Career Advice: Victory Day

by Strider

Chapter 6 Victory Day

Albus Dumbledore gazed at the three notes lying on the desk in front of him. He had responded to all of them, of course, but at the moment he was contemplating the one written in Molly Weasley's hurried hand.

Albus,
I do believe they're finally coming 'round. See if you can't help them, won't you?
Molly

Coming 'round, indeed, thought Dumbledore, stroking his long silver beard. Coming 'round with a passion, from all accounts. It really was lovely.

Lovely, but strange.

Why now, he wondered. Why only now, four years after each had determined to have a future at all? Why now, when each had both a good-enough choice and a better choice spread out before them?

Albus was a romantic old fool; he knew that. He had always suspected that these two were destined for each other, for love and a shared future. It wasn't anything but the fact that he saw in them kindred spirits…and that he liked to see his favorites happy. But he couldn't push them, couldn't send them an owl saying, "The one who was meant for you is right in front of your eyes." He had learned that the hard way, in all his years of teaching and mentoring young people on the verge of adulthood. You just can't push them. They have to figure it out on their own, or it just isn't the same.

But wasn't it…well, wasn't it just something else that it was only now, not just this time in history, but right now, this week, that Albus could actually help them as Molly had requested. Had they written him last week, he would have had nothing to offer. Had they written him next week, he might have given to someone else the one thing he did have to offer. But they didn't. They wrote this week, and wasn't Fate just funny that way.

Albus tapped one of the silver instruments with his wand. Smoky words came floating out of it: "30 minutes until your Thursday evening appointment. 24 hours and 30 minutes until your Friday evening appointment." He was meeting friends for dinner at the Three Broomsticks. He'd better hurry.

By the time Albus had kept all his appointments, both Thursday's and Friday's, he had a new set of facts. He sent out two owls, then sat in the dawning light of Saturday morning to contemplate his information. He loved the dawn; at his age, the promise of a new day was nothing to be taken for granted. The new light always seemed to bring him new clarity of thought. He had a fairly strict policy of not interfering in people's lives. Of course, there were a lot of people, including the two he was thinking about, who would not believe that, but Albus considered it to be true. People usually found their own wisdom, made their own choices, and if they didn't, they faced the consequences. Hopefully they would choose better next time.

But time was pressing on these two. Their paths were calling them, demanding that they choose one of them and set their feet on it, right now, today. It was Victory Day, but for these two emotional young people, they stood to lose everything they had fought for four years ago. Albus did not fail to see the irony of the situation. Their enemy this time was not a Dark Lord or a Prophecy, but, rather, their own insecurities and stubbornness.

Well, Albus thought, perhaps time did press. And perhaps he had sworn not to meddle in their lives. He wasn't meddling, precisely. And he wouldn't. That would make him a meddling old fool, and while he was most definitely old, and quite often a fool, nobody could say he was a meddler. He just wanted to make sure that Harry and Ginny had all the information he had. Time pressed, and they did not have time to continue with this anger and jealousy. Today was Victory Day, and he would make sure they had every chance for victory for themselves.

Pleased with his plans, and with his resolve not to interfere, he walked slowly to the Great Hall for breakfast.

It was too early to be awake. For Merlin's sake, it was barely dawn. And she had a game today; she should be resting, gathering her energy. But the sad fact was that she had no energy; she felt limp and restless and lethargic all at the same time. This past week she had fallen asleep hugging her pillow, pretending it was Harry, knowing that he was thinking of her in that little flat. She had slept soundly every night, even looked forward to sleeping, knowing--as silly as it sounded-- that in her dreams, her dreams would come true. She would be Harry's and he would be hers. They would have a home together and take care of each other.

But these last two nights sleep had eluded her, for the most part. She had grown reliant on those sweet dreams this past week, and she wondered how she had ever rested without them. Or how she ever would again. She had tried to contact him Friday, to talk it out, but he hadn't been there. He really had gone out Friday night. She had fumed at that, slamming things around the kitchen until even the fearless twins were afraid to go near her. Molly had sighed and pursed her lips, making Ginny even more angry. It wasn't her fault, and if precious Harry had kept a check on his precious temper and trusted her a bit, she wouldn't be in this foul mood now. So Molly could just go and tell Harry that, because Ginny wasn't talking to him. Ever.

