From the Ashes

Yet do I fear thy nature;

It is too full o' the milk of human kindness

To catch the nearest way; thou wouldst be great;

Art not without ambition; but without

The illness should attend it. What thou wouldst highly,

That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false,

And yet wouldst wrongly win.

(William Shakespeare, Macbeth)

* * *

This is never going to work.

Harry can't keep his thoughts from wandering back to that statement whenever he starts thinking about the situation he has landed himself in. The wedding went by in a strange kind of blur; even his memory of it seems fuzzy, a strange sequence of brief scenes that appear to have happened to someone else, someone he doesn't even know very well. He remembers the small chapel filled with Parkinson relatives and former Slytherin students who eyed him warily; Pansy in a pale pink robe that successfully hid the small bulge underneath, her face set in an empty, polite smile; the ring that felt cold and alien against his skin and his own voice that sounded strange in his ears when he spoke the vows.

The row they'd had the night before the wedding made Harry expect more of the same kind once they were married, but things have been quiet ever since. It's obvious that Pansy does her best to keep up appearances when others are present - she calls him "Harry" or even "darling" in company, although the latter always sounds rather sarcastic to him; when they're alone, she instantly switches back to "Potter", but she's still surprisingly civil. It may have helped that Harry agreed without much fuss to all her wishes concerning their new home; Pansy's parents gave them their former summer house for a wedding present, and the fact that Harry willingly moved in there seems to have reassured Pansy that he won't ask her to give up the way of life she's used to.

Actually, Harry rather likes the house. It's situated in the middle of a forest and surrounded by a huge garden; no one else is living nearby, which suits him perfectly. He has dropped a few hints in what he hoped were the right places that he had no wish to see his marriage become a big topic with the newspapers, and they all seem to have complied. Obviously, no-one is willing to cross Voldemort's vanquisher when the dust of the final confrontation hasn't even fully settled yet. Harry is convinced that the break he's getting on that front won't last long, but at the moment, he tries not to think about it.

In fact, he does his best to avoid thinking at all. There is no safe direction for his thoughts to wander that doesn't lead to painful memories or the anticipation of future trouble, and right now, he doesn't want to face either. He feels as if he's drifting through the days without any clear indication of where his life is going, and he can't help finding it strangely peaceful. He's fully aware it's not going to last, but he's determined to enjoy the short breathing space life has granted him before something will undoubtedly force him to wade back into the thick of it.

* * *

Their house isn't that big, but Harry quickly realises that it's surprisingly easy for Pansy and him to avoid each other. They each have their own set of rooms - bedroom, bathroom, a study and something Pansy calls a dressing room - on opposing sides of a long corridor that leads to the living room-cum-library on one end and to the dining room on the other, and since Pansy doesn't spend much time in the living room, Harry hardly ever gets to see her other than during meals. They could, of course, eat separately as well, but there seems to be an unspoken agreement to share at least that small part of their daily lives. After all, Harry thinks, they'll have to do more than just that once the baby is born, since he very much wants Draco's child to grow up in surroundings which at least resemble something like a family. Therefore, he always complies when Mim comes to bid him to the dining room, and Pansy is usually there already. It seems like a sensible arrangement for both of them to get used to this strange new life they're now sharing.

The dining room surprised Harry when he first saw it; somehow, he had imagined a long table in an echoing hall with Pansy and himself seated at opposing ends and an army of liveried house-elves running to and fro with silver dishes between them. In fact, the dining table is just big enough for the two of them, although Mim has informed him that it can be magically expanded to seat as many as twenty people if guests are invited. The dining room itself is like the rest of the house: light, airy, and quite comfortable; the furniture is probably expensive, but far from being showy, and the dishes are plain white china. It's usually Ketty, Pansy's personal elf, who serves the food; the kitchen elves who do the cooking never make an appearance, and when Harry mentions this once, Pansy admonishes him not to go near the kitchen because the elves would consider it highly inappropriate.

Harry remembers Mim's explanation of the relationship between wizards and house-elves and wonders if Hermione would ever be able to understand this arrangement or if, vice versa, it would ever be possible to explain to the purebloods why it is such a hideous concept by Muggle ethics. He realises a second too late that he shouldn't have voiced his thoughts, though; it's not as if he and Pansy are ever going to see eye to eye on the matter, and there's really no point in arguing over it. However, he has already put his foot in his mouth now, and Pansy's face twists into a sneer.

"Well, it's a wizarding tradition that has worked fine for our society for centuries, but of course, one can't expect a Mudblood to ever understand."

Harry slowly lowers his knife and fork although he'd very much prefer to throw them on the table. His first impulse is to yell at Pansy, but he reins himself in just in time. "Pansy," he says instead, keeping his voice carefully neutral, "I agreed to share the kind of life that you and your kind are used to lead when I married you, but that doesn't mean I'll swallow every insult you decide to throw at everything I believe in. If you want this arrangement to work, you will never use that word in my presence again, do you hear me?"

He fully expects a cutting reply, but to his surprise, Pansy seems more thoughtful than angry. She watches him with narrowed eyes for a moment and then gives him a thin, calculating smile.

