From the Ashes

From the Ashes

Part Four

by Fourth Rose

Entreat me not to leave you or to return from following you;

For where you go I will go, and where you lodge I will lodge;

Your people shall be my people, and your God my God;

Where you die I will die, and there will I be buried.

May the Lord do so to me and more also if even death parts me from you.

(Ruth I, 16-17)

* * *

"Have you decided on a name yet?"

The question was clearly directed at Harry, but it's Pansy who answers before he has a chance to say anything.

"Lucia."

Mrs Parkinson's smile widens. "How perfect for a girl born on the 13^th of December! Or were you thinking of my maternal grandmother?"

Pansy lowers her gaze to the baby in her arms when she answers softly, "Your Dad and I just thought it would be a good name for you, little one."

Harry feels his breath catch in his throat and blinks furiously because his eyes are burning all of a sudden. It takes him only a moment to regain his composure, but Mr Parkinson has still noticed his change of expression. Luckily, he seems to misinterpret it completely.

"Maria, darling, let's give the new parents a bit of privacy, shall we?"

Mrs Parkinson casts a longing glance at the baby, but nods nevertheless. "Well be back later, my dears." She steps up to the bed to kiss Pansy on the cheek and then, to Harry's surprise, turns to him and embraces him. Harry stiffens, uncertain how to react; until now, his mother-in-law seemed barely willing to shake his hand, let alone to show any sign of affection for him. He's secretly relieved when she quickly lets go again and sweeps out of the room, followed by her husband who pats Harry on the shoulder on his way out, as if to congratulate him on a job well done.

It's a bit premature, Harry can't help thinking. The part I have to play in this is only just beginning.

When the door has closed behind her parents, Pansy turns towards him. "Are you all right with the name?"

It seems a bit late to ask him that, but Harry appreciates the gesture for what it is. "No," he replies truthfully, because he will never be all right with the memory of Lucius Malfoy for as long as he lives, "but that doesn't matter. I'm sure he'd be pleased."

Pansy smiles thinly, her eyes overly bright in her pale face. "Yes, I thought so too."

"Why didn't you call me sooner?" When Harry arrived home, less than ten minutes ago, Pansy's beaming parents were already waiting to take him to his newborn daughter.

Pansy frowns. "I firecalled you right after I'd alerted the midwife and my parents, but you weren't in your office. So I asked Dad to send you a message, and he said he would do so right away. I can't help it if it took all those secretaries almost an hour to get to you."

"An hour?" Harry is taken aback. "You mean it was all over within one hour?"

He realises a second too late that this wasn't the most tactful thing to say, because now Pansy's eyes are flashing. "You'd have wanted me to suffer longer, you bloody sadist?"

"No, that's not what I meant." Harry does his best to sound placating. "It's just that with Muggles - I mean, I know next to nothing about how it's done without magic, but I've heard that it usually takes much longer. Days, sometimes."

Pansy blanches. "One more reason to be glad that I'm no Muggle." They're reaching dangerous territory again, and to Harry's relief, Pansy seems to realise it too because she quickly changes the topic. "Would you like to hold her?"

Harry hesitates. "I've never held a baby, I'm not sure I - "

"Then it's about time you learned. Here, sit down and bend your arm like this - support her head, and hold her here..."

Harry's heart is in his throat when Pansy carefully arranges his posture and then lowers the baby into his arms. The tiny girl seems almost weightless and so fragile that Harry barely dares to touch her for fear that he might hurt her in some way. Pansy, however, gives him a satisfied nod. "You're doing fine. Don't worry, she's not made of glass, she won't break."

She leans back and closes her eyes, giving Harry time to take the first real look at the child who is going to grow up believing herself to be his daughter. The baby's face is red and wrinkled, the tiny eyes squeezed shut; her head is covered with fuzzy dark hair, which fills Harry with no small amount of relief since it would have been very difficult to explain how he and Pansy could have produced a fair-haired child. She's not particularly pretty to look at, but somehow, Harry finds he can't tear his eyes off her. There's an odd feeling in his chest, as if his heart were swelling to twice its usual size, making it difficult to breathe. Up till now, Harry's sole motivation for doing everything to make sure that this tiny being would have a future was the fact that she's Draco's daughter, the last remaining connection to the man Harry lost. Now that he's seeing her for what she is, this armful of new life, helpless and unaware of the pitfalls awaiting her in the world she's been born into, he feels a surge of fierce protectiveness that surprises himself by its intensity. Never since the end of the war has he felt more aware of himself, more focused on what he has to do; there will be no more drifting through the days, no more hiding from problems that need solving, no matter how difficult or painful it might be.

Harry carefully runs his finger over the baby's soft cheek and watches her scrunch up her face in reply. He has all but forgotten what it means to have a purpose in life, but now that he sees it before him, it almost comes as a relief.

Hello, little one; I'm not your father, and I won't be able to replace the man who should be holding you right now, but I will do everything to make sure that there's a life worth living awaiting you, and if that means I have to change the world for you, I'll find a way to do it, I promise.

The baby lets out a small whimper, which causes Pansy to open her eyes again; she smiles when she sees Harry's alarmed expression.

"Don't fret, Potter, she just needs to sleep now. By the way, Mim has asked permission to take care of her since you hardly ever need him. You're all right with that, aren't you?"

Before Harry can answer, Mim has appeared with a crack at Pansy's call; he beams at Harry when he carefully takes the baby from him and leaves the room with her. Harry looks after him, not sure how he feels about a house elf nanny, but he remembers that Mim took care of Draco since his birth, so he's obviously qualified to look after a newborn infant.

Pansy's eyelids are drooping when Harry turns back to her; he's about to get up and leave to let her rest when she says, "We need to have a photo taken for the press, you know."

Harry frowns. "Why on earth should we do that?"

Pansy sighs deeply. "Potter, whether you like it or not, you are a figure of public interest, and since no journalist dares to approach you these days, they have been pestering me instead ever since they found out about my pregnancy. You were able to keep our wedding out of the headlines since it was so soon after the end of the war and the papers had other things to keep them occupied, but now the dust has settled, and you won't get rid of them so easily."

"They've been pestering you?" The thought makes Harry bristle. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because I didn't want you to storm into the office of the Prophet and hex the editor. It never hurts to have the press on your side, especially in times like these. So I've agreed to one photo session with a photographer of our choice and a short article announcing the birth of your daughter, in which we will also ask the public to understand that we want to raise our child in peace. I think it's a compromise everyone can live with."

