MetaFic

The wind outside buffeted the small shack-like building, making it rattle despite the various charms and enchantments Harry and Ginny had placed on it. The two teens were currently on the small second floor of the shack, which consisted of a tiny bedroom and an even smaller, barely functional bathroom. The ground floor was simply one large room with a sagging couch, a battered wooden chair, a fireplace, and what passed for a kitchenette.

Harry and Ginny had been hiding out and staying low since their little excursion to Hogwarts. They were both getting antsy for news from the magical world, but they knew Hedwig would be finding Ron in the next few days if everything went well. There was nothing to do but wait, stay out of sight, study, explore the power that Voldemort knew not, and enjoy their new relationship.

Harry watched the seconds tick off on his watch. As the final second ticked and the watch softly beeped to announced the midnight hour, Harry gave a soft chuckle.

"What?" Ginny said groggily. She kept her head on his chest, her eyes closed.

"Happy birthday to me," Harry said in a little sing-song voice.

Ginny propped herself up and gave him a quick kiss. "I'm sorry we're spending it like this."

"Actually, this is the second time I've spent a birthday here."

"Really?

"On my eleventh birthday, Hagrid came through the door downstairs and told me I was a wizard. It changed everything."

"So how does it feel to be sixteen?"

"A lot like fifteen."

Ginny ran a hand over his chest. "When we go in for supplies tomorrow, we could get a little something special to celebrate."

Harry smiled down at her and hugged her closer. "We could do something for both of us, since we're most likely going to be here during your birthday also."

"Okay. We'll make it a party."

"Yes, well, you'll excuse me if I haven't had time to go shopping for a birthday present for you."

Ginny suddenly pushed Harry on his back and straddled him. "Then I guess we'll have to find something else to give to each other," she said in a low voice. Then she started kissing her way down Harry's chest, lifting his tee shirt as she went. She stuck her tongue in his navel.

"Ginny!" He tried not to laugh and ran his hand his hand through her hair. "That tickles!"

Ginny suddenly sat up. She gave Harry a happy smile, and then without warning she grabbed the bottom of her jumper and whipped it over her head. She turned her attention back to his stomach and then started to drift lower.

"Ginny," Harry said, slightly breathless. "We shouldn't–"

She stopped and glanced up at him, smiling like a cat that had just been presented with a particularly fat and slow-moving canary. "Shut up and enjoy your birthday present, Potter."

***
Muggles, Ron Weasley decided, were rather clever. He had come to appreciate everything muggles managed to accomplish in the last several weeks. Like the screwdriver he was currently wielding to help re-attached a mirror to a bureau. Certainly a well placed sticking charm would handle the situation, but there was something satisfying about doing this kind of work by hand.

And there had been plenty of work at the home of Cecilia Prescott, maternal grandmother of Hermione Granger.

Hermione had struck on the emergency plan earlier that summer. If the need arose for them to leave Grimmauld Place, a visit to Grandmother Prescott, who lived outside of Carmarthen, was in order. Her parents would be thrilled that Hermione wanted to spend a summer visiting with and helping her aging grandmother, and the Weasleys could tell anyone who asked that Ron had gone along as an extra layer of protection and companionship. Hermione had managed to keep enough muggle money on hand to fund the trip by train and bus and eventually foot out to the Prescott cottage.

According to George, there had been questions when the Order returned to Grimmauld Place to find Snape lying face down on the floor and the two teens gone. Once their location had been ascertained by the Order - for Molly Weasley knew trying to hide Ron and Hermione would lead to more questions than were safe - Remus Lupin had gone to check on them, scolding them about going off on their own unprotected.

There had been talk of bringing them back to Headquarters, but Dumbledore agreed with Arthur Weasley that they were probably perfectly safe living in the Welsh countryside as long as they did not do any more underage magic. And it did seem best to keep them separated from Snape, who had proclaimed loudly that he should be allowed to administer veritaserum to them because he could not remember the particulars of the evening after arriving at Grimmauld.

Fred and George made sure that Ron received the Daily Prophet and regular dispatches from the family; Grandmother Prescott either did not notice the comings and goings of the owls or chose to ignore them.

Hermione had immediately set up a plan for her and Ron to help the elderly woman repair her aging cottage, and Ron, after a few fumbling starts, had agreed to Hermione's purchase of a home repair book. Things had gone much more smoothly after that.

The cottage itself was a wonder as far as Ron was concerned. The place might be small, but there seemed to be something new and wonderful in every corner to be found. It was a like living at the Burrow without the magic. Ron wondered at it a bit. His one trip to Hermione's home had given him the impression of a clean, neat, modern, and vaguely soulless place. He had trouble reconciling that with the home of Hermione's grandmother.

The three had just sat down to the evening meal, prepared by Hermione and Mrs. Prescott, when Hedwig flew into the cottage and settled in front of Ron. "Hedwig!" Ron said before he thought.

Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance and then waited for Mrs. Prescott to react. She was looking at the snowy owl with interest, but she seemed unconcerned.

"What a beautiful creature," she said at last. "Is it yours?" she asked Ron.

Ron took a deep breath. "No, actually she belongs to a friend."