"You know what, Potter? I'll make you a deal. I'll not only stop saying it to your face, but I promise that I'll never again use the word, or any other insulting term for Muggle-borns, at all. Sounds good to you?"

"Depends on what you want from me in return," Harry replies cautiously; there's no telling what Pansy might be up to with this.

"In return, you will read a few books from the library that I'll choose for you."

Harry frowns. "You want me to read some books? That's all? What do you get out of this?"

"Perhaps nothing, but I'll take my chances. Do you agree?"

Harry still has an uneasy feeling about this, but he doesn't see how a bit of reading could hurt him. It's not as if he's got much to do with his time at the moment, anyway.

"All right, I agree."

* * *

"Pansy, I think you need to look up the definition of the term 'a few'. It will take me weeks to go through all of these!" Harry eyes the stack of books on the desk in his study with growing dismay; Pansy has just dropped the last huge tome she's been levitating on top of the pile and now gives him her sweetest smile.

"Potter, I know that intellectual tasks can be daunting for any Gryffindor who isn't Granger, but you're a hero; you'll manage."

Harry turns his head sideways to squint at the book titles. "A Comprehensive History of Magical Britain, by Adamantia Bones - Traditions of Magical Education from the Late Middle Ages to the Twentieth Century, by Cyprian Burke - A Critical Analysis of the Statute of Secrecy, by Justus Pilliwickle - The Hogwarts Founders and Their Legacy, by Phineas Nigellus Black - Pansy, I suffered through five years of History of Magic, I hardly need any more of that!"

Pansy makes a face. "I assure you, there's nothing in these books that you've heard about in Binns' class."

"But what... ohhh, wait a moment." Harry has noticed a small tome titled An Essay on Wizarding Society by one Theophilus Nott, and finally, a few things add up. "What is this supposed to be, an attempt at brainwashing me?"

Pansy rolls her eyes. "Being exposed to another world view than your own hardly means being 'brainwashed', Potter, so spare me the dramatics. It's just that I'm sure you've never even heard about most of the things that are discussed in these books, and I think it might be helpful for you to know where the other side is coming from. If you're determined to stick to your comfortable black-and-white scheme of things, you should at least do it consciously and not due to a lack of information. I'm not asking you to accept everything you'll read at face value, just to think about it. Does that seem so unreasonable to you?"

Harry sighs. "Fine, I'll read them. Still, it's hardly fair that you'd force remedial wizarding tradition on me when you know next to nothing about Muggles in return!"

Pansy cocks an eyebrow. "What do Muggles have to do with it? I find it somewhat disturbing that after fourteen years as a wizard, you still consider Muggles to be your kind somehow. Besides, I'll have you know that I got an O in my Muggle Studies NEWT, so I feel reasonably well-informed about them."

This takes Harry by surprise. "You took Muggle Studies? Up to NEWT levels, even?"

"Almost everyone in Slytherin did, especially those from pureblood families." Pansy gives him a triumphant smirk. "Unlike most of you Gryffindors, we never made the mistake of dismissing Muggles as harmless idiots."

* * *

During the weeks that follow, Harry begins to dread meal-times; Pansy seems hell-bent on making sure that he actually reads the books she heaped on his desk by constantly questioning him about their contents. He's more and more irritated about being treated like a schoolboy, and besides, there isn't much in the books that won't cause them to argue once he's brought it up. He isn't interested in fighting with Pansy - there's just no point, as far as he's concerned - but she's awfully persistent.

"Have you read Phineas Nigellus' essay on the Founders?"

Harry keeps his eyes on his plate. "I started reading it, but I haven't finished it yet."

"Did you like it so far?"

That makes him look up; her expression is serious, but Harry is well aware that she's mocking him. He takes a deep breath and answers as coolly as possible, "Not particularly, no."

"Really?" She cocks an eyebrow. "Why?"

He shrugs. "There are just too many things that seem wrong."

"How so?"

Harry sighs. Here we go again. "Look, I won't pretend that I've read the whole of Hogwarts, A History because no-one but Hermione ever has..."

"No-one in Gryffindor, you mean," Pansy interrupts him with a smirk.

Harry pushes his plate away. "Whatever. Still, even I know enough about the early years of the school to realise that this 'essay' has absolutely nothing to do with the facts!"

"I repeat, Potter, how so? What kind of outrageous lies did you discover?"

"Well, it says that Salazar Slytherin was against Muggle-born students because they couldn't read, not because of their parentage, and that Godric Gryffindor opposed him just because he basically thought that they might be useful as canon fodder!"

"And how does that contradict the information you were given at school?"

Harry rolls his eyes. "Oh, please. Binns told us that Slytherin built the Chamber of Secrets when he left the school to make sure that the monster within would go after those who he considered unworthy to study magic!"

Pansy makes a face. "He really said that? I never realised he was that incompetent." She gives him a shrewd look. "Stop bristling, Potter, and listen. How could any sane person really believe that Slytherin put the Basilisk which you so valiantly defeated into the Chamber a thousand years ago? Do you really think a Basilisk could live for a millennium?"

