Harry Potter and the Antiquity Link

Chapter 3

Order of Merlin, First Class

Things didn't seem better in the morning. His breakfast was waiting for him in the morning, along with the Prophet. The headline read, in large, bold letters, "Rampaging Dementors!" Reading, he quickly discovered that the attack after Fred's funeral had been far from the only one of the day. They had attacked several wizarding villages, mostly focusing on small groups or people who were alone.

Even more surprising, they had attacked Azkaban en masse. There were only six guards at the time, who had been no match for the one-hundred-plus dementors. All six were rendered soulless. Even more surprising was that the dementors also sucked the souls from the thirty-two current inmates, who, being wandless, could not defend themselves. Harry wondered if they had not recognized that these were people who had been on their side a short time ago, or if they simply hadn't cared. In any case, he was shocked. In addition to those at Azkaban, thirty-six people had lost their souls yesterday. Harry couldn't help but feel that, sensationalistic as it sounded, the headline was not an exaggeration.

Interviewed in the Prophet, Kingsley wasted no time blaming the attacks on the Voldemort-controlled government, saying that the losing side had no doubt encouraged the dementors' attacks, and repeated that any Death Eaters or sympathizers had to be captured as soon as possible.

A few editorials echoed Kingsley's line, but one placed the blame squarely on him, saying that he should have recognized the danger before it happened, and taken whatever steps to prevent it that previous governments had taken. "The Minister's job is to protect the people," the editorial concluded, "and in this respect, Kingsley Shacklebolt has failed. We urge the Council of Elders to reverse its well-intentioned mistake, and place in power someone who knows how things are done, not a political novice."

Harry was angry at the accusation against Kingsley, even though the other two editorials hadn't attacked him. He was a little surprised that none of them had explicitly mentioned the quid pro quo deal that previous governments must have made with the dementors to prevent such attacks, but then, neither had Kingsley.

There was a separate article on the attack after Fred's funeral, suggesting a political motivation for the attack, since both Harry and Kingsley were there. Harry's heart sank as he read that as he feared, Dennis's soul had fallen victim to the dementors. On the other hand, he thought angrily, Dolores Umbridge had suffered the same fate, so at least something good had come of it. Too bad it can't only be the people who deserve it.

Inside the paper, on page five, was an article about the goblins and their grievances against the Ministry. It said that in the morning, the goblin leaders planned to meet with Ministry representatives, but were insulted by the relatively low rank of those sent to meet them, and decided to air their grievances and demands to the media directly. They demanded to be paid no less than five million Galleons in compensation for 'lives, treasure and dignity' lost during the previous government's reign, and an additional one million specifically for damage caused by Harry and his friends' escape from Gringotts. They further demanded 'the arrest and conviction of those responsible.' Well, Bill was right, thought Harry. Greedy bastards. I save them from Voldemort, and this is the thanks I get.

An hour later, mail started arriving, and this time he looked at it promptly. Most of it continued to be fan mail, though there were a few letters from D.A. members. One was from Neville, which included an earnest request to reconsider not returning to Hogwarts, and the most recent news. McGonagall had made Neville Head Boy, and Padma Patil was Head Girl. In the wake of the dementor attack, she had forbidden flying, and students couldn't go outside at all without special permission. Reconstruction, she had announced at dinner, would have to wait until the dementor situation was settled. Neville and other D.A. members had been enlisted to make sure as many people as possible knew how to do a Patronus. Harry sent him a quick note in return, thanking him for the letter and telling him he would do well teaching the Patronus, and saying he would welcome further updates.

Another was from Cho, who told him about Dennis's condition, and to Harry's surprise, mentioned their previous relationship. She had written, "You seemed uncomfortable talking to me yesterday, and I wondered if it was because of Ginny. So I wanted to let you know that there's someone I'm seeing, and I have no designs on you. I'd simply like to be your friend, like the others in the D.A. If I'm misunderstanding you, or if you have anything you'd like to say, I'd be happy to hear from you." Harry wasn't sure how to respond, so he sent back a quick response saying he was sorry if he'd been rude, and thanking her for the information.

Just as he finished with the mail, a late arrival came. It was in a very official-looking envelope, white with purple trim on the edges. On the outside it read, 'From the Office of the Minister of Magic.' He opened it and found a letter, apparently written by an assistant, informing him that the award ceremony would now be held in the Ministry Atrium, but that Kingsley still wanted them to arrive at 12:30. Guess it makes sense, thought Harry, not to have it out in the open air. People wouldn't come anyway, nobody's going to want to set foot outside now.

Well, he thought sardonically, what should I do today? It felt strange to have to ask the question. In his whole life, neither at Hogwarts nor at the Dursleys', there had never been a real choice. Nor, he felt, was there really one now. I don't want to go back to Hogwarts, and I don't want to go out in public. He looked out the window at the clear blue sky. I should fly, he thought. That always makes me feel better. Oh, yeah, the dementors. Well, screw it. I'm doing it anyway, to hell with them. I have a Patronus, and a Firebolt. I can outrun them if there are too many.

He Summoned his Firebolt and headed for the front door. He had a reflex to tell Kreacher where he was going, but he realized that of course he didn't need to. He opened the door and stepped into the sunlight, which felt wonderfully warm on his face, but not too warm; he estimated that it was in the low seventies, with a mild breeze. Perfect weather, he thought, deliberately breathing in the clean spring air. It occurred to him that he'd had plenty of chances to be out in the fresh air in the past year, running all over the countryside with Ron and Hermione, but this felt different. There was nothing he had to do, nowhere he had to be, no responsibility hanging over his head... no death to walk off to. The last thought surprised him. Why am I thinking about that? That's over, done with.