It was only in the wee small hours near dawn when she could grieve for what they might have had, what they seemed to have lost so easily. It was too soon to have a fight, she supposed. It was too soon to ask him to trust her. The thing was, even though they had moved fast, she would have sworn they were solid. She would have bet they could get through anything.

Her melancholy thoughts were interrupted by a tapping at her window. She sat up and squinted into the morning light coming through her window, then got out of bed to let in the owl sitting on the sill. She couldn't block the rush of hope that it might be from Harry, and her heart fell when she saw that it wasn't Hedwig at all. It was a brown barn owl carrying a letter from Professor Dumbledore. Still, she supposed she could spare him a few minutes, even though it was going to be a very busy day. He was doing her a favor, after all.

Giving up on sleep, she got out of bed and pulled on work robes. They were having another big gathering today, for Victory Day, and she wanted to get started on the cooking. Her mum was more than capable, of course, but in the past few years Ginny had taken to helping as well. She even had a few special dishes she liked to make to set alongside Molly's. Maybe someday, a day now apparently far in the future, she'd have her own kitchen and yard to invite everyone over to. Until then, she and Molly were a good team.

The twins were up early, of course, so Ginny set them to work rolling out pie dough Muggle style. If there was any of it left after the girls had tasted it a dozen times, Ginny would show them how to put it in little plates and make a real pie of it. Playing with the dough kept them mostly occupied until Molly joined them in the kitchen.

"Oy, Mum," Ginny said, rinsing her hands in the kitchen sink and drying them on a towel at her waist. "Professor Dumbledore wants me to pop in for a few minutes this morning, all right?"

Molly gave her a brilliant smile. Ginny blinked at her. Her Mum was that happy because she was visiting the Headmaster? That was distinctly odd.

"Of course, dear," Molly said, shooing her toward the Floo. "Off you go, take your time. I'll just get the girls ready for the match."

Ginny gave her mother a suspicious look, then stepped into the fire. She yelled, "Dumbledore's office!" And after some swirling and jostling, landed on the floor at Dumbledore's feet.

"Hello, Miss Weasley!" Albus said cheerfully. His blue eyes twinkled as he held out a hand to help her stand. She took it and brushed herself off, aware that she was wearing her rattiest robes, that she had flour in her hair, and she was now dusted with gray soot. Even so, Dumbledore's manners were as courtly as if she were a queen.

"Good morning, sir," she said, smiling at the old man.

"Will you have a seat?" He gestured to one of the two squashy purple chairs in front of his desk, and she plopped herself down into one, gathering her legs up underneath her.

Albus sat in his usual chair behind his desk and regarded Ginny with a kindly smile. "It would seem that your brother, Mr. Bill Weasley, has been able to do what no other curse breaker could do, Miss Weasley."

Ginny gasped. "He did it? He lifted the jinx?"

"He did," Dumbledore agreed. "And his timing couldn't have been better." A knock sounded on the door behind Ginny and she instinctively turned her head toward it. "Speaking of timing..." murmured Dumbledore. Then he called in a loud voice, "Come in."

The door opened, and Harry walked in. "Good morning, sir, I just--" he stopped short when he saw Ginny sitting there. His heart gave a lurch, and he started to take a step toward her, until he remembered that he was mad at her and wasn't ever speaking to her again. The weight of the jewelry box in his robe pocket mocked him, but he set his jaw determinedly.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was as cool as he could make it, which was very hard, because he didn't think he'd ever seen her look more adorable. Her red hair was half up in a loose knot on top of her head, her robes were covered with soot, and there was a spot of flour on her nose, covering the freckles he loved.

"Miss Weasley is here at my invitation, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said courteously, but Harry didn't miss the warning note in his voice. "As are you."

"Yes, sir," Harry mumbled, hating the fact that the Headmaster could still make him blush like a schoolboy when he used that disappointed tone of voice.

"Please sit down, Harry," Albus invited, and Harry skulked over to the chair beside Ginny's.

Albus took his chair again. "Miss Weasley, as we discussed at dinner Thursday evening--"

Harry started. "You were having dinner with Professor Dumbledore on Thursday?"

Dumbledore continued as though Harry had not interrupted. "--we have long suspected that the Defense Against the Dark Arts Position is jinxed. We have just lost yet another teacher in that position."

Ginny glared at him. Harry frowned. Albus smiled serenely.