Harry tries to remember what the chapter on Basilisks in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them said about their life expectancy. "Um, I think they live pretty long..."

Pansy doesn't even let him finish. "A few centuries, at most; everyone knows that the story about Herpo the Foul and his 900 year-old Basilisk is an old wives' tale, nothing more. Besides, from what I've heard during second year, the Basilisk could only get around the school through the water pipes, didn't it?"

"Yes, and?" Harry isn't likely to ever forget the sight of Hermione, wax doll-like on that bed in the Infirmary, with a page torn from a book in her hand that reads Pipes.

"And that didn't make you question Binns' story? Do you really think the original Hogwarts castle, built a thousand years ago, had plumbing?"

Harry opens his mouth to answer and realises that there's nothing he can say to that. Pansy smirks again. "Did you get to the part where the essay talks about Slytherin's real reason for building the Chamber?"

"It says he wanted a sort of - refuge for the students in case there was danger. But if that's really true, how did the Basilisk get in there? Someone wanted this place to be a death-trap, and if not Slytherin himself, then who?"

"Funny you should ask, Potter, I think you've met him right there."

Harry stares at her. "You want me to believe that Tom Riddle put the Basilisk into the Chamber?"

"And why not? It makes perfect sense. As far as I recall, the older history books I've read never mention the legend about a monster in the Chamber, just that Slytherin built it to protect his 'heirs', by which I suppose he meant the students of his House. I think that Riddle himself came up with the theory that only a direct descendant of Slytherin could open it, and that he deliberately started the rumours about a monster in the place because he was planning to put one there."

"So you think he just stumbled over the Chamber somehow and decided to use it for his own ends?"

"It seems quite likely to me, but then you're the one who has met him, you tell me."

Harry closes his eyes, remembering the dank, clammy coldness of the Chamber, the hiss of Parseltongue in his ears and the pale, beautiful boy before him, his face serene like an angel's and hell's fire burning in his dark eyes.

It takes him a while before he trusts his voice to be steady again. "I wouldn't put it past him. Can we change the topic, please?"

Pansy gives him a quizzical look. "We were talking about the Founders, weren't we? About your disbelief in the idea that Salazar Slytherin might have had other reasons for speaking up against Muggle-born students at Hogwarts than just the fact that he was evil?"

Harry sighs. "Pansy, if you absolutely need to lecture me on the topic, feel free. Just don't be surprised when I don't believe a word you're saying."

Pansy pushes herself up from her chair with some difficulty, an expression of disgust on her face. "It must be very reassuring to know one already has the perfect answer to every problem, no matter how much it flies in the face of evidence. Go back to your reading, Potter."

* * *

It's late afternoon when Harry decides that he's had enough of Phineas' essays in particular and Pansy's reading regime in general. Outside, the sun is still shining pleasantly warm for late September, and he decides to go for a walk before dinner. The sky is almost impossibly blue when he steps outside the house, and for the first time since what seems like ages, Harry suddenly feels the urge to hop on a broom and go flying. He hasn't flown for the fun of it ever since the war started; his Firebolt was destroyed in a skirmish years ago, and he has never bothered to replace it, just using any broom that was available instead whenever he needed one. Now, however, he can't help thinking that it might be nice to get one for himself again so that he can go flying sometimes.

He's just about to set out for the garden when he hears Pansy's voice from somewhere nearby. She sounds as if she were deep in conversation, but Harry can't make out a second voice.

"Look, there's your great-grandfather - I barely remember him, he died from the Dragon Pox when I was seven. Your Dad was quite upset, he'd always brought him chocolate when he came for a visit. And that's your uncle pulling my pigtails - he was supposed to stand still for the photo, but he never could stop teasing me. I kicked him in the shin, but only after the photo was taken, so Mum never noticed."

Harry holds his breath as he listens; there's the rustling of paper, and then Pansy talking again. "That's your grandmother with your Dad when they came to my parents' house for my First Magic celebration. She's beautiful, isn't she? Don't worry, I'm sure you'll be just as pretty when you're grown."

Harry has finally been able to pinpoint where the voice is coming from; he walks around the hedge that separates the garden from the flowerbeds right in front of the house, and sure enough, there's Pansy sitting on a little stone bench. She's balancing an open book on her knees; one of her hands is on her swollen belly, and with the other she's slowly turning the pages that are filled with moving photographs. Harry draws in a sharp breath as he realises what's going on, and Pansy's head whips around; she snaps the book shut and glares at him. "Are you spying on me, Potter?"

He's too dumbfounded to bristle. "I just heard you talking, and I - what are you doing?"

Pansy lowers her eyes to the book in her lap. "I found this when I cleaned out my desk after dinner; it's the photo album I got for my sixth birthday. I had totally forgotten about it, and I thought it might be nice to..." She sounds almost apologetic for a moment before she visibly pulls herself together; when she looks up at him again, her expression is defiant. "It's not as if I will be able to tell her all this once she's old enough to understand what I'm saying."

Harry slowly sits down next to her on the bench, not so much because he wants to but because his feet suddenly feel like lead. There are so many dangerous pitfalls in that simple sentence, so many impossible questions that he'll have to find answers to someday, and he just doesn't feel able to address any of them right now. Pansy eyes him with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity, and Harry decides to latch onto the one thing she said that seems like a moderately safe topic. "She?"