Harry thinks of the silent promise he just made and has to admit that Pansy is right, even though he still doesn't like the idea. "All right, then. I suppose you already chose the photographer, too?"

Pansy gives him a smirk. "I asked the Prophet to send your old friend Creevey. It seems to me he hasn't had a chance to fawn over you for far too long."

* * *

Colin looks as if Christmas had come early when he turns up for the photo session two days later; he still shows remarkable talent to get on Harry's last nerve, but Harry feels oddly mollified by the way Colin fawns over Lucia.

"She's the most beautiful baby I've ever seen, Harry! Look at her, she's got your eyes!"

Colin is either sincere or a very convincing liar, and Harry is extremely pleased by the prospect that the Prophet will spread the headline "Chosen One's daughter has her father's eyes" all over wizarding Britain, thus making sure people will see what they want to see whenever they look at Lucia in the future. This is even more important because Lucia does have her father's eyes, a pale grey that only a colour-blind person could mistake for green. Pansy says that the colour is likely to change anyway, but Harry finds himself hoping it doesn't, even though it would make things easier. He can feel Draco looking at him through his daughter's eyes, and he doesn't want to lose that, no matter how painful it sometimes may be.

The week after Lucia's birth is a busy one. Harry can hardly get any work done at the Ministry since he's swamped with visitors. Friends, colleagues, and even people he barely knows stop by his office to congratulate him, tell him how happy he and Pansy look in the family photo the Prophet printed (Harry thinks he looks mostly annoyed and Pansy rather tired, but thankfully, it's not his opinion that matters), and ask about Pansy's and Lucia's well-being. There are moments when Harry fears his cheeks are about to start cramping from all the smiling, but whenever he comes close to locking his door and telling everybody to bugger off and leave him alone, he remembers the promise he made and perseveres. Meanwhile, Pansy takes care of the letters; they get dozens of owls every day, and she makes sure to answer them all and let Harry sign them in the evening when he returns from the office.

Harry is strangely touched by the fact that Molly Weasley can bring herself to send him her congratulations, and for the first time since the end of the war, he considers paying another visit to the Burrow some day. He sends Hedwig to the house of Hermione's parents with the news, and Hermione's answering letter is warm and heartfelt, even though the growing distance between them, now that Hermione has left the wizarding world for good, is still obvious.

The letter Harry sends to Neville in St Mungo's is returned unopened; the following day, Harry receives an owl from Augusta Longbottom, informing him of her grandson's death.

* * *

The forests surrounding the small graveyard look like a Christmas card, with the snow on the trees glittering in the bright winter sun. It's bitterly cold, but there's a huge crowd gathered around the open grave nevertheless. Headmistress McGonagall, looking decades older than the woman in Harry's memory, gives the eulogy, speaking of Neville's courage and loyalty until the end. The Minister insisted on giving a short speech as well, even though he probably didn't even know who Neville was, but Rufus Scrimgeour isn't one to pass up an opportunity for free publicity just because of such a small detail, Harry thinks cynically while he rubs his freezing hands together under his thick woollen cloak. Pansy, who is standing next to him, is wrapped in fox fur, but her lips are still blue in spite of the Warming Charms she's cast on her clothes. Harry didn't want her to accompany him since she's barely out of childbed, but she insisted.

The funeral doesn't last long, but many people linger, either to make their way to Neville's grave to pay their respects in private, or to gather in small groups outside the graveyard to talk. Harry would like nothing better than to take Pansy home before she catches cold, but she insists on staying a bit longer. There are many familiar faces in the crowd, and Harry has to shake dozens of hands and repeat the same statements about Neville's death over and over. He doesn't say what he really thinks, that Neville's life was over the moment Bellatrix Lestrange hit him with that curse and that he's glad for Neville's sake that his suffering has finally come to an end. Harry recalls the look in Bellatrix' eyes when he told her that he'd killed her master; that, he thinks with grim satisfaction, was his true revenge for everything the woman has done to him and to others. The Killing Curse he cast only seconds later was probably more mercy than she deserved.

"Harry!" Before he can turn around at the sound of the familiar voice, Hermione is already next to him and hugs him so hard that he has trouble breathing. "I'm so glad to see you again!"

She doesn't look well; her eyes are bloodshot and puffy, and there are deep lines in her face that make her appear much older than her twenty-six years. "It's good to see you too, Hermione," Harry says and means it, "although I wish it hadn't been on such an occasion. How are you doing?"

She shrugs. "I'm okay. I'm working as a dental nurse for my parents. It's a bit difficult since I've got no training, but I get by. What about you? How is your family?"

Harry still isn't quite used to hearing the word "family" in connection with himself, but deep down, he has to admit to himself that he likes the sound of it. "Fine, thank you. Pansy is around here somewhere..."

As if on cue, Pansy turns up at his elbow, giving Hermione a frosty, but civil smile. "Granger, how nice to meet you."

"Hello, Pansy." Hermione's tone is guarded, but she takes the hand Pansy offers her. "How is your daughter?"

"She's fine, thank you." Pansy's smile becomes a bit more genuine at this. "You must come visit us to see her sometime."

Harry is slightly taken aback, and he experiences a moment of dread as he tries to imagine what Pansy might want from him if she's prepared to make such an offer to Hermione.

Hermione seems surprised too, but she smiles back. "I'd like that very much." She hugs Harry again when she bids him good-bye and promises to stay in touch, but more than ever, Harry feels the rift between them that makes it impossible to exchange more than small-talk when they were once able to share everything that went on in their lives.

He turns to Pansy to ask her if she's ready to leave now, but she's not at his side any more. Instead, Harry spots Molly Weasley coming towards him with tears in her eyes. She, too, has aged far beyond her years during the war; there are streaks of white in her red hair, and her face is much narrower than he remembers it and criss-crossed with wrinkles.

"Harry." The tears are making their way down her cheeks as she takes his hands in hers; it isn't lost on Harry that she doesn't hug him any more, but he knows that he wouldn't be able to blame her if she didn't even talk to him. "You look well, my dear boy. How are you doing?"

"I'm fine, Mrs Weasley. How are you?"

She does her best to smile. "I manage, as always. Harry, I - I saw the picture of you with your little girl in the Prophet last week, and I just wanted to tell you again that I'm so very happy for you. Your daughter, and Bill and Fleur's little boy - they give me hope things are eventually going to be all right again."

