Something for the Road

    Harry Potter stretched his arms behind his head.

    His left arm made contact with a certain mess of red hair.

    "Mumph," grunted Ginny Weasley. She was lying on her back in Harry's dorm room bed, staring at the gentle waves of the scarlet canopy. She blinked her chocolate eyes once, pushing the shining copper out of her face, and tentatively eyed the black-haired boy.

    "Gin?"

    She set her eyes back on the canopy, and blinked furiously. She didn't answer, but even now, Harry could see the overbright sheen of brown gleaming between her stark black lashes.

    "Gin, what's wrong?"

    She shook her head slightly, and a single tear slid over her temple. Harry watched it mix with her hair, never to be seen again. For a moment, he thought she wouldn't answer. Then she did.

    "You know bloody well what's wrong, Harry!" she yelled, anger welling up in her eyes and voice. "You know why I have to be here, even though you, and Ron, and Hermione all say it's too damn early," she continued, her voice rising. At the mention of his name, Ron opened one eye.

    "Eh?" he asked blearily.

    "Go back to sleep, Ron."

    The eye closed, and she continued.

    Harry stared at her. She had sat up in bed, hugging the red covers around her slight figure even though her pajamas were perfectly warm. Her normally huge eyes were now rather squinty and red, the lashes sticking together, and Harry was sure that at any moment the tears would fall.

    "But it's not!" she screamed, as loud as she could. "It's not too early." Even now, Harry could hear the fury slipping from her voice, replaced by sadness and quiet. "It's too late," she murmured, barely audible, collapsing into Harry's chest. He wrapped an arm around her, hugging her close, and felt the hot tears wash down the front of his T-shirt. "It's too late," she mumbled again, the sound muffled by his shoulder.

    He rubbed her back a bit, feeling the soft flannel beneath his fingers and hating himself for being a year ahead. He pulled her closer, but she pulled away from him.

    Her face had suddenly gone all red and splotchy, tear-stained, and her hair seemed to wilt slightly. "You're graduating, Harry," she said simply. Her voice grated in the back of her throat, painful, but she ignored it. "Today, Harry, today. This is where it ends."

    Harry felt the all-too-familiar stinging in his eyes commence. "It doesn't end," he breathed into her neck, drawing her close again. "No, it doesn't end here," he whispered.

    "How can it not?" she asked, her voice whimpering and soft against his shirt, the tears coming again. "How can it not?"

    "Easily," said Harry, grinning despite himself. "Easily. I didn't want to tell you until I knew for certain, but…"

    "But what?"

    Harry smiled. "Dumbledore offered me a job," he said, the happiness welling up inside him. "A job here," he clarified.

    "A job doing what?" she asked. Already Harry could hear the delight ringing in her speech.

    He inhaled her sweet scent, her face buried in the folds of his shirt. "Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," he murmured.

    She broke away from him, grinning from ear to ear. "You mean it?" she laughed.

    He started to laugh too. "I do. I mean it." Another grin split his face. "Only for a year, of course, but-"

    "Long enough," Ginny finished for him.

    "Most definitely," he said, pleasure beaming across his lips. And she kissed him, a sweet, once-in-a-lifetime, sensual kiss.

    The graduating class at Hogwarts has a ceremonial breakfast on the last day of term. A humongous, round wood table had been situated in the exact middle of the entrance hall, with going on a fifty matching wooden chairs surrounding it. When he saw it, Harry made a face.

    More useless attempts to unify the houses, he thought, rolling his eyes.

    As luck would have it, he ended up sitting directly across from Draco Malfoy. Attempting to ignore the pointed blonde, he turned his eyes onto Dumbledore.

    Albus was standing in the doorway, white hair spilling all down his back like a frozen waterfall. Blue eyes twinkling, he met Harry's gaze and smiled.

    "Seven years," he murmured. His voice seemed older to Harry; more worn, exhausted from years of use. "Seven years together, and now it must end." Harry flinched inwardly at the mirror of the comment Ginny had made. Dumbledore smiled, the lines across his face contorting and deepening. "I ask now, at this last breakfast together, that we have a moment of silence for those lost in the war; those that should be sitting here now."

    Harry looked up. He had not expected that. Dumbledore suddenly looked much more forlorn; the smile had faded, but the deep wrinkles remained. Harry closed his eyes, feeling Hermione's fingers on his kneecap, and remembered.

    Theodore Nott. Despite himself, Harry peeked across the table at Malfoy. He was paler than usual, sick-like, and his eyes stared at the ceiling. Harry looked away, disconcerted.

    Lisa Turpin. Harry closed his eyes again, respectful, but darkness could not muffle the small wheeze of a sob from the Ravenclaw direction.