"Thanks to your suggestion that your brother try his hand at lifting the jinx, we are now ready to fill that position for the long term. I believe you had another helpful suggestion regarding that post. Would you care to repeat it, Miss Weasley?"

"No," Ginny snapped.

"Please, I insist," said Albus affably. "You mentioned that I absolutely had to allow Bill to dismantle the jinx, and then you said--what was it? Ah, yes. The only possible person I could consider for the job was Harry and if I didn't then you knew an excellent curse involving bats and my overlong nose."

Ginny blushed. "I'm sorry, sir," she said. "I was rude. I was just trying to make a point."

Harry stared at her. "This is where you were Thursday night? Trying to get me a job teaching Defense?"

"Yes, Potter," Ginny sneered. "Not out with Blaise Zabini or anyone else!"

Harry sat back in his chair, stunned. She had remembered what he had said about teaching. She had been trying to make his dream come true and he had yelled at her. God, she would never love him now, and he didn't deserve for her to. He was a first-class prat.

"I had another pleasant dinner on Friday evening," Albus continued. "With a young man who informed me that my flying teacher would soon be accepting a position coaching the Tutshill Tornadoes."

Harry blushed again. "I just thought you should be kept informed," he mumbled.

"Indeed," Albus said mildly, though Harry had the distinct impression he was suppressing laughter. The meddling old fool. "What was that bit--I seem to have forgotten-- if I had a fraction of the sense the world thought I had I'd snatch up a certain Cannons' Chaser before she got sent up to first string?"

Ginny's head whipped toward him, her hair flying from its knot. "You told him to hire me as the flying teacher? Why?"

Harry looked down at the floor. "Because it pays well. Not like playing for the Cannons, but--" He broke off, feeling incredibly stupid. How could he have ever thought she needed his help? "You could fly, and you could get a little house in Hogsmeade, or stay at the Burrow with the twins, or whatever you wanted."

Albus cleared his throat, and Harry looked up. "I believe there was one other bit, was there not, Harry?"

Harry scowled at him, but Albus was undeterred.

"The part about her dreams?" he prompted.

"Oh. Well, I...that is, at the time--" Harry dared a glance up at Ginny. She was watching him as though the next words would determine her entire future. Great, no pressure. "At the time, I thought we might get married, you know, someday," he mumbled. "But even if we didn't, I…er…I wanted you to have your dream."

"Harry?" Ginny's voice was soft, thick. He heard her swallow.

"Yeah?"

"When did you contact Professor Dumbledore?"

"Oh, er--Monday."

"You wanted to marry me Monday?"

He frowned. "Maybe."

Then she smiled, and it was like the sun coming out. In the light of that smile he straightened from his slouch and sat up straight. "Harry, we've been such idiots. We weren't sneaking around on each other. We were sneaking around trying to make each other's dreams come true."

Harry felt his own smile spread across his face. "Yeah, we were, weren't we?" That was a good sign, right? That had to mean there was still hope.

Albus allowed them to gaze at each other for a few more moments, then cleared his throat discreetly. "May I add your names to the faculty roster for the Autumn Term?"

"Yes!" they said in unison.

"And," here even Albus blushed, but he had to ask, "what names shall I add?" He gave Harry a very significant look.

Harry started, "Oh, yeah, right...er, can we get back to you in a few minutes on that?" He returned Albus' very significant look with one of his own.

Albus bowed, delighted. Properly done, interference could be quite productive. "I shall leave you to see yourselves out, then."

He closed the door quietly behind him, leaving a suddenly awkward silence in his wake. Harry dipped his hand into his robe pocket and felt the box he had been carrying around for days. Then he remembered something.

"Ginny," he said, smiling, "it's Victory Day."

She nodded, biting her lower lip between her teeth. Harry slid off his chair and onto the floor to kneel in front of her. He pulled the velvet box out of his pocket.

"This dream, Ginny," he began, feeling awkward, but seeing it all clearly. "This is what the victory was all about. Not just for Victoria and Claire and their future, but for our home, our kids, our life together."

Ginny's eyes were shining and a misty smile lit her face. "I think so, too."

"Will you marry me, Ginny?" he asked. He opened the box and showed her the red and gold ring. The tears fell down her cheek as she took it from him.

"This is how my dreams always start," she whispered.

Harry slipped the ring onto her finger. "How do they end?"

She looked up at him. "They don't. They just come true."

