Guide those that through their councils

Harry's first time out of the British Isles left something to be desired. In fact, as the locals would say, so far it sucked.

Harry followed Ron out of the Turtle Island Wizard's Conference Hall, blinking at the unpleasantly bright sunlight and glancing around at a rather barren landscape. After the modern yet tastefully decorated dark wood and pine green décor of the Hall, the gravel road, dead grass and bits of leftover snow of early spring in Canada were not entirely welcome to the eyes.

Ron had known, though, as he always seemed to, that Harry was simmering and about ready to explode if he stayed indoors one more minute, and had suggested getting some air. Not entirely pleasant air, what with snow starting to melt and revealing musty stale grass as well as assorted rubbish that had been buried in snow all winter - including dog... souvenirs - but at least there was nobody out here Harry actively wanted to hex. Except possibly himself, for having allowed himself to get roped into this stupid assignment now of all times, when his enthusiasm for his job was at an all-time low.

Ron glanced around, then looked up the hill that rose behind the Conference Hall, which was disguised as some sort of Muggle municipal building. He touched Harry's shoulder, squeezed it briefly, then pointed up. "Let's go up top, see what's up there."

"Think they said it was just a flat field. Muggles think it's the top of a buried water reservoir."

"Let's see for ourselves anyway," Ron said cheerfully, undaunted.

Harry and Ron turned as two wizards and a witch came out of the Conference Hall, blinking into the bright sunlight. One of the wizards pulled a phone out of his pocket and walked away, but the other wizard and the witch spotted Ron and Harry and immediately headed in their direction.

"Mr. Potter," the witch began, "I was wondering, as Head Auror could you tell us what Britain's position is on--"

"As Harry mentioned, he's not Head Auror yet," Ron interrupted, his expression friendly but his voice slightly edged. "But he is in the company of a bloke in severe need of a smoke. Sorry." A faintly disapproving frown met this statement. Ron smiled at her cheerfully. "Back in a mo'. Coming, Harry?"

Harry gave the couple a smile and followed Ron up the hill, deciding to use the time to settle himself and just enjoy Ron's company. A plateau spread out before them, flat and empty save for the small protrusion of the Conference Hall building and a worn path around the edge. From the northern edge the city spread out, ugly and grey. Lumpy. Graceless. Muffled sounds of traffic wafted up from below, from some sort of highway snaking its way to the horizon.

"Since when do you smoke?" he asked Ron, who was spelling a spot of the muddy ground dry.

"I heard they're a little tetchy about that here, so I figured they'd be less likely to follow us. I was going to say something about smoking Gillyweed, but I can't remember if it's the Canadians or Americans who've legalized it."

Harry chuckled. "Yeah, if it's Canada don't tell me about it."

"Why?"

"Too tempting. Gillyweed might actually make this bearable." He blew out his breath. "What a load of idiots," he said, exasperated. "Some of them really believe they're in no danger at all. It's... God, I'm getting flashbacks to trying to convince people Voldemort was back."

"Really?" Ron chuckled, sitting down. "I'm not. There's a few major differences, Harry," he said practically. "The biggest being that for one thing, he's not back." Harry dismissed this with a wave of his hand. "And for another, nobody's calling you an attention-seeking liar."

"No, they're just staring at me like a bunch of bloody mindless sheep. I keep waiting for them to start chewing their cud." Ron started to open his mouth and Harry cut him off with a shake of his head. "I'm not in the mood, Ron, all right?" He took off his glasses and polished them. "At this rate, we'll be lucky to get the agreement signed this century. Bloody stubborn, pigheaded morons. I mean, I understand they run things differently here, but they're not that different from us."

"Some of them obviously think they are," said Ron mildly.

"I feel like saying 'I don't want to say I told you so a few years from now-'"

"Yeah, no, that'd make you sound like a right prat. They'd turn off for sure."

"They're already turned off," muttered Harry, putting his glasses on again.

"No, they're not," said Ron. "Not most of them."

"Well, I am."

Ron laughed. "Can't blame that on the conference. You turned off around the time Kingsley told you that you had to take this trip." He paused. "Actually, some time before that," he added quietly.

Harry turned away from him threw a largish stone off the edge of the plateau, watching it disappear most unsatisfyingly into the trees below without a sound, let alone the sharp crash he'd been hoping for. "I don't even know why I'm here," he muttered.

"You bloody well do," said Ron mildly. "Because we need to do this. You need to do this. There are fugitive Death Eaters and future Death Eaters and they are hiding all over the world and we need to work with other countries to track them down or stop them before they get out of hand again. We can't just say 'to hell with them' and leave them to cope. Not if we can help it."

"Well it still feels pointless."

"I know." Ron reached out to him. "Come on. Sit." He pulled Harry down onto the ground next to him, and gestured at the trees below them. "Just sit. Look around. We're not due back at the conference for another half an hour. You're on a different continent, Harry; enjoy the scenery."