    Morag MacDougal. Another Slytherin lost in the cross fire. Harry stole another look in Malfoy's direction; his face was set, eyes oddly overbright. On closer observation, his jaw shook.

    Justin Finch-Fletchley. An odd mix of emotions saturated Harry's mind. He felt his eyes dampening, and closed them tighter.

    Seamus Finnigan. A tear spattered on his right arm. All he could hear was the blood rushing past his ears. Hermione's fingers clenched painfully down on his knee.

    He looked up eventually. Many members of the class were wet-eyed; more than a few were sobbing on friends' shoulders. Hermione was buried in Ron's chest.

    Dumbledore smiled slightly at the teens. "Do not let memories weigh your hearts on this day," he said softly, and the students turned to face him. "Do not carry the weight of the dead. This day is for you; be content."

    He smiled in Harry's direction. "I suspect that I am able to leave thirty-some mature seventeen-year-olds without adult supervision," he said, grinning at the crying students who were now snickering at his acute misconception. "Enjoy," he murmured, and plates, goblets, cutlery, and platters of food appeared before them.

    He turned, laughing to himself, and left for the Great Hall.

    Harry turned his gaze to Draco as he splashed pumpkin juice into his goblet. The blonde looked different, set, somehow; stony. He visibly cringed when Crabbe leant across Goyle to inform him of some useless fact. He gave a forced smile, teeth barely showing, and turned a pair of lifeless eyes onto Harry.

    It was a moment before Harry looked a way. He tried to decipher the emotions hidden in the grey eyes, but then they narrowed into a scowl, and Harry turned his head to the side.    

    "You are such a wart, Ron Weasley," said Hermione grumpily, depositing a quite acceptably-sized piece of bacon in her mouth. Ron grinned over her shoulder at Harry.

    "Would you have me any other way?" he shot back with a devilish smile; Harry saw the flush creep up her neck.

    She pushed him slightly in the chest. "You disgust me."

    "That's not what you said last night-"

    "Ron!" Hermione said furiously, jerking her head towards Harry, who laughed.

    "It's okay, ‘Mione, it's okay. I know."

    "You know?"

    He snickered again. "'Course I do. How could I not? You're all Ron here talks about, ‘sides Quidditch."

    Ron's ear's went scarlet. He started to protest, but Harry turned quite innocently in the other direction and took up conversation with Dean Thomas and Neville; the pair had become rather close since Seamus' demise.

    Halfway through the meal, he looked across the table yet again. Draco hadn't touched his food; he was currently enduring endless attacks from Pansy Parkinson, but didn't seem to hear. His jaw was rigid, lips thin, and when he met Harry's gaze yet again, he gave him a look that said, quite clearly, ‘What the Hell is your problem?'. Harry looked away, bemused.

    At the end of breakfast, Dumbledore strode serenely in. "Now, as I'm sure many of you know, the teachers and I have arranged a little bash out on the grounds; I suggest you all start heading out there now; plan on milling for a few hours before I award you your diplomas." He grinned. "Perhaps you can take the time to say goodbye to the grounds," he finished.

    Collectively, the students stood. They milled out of the door and towards the large set-up beside the lake. About fifteen square tables had been situated around one great platform. Another magnificent chair was centered in honor of Dumbledore, and seven others stood to the left of it.

    After two hours of goodbyes, Harry, Ron, and Hermione took seats near Neville and Dean. Dumbledore's magically magnified voice poured over them.

    "I suspect you have all been awaiting your diplomas for seven years; we will call your names in alphabetical order. When we do, please make your way past the other professors to me. Minerva?"

    McGonagall stood up, holding a bit of parchment. "Abbott, Hannah!"

    Hannah made her way from her table to small cheers from Ernie and Susan. Harry had a fleeting recollection of the time she was called for the Sorting; once pink faced and chubby, she had rather developed over the years, and Harry suspected that she would be quite pretty if she were ever to let her twin blonde braids down. She paused briefly at all the teachers, longest at Sprout, and reddened proudly when she was handed her award.

    "Bones, Susan!" More cheers from the Hufflepuffs.

    "Boot, Terry!" Terry, Harry had to admit, had developed something of a swagger since his early days at Hogwarts.

    Mandy Brocklehurst was next, grinning widely, her dark brown locks spilling over her shoulders. Harry took a moment to reflect that she was one of the few he had never gotten to know.

    "Brown, Lavender!" Harry glanced up at the first Gryffindor to be called as she made her way past the teachers. He could hear Parvati cheering for her at the table beside them, and was surprised when Lavender picked him out of the crowd and threw him a girlish smile. Hermione snickered, Ron glowered, and Harry thought about Ginny.    

