The Interlude

Chapter 3: This Will Go Down on Your Permanent Record

Harry had stood outside this door before. He'd been fifteen then, and quite certain that he was about to get expelled from Hogwarts, if not chucked in Azkaban. However, at fifteen he'd also been innocent, guilty only of defending himself. The same could not be said this time.

Slowly, Harry drew his wand from his pocket, knowing that this could be the last time he ever saw it intact. It's once glossy finish had long since dulled and fingerprints covered its entire length. The wood had even chipped in some places, marks of years of hard use and war. If he looked closely enough, he could even see small indentations where his hand had gripped it time after time. Harry's wand was as important to him as any appendage. He couldn't image living without it. Yet, it was with this wand that he'd fought wars, done terrible things, killed Voldemort.

"Mr. Potter?" a wizard a few years older than Harry asked, poking his head through the door and startling Harry out of her reverie. "We're ready for you."

Harry slipped his wand into his pocket, careful to make sure it didn't slip through a hole, and stepped inside. He didn't own a robe that wasn't threadbare and travel worn, and he hadn't exactly gone out of his way that morning to find the most presentable one. This particular robe had hastily repaired rips and holes all over, and the pocket was particularly worn out from all the times he'd drawn his wand, but Harry wasn't particularly interested in making sure he gave the Wizengamot a good first impression.

Unlike his last visit, there was no chair waiting for him, so Harry walked to the middle of the circular floor and looked up at the assembled crowd. He couldn't remember much from just after his disciplinary hearing three years ago except for an immense sense of relief, but he thought Mr. Weasley had asked him if he'd been tried by the entire Wizengamot as about half as many people as Harry was looking at now filed past them. They layout of the room allowed Harry to see each and every face that was staring down at him. Some he recognized, most he didn't. Dully, Harry wondered how many were Aurors and then he had to battle down the urge to laugh when his mind logically leapt to the next question: whether or not he could fight his way past all of them should they convict him.

Still, Harry couldn't help but notice that the mood in the room was markedly different from the last time he'd been there. Then, the Wizengamot had been filled with anger and annoyance. Now, most people were practically beaming at him.

"Mr. Potter," someone growled, pulling Harry from his thoughts. He looked up and saw Minister Scrimgeour standing in the first row of seats, staring down at him. "In recognition of your selfless efforts during the war and defeat of a Dark Wizard, the Wizengamot has decided-"

Decided! Harry thought, heart leaping to his throat. They weren't even going to give him a chance to defend himself?

"Do you accept?" Scrimgeour's voice broke through Harry's thoughts.

"What?" Harry asked, confused. To his knowledge they didn't usually ask criminals if they want to get thrown in Azkaban.

"Do you accept the Order of Merlin, First Class?" Scrimgeour clarified, looking annoyed that Harry hadn't been listening the first time.

"Oh," Harry stammered, caught off guard. That couldn't be right. He'd used an unforgivable curse; they should be locking him in Azkaban, not thanking him. When he'd been asked to appear before the Wizengamot, Harry had never once considered that it might be to receive an award. He had half a mind to refuse, but then another thought occurred to him.

"Released Stan Shunpike yet?" Harry asked, looking Scrimgeour directly in the eye.

Scrimgeour looked momentarily abashed, then admitted. "Yes."

"Then I accept," Harry replied.

A deafening chorus of cheers filled the room as Scrimgeour stepped down from his perch to meet Harry on the floor. He took a large medal from a velvet lined box and placed it around Harry's neck then shook his hand, flashbulbs going off all around them. Harry was just thinking that he probably wouldn't have accepted the Order of Merlin if he'd known that this would happen when the rest of the people in the room descended upon him.

A few minutes later Harry was surprised and disgusted to find himself shaking hands with Dolores Umbridge. He nearly recoiled and his hand must have twitched because a second later Umbridge was running her thumb over the thin raised scar that spelled out "I must not tell lies" on the back of his hand. She glanced down at it and a moment later her confusion melted into recognition. Harry caught her eye and gave her an "I win" look, then forced his hand away from hers.