The grassy ground was grey and dead, not yet recovered from the winter, and large chunks of dirty snow remained in the small dips and hollows all over the plateau. Lovely.

Harry sighed and wondered, for about the fiftieth time, what the hell was he doing here. Twenty-seven years old and once more in the midst of a group of impressive wizards and witches discussing how to deal with former Death Eaters and almost-Death Eaters and pseudo-Death Eaters and other assorted dark wizards. The only thing that distinguished this group from the hundreds he'd been involved in since he was fifteen was that he was now very far away from home, and the impressive wizards represented dozens of wizarding nations from every continent, getting together to strategize on how to fight their common threats. And, it seemed, for some of them to whinge that they had no common threat.

The only thing that made this trip less than a total waste of time was Ron's presence. Ron was absently chewing on his lip, gazing at the scene below them and suddenly Harry wanted nothing more than to lean against him and have Ron ruffle his hair, kiss the side of his neck, and make all the unpleasantness of the day disappear. Not a chance of that, though. Not up here, where anybody could see.

Twenty-seven years old, and he had been chasing baddies his entire life. Enough was enough. It was time to have a normal life, do normal things. Work in a shop, or teach, or do something that wasn't... this.

Not that any of them really knew what normal was, at least not in their circle. Harry glanced over at Ron beside him. Ten years past the Battle of Hogwarts, and the old wounds still hurt; Teddy Lupin was going to Hogwarts next year, with only a godfather and a grandmother still in mourning to see him onto the train; George had two children who had never met their war hero uncle and would never know what their dad had been like before loss and grief marked him; Neville had married Hannah Abbott this year, with no parents between them left alive or well enough to attend the ceremony, to be happy and proud of them on their wedding day.

So many scars. So much pain, even ten years afterwards.

How do you go forward from that? How do you make life worth living, after living with so many things that hurt so badly for so long, and continue hurting still?

How do you stop your thoughts from sounding like one of Celestina Warbeck's endless post-war weepology albums?

"All right, this view's not exactly enjoyable," said Ron suddenly. "Pretty crap, now that I think about it. Come on." He stood and pulled Harry up, leading him along the edge of the plateau.

"Where are we going?" asked Harry.

"Place I've been curious about. Thought we'd go see it tomorrow, maybe, but I don't feel like waiting. Beats taking in the lovely, erm, pit-thing they've got down there."

Harry followed, lost in his gloomy job-related thoughts, as they passed a man walking his dog, and two small Muggle boys immersed in a fantasy game. He eventually became guiltily aware that Ron was still talking and Harry wasn't exactly giving him his full attention.

Hard not to want to drift a bit, though, when Ron spoke of his family - not out of boredom, but sheer emotional self-defence. Today it was about his mum's latest futile attempt to get Percy to settle down with one girl and try to find happiness, instead of burying himself in work and attempts to atone for sins that had been forgiven years ago by everyone who mattered. And about her ongoing worry over Ron's dad and the brooding silence and ill health that were pretty much all that defined him these days, the result of having been unable to protect even a single one of his seven children from harm during the war.

Harry listened for a bit to Ron's talk of his parents, a comforting hand on his shoulder, nodding and giving what support he could.

"How's Hermione?" he asked once Ron was done. "I didn't get a chance to ask about her owl before we got started."

Ron smiled, and Harry envied him his sunny disposition, still in place despite so many difficult years. "Excellent. Said she's probably going to stay there another month. They've just about set up the liaison office for Veela."

"What about her new bloke? Xavier Something?"

Ron winced. "Ah, best not ask about Xane next time you see her, mate. She didn't say but I think he went for her bits too fast. And got a little too distracted with the Veela."

Harry nodded. "Right. No Xane, then."

"No Xane." Ron stopped in his tracks and squinted down the edge of the plateau. "Aha. There it is." Ron led him down a steep, muddy path to the bottom of the plateau. Harry looked around. Much better. The sound of the city was almost completely absent here, and all that could be seen were trees and snow with tufts of grass popping up here and there, and gravel. A lone utility building stood near the plateau, with a chain link fence surrounding it and a city plaque warning all to keep out.

Ron nudged his arm and nodded towards a chipmunk. After a quick look around to make sure nobody else from the conference was nearby, Harry took Ron's hand and let himself watch the chipmunk flitting about, its quick movements soon becoming a bit mesmerizing - far more so than the conference he'd just left, and would go back to in a few minutes.

The spot Ron had brought them to was peaceful, unruffled by wind. The air felt uncertain and slightly damp, the sun shining and providing some heat if they stayed still. Ron sat on a small rock, pulling Harry down with him and gazing at the ugly little building before them, and Harry was reminded suddenly of the area right behind Hagrid's hut at Hogwarts. He almost expected to see Thestrals emerge from the forest, though he'd probably be far more likely find a moose.