    "Bulstrode, Millicent!" Dean and Neville were snickering over some joke Ron had made about the Slytherin. Hermione went a bit stiff and refused to speak until Millicent had sat back down. Harry suspected this had something to do with certain events that had taken place in their second year.

    "Granger, Hermione!" She blushed rosily and made her way past the teachers almost as eagerly as she had at their Sorting. As she practically sprinted back, Harry had to smile at her; she, too, had changed over the years, from a bushy-haired, buck-toothed kid and into a shapely, rather pretty teenager. She had managed to tame her hair, but Harry knew that by the end of the day, those wiry curls would be poking out around her face as usual.

    Ron patted her on the back and Harry congratulated her when she returned. Harry had to laugh; he remembered Ron's groan of disappointment when Hermione had been Sorted into Gryffindor in the first place. Since then, things had changed.

    Neville was next, to mad cheers from Dean and the other Gryffindor boys. Although firmly heterosexual, Harry decided that Neville, once odd and gawky, could be considered quite good-looking now. His face was glowing happily in the morning air, but Harry had a strong suspicion that was nervous sweat. He winked at Neville when he sat back down, meeting the dark-haired boy's clear blue eyes.

    Then came Draco. Harry looked up from his conversation with Ron and Hermione to see the blonde make his way past the teachers. The Slytherins were all shouting for him, but he didn't manage to crack a grin. When he made the journey back to his table, he caught a glimpse of Malfoy's face; still set, rigid, a wall hiding emotions too deep to place.

    "Did you hear about the Cannons, Harry?" asked Ron excitedly. Hermione rolled her eyes.

    Harry looked at his red-haired friend. "No. Did they win the match against the Arrows?" he asked hopefully.

    Ron shook his head, grinning nonetheless. "No. But they only lost by thirty this time!"

    Harry laughed. For the Chudley Cannons, a loss by less than a hundred was extraordinary.

    McGonagall was still calling names. Elizabeth Moon went next, to cheers from the Ravenclaw table. Pansy Parkinson was next.

    She was one of the few who hadn't changed much. She had gone from a pug-faced, chubby little child to a pug-faced, extremely curvy young lady. Harry suspected she had been making good use of those "Spell Yourself Sultry" charms he had heard her telling her friends about. When she made her way back to her table, Harry saw the satisfied grin plastered across her face, and felt an iota of compassion for her; like all of them, she had faced losses in the War.

    Padma Patil, shortly followed Parvati Patil. Two of the prettiest girls in the year, they looked very different from their eleven-year-old selves. Padma had recently cropped her chocolate brown locks to chin length, which Harry thought a great tragedy. Parvati's, in contrast, was as long and luxurious as ever, and they fixed their friends with equally radiant smiles as they sat back down; Lavender Brown gave a little squeal when Dean kissed her friend on the cheek in congratulations.

    Sally-Anne Perks came next; one before Harry. The Hufflepuff stumbled on the steps down; gales of laughter from the Slytherins resounded in Harry's ears. He winced at their own petty cruelty.

    "Potter, Harry!"

    Harry walked up the steps to the first teacher, McGonagall, with a slight laissez-faire air about him. The cheering from three-fourths of the school was the loudest yet. He hated it.

    All the teachers murmured words of wisdom and satisfaction in his ear, and more than one commented on his outstanding victory over Voldemort. He didn't say anything.

    "Mr. Potter," muttered Snape when he reached the Potions master. The greasy-haired teacher looked more sunken than ever, his eyes set back in his face, shining dully.

    "Professor," returned Harry, preparing to shake Trelawney's hand.

    "Harry-" cut in Snape, a hint of anxiety ringing in his voice. It was one of the first times the teacher had used his first name, and Harry turned, shocked.

    "Harry, I - I'm sorry."

    "Sorry, professor?" What on Earth was the man talking about?

    Snape nodded. "Yes, Mr. Potter, sorry. For everything."

    Harry's eyebrows ran together. "I - I don't blame you," he admitted, "Not after Dumbledore told me what happened between my dad and you."

    Snape pursed his lips. "Congratulations, Harry," he said, all business again, extending his hand.

    Harry shook it. Pleased content oozed throughout his body; feeling the unexpected warmth in the Potions master's fingers, he decided that perhaps he had been wrong about the man all along.

    He shook Trelawney's hand next. Her grip was as light and misty as her voice; with a grimace, she warned him to stay away from any porcelain toilets of the off-white variety.

    He fought the urge to laugh, instead informing her that he would try his best to keep safe. She let go of his large hand with another cringe of worry.

    "Mr. Potter," murmured Dumbledore, a pleased smile upon his face.

    "Professor Dumbledore."

    Dumbledore laughed. "I think, Harry, that you have reached that point in your life when it is acceptable to refer to other adults by their first names; please," he smiled, "Call me Albus."

