Harry Potter and the Remnants of the Soul

Chapter Six: Drink to Death and Peace

The Prime Minister sat upon the navy pinstriped sofa in his office. His head was cradled in one hand, and he held a snifter of cognac in the other. His eyes were fixed on a small portrait of a frog-like man wearing a silver wig. Surely the portrait would cough soon. The secretary in his outer office, Kingsley Shacklebolt, had fled from his desk nearly two hours ago.

Finally, the portrait coughed. "To the Prime Minister of Muggles. Requesting a meeting. Urgent. Kindly respond immediately. Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister of Magic."

The Prime Minister corrected his posture. "Yes, send him over."

A moment later, the hearth began emitting green sparks, and Rufus Scrimgeour stepped into the opulent office. It was his third visit in the past two months. First, he had visited after Dumbledore's death. Then, only two weeks later, Scrimgeour had to explain the massacre of more than one hundred Muggles and Muggleborns. Not even a month after that, Scrimgeour had to inform the Prime Minister of yet another mass breakout from Azkaban.

"What is it now, Rufus?" the Prime Minister complained bitterly.

"The war is over!" announced Scrimgeour, his amiable tone disarming the Prime Minister. "You-Know-Who and all of his followers are dead or arrested. This time, we have a body and everything."

"This time?" the Prime Minister asked. "He's been dead before?"

"Twice, actually," Scrimgeour said with a broad smile, as if dying three times was perfectly normal. "Let's sit and drink. I'll tell you all you need to know."

The Prime Minister was too relieved at hearing the good news to be offended by Scrimgeour's lack of proper protocol. "Yes, yes, sit. Your Aurors," the Prime Minister looked at Scrimgeour to verify that he had the correct term, "they killed this Lord Vold-"

"You-Know-Who," interrupted Scrimgeour. "We do not speak his name."

The Prime Minister swore beneath his breath. "Your Aurors," he began again, "they killed You-Know-Who?"

"Well, no," Scrimgeour said with a frown. "It was the boy. He killed him."

"The boy?"

"Potter, Harry Potter. The boy has killed You-Know-Who all three times."

"A boy?"

"Well, he's a man now, I suppose. Today was his birthday. He's an adult."

"A boy of eighteen killed this wizard? Three times now?"

"Well, seventeen actually, but the first time he was only fifteen months old," explained Scrimgeour. He proceeded to tell the Prime Minister about Harry and Voldemort's intertwined fates. "So, it was prophesied," Scrimgeour finished. "He fulfilled the prophecy tonight."

"You're sure that You-Know-Who won't come back again? I mean he's already come back twice," the Prime Minister pushed.

"Potter says he's gone for good... and we've never had a body before."

The Prime Minister mulled this over before cautiously replying, "This sounds like good news, Rufus. I will certainly sleep better, but I would like to speak to the boy as well. I feel you owe it to me."

"I owe it to you?" Scrimgeour asked incredulously.

"Yes, have you seen my opinion polls? The people are afraid they'll be killed in their beds. We had another family murdered just this morning."

"Dursleys?"

"Yours again?" the Prime Minister thundered. "I knew it!"

"They were Potter's relations," Scrimgeour said dismissively. "I'll try to arrange a meeting with the boy. He's headstrong."

"You can control him, can't you?"

"Well," Scrimgeour hedged again. "He's not evil, if that's what you mean."

The Prime Minister glared at Scrimgeour. "Good night, Rufus."

Scrimgeour stood and met the Prime Minister's gaze. "Potter wouldn't lie about this. It really is over."

"I sure hope so."

Scrimgeour reached into his pocket and withdrew a small vial of Floo powder. "Mr. Shacklebolt will not be returning," Scrimgeour said to the Prime Minister. "You'll need a new secretary." With that, the flames flickered gree, and Rufus Scrimgeour disappeared from the office.

---888---

Earlier that evening

"Mr. Potter?"

Harry was still seated on the Weasleys' paddock, his fingers entangled in Hermione's soft brown locks.

"Mr. Potter?" the man asked again.

Harry turned his vacant expression upon the interloper, frustrated at the interruption. "Yes?" he replied, a hard edge in his voice.

"Do you mind if I ask you some questions?"

Harry bolted to his feet and jabbed his wand at the man's heart. "Who the hell are you?"

To the man's credit, his own wand remained in his forearm holster. "Gawain Robards, Head Auror."

Harry weighed this answer for several more moments before lowering his wand. "What do you want to know?"