Were there moose in Ottawa?

Harry sighed, soothed by the place. He gazed out at the gravel road leading to the small building, feeling a very gentle wind blowing up a bit of dust, soft gusts patiently ruffling the trees, Ron's presence warm and comforting next to him.

He took a deep breath, firmly keeping his mind away from the conference. Not that he'd be able to stop thinking about it for long, but he was here, after all. Lovely scenery, best mate and lover by his side, nobody being a stubborn arse but him right now; might as well enjoy the moment while he could.

He cleared his throat. "And how's Ginny?" he asked, keeping his tone carefully casual.

Ron nodded. "Hermione says she's all right," he said in the same careful tone. Harry nodded and vaguely wished either of them knew more. Wished that the cost of gaining Ron in his life hadn't been so high for them all.

Well, at least he did have Ron in his life. He glanced around briefly, then pulled Ron a bit closer and gave him a quick kiss. Ron smiled and turned in to it, pulling them closer together, cupping his cheek, their lips moving together in a now-familiar dance that Harry had often thought wasn't so much a kiss as a shared grin. He pulled back reluctantly as their kiss ended, then changed his mind and returned to Ron's mouth. This place was on the other side of the plateau from the Conference Hall, nobody would see them, and if anything could distract him from the damnable conference, sour thoughts, general malaise... he ran a hand up Ron's back and to his neck, gently tilting Ron's head and moving to press open-mouthed kisses to the side of his neck, smiling at Ron's small sound of approval...

"Oh!" A voice startled them both and Harry pulled back quickly. "I'm very sorry," said a middle-aged woman, looking highly embarrassed. "I didn't mean to intrude."

Oh good. One of the conference attendees. More polite than some of them, but still one of the people he had been thinking of hexing not so long ago.

"No, that's all right, our fault," said Ron sheepishly. "Erm. Sorry."

Well, that hadn't looked unprofessional at all. Harry felt his face burning. At least she wasn't part of the British delegation.

"Oh, erm, sorry, Harry," said Ron, turning to him. "This is Colleen St. Croix. She's with the Canadian delegation."

"Right. Pleased to meet you, Ms St. Croix," Harry said, self-consciously smoothing down his hair.

"Colleen, please," she said. "Ron and I met this morning. Did you get your Portkeys sorted out?" she asked Ron.

"Yeah, thanks, I did."

She nodded, looking like she wanted to just go right back up the hill again, but instead paused and turned to Harry. "Harry... I'm sorry, I didn't know you'd be taking your break out here and I won't bother you for long but I just wanted to say... thank you for what you're trying to do in there."

Harry's eyebrows went up.

"I realize your message isn't being heard by everyone..."

"That's a bit of an understatement," said Harry ruefully. And also a bit rich for her to say so, when she'd been, as far as Harry could tell, among the people blocking things during the conference.

"It's only the South Americans, and some of the North Americans, who don't understand," said Colleen. "It's just difficult for some of them to relate to what happened in your country. It's almost inconceivable that it could happen here."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I know, we would've said the same thing once. I'm just... not sure how it would be any truer here than back home."

"In your country, wizarding society is quite separate from the Muggle world. Here... getting an American wizard to seriously consider Muggles a different species, to turn on them as your country's people did, would be like... like getting a British wizard to decide redheads are a different species." Ron snickered. "It's true. There's almost no pureblood separatism at all - or even purebloods at all, the way you think of them. The closest we come to that are couples who happen to both be wizards. And at least one is quite likely to be Muggle-born."

Ron smiled. "My Dad would love it here. He loves Muggles."

"He probably wouldn't if he lived here," Colleen pointed out. "He'd barely consider them different from himself." She turned back to Harry. "I do understand that you're frustrated, but they really aren't exaggerating. We're Muggle in almost every way, even down to BlackBerrys and cell phones."

Harry nodded thoughtfully.

"In any case, this isn't a waste of your time. Enough of us are listening and understanding what you're saying, and we're willing to do what we can to help you track down the people you're looking for. We don't take security - or peace between races - for granted. And hopefully enough of the others who believe it can't possibly happen here will still be more vigilant. And in the meantime, you really are reaching other people. The agreement you've drafted is... well, some of what you're proposing just isn't practical and you'll have to make a few concessions to get it approved, but I honestly don't think it's a hopeless task. We're just arguing over details, I think."

"Don't want to say I told you so, Harry," said Ron, smiling, "but I told you so. Thanks," he said to Colleen. "He won't believe it from me."

Colleen smiled, then regarded Harry seriously. "May I ask why you're here?" she asked Harry curiously. "You don't seem terribly happy about it."

Harry tried not to look pained. "You can ask," he said. "You won't like the answer, I don't think."