Harry feels a lump in his throat; he has to take a deep breath to keep his composure. "Mrs Weasley, I - it means a lot to me to hear you say that, really." He hesitates, but he can't not ask, even though he dreads the answer. "Is Ron here?"

She doesn't meet his eyes when she shakes her head. "He wanted to come, but he - he hasn't been feeling well lately." It's her turn to hesitate now, but then she presses on. "Harry, I know he didn't answer any of your letters, but - I'm sure he'll come around. He's always been your friend, and - you'll give him time, won't you?"

"Of course I will." Harry is sincere, although he can't share Mrs Weasley's optimism. He has seen too many people being broken by the war to keep hoping that Ron will ever be himself again. "Please say hello to him from me."

"I will, dear." Molly squeezes his hands once more before she lets go. "And Harry - you know that you're welcome to visit us at the Burrow whenever you want, right?"

"Yes, I know." Harry feels a pang of yearning for those times when he couldn't wait until he'd get to stay at the Burrow again. He bids Mrs Weasley good-bye and goes to search for his wife in the crowd.

* * *

"That's another old wizarding family gone," Pansy says thoughtfully when Harry helps her out of her cloak, "at this rate, there won't be any left in a couple of years."

Harry is only half-listening; he keeps replaying the conversations with Hermione and Molly in his mind while he follows Pansy into the living room. "It was nice of you to invite Hermione, even if I don't think she'll come."

Pansy takes a seat next to the fireplace and massages her cold fingers. "Why shouldn't she? It's not as if you'd had a big falling out or something."

Harry sits down in the chair opposite from her, grateful for the warmth that slowly seeps into his numb hands and feet. "No, but she has left the wizarding world for good."

"She'll be back." Pansy sounds completely certain about this, and Harry raises his eyebrows in surprise.

"How can you be so sure?"

"It stands to reason. There's no life for her in the Muggle world, is there? She has been away from it for years, she hasn't learned anything she'd need there, she can't use her abilities - do you really think she'll be able to stand it in the long run?"

Harry shrugs. "At the moment, it looks more like she can't stand the wizarding world."

"That will pass. Mark my words, she'll be back before you know it."

"I hope you're right." Harry sighs and leans back in his chair. "I miss her, and Ron, too."

Pansy is suddenly sitting ramrod straight. "You're not thinking of inviting him here, are you?"

"I don't think that's an option right now," Harry says without paying attention to the way Pansy's face darkens, "Ron hasn't been himself since his father and sister were killed, and - "

"Potter," Pansy interrupts him, her voice icy. "Let's get this out of the way once and for all. You're welcome to invite Granger, or any other Gryffindor of your choice; I'll be civil to all of them and respect the fact that they're your friends since you're willing to put up with my folks. But Ronald Weasley will never set foot into my house, do you hear me?"

Harry is taken aback by the hatred in her voice; to the best of his knowledge, Pansy has no reason to resent Ron any more than the rest of his friends, and something in her tone makes him bristle. "Your house? Last time I checked, this was our house, and neither of us had any business telling the other what to do!"

"Then let me put it differently." Pansy's expression is steely. "If you insist on bringing Weasley here, I'll take my daughter, go back to my parents' house with her, declare publicly that she is not your child, and you'll never get to see either of us again. How's that?"

Harry stares at her with his mouth open. "Are you mad? You're threatening to leave - over this?"

"I will do everything in my power to make sure Lucia will never have to stay under the same roof with Ron Weasley, Potter. You'd better keep it in mind." She holds up a hand to cut off Harry's reply. "And no, I'm not going to tell you why, so don't even ask me about it."

Harry shakes his head, but he feels the matter isn't worth fighting over since the question of inviting Ron or not will probably never arise. He has heard that many women have problems with unbalanced hormones or something of that kind after a birth; perhaps that's the reason Pansy is behaving so strangely. "Whatever you say. Ketty!"

Pansy's elf appears with a crack. "Master called?"

Harry winces, but he knows it's a losing battle; unlike Mim, Ketty refuses to stop calling him 'Master', no matter how often he tells her to. "I could do with a cup of tea."

"Two cups," Pansy adds, and Ketty disappears and comes back moments later with a laden tea tray. For a while, Harry and Pansy sip their tea without talking. Finally, when the silence becomes oppressive, Harry decides to offer an olive branch; after all, it's not Pansy's fault that her hormones are acting up.

"What were you saying about old wizarding families before?" He can't help feeling it's a positive sign that this is slowly becoming a topic that's safe for discussion; they still have vastly different views on the subject, but they hardly ever fight over it any more.

Pansy lowers her cup with a sigh. "I said that they keep dying out - the Blacks, the Malfoys, and now the Longbottoms, all gone for good."

"The Malfoys aren't gone yet, and neither, strictly speaking, are the Blacks," Harry reminds her; this is something he has given some thought lately.

Pansy shrugs. "Yes, I know that Narcissa Malfoy is still alive, but she's in exile and unlikely to -"

"That's not what I meant," Harry interrupts her quietly, "I was talking about Lucia. She's a Malfoy and a Black, isn't she?"

"She's neither." Pansy's expression is carefully neutral. "She's either a fatherless Parkinson bastard or a Potter, but she can never be a Malfoy, remember? She won't even know who her real father was." Her eyes narrow when Harry doesn't answer immediately. "Potter? What are you thinking about?"

Harry takes a deep breath. "I've been asking myself whether we're doing the right thing. Not telling her who she really is, I mean."

Pansy's face goes blank. "Are you trying to back out of our agreement?"

"What? No!" Harry leans forward a bit; for a moment, he's tempted to reach for Pansy's hand, but he thinks better of it. "It's just that I'm not happy with the idea of - of stealing Draco's daughter from him. I know that no one must learn the truth now, because the name Malfoy seems blackened beyond repair, but - things can change, over time."

"What are you saying?" Pansy seems incredulous. "That you want her to know?"

"Not while she's a child, no. But I've been thinking that perhaps, in a few years - when she comes of age, maybe - we'll be able to tell her the truth. Times will be different then; the war will be in the past, and it may be safe for her to carry her real name. I know how important his family was for Draco; I'm sure he wouldn't have wanted it to die with him, and I don't want his daughter going through life without knowing about him."

Pansy's expression softens. "Potter, listen to me. I have no intention to let her grow up without knowing about Draco. There are pictures of him all over my rooms, and I will start telling her stories about him the moment she can talk. She will grow up with his memory, and perhaps, if the time is right and we think she'll be able to bear it, we will one day tell her the truth. But no one else must ever know, and she can never inherit the Malfoy name."