Robards slowly released a long breath. "Mr. Potter, we would like you to tell us what happened here."

"Voldemort," Harry said, watching Robards' reaction closely.

"Voldemort happened?" Robards repeated the Dark Lord's name, understanding the implicit test. "That much is obvious, but we need a full statement."

For some time, Harry walked the grounds of the Burrow explaining the events of the evening to Robards. However, he avoided any mention of Horcruxes or the fact that Voldemort had been weakened each time one was destroyed. When Robards asked Harry to speculate as to why Voldemort attacked, Harry explained that there was a prophecy. "It said that one of us would kill the other. That's why Voldemort's always been after me."

"It seems like the prophecy would have been fulfilled when you were a baby," Robards objected.

"Voldemort didn't think so." Harry proceeded to explain many of the events of his life, conveniently forgetting to mention Riddle's diary and the Chamber of Secrets. During this time, there were several other Aurors collecting evidence and processing the scene. They would periodically come over and ask Harry to explain why a body was burned, or decapitated, or missing an arm.

The first controversy of the night began when the Aurors were identifying bodies. A short, thick man approached Harry and Robards. "Gawain, you're gonna want to see this."

"What is it, Alcott?"

The Auror, who had earlier introduced himself as Alcott Proudfoot, led the group to a body several meters from where Voldemort's corpse still lay. "It's Auror Tonks -- robed and all. Looks like we found the traitor."

"Wait! No!" yelled Harry. "She's not a Death Eater. She stole the robes as a disguise."

Proudfoot was incredulous. "Don't be silly. Who would steal a Death Eater's mask and robe?"

Harry tried to explain that Tonks had been at the party and had separated herself from the group. "She wasn't fighting with them. Tonks stunned a Death Eater who was on our tail and jinxed another who was holding me."

"Did you see her steal the disguise?" Proudfoot pressed. "We've had a traitor amongst the Aurors for a long time now. Tonks was in a perfect situation to be a spy. Order of the Phoenix, Auror, apparently you and Dumbledore trusted her..."

"Tonks wasn't a spy!"

"Her family is as dark as they come!"

Harry's temper exploded, and he shoved Proudfoot in the chest. The Auror onto his back. Harry stepped over him, drawing his wand in the process. "Watch it asshole! Check for the Mark! Tonks died fighting Voldemort!" Harry took a perverse pleasure watching Proudfoot flinch at the Dark Lord's name.

"Enough!" Robards firmly placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Mr. Potter, please settle down. We're all jumping to conclusions here."

Harry reluctantly backed off the fallen Auror and put his wand away. "Go ahead, check for a Mark!" seethed Harry. "You won't find anything." He stooped down and yanked the dark robe up over her forearm. Tonks' skin was unblemished. "See!"

Robards gently grasped Harry's elbow and led him away from Proudfoot. "Mr. Potter, please calm down. We're all on edge here. Alcott just got ahead of himself."

"Well, I won't stand for it!"

Several of the Aurors were congregating around the seething teenager and Head Auror. Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped forward and said, "Gawain, let me speak to him."

"Kingsley!" Harry greeted the tall, black Auror. "He's just accused Tonks of being a Death Eater!"

Shacklebolt directed him away from the others. Once they were out of earshot Shacklebolt said, "Harry, you've got to calm down. There's some history there that you don't know about."

"What?"

"If you'll calm down, I'll tell you." Shacklebolt waited several minutes until Harry's breathing returned to normal. "Alcott Proudfoot was Lawrence Dawlish's training partner and best friend."

"Dawlish? Wasn't he the one who arrested Hagrid and tried to arrest Professor Dumbledore?"

"Yes, he was," Shacklebolt replied hesitantly. "But that's not the point. Dawlish disappeared from Azkaban last month, and he hasn't been seen since. Well, not until tonight. We found his body over by the Burrow."

"Then you already have the traitor!"

Shacklebolt frowned at Harry, "You've jumped to the same assumption that Proudfoot did. Dawlish was wearing Death Eater garb, but he wasn't Marked."

"Well, he wasn't here before the Death Eaters arrived!" fumed Harry.

"That's why everyone is so confused," Shacklebolt explained. "No one knows if he was undercover or why he disappeared from Azkaban. I personally think he may have been under the Imperious Curse. He was quite skilled with a wand."

