split as he and a senior Auror, Harold Peaks, returned with a younger, incapacitated man whose eyebrows sang the time of day. He looked forward to hearing the beginning of that story.

Diagon Alley was mostly deserted in the mid-afternoon. Due to what the Head Auror had deemed an "unreasonable and irresponsible amount of overtime" Harry wandered the Wizarding London high street with a slow but purposeful stride. A rogue drop of rain fell on his unruly black hair and he pulled his cloak more tightly around himself against the chill of March.

Tom was with Andromeda Tonks and Teddy. The two boys, though both only three years old, got on swimmingly and often the poor woman had difficulty picking out her grandson when they were together. Teddy, a metamorphmagus like his mother, found it necessary to copy his newfound friend's appearance. Together, they drove her to madness, but she assured Harry that their youth and energy helped her to forget all that she had lost. Though part of him regretted the omission, Harry never told her of Tom's family. To do so would only be to further burden her, and he wanted no part in complicating her already difficult life.

Yes, as far as the rest of the wizarding world was concerned, Tom was nothing more than a young boy, a victim of the second wizarding war, just a baby left alone in a perilous world. If Harry had his way, that's all he would ever be. He knew that wasn't possible. If the resemblance to his father had been striking when Tom was an infant, it was all the more evident now as he grew older. There remained alive those who'd met Tom Riddle Jr before he became Lord Voldemort, who would undoubtedly remember his face. Someday those people would recognize Tom for who he was. But Harry would do his best to make sure the boy was prepared, informed, ready as he could be for that weight to come crashing down on his shoulders.

Harry brushed his brooding aside. There were more important things to think about today.

St Mungo's offered a rarely used service to detect the date of one's birth if it was unknown. It was accurate to a three day window of time. In the course of the investigation, the Auror department had chosen to test Tom for an approximate date, in the hopes that there might be hospital records regarding his birth. Karl Appleweltch had declared it a "blooming great waste of time," and Harry had to agree. Any woman bearing Voldemort's child, whether willingly or not, would have no need to give birth in a hospital, of that he was certain, but it did provide Harry with the unique opportunity to learn his son's birthday.

And so, here he was standing in front of Quality Quidditch Supplies staring at the latest edition of the Firebolt and wondering what exactly would be the best gift for a three year old. He hadn't known many in his lifetime. The Dursley's had been the kind of family that only really associated with people their own age. That meant that their friends tended to have children around the same time as they had and tended to raise them in the same way that they had. And in any case, even when a family did happen to have a younger child, it wasn't as though Harry had been given a chance to meet them or interact in any way.

Teddy he knew would relish a toy broom. The little boy had a wild spirit always running about and knocking things over. Rather like his mother He thought with a smile as he remembered the troll's leg umbrella stand that so often fell prey to Tonks' clumsiness. Tom was the opposite. He could be wild when he was with Teddy. Andromeda had confessed to Harry that she had rather hoped Tom's thoughtful demeanor would rub off on Teddy, but it ended up the other way around. Still, when Tom was alone, he was the kind of child to watch and consider everyone in the room. Very different than Harry himself had been.

Harry continued past the quidditch shop and Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, a few game shops until finally his eyes fell on the secluded shop just past Ollivander's. Oswald's Curiosities for Inquiring Young Minds. He'd never given the shop more than a passing glance. He'd never had a need, but now the slim silver letters and the faded stars on the shopfront invited him in.

Like Flourish and Blots and Ollivanders, only the little store's owner could possibly have found anything for which they were searching. Toys, games and oddities were stacked, one atop the other in no particular order, and from what little Harry could see, the merchandise came from all over the world. He walked past all of the toys. Tom had plenty and he didn't think the boy had any need for more.

Sitting atop a small end table toward the rear of the shop was a small black globe. A thousand little holes punctured its surface, giving it the appearance of a pin cushion that remembered the abuse. Harry lifted it in his hands and turned it to the side, hoping that something in its design might hint at its use. Though it was metal, it was warm to the touch and the magic of the object thrummed through the skin of his hands.

"It's an asteri." A short witch with shoulder length dark hair descended the spiral staircase.