It was nearly an hour before Harry finally managed to escape the reception. The very first thing he did upon reaching the hallway was rip the medal off of his neck and stuff it deep in his pocket.

***************

Two people entered the kitchen in the Burrow, stifling their voices and footfalls as soon as they saw him. They bustled about their work, occasionally admonishing each other to "keep quiet," or asking "where's the chocolate?" They obviously thought he was asleep.

A few minutes later there was a pause in the bustle and he distinctly heard one of them whisper, "That poor dear."

That was Mrs. Weasley, Harry was sure of it now that he'd heard her voice distinctly. He could feel her eyes on his back. Her companion was Hermione, Harry could tell by the sound of her footsteps alone.

"He'll be alright," Hermione replied. "Do you have any potatoes?"

If Harry hadn't been feigning sleep he might have stood up and hugged Hermione for drawing Mrs. Weasley's attention away from him, or at least thanked her. She alone out of everyone seemed to still have everything under control.

"Did you check the back of the cupboard?" Mrs. Weasley replied, turning back to the kitchen. "There's usually a few floating around in there. We have to make sure we have all his favorite foods for tonight."

Harry stopped listening in favor of sorting out that last statement. Who would Mrs. Weasley and Hermione cook for, someone whose favorite food was potatoes? It wasn't the sort of thing Harry usually paid attention to, so there really was little chance that he'd actually figure it out, unless... Ron was coming home!

Harry's eyes snapped opened, but his thoughts were immediately dispelled. Blimey, he hadn't even bothered to take off his glasses before he collapsed. He thought he'd already slept off the affects of Apparating with Ron, but apparently not. Pale brown and almost in focus, the ugly pattern on the Weasley's couch filled his entire field of vision. Closing his eyes and settling deeper into the sofa, Harry resumed eavesdropping on Hermione and Mrs. Weasley's conversation. They seemed to be planning a feast, not that Ron deserved anything less after everything he'd done.

Far sooner than Harry had expected, an enticing array of smells began drifting away from the kitchen.

Hermione and Mrs. Weasley continued their hushed conversation as they cooked and Harry would hear snippets of it whenever they forgot to keep their voices low. Several times he wondered if he ought to let them know that he was awake and eavesdropping or get up and leave altogether, but they weren't exactly discussing delicate information and Harry couldn't think of a place he'd like to go or anything he'd like to do instead, so he held his silence.

"Oops! That's quite enough stirring dear," Mrs. Weasley yelped suddenly. Harry heard Hermione jump slightly and step away from whatever mixture she had been managing.

"Let this get much thicker and we'll all be breaking our teeth on it later," Mrs. Weasley continued.

"Sorry," Hermione stammered. "I've never been very good at cooking."

"Not to worry, dear," Mrs. Weasley said. "All you need is a bit of practice."

"Thanks for letting me help," Hermione replied.

"Well, it's nice to have an extra hand around the kitchen," Mrs. Weasley said.

"Actually, I kind of meant, since I can't be with Ron right now, it helps to be doing something," Hermione stuttered.

There was a long an uncomfortable pause in which Harry started to desperately wish that he'd left while he had the chance.

"You know, if there's anything we can do to help, anything at all, you only have to ask," Mrs. Weasley said quietly.

"I know," Hermione replied. "Thanks."

The pair resumed cooking in silence and Harry hoped that was the end of their conversation, but luck was not with him.

"You, Ron, and Harry all look so thin," Mrs. Weasley said finally. "I've been so worried about you over the past year while you were off researching and finding those horrible Horcruxes, and I know it sounds silly, but I couldn't help wondering if you were eating well enough."

"Honestly, we never starved, but food usually wasn't our first concern," Hermione admitted, obviously trying to break this news gently.

"I understand," Mrs. Weasley said stiffly. "You had other things to worry about."