Harry did not know how to respond. He was sure that Dawlish had been the spy. Something in his gut told him he was right. A faint remembrance niggled at his mind, but he couldn't place it. He knew, he just knew, and now that he thought about it, he knew many things. "Have you found Umbridge yet?" Harry asked Shacklebolt.

"Pardon?"

"Umbridge, she's the one over there." Harry pointed at the corpse that had been killed by Lucius Malfoy's errant Killing Curse.

Shacklebolt walked over and removed the mask from the Death Eater. "How did you know, Harry?"

Harry suddenly realized that he should have kept his mouth closed. Just knowing things was not a good sign, no matter what world you were in. "She was speaking before she bit it," lied Harry.

Shacklebolt's left hand reached behind his head and rubbed its bald surface. "Great, just great," he muttered before calling out for his boss. "Gawain, you better come over here."

Aurors milled around Delores Umbridge's body, discussing how yet another Ministry employee could be found dead, wearing Death Eater robes. A portly man, clutching a lime green bowler rushed over. "Delores! She's not here is she?" Cornelius Fudge exclaimed.

"Fudge, what are you doing here?" Robards demanded. "You're not an Auror. This is a crime scene."

Fudge ignored Robards and continued protesting Umbridge's innocence. Indeed, Harry noticed many Ministry officials who were not Aurors. He spotted Amos Diggory and a woman who looked very similar to Marietta Edgecomb. Near the Burrow, Rufus Scrimgeour was conferring with a grim-faced, tufty-haired man that Harry recognized from Dumbledore's funeral.

With all the confusion, it appeared that the Aurors had forgotten about Harry. So, he walked off toward Ron's body. He had taken the time to say goodbye to Hermione, and he wanted to do the same with Ron.

Harry sat down by his friend's lanky body and stared at him. Ron's surprised expression and lifeless eyes ingrained themselves upon Harry's memory. They were the elements of nightmares -- sweat-soaked, bone-chilling nightmares.

Harry gently closed Ron's eyelids and brushed some grass from the fallen body. The pain in Harry's soul gnawed at his consciousness again. He wanted to cry, but his eyes would not water. The loss was too recent.

Leaning backwards, Harry's hand brushed something silky. It was a familiar sensation, but it seemed out of place here on the paddock. Harry fingered it for a minute more before placing the material. It was an invisibility cloak. The memory of the cloak blowing off of Snape straight toward Harry roared back into his mind. He had flung it to the ground and viciously attacked Snape, not sparing a second thought about the cloak.

Now, Harry pulled the invisible silky material toward him. He had not known that Snape possessed an invisibility cloak, although it would be a logical possession for a spy. However, upon inspecting it, Harry's heart leapt into his throat. This cloak was not Snape's. No, not unless the traitor marked his belongings A.M.

Holding the invisibility cloak in his hands, a sudden opportunity presented itself to Harry. He had been hoping for a chance to inspect Voldemort's body, and now he could. Glancing around to make sure no one was looking at him; he slipped beneath the cloak and slunk over to where Voldemort's body lay. He searched through the Dark Wizard's pockets, retrieving Molly Weasley's wedding ring, Bill's fang earring, and Slytherin's locket. As he slipped the items into his pocket, his foot nudged Voldemort's wand from the fallen wizard's hand.

Harry stood transfixed. He wanted the wand. He knew better than to take it. The Aurors would undoubtedly be looking for it if went missing... but he had to have it. No one would see him take it, he reasoned. So, Harry snatched the wand and crept through the gate to the other side of the garden wall.

Harry looked around to make sure no one was watching, and then slipped out from beneath the invisibility cloak. He wrapped Voldemort's yew wand in the cloak and found a hiding spot for it. He nestled the wrapped wand in the crook between a branch and the trunk of an elm tree and cast a sticking charm. The package was invisible, so no one would find it unless they knew where to look.

As Harry slipped his wand back into his pocket, both red-haired twins walked out of the Burrow's entryway. There was still no door hanging from the hinges. It was, in fact, resting on top of the Weasley family clock in the parlor.

Harry went to meet the twins. "Fred, George," Harry stammered, "I'm so sorry..."

"Harry, mate," Fred held up a hand signaling for Harry to stop. "We came with the Aurors. We already know. Shacklebolt had to find us at our store. The Aurors couldn't get through the Fidelius."

"We knew Dad died while we were flying here," George continued. "We could suddenly tell 'em where the Burrow was." His voice wavered as he finished, "We just got here too late."