She stopped a few feet in front of him and held out her hand. Her round grey eyes took up most of her face contrasting sharply, though not unpleasantly, with the tininess of her nose. Harry watched as her grey gaze ascended his face landing, as so often people's eyes did, on the pale scar he still bore on his forehead. She raised an eyebrow.

"Madame Oswald."

Harry shook her hand and she took the asteri from him.

"And your scar introduces you," The crow's feet at the corners of her eyes crinkled.

He frowned and followed her toward the front of the shop where she began wrapping the asteri in an old copy of the Daily Prophet and then tucked it into a little brown bag.

"Seven sickles, three knuts." She leaned on her hand, staring at him.

"I didn't say I was going to buy it."

"You didn't have to. This was my father's shop, and his father's before him. If my only brother hadn't died fighting Grindelwald it would have been his. Instead he had to suffer the indignity of passing it to me. I grew up here. I know when someone is going to buy something."

"People are drawn to things in my store Mr. Potter. Often that for which they are searching is what they find. But I think this is not for yourself correct?"

Harry narrowed his eyes at her but shook his head. Her intuition bordered on clairvoyance, he noted. It wasn't unheard of, but he'd never seen anyone use it with such impunity.

"It's a birthday gift for my son."

"And he likes stars?" She asked.

With a nod, Harry set his money on the counter, "He has always loved the night sky."

The corners of Madame Oswald's thin lips curled up, "Then this is the perfect gift for him. An asteri holds within it a perfect map of the night sky, just as it would be if you went outside, but even on the darkest, cloudiest of nights, the stars are there. They were once used by the ancient Greek astronomers to study the heavens." Her smiled broadened, "Or so they say. But the name and the origin of all known asteri is Greek."

Harry reached out and took the package from her, "Thank you."

She counted the money on the counter and then slipped it into a chest she produced from a shelf on the other side. From it, she withdrew an old envelope of yellowed parchment and tapped it with a knotted grey wand. The paper glowed for a moment and then resumed looking like a forgotten piece of mail. Madame Oswald reached over the counter and slipped it into the bag as well.

"Instructions for its use, Mr. Potter. You wouldn't want to disappoint your son with a useless gift now would you?"

As he stepped from the shop, Harry was left with the distinct impression that there was far more to Madame Oswald than even the small amount he had experienced. The rebellious raindrops that attacked him before he went into the shop, had become a fully-fledged, early spring rainstorm.

Harry withdrew his wand.

"Protego Pluvia"

The faint shape of an umbrella sprouted from Harry's wand and extended upward an outward until it covered its conjurer. He tucked the little brown paper bag under his robes and continued out into the street, stopping in at Quality Quidditch Supplies to pick up a Toy Broom for Teddy.

There was a part of Harry that still hadn't gotten used to how similar Andromeda looked to her sister. However, her genuine smile when she opened the door always dissolved the resemblance.

"We had a long day today," She commented, leading him through the little house to the kitchen.

Tom and Teddy sat quietly on the floor, playing with a set of blocks quietly. There were holes in the knees of Tom's pants and the skin underneath was reddened. Harry suspected whatever injury he'd sustained had been healed by his daytime caretaker.

"Not too long I hope?" Harry asked as he settled at the table.

Andromeda handed him a mug of coffee. Upon hearing his voice, both boys jumped up, unceremoniously knocking over the tower they had so carefully built and attacked him, clinging to his legs like Grindylows. He laughed as he sat down and assisted each into his lap.

"Uhcle 'Awwy" Teddy greeted with a huge, lop-sided grin. His hair was blue and his eyebrows lurid, electric orange.

"Dad!" Tom wrapped his tiny arms around Harry's middle, a hug Harry returned with a smile.

"You didn't give Aunt 'Dromeda too much trouble did you?"

Harry took a sip of the proffered coffee, careful not to spill any on the children as they got comfortable in his lap. How they both managed to fit, he couldn't tell. He didn't have a very large lap. Andromeda, returning with her own cup sat shook her head.

"No, not too much trouble. They did have a bit of a disagreement over who had the best idea for a game to play," She pointed to Tom's knees with her wand, "Tom pushed Teddy and Teddy pushed back harder. But its nothing near as bad as what Tonks used to get into with her friends."