"Why is that?"

Ron smiled. "Our boss made him come. He didn't want to."

"Who is your boss?"

"Garry Prewett. Runs the Auror Corps," Ron told her, then glanced at Harry with a grin. "The one who's 'actually old enough to run it,' according to Harry."

It had been rather disconcerting to realize that the North Americans assumed Harry was the head of the Auror Corps; even more disconcerting to realize that they assumed that because they had almost no magical law enforcement whatsoever, only a small voluntary association that worked with Muggle law enforcement in cases that involved wizards as either criminals or victims.

"Ah, yes, I remember you saying that," she said, nodding. "Is it really such an important post that someone your age running it would be unheard of?"

"I'd be the youngest head of the Auror Corps in history," Harry said sourly.

"You will be," said Ron.

Harry pressed his lips together and Colleen glanced from Ron to Harry, apparently sensing the sudden slight tension in the air. She nodded politely. "Excuse me. It's getting cold out here, and we start up again in twenty minutes. It was good to meet you." She walked off, not in the direction of the conference hall, but towards the small building.

"I thought that was empty," said Harry to Ron.

"It is," said Ron. As Colleen approached the building the chain link fence disappeared and the building turned into a wooden longhouse, with a totem pole next to it stretching up to the sky, birds and animals carved into it in sharp relief, their solemn faces grimacing at nothing.

Harry blinked as the totem pole shimmered out of view and the longhouse turned back into a small Muggle building again. He smiled, oddly comforted by evidence that they did some things the same here as back home. Placing parts of their world right in the middle of the Muggle world, without necessarily being part of it. "I wonder," he mused, "if she's used to the same kind of thing - living with Muggles and blueberries and all that - what makes her able to think about a threat to their security?"

"Like she says, they know about threats to security and race problems here," said Ron absently, gazing at the place where the longhouse had been.

"Why? They've never had anything like Voldemort."

"They've had their own troubles," Ron said. "Remember, they're fairly closely connected to Muggle Americans here."

"Right. Terrorism."

"Not just that, though. She's Cree."

"What's that?"

Ron frowned at him slightly. "You know, Cree? Indian tribe? In any case, I don't think she's that unusual. I really think most of the people in there were listening. I think you're making the non-listeners a lot more important than they need to be. The agreement is going to be signed, Harry. You heard Colleen; we're just fiddling with wording, that's all."

"D'you think they're right?" Harry asked Ron.

"That there isn't a danger of Death Eater types setting up shop up here?"

"Yeah."

"Dunno. Does it matter to you?"

Harry turned away from him uncomfortably. "Of course it does. We need to make them see that Death Eaters are taking refuge all over the world. And we need their help to catch them, and I also think we need to convince them that their assumptions about their own safety are wrong."

"I'm not sure we need that last, mate," Ron said after a few moments' thought. "If I were doing strategy, I might take them at their word and concentrate ourselves more on working with the Asians and Africans, and Australia."

"What if they're wrong?"

"Then we're in a world of trouble. But we don't have unlimited resources, you know that." He shrugged. "I dunno, though. This is still your decision. Your area of expertise."

"Prewett's area," said Harry.

"Yours, soon enough."

Harry sighed. "I really wish you wouldn't push me on this. Bad enough everyone else is doing it..." right when I'm seriously considering quitting, he thought but didn't say.

"We're pressuring you because it's important, Harry," said Ron seriously. "We can't have another Voldemort, another group like the Death Eaters. And you're good at convincing people to work with you. If you weren't, Kingsley wouldn't have sent you here. Wouldn't be pushing you so hard to take the promotion."

"But I don't want--"

"Yeah, you do," Ron interrupted him. "And you should. You're good at this."

"But... I've been fighting for so bloody long. And you know what's going on in Romania, and Korea, and we don't have good enough ties to their authorities to be able to stamp them out for good..."

"I don't think we can just stamp anything out for good," said Ron. "Besides, it's not just about stamping out. It's about... whatsit, building new ways of living together and not falling back into the same old patterns." He gave Harry a grin as Harry's eyebrows went up. "Yeah, all right, that's Hermione talking. And it's not my strong suit. But it is yours."

Harry sighed and kicked at a pebble. Bloody hell. No. No no no...

"See, that's why you need to take this promotion, Harry. Because you can do this. Because after everything Muggles did to you, you can still work with them. After all that Slytherin types have done to you, you still try to work with them. Bloody hell, even after all the wizarding world did to you..."

"I've never had much of a choice about most of it though, have I?"

"Bollocks," said Ron bluntly. "You figured out when you were sixteen years old that you have a choice to do it unwillingly, kicking and screaming, or walk into it knowing what it is you're risking. And you've always walked right in."

"What if I don't want to any more?" Harry finally said quietly.