Harry was speechless. The twins were handling this so well, but he felt horrible. "I tried," Harry offered weakly. "I tried to..." but he couldn't find an ending to the sentence that didn't sound ridiculous. Save them all? Kill Voldemort sooner? Stop the Death Eaters?

"Harry," Fred interrupted his thoughts. "You killed the bastard. In the end, you made him pay. It's better than what I could have done."

Harry wasn't convinced that the battle's outcome had been ideal, but he smiled vacantly at the twins. They were clearly trying to make him feel better, and he felt guilty wallowing in his own pity -- especially since the twins had lost just as much as he.

"Let's go in and find Dad's Firewhiskey," George suggested. "These guys will be here all night."

Harry followed the twins inside. Fred went directly to the Floo, and George started rifling through the cupboards in the pantry.

Harry was uncomfortable watching George and soon decided that repairing the front door would be a useful activity. Maneuvering the flimsy wooden board near the hinges, Harry clearly pictured the door as it had been a year ago when he arrived with Albus Dumbledore. So much had changed since then. "Reparo," he muttered, shaking his head.

"Harry, come have a drink with me," George called over. The stocky red-head was lining up shot glasses on the counter. When they were all full, he re-filled his own. George handed one to Harry, who inspected the contents before carefully sneaking a sip.

It wasn't bad. The alcohol left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he could handle it. So, Harry brought the glass to his chapped lips and swallowed the rest of its contents. His first reflex was to gag. The Firewhiskey lit his esophagus on fire, burning its way like napalm into his empty stomach, where it stewed and boiled. The flames tickled their way back up his throat causing him to inhale sharply, and his eyes to water. The bitter taste in his mouth gripped every individual taste bud, massaging out any sensation but the pungent remains of the Firewhiskey.

"You better take it easy there, Harry," cautioned Fred, handing him a Butterbeer and prying the shot glass from his grip. "That's a little strong I think."

Harry was grateful for the Butterbeer. He twisted off the cap and quickly took a swig of the warm, rich drink. It cut the bitter taste of Firewhiskey, and the flames in his stomach lowered to a simmer.

"George, I told Charlie to come home," said Fred. "We have to tell him tonight."

George downed another shot. "Good thinking... Should we call Fleur?"

"Um, I don't really want to."

"If she doesn't hear it from us, she'll never forgive us. She thinks we don't want her in the family."

"Uh, we don't. Remember?"

"You better call her. We'll regret it if we don't."

"Only because Dad would have," conceded Fred as he returned to the Floo.

Harry sipped at his Butterbeer as George poured himself yet another shot of Firewhiskey. Voices outside announced the presence of another visitor before the door swung open. Percy Weasley strode into the room, walked right up to George, and gunned down a shot from the counter.

George greeted him. "Hi, Perce."

"Hello, George. Have you called Charlie yet?"

"Fred did."

"Pour me another?"

"Sure."

After downing the second shot, Percy turned toward Harry. "Hello, Harry. The Minister was hoping for a word outside."

Harry stood stunned for a moment. He had expected insults, yelling, and even, perhaps, a spell exchange upon Percy's arrival. Instead, George was acting as if Percy hadn't been a complete git for the last two years.

"Harry," Percy repeated, "the Minister."

"Right." Harry turned toward the door and frowned as he saw Rufus Scrimgeour standing just outside. "Minister Scrimgeour."

"Mr. Potter, could I have a word?"

Harry nodded silently and walked out to meet him.

"Let's take a walk," Scrimgeour announced, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Our last one didn't turn out very well."

Harry shrugged his shoulders, causing Scrimgeour's hand to slip from its perch. The Minister took the hint and placed his hand in his pocket. The two plodded along in silence for a bit. Scrimgeour's limp was more pronounced than it had been the previous Christmas. "Don't ever try to understand brothers," suggested Scrimgeour. "They have their own way of forgiving the most grievous of sins without even speaking."

Harry grunted in response. He wasn't in the mood for a lecture on the bonds of brotherhood, nor did he have much patience for Scrimgeour. "Minister, what do you want?"

Scrimgeour stopped walking and leaned on his cane. He looked straight into Harry's eyes, judging something. Without blinking or looking away, Scrimgeour asked, "Is You-Know-Who gone for good this time?"

"Yes."

"Positive?"

"Absolutely."

---888---

"Can I get you anything else?" a curvy waitress asked the four men seated at a table that was nestled in a dark corner of McDaniels' Chop House.

"No thanks, Martha," replied her employer, Jeremiah McDaniels, the sixth generation owner of Hogsmeade's finest restaurant.