Harry frowned at her, ice creeping through his veins.

"Is this true?" he asked the two boys though he meant it for Tom.

Tom refused to meet his gaze, but Teddy brazenly responded, "No."

"Teddy!" The woman across the table from him snapped.

Teddy turned red and began to cry, hoping off Harry's lap and then running into the other room. Andromeda let out an exasperated huff and followed. Tom on the other hand, continued to hang his head, chewing his lower lip.

"Tom?"

Harry lifted the little boy's face up to meet his own and the child shook his head very slowly, very calculatedly, almost as though he was gauging what his father's reaction would be. The ice that had frozen in Harry's veins pooled at his stomach, a ball of frost. Without another thought for the coffee, Harry rose, picked up Tom, and headed toward the front door.

"I'll see you tomorrow Andromeda. Thank you for keeping an eye on them."

She looked up from where she was standing with the crying Teddy and grimaced goodbye. Outside, a cold mist engulfed Harry and Tom, but they weren't in it for very long, for Harry turned on the spot, vanishing with a pop.

Harry had grown slightly better at tidying his flat. Clothes, instead of being everywhere, were contained in the bed room. Shoes stayed close to the door, though not orderly enough that he didn't trip over them when he returned to his home. He swore under his breath, but didn't even take off his jacket before moving to the sitting area. He put Tom down on the couch.

It seemed that Tom knew he'd done something wrong, for the little boy was back to avoiding Harry's gaze. Only when Harry knelt down before him, clutching his shoulders tightly, did Tom's black gaze meet Harry's bespectacled one. Harry closed his eyes for a moment and sucked in several deep breath before he spoke.

"Do you know what a lie is, Tom?"

Children will test you, Mrs. Weasley's voice echoed in his head, I don't know what you mean to do with him Harry but I don't think you know what you've gotten in to. He was just a child. Just like any other child. And yet, Harry couldn't help but remember Voldemort in the orphanage, unapologetic about the children's animals he had tortured. Pretending and failing to prove he cared about what the other kids thought of him. Tom shook his head again. Perhaps he hadn't explained before. In fact, he was rather certain he hadn't now that he thought of it.

"A lie is a story we tell about something that isn't true," Harry paused, "It's when we say something happened that didn't or say something didn't happen when it did."

Tom nodded, trying again to look away and failing.

"Do you understand?"

Again, he nodded.

"Now, Tom, in this house we don't tell lies. Do you understand?"

Another nod.

"Alright then. Earlier, when I asked you what happened today, did you tell me the truth?"

There was a long pause. It was so easy to see a child's mind working. Tom's pale face seemed to implode and tears welled in his eyes. It took everything in Harry no to break and simply hug him. Morality. Were children born with a capacity to understand it or was it something they all learned as they grew up?

Finally, Tom shook his head, "No."

His voice was weak, shakey, barely more than a wimper but it was there. Harry let out a sigh.

"I'll ask you again then. Is what Aunt 'Dromeda said true?" He brought Tom's weepy dark eyes up to meet his own again, "Did you push Teddy?"

Tom nodded, tears leaking over his round toddler cheeks, "I just wanted to play my game. Teddy's game was dumb."

"But you lied to me earlier about it. Why?"

Tom bit his lip, "Didn't want to get in twoble."

"And what happened?"

"I got in twouble."

"So what did you learn?"

"No lying."

"Why?"

"You'll be mad."

"Yes, and?"

"Still in twoble."

Tom's lower lip was shaking, and his chin threatened to crumble in on itself. Harry leaned forward.

"Why, Tom? Why were you still in trouble?"

The little boy sniffled, "Lying's wong."

And then there were tears, many tears. Harry knew it was coming and pulled the little boy into a tight hug. The dread that had settled in his gut had thawed and he felt that all too common guilt flush over him instead. Children will test you Mrs. Weasley's voice echoed through his head. Test they did. They sat like that for several minutes, Tom on the couch and Harry hugging him tight from where he knelt on the floor. His knees ached, his legs cramped he sat that way for so long.