Ron put a hand on his shoulder. "Harry." Harry turned slowly and when he met Ron's eyes there was no surprise, no disappointment, betrayal - any of what he feared to see. Only understanding. "I know you don't want to. Or you think you don't want to." Harry's eyebrows went up. "I'm not that blind, Harry; none of us are. The closer the tenth anniversary comes up, the more Kingsley and Prewett push you to take the promotion, the more you turn off." Ron smiled wryly. "And I figured it out even before Hermione pointed it out." He sighed. "Well, that's your choice. No matter how much pressure we're putting on you... it's still your choice."

"Doesn't feel like it. You're all pushing me. You, Kingsley, Prewett... makes me just want to push back."

"I'm pushing you because I think you do want this, but you think maybe you shouldn't. You're good at it. You like it. You're just discouraged because it's been ten years and we still aren't where you thought we'd be, happily ever after and all is well and all that rot. If you really didn't want it?" He gave the hill a perfunctory glance and then leaned forward and took Harry's face between his hands. "I'd shut up." He kissed Harry quickly, cupped his cheek. "I'll still shag you any time. Even if you're not Head Auror. Or an Auror at all."

Harry looked away over the road, now slightly dusty in the rising wind. "You know, Dumbledore said I didn't crave power," he said slowly.

Ron made a dismissive tsk sound. "Dumbledore wasn't all-knowing, Harry. And he died when you were sixteen. We've all changed since then."

"He didn't grab at power either."

"And look where that got him." Harry turned to look at him sharply, but Ron's gaze was steady and unapologetic. "I'm sorry, all due respect to Dumbledore and all, but the man was barking. If he'd been a little more willing to actually do things rather than sit holed up in a school and manipulate from the shadows, if he'd been more willing to trust himself - or anyone, for that matter - he could've made a difference. Instead he faffed about, gave hints, he hid things from everyone, where if he'd just gone in and done what needed to be done, himself..."

"Yeah, I know, but..."

"Besides, dunno if you've noticed, but you're not him. Just because he wouldn't have taken this position, doesn't mean you shouldn't."

"I know I'm not him. But... I am in some ways. For one thing, he valued his privacy too."

"Privacy. Yeah." Ron blew out his breath.

Harry looked out over the grass, now growing cooler. Ron shifted a bit closer to him and Harry tilted his head up, meeting Ron's lips in a kiss.

"I keep telling you," Ron said, caressing the side of his face. "Being out is not that bad."

Harry chuckled. "Says the man who had to be outed by his brother. For money." Ron had not exactly been enthused by George's Spot the Queer WWW Employee, Get a 10% Discount promotional event at the time. Though as George had explained, it had been done in the spirit of brotherly concern and had actually possibly cost him money, as evidenced by the 20% if you can convince him to come out of the closet, 40% off if you can find him a nice bloke to shag have dinner with part of the deal.

Ron laughed. "All right, that wasn't how I would've chosen to do it, but it is a hell of a lot better knowing you don't have to hide." He shook his head. "And I know, it's different for you, it would make all the stupid tossers who've only just let you alone over the Ginny thing start writing about you again, but..."

"You'd be all right with it?" Harry asked. "With the things they'd say about us in the papers?"

"Yeah, I would." Ron chuckled. "Although I don't really think there would be much said. I think it would be the non-shock of the year, to be honest. You're already best mates with me, moved in with me even though you certainly don't need to save on rent... everybody knows, Harry; they just aren't saying, because Rita Skeeter's mouth still looks like an arsehole five years after her story on you and Dumbledore, and everyone thinks you did it."

"I still think it was Hermione," said Harry.

"I still think it was Ginny," said Ron.

Harry nodded, leaning back a bit and letting his mind wander back to his surroundings. The grass was greener down here than up at the top of the plateau, the ground a pale yellowish hue, the gravel stones a delicate shade of grey, the rocks dappled with small bits of grey-green lichen and moss. Harry stood and moved a bit closer to the small building, which shimmered and turned into a longhouse. Hm. Reacting to the presence of a wand, perhaps?

"By the way, how did you know Colleen was Cree?"

"Talked with her on the way here, on the train," said Ron, standing and following Harry. "I keep telling you, you miss a lot when you sleep through travel."

"I was tired." Harry looked up at the totem pole rising above them, its frog and raven staring solemnly at him.

"Yeah, she grew up on a Muggle reservation." He put a hand on Harry's shoulder and Harry smiled, briefly covering Ron's hand with his own. "I suppose if anybody knows the dangers of one group of people deciding they're better than another, it's natives," he mused.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Some of what she talked about... pretty frightening. The suicide rates and alcoholism and family breakdown and... all sorts of stuff."

Harry nodded and gazed at the raven on the totem pole, right below what looked like a badger. No lion or serpent, though.