There would be no tab for this meal; it was a business meeting, really. The men, all Hogwarts Governors and Wizengamot Lords, had been discussing the astonishingly low enrollment numbers for the upcoming school year. It was the last day of July, and only fifty seven students had registered for the next term.

"Minerva is doing her best," explained Sherman Quirke. "She is spending all her time visiting students' families. Garridan Runcorn agreed to send both his daughters today."

"She is going about it the wrong way," complained Adelbert Zabini. "She needs to be speaking to the influential families. If she could convince Leighton Abercrombie and Ridley Brown to publicly announce that their children are attending, then more would follow along."

"Leighton and Ridley?" asked Seth Ashburton incredulously. "Since when do you consider them influential? Name two families who would send their children to the school because of Leighton and Ridley?"

Adelbert Zabini, who had been appointed to Lucius Malfoy's old Board seat, sipped at his drink in response. Ashburton, the Hufflepuff heir, was right, and everyone at the table knew it.

"Minerva says that most of the parents ask whether Potter is coming back," Quirke volunteered. "She isn't sure that it would be that big of a boost though."

Zabini snorted in response. "My grandson says he's arrogant and incompetent. Full of himself. Only the Gryffindors like him."

"Minerva likes the boy," replied Quirke. "Albus was fond of him as well."

"This 'Chosen-One' business is nonsense," offered McDaniels. "Just a way to sell more bloody papers."

"I wouldn't rush to judgment on that," an elderly gentleman with tufty-hair interrupted. "I come bearing news."

McDaniels jumped to his feet and brought over another chair for the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. "Michael, it's good to see you. Take a seat. Would you care for a drink?"

"Whisky would be excellent."

McDaniels signaled for the waitress to bring over a bottle of fine Scotch. Once she did, he served Glentworth and then offered another drink to all his guests.

"So what is the news?" asked Quirke as he accepted his drink from McDaniels.

Glentworth sipped at his Scotch before calmly stating, "Potter defeated You-Know-Who."

The announcement was met with several moments of silence before Zabini asked, "What do you mean, 'defeated'?"

"Dead. Cold. Stiff."

"Are you sure?" asked Ashburton, disbelief tattooed across his face.

"Kicked the corpse myself."

"What happened?"

"You-Know-Who has been targeting Potter all day," Glentworth began. "Death Eaters attacked his Muggle relatives this morning. When they didn't find him, they started attacking his friends. Killed Augusta Longbottom and her grandson. Fritz Lovegood and his daughter, too."

"Fritz Lovegood, the idiot from The Quibbler?" Zabini wanted to know.

"Burnt his building to the ground and set off a Dark Mark. Didn't leave any other evidence behind. Tied up the Aurors most of the day. You-Know-Who finally caught up with Potter at the Weasleys," Glentworth continued. "It was a massive bloodbath, bodies everywhere. The Death Eaters were decimated."

"Why did he attack Potter?" asked McDaniels.

"Potter said there was a prophecy. One would kill the other. It explains You-Know-Who's infatuation with the boy," mused Glentworth. "He says he killed You-Know-Who as an eleven-year-old, but Dumbledore covered it up."

"Dumbledore covered it up?" Zabini demanded, pounding his fist on the table. "What the devil for?"

"No body. He said it just burned up and that Dumbledore said the same thing happened when he was a baby. But, Potter says he's dead for good now."

"How can he be sure?" pressed Zabini.

"Well, there's a body this time. Potter says he's absolutely sure the bastard is gone. Wouldn't say why though. Just said that he knew."

The table silently digested this information for several minutes before Quirke asked, "How's Rufus taking this?"

"He's thrilled about You-Know-Who, but the situation's a bit of a mixed bag," explained Glentworth. "We've got two dead Aurors dressed as Death Eaters, but they don't have the Mark. No one knows why the Aurors were there. Potter insists that one of them stole the disguise and was fighting alongside him. Then, we've got Delores Umbridge. She's dead, also dressed as a Death Eater, but she has the Mark. Fudge is trying to convince the Aurors to keep the whole situation quiet. He insists that Umbridge was some sort of spy. And, to top it all off, You-Know-Who's wand has gone missing."

Quirke shook his head in disgust. "How'd that happen?"

"Merlin knows," sighed Glentworth. "Robards said the wand was there when they started processing the area. He thinks there may still be a traitor in the Ministry."