She takes another sip from her cup before she continues. "You should know by now how things are done in the old families. Bastards can't inherit; if I wanted Lucia to be Draco's heiress, I'd have to claim that Draco and I had been secretly married before she was conceived. This is a claim that must either be made under Veritaserum, or I'd have to present the written testimony of two witnesses who were present at the secret wedding. They, too, would probably be questioned under Veritaserum, unless they were persons of such public standing that no one would dare to gainsay their word."

She hesitates for a moment before she adds, "Mind, this is the way I would have chosen if you hadn't offered to marry me. I was only halfway there, though, and I doubt I'd have been able to uphold the claim."

Harry frowns. "Do you mean to say that you already had one witness for an alleged secret marriage?"

When Pansy merely nods, he asks, a bit impatiently, "Who?"

"It shouldn't be hard to guess, Potter, since it has to be a person for whom Veritaserum doesn't constitute an insurmountable obstacle."

Harry's eyes widen. "Snape?"

"Who else?" Pansy puts her cup back on the tray with a sardonic smile. "He always cared for Draco. But as I said, he was the only one I could think of. Therefore, unless you're suddenly willing to consider perjury yourself, his testimony isn't going to help."

Harry regrets that he ever brought up the topic, but it's too late now. Pansy's half-veiled challenge is clear enough: if he really wants Lucia to be regarded as Draco's legitimate daughter, all it will take him is a written lie, since no one will dare to question his testimony if he should choose to give it. However, Harry isn't sure if he's really willing to go that far; he has been forced to act against his own principles time and again during the war, but the idea of basing Lucia's life on a lie makes him deeply uncomfortable. It seems that the Slytherin streak in his character has its limits, after all.

Eventually, Harry decides to stall. With time, perhaps there will be another solution. "This is not something we need to decide today, is it?"

It's clear from Pansy's expression that it's exactly the answer she expected him to give. "No, of course not."

* * *

Christmas is a quiet affair. They're spending Christmas Eve at the house of Pansy's parents, together with Pansy's sister-in-law and nephew. Harry has already met both of them at his wedding, but he's barely spoken to either of them then; now he's pleasantly surprised to find that Susanna Parkinson is an intelligent, talkative woman whose wicked sense of humour hasn't been erased by the hardships the last years have brought her. Her six year-old son, Robert, is shy at first and downright wary around Lucia, but he quickly warms up to Harry when Harry offers to play a game of Exploding Snap with him. For the rest of the evening, he follows "Uncle Harry" around like a puppy, which causes Pansy no end of amusement and embarrasses Harry a bit, although he can't help feeling touched by the boy's adoration.

"I hope he doesn't bother you?" Susanna asks Harry when she's finally managed to make Rob sit down and play quietly by himself for a while. "It's just that he probably sees you as the next best thing he has to a father, and -"

"It's fine, really," Harry interrupts her before she can continue, "he's a nice boy, and he doesn't bother me at all." In fact, he's secretly relieved that Rob likes him so much; he's never had anything to do with children before, and now that he's about to raise a child himself, it's reassuring to know that he's able to handle them.

Pansy seems to think along the same lines, because she grins and raises her eggnog in a mock salute. "Wait until your daughter is old enough to pester you, then we'll talk again."

"If she's anything like you were as a child, Pansy dear, Harry is in for a challenge," Mr Parkinson remarks dryly, and the whole table erupts into laughter. Harry is quite surprised by the way the evening is going; he was less than enthused when Pansy told him about her parents' invitation because he expected a stiff, stilted affair, not this utterly comfortable family gathering. Now he's almost sorry when it's time to leave.

They Apparate back to their house without waking Lucia, who has spent most of the evening sleeping in the Parkinsons' old nursery under Mim's watchful eyes. Once they're home, Pansy takes the baby from Mim to take her to bed, but she hesitates a moment before she leaves the room. "Potter, I - that was a really nice evening."

On an impulse, which may have to do with the fact that he's slightly tipsy from too much eggnog, Harry leans in and kisses her on the cheek. "Yes, I enjoyed it too. Happy Christmas, Pansy."

She smiles at him as she closes the door behind her, and Harry can't help thinking that maybe, just maybe, things are really going to be all right for them all some day.

* * *

"Have you decided yet what you're going to wear to the Ministry ball?"

It's the first thing Pansy asks Harry at the breakfast table on Boxing Day; Harry takes it as a sign that the Christmas truce is over. He doesn't look up from the toast he's buttering when he replies, "I haven't even decided if I'm going."

Pansy rolls her eyes. "How silly of me to presume. The Ministry gives a great big ball to celebrate the first New Year after the war, inviting everyone who holds a position of any importance in wizarding Britain, and you haven't decided whether you should grace it with your presence because, God forbid, you might meet a few important people there."

With a sigh, Harry lowers the knife. He knows very well that he won't be able to avoid the ball, but that doesn't mean he has to give in without a fight. "You're aware of the fact that I can't dance, right?"

"Yes, I remember your performance at the Yule ball quite clearly." Pansy grimaces. "Do you really mean to say you haven't improved since then? Oh my."

"Forgive me," Harry shoots back with a hint of sarcasm, "I don't know what I was thinking, fighting a war when I could have been taking dancing lessons instead."

Pansy sighs. "Ketty, take the piano from my study to the living room and clear the sofa and armchairs away. I have to make sure my husband won't embarrass me in public."

Harry is reluctant at first, but he quickly realises that Pansy is not only a good dancer, but also a rather good teacher. She's spelled the piano to play by itself since she claims that house elves are utterly tone deaf and can't be taught to play musical instruments. After some initial stumbling, Harry is soon getting a feeling for the steps and the rhythm, and he can't help thinking that he'd have been spared a lot of public humiliation back at Hogwarts if someone had bothered to teach him the basics of ballroom dancing before the Yule Ball in his fourth year.

"Not bad, Potter," even Pansy has to admit when he makes it through the third consecutive waltz without stepping on her toes. "Let's try something slower for a change, shall we?"

Harry is slightly out of breath, so he's quite thankful for the change of pace. It's surprisingly nice to dance like this, slowly turning to the soft music with Pansy's arm around his neck and her body snug against his and - wait. Since when does he feel even the slightest interest in Pansy's body? Mentally calling himself to order, Harry concentrates on the steps of the dance once more.