He refocused on the sky, which contained only a few light streaks of white so thin they could barely be called clouds. He knew he couldn't fly where he was--too many non-magical houses were nearby. He needed open space. He Disapparated, and appeared in an open area in Hogsmeade, one he knew was usually not full of people. He looked around, and was surprised: there was no one around at all, no one outside. He could see the main street from where he was--the spot was significant to him because it was where he'd thrown snowballs at Malfoy from under his Invisibility Cloak--and nobody was there, either. There was an ominous air to it, like a ghost town.

Harry didn't feel particularly spooked, however. Maybe I've faced dementors enough times not to be scared of them, he thought. He mounted his broom, kicked off from the ground, and soared into the air.

It had been too long since he'd been on a broom. It felt exhilarating, the wind in his hair, the feeling of freedom. Soaring over Hogsmeade, he lost himself in the sensation, though he kept his wand between his fingers as he gripped the shaft of the broom, ready to use it in an instant. After a few minutes he looked down as he flew, and could see almost all of Hogsmeade. Not a single person could be seen anywhere outside.

He flew over Hogwarts, but not too low; he didn't want to be seen, and have people think he was coming back. He felt saddened as he saw the castle from the outside for the first time since the battle. It was still very recognizable, but had taken substantial damage. In a way, though, he felt proud, because the castle was still there, like the people who had stayed to defend it. As he knew from Neville to expect, no one could be seen outside the castle.

He turned left, heading to the Forbidden Forest. At a height of about two hundred feet, he wondered if he'd see Grawp if he looked closely enough, but he couldn't. Was Grawp in danger from dementors? Harry hoped not; giants were fairly magic-resistant. In any case, Hagrid would make sure he was all right.

Harry moved the broom handle up, and ascended at a 45-degree angle, keeping it up for several minutes, again exhilarated by the sensation. Finally he leveled off, estimating his altitude at 5,000 feet but realizing he had no real idea. They should make a broom that has an altimeter, he thought absently. He flew at this altitude for a half hour, enjoying the feeling and the view. It was the best he'd felt since... a long time, maybe a year. Of course he'd felt very good after defeating Voldemort, but that was more a relief than happiness. This was happiness, sheer sensory pleasure, and he reveled in it.

Finally, he began to think he'd been out long enough, and started slowly making his way down. Passing Hogwarts again on the way down, he cruised over Hogsmeade at a few hundred feet, doing a quick pass out of curiosity, to see if anyone was now out and about. For a minute he again saw no one, then passing over a residential area, saw what looked like a child hanging from a branch of a very large tree in the front yard of a large house. Surprised, he descended somewhat to make sure.

Before he could see anything new, he saw four or five dementors glide toward the tree. Adrenaline powering him, he suddenly pushed his broom to full speed. He saw a boy twenty feet up the tree, both arms around a branch; another was halfway up, and a girl was on the ground. "Tommy, get down from there!" she shouted frantically.

He was ten seconds away, but the dementors were already there. The girl screamed for a second, then fell to the ground and was silent. Two dementors converged on each boy. He prayed that the boys would hang on for another few seconds... almost there... the boy higher in the tree silently let go and fell... he heard a woman shout from inside the house...

"Expecto Patronum!" he shouted, again remembering winning the Quidditch Cup in third year. The stag flew out of his wand and chased the nearest dementor as he raced toward the boy, leaning as far as he could on his broom and grabbing the boy by the shirt collar a few feel from the ground. He frantically tried to slow down and direct his Patronus at the same time, sending it toward the second boy's attackers as he too fell. Farther away than he wanted to be due to the momentum of his broom, he let the first boy down and had to race back to near the trunk, catching the second one with both arms. Turning to check on the girl, he found that his Patronus was already making a run at the dementor hovering over her as two women, one middle-aged and one older, raced out of the house. He stood near the girl, making sure that the children were in no imminent danger.

The younger woman screamed as a dementor came up behind her; Harry's stag galloped over to push it away. The older woman, having almost reached Harry, turned as the younger one screamed, obviously shocked. "Quick, we need to get them into the house!" Harry shouted at her.

The older woman picked up Tommy, who had been sitting on the ground after Harry had let go of him. Harry dismounted from his broom and said to the child he was holding, "Can you walk?" Harry got no response from the disoriented child, which he took as a 'no,' and continued carrying him, now with the broom in the left hand and his wand in the right. Still looking around for more dementors, he and the older woman each used one hand to pick up the girl, and headed for the front door. The younger one was able to stagger in after them.

"Oh, Merlin's beard, that was horrible... thank you so much..." said the older woman, who was slim, with dyed brown hair, and in her early sixties.

Harry realized that only that woman had escaped the direct effect of the dementors. "Do you have any chocolate?" he asked urgently, still breathing heavily from the effort he'd expended.

She was clearly dumbfounded. "Any what?"

"Chocolate," he repeated. "It helps people recover from the dementors' effects. They should have some as soon as possible." The woman scurried away, returning very quickly with a very large bar. "Great," he said. "Break off big pieces, make sure they all have some." She did, and he helped her give it to the younger woman and the children. To Harry's great relief, all ate, which meant that no souls had been taken. But it had been close.

"Thank you... I'm sorry, what's your name?"

"I'm Harry Potter. And you?"

She gaped; in her shock, she ignored his question. "Harry Potter," she breathed. "I thought you looked like him..." She trailed off, speechless, then suddenly recovered. "I'm sorry, I'm Melinda Bagginsworth, this is my daughter Lucia, and this boy," she gestured to Tommy, "and the girl are my grandchildren. The other one is a friend, staying here while his parents are working."

Harry and Melinda looked over at Lucia, who was sobbing. "It was my fault... I turned my back for a few minutes, I should have watched more carefully... they almost died..."

Harry saw that she'd eaten only a small piece of chocolate. "Ma'am, please eat the chocolate. It'll help." She appeared not to have heard him, continuing to cry. "Lucia!" he shouted. "Eat the chocolate!"