---888---

In Rookery Hill, a small community nestled along the southern shore of England, warm sea mist mingled with the cooling evening air. In front of the centuries old Manor south of town, a distinctive crack rang out.

"Susan, is that you?"

"Yes, Mum. I'll be in. Just give me a moment."

"Seth and Adelia are here."

"They are?" Susan's voice wavered a bit, and she sniffled softly. "Tell them I've got to use the washroom would you?"

"Sure, Honey." Claire Bones left the front entryway and stepped out onto the cool green grass to greet her daughter. "Are you alright Susan?"

"Yeah, Mum. I'm fine. The date was horrible though. I'm never going out with Roger Davies again."

"That bad, huh?"

"Worse than Fletcher Lonsdale."

Claire Bones chuckled in amusement. "Wizards have their issues. I still wonder if your father used a charm to convince me to go out with him a second time. Our first date was such a disaster."

"I know, Mum, you've told me a dozen times," Susan said with a smile, wiping away a solitary tear from her cheek. "These heirs are impossible though."

"Well, then stop dating the heirs. I seem to think their younger brothers are just fine."

"Thanks, Mum." Susan rolled her eyes. "Seth and Adelia are here?"

"Just arrived ten minutes ago. Said they have some news."

Susan and Claire Bones entered the parlor to find Seth and Adelia Ashburton reclining on the sofa.

"Grandma, Grandpa! I didn't expect you tonight."

Adelia stood in greeting, "Susan, my dear, we have some terrific news. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has been defeated!"

"He has? That's wonderful!" exclaimed Susan.

"I believe this calls for a drink," stated Seth with a twinkle in his eye. He produced an ancient looking mahogany wand and twirled it in a well-practiced loop. Four blue crystal tumblers and a dusty jar of mead appeared on the end table.

"Seth, you've already toasted this news twice!" Adelia scolded her husband. "I think you've had enough."

"I have had e-nuff," he replied, playfully slurring his words. "But, on a night such as tonight, there is no such thing. Now be merry my goodwife, for tomorrow we shall have peace again." Light danced in his large grey pupils, and a broad smile dominated his entire face. "I will drink with these fair Ladies this evening. They have as much to celebrate as any in all the land," he proclaimed dramatically.

He then took up two tumblers of mead and crossed the room to Susan. Handing it to her, he whispered in her ear, "Drink it slowly, Susan. It's quite strong and your grandmother is already exhausted with my antics."

Susan tried to conceal a girlish laugh by kissing the old man on the cheek. "Thank you, Grandpa, and congratulations."

Seth handed the second tumbler to Claire and enveloped her in a tight hug. "I wish Levi was still here for this. He fought for this as hard as we all did."

Claire accepted her mead and nodded in silence. Hesitantly, she asked, "Before he died, Levi always believed Voldemort would return. Is he gone for good this time?"

Everyone took their seats as an uncomfortable silence descended upon the room. "It was Harry, tonight, wasn't it?" Susan asked.

Seth shared a long look with his wife before replying, "It was Harry Potter. How did you know? I thought you didn't believe in that 'Chosen-One' stuff."

Susan held his gaze without blinking, "I knew he would do it long before the papers started printing that rubbish. If you knew Harry at all, you would understand. He just isn't afraid." No one seemed to want to continue in this vein, so Susan asked, "What happened?"

Adelia brushed a few hairs out of her face and replied, "You-Know-Who attacked a gathering at Arthur Weasley's home. Apparently Potter dueled and defeated him."

Susan set her tumbler of mead down with a clink. "Was anyone injured?"

"There were a number of fatalities. At least two Aurors died and several of the Weasleys. It was a bloody battle."

Susan stood and approached the ceiling-to-floor bookcases that dominated the north wall of the parlor. Pausing in front of a shelf, she ran her finger along the spines of her mother's legal reference collection. At the end of the row, she came to the bound tome she was searching for. The cover was tattered and the binding threadbare. Golden strands of silk weaved an intricate design across the front. 'Bones.'

"Ah, a fine idea, Susan," Seth murmured quietly. "This celebration is indeed worthy of being recorded in your Grimoire."

Susan carried the tome to a writing desk in the corner and took up an ornate Eagle quill.

~~~~~

July 31, 1997

The Dark Lord, who called himself Voldemort, has been defeated this day. Lord Seth Ashburton and his wife, Adelia, have come to celebrate the news with myself and mother. We are drinking fine mead in memory of the seven Bones who perished battling this evil: my grandparents Lyman and Annette, my Aunt Amelia, my Uncle Edgar and Aunt Elena (the Ashburton's daughter), and their children Hugo and Porter. My father Levi also opposed the Dark Lord before his death.