Pansy nods. "I'm sure of it."

Harry doesn't ask if this is just a hunch or something more substantial. For all he knows, there might be twenty different ways to magically ascertain an unborn baby's gender. "Have you decided on a name yet?"

She seems a bit surprised at that. "I thought you'd want to choose the name."

He shakes his head. "It's not my place."

Pansy gives him a look he can't read. For a while, they're both quiet, then she suddenly pushes the album at him. "Want to see them?"

Harry hesitates, remembering the flashes of blond he noticed in the pictures earlier. "Thank you, Pansy, but I don't - "

"Potter." Pansy's voice is softer than he's ever heard it before. "You've been walking around as if someone had hit you over the head for weeks, but you can't play dead forever." Without waiting for a reply, she places the album in his lap and flips the first page open.

"These were taken at the party for my sixth birthday. This is me with the Patil twins, there's Theo Nott and Blaise at the table, and Draco with Millicent Bulstrode and Susan Bones playing with Millicent's Kneazle."

Harry is deeply relieved that Draco at age six looks nothing like he did in later years. He's waving at the camera with the same enthusiasm as the other children in the photos; his glowing face shows no sign of the arch expression he usually wore during his time at school. Still, Harry doesn't feel ready to discuss Draco's childhood with Pansy; he quickly looks for something else to talk about.

"I didn't realise you were friends with the Patil twins."

Pansy shrugs. "I liked Padma well enough, and Parvati was an unavoidable part of the package. We went to school together, so of course, they both got invited."

"You went to school together? I thought pureblood children were taught at home."

Pansy seems taken aback. "Who in their right mind locks their child up at home the whole time? Our parents employed the teachers, but usually there were classes of ten to fifteen children who were taught at the house of someone who had enough room for them. During the first years, we usually had classes at the Bones' house, then it was Malfoy Manor for a while, and then the house of Blaise's mother after his stepfather had died. Of course, there were private lessons at home, too, but that was mostly music, languages, and suchlike."

She notices Harry's expression and cocks an eyebrow. "You had no idea about any of this, did you?"

Harry shrugs. "I never gave it much thought. I mean, I went to school in the Muggle world before Hogwarts, so I never heard about the kind of schooling that wizarding children get."

"Is it true that they wouldn't let you do any magic at home?"

Harry grimaces at the memory. "Yes, of course it's true. My... my guardians hated magic, and on the few occasions I still did magic, the Ministry came right after me."

Pansy makes a face. "I always thought the stories that the Ministry suppressed the Muggle-borns' magic were exaggerated, but it seems I was wrong."

"What do you mean, the Muggle-borns'? I thought underage magic was forbidden for everyone!"

She gives him an almost pitying look. "Please, Potter. Wizarding families train their children from the moment they first show magical ability. I got my first wand at six-and-a-half, and some others still earlier. The Ministry is freaking out at the idea of Muggles getting to see their children doing magic, but they'd have a hard time forcing wizarding parents to let their children's abilities go untrained!"

"I see," Harry replies with a touch of cynicism, "they're making sure from the very beginning that pureblood supremacy is upheld."

Pansy frowns. "Who said anything about purebloods? No wizarding family I know did it differently. Millicent is a half-blood, and she got her first wand when she was five. Of course, I don't know how those families who live among Muggles are going about it, but in the wizarding world, this is not a question of blood lines."

Harry stares at her. "So as long as you live like a wizard, your parentage doesn't matter? You expect me to believe that after hearing your Housemates spout racist slurs at the Muggle-borns for years?"

Pansy sighs. "I'd answer that, but I remember something about you refusing to believe me if I lectured you."

"Try me." Harry is honestly curious now how she'll try to wiggle herself out of the corner she's talked herself into.

"Very well. This is a topic that goes back to the founding of Hogwarts, so bear with me. As you know, the Founders had different ideas about how do deal with magical children born to Muggle parents. Salazar Slytherin was particularly opposed to accepting them at the school for two reasons: First, he considered them a potential danger to wizards because they would always be divided in their loyalties. The wizarding world has always existed mostly separated from the Muggles, and he thought that teaching Muggle-borns might make wizards vulnerable to betrayal. Second, wizarding children who came to the school already had been educated at home from the beginning of their lives; they knew all the basics about magic, and Slytherin considered it irresponsible to teach them together with Muggle-borns who, for the most part, didn't even know how to read and write."

Pansy is obviously warming to the subject; she seems to have trouble staying in her seat, and the gestures she uses to accentuate her speech are becoming more and more lively. She almost reminds Harry of Hermione in full lecture mode, and he feels a pang of something that feels a bit like nostalgia.