"I'm sowwy, Dad" Tom sniffled, as he began to settle.

The words rained down on him like a summer breeze, bringing a smile to his face. The tension he hadn't realized knotted the muscles of his shoulders slipped away and he drew back to wipe the tears from his son's cheeks.

"I forgive you, Tom. Just don't do it again."

Harry pressed a kiss into the dark hair on the little boy's head and the exhausted child to his bed. Tom curled up almost immediately, falling asleep under the soft comforter. Harry let out a sigh as he watched all the trouble leave his little face.

The St. Mungo's/illicit potions case kept Harry busy for the better part of the spring and summer, but yielded a rather surprising and extrememly satisfying end in mid-July. It had been an arduous and meticulous task to unravel the spider's web of connections to two St. Mungo's junior healer's who'd made a bad deal on a start up company that almost immediately flopped.

Healer Erik Christiansen and Healer Millicent Marrelplank were a young couple only a few years his senior who's foolish investment in a dragon pox miracle cure company left them worse than broke. In a desperate attempt to climb out of the proverbial hole, they confessed to Harry, whom they were stunned was their arresting Auror, that they had encountered a man with many back alley connections and a plan to sell healing potions at a very profitable rate. The idea had seemed airtight to them. Ravenclaws, these healers were not. After several conversations and a promise to help reduce their sentence if they cooperated with his investigation, after all assisting in the theft of potentially life-saving potions from a hospital was quite a serious charge, Harry had uncovered a very familiar face at the head of it all. None other than the ginger-haired, pipe-smoking, greasy Mundungus Fletcher. Sending him to Azkaban had put Harry, and many of the senior Aurors in a positively cheerful mood. No one in the office had forgotten the part he played in the death of Alastor Moody. Even Kingsley had made a point of taking time out of his busy, minister of magic schedule, to see the slimy man taken away. It was the perfect birthday present for himself.

September first came and went and even four years later, Harry hadn't quite gotten used to the idea that he wouldn't be boarding the Hogwarts express. A part of him missed the letters from McGonagall, written in elegant emerald script that arrived at the end of August telling him what books he needed to buy. However, it was on the tenth of September that year that Harry received a summons to the Burrow the very next day. The owl that delivered the note was a pretty grey creature with an arched brown and pileated wings. She squawked indignantly as he tried to take the message without giving her a treat but he had none on hand. He hadn't gotten a new owl after Hedwig. Something about it just felt wrong.

Though he didn't recognize the bird, the script in the letter was unmistakable. Unbidden, Harry felt his heart leap into his throat at the sight of Ginny's hurried scrawl.

Harry

I think we should talk about the wedding. You see, somehow I'm Herimone's Maid of Honor and I can't imagine Ron's picked anyone else to be his Best Man so… I just thought maybe we should get together and organize something for them. What do people do for weddings?

Anyway, the Burrow, tomorrow. Don't worry. I promise I won't try to cook anything.

Ginny

He wanted desperately not to be as happy as he was at that very moment, but he couldn't help himself. Their argument seemed like yesterday and years ago. He'd long ago accepted the blame for why their relationship ended, and over the years, their days of not talking to each other had faded, until the pleasantries they exchanged were almost identical to those they'd shared before they had even gotten together. The Weasleys were, afterall, Harry's family and he refused to lose that over a hasty decision. It remained, however, that her laugh still made his heart beat faster, her jokes made him laugh a little harder than was really necessary, and when she said good-bye at the end of the Weasley monthly dinners, he still wished it didn't have to be.

He scribbled down an affirmative response in his own, pointy hand and tied it to the owl. It took off with a haughty hoot from his window, soaring back over the streets of London, on its way to the ramshackle cottage a few kilometers outside of Ottery St. Catchpole.

Tom clung tightly to Harry's hand as they hurried up the stone path to the Burrow's front door. It bordered on foolish, bringing him here when he was supposed to be meeting Ginny, but he hated to bother Andromeda with additional child care if he didn't have to. She already did so much of it, and Tom was rarely a bother at the Weasley house. In fact, Harry thought Mrs. Weasley was rather fond of him, or perhaps it was simply that she enjoyed having a child around the house again. Bill and Fleur rarely came by now they had Victoire to care for and none of the other Weasley children had produced any offspring yet. Still, he was grateful that it was Mrs. Weasley who opened the door when they knocked.