"We mostly had to stick to things that we could carry and wouldn't spoil, so we had a lot of nuts, dried fruit, granola, that sort of thing. Ron especially didn't like it much, but it was what we had," Hermione explained. "You know we spent some time at Hogwarts, and even while we were traveling we sometimes had time for a decent meal."

"Well, I know Ron can't cook," Mrs. Weasley said, "and no offense dear, but-"

"Harry cooked," Hermione replied quickly. Up until that point Harry had been trying to ignore their conversation, letting it was over him without actually absorbing any of it, but at the sound of his name his mind snapped to attention and began logging every word.

"Harry cooked?" Mrs. Weasley asked, sounding breathless with surprise.

"He surprised us too," Hermione said. "He's actually really good, especially considering that we usually only had a fire and a conjured pot to work with. Apparently he used to have to cook all the time for his Aunt and Uncle."

"I had no idea," Mrs. Weasley breathed.

"Neither did we," Hermione admitted. "The Dursleys aren't something he usually likes to talk about."

"Among other things, I suppose," Mrs. Weasley replied. "Have you heard him mention You-know-who once since the battle?"

"I haven't," Hermione confirmed, "but I expect he's just been worried about Ron. You remember when Sirius died and we all expected him to turn into an emotional wreck, but he used it to fight harder instead."

"Yes, well, this is a bit different, isn't it," Mrs. Weasley maintained.

Harry shuddered in spite of himself.

"He'll talk about it when he wants to," Hermione replied. "We can't force him."

"Well, what about you, then?" Mrs. Weasley asked. "You were in that battle as well."

Hermione didn't respond right away. Harry could almost see her chewing on her lip as she always did while she was thinking very hard.

"I'm just glad it's over," she said finally. "We don't have to fight anymore and the world can get back to the way it's supposed to be."

"Me too," Mrs. Weasley replied.

Either Harry actually drifted off to sleep after that or he got lost in his own thoughts, because the next thing he became aware of was someone gently shaking his shoulder. He jerked awake, rolled over, sat up, straightened out his glasses, and found Ginny smiling down at him.

"Haven't you slept enough?" she asked.

"I thought I had," Harry replied honestly.

"So the Healers made good on their promise to let Ron go today," Ginny said, sitting down next to Harry.

"Is he here?" Harry asked excitedly, sitting up straighter.

"Not yet," Ginny replied, snaking her arm around Harry's pulling him back. "He couldn't take the Floo Network, so Dad had to borrow a Ministry car and drive."

"Magic still does funny things to him?" Harry asked sadly.

"That was some curse," Ginny said, "but it's getting better. They wouldn't have let him go otherwise."

"That's great," Harry breathed, relief sweeping through him.

"Bill popped by and said that Dad and Ron left Saint Mungo's about two hours ago, so they should get here soon," Ginny said. "Mum and Hermione made dinner, and Mum asked if we could set up the tables in the garden."

"Alright," Harry said, standing up and offering a hand to pull Ginny to her feet. He glanced around for the first time as they walked to the back door and noticed that Hermione and Mrs. Weasley were no longer in the kitchen, which he supposed was a good thing because his and Ginny's position a moment before had probably been somewhat incriminating.

Harry and Ginny had almost finished laying out the dishes and silverware when they heard a car roll down the gravel road to the Burrow. They immediately dropped what they were doing and raced around the house to greet Ron and Mr. Weasley. Before long, every inhabitant of the Burrow spilled out to join them.

The black Ministry car pulled to a halt in front of them and Mr. Weasley got out, followed by Ron, who looked like he was trying very hard to make it seem that he didn't have a single idea about why everyone would have assembled outside like this. As one, they all rushed forward to hug Ron, pat his back, kiss his cheeks, and welcome him back home.

While he was surrounded by this bubble of joy and excitement, Harry had revelation he'd been avoiding for the past few days: they had won the war. Voldemort was gone, never to return, and, what's more, they'd miraculously come through it more or less intact and unscathed. It felt as though a burden he hadn't realized he was carrying had been lifted off his shoulders and it was all he could do to avoid whooping and hollering and jumping and crying with joy. However, his excitement seemed infectious and within a few moments everyone was laughing along with him as they made their way into the house.