She stopped sobbing, and looked at him in shock. "You're Harry Potter!"

"Yes, I am. Now please, eat the chocolate." Still shocked, she started doing so. He looked around and saw that the children had all almost finished theirs.

"What were you doing outside?" asked Melinda.

"Having a fly. I just needed to get out for awhile."

"But the dementors..." she gasped, as if unable to believe what he'd said.

"It's no problem. I've had to fight them off a half dozen times," he assured her. "I can handle them. Anyway, I should really be going--"

"Don't you need any chocolate?" asked a concerned Melinda.

"No, I'm fine, thanks." He looked at the children, sitting together on the floor, clearly starting to feel a little better. "Now, you three, don't go outside again. It's very important." They nodded earnestly, saying nothing, but all had very frightened expressions; it reminded him of his own experiences. "When I was first attacked by a dementor, I was thirteen, not so much older than you are now. It was pretty scary, they bring up bad memories. But you'll be better soon."

He headed for the door. "I'm going to check the neighborhood, see if anyone else is outside. Don't worry, I'll make sure none get in."

Lucia walked to the door. "I... I can't thank you enough."

Harry shook his head. "It's okay. Just... lots of people have helped me. Just help someone else if you can, if you get the chance." He cast his Patronus, opened the door as little as possible, and slipped out. The dementors failed to appear again. Harry mounted his broom and returned to the air.

He flew for another fifteen minutes at a hundred feet. To his relief, there were no more children playing. He flew to the spot to which he'd Apparated, and thought about what to do next. After a few minutes, he decided to go to the Burrow, talk to Ron and Hermione, maybe stay for lunch. He Apparated to the Burrow's front lawn and walked through the front door.

To his surprise, it appeared to be empty. There was no one in the living room, or the kitchen... "Anyone home?" Harry called out.

"Up here," shouted a voice that Harry recognized as George's, though, he thought with sadness, before he wouldn't have been sure which one it was. He climbed the stairs and went to the room that used to belong to Fred and George. George was lying on the bed. "Hi," said Harry.

"Hi, Harry," said George. Harry expected him to be sad, but it was more like he was bored, which Harry could understand. Sometimes, you needed to just not do anything.

"Where is everyone?"

"Let's see... Mum's shopping, and practically everyone else is at the Ministry. Dad and Perce work there, of course. Dad asked Ron and Hermione to come in and help him. She's helping him out with useful spells and her natural sense of organization; he wants her to help him set up the department in a way that cuts out as much red tape as possible."

Harry nodded, impressed; it was the kind of challenge that Hermione would sink her teeth into. "And did Ron go to keep her company?"

George chuckled. "Yeah, not really his thing. No, Dad wanted him for something else: to deal with the Muggle-borns they're supposed to be helping. There's a lot of them who are now homeless because of the last government, and people like Umbridge, and many of those went to the Atrium to avoid dementors, like a shelter. Ron's job is to be Dad's connection to them. Ron's supposed to talk to them, find out their situations, what they need, what their problems are."

"Why Ron, and not a Ministry worker?" asked Harry.

"Ron asked the same thing," said George. "Dad said it's because especially in the beginning, he needs people he can really trust, people who he knows will do things for the right reason. Also, because of helping you, Ron's got a fairly high profile right now. Dad figures that'll be helpful; people may talk to Ron and have confidence in him more than some nameless Ministry drone."

Again, Harry was impressed; it made sense. He was a little sad, though, because he'd been hoping to talk to Ron and Hermione over lunch. "Ginny?"

"She went back to Hogwarts. You didn't know?"

Mildly annoyed with himself, Harry shook his head. "Of course, I should have realized, she's only a sixth year. She was just here..."

"For the funeral, yeah," George agreed. "So, it's only me."

"Did your mother tell you that you should get back to your shop?" asked Harry.

George chuckled. "You know her well enough, I guess. Yeah, she did, but really, there'd be no point. Our shop doesn't have its own fireplace, and the Ministry's telling people to only travel by fireplace for now. So, nobody'll be going to the shop anyway. There's owl-order stuff to do, but I haven't really felt up to it."

"Filthy layabout," said another voice suddenly, startling both Harry and George. "I always knew you'd amount to nothing without me." Fred's ghost rose up from under the bed, facing George with a wide smile.

George's eyes lit up with delight. "You bloody wanker!" he shouted happily. "I thought you'd done a runner on me. Why'd you wait so long?"

"Advice from the pearly white set--"

"Bugger the pearly white set, you should have come sooner! Since when do we listen to what anyone else says, anyway?"

"You're right, sorry about that," agreed Fred. "And hello, Harry, I'm glad you didn't end up joining me beyond the veil."

Harry understood that he should pretend it was his first time to see Fred since he died. "Hi, Fred. It's really good to have you back."

"So," said Fred, turning back to George, "are you going to get off your pimply behind and deal with those customers patiently waiting for their goods?"

"They'll wait a few hours longer," said George. "Tell me all about it, what it's like."

Fred launched into roughly the same story he'd told Harry; Harry sat and listened, happy for George that Fred was back. He had a feeling that George would be sending out owls by the end of the day.

* * * * *

Harry spent the next few hours at the Burrow, first with George and Fred, then with them and Molly, who was shocked to see her son back as a ghost, but obviously pleased to see him. He returned to Grimmauld Place in the mid-afternoon, and started to read one of the books Kreacher had brought him. He also tried out the bottomless bag he'd had Kreacher buy, which was similar to Hermione's, though not identical. Unlike hers, it had voice-activated compartments, so one could put different items into different parts of the bag.