"The one who agreed with him there was Rowena Ravenclaw; she said that Muggle-borns would have to be taught separately from the wizarding children so they wouldn't slow them down, and she made very sure that no Muggle-born ever made it into her House during her time at the school. Godric Gryffindor had different ideas, since he never cared very much about intellectual matters. He claimed that untrained wizards in the Muggle world were a much greater danger than Muggle-borns at Hogwarts, and that the wizarding community was to small to survive on its own without a constant intake of fresh blood. Helga Hufflepuff agreed with him and suggested a House for these students, a House that, on the one hand, would do everything to help them catch up with the education they had missed during their early childhood and would, on the other hand, make sure that the students broke off all ties to their former lives so that they would never endanger the wizarding community by betraying it to Muggles. That's the reason Hufflepuff was looking for loyalty in her students above all else. For centuries, most Muggle-borns went to Hufflepuff and only some of them, those who were considered brave enough to become fighters, into Gryffindor. It usually took two or three generations before their children might be sorted into Slytherin and Ravenclaw, but by then, their bloodline wasn't held against them since their families had proven where their loyalties lay."

Harry has been trying in vain to get a word in for a while; he has to wave his hand in front of her face to finally get her attention. "Wait a moment. Are you saying that wizards were basically afraid of Muggles?"

She blinks, as if the question had caught her by surprise. "Of course they were, Potter! Muggles are neither stupid nor harmless; they're vicious, intelligent and dangerous, and they're outnumbering us by millions. That's why the Muggle world must be left alone, and it's also the reason why so many old wizarding families consider the kind of dalliances with all things Muggle that Dumbledore and Fudge were so fond of horribly dangerous. In the old days, Muggle-born magical children would usually be taken away from their parents for good when they began their education; today, we allow Muggle-borns to keep their attachment to the world they came from, we teach them to do magic without really making them understand what it means to be a part of this world. We're still uprooting them, but we don't give them a new home instead; they're torn in their loyalties between our world and theirs, and some even try to force the Muggle way of life onto us because they're never taught to respect wizarding tradition. Those were the students who got called names at Hogwarts, Potter; not because of their blood, but because of their contempt for our world. Like I said, I had classmates who were half-bloods, and no-one thought twice about it because they had made clear from the beginning where they belonged."

Harry shakes his head. "I'm not buying it, Pansy. I remember the Black family tree with all the holes where they had burnt off the names of those who married Muggles..."

"Yes, of course there have always been a few families who put great emphasis on their idea of purity, and the Blacks are perhaps the most extreme example. But I remember Draco doing a lot of research on the earlier history of his family, and it turned out that up to the eighteenth century, there had been a number of marriages between Blacks and people with mixed background without any repercussions. It's a mathematical necessity, when you think about it: There just aren't enough of us around for us to survive without the Muggle-borns. Besides, the ideas of blood purity became a lot more radical since the nineteenth century. Two hundred years ago, Potter, you would have been considered a pureblood because both your parents had magical ability; half-bloods were people with one Muggle parent, nothing else. Some families were more reluctant to allow unions with them than others, but like I said, it stopped being a problem after one or two generations when they'd proven loyal to the wizarding world."

Harry holds up a hand to interrupt her again. "Pansy, where do you get all this from? I never took you for a particularly bookish person, but here you're sitting giving me history lectures!"

Pansy smiles tightly. "Most of this is what Draco found out once he became interested in the subject." She notices Harry's expression. "Don't tell me, you had no idea about this. Did you ever bother to ask him why he had decided to oppose the Dark Lord?"

Harry just shakes his head, feeling dumbfounded. "It was good enough for me that he did."

"Oh my." Pansy takes a deep breath. "It began when Draco learned that the Dark Lord was a half-blood, which pretty much turned his own view of everything that was going on upside down. He quickly realised that Voldemort -", Harry looks up in surprise, there still aren't many who will say this name, "- had no interest in restoring the old values of wizarding society, he was only out to gain power for himself. The he started reading up on his own family history, and it soon became clear that the level of purity that the Malfoys and the Blacks were claiming to have was nothing but an illusion. He told me that he'd come to the conclusion that wizarding society had survived because it had found a way to safely incorporate those with a Muggle background into their own world; it was impossible to keep them out completely. Of course, it was immensely dangerous to allow them to run rampant within our world, but it was suicidal to attack them the way the Dark Lord did. That's what Draco told those who wanted nothing to do either with the Death Eaters or with the Order and the Ministry, and most of them were easily convinced because it basically meant going back to how our world had been run for centuries."

Harry is still shaking his head. "But if all that is true, and you're aware of it, how could you ever call Hermione a Mudblood?"

"Newsflash, Potter: because I didn't like her! She came into a world that was new to her and immediately started judging it without ever trying to understand it. How would Muggles like it if wizards walked up to them and told them how to run their lives?"

When Harry doesn't answer, she adds, "You know, Potter, you've managed to surprise me."

Harry raises his eyebrows. "How so?"

"I didn't think you'd hear me out on this - I expected you to throw a fit and walk away halfway through."

He sighs and leans back, closing his eyes. "I said I would listen to you."

"You just won't believe me." She sounds strangely resigned, as if his opinion on the subject actually mattered to her.

"To be honest, Pansy, I'm not sure what to believe any more. Some of the things you said make sense to me, some don't, and I don't know what to make of it."

The corner of Pansy's mouth quirks up at this. "It's a beginning."