"And you know... it's not the same, I know, but... it really made me think about our own world and how we're dealing with things. With all the bad stuff that happened."

Harry looked at Ron curiously. Ron was gazing thoughtfully at the raven. "It's been hard, you know?" Ron said slowly. "I know things are better now, but it's been so bloody painful. It feels sometimes like nothing's changed. Like we can't go on. But what choice do we have, right?"

"Right." Harry couldn't add anything; he'd thought the same thing, but it wasn't something they talked about much.

"Anyway. I just... it's stupid, but I got to thinking that perhaps it's not how much farther we've still got to go that we need to focus on, but how far we've come. You know?"

"Really?" Harry asked quietly. "Would people like Bill or Lavender think we've come far? Or Oliver Wood?"

Ron sighed. "Full moons are hell and I know Oliver wishes he could still fly. But they're still alive. Bill's got a gorgeous wife and three great kids, and Oliver's one hell of a sports writer - there's so many people still buggered up by everything that happened, but if you think about nothing but that, you just can't go on. You have to think about what you've got, be grateful for it, and not take it for granted."

Harry smiled. "Suppose so." He put a hand on Ron's shoulder, thanking whatever was up there for his presence. Pulled him closer and sighed as their kiss deepened, and smiled as Ron cupped his cheek with one hand and pulled their upper bodies together. He gave himself over to the pleasure of their lips and tongues moving together slowly, familiar and comforting and arousing at the same time, Ron's hair sliding through his fingertips, the soft sigh of wind in his cheek, the scent of grass and trees and snow.

He should be a little more careful, he thought vaguely. They'd already been spotted once. He didn't particularly want to be spotted a second time. He should back away...

But Ron was so close, and his blue eyes were crinkling at the edges with laughter and Harry really didn't want to back off. There was being discreet and there was being a coward, and Harry sometimes felt he'd had enough of turning Ron aside and keeping decorum in public. Not that it was really that hard to keep their hands to themselves - they'd been friends most of their lives, and neither felt the need to be physically affectionate all the time - but he'd forgone more-than-casual snogs enough times and he really didn't want to any more...

And it wasn't like he had to remain discreet for the public eye, anyway. Not if he was going to quit. Yeah, the press would probably have a field day when he was fully out, no matter what Ron thought, but by that time he might no longer be Harry Potter, Deputy Head of Magical Law Enforcement, let alone Harry Potter, Head Auror. He'd just be Harry Potter, that bloke who used to chase after various Dark Wizards, and now mostly chased after a single ginger wizard, and caught him every night.

"You know," said Harry slowly. "You're right."

Ron's blue eyes opened wide. "I'm right - as in, you're going to take the Head Auror job?"

Harry laughed shook his head, started to glance around - and stopped himself, pulling Ron closer. "No, you prat." He kissed Ron, slowly, their breaths mingling, Ron's scent filling his senses.

"Erm," Ron paused, and kissed him again. "Erm, somebody could see," he said, pulling back a bit.

"Don't care. What I meant was you're right, I should be grateful for what I've got, and not take it for granted. And you're right, it's time to stop hiding... this. "

"You've not been doing a great job with that anyway, Harry," said Ron wryly. "I thought you meant something serious."

"One major life decision at a time, all right?" He pulled Ron close again, arms going around him comfortably. "I know it's not a big deal to you. But you've been out for five years. I've only been with one bloke in my life." He ran a hand through Ron's hair, watching the red strands through his fingers. So similar to his sister's, yet so different. "It's part of why I didn't want to come out at first. I didn't know... how I felt about this. About us. But it's been two years..." He kissed Ron again. "So. I'll out myself. Walk out of the closet with eyes open and all that. And I do think it'll be a bit of a mess in the media, no matter what you think. But it's pretty minor in the grand scheme of things, isn't it?" He thought for a moment, then chuckled at himself. "...yeah, so my reaction to hearing about Native American hardship is that I'm going to come out of the closet." He paused. "Can't help but think it's disrespectful somehow."

Ron laughed. "Not really. Did you know some native tribes were gay-friendly? No, really. Apparently a lot of tribes had people they called 'two-spirits,' and they weren't considered freaks, just... you know, two-spirited. Male and female, in one body. Some of them were shamans and healers and stuff."

Harry gazed at him in wonder for a moment. "Hermione?" he said, his voice hushed. "Is that you?"

Ron burst out laughing. "Prat. Colleen told me, on the trip here. Part of why she wasn't all that surprised when she caught us." He grinned, then cupped Harry's cheek again and proceeded to snog him breathless for a moment before they came up for air, holding hands but not really particularly wanting to go much further, what with the longhouse and the conference participants and all that. "Should take a bit of time for ourselves after dinner, d'you think?"

"Yeah. Right after dinner." Harry draped an arm across Ron's shoulders, bringing their faces close together again. "Wish we didn't have to come back here early tomorrow."