Everyone took their seats at the table while Harry and Ginny straightened out the remaining place settings and Hermione and Mrs. Weasley set out the food. When everyone was seated, they tucked in with vigor. It was one of the most pleasant meals Harry could remember. Even though he felt a twinge of guilt whenever he caught a glimpse of Ron clumsily eating with his left hand or saw him discretely ask Hermione if she would mind cutting his chicken, and Percy sent the entire table into an awkward silence when he showed up half way through, as a whole it was marked with wide smiles, interesting conversations, witty banter, and good cheer. The whole affair culminated in a spectacular sunset, shortly followed by an impressive display of fireworks that Fred and George confirmed originated with another magical family a few kilometers away and had been occurring every night since Voldemort fell. When it became clear that the show was not going to let up any time soon, the entire party scattered to go and watch.

***************

"It's good to be back," Ron said as he sank gently onto his bed on the top floor of the Burrow to watch the fireworks. "I guess I didn't really realize how much I missed the place."

"It was strange being here without you," Hermione replied, sitting down next to him.

"It shouldn't have been," Ron said, pulling her closer. "You know you're like family here."

"Whenever I've been here you were too," Hermione explained. "The Burrow was missing something without you."

"Well it's better hanging around here than stuffy old Saint Mungo's," Ron muttered.

"Oh, Ron, I wish I could have been there with you the whole time, but you know how the Healers are," Hermione cried.

"That's not what I meant," Ron clarified. "I'm glad you were here. There wasn't really much to do there."

"I could have kept you company," Hermione replied.

"I had other things to do," Ron said with a lopsided shrug as a particularly spectacular firework caused the entire room to glow a soft yellow. "I can bend my elbow now."

He placed his limp arm on his lap so he could demonstrate. By the time he had finished a few beads of sweat had gathered on his forehead, but he had bent his elbow a few degrees.

"It's not much," Ron said quietly, "but-"

"Ron, that's great!" Hermione exclaimed, jumping to her feet in excitement.

"Thanks," Ron said sheepishly, a firework, accenting the red tint of his cheeks.

"Maybe it will start to get better on its own," Hermione continued. "I mean, that was quite a powerful curse, but Voldemort can't very well go on maintaining it now that he's dead."

They both paused and stared at each other with elated expressions as the enormity of what Hermione said washed over them for what seemed like the hundredth time in the past few days.

"Voldemort's gone," Hermione breathed. "He's really gone this time. He won't come back."

"I wasn't sure we'd ever get there," Ron said.

"I almost can't believe it," Hermione agreed.

She gently picked up Ron's bandaged arm and began kissing his knuckles. However, a moment later a white hot pain shot through Ron's arm and he gasped and gripped the edge of the mattress with his other hand.

"Hermione?" he said through clenched teeth.

"Yes?" Hermione asked, looking up from his hand. She realized almost immediately that something was wrong and gently placed Ron's hand back on his knee. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Ron replied. The episode faded quickly, leaving only a stinging memory behind. "Yeah, I'm fine. I don't know what that was."

"I'm so sorry," Hermione whispered, returning to her place by his side. "I had no idea that would happen."

"Neither did I," Ron replied, reaching over to brush a bit of hair behind Hermione's ear. "But I don't think it was your fault. I...um...actually still can't really feel that hand, but whatever that was, it seemed like it started from inside."

"I'm still sorry," Hermione sighed. "Listen, whether this curse is wearing off by itself or not, I'm still going to try and figure out how to lift it faster, alright?"

"Thanks," Ron agreed.

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, just watching the fireworks before Ron spoke up again.

"You're great, Hermione."

"Well, thanks," Hermione stammered, not expecting such a compliment. "Did I do anything to deserve that?"

"You're great all around," Ron replied, "but especially about this." He gestured to his bandaged arm. "I can't do magic, I can't write, I can barely bend my elbow, but it doesn't seem to matter to you."