"Harry dear!" She cried, pulling him into a tight hug, "How good to see you! I didn't realize you'd be by. What a surprise! And Tom!"

"Hello Mrs. Weasley," Harry greeted as she released him in favor of Tom.

With the toddler now seated securely, if a little reluctantly, on her hip, Mrs. Weasley chided, "How many times? It's Molly dear. You're not in school anymore."

She hurried off toward the kitchen. Tom shot Harry a scowl. He'd entered a phase where his preferred mode of transportation was walking, and he did so efficiently. Harry rarely carried him anywhere anymore unless he was tired. But alas, Mrs. Weasley had little way of knowing this, so Harry shot Tom a warning look as he followed her through the lowest level of the Burrow.

"Would you like a roll, dear. They just came out of the oven so they're nice and fresh."

Harry's mouth watered at the thought of good homemade baking. He was a decent cook, himself, at least as far as his skills with a muggle stove were concerned, but he'd never learned to bake while growing up. No one touched Aunt Petunia's oven.

"Thank you Mrs-Molly." He reached out and took one of the rolls from the bowl on the table. It was indeed delicious, "I wonder, do you know where Ginny is?"

Mrs. Weasley spun around at his question a broad smile on her face. She set the butter dish on the table.

"Ginny? I believe she went out back. Flying, I expect. She's always flying."

Harry tried not to be as elated as Molly was at his question. Of course she was flying. He grabbed another roll from the table, slipping it into his pocket and took another bite of his own.

"Brilliant. You'll look after Tom for me?"

"Of course I will. Don't you worry. You just have fun."

"Thanks."

Harry slipped out the back door and into the small garden behind the house. From the looks of it, it was in dire need of degnoming. A few crept along, shadowing his path as he headed out toward the field where they had spent summers playing two-a-side Quidditch. The second string of the Holyhead Harpies quidditch team was not payed nearly as well as the main team, therefore, Ginny had elected to remain at the Burrow until such a time as she was promoted to the actual main team. She didn't think it would be long, and Harry was still surprised she hadn't made the main team her first tryout. She was a brilliant chaser.

The shed where the Weasleys kept their spare brooms sat in the margin where the garden path ended and the tall grase of the field beyond began. Harry paused for a moment, and then grabbed one of the tatty Comet 260s from the shed, just in case. Days and months went by between his opportunities to fly and if Ginny were practicing, there was no reason he had to keep his feet on the ground. Harry hopped on the broom and kicked off hard. A Comet 260 had poor turning ability and even poorer speed, but what it lacked in agility, it more than made up for in durability. A good beater's broom Oliver Wood had once described it. Harry had to agree, a bludger would sooner dent than break the hefty branch that made up the handle of the broom on which he currently sat.

Lost in thought, he failed to see the streak of emerald green flying toward him. Before he had a chance to react, a rain of sparks fell over his head, followed by Ginny's laughter. As fast as his broom would allow, Harry wheeled around to give chase. Ginny slowed, the Firebolt he had gotten her as a seventeenth birthday present glowed in the afternoon sunlight, as, he noticed, did the ginger braid down her back. As soon as he caught up she tossed him the quaffle.

"I need to finish practicing. Mind trying to keep it away from me. According to Gwenog my steals need work. I think that's what's getting in my way."

"Sure thing."

Harry gave her a wide grin and shot away, urging every amount of speed and handiness out of the old broom. Nostalgia filled him, oddly, for the grueling quidditch practices that had stolen at a minimum three nights of his week, the days running drills in the dead of winter until it felt as though his fingers were frozen to the handle of his broom. Ginny slammed into him, grabbing the quaffle.

Zipping up past him, she whirled around and tossed it back, "Come on Potter, make it harder for me!"

Harry rolled his eye and resolved to pay more attention to where she was and spend less time reminiscing.