"Me too," Ron breathed, ghosting a kiss over Harry's cheek, then smiling and nudging him with his nose. "But. I have a surprise. Our Portkey? It's not set to take us back right after the conference is over."

"It's not?"

"No. It's set for the day after that. No work, just you, and me, and a vacation we both need. And by 'we both' I mostly mean you."

"How did you that approved?"

"Kingsley suggested it. Prewett seconded it."

Harry's eyebrows shot up.

"Kingsley knew you didn't want to come here. He knows how you're feeling. We're all feeling it, Harry; the tenth anniversary's making a lot of people a bit... I dunno, angsty or something. And what with him and Prewett wanting you to take the promotion..."

Harry blinked. "So they suggested you and me..." He shook his head. Damn, some day he would stop underestimating Kingsley Shacklebolt. "So your charms are going to get me in a mood to take the Head Auror position? Or at least not quit altogether?"

Ron batted his eyelashes winningly at Harry, giving him a small shove when Harry laughed. "You're the not-so-proud owner of the draftiest closet in the world, mate. Don't tell me you actually thought Kingsley and Prewett didn't know about us."

"No, I assumed Kingsley'd cottoned on but Prewett..." He shook his head. "Fine, all right. We'll take an extra day and you can try to seduce me into not quitting." He leaned back a bit and grinned at Ron. "Or, hey, we've got five or ten minutes, why don't you try and give it a go right now?"

Ron laughed. "Five or ten minutes. Thanks, I'll pass. Anyway, I wouldn't particularly want to do anything near here," he said, glancing around uneasily.

"What happened to pushing me out of the closet?"

Ron chuckled, shaking his head. "No, that's not it, only... now we're here, it's giving me the willies, frankly."

"Really? Why?" Harry glanced around the trees, the gravel path. If you ignored the squat little utility building and chain link fence, it was lovely.

"Right." Ron laughed, giving Harry a slightly puzzled look. "In any case, I would think there'll be more people going in there after the conference. A few of the other delegations also have native folks in them; a Sámi from Norway and I think an Aborigine from Australia, if I'm remembering right."

"So are native wizards treated the same here?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you said native Muggles are discriminated against and all that; is it the same with native wizards?"

Ron blinked, then his face cleared with realization. "Wait - you don't know, do you?"

"Know what?"

"What this place is."

"No."

"It's a memorial. To native wizards. Of course you wouldn't know," Ron said, almost to himself. "You didn't hear the story as a kid."

"What story?"

"About American wizardkind. Don't you wonder why there are no native wizards here?"

"Where?"

"Anywhere. In the Americas, that is. There are no native wizards."

Harry frowned, completely lost. "What about Colleen? You said she was Cree."

"On her Muggle mother's side, yeah. Her father's probably white."

Harry blinked. "Was there no magic here before Europeans arrived?"

"There was. But all the native wizards died."

Harry was silent. "All of them?" he finally said quietly. "How?"

"European wizards separated themselves from Muggles, even back then. American wizards didn't. When the Muggle natives started to die of European diseases, so did the wizards. Stuff European wizards had spells against, like smallpox and... what's it called, measleys? Something like that, anyway, killed them, just like they killed the native Muggles."

"But surely some of our own Healers could've helped, once they got here..."

"Some did. Most didn't do a bloody thing, and some of them even worked against native wizards. So the few that hadn't died of Muggle diseases died of dragonpox, pogrebin flu, or firelung, and European wizards did nothing to help. Dad said it was because they didn't have any respect for native wizards, who didn't think themselves as separate from Muggles." He gestured at the longhouse and totem pole. "This is all that's left of them."

Harry stared at the longhouse with its solid frame of poles and bark walls, reminded of the stone and glass Second Voldemort Rising memorial; a place for quiet reflection, a place to think of who they'd lost, to read their names and remember them and their sacrifice. Remus, Tonks, Fred, Colin, Mad-Eye, Sirius - he tried to imagine all of them gone and nobody to remember but the wind. No Andromeda Tonks and blue-haired Teddy Lupin; no six remaining Weasley siblings; no Dennis to remember Colin, no Kingsley to remember Mad-Eye. Nobody at all to remember Sirius.

"Colleen said the land itself still has magic, and there are some magical creatures, but the religions connected to that magic were wiped out. Her people are trying to rebuild, but they've had to start from nothing."

Nobody to remember. Nobody to mourn.

"See, this is why you need to be Head Auror, Harry," said Ron slowly. "Because people can be horrifying to each other. You know that. I mean, you've been to the memorial back home, with all those names, but look at this place: no names, because there were too many to count. When good people sit back and do nothing..." he trailed off. "Nobody's asking you to give your life again. Or even risk it." Ron turned to him and took his hand. "We're asking you to take a job you want, even though it makes you uncomfortable to take it. And you're telling yourself it's not that big a deal, and if you just stop fighting, things will be all right... but look at this place. Things will work out? Tell that to the ghosts of the people who were here, Harry, because there's no descendants of theirs to tell."