"It doesn't," Hermione confirmed. "You're still you."

"I wish my family could see it that way," Ron muttered. "They barely even look at me anymore."

"They just need to get used to this," Hermione replied. "And I think you're exaggerating a bit."

"What about at dinner?" Ron asked desperately. "I spilled soup all over myself and I know Fred and George saw it. Usually they'd take the mickey out of me for something like that, but they didn't even mention it."

"Would you rather they teased you?" Hermione asked skeptically.

"Well, no," Ron admitted. "But they're acting like I could fall apart at any second."

"You did give us all a nasty scare," Hermione reminded him.

"But I'm getting better now," Ron replied. "It's like they think I'm on my deathbed. And what happened to Harry? I thought he out of everyone..."

"He feels guilty," Hermione intuited. "That curse was meant for him."

"I know," Ron said.

"Anyway, they'll come around," Hermione continued. "I hate to say it, but it certainly didn't help when Percy came along."

"He does have a way of making everyone uncomfortable," Ron confirmed.

"It's like you said before in Saint Mungo's," Hermione replied. "We've all shown that we're willing to stand up and fight for each other, but he's still got something left to prove."

Ron stood up suddenly and began pacing in front of the window, his face getting painted many colors by the fireworks as he attempted to organize his thoughts.

"Why did he ask me?" he asked finally.

"Percy?" Hermione replied.

"Of everyone who was there at Saint Mungo's why did he turn to me and ask for forgiveness?" Ron said. "Why not Mum or Dad or anyone else?"

"I suppose you'd have to ask him to be sure," Hermione replied, "but you did just save Harry, that might be the most important thing anyone in your family has ever done."

"That shouldn't have been the reason," Ron said, growing a crimson that had nothing to do with the fireworks.

"Then maybe he thought you were the one who was most likely to forgive him," Hermione added.

"Should I have?" Ron asked, turning to face Hermione.

"I'm not sure I would have," she replied.

***************

Harry was sitting cross legged on the ground against a tree at the edge of the Weasley's paddock. Ginny was just in front of him with her knees pulled into her chest, leaning slightly on Harry's shins. They hadn't spoken much since leaving the dinner table to admire the fireworks, or, in Harry's case, the way Ginny's hair sparked in the light. Mostly, they just sat enjoying each other's company.

"You nearly jinxed me again when I woke you up to help set the table this afternoon, didn't you," Ginny said finally.

"Sorry," Harry sighed, "but you shouldn't sneak up on me like that."

"When you were...out there, you, Ron, and Hermione can't have attacked each other whenever someone got woken up," Ginny pointed out.

"We had a system," Harry laughed. "We'd tickle each other's feet."

"You what?"

"It got to a point where it was either that or wake each other up with a full body bind," Harry explained. "We figured it was unlikely for Death Eaters to come along and tickle our feet, so that's what we did."

"That's the strangest thing I've ever heard," Ginny giggled.

"Yeah," Harry admitted. "But it worked."

Their moment of happy silence was broken by an especially bright firework and Ginny said, "I wonder what the Muggles think they're celebrating."

"Dunno," Harry admitted. "Probably think someone's a little overenthusiastic about the solstice or something."

"They never really manage to see what's right in front of them," Ginny agreed. "It's too bad we can't tell them about the war, though. They deserve to know what almost happened."

"I've already got more fame than I can stomach, thanks," Harry replied, reaching forward to tickle Ginny's back.

"It's good to have Ron home again," Ginny continued, squirming under Harry's touch. "He seems a lot happier now that he's back."

"I imagine almost anywhere would be a welcome break after spending five days cooped up in Saint Mungo's," Harry replied quietly.

"You make it sound like he's still on his deathbed," Ginny said. "He's getting better. He's going to be alright."

"I'm sorry," Harry sighed. "It's just, a lot of stuff happened."

