Chapter 12 – Ginny’s Plan

Chapter 12 – Ginny's Plan

MIRACULOUS RECOVERY FOR POTTERS' SON

St. Mungo's have confirmed that the number of Augurey Flu cases has risen to fifteen. As we reported yesterday, Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt has instructed a nationwide roll-out of vaccinations from next week.

Snape threw the paper onto the coffee table, a smirk forming on his lips. His hunch had paid off. The boy had got better, and his alter-ego was now being heralded as some kind of benevolent enigma in the press. He was pretty sure if the Prophet knew the hero of the hour was a former Death Eater, he wouldn't be praised in such terms. Still, he found the description deeply amusing, and he was indeed proud of solving the riddle, but as for thanks, he neither needed nor cared for it, no matter how heartfelt the sentiment. Especially, that was, from Harry Potter.

Yes, it was true that Harry Potter had tried to clear his name after the Battle of Hogwarts. And it was also true Snape's feelings for Lily had dissipated over the years. But still, his resentment towards Harry's father was still there, no matter how faint, and Harry would always bear some of that residual resentment by proxy.

It was deeply ironic, then, that as well as spending most of his adult life protecting the boy he despised, he also happened to save his son. Somewhere in the next world, Snape thought, James Potter was probably having a laugh at his expense. But Snape did not save Albus Severus for Harry, or James, or even for Lily. He did it for himself. Because he could. And because he'd had a choice, this time.

* * *

The weeks leading up to Christmas seemed to fly by at Godric's Hollow once Al had returned home at last. James was over the moon to have his play-mate back, and Al seemed none the worse for his misadventure. Both boys were getting more and more excited by the day, with tales of stockings and presents filling most of their conversations. The Ministry's swift action meant that the majority of the Wizarding community were now vaccinated, including the Weasleys and their extended family. All this should have meant that the onset of Christmas should be a happy time for Ginny, but nothing could have been further from the truth.

Ginny had moved out of the marital bedroom amidst hushed arguments regarding Harry's decision to follow up the case in Montenegro. Harry, quite fairly, tried to explain that he'd had little choice in the matter, but as far as Ginny was concerned, their marriage was all but over, and nothing Harry could say or do could make her change her mind. It was only for the sake of the children that Ginny and Harry continued to stay under one roof. But their conversations now, during the rare times they weren't arguing, were monosyllabic and cold. And as well as quarrelling about their broken marriage, they had also found a new topic to squabble over: the identity of Al's mysterious saviour.

"He obviously doesn't want any recognition," an exasperated Harry explained for what felt like the hundredth time. "He's deliberately avoiding the media spotlight. If he won't even turn up to discuss his life's work with other professionals, he's not going to want to meet you!"

"I just want to thank him properly," Ginny retorted hotly. "Without him, our son would be dead. Don't you think that deserves some thanks?"

"Of course he does! You thanked him already in the Prophet. What else do you need to do? Give him a pot of Galleons? Bake him a cake?"

"I don't know," Ginny hissed. "I'd just like the opportunity to thank him face-to-face, that's all. Don't you want to know who he is?"

"Not really," Harry answered mulishly. "If he doesn't want to come forward, then it's his choice. I'm grateful for his knowledge, but I also respect his privacy, if that's what he wants."

"But he could be a relative, Harry! How else did he know about Al's allergy?"

"He could be a Healer. He could be a Seer. I don't really care, Ginny!"

"Well, I do!" Ginny yelled, her face flushed with anger. "And I'm going to find out!"

The fact that Harry did not care about the identity of the man who saved his son was, to Ginny, further proof of how far their marriage had declined and how much they had grown apart. It almost felt like she didn't recognise Harry any more. It felt as if everything he now stood for was diametrically opposed to what she believed, that every utterance that came out of his mouth she disagreed with and every conversation she entered into with him ended in a fight. It was exhausting and drove a wedge even further between them.

Ginny was actually relieved to be around people other than Harry for Christmas Day, and the sheer volume of family and friends gathered for the event meant it was easy not to speak to him too often. Being at The Burrow was comforting, as was the company of her nearest and dearest, not to mention her mother's outstanding Christmas dinner. There were many laughs, which was good for Ginny's soul. She realised that she hadn't laughed in months.

But the happiness was short-lived as life got back to normal after Christmas, and work once more dominated Ginny's life. Harry threw himself into his own work with even more gusto than usual, probably to get away from the constant bickering, Ginny assumed. So far, they'd managed to keep their fights away from the children, and as such, the kids didn't think anything was wrong. Ginny had told the boys that she was sleeping in the spare bedroom so that Daddy could get some uninterrupted sleep for work and because she would be closer to Lily's room if the baby awoke in the night. Both of which were plausible explanations which the boys accepted without question, but of course, masked the real reason.

Thoughts of tracking down the enigmatic Mr. Nobel were still on her mind at the start of January, however, and gave Ginny some form of distraction.

At first, she tried simply sending an owl, but to her disappointment the owl came back with the message unread and undelivered. Ginny supposed if he really was such a private man, he might have cast some charm which only allowed certain people to send him mail. It appeared that she would have to try a bit harder if she wanted to make contact with the evermore intriguing Mr. Nobel.

It was a bitterly cold Wednesday afternoon at the Daily Prophet headquarters when Ginny got her flash of inspiration. She'd been in the lift, sharing some banter with Bert, the friendly, moustachioed old wizard who worked within the subscriptions department, when the idea struck. Surely, Mr. Nobel had heard the news of Al's illness through the Daily Prophet? And if that was the case, surely that meant he had a subscription to the paper? And if he had a subscription, then Ginny would be able to intercept the delivery owl and send him a message that way!

The sheer simplicity of the plan made Ginny's head spin. And the first place to start was to check the subscriptions register, but in order to do that, she'd have to wait until Bert went home for the day at five o'clock.

The next few hours went by painfully slowly as Ginny tried to concentrate on researching for her report on tonight's match between Wigtown Wanderers and Falmouth Falcons. Eventually, five o'clock came and went and Ginny carefully made her way to the basement and found Bert's small, shabby subscription office.

Sure enough, Bert had left on time and luckily for Ginny, his office door did not have a lock on it. She slipped inside surreptitiously, switching the light on with a flick of her wand. Bert's desk had all manner of papers and mess on it, including sweet wrappers, a half-eaten sandwich and lots of broken quills. But it was not difficult to spot what she was looking for: the huge subscriptions ledger, bound in brown leather, sitting proudly between the clutter like a mountain above a stormy sea.

Ginny pulled open the ledger and began to search the rows and rows of cramped handwriting. The subscriptions went back as far as the late 1960s, and Ginny began to realise it might be like a needle in a haystack trying to find him, bearing in mind she didn't know how old he was. If he was ancient, he might be in one of the old, dusty ledgers on the creaking shelves above Bert's desk.

Well, there was no way around it, and she might as well start at the beginning of this ledger. Trawling through, occasionally she would smile when coming across a name she recognised. Warmth spread through her when she saw Hermione's name at the beginning of the 1990s. And her heart gave a triumphant leap when, after only thirty minutes searching, her eyes found the name she had been looking for: Alfric O. Nobel PhD, subscription beginning 2nd June 1998.

Now all she had to do was to intercept the delivery owl at dawn.