"Keep telling yourself that." Harry opens his eyes and blinks into the afternoon sun that's shining right into his face. "I think I'll go for a walk. It would be a shame to waste all this gorgeous weather on history lessons."

Pansy looks up at the clear blue sky. "It's a great day for flying."

He smiles at this. "Yes, I thought so too."

"Then why don't you? I'm a bit surprised I haven't seen you on a broom ever since we moved in here."

"That's because I don't have a broom at the moment, but I think I'll get one again."

"Hm." Pansy looks at him strangely for a moment, as if she were debating with herself; then she whips out her wand. "Accio Nimbus!"

A few moments later, a sleek racing broom smacks into her palm. "How about this one? I'm afraid it's a bit outdated, but it's still a fine broom."

Harry suddenly finds it difficult to breathe. "Is that..."

"Yes." Pansy doesn't meet his eyes when she hands him the broom. "Go ahead, Potter, it has been gathering dust for far too long."

He takes the handle and runs his fingers over the smooth, dark wood. The rational part of his brain is warning him that it will be impossible to keep the memories at bay while he holds such tangible evidence of the past in his hands, but at the same time, it feels incredibly good to touch something that was once part of his life. He'd never have expected Pansy to entrust him with it, though; when he finally looks up to meet her eyes, he's no longer sure what to think. "Pansy, I... you're really comfortable with the idea of me flying his broom?"

"Not particularly, no." Pansy's doing her best to smirk, but it turns out a bit lopsided. "But I'm pretty sure he'd like it."

* * *

Since she says she no longer feels comfortable Apparating over long distances with the baby due in less than two months, Pansy has invited her parents for Halloween. Although no other guests are present, dinner that night is a rather formal affair, and Harry feels thoroughly uncomfortable in the stiff atmosphere. For the umpteenth time, he wishes that he'd had the kind of upbringing that would have prepared him for such occasions; he still feels like a bumbling fool whenever Pansy's parents are around. The meal goes well enough, though; Pansy and her mother do most of the talking, while Mr Parkinson and Harry just nod at the right moments whenever they're addressed by their respective spouses. Harry is sure that Mr Parkinson actually winked at him at one point when they both said "Yes, dear" almost in unison.

After dinner, Pansy drags her mother away to show her the collection of baby clothes she has bought, leaving Harry alone with her father. Mr Parkinson's jovial expression turns serious once the two women have left the room. "Do you have a moment, Harry? There's something I need to discuss with you."

"Of course. Let's go to my study, shall we?" Harry leads the way, careful not to wonder what Mr Parkinson might have to tell him because he doesn't expect that it could possibly be good. Still, by the time they're both seated in the big leather armchairs in front of the fireplace with glasses of firewhisky next to them, his heart is in his throat, and it costs him a lot of willpower not to fidget.

His father-in-law seems in no hurry to let Harry know what's on his mind, though. For a while, they're both sipping their drinks in silence; Harry stares into the fire, waiting for Mr Parkinson to start talking.

"Pansy looks well."

This is not at all what Harry expected, but he nods. "She's been feeling much better lately. She hasn't been sick for weeks, and she hasn't mentioned any back pains during the last days, either. You needn't worry about her."

Mr Parkinson smiles. "Oh, I suppose you worry enough for both of us, if you're anything like I was during my wife's first pregnancy. But that's not what I meant." He fixes Harry with a piercing gaze. "Harry, I've made no secret of the fact that I wasn't too happy about this marriage. I want my little girl to be happy after everything she's been through, and I doubted that she'd ever be happy with you. Be honest with me, you two would never have married if it hadn't been for the baby, would you?"

Harry holds his gaze without flinching. "Probably not."

The older man nods. "I appreciate your candour. Still, it seems you're getting along quite well."

Harry ponders the question for a moment. It's tempting to tell a pleasant lie, but something makes him hesitant to lie to a man who's just trying to look out for his daughter's happiness. "Better than we both expected, I suppose. She has yelled at me a couple of times, but at least she hasn't thrown anything at me yet."

Mr Parkinson's smile widens. "Then she must be quite fond of you. But what about you?"

Harry finds the question surprisingly easy to answer, even if he has never thought about it before. "This is where I belong, I know that much. I hope we'll work out the rest somehow."

"Fair enough." Now it's Mr Parkinson's turn to stare into the fire; for a while, there's no other sound than the crackling and hissing of the burning logs. Finally, he puts his glass aside and looks Harry straight in the face. "You remember what we talked about the day you proposed to Pansy?"

Harry unconsciously draws himself up. "Of course I do. I suppose this is about something I can help you with, then?"

"It's more than just that. One of the few contacts I still have at the Ministry has informed me that Scrimgeour is in the process of re-arranging the departments again. He claims it's to make the whole thing easier to administrate, but it's quite obvious that he's creating a number of new departments so that he can appoint people he trusts as heads there, while he's dividing up others to get some people who don't support him enthusiastically enough out of leading positions. At the rate he's going, there will soon be no ranking Ministry official who is anything than his personal lackey."

Harry frowns. "What of the former Order members who are still working at the Ministry?"