"I believe that's enough for today," Pansy says suddenly, and it isn't lost on Harry that she appears a bit flustered too. "Now, what are you going to wear? Don't think I'll go to an important social gathering with you without making sure that you're adequately dressed."

With a shrug, Harry heads for his bedroom. He has a particular set of dress robes in mind that he's hidden at the back of his wardrobe; he's never worn them before, but somehow he feels that it's time to break them out at last.

Pansy is sitting at the piano in the living room and idly playing a simple melody when he comes back. She has her back to him and turns when she hears him enter. "So, let's see what - oh."

Harry can't help grinning at her astonished face. "I take it this is adequate?" He feels a bit like a Chinese emperor in his robes of heavy, deep-red silk with their intricate gold embroidery of intertwining dragons on the collar.

Pansy appears speechless at first, but she quickly regains her composure. "There's no way in hell you ever chose these yourself, Potter. Draco gave them to you, didn't he?"

Harry doesn't answer since he feels there's no need to. Pansy takes a deep breath, but her voice is firm when she asks, "You do realise that you're practically forcing me to wear green to the ball now?"

Harry smiles at this. "It should go nicely with your new necklace." He's still quite pleased with the Christmas gift he found for her it a small jeweller's shop in Diagon Alley: a silver necklace in the shape of a snake biting its own tail that slithers around the neck of the wearer in a perfectly lifelike fashion.

Pansy raises an eyebrow. "You want your wife to appear at the Ministry in Slytherin colours with a serpent round her neck?"

"Weren't you the one to demand public statements on the matter from me?"

She gives him a smirk that, for a second, reminds him so much of Draco that his breath catches in his throat. "I'll come dressed as your public statement, then."

* * *

"Harry, good to see you! Won't you introduce me to the charming lady?"

Harry winces at the fake joviality in Scrimgeour's tone; the Minister only calls him by his first name when there are reporters nearby, and it never fails to make Harry feel slightly itchy all over. He's not about to show any sign of it in a packed ballroom surrounded by the upper crust of wizarding Britain, of course.

"Minister, this is my wife, Pansy."

Pansy graces Scrimgeour with her sweetest smile, and Harry can't help thinking that he'll dive behind the nearest heavy piece of furniture if she ever looks at him like that. "I'm honoured to meet you, Minister!"

"The honour is all mine, Mrs Potter!" Scrimgeour booms and actually kisses the hand she's holding out towards him. Pansy smiles on, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the Minister's eyes, slightly unfocused from one glass of champagne too many, are glued to her cleavage. Harry feels quite annoyed by this; Scrimgeour's tendency to become grabby when he's drunk is well known, but Harry didn't think he'd have the poor taste to openly ogle a woman in the presence of her husband. Pansy's neckline is far from being indecent, but the emerald green dress robes are figure-hugging enough to bring out the soft swell of her breasts, and the effect is heightened by the lazy movements of the silver snake around her neck. Until now, Harry thought that the necklace looked rather nice on her, but now he suddenly regrets ever buying it for her.

Before he can steer Pansy away from the Minister, the music strikes up again, and Scrimgeour takes hold of her hand and leads her towards the dancefloor with a careless, "You'll excuse us, Harry, won't you?" thrown over his shoulder.

It takes Harry some effort not to show his anger. There's every chance that Scrimgeour has no interest in Pansy whatsoever and is merely trying to humiliate him, but the only thing he can do right now is to act as if he didn't mind. He notices with grim amusement that Pansy manages to keep the Minister at arm's length even while she's batting her eyelashes and flashing him another fake smile as they dance. Besides, Scrimgeour's rather pronounced limp does nothing for his performance, and Harry takes some petty satisfaction from the thought that even he probably cuts a better figure on the dance floor.

"Don't worry about her," an amused voice next to Harry speaks up, "it looks like she's able to handle him."

"Hello, Percy." Harry's tone is reserved; he has met Percy Weasley a few times since he started working at the Ministry, but they've never exchanged more than greetings and a few words of polite small talk. "You look well."

It's true, too; to Harry, it seems that Percy is one of the people who are born aged forty inside and become more comfortable with themselves once they start getting closer to that age in actual years. Percy hasn't completely lost his pompousness, but it appears more natural in a man approaching his thirties than it did in a teenager.

Percy shrugs. "I suppose I can't complain. They pay me well enough for playing the Minister's personal bell-boy."

Harry raises his eyebrows; he wouldn't have expected Percy to speak this openly, least of all to him. "Unhappy with your job?"

Percy takes a sip from his champagne glass. "I certainly don't have the opportunities your position offers you. I hear you're planning some interesting changes to the Hogwarts syllabus."

Now it's Harry's turn to shrug. "I see that words spreads fast at the Ministry. I've merely made a few suggestions so far; Headmistress McGonagall is interested, but I think it's safe to assume that the Minister is going to oppose me at every turn."

"What did you expect?" Percy is looking straight at Harry now, and somehow Harry feels he's trying to tell him something he doesn't want to say aloud. "You know he thinks you're after his job."

"You can put his mind at ease in that regard," Harry answers coolly, "if I'd wanted that, I'd have gone into Law Enforcement instead of Magical Education - that's where the real power is these days, as everyone knows."

"I'm not so sure about that." Percy scans the room, as if he were looking for someone. "Speaking of Law Enforcement, I'm a bit surprised not to find you surrounded by a crowd of fellow Order members. I'm missing the esteemed Headmistress in the crowd, too."

"She's not feeling well these days, and she probably thinks she can put the energy she has to better use at Hogwarts than at Ministry receptions." Harry takes another glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter - on official occasions like this, the Ministry considers the use of house elves inappropriate. "And you can stop your needling about the Order, Percy - I know very well what they think about my marriage, and I'm telling you that I don't give a damn. I've been their mascot long enough, but the war is over, and they'd better live with the fact that I make my own choices now."

Percy holds up his hand in a placating gesture. "Hey, I'm hardly in a position to speak for the Order, am I? And as to your marriage - Pansy, it's good to see you again!"

"Percy! I've been looking for you all evening!" Pansy has finally managed to extricate herself from Scrimgeour's clutches, and to Harry's surprise, she walks straight up to Percy and kisses him on both cheeks. They start chatting as if they were old friends, which leaves Harry baffled; he wasn't aware that Pansy ever had anything to do with Percy after their time at Hogwarts, and he's quite sure they weren't on the best of terms back then.