After eating dinner, he checked the mail again, finding this time a letter from Xenophilius Lovegood. It read,

Dear Mr. Potter,

This may be the most difficult letter I have ever written. I am very ashamed of what I did to you and your friends, what I tried to do. Luna told me about your conversation yesterday, so I know you understand my motivations. I also know that you deliberately stayed long enough for the Death Eaters to see you, placing your lives at risk for mine, even after I betrayed you as I did. I feel all the more shamed, knowing that. You very likely saved my life.

I did my best to support you, but I could not bring myself to sacrifice what was most precious to me in order to do so. Luna tells me that you walked to what you thought was your death to protect our society. I am sure I could not do that, and my respect for you and your actions is boundless. Especially from someone who did what you did, I have no business asking for forgiveness. Even so, I write in part to apologize most humbly, and in part to say that I hope that one day you may be able to forgive me, as I hope my daughter will. She is now back at Hogwarts, in the company of those whom she can respect. I would ask you this directly, but I cannot face you. I can barely face my daughter.

Yours most sincerely and apologetically,

Xenophilius Lovegood

Harry sighed and closed his eyes. The man was clearly suffering, and Harry had no wish for him to do so. But, like Luna, he couldn't give Xenophilius what he wanted. He got a piece of paper, then sat in front of it for over half an hour, trying to think of what to say.

Dear Mr. Lovegood,

I'm not sure I know what to say. Luna told me that you told her never to lie, and I respect that, so I won't lie to you. I could forgive you if it was just me and the others. But we were trying hard to save wizarding society from Voldemort, and your actions almost stopped that. If you had been successful, you might have your daughter, but you'd be living in a society that wouldn't be worth living in. It's for that reason that I can't say that I forgive you.

I will say this: you were in a terrible situation, and we all make mistakes in really bad situations. I know I have. I will also say that what you told us that day was the truth, and it was vital information to us. It helped us understand Voldemort's motivations and actions, and we might not have succeeded without it. It may have been by accident, but you did help us. I don't know if that makes you feel any better. I hope it does.

I'll also say that you raised a terrific daughter; I consider her a close friend. To the extent that you had anything to do with that, and it must at least be some, you should be proud of that.

Sincerely,

Harry Potter

Harry knew it might not help much, but it was the best he could do. He honestly didn't blame Xenophilius; he knew it had to be a terrible choice, to have to choose what was best for everyone over the welfare of a loved one, one who was confined and no doubt suffering. But Harry knew that were he in Xenophilius's position, he would have asked himself and the others for help in some kind of plan to break his daughter free. Yet Xenophilius regretted his choice; Harry wondered what it was that made some people in that position choose one way, and some, another.

McGonagall's job offer popped into his mind for the first time since the funeral. He had reflexively shut her down, and he still didn't want to think about the future, but he had to admit to himself that the idea had some appeal. He liked the subject, and he liked Hogwarts. With some study he could get up to speed on the subject enough to teach it, and after defeating Voldemort, he suspected that he'd be respected by students, despite his young age. But his mind slammed shut on any serious consideration of the idea.

Why is that, he thought. Why am I so unwilling to think about the future? About this, about Ginny... I was even relieved that Arthur didn't try to get me to help out at the Ministry with Ron and Hermione. I don't want anyone to expect anything of me, I don't want to make any commitments. Okay, that's often been the case with me, but this feels different. I feel like something about myself has changed, but I don't know what--

He was yanked from his ruminations by the fireplace lighting up. Ron came out, followed by Hermione. Harry stood up and walked over to them. "Hi, guys. What's up? How was your day at the Ministry?"

"We'll talk about that in a minute, Harry. There's something Ron and I want to ask you. Now, we don't want to criticize you, and we know you haven't been yourself lately. But we just want to know..."

Ron jumped in during Hermione's hesitation. "Are you totally mental? I mean, have you completely lost your mind, or your will to live?"

Harry was mystified at Ron's tone and the disbelief on his face. "What in the hell are you talking about?"

Ron looked at Hermione with satisfaction. "I told you he wouldn't know."

"You went out for a fly at a time when there are possibly hundreds of dementors around, looking for people to attack," said a concerned Hermione. "Now, we don't think you're stupid, or crazy--"

"That's very good of you--" began Harry sarcastically before being cut off in turn by Hermione.

"But it was very, very poor judgment--"

"Even for you," Ron put in.

"Will you let me finish?" Hermione snapped at Ron.

"You don't need to finish, I get the idea," said Harry impatiently. "Look, I can handle dementors, you know that."

"That's not the point!" Hermione said, almost shouting.

"It is for me!" he responded at the same volume. "That fly was the most fun I've had in a very long time, it was exactly what I needed to do. You know I feel weird these days. I just need to do what I want to do, and not do what I don't want to do. I don't know if this feeling is going to go away or not, but maybe doing this kind of thing will help. I need to make my own decisions, even if they're stupid."

Hermione spoke gently. "Harry, how would you feel if I died, or Ron died?"

This took the wind out of Harry's sails; he flopped onto the sofa and was silent. She's asking me to look at it from their point of view, he thought. He took a minute to try to do so. "Okay, I get it," he sighed. "You're worried. Maybe I would be if I were you. But I don't know what to tell you. I'm not going to promise that I won't do that again. But I haven't lost the will to live, and I don't think I'm crazy."

"I was wondering whether your sense of what's a good risk and what isn't has been... distorted by the last year, all the risky things we had to do," suggested Hermione.

Harry shrugged. "If it was, I couldn't tell you. But I don't think so. My feeling was like, I really want to have a fly, and I'm not going to let the damn dementors tell me what I can and can't do. I will say that my sense of self-preservation is enough that if I didn't have a wand, I wouldn't have gone."

"Well, that's something, anyway," said Ron; Harry wasn't sure how sarcastic Ron intended his comment to be. "We don't want to try to tell you what to do, Harry. Just remember that there are people who care about you." Harry's eyebrows went up; it wasn't like Ron to say something like that. As if realizing it, Ron amended his comment. "Like Hermione, for example."