"There aren't that many to begin with; you know better than anyone else how heavy the Order's losses were during the last weeks of the war. Besides, almost all of them are in Law Enforcement, and Scrimgeour seems wise enough to leave the Aurors alone. However, that doesn't help us since the Order members are even less our friends than Scrimgeour is."

"Most of them should still be mine, though."

Mr Parkinson hesitates for a moment. "Are you still sure about that, Harry? You've basically been in hiding ever since the end of the war, so you don't know what has been going on in your absence. Besides, I'd imagine that your marriage with Pansy didn't exactly make you more popular with them." He holds up his hand to cut off Harry's protest. "I'm not saying that your achievements will ever be forgotten. You're the Order's undisputed hero of the Second War, but the Order has disbanded, and it is yet to be seen how much support you'll get from individual members once everything is going back to day-to-day business at the Ministry."

Harry sighs. "You're right, of course. That's one of the reasons I didn't accept any of their job offers."

"You said you'd had two offers for positions at the Ministry."

"Three by now, but I refused every time. They were all in Law Enforcement, and I saw no way how that could possibly work out. In spite of everything that happened during the war, I'm no qualified Auror, and squeezing me into the chain of command when I had no place there, just because I'm Harry Potter, would only mean trouble in the long run. You can't just snap your fingers and turn a soldier into a policeman, and I have no intention of becoming the department's mascot, either."

"You seem to have given this a lot of thought."

Harry shrugs. In fact, the first refusal was a purely visceral reaction. Only afterwards, he began searching for reasonable explanations why he couldn't possibly go back there. When he doesn't answer, Mr Parkinson keeps talking.

"Anyway, the reason I'm bringing this up is that I've been informed about another job opening, one that could be of tremendous importance in the future. Now that Hogwarts has been re-opened, Scrimgeour has created a Department of Magical Education, probably with the goal to strengthen Ministry control over the school. In Dumbledore's day, the headmaster did pretty much as he pleased, but I doubt the Minister wants to give McGonagall the same kind of leeway. The head of this department will have the possibility to interfere with school matters if there's an emergency of any kind. He will have some influence on the choosing of new teachers and a seat on the board of school governors."

Harry takes a deep breath. "So you want me to apply for that position."

"It's a chance our family, and those who stood with us during the war, can't afford to miss, Harry. No member of the neutral families has any chance at the Ministry, but Scrimgeour couldn't refuse your application."

"You are aware that Scrimgeour trusts me no further than he can throw me?"

Mr Parkinson smirks. "I'm pretty sure everyone in Britain is aware of it. I'm not saying he'll be happy to have you there, but there's no way he'd survive the public outcry if he kept Harry Potter from a Ministry post he wanted - especially one that will give him such an influence on future generations."

Harry realises with a sinking feeling that everything his father-in-law tells him makes perfect sense. He'd love nothing more than to flat-out refuse, but he did promise to give his support when it would be needed. Still, the very idea of holding a position at the Ministry makes his stomach clench.

"Father..." - it still costs him some effort to call Mr Parkinson that - "...you realise that you're asking me to do the very thing I'm least suited for. I may be many things, but I'm most definitely no politician."

Mr Parkinson smiles thinly. "From what I hear, you have shown remarkable talent at being whatever you needed to be at a given time. I'm not asking you to give me an answer right now if you don't want to, but remember that there's not much time to decide."

Harry looks away, doing his best to ignore the hint of disappointment in Mr Parkinson's tone. "I'll think about it."

* * *

"You told him you'd think about it?" Pansy seems torn between disbelief and outrage. "Dad offers you a position that could shift the political balance for generations to come, and all you say to him is that you'll think about it? Why not just spit in his face and tell him that you have absolutely no intention of keeping all those great promises you made?"

With an exasperated sigh, Harry closes the book he's been reading and turns around to face Pansy who's standing in the door of his study, trembling with rage. "I didn't say no, did I? Could you just - "

Pansy cuts him off. "Save your explanations, Potter. Do you even realise what this position could mean to us and all the other neutral pureblood families? What it could mean for the future of our whole society?"

"Aren't you over-dramatising things a bit? It's not as if anyone at the Ministry is ever going to have much influence at Hogwarts..."

"...unless, of course, that person was Harry Potter, poster boy for the side of the light!" Pansy takes a deep breath and visibly forces herself to calm down. "Potter, listen to me. You may not have been interested in anything that has been going on outside this house lately, but I have, and I've heard a lot of alarming news about the re-opening of Hogwarts."

Harry frowns. "What do you mean?"

Pansy eases herself in one of the armchairs next to the fireplace and arranges her voluminous maternity robes around her until she looks as if she were sitting in her own little velvet tent. "Less than half of the children who come from families with blood ties to confirmed Death Eaters were sent to Hogwarts in the first place, even if their parents had never been involved with the Dark Lord. Those who did have become school outcasts and have to endure all kinds of abuse from their classmates. Those from neutral families are hardly better off, and the teachers are either unwilling or unable to discipline the offenders with the exception of very serious cases. At the Sorting, less than fifteen percent of the new students went into Slytherin - a few said afterwards that the Hat had wanted to put them there and that they'd refused." She gives Harry a pointed look that indicates she knows about his own debate with the Hat all those years ago. "There were even parents who pulled their children out after they'd been Sorted into Slytherin. The balance between the Houses has been maintained for centuries, but now it's badly off, and if things don't change soon..." She doesn't finish, probably feeling that the message should be clear enough.