~~~~~

Susan read her entry aloud for the benefit of everyone in the room. "Should I say more?" she asked tentatively. "He wiped out our entire family."

"It is customary to give a little more information about the events themselves," Seth responded warmly. "Tell the history that is new; do not dwell on the past. That is the function of the Grimoire itself."

Susan contemplated the suggestion for a moment before continuing.

~~~~~

The Dark Lord was defeated by Harry Potter, the presumptive Potter heir, and a classmate of mine. Potter has defeated Voldemort several times, and it has been rumored that the two were connected by a prophecy. Voldemort's defeat will hopefully end the second English Wizarding war in two decades.

~~~~~

---888---

Blaise Zabini's head emerged from the main hearth at the Nott mansion in Edinburgh. "Theodore, are you home?"

A house elf, dressed in a dirty tea towel, popped into place a meter from Blaise' nose. "Master Nott is being in the library, Mister Zabini."

"May I come through?" Blaise asked impatiently.

"Yes, be welcomed to the House Nott," the elf replied. "I be telling Master Nott you is here." With a soft pop, the elf disappeared from the room.

Blaise stepped through the fire and dusted off his black robes, before striding to the cabinet in the dark corner of the room. Muttering the password, Blaise retrieved two tumblers and mixed gin with tonic in each.

"Good evening, Blaise. How are you?" Theodore Nott asked as he entered the room.

"Well enough." Blaise crossed the room and handed a drink to Theodore. "Sit, I have news."

The two friends sat down opposite of each other. "Your father died tonight," Blaise said bluntly.

Theodore's eyes narrowed, and he studied Blaise for several ticks of the ancient clock on the wall. "A true Slytherin..."

Blaise shook his head and completed their secret passphrase. "A true Slytherin knows when to keep their mouth shut."

"He's really dead?" Theodore asked. "It's about time. What happened?"

"The Dark Lord attacked Ron Weasley's family. Your father and most of the Death Eaters died."

Theodore finished his drink and began chewing on an ice cube. "You're leaving something out, Blaise."

"Potter killed the Dark Lord."

"That changes things."

"No shit. He'll be even more insufferable now," Blaise complained.

Theodore rolled his eyes, "The Dark Lord is dead and all you can think about is Potter? You're sounding like Malfoy. Do you know what this means for me, you dolt?"

"It's a stroke of bloody luck," replied Zabini. Both teens knew that Theodore's birthday was in two weeks and that he would no longer face pressure from his father to take the Dark Mark.

"Potter's not so insufferable now, is he?" Theodore asked with a mirthless laugh.

---888---

As the evening wound down, Harry was growing increasingly tired. He wanted nothing more than to find a comfortable bed and rest, but he could not. He knew that no one from the Ministry would take the initiative and contact Hermione's parents for some time. They were just too busy.

Searching out Kingsley Shacklebolt in the crowd, Harry told him that he wanted to visit the Grangers. "Someone from the Ministry should come, too," Harry suggested pointedly.

Shacklebolt hesitantly agreed to accompany Harry. "I really should stay, but you're right. Someone ought to go. Do you know where you're going?"

"Roughly," Harry replied. Shacklebolt stared at Harry expectantly. "Er, it's called Fleischer's Place."

"You've never been, have you?" asked Shacklebolt with a knowing look. "You're lucky tonight. I responded to a Dark Mark there last month. But, once we get there, I don't know which house it is. Do you know her address?"

"It's next door to the burnt down house."

Shacklebolt winced. "That would explain some things. We never did figure out why they targeted that house. It was the only attack that night that didn't involve a Muggleborn."

Harry explained with a single word: "Fidelius."

After Flooing into the Leaky Cauldron, where apparently the good news had not yet reached, Shacklebolt and Harry apparated to a park near Fleischer's Place. They were several blocks from Hermione's house, but as the two approached they noticed that many of the neighbors were standing about on their lawns, gossiping.

"The Fidelius must have broken," Harry observed. "Same thing happened at Sirius' old house."

Shacklebolt nodded in agreement. "Looks that way. I've never met them before, have you?"

"Only at the train station. I'm pretty sure they'll remember me though."

"Do you know their names?"

"No, I just know they are both dentists. Dr. and Dr. Granger, I guess."