Harry grinned as Hermione gave Ron a sour look. "I'll try to keep that in mind. For Hermione's sake," he added, with sarcastic emphasis.

"Oh, you two, you're so funny," said Hermione mockingly.

"So, how was your day?" asked Harry. He wanted to change the subject, but he was also interested.

Hermione motioned to Ron. "My day was all about planning and making charts, things like that, that would bore you. Ron's was more interesting."

"But sadder," said Ron, suddenly somber. "I heard a half dozen stories from people about what happened to Muggle-borns under Voldemort, each one sadder than the last. A lot of them had their wands taken, were separated from their spouses, and worse. Some of them were interrogated by Umbridge personally. At least I was able to tell them what happened to her. A few of them were happy, but one woman said, "That doesn't do me any good." I asked them what their jobs were; I was thinking if we could get them working, they could get back on their feet again."

"Are they staying in the Atrium for now?" asked Harry.

Ron shook his head. "There's a big room, usually used for speeches and big presentations, that Kingsley's set aside for them. Its apparent space can be expanded however much is necessary, and the Ministry has extra tents. Not enough for everyone, but Kingsley is having people try to buy a bunch more. You know, the kind we used, they're fairly nice. So at least they won't be suffering, but they won't have anything to do all day, either. Kingsley's doing his best, but there may be only so much the Ministry can do.

"You might be interested to know, by the way, that the most common question I was asked was, what can the Ministry do for me. The second most common was, what's Harry Potter like."

Harry shook his head. "At least it was second. What did you tell them?"

"I said, 'He's not all he's cracked up to be.'" Harry chuckled, wishing that Ron had actually said it. "And it was a close second. With what you did today, it was almost all anyone was talking about." Ron rolled his eyes at Harry's quizzical expression. "Yes, he's already forgotten about those three kids whose lives he saved," he said to Hermione.

"Oh, that. How do you know about that?"

"Did you really think those people were going to keep it to themselves? We're worried about you, but we are glad that you were able to do some good out there."

"It's my saving-people-thing," said Harry, with a glance at Hermione.

"Just don't get in the habit," she warned him.

I'm not making any promises, he thought, but didn't say. He didn't want them to worry, but he had to do what he had to do.

* * * * *

Harry woke up at a few minutes after eight the next morning. Half asleep, he rolled over and thought about falling back asleep, but was jolted awake by a voice. "You've had seven hours, that's enough," said Fred 'sitting' in a chair near the right side of the bed.

With a sigh, Harry turned towards Fred with an expression that exaggerated the annoyance he felt. "I suppose ghosts can't knock."

"I wouldn't even if I could," agreed Fred. "But don't worry, I can be discreet. If I saw that you had morning wood, I would leave and come back later."

Harry tried to hide his embarrassment at the notion. "That's very kind of you," he replied sarcastically.

"Not at all," said Fred. "So, today's the big day. You'll be greatly honored by all of wizarding society--"

"Oh, cut it out. You know how I feel about that."

"Then why go?"

"I've wondered about that myself. I just feel like it would be really rude not to, but it's much more for them than it is for me."

Fred nodded. "And that's the way you should look at it. Be polite, take the award, make them think you're happy. This is for them; they need a hero, and you fit the bill nicely. The best kind of hero is the reluctant one."

"Then I guess I'm perfect."

"George and I couldn't have done it, we'd be too happy with ourselves," agreed Fred. "Lockhart would have loved this, and he had his fans, but most people see through someone like that. No, you're the real deal, like it or not."

"You coming today?"

"Sad to say, the entire Ministry is spiritus non grata." Harry didn't understand the words, but caught the meaning. "But I can watch from Hogwarts."

Harry frowned. "How?"

"They're setting up a magical link, Dad was talking about it last night. They'll be able to see you, and you them. It'll be like you have two audiences. It was because the Hogwarts people really wanted to see the ceremony, but it was impractical for them to come. So, that's better. Or worse, depending on how you look at it."

Harry wasn't sure whether he cared one way or the other. He would be on display; it was just a matter of how much. He talked to Fred a little more, then did his usual morning routine: have breakfast, read the Prophet, take a shower, check the mail. The Prophet's lead story was his rescue of the children, and there were glowing quotes about him from those he rescued. An unsigned editorial praised his actions, but called into question the wisdom of his flying around outside, and urged others not to follow his example. It concluded, "Harry Potter has served our society heroically, and has braved many dangers. It is to be hoped that he has not lost the ordinary human fear of danger, or that he has ceased to recognize it." Wonder if Hermione wrote that editorial, he thought wryly.

He had a light lunch before noon, as he didn't know how long the ceremony would last, and didn't want to be hungry. He had just finished when he heard the fireplace light up, then Ron's voice. "Kreacher, where's Harry?"

"In here, Ron," Harry shouted; Ron walked in a few seconds later. "Hey, what's up?"

"They asked me to set up a Portkey for you; it goes directly to the Minister's office. They probably would have sent someone else, as I am kind of busy, but obviously it had to be someone who knows the house's location."

"That works with fireplaces too? Even though to go through a fireplace you don't usually need to know the physical location of the place?

Ron shrugged lightly. "I guess so. That's more of a Hermione question, as you know."

Harry nodded. "I suppose. By the way, do you like what you're doing there, for your father?"

"'Like' may be too strong a word, but it's fine for now. I feel like I'm useful, even if I can't do much for them, at least someone is listening. But, like I said, it's kind of sad, too. Heard more stories this morning. One thing for sure, it reminds me that what we did was worth it, because otherwise they'd still be in those terrible situations. So, no complaints. Well, one. Wouldn't mind getting paid..."

