The Way We Were: Year Six

prologue

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july 30, 1999
harry and ginny's flat
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His lead bearing, shuffling feet just made it to the door, shaking hands didn't offer much help for the key and lock situation, much less his arm raising high enough to hang his cloak on the hook that hung just inside his flat, which was why it wound up in a heap on the hardwood floor. His clothes were ripped, scorched in some places, and he was well aware that he smelled like the sulfuric fog that plagued one of the auror training facilities earlier that day.

Harry started the program the previous week. Both he and Ron sent in applications six months after the war ended.

What's worse than fighting the Dark Lord, mate?

If Harry knew then what he knew now, he would never have agreed to the sentiment Ron had drunkenly tossed his way. In the present, his muscles in his arms, legs, and back hurt. His head, eyes, and teeth hurt. Hell, his bloody bones hurt. Sleep was a thing of the past, or so it seemed. Being able to stay focused on a lack of the restorative act was key, his superior constantly reminded him. Harry was almost sure the woman simply enjoyed torturing the new recruits, her reasons be damned.

Tiptoeing into the kitchen, he lit the end of his wand enough to see the kettle on the stove. Ginny would be going to practice in a few hours, and he didn't want to wake her. One person lacking proper rest was enough in a relationship. He'd figured that out the first night he and Ron had woken the crimson haired beauty after a night of general debauchery. Even while she'd been raging, her cheeks as red as the locks that bounced around her face, Harry could only process how much he loved her.

He'd never asked her to move in, never much thought about it, in fact. For so long he lived in the moment, simply trying to survive, that making any plans felt counterfeit from the start, but the planning hadn't been needed. Perhaps it was another product of the war. Loss had permeated both of their worlds, so when she didn't leave after the first night, Harry didn't question it and Ginny didn't offer an explanation.

Once the flame for tea was lit, Harry settled against the counter, body content to slouch, and as he waited, his head lolled back, mouth slack and eyes unfocused as fatigue threatened to overtake him. He was almost engulfed in a hazy dream of long rows of glowing white orbs when a sharp knock sounded from the door. In an instant Harry was alert, if not wobbling on his feet, as his wand aimed towards the noise.

Slow and painstaking steps wandered down the short hall, hand giving a brief paus at the handle before he yanked and propelled himself into the corridor outside. With a thud his knees collided with something solid. The pain drew a grunt from Harry as both hands moved to rub the spots that now burned, and then he noticed the trunk at his feet, though it didn't sit on the carpeted floor. It was suspended a few inches in the air where it floated in place. An envelope was just above the top bobbing in the same rhythmic motion. After a quick inspection, Harry grabbed the envelope and one handle of the trunk and pulled them both inside his flat. Once across the threshold, the trunk fell with a deafening thud on the foyer floor, and, wincing and glancing behind him, Harry closed the door again. Deftly, he slid his fingers under the lip of the letter and pulled it free to read.

Dear Harry,

After hearing of your defeat of Lord Voldemort, I found the courage I have been lacking for nearly two decades. Of course, I should probably introduce myself before I start down that rabbit hole. My name is Mary Macdonald, and your mother was my best friend. -

Harry had to pause for his eyes crossed at that sentence. Glancing over, he narrowed his vision at the trunk that now took up most of the small, open area. Behind him an array of candles lit to reveal disheveled red hair in the doorway. A squinting Ginny moved out of the darkness and suppressed a yawn in favor of a look of confused curiosity.

"Isn't it kind of late for furniture deliveries?" The heavy sarcasm laced in her tone, though poignant, was lost on the dumbstruck Harry.

"What?" He spared her a glance, brief and unfocused, preoccupied by the paper in his grasp.

With a knowing look, Ginny moved to stand next to him. Her annoyance, though very real and valid, took a backseat to the scene before her. Sleep deprived or not, Ginerva Weasley was a lion through and through, so the mystery was enough for her to forget her animosity. Bending, her fingertips gave a slight graze to the dark leather of the lid of the trunk. "What's in it?"

"I dunno."

Ginny cast Harry a sidelong glance as her fingers curved around the latches on the trunk. "Well," she said, undoing the clasps. "What's that say?"

His eyes roamed back to the parchment in his hand and he swallowed away the dryness in his throat. "It's from my mum's friend. Do you know a Mary Macdonald?"

Ginny's eyes narrowed before she shook her head. "Your mum's friend?" Abandoning the trunk, she righted herself, leaning over his shoulder to read.

I'm not sure if you even know who I am. After losing Lily, I'm afraid to say I removed myself from my life in the wizarding community, and I have lived in muggle London since shortly after Alastor Moody told me Lily and James were gone. I was never the soldier she was, never the soldier any of them were.

I know that nothing will bring her back. I know that more than most. Your mother was always a ray of sunshine in my life and the lives of countless others. That's why I wanted to share my journals with you. My regrets on not returning to fight with you and the Order will always be mine to carry, but maybe you can find some peace in knowing her the way I did. Knowing all of them the way I did. In the trunk are journals, my journals, and I think they contain the things you'll need to understand what life was like for all of us. If there's anything else I can do for you, please don't hesitate to ask. It truly is the least I can do for Lily Evans' son.

Lovingly,

Mary Macdonald.

P.s.

The picture enclosed was taken the summer we left Hogwarts. I'm told you have her eyes.

Ginny snatched the envelope from Harry's clutch, then pulled out a tattered photograph from inside. Holding it up, the glossy print revealed two girls. One's red hair was obvious, even through the aged finish, with freckles dotting the skin below two shimmering green eyes that crinkled with the laughter erupting from her lips. Harry stared at the younger version of his mom, memorizing the carefree smile, searing it into his memory until finally he noticed something else. Her arms were thrown about another girl whose laugh was just as evident. It was Mary, he assumed, her blonde hair moving around her face, and her eyes held their own striking golden color.

"So that's Mary, then?" Ginny's finger landed on the photo, and Harry nodded.

"I suppose so."

They sat in silence for a moment before Ginny gave a sigh. "People are right, you know." Turning, she caressed Harry's jawline with a warm smile. "You do have your mother's eyes."

He gave her a soft, appreciative kiss. "You're just buttering me up so we can read those journals," he said against her lips, and when she smiled against him, he laughed. "I thought you didn't like being sleep deprived for work."

Pulling away from him, she set an incredulous look on him. "If you think I'm not owling in sick so we can read these all day, you've lost your mind." And as if to prove her point, she flipped open the lid of the trunk. Inside were dozens of journals, causing Ginny to let out a low whistle. "Or the next month. Bloody hell, who is this woman? Rita Skeeter's protegee?"

Harry gave a dry laugh, bending to pick up one of the journals. Unwinding the leather cord that bound the book closed, he opened the cover to read the first page. "September 1976. My parents would have been at Hogwarts. Do you think she...?"

Ginny pulled the book from his grasp and scanned the page. "Well there's only one way to find out." Sitting on the couch, she patted the seat next to her. "We can take turns reading out loud."