Fait Accompli

"The best laid schemes o' mice and men
Gang aft a-gley,
And leave us naught but grief and pain
For promised joy."
-- Robert Burns, "To a Mouse"

"Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans." ~ John Lennon

Chapter 6: The Best Laid Plans

A fire crackled in the hearth, its light bouncing around the Gryffindor common room. Early April sunshine teasingly beckoned at the window, proof of both the beauty in a spring day and the redundancy of lighting a fire, but a fire in the hearth was such a necessary thing in times like this. It signified home and comfort and warmth; notions that were as a soothing balm to the students' souls. It also was handy to sit about and stare at when one really wanted only to shut one's mind off and cease thinking for an hour or five.

Ron and Harry were doing just that and little else, besides occasionally scratching at a spot of pinkish new skin only recently released from a bandage. Hermione would have made them quit worrying at it, if she had been there. Harry scowled at the flames and scratched his elbow harder, as if to rebuke her for not being present to make him stop.

"That'll scar if you don't stop," Ron said absently, scratching his own chin.

They paused and looked at each other. This was their cue to laugh at their own adolescent absurdity. They went back to staring at the fire.

"We ought to eat something," Ron said half-heartedly. He stood and Harry nodded.

"Bring me some chicken if you can."

"You know, Harry, it's about time you go eat with the rest of us. You have to face people eventually."

Harry stared listlessly at the fire, wanting to scowl at it again but, frankly, not caring enough to bother. Ron had been bringing him food filched from the Gryffindor table or the kitchens for two weeks now, ever since Ron had been released from the clutches of the school nurse. It was cumbersome, not to mention messy, but preferable to running the gauntlet of awed stares from his classmates and the odd family member. They worshipped him. They revered him. Sometimes they seemed to be even afraid of him. No longer was he the Boy Who Lived; now he was the Boy Who Had Conquered, their hero, their saviour, their god-among-men. It was all just a little creepy.

"It'll die down, Harry. It has to," Ron said with uncharacteristic reasonableness. "I mean, it's over. You did it. There's nothing left for you to do, so they'll eventually have to stop watching you and waiting for another Potter fit of heroics. It'll get boring staring at your mug, if nothing else."

He pondered this. Was it possible that at some point, perhaps years from now, people would actually leave him be? To be normal? To be... well, to be just Harry? He realised then just how long it had been since he had considered the future, his future, and what things might be like afterward. After the killing was done and the living began. He realised that he wasn't sure how to go about living.

"The sooner, the better, mate," Ron said to fill Harry's silence. Apt words regardless.

"Yeah." Harry nodded and stood. "Yeah, the sooner the better. Besides, I'm getting sick of sandwiches and squashed cake."

They made their way down to the Great Hall, passing signs of recent repairs and hallways still cordoned off. The castle was not yet healed entirely, but progress was being made. The rumour was that classes were to start again next week, perhaps. There were still scores of students in the infirmary, so that may have been just a rumour. The halls were nevertheless packed with people, most family members had elected to temporarily move to Hogwarts to be with their children in the violent aftermath. Hogwarts was safe, after all. None of the parents who spent their waking hours in the hospital wing with their children saw the irony in that assumption. Dumbledore, perhaps seeing the futility and inefficiency in sending away scores of injured students to St Mungo's, which couldn't handle them all anyway, and their anxious parents, who were determined to haunt one bedside or another and didn't care where they did it, had opened every available room and bed. Quarters were cramped, but people were content enough. At least no one else had died after that day, and all that was left was a bit of crowded discomfort while the healing took place.

Ron and Harry took the first spare seats they could find in the Great Hall. There were far too many people to worry about niceties such as sitting at the 'proper' House table. Harry kept his eyes on his plate and shovelled steak-and-kidney pie into his mouth methodically, the fine hairs on his neck standing up. He could feel the eyes on him. Ron was right, though; after a time, eating their dinner became more interesting than ogling a teenaged boy at his supper, and they went about their own business. Harry even took a large helping of treacle tart, albeit eating it with great speed.

Leaving the Great Hall, he decided that it hadn't been nearly so bad as he had imagined. They had only looked at him, after all. He could handle that. Right? Their feet tread the familiar path to the hospital wing, the same route they had taken three times every day since Hermione had been rescued from Malfoy Manor. Their steps slowed at almost the exact spot, too. Both had begun to dread these visits since yesterday. Since Hermione had woken up. By choice, it had become their lot to tell Hermione what had transpired in Malfoy Manor. Truth be told, they were each trying to think of a way to tell her without making it sound quite so bad. The problem was, that wasn't really possible.

Ron and Harry had been summoned to Dumbledore's office late on the same night Hermione came back to Hogwarts. The headmaster had been spare, blunt even, in relaying the tale to them. Professor McGonagall had shown them the accompanying document- with signatures. Both had instantly demanded to right to kill Malfoy.

"Trust me, my boys, that sentiment is shared," Professor McGonagall had said heatedly.

"And misplaced," Dumbledore had interjected, "as I believe I've already discussed with you, Professor. Young Mr. Malfoy is no more pleased about this than you are, and indeed offered me the entire Malfoy estate if I could find a way out of it. It seems he would rather be a pauper than married to Miss Granger. This was his mother's doing, and something which I cannot undo, as you may recall, Harry."

Harry had recalled. He had been in a slightly similar fix during his fourth year. "It is a binding contract," Dumbledore had explained, "an unpleasant, unthinkable and most unfortunate one, but binding nonetheless."

It was then that the pair had insisted on being the bearers of bad news. At the time, it had seemed like a good idea. Her best friends should tell her and be with her when the ramifications became clear. Sure. An easy and obvious notion, the true difficulty of which only hit home in the quiet of the common room. They had looked at each other then and understood that there was no way to tell a friend that her life and future had been bought and paid for.

Ron had broken their gaze first and stared aimlessly about the common room. Then, with an eerie keening wail, he had raised his wand and destroyed a lamp. Then another one. Then a chair. Blasting the common room to bits hadn't struck Harry as a productive venture but it seemed to make Ron feel better, so whatever. Harry had shooed away students attracted to the noise - which was rather impressive - and followed Ron about, repairing the damage. Students made of lesser stuff than Harry had simply fled. As for Harry, he had looked beyond the violent mayhem to the anguish clearly written on his best friend's face and decided that being a little singed around the edges wasn't near so important as him being here when Ron ran out of things to break.

"It's not fair!" he had yelled. "It's not FAIR! We waited for so long, so bl-bloody long, and finally... We had plans, Harry!"

In a fit of supreme frustration, Ron had thrown his wand across the room and collapsed in a heap. He had sniffled. Just once, yet that small sound frightened Harry more than the explosions.

"We didn't want you to be gooseberry."

Harry had pondered that for a moment and sat down next to his best friend. Ron had swiped his robe across his nose and sniffled again.

"We had it all planned, Harry. Hermione was going to apply for that Arithmancer's apprenticeship in Versailles as soon as her NEWT scores came back. Professor Vector wrote her a recommendation. The twins have plans for a store in France and wanted me to operate it. We talked about it all the bl-bloody t-t-ime."

Harry really hadn't known what to do but listen. Ron had cleared his throat and continued in a rough voice. "There's a cottage just south of Versailles. Nice old place. Just enough room for two or three. Remus found it for us and the twins have already rented the place as part of my salary package. Mum's been hiding our housewarming gift for weeks. Charlie told me that it was the full set of Gerda Curd's cookbooks and a new kitchen table."

"We had it all planned, Harry. But you needed us. So we waited."