    Harry grinned. "Of course, pro-" He caught himself, meeting the older man's sparkling blue eyes. "Of course, Albus," he amended, feeling pleased at the rite of passage.

    Albus laughed slightly. "Are you surprised, Harry?"

    "Surprised, sir?"

    The man nodded. "Did you even expect to be standing here today?"

    Harry felt himself flush, the blood rushing to his cheeks. He hesitated. "There was a - a point that I didn't think I would. Didn't want to, really," he continued quietly.

    The old man nodded, looking pleased. "But you made it," he said. "Congratulations."

    "Thank you," said Harry, and with a small grin at the wink the headmaster gave him, he trod proudly down the steps to Ron and Hermione.

    "What did he say?" asked Ron urgently; all of a sudden, he looked eleven again, nervous at the impending (and rumored-to-be painful) Sorting.

    Harry grinned lopsidedly at his red haired friend. "Not much, really," he said. "Just a congratulations." He looked askew at Hermione; she was laughing silently at Ron's anxiousness.

    "Thomas, Dean!" Dean strode, relaxed, past the teachers. Once taller even than Ron, the rest of the year had rather caught up with him, and only a couple inches of the top of his head stood above everyone else.

    Harry stared inattentively at the boy - no, man - that had once been Seamus Finnigan's best friend and lover. Dean was, in Harry (and most of the girls in the year)'s opinion the best looking boy in the seventh year. He grinned shyly at the clapping students; Lavender and Parvati blushed rosily when he smiled their way. For an instant, Harry wished he could look like that, but he hardly needed (or wanted) anything else to boost the obsessions of fan girls across the world.

    Next came Ron, faintly green with nerves. He seemed to change colors as he went past all the teachers; he turned vaguely purple with McGonagall, bright red at Sprout, stark white at Hooch and Pomfrey, puce at Snape, and ended with ruby ears.

    He sat down with Hermione and Harry with a grin on his face, though, receiving a kiss from Hermione and a clap on the back from his other best friend.

    Finally, Blaise Zabini was handed his diploma, Dumbledore said a few words, lunchtime was declared, and plates full of different foods appeared at each student's place. Ron immediately started in on his steak and kidney pudding and potatoes. Hermione gave him a disgusted look as he scrubbed a bit of potato off of his chin, daintily raising a forkful of turkey to her mouth. Harry met Ron's eyes and rolled his own. With that, he delved into his own roast chicken and chops.

    When they were done eating, Dumbledore stood again.    

    "I assume that you are all quite anxious to spend the day relaxing," he said gently, smiling as he had the first time Harry had seen him. A wave of murmurs and low cheers rippled throughout the sea of students. "However, before you go, I would like to share with you the words of wisdom I heard upon my own graduation, and have continued to pass on to each graduating class of Hogwarts."

    A series of small swells spread across the group. Harry found it impossible to breathe. A Slytherin tittered but was reprimanded by another. A dull buzz proliferated among the crowd. Albus Dumbledore did not speak.

    A warm gust of wind tickled Harry's chin and made him want to run. Neville muttered something about ‘diving into the lake' to Dean, and a few girls behind Harry sighed.

    "Tomorrow, forget today." The great man waited, a little smile twisting his features. "A hundred years from now, remember yesterday." He hesitated, a grin on his lips. "Carthage must be destroyed!" And with that, he strode serenely into the castle.

    As soon as he was out of sight, the voices of the seventh-years whirred. People were exchanging their views on his words. Some seemed to agree with it, though many hardly seemed to understand. A few of the smarter ones were explaining his final statement to the others; those that had caught his humor were snickering. Harry glanced over at Ron.    

    "What the bloody Hell did that mean?" asked Ron in his best ignoramus voice.

    "It means," said Hermione, rolling her eyes, "that we must take each new day as exactly that - new, and fresh." She groaned at Ron's raised eyebrow. "But that we must never forget any of the days before, for they are what ensure the clean slate of tomorrow."

    Ron looked at Harry. "Okay…"

    Hermione exhaled in irritation. "Never mind, Ron, never mind."

    Ron chuckled. "Oh, where off to now, my rose?" he asked, sweeping an arm around her waist as she stood.

    She laughed despite herself. "Where too, Harry?"

    Ron made a face. "No offense, mate, but I thought maybe me and the lady could spend a little time…alone…"

    Harry snickered as Hermione flushed.

    "Sure thing, Ron," he said. "I was just about to say the same thing to you."

    Ron laughed at Harry's retreating back. He glanced over at Hermione, who was laughing too. "What?"

    "Nothing, Ron. Nothing at all."

    Ginny Weasley was sleeping like an angel on his bed when he returned.