The two walked up a tulip-lined path to a stately brick home. When Harry knocked on the door, a distressed bushy-haired woman answered. Emma Granger stared at Harry and Shacklebolt for a moment, trying to place them. "Harry Potter, right?"

"Er, yes. Dr. Granger, this is Kingsley Shacklebolt. He's an Auror with the Ministry. May we come in? I'm afraid we have some horrible news."

Mrs. Granger's face paled and she said in a hoarse voice. "Yes, do come in. We were hoping someone would visit tonight. The neighbors have been swarming for hours." She showed them into her parlor and walked down the hallway. "Dan, would you come here please, we have some visitors." A man dressed in a cardigan accompanied Emma Granger back into the parlor.

"Hello, Dr. Granger." Harry's voice cracked. "I'm afraid I bring some horrible news."

With concerned expressions, both doctors took a seat on the sofa across from where Harry and Kingsley were sitting.

"As you know, the Weasleys were throwing me a birthday party tonight. They took numerous safety precautions, but Lord Voldemort found a way around them. He attacked the party with many of his supporters, and about forty people died tonight. Hermione fought back bravely, but she was killed."

The news blanketed the house in silence for several minutes as both of Hermione's parents stared at Harry in disbelief. Slowly, Emma Granger's silence grew into racking sobs. Harry, uncomfortable because of the woman's tears, continued, "I don't know how much Hermione has shared with you about our world, but the war that was going on ended tonight. Voldemort was killed, and Hermione played a big role in ending it."

"Who else? Who else was killed?" Dan Granger asked hoarsely. "I knew we should have left England after they tried to burn down our house."

"Er, Ron Weasley died. So did his sister Ginny and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. You knew them, didn't you? Their older brother Bill Weasley was also killed. He was going to be married in two weeks. Nymphadora Tonks died, Remus Lupin..." As Harry ticked off the names, his already ashen face paled even further. It was beginning to hit home how many people he had lost that night.

As Emma Granger continued to sob, silent tears trickled down Harry's cheek. "I am so sorry. Hermione was the best friend I could have ever asked for. I wish there was something I could do."

"Harry," Shacklebolt interrupted, "why don't we leave the Grangers to themselves for now? They probably need some space, and you need to rest before you go into shock."

Harry stood to leave, and to his surprise Emma Granger did as well. She hugged him tightly and said, "Hermione always spoke very highly of you. You're always welcome in our home."

"Thank you," came Harry's whispered reply. With that, Harry and Shacklebolt departed into the cool evening air.

_____

Author's Note: I have no idea why this chapter took as long as it did, or why it was more difficult to write than I expected. That said, I hope you all enjoyed it. This chapter is dedicated to Jeconais for his many awesome stories. "This Means War," is quite possibly the funniest story out there.

Author's Recognition: I would like to thank everyone who has helped me with this chapter. My betas, Ivan, and Lisa did an excellent job. Thanks also to Myles, and Tim Joy (Jeconais) who saw this chapter in its primordial form and offered some excellent feedback.

Canon Review: Since Susan Bones will be a major character in this story, I thought it might be useful to undertake a quick review of some of the facts that we know about Susan from JKR's books.

Susan Bones was sorted into Hufflepuff. She sat next to Hannah Abbot at the sorting feast.

In fifth year, when she walked into the initial DA meeting, Harry did not know Susan's name.

Susan is described as wearing her hair in a long plait down her back. Canon does not specify a hair color.

Susan was the first to speak in Harry's defense at the initial DA meeting. She asked him if he knew how to produce a corporeal patronus.

Her 'auntie' is Amelia Susan Bones, and has told Susan about the events of Harry's hearing before his fifth year.

The following is a direct quote from Order of the Phoenix. "Susan Bones, whose uncle, aunt, and cousins had all died at the hands of one of the ten..." We also know that her uncle's name was Edgar Bones. Edgar was a member of the original Order of the Phoenix (and a great wizard according to Mad-Eye). Canon is silent on Susan's parents.

Susan, along with Ernie Macmillan, Hannah Abbot, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Anthony Goldstein, and Terry Boot helped defend Harry from Malfoy, Crabbe & Goyle on the train at the end of fifth year.

Amelia Bones was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and a member of the Wizengamot before she was murdered, perhaps by Voldemort himself. Her death was reported in the muggle papers. Amelia was described as being fair and honest. She stood up to Fudge during Harry's trial and ensured that it was fair.