Before he can manage to insert himself into their conversation, however, the huge clock at the far end of the ballroom begins to strike midnight, announcing the approach of the New Year. While the enchanted ceiling erupts into multi-coloured fireworks and the sound of people cheering drowns out the music, Pansy turns to Harry and manages to completely throw him off balance by grabbing him by the collar of his robes and planting a rather steamy kiss on his lips. He's half-blinded by a barrage of flashlights going off around them, and after a moment of utter shock, he almost bursts out laughing at the realisation that he's involved in a very Slytherin kind of revenge: Minister Scrimgeour is only just about to deliver his long-awaited speech, but Pansy has already made sure that it won't be his photo on the front page of the Prophet edition that celebrates the beginning of the first year of peace. Harry likes the idea so much that he isn't even bothered by the fact that the pictures of him snogging Pansy will be all over the country in a few hours.

Besides, even though he certainly has never felt the slightest desire to snog Pansy, it isn't quite as bad as one might have expected.

* * *

Whatever expectations Harry had for the first morning of the New Year, they certainly didn't include the development of a full-fledged battle strategy over breakfast. He's still a bit bleary-eyed and would like nothing better that to eat his toast in blessed silence, but Pansy is brimming with nervous energy.

"So your precious Order friends are snubbing you, but since none of them holds any real influence outside their own field of work, that's no skin off your nose. Scrimgeour detests you because he fears you, which is going to be of tremendous help with those who are becoming impatient with his way of running the Ministry like it's his personal property. The papers still love you since Scrimgeour makes for a pathetic figurehead, and once you stop instilling the fear of God in journalists, you should be able to use them to your advantage whenever you want. But there are still many who don't know where you're standing, and you'll need to - "

Harry holds up a hand to stop her monologue. "Pansy, you're giving me a headache. Is there a point to this?"

Pansy rolls her eyes. "Have you been listening to anything I said? You keep talking about all those changes you'd like to bring about, but since we both know that Scrimgeour will always oppose you, he's an obstacle that you must overcome - for good, eventually."

"I may be popular with the readers of the Prophet at the moment, but I still doubt I'd get away with murder," Harry replies mildly while he reaches for another piece of toast. Pansy doesn't even deign this remark worthy of a reply.

"The position you hold is completely new, and it's yet to be determined how much influence you're actually going to have. You'll need contacts, and allies, if you're to build your own power base at the Ministry. I want you to start inviting those of your colleagues that might be of help there; I'll try to think of the right people from outside the Ministry they should be brought in contact with." Harry is about to protest, but he doesn't even get a chance to speak. "Save me your arguments, Potter, this isn't open for debate if you want to go anywhere at the Ministry. I take it you haven't forgotten the promise you made?"

Harry doesn't answer; he isn't thinking of his word to Mr Parkinson, but of the moment when he first held Lucia in his arms and promised her that he'd change the world for her sake.

Pansy takes his silence for agreement, because she continues, "You also want to keep an eye on Percy Weasley. He's Scrimgeour's personal assistant, and while that's a position that doesn't come with much official power, there's a lot he can do through informal channels. Plus, he has successfully made Scrimgeour believe that he's nothing but a useful idiot, and given how paranoid Scrimgeour is, that's no small feat."

While she's been talking, Harry was finally able to finish his breakfast and feels now a bit more ready to participate in the discussion. "Speaking of Percy, there's something I wanted to ask you. What kind of business did you have with him that makes the two of you act as if you'd been friends all your life?"

"Draco never mentioned him to you?"

"Draco? What did he have to do with - wait a moment." Something finally clicks into place in Harry's head. "That contact at the Ministry Draco had, who helped him evade the Order for the better part of three years - that was Percy?"

"That was Percy, yes. It was one of Draco's most brilliant ideas to approach him - everyone among us thought he was crazy, that Percy would rat him out to both the Ministry and the Order, but Draco insisted that he knew a man with his own agenda when he saw one, and it turned out that he was right."

Pansy takes another sip from her cup before she pushes it away with a determined expression. "But you can ask him about the details yourself, because his name is high on the list of people I want to see gathered around my dinner table in the near future."

* * *

"You know, Harry, I've never been a big fan of Firewhisky, but I think I could get used to this. Seventy-two years, you said? Where did you get it from?"

Harry smiles as he watches Percy take another sip from the amber liquid. "It was a Christmas gift from my father-in-law."

"He must be quite fond of you."

"To be honest, I suppose this particular sign of affection had more to do with the fact that Lucia had been born only two weeks earlier."

Percy nods earnestly. "All right, that is a strong argument. I have yet to meet anyone who isn't besotted with your daughter at first glance - it may take physical force to pry Penelope away from her when it's time to leave."

Harry can't help grinning at this; Pansy knew exactly what she was doing when she lured Percy's wife into the nursery so that Harry and Percy could talk in private. "The more attention Lucia gets, the happier she is, so I'm sure she'll be glad of the extra admirer."

Percy sighs. "Penny always said she wanted children once the war was over. We've been trying for a while now, but no luck so far." He notices Harry's slightly embarrassed expression and quickly changes the topic. "I don't think you've invited me here to talk about children, though."

"There are things we need to discuss."

"There are indeed." Percy takes another sip from his whisky. "Don't get me wrong, Harry, Pansy's dinner parties are quickly becoming famous, and I always enjoy them, but I'm glad it's just you and me tonight. I've been waiting for an opportunity to talk to you in private for quite a while."

Harry does his best to keep his face neutral. He detests Pansy's "famous" gatherings with a burning passion, but he's well aware that they're having the desired impact. Ever since the beginning of the New Year, their house has seen a constant stream of carefully chosen visitors, and he can't help admiring Pansy's skill at weaving an intricate network of contacts and prospective allies. Not for the first time, he thinks that she'd make for a much better politician than he ever will.

The whole setting has an almost surreal feeling to it - this is Percy Weasley, after all, whom Harry saw strut around the Burrow with his polished Prefect's badge, get teased by the twins, and humiliated by his first boss. Now they're sitting in front of the fireplace in Harry's study, sipping Firewhisky that probably cost more than their combined monthly wages as if they did it every day, each of them careful not too give away too much in case they've been wrong about the other one's motivation. Harry can't help wondering if it was really just the war that changed them into what they are now, or if this kind of transformation happens to everyone once they grow up.