Harry gazed at him, unsure how to respond.

"You'll be a hell of a Head Auror. You know you will."

Harry shook his head. "No I don't. And... I'm tired, Ron." Ten years. So many failures, so few successes.

Ron squeezed his hand. "Well, yeah. We're all tired. But it's like Colleen's people; they just have to keep going, even against huge odds, because what else are they going to do? Give up?" He paused. "Think of what Dumbledore could've done, if he'd been willing to do more. If he hadn't basically given up on himself as a really powerful figure."

"He could've done a lot of harm too," Harry pointed out. "And he knew that."

"And leaving Grindelwald to his merry little killing sprees for years? That wasn't harm?"

"Fine. Yeah. I suppose so."

Ron opened his mouth, then closed it again and squeezed Harry's hand one more time before letting go and stepping back a bit. "All right. Enough of this." He glanced around. "This place is bloody depressing, and it's getting cold. I'm going back inside. You coming?"

"In a bit." Harry pulled Ron close, briefly savouring his warmth, his familiar clean scent, before letting him go. "You help, you know?"

"Well that's the other reason you need to take the job," Ron said with a grin. "And come out. I want to be the power behind the throne. I want the world to know I'm shagging the Head of British Magical Law Enforcement." He turned and headed back to the conference site.

Harry looked about the quiet, still place. Clouds were scudding across the sky now, but for some reason this small area next to the plateau was still and peaceful. He stepped closer to the longhouse, noticing an inscription on the outer wall as the air around him shimmered slightly and the wind and small forest sounds become muted somehow.

Oh Great Spirit, bring to our brothers
the wisdom of Nature and the knowledge
that if her laws are obeyed
this land will again flourish
and grasses and trees will grow as before.
Guide those that through their councils
seek to spread the wisdom of their leaders to all people.
Heal the raw wounds of the earth
and restore to our soul the richness
which strengthens men's bodies
and makes them wise in their councils.

He blinked, moved despite himself, and then gave a small laugh. Well, thanks, yeah, but I think Ron said it better, he wanted to tell whoever had written the poem, but that was probably disrespectful. The thing hadn't been written for him, after all.

He turned, startled, as the two little Muggle boys he'd seen at the top of the plateau came running down the steep path, followed by a black wizard and a white witch he recognized as attendees at the conference. The boys went running down the path, apparently unable to see the memorial, but the man and the woman headed towards Harry and nodded politely to him as they went past him and into the longhouse.

He should probably come back here, thought Harry. After the conference was over.

He took a deep breath and checked his watch. It was almost time to go back in. Go back, hammer through the agreement, and chat with delegates afterwards, try to get a feel for who he could work with or count on... because that was his job, at least for now, and he'd need to have good international connections if and when he became Head Auror.

Harry sighed and stepped back, hoping that tonight after the conference was over he and Ron could manage to not be too tired to make the kind of magic between them that made all of this worthwhile. And he could count his blessings, like he counted the freckles on Ron's shoulders and the back of his neck after their gasps and cries were spent and he held Ron close as Ron went to sleep with a sated, blissful look on his face.

Thanks, Harry thought to the memorial. Still not sure what I'm going to decide, but I was feeling tired and fed up and... dunno how, maybe you helped. Maybe your magic is still here, giving us strength, if we have the sense to see it.

And for a moment, he felt the quiet space around him smile, like a blessing.

ooo000ooo

Post-Notes, some native factoids for those interested:

1. Turtle Island is a name used by many native tribes to refer to North America.

2. Totem poles originate along the northwest coast of North America, and longhouses were in use mostly by central and eastern North American tribes. I figured since all the natives were gone, a memorial to them would include objects from many different native cultures. Inside the longhouse there would probably be artifacts or symbols from native ethnic groups from all over North and South America.

3. The Cree are one of the largest native groups in North America, but they originate mostly in the Canadian prairies and northern Ontario and Quebec. Colleen may live in Ottawa or she may have come to Ottawa from the prairies for this conference only.

4. In Canada, although Native, Aboriginal, Métis, Inuit and Indian are commonly used ("Indian" tends to be more for government use than regular use) native communities are often referred to as "First Nations."

5. The inscription on the longhouse is an excerpt from Jasper Saunkeah's Native Commandments (http://www.firstpeople.us/html/Native_Commandments.html)

Also: the not-so-charming place I described really exists. For the curious, there are some pictures at http://annafugazzi.livejournal.com/168421.html

And yes, the two Muggle boys immersed in a fantasy game are my own ;)

ETA: And there are no moose in Ottawa.