When they landed half an hour later, it was with companionable laughter and dirty faces. Harry's Comet revolted at the overwork he'd demanded of it and dumped him soundly in a puddle. Soaking wet and happier than he'd been in a while, he took Ginny's proffered hand of aid and then followed her back to the broomshed.

"Tergio" Harry pointed his wand at himself as they reached the backdoor and the worst of the mud fell off, "Torrefacio."

His clothes were instantly dry.

"If I could just get a little better at actually holding onto the thing maybe…"

Harry put a hand on Ginny's shoulder. Their entire walk back she'd obsessed over her position, her speed, her grip on the quaffle, her position on the broom. It was ridiculous.

"Gin."

His voice stopped in his throat as she looked up at him, but his muteness was short-lived, "You have to stop. You're a beautiful flyer and they have to know that. There is such thing as working too hard at something."

Harry could swear she blushed, but then she took a step back from him.

"Thanks, Harry. I'll keep that in mind." Opening the door she motioned for him, "Shall we?"

The wizarding radio was on, broadcasting quietly in the background as they talked over plans for Ron and Hermione's wedding. Ginny wanted to do something fun for the bachelorette party but she was worried Hermione would be annoyed by anything that wasn't a library. Harry was just planning on taking Ron for drinks for the stag night, but Ginny thought that would be too normal. So they traded ideas back and forth, trying to come up with something truly unique for their friends.

Breaking news. This is a first for Wizarding Wireless. It is just past four in the afternoon GMT and we're receiving news now that Muggles have launched an attack on New York City. No news yet on how this will effect MACUSA or if there is a magical component, but early predictions are saying the destruction is of catastrophic proportions.

Harry and Ginny fell silent, listening.

Two aeroplanes, Muggle flying machines, have crashed into the World Trade Center towers, as well as a major American intelligence building in Washington, DC. As I have said, there have been no confirmed magical components to this attack. However, let us keep the families of those who have undoubtedly been lost in our thoughts.

Harry rose from the couch.

"Harry?" Ginny reached out to him, catching his wrist.

He turned to her, "They'll be heightening security at the Ministry until they know for certain we aren't in danger here in Britain. They'll call for me any second. I need to get Tom to Andromeda's."

Ginny opened her mouth as if to argue, but then closed it, and followed him to the kitchen.

Tom stood on a stack of newspapers helping Mrs. Weasley roll out a pie crust. Both looked up upon their entrance.

"Molly, Tom and I have to go. Something's happened in America and they're be calling me back to the Ministry any time now."

Mrs. Weasley nodded and lifted Tom down of the chair, "Alright Harry dear. You do your very best to stay safe now."

She ushered all three to the door and then gave him a tight hug, which he returned gladly, "Stay safe. I don't want to hear of any missing toes or ears now."

Harry gave her a small smile and turned to leave. Instead, Ginny pulled him into a tight hug, her face buried in his neck. Surprised, it took him a moment to reciprocate, but then he leaned into her embrace, taking comfort in every short second.

"Be careful, Harry," She begged, her voice barely more than a whisper in his ear.

He drew away from her, "You know I will be. Besides, nothing has happened here. This is just standard Ministry procedure."

Harry scooped Tom up in one arm despite his protests, gave Ginny's hand a squeeze and then walked to the end of the lane beyond the potting shed, where he turned on the spot and vanished.

a/n- Why include 9/11? Well I'm an American, for one thing, so I feel, given that I hadn't given you a definite time and place for some context, although you should be able to figure out base on how old Tom and Teddy are, I felt a real world time and date would be somewhat poignant. Also, it gave me an opportunity to show an interaction between the Wizarding and Muggle worlds and to show that there is an impact on the Wizarding World when something as big as 9/11 happens. I don't intend on doing an more with it other than using it as a historical marker. I feel using it as a source of fiction would be in poor taste.

The scene with Tom really got away from me. I had intended on getting to Ron and Hermione's wedding in this chapter, but alas, I really enjoy what I've come up with for story here so I'm not gonna mess with it too much. And I really felt I had to throw a bit of Harry and Ginny in here as well. I can't just all of a sudden mend fences; that isn't how life works.

Wotcher,

Tabitha