They're both silent for a while. Then, unsurprisingly, Harry is the first to lose his patience; he's never been good at dancing around the issue.

"Just to get this out of the way, I know about your contacts with the dissident movement during the war."

It isn't lost on him how Percy's back stiffens. "Yes, and?"

"It has caused me to believe that you're not happy with the way the Ministry is run at the moment."

Percy relaxes visibly; there's a cynical smile on his lips when he replies, "That's a bit of an understatement, and you know it, Harry. The way Scrimgeour is going, it won't be long until we have the next war on our hands. He's dividing wizarding society into those who support him one hundred percent, and those who are dangerous criminals and must be eradicated at all costs."

"You didn't always think so, I recall." Harry is unlikely ever to forget that fateful Christmas during sixth year.

Percy shrugs. "I was young, naive, and still believed that the Ministry was actually interested in things like peace and justice. Let's say Scrimgeour has since managed to change my perception of them."

"Yet you're basically his right hand."

Percy gives a short, bitter laugh. "Yes, as in being the hand he scratches his arse with. I'm only where I am today because he thinks me stupid. If it hadn't been for Draco who convinced me that there was still a lot I could do from my position, I'd have quit years ago." For the first time since their conversation began, he's looking straight at Harry. "I had high hopes for Draco's movement in the beginning; I really believed that his group might be a way to come to some sort of agreement with those who followed Voldemort only because he seemed to be the only real alternative to Dumbledore."

Harry takes a deep breath, doing his best to keep the memories in check. It had been the most hopeful period of the whole war, followed by the bitterest disappointment he'd experienced during all these years. "Shacklebolt thought so too; that's why he told me to get in contact with Draco and see if we could work out some kind of truce."

"Yes, and it would have worked, wouldn't it? If Shacklebolt hadn't been killed the following month, allowing Scrimgeour to practically take over the whole Order because -"

"- because I was barely twenty, and no one believed I'd be able to replace Kingsley as leader of the Order." Now it's Harry's turn to sound bitter. "Trust me, I remember." He'll never forget all the pointless fights with Scrimgeour - no matter how hard Harry tried to make him see reason, Scrimgeour was unwilling to listen. Those who weren't firmly on his side were enemies, and he would hunt them to the death, no matter whether they were followers of Voldemort or not. For a second, Harry experiences a surge of overwhelming hatred at the thought that Draco might still be alive if it hadn't been for Scrimgeour's steadfast refusal to agree to the truce the dissidents had offered.

Percy gives Harry a shrewd look. "Convenient timing, don't you think? If Shacklebolt had lived but a year longer, past your legendary arrest of Dolohov, Pettigrew, and Rabastan Lestrange, things might have turned out differently for the Order."

"What are you saying?" Harry's thoughts are reeling; there isn't much he'd put past Scrimgeour, but this has never occurred to him. "You think Scrimgeour had something to do with Kingsley's death?"

"I have no proof for this, mind," Percy replies carefully, "but I've known him for too long to believe in that kind of coincidence. If Shacklebolt had lived, there would have been a truce with the dissidents, the war would probably have been over several years sooner, and all the credit would have gone to the Order, not to the Minister. You did him a great favour by taking yourself out of the equation after the end of the war, Harry; that way, he was able to reap much of the glory that should have been yours." He holds up a hand to keep Harry from interrupting him. "Yes, I know, you've often said you're not interested in fame. I think you've come to your senses lately, though, haven't you?"

"I'm still not interested in fame, Percy," Harry points out, "but at the moment, my fame is everything I have going for myself, so I have to take it from there."

Percy seems very serious now. "Harry, there's a bit of advice I'd like to give you: make sure you remain in the spotlight, so that people don't forget about you, and don't let them forget about the fact that Scrimgeour hates you, either. I've seen how he tries to play nice with you in public, but you mustn't let him. Believe me, the enmity between you two is the only protection from him that you have, because he knows he'd be the one everybody would suspect if something happened to you."

Harry raises his eyebrows. "You think he really would go that far?"

"If he feels he's standing with his back to the wall and sees no other way to keep his power, then yes, absolutely."

Harry shakes his head. "I honestly have no intention to take over from him. I do think we'll need a better Minister in the long run, but it can't be me, not if we want to heal the rifts the war has caused instead of opening them further."

Percy nods emphatically. "We need someone who can bring worlds together, who understands the different sides and is able to find compromises everyone can live with."

"Yes, absolutely." Harry hadn't been planning to drop the bombshell this early in their conversation, but he feels that now is as good a time as any. Percy would make for an invaluable ally, and he has just the right incentive to offer him. "How would you like to be Minister one day, Percy?"

If the circumstances weren't so serious, Harry would laugh out loud at the way Percy's jaw drops. "What?"

"You heard me." Harry does his best to sound businesslike. "You seem like the ideal candidate to me, and when the time comes, I'll back you up any way I can. We're not there yet, though, so we'll need to take one step after the other."

It's quite obvious that Percy has to fight hard to keep his composure. Once more, Harry silently congratulates Pansy on her political instinct; it was her idea to offer Percy that kind of perspective, and after some serious deliberation, Harry came to the conclusion that Percy does indeed sound like a good choice for the post. Let Scrimgeour fixate on you, Pansy said just the other night, and build up your candidate right under his nose until you think the time has come. It sounds like a good plan to Harry, and he's determined to see it through.

"Right." Percy has finally found his voice again. "What are your plans for the present, then? I've heard all kinds of rumours -"

"There are things that need to change at Hogwarts, Percy," Harry interrupts him, "and I'll bring them about, whether Scrimgeour likes it or not. I'm working closely with McGonagall on this, and she agrees that there need to be personal changes as well as changes to the syllabus."

"Someone said you want to bring Remus Lupin back."

"It's true." Harry is well aware that he's opening a can of worms there because anti-werewolf sentiments are stronger than ever thanks to the memory of Fenrir Greyback. "It won't be easy, but we need a competent Defence teacher, and Lupin is the best I can think of."

"He's not troubled by the fact that the post is supposedly jinxed?"

Harry rolls his eyes. "I wish people would finally get it into their heads that with Voldemort's death, that curse is gone. Snape is teaching Defence at the moment because nobody else dared to take the post when Hogwarts reopened; they had to let him teach again even though there were plenty of protests."

"I'm quite surprised you weren't among those who protested, you've always hated him."