"They don't pay you?"

"Dad says he's sorry, but they can't, me or Hermione. I'm his son, so it would look bad, and even with Hermione, there's bureaucratic stuff that makes it hard. She doesn't mind. I don't either, of course," he added in a falsely casual tone, communicating that the last was the attitude he displayed for his father's and Hermione's benefit.

Harry nodded. "I can see that. Anyway, I didn't know you could do a Portkey."

"I didn't either; they taught me this morning. Apparently Kingsley has temporarily revoked all laws requiring prior approval of Portkeys, because of the dementor situation. Anybody can set up any Portkey they want, provided both sides are either public, or approved by the owner of the private property. Something like that, anyway. This'll be a permanent Portkey, with the identical item at both ends. When you hold onto the Portkey, it goes with you there, but the one at the other end automatically goes to where yours was."

"I didn't know it worked that way," said Harry. "I guess Kingsley is saying that I should feel free to drop by anytime. He doesn't have a fireplace?"

Ron shook his head. "The whole suite of offices near his area doesn't. Security reasons. Anyway, here's your end of the Portkey." He reached into a shoulder bag he was carrying and pulled out a small wooden statue, about ten inches long, of a wizard dressed in usual wizarding robes. He looked at it more closely, then saw the glasses and lightning scar on the forehead.

He looked up in annoyance at a grinning Ron. "Very funny."

"Not bad, actually. Looks a lot like you. Apparently they're selling them in a Diagon Alley shop, Kingsley said he heard about them, and couldn't resist."

"I'll bet," said Harry sourly.

Still grinning, Ron held up his wand. "Portus." To Harry, he added, "I don't have much practice, so if you end up in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, well, I did my best."

"I'll keep that in mind as my lungs fill with water," responded Harry in kind.

"No, just kidding, I was going to test it myself first. If I don't come back, tell Hermione that I died bravely, saving others."

Ron picked up the Portkey and disappeared; the companion materialized in the same place it had been when Ron picked it up. Harry almost picked it up to take a closer look, then realized why he shouldn't, contenting himself to look at it where it stood. It wasn't a bad likeness, he had to admit, though no happier that it existed. Why would anybody buy this, he wondered.

A few seconds later, Ron returned. "Admiring the craftsmanship, I see," he teased Harry, putting the Portkey on the table.

"I'll see if I can get them to do one of you," retorted Harry.

"Yeah, but I wouldn't mind," responded Ron. "Unlike you, I haven't been praised by strangers all my life." He paused for a beat. "Not by anybody, come to think of it.

Harry chuckled. "You're welcome to it."

"Actually, I have gotten a bit, yesterday and today, for helping you. Does feel kind of strange. Well, I have to get back, grab some lunch with Hermione. I was going to ask you to join us, but it's in a public area, and you're probably not ready for that yet." Harry agreed, and Ron left. I wonder when it'll happen that I can walk around in public and not be bothered, he thought. Or, rather, if it'll ever happen.

* * * * *

He touched the Portkey at 12:30 and found himself in Kingsley's office, but nobody was there. He stood there for a minute, thinking about what he should do, then opened the office's only door. He found a youngish, maybe early thirties, woman with light brown hair writing a document. "Excuse me?" he said.

She gave a start. "Oh, Mr. Potter! I'm sorry, the Minister told me about the Portkey, but I'm just not used to the person in that office having one. My name is Darlene, Darlene Benton. It's very nice to meet you." She offered her hand.

"You too," he said, shaking it. "And please call me Harry. The only people who called me 'Mr. Potter' were the teachers at Hogwarts, and it wasn't usually in a good way."

She smiled. "Yes, I remember that. 'Miss Benton, do not run in the halls!' Professor McGonagall said that several times. You're a Gryffindor, right?" He nodded. "I was a Hufflepuff. Most people don't think that's much, but I liked it there. The people were friendly. By the way, I want to thank you for what you did, you know, with You-Know-Who. My last boss was a very unpleasant man, and his associates, even more so. Working here used to be nice, but under them, not really. But now, it's much better. Minister Shacklebolt is a very nice man. Very busy--did you know he's been here until midnight every day since he started?--but very nice. A very hard worker, but there's a lot to fix..."

Harry listened politely, nodding at the right times, wondering if she would ever stop talking. Mercifully, Ron and Hermione chose that moment to walk into the outer office. Darlene cut herself off. "Oh, there you are! The Minister apologized, he wanted to be here, but as he's said, he always has to do ten things at once. He told me to fill you in on what will happen..." She spent the next fifteen minutes explaining what would happen during the ceremony, interspersing various comments and digressions. Harry was impressed; it was as if she never stopped to take a breath. He caught a few exasperated looks from Hermione, which she erased from her face whenever Darlene was looking at her.

Finally, Kingsley entered. "Sorry about that. There's always some very urgent matter." He gestured the three into his office, closing the door. "I gather Darlene told you what you needed to know?"

"And then some," muttered Hermione.

Kingsley smiled. "Yes, she is a little overenthusiastic. But I've discovered that she's a very good worker, and really knows the place; she's saved me hours of effort and heartache on several occasions already. And more importantly, she doesn't take offense when I interrupt her.

"So, there's nothing specific that I need to tell you, but I have a few words to say to Harry. But I won't throw the other two of you out to say them; I'd just ask you to keep what I say to yourselves." Ron and Hermione nodded.

Kingsley faced Harry. "Not that Ron and Hermione are chopped liver, but I'm sure everyone knows that it's you that people will be coming to see, and that this knowledge fills you with something less than pure joy." Harry nodded, his expression indicating that what Kingsley had said was obvious.

"You may have noticed that I've taken no measures to try to get any kind of agreement with the dementors, such as we had before. The fact that such agreements ever existed is unofficial, but any reasonably well-informed person could guess it. I could end this crisis in a day, if I wanted to, by allowing the dementors back into Azkaban to feast on the living, with official sanction."