Mrs. Prescott nodded as if owls flew into her cottage all the time. "Well, I don't mind her being here, but not at the dinner table."

Ron nodded and held up his arm, which Hedwig jumped up on as she hooted happily. "I'll take her to my room for now."

"Very good," Mrs. Prescott said, and then she turned her attention back to her dinner.

Ron took Hedwig back to his room, giving her instructions to stay put until he returned, and promising to nick her something from the table. Hedwig settled on the dresser and tucked her head under her wing.

"Oh, no," Ron heard Mrs. Prescott saying to Hermione. "I don't mind at all. In fact, my own grandmother, your great-great grandmother Graves, kept a pet owl.”

"Really?" Hermione asked, her curiosity up. She cast a look at Ron, who shrugged.

Grandmother Prescott smiled. "Yes. She even had it trained to carry little messages. I thought it was the most wonderful thing when I was a little girl."

Ron turned toward Hermione, his eyebrows raised.

"That reminds me, dear," Mrs. Prescott went on. "I've something for you in the attic."

"Yes, grandmother?" Hermione said.

"It's an old steamer trunk that belonged to Granny Graves. I tried to give it to your mother, but you know how she is about 'old things' as she calls them. That daughter of mine..."

"What's in the trunk, grandmother?" Hermione asked.

"Well, that's part of the mystery, you see. No one's been able to open the trunk since Grandma Graves passed away."

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully, and Hermione assisted her grandmother to bed while Ron started a letter to Harry and Ginny, explaining the goings on in the magical world, including the warrant for Harry and Ginny's arrest and the rather substantial reward that Fudge was offering to anyone who brought them in. He also explained about their situation and what had happened with Snape. Hermione came and added more information to the letter, and finally Ron wrote that there were things they needed to discuss, but he wanted to say it in person if there was any way Harry and Ginny thought they could slip past the watchers that the Order had placed on Ron and Hermione. They sent Hedwig on her way and then climbed up to the cramped attic of the Prescott cottage.

The steamer trunk was easy to find, given the description. Ron picked it up easily and carried it downstairs to the small room Hermione was sleeping in. He sat it on her bed, and they settled on either side of it.

"Well?" Ron asked.

'Well, it's obviously a late nineteenth century steamer trunk, typical of the time period," Hermione said, eying it critically.

"I meant are you going to try and open it?"

"I'm not sure."

"Why?" Ron asked, clearly confused.

Hermione swallowed. "Well, grandmother said no one has been able to open the trunk in years."

"That's no reason not to try."

"I'm afraid." Hermione blurted out.

"Of what?" Ron asked, clearly confused.

"If it does open for me, and I find what I think I will inside, it changes everything I've ever thought about my family."

"You have to know."

"You open it."

Ron reached for the clasps, but they did not move under his fingers. "Can't. It’s not my trunk, it's yours."

Hermione reached and touched the clasps. They snapped open easily. She took a breath and lifted the lid.

Inside they found three sets of long out of fashion witch's robes, an even older set of Hogwarts robes with Ravenclaw colors, three books of spells, including a hand-written one, a wand, and a packet of aging photos.

But what turned out to be the most interesting where the letters. Whatever else Hermione had expected to find, they were a surprise, these letters; especially the letters from Griselda Graves to her father.

Albus Dumbledore.

***
Harry Potter woke up with his nose full of hair. Ginny lay sleeping, spooned up against him. He sighed happily and lay still, enjoying the feeling of their bodies pressed together, skin against skin. Things had changed again, he realized. Last night had been — special or wonderful seemed too mundane. No, last night had been magic, literally magic of the highest order. They had moved as one, acted as one, been one.

Harry gently squeezed Ginny, his arm across her small breasts and his hand on her shoulder. She stirred slightly, gave a little moan, and then returned to snoring softly. Harry held back a laugh.

Harry regarded the young woman in his arms critically. She did snore, sometimes almost as badly as Ron. She could be nasty-tempered when crossed. She was not an exotic beauty, like Cho Chang or Parvati Patil. She was not as shapely as Lavender Brown, or as busty as Susan Bones, nor did she have the nearly perfect legs of Daphne Greengrass or the incomparable mind of Hermione Granger.

No, she was none of those things.

She was Ginny Weasley. Ginny with her vibrant red hair and freckles covering half her body, a tiny, athletic, almost boyish figure, and a wild, fiercely loving heart. Brave, funny, kind, and tough.

She was just Ginny Weasley.

His Ginny Weasley.

And she was perfect.

A soft hoot broke his thoughts. Harry looked up to find Hedwig waiting patently in the rafters. He rose up slightly and saw a letter addressed to them in Ron's handwriting on the bedside table. He leaned over Ginny, who made a little noise, rolled over until she was facing him, and snuggled closer. Resisting the urge to flip her over and ravish her, he opened the letter and read. There was bad stuff, there was worse stuff, and there were little rays of sunshine in the letter.

Harry scanned the letter again. Hermione had provided an address, though she warned that the Order was watching them closely. He would discuss with Ginny if they wanted to visit Ron and Hermione. But right now, Ginny was stirring, and her hands were starting to roam.

Harry dropped the letter on the floor by the bed.