Harry's voice is cold when he replies. "My personal feelings for Snape are completely irrelevant here. He was cleared of all charges by the Wizengamot, and it is well-known that he played a crucial part during the early stages of the war. He's a competent Defence teacher, but Slughorn wants to retire next year, and Snape will have to take over teaching Potions instead."

"And you really think you can make the board of governors agree to hiring Lupin."

Harry smiles thinly. "I can be very persuasive at times."

Percy is slowly shaking his head. "Harry, I must admit that you surprise me. When you took over your department, I was convinced you wouldn't last a month, but now..."

Harry raises his glass in a mock salute. "I've come a long way since we were both schoolboys, Percy."

"A lot has happened since then, yes." The change in Percy's tone is impossible to miss, and after a moment's hesitation, Harry follows his gut feeling and says, "I was at the Burrow two weeks ago."

Percy's head snaps up at this; for a moment, he looks like a deer caught in the headlights before he visibly pulls himself together. "How - how is everybody?"

Harry shrugs. "As can be expected. Your mother is a strong and brave woman, but she's been through a lot."

"I'm aware of that." There's a bitter edge to Percy's voice. "Did she invite you over?"

"Not quite." Harry pauses, but then he decides to be honest. "I ran into Ron in a pub near the Ministry, and I - well, he was in no state to Apparate, so I took him home."

Percy doesn't say anything, and Harry hesitates again, but then he adds, "I thought that your mother would never want to see me again after Ginny's death, but she seemed genuinely happy that I'd come. Percy - what's done is done, but they're still your family."

"I know that, Harry," Percy replies quietly, and he clutches the armrest of his chair so tightly that the knuckles turn white. "Trust me, I know."

* * *

As spring approaches, it happens more and more frequently that Harry returns home from work to find that Pansy has gone out. This wouldn't strike him as odd if it weren't for the fact that she never takes Lucia with her, whom she always brings along if she visits her family or goes for a walk in the garden to get some fresh air in the weak spring sun. Besides, she never mentions where she's been when she comes back, and Harry can't think of a reason why she wouldn't tell him if she'd gone shopping, met some friends of hers or something of that kind.

Harry has the nagging suspicion that she's having an affair. He feels that he doesn't really have a right to confront her about it - their marriage is a mutual agreement to raise Draco's daughter together, nothing else, so it's really none of his business who Pansy chooses to sleep with as long as she doesn't cause a public scandal. Still, Harry can't help it that the idea of Pansy meeting a clandestine lover troubles him more than it should. He finally comes to the realisation that it's not so much for his sake - irrational as it may be, he can't understand how Pansy, who has given birth to Draco's daughter just a few months ago, could already be willing to hook up with somebody else for the sake of a few stolen moments of passion. He knows it's stupid to expect her to remain faithful to a dead man who was more her best friend than her lover in the first place, but it keeps bothering him.

It may have to do with the fact that Draco is constantly on his mind these days. Ever since Lucia's birth, which forced Harry to stop hiding from the demands life makes at him, he hasn't been able to keep the memories at bay the way he used to before. Thankfully, he's much too busy to dwell on them most of the time; between his work at the Ministry, the frequent social gatherings, and his determination to spend as much time with Lucia as humanly possible, there's hardly any breathing space left. Still, the memories will always catch up with him eventually: during a quiet moment at his office, in Lucia's nursery, when he lifts her out of her cradle and looks into those pale grey eyes, or at night, when he wakes sweat-soaked and panting from the ghostly feeling of familiar hands on his skin.

Whenever it's getting too much, he takes a detour on his way back home in the evening and Apparates to the small, quiet graveyard in Wiltshire. He'll just stand beside Draco's grave, look at the simple headstone and let the memories wash over him without trying to steer them into a specific direction. He doesn't feel closer to Draco in this place than anywhere else, but there's a strange feeling of peace that he takes with him when he leaves, and Harry knows that it will help him get through another couple of days.

It's a warm evening in May when he comes home from work later than usual. Pansy is out again, and Mim tells him that Lucia has only just fallen asleep, so Harry doesn't want to risk waking her by going into the nursery. He's tired to the bone, but he can't bring himself to sit down and relax; he got into a heated argument over the choosing of Hogwarts professors with Scrimgeour today, and he keeps replaying the whole conversation in his head until he feels ready to climb the walls. Mim tries to make him eat dinner, but Harry is too jumpy to feel hungry. At last, he takes his Invisibility Cloak and Apparates to the entrance of the graveyard.

Now that the weather is getting warmer, it happens sometimes that there are other people visiting the cemetery, so Harry takes care to stay hidden under the Cloak whenever he comes here; he doesn't want to be seen beside Draco's grave. He doesn't spot anyone when he makes his way along the rows of headstones, but as he approaches the place where Draco is buried, he notices the sound of a female voice speaking nearby. The voice grows louder as he comes closer, and there's no mistaking the fact that it belongs to Pansy.

Careful not to make a sound, Harry slowly steps up to the grave. Sure enough, there's Pansy, her face half-hidden under the hood of her dark blue cloak, crouched on the stone slab that covers the grave. There's no one else nearby, but she keeps talking as if she were deep in conversation with someone. Without thinking, Harry takes another step towards her so that he can see her face and hear what she's saying.

"...incredible how fast she's growing. Every day, she looks more like your mother in those photos of her which you showed me. It's a good thing Potter goes around announcing how proud he is that she looks so much like him, or there might be questions sooner or later."

She pauses for a moment, as if she were listening to a voice only she can hear; then she smiles. "No, I'm not going back on my statement that he's a royal pain in the arse, and I still can't understand what possessed you to hook up with him in the first place. He has managed to surprise me a few times, though, and I think I'll manage to get used to him in the long run. I've put up with you for twenty years, haven't I?"

Again, she pauses, and when she speaks again, her eyes are shining with unshed tears. "I'm fine, you git. Besides, if there ever is trouble, I've got your personal Gryffindor hero at my disposal thanks to you." She traces her fingers over the engraved letters of Draco's name on the headstone when she adds, quietly, "Yes, of course I miss you."

Harry has to cover his mouth with his hand to keep himself from making a sound. Slowly, treading as softly as he can, he backs away from the grave; he has no business being here and intruding on this, and he's sure Pansy would never forgive him if she knew he'd been listening.

He's shaking with an emotion he has no name for by the time he reaches the cemetery gate, and it takes him a while until he feels composed enough to Disapparate.

* * *

References:

"How perfect for a girl born on the 13^th of December!" The 13^th of December is St Lucia's Day.