He paused. Kingsley wasn't normally humorous in any case, but Harry had never seen him so serious. "But I will not do that. Harry, I suspect that if you were in my situation, you would do the same thing. Sirius suffered for twelve years in Azkaban, and he wasn't guilty of anything. I have a similar story; in my case, it was my grandfather. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and was accused of theft and assault. He did try to resist those who arrested him, but it was more of a reflex, and because he knew he hadn't done anything. At that time, people of my particular skin color weren't viewed with great favor, to understate the case. He was sent to Azkaban, supposedly for five years. But thanks to a bigot who was in the bureaucracy, he was never let out when he was supposed to be. There's more to the story, but you get the general idea. He ended up there for fifteen years, and when he got out, he was never right again. Sirius was able to resist it better because he was a dog, but even so, it was very hard for him. My grandfather ended up... if not crazy, then close enough to it that the difference didn't matter.

"It's hard to find out about this; it isn't in the newspapers, magazines, or history texts. It's essentially wizarding society's dirty little secret. I've asked around a lot, and haven't found out a great deal. What I have found out is that this started about a hundred years ago, and I'm honestly not sure what the situation was before that. It doesn't get brought up, I believe, because those who support it don't want to admit so baldly that they're buying off the dementors with the sanity of the supposedly guilty, and those like me who oppose it don't make an issue of it because they fear--and I do--that wizarding society collectively would support the status quo if they had to make a choice. They would say, it's too bad those people have to suffer, but they are guilty, and it keeps me and my family safe. I hate that fact, but I do think it's true.

"Now, I think I can do a reasonably good job as Minister, and I intend to do that. It's very rare that a non-politician gets this kind of chance, and I want to make the most of it. But then this came along, and I have to deal with it. If this situation isn't resolved, I may not last three months, much less six. But I simply will not allow them back. I'm looking into other methods of detection and protection, and I've sent six trusted Aurors--who are very needed here--to other countries to find out anything they can about how others deal with this. I'm told that within a week or two, we may be able to get enough magical protection around Diagon Alley so that dementors can be kept out but people can walk outside. But I know people will tolerate this for only so long. I can only hope that the dementors give up before the public's patience runs out.

"As to the ceremony... Darlene told you, each of you will have a chance to say a few words. Harry, I hadn't planned to suggest any particular comments to you; this is your day in the sun, and you deserve it, even if you might not really want it. But... I'm hoping that you can say something about this. Not opposing the old status quo; I'm very pessimistic about people responding to arguments based on principle, especially when it affects their safety. I want people thinking of the dementors as opponents that we have to fight, like Dark wizards."

Affected by what Kingsley had said, as he could tell Ron and Hermione were as well, Harry nodded somberly. "I understand, Kingsley. I didn't have a speech prepared; I was just going to get up there and say whatever came into my head. But I'll definitely say something about this. And it'll have the benefit of being true. You're right, I don't want the dementors there either. Neither did Professor Dumbledore."

"I really respected him for that," agreed Kingsley. "For many years, his was the only public voice opposed to the whole thing. Well, thank you, Harry. Anything you can do, I appreciate." There was a pause; Harry thought Kingsley was going to usher them out of the office, but Kingsley spoke again. "Were you told, by the way, about the benefits of getting this award?"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged blank looks. Kingsley gave them a small grin. "Looks like no one thought to mention it. Well, it has been busy around here. There are a few minor things, such as that anything owned by the government that usually charges admission, like museums and such, you won't be charged for, all your life. And you get these ruby decorations, kind of like epaulets, that you're supposed to wear on your dress robes. First class gets ruby, second class gets sapphire. But the biggest one is that you get a stipend from the government: a hundred Galleons a month, for the rest of your life." Harry saw Ron's eyes light up; even Hermione looked surprised. "It's not enough to live on, unless you were very frugal. It's more like the government doesn't want its Merlin First Class honorees somehow losing all their money and living in the street; it would be embarrassing. I think it actually happened once, a very long time ago. So, are you all ready?"

Kingsley leading the way, followed by Ron, Hermione, then Harry, they walked from Kingsley's office to a spot overlooking the Atrium, which appeared to have been magically expanded in size. Kingsley let out a low whistle. "Even I didn't expect this many," he said, impressed. "Looks like a couple thousand. Sorry, Harry. No pressure."

Ron snickered. Harry was mildly annoyed--he didn't feel like being teased about that right then--but said nothing. They headed down the stairs, ending up behind the makeshift stage, out of the view of the crowd. Kingsley led them to the right side, where they would stand while waiting to be called. "Okay, here we go. Come out when I call you." He walked out onto the stage.

"Are you nervous?" Hermione asked Ron excitedly.

"Kind of, I guess," agreed Ron. "I'm still thinking about the money. How about you, Harry?"

"I'm just thinking about later, when I can relax at Grimmauld Place." Or maybe hop on my Firebolt, fight a few dementors, Harry thought but didn't say. He knew they wouldn't appreciate it, but he felt as though that would be preferable to two thousand people watching him give a speech, something he wasn't exactly skilled at.

"Thank you very much," said Kingsley into a microphone, as the polite applause died down. "We are here today to bestow society's highest honor upon those without whose efforts we would not be free today. This is how our society recognizes and rewards those who have served us well and faithfully. But first, I want to welcome another audience. We will be getting pictures and sound from the Great Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where today's honorees have many friends and colleagues. Hogwarts, can you hear us?

He was almost shouted down by the voices and clapping coming from the Great Hall, whose image magically hovered over the crowd in the Atrium; from the stage, it looked as though there were two levels, like in a large auditorium.