"I can't imagine that McGonagall would allow any House bias in a school she's running."

"Oh, please, Potter, you can do better than that. Granted, she's not as bad as Dumbledore, but she's still a Gryffindor to the bone, and that's not going to change just because she's Headmistress now."

Harry has paled at the mention of Dumbledore, but he doesn't take the bait, if Pansy even intended the remark as such. He remembers a couple of heated debates with Draco on the subject, debates that eventually led him to the disturbing realisation that Dumbledore really might have made it difficult for the students of Slytherin House to not consider him their enemy. Harry usually avoids thinking about it - he wishes nothing more than to keep the image of his late mentor that he had when Dumbledore was alive, but he hasn't been totally successful in that regard. Looking back from where he's standing now, too many of Dumbledore's decisions seem questionable. Harry still doesn't doubt that the old man always did what he thought was best, but he's no longer sure that Dumbledore always had his priorities straight. He has never voiced these thoughts, and he fervently hopes that he'll never have to, but they force him to take Pansy's words seriously now.

"And you think that I'd be able to change that?"

"You know perfectly well that you would; in fact, you're probably the only one who can because they'd never accuse you of sympathies for the dark side if you spoke up against anti-Slytherin bias or the ostracising of children with the wrong family ties." She puts a hand on her belly, and her expression becomes very serious. "Remember this, Harry," - Harry almost does a double-take; she's never called him by his given name when they were alone before - "this baby is Draco's daughter, a Malfoy and a Black, and neither of these families has produced more than a handful of children who weren't in Slytherin. My father's family is half-half between Slytherin and Ravenclaw, and every family member of my mother's who went to school in England was in Slytherin too. Unless you're planning to make her despise everything that her ancestors believed in, where do you think she'd get sorted if she went to Hogwarts?"

"What do you mean, if she went?"

Pansy squares her shoulders, clearly steeling herself. "I mean that I won't let her go to Hogwarts if things don't change there soon. I won't allow them to make my daughter choose between cutting herself off from her roots and becoming an outcast!"

Harry balls his hands into fists. As much as he hates to admit it, he has no right to contradict her on this - it's not his child she's talking about, and there can be no doubt that Draco would agree with everything she said. Still, the idea of Draco's daughter being forced to go to school abroad because there's no place for her in the world she grows up in seems too appalling for Harry to stand by and do nothing.

"All right."

Pansy frowns. "All right what? All right, you'll let me send her to Beauxbatons?"

"No, I meant 'All right, I'll apply for the bloody Ministry position'." Harry leans back in his chair, his shoulders suddenly aching with tension. "I don't agree with everything you're saying, but I can see your point. We fought a war to keep our society from being ripped apart, but it seems that now it's still happening in a different way. I won't allow that, Pansy - not after everything we've had to go through. If this position is the way to finally get it into everyone's head that the war is over, then I suppose I can't refuse it. Happy now?"

Pansy's relief is unmistakeable when she gives him the curious half-smile that's so typical of her. "Draco once told me that there were moments when you made him understand why he put up with you. I didn't believe him then, but I'm beginning to change my mind." She tries to push herself up from the armchair, only to sink back with a frustrated groan. "And now please help me get out of this damned thing so that I can leave you alone to write your application."

* * *

The meeting seems to drag on forever. Scrimgeour himself is presiding today, and he's droning on and on about a topic that Harry lost interest in five minutes after the Minister had opened his mouth. All around him, the heads of the different Ministry departments do their best to appear focused when they're probably just as close to falling asleep as Harry is. The room is stifling hot, the fireplace right behind the Minster radiating heat like a furnace. Harry casts a longing glance at the snowflakes that are dancing in the wind outside the window and tries to ignore the sweat that's trickling down his back under his uncomfortable formal robes.

For what he thinks must be the thousandth time, Harry curses himself for accepting this job that, so far, has meant nothing more than tons of useless paperwork, endless meetings filled with empty bureaucratic prattle and gallons of weak tea and dreadful coffee. He really doesn't see how the fact that he's wasting his time here is going to be of any help to anyone. It's not as if Scrimgeour, who has considered him an enemy ever since that fateful Christmas during sixth year, would ever entrust him with any matter of importance.

"Therefore, it's clear that the current state of affairs - Bridget, I said I was not to be disturbed!"

The young secretary blushes under Scrimgeour's glare, but she still approaches him. "Minister, I'm terribly sorry, but it's a matter of some urgency..." She leans down to whisper in his ear, and Scrimgeour's scowl deepens even more. Harry is sure it's not just his imagination that the Minister sends him a dark look while he listens, as if this interruption were somehow Harry's fault.

"Very well, Bridget. Mr Potter, my secretary informs me that your father-in-law just sent a message to your office, asking you to return home as quickly as possible. Your wife has gone into labour."

* * *