"Do you want to-"

"No!" Harry exclaimed a bit too forcefully. He saw Ginny tense up by the light of the fireworks and immediately regretted his harsh tone. "I'm sorry, Ginny. I shouldn't have."

"No, it's alright, it's my fault for-"

"Nothing here is your fault."

"I shouldn't have-"

"Come here."

Surprised, Ginny turned back to look at Harry as he uncrossed his legs. She scooted toward him until she was sitting with her back against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her.

"Do you ever get the feeling that we were part of something important?" Ginny asked after a moment's silence. "Something that people will still talk about long after we're gone?"

"I...um..." Harry stumbled as he considered his answer. "I feel like I've spent half my life wishing people would forget about me and I wouldn't be famous anymore. From the looks of things I'll spend the rest of my life wishing the same thing."

"You stopped a war," Ginny said.

"Sometimes it hits me that it's finally over," Harry added. "And I just can't believe it. And sometimes I really can't believe it, because this has been going on for so long and we've thought he was gone before. I guess I started thinking that I'd be fighting Voldemort for the rest of my life, however long it lasted. I'm not sure what to do now."

"When you think the world's going to end you don't really go around making plans for afterwards," Ginny agreed.

"Out of everyone who's ever lived, why did it have to be me? Why us?" Harry asked suddenly.

"Hermione would say that questions like that are flawed because they assume the presence of some grand unifying force in the universe that balances out right and wrong," Ginny sighed.

"And what do you say?" Harry asked.

"Fate's a bitch," Ginny replied, leaning her head back against his shoulder.

"Fate," Harry laughed. "Dumbledore always said that it's our choices that make us who we are. I can't help thinking, I didn't choose this, but I did. I could have stepped back and let Voldemort take over the entire world, but I couldn't have."

"That's because you're you," Ginny said. "You don't ever just let things happen. Maybe you stopped You-Know-Who because you were the only one who could."

"Just like the prophecy said," Harry muttered.

"Prophecy?" Ginny asked, half-turning to face him.

Harry cringed, only then remembering that he had never told Ginny about the prophecy and took a few moments to explain it to her.

"Do you ever think about it? The battle, I mean," Ginny asked when he was finished. She felt tense in his arms.

"I try not to," Harry said slowly. "But that doesn't mean I don't. It was only a few days ago, so I guess I think about it all the time, really."

"I don't remember some of my first year at Hogwarts," Ginny began and Harry pulled his arms tighter around her. "There are these weird bits that are all jumbled and confused. What I remember most was everyone being completely afraid of the Heir of Slytherin. I didn't know what to think when I realized it was me, still don't, really. I almost killed all those people. I mean, if Hermione hadn't caught on to what was happening and used that mirror..."

"Shh," Harry said softly. "It's alright, that wasn't you, no one died, and it was a long time ago."

"I know," Ginny replied shakily. "I just forget sometimes, when I think about what could have happened.

"I was scared," Harry sighed.

"You? Scared?" Ginny asked skeptically.

"Terrified, actually," Harry confirmed. "For the entire battle."

"You always seemed like the one person who's never afraid of anything," Ginny replied.

"Sorry to disappoint you," Harry muttered.

"I should have known better anyway," Ginny sighed.

"I really was scared," Harry continued, "because that time I knew it was for real. I'd destroyed all of Voldemort's Horcruxes, so he could finally die, but he was out for my blood as well. I knew if I messed up even a little bit that it would be the end of me, the end of everything if the prophecy was to be believed."

"One day it will be along time ago for you too," Ginny said.

"I guess it will," Harry replied.

"But you finished him," Ginny breathed. "You finally killed Voldemort."

They settled into a comfortable silence, simply watching the fireworks, until something rose into the air from some distance to the east of the rest of the fireworks and exploded with a flash of light and a crack unlike any that had yet heard.

"I've never seen a firework like that before," Ginny said, gazing up at its fiery remnants.

An ominous feeling setting deep in his stomach, Harry gently pushed Ginny to her feet and stood up beside her.

"I don't think that was a firework."