The Chudley Cannons won their exhibition match, of course. With Weasley playing in the best form anyone had ever seen, they couldn't do otherwise. Whispers abounded that there would be an announcement today, that Weasley was finally going to be brought up to the big leagues.

Kingsley Shacklebolt knew better. After the shining star of the Auror department, his hand-picked successor, had quit on him today, it hadn't taken him long to find out the story. He was an experienced Auror and spy after all. And, not ten feet from him, was Coach B.J. Ollerton, crying into her orange robes.

"She was going to be your legacy, wasn't she?" Kingsley murmured, walking up to Coach Ollerton and handing her a butterbeer. They were far back in the crowd, barely within view of the stage. "You were going to go down in history as the coach who trained up the best Chaser the Cannons had ever seen."

B.J. took the butterbeer and wiped her eyes on her orange sleeve. "Thanks. H-how do you know that?"

Kingsley shrugged and took a sip of his own butterbeer. "I'm Kingsley Shacklebolt. Harry Potter's supervisor." A look of comprehension dawned on B.J.'s face, and Kingsley gave her a wry smile. She really was very pretty. And fit. He wondered why he had never thought about dating a Quidditch player before.

B.J. returned the smile. "Former supervisor, you mean?"

"Yes, of course," Kingsley agreed. "Former supervisor. Best Auror we ever had."

"Best Chaser we ever had, too," B.J. said, sighing. "But I always knew her heart wasn't in it."

Kingsley nodded briefly. "I felt the same thing about Potter. I offered him a brilliant promotion, but all he wanted to know was if I'd ever been married."

B.J. looked at him shrewdly. "Have you?"

Damn, Kingsley thought, that no-nonsense approach is sexy. He felt a slow smile creeping onto his face. "Not yet."

To his amazement, Coach Ollerton blushed. He was just about to press his tactical advantage when the crowd began to fell silent, and all eyes in the crowd turned to the stage.

Albus Dumbledore pointed his wand at his throat so that his voice would be magnified. "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen," he said. "Welcome to the fourth annual celebration of Victory Day. On this day four years ago, the forces of Light achieved Victory over darkness and despair. Voldemort was defeated by love and hope, through the efforts of the four young people you see before you and many others. The world was made safe for generations to come. Before we continue, I invite you to take a moment of silence in remembrance of those who paid for our victory with their life."

The crowd fell silent, even the children seeming to know what was expected in this solemn quiet. Kingsley thought back to those dark days, to his dear friend Arthur who fell in battle, to brave young Fleur, barely out of childbed, insisting that she wasn't going to sit around and wait for others to make the world safe for her children. To Moody and Sirius and Lupin and all the others who thought there was something worth dying for.

What was it? What had they all found worth dying for?

His eyes slid again to the woman next to him. He remembered his bare little flat above a shop in Diagon Alley. His glance returned to the stage as Potter took the podium.

"A dear friend once said to me, to all of us, that there are things worth dying for," Harry began. Kingsley fidgeted; he felt rather than saw B.J.'s quick look. "And he was right. But they're not...well, they're not the big, heroic things. They're the little things. Friends and homes and children, and a future of simple...simple joys."

Kinglsey could see young Weasley, still clad in her orange robes, flanked by her brother Ron and his wife. The four young heroes, their smiles shining so brightly they could be seen from back here.

"When Victoria and Claire Weasley were born," Harry continued, "we all could suddenly see that...well, there was a future waiting for them, and that we had to somehow make it happen. So, we did. We did it then so that these kids' dreams could come true. But the rest of us have dreams, too. A lot of people died so that we could stand here today. Let's not waste their sacrifice, all right? Let's make our dreams come true."

Kingsley tried to roll his eyes at such sentimentality, but he seemed to have gotten something in them, because they were all wet and misty. He blinked furiously to clear up the problem. Beside him, B.J. was crying again, but this time there was a sweet smile on her face.

"Do you have dreams, Miss Ollerton?" What in Merlin's name had made him ask that?

"That I do, Mr. Shacklebolt," she answered with sniff.

"Perhaps you would be so good as to join me for dinner," Kingsley said, ignoring the fact that butterflies danced in his stomach. He was a decorated Auror, for Merlin's sake. "We could discuss our dreams."

B.J. looked up into his dark eyes. Then she smiled. "That would be lovely."

The End

This story archived at: The Harry Potter Fan Fiction Archive