"Thank you," said Kingsley. "Our society recently beat back a deadly threat, one that cost many lives, and greatly damaged many others. We are still trying to recover, trying to help those who were hurt the most rebuild their lives. Our society is united in this purpose.

"Until recently, the government was controlled by the Dark wizard born by the name Tom Riddle, who went on to call himself Lord Voldemort." There were some gasps in the crowd. "We could not hope to be free while he lived, and only one wizard, a brave young man marked by prophecy, had a chance to defeat him. He had with him his two closest friends; they comprised an inseparable trio since their first days at Hogwarts. They walked with him into mortal danger as they spent the past year on the run, persistently hunted by their enemies, gathering information that would allow the young man to fulfill his destiny.

"As some of you may know, it is possible to capture memories and display them in the air, as we will do here now, to give you a sense of why we are honoring these three today. I show you a part of one memory now, an event much rumored about, occurring the day before Voldemort's defeat. To make possible that defeat, they had discovered that they had to acquire and destroy an artifact that sat in one of Gringotts' most secure vaults, belonging to the Death Eater Bellatrix Lestrange. They managed to get through to the vault and find the item, but were almost captured by the Gringotts goblins, who would certainly have handed them over to Voldemort."

The image started playing in midair from the point at which Harry managed to use the sword to reach the cup. Watching from the side of the stage, Harry looked quizzically at his friends. "He asked us yesterday for a few memories, of key events," explained Hermione apologetically. "I thought it seemed only fair." Her expression showed that she hoped he wouldn't be upset, and he found that he wasn't. He had never told the others that they couldn't relate what they wanted. He knew, of course, that Kingsley hadn't asked him because he knew Harry would say no.

There were gasps from the audiences as Ron broke the dragon's chains and they climbed on. As the dragon burst out of Gringotts and into the sky, both crowds erupted in cheers. "It does look impressive when you see it from this point of view," Ron said to Harry, who grunted.

Kingsley resumed speaking. "Our first honoree was Hogwarts' brightest student, sorted into Gryffindor because she is even braver than she is clever. Here she is, saving the life of the one who saved all of us." Harry watched as the scene at Bathilda Bagshott's home in Godric's Hollow played out in the air, followed by strong applause. "To receive the Order of Merlin, First Class, Miss Hermione Granger."

She took a deep breath and walked out on to the stage. Kingsley put the ruby epaulets on her robe, put the medal on her chest, and shook her hand. "Thank you very much," she said to the audiences. "I want to recognize everyone who helped us, including the Order of the Phoenix, the great people at Hogwarts--" she paused, drowned out by cheers from Hogwarts. "...and everyone else who did what they could to fight the greatest threat of our time.

"Also, I'd like to say that I'm a Muggle-born, and I heard the word 'Mudblood' more than once at Hogwarts. I hope that I will never hear it again. Voldemort used anti-Muggle prejudice as a means to build power, and it means something that evil would use such attitudes to its own advantage. I hope we can build a world in which any kind of prejudice has no place. I would gladly trade this award for that." She paused, and smiling, added, "But I'm also very happy with the award. Thank you very much."

She stepped off to the side, as instructed by Darlene. Kingsley spoke again. "Our next honoree is a young man whose bravery is exceptional, but standard in his family. The image you are about to see includes a pond; this was winter, and the water was as cold as water can be before it becomes ice." The images began, and the audience saw Ron jump in and pull Harry out of the water. The audience applauded as they had for Hermione; Ron walked out, was decorated by Kingsley, and nervously began to speak.

"Thank you for that. After seeing that again, it makes me want to never jump in water for the rest of my life." There was some chuckling from both audiences. "I couldn't believe how cold that was.

"Thank you, Kingsley, both for this, and fighting as you did. The main thing I want to say is that I'm very proud of my family. I have five brothers and a sister, and every single person in my family actively fought Voldemort. I bet not many people can say that. Their efforts did a lot to make this happen" He paused for a few seconds, then said in a deliberately casual tone, "And Harry, I suppose he had something to do with it." Ron's joke got a good laugh; Harry wondered how long he'd taken preparing it. "Anyway, thank you all very much." He walked over to join Hermione, who took his hand.

"Thank you, Ron. I'll also say that I spent a lot of time with the Weasley family, and I agree with you wholeheartedly. Now, for our third honoree... Especially when we consider what happened to him as a baby, it could very accurately be said about him that he has been touched by the hand of destiny. And knowing him as I do, he would have preferred that that hand left him alone. Not out of a lack of bravery, obviously; because of modesty, because he values his privacy, because he's been targeted by Dark forces for much of his life, and because of the toll it has taken, the people he's lost: his parents, his godfather, other friends. I wouldn't blame him at all if he wanted to take the next year and do absolutely nothing. He'd have earned it.

"But he's faced it all with unwavering courage; he's never met a challenge that he wasn't willing to take up. A year ago, Albus Dumbledore thought he knew how Voldemort could be beaten, but he knew he wouldn't live long enough to see it through. He asked Harry to do it, and Harry said he would. Harry didn't ask Ron or Hermione to do it with him, but they did anyway. They would be with him until the end, whichever way that was. Ladies and gentlemen, the final battle."

Images and sounds from the last minute of Voldemort's life filled the arena, and there was barely a sound other than Harry and Voldemort's words to each other. Then Voldemort was dead, and the audiences at both Hogwarts and the Ministry exploded in loud applause and cheers. "To receive the Order of Merlin, First Class, Mr. Harry Potter." The din was so loud that Harry wondered whether anyone heard the words, but he stepped forward to receive the award anyway. Kingsley gave him the rubies and the medal, and stepped to one side. Harry stood at the microphone and waited for the noise to die down. Finally, it did.

"Thank you." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "When I was listening to Kingsley's introduction, I thought, that really doesn't sound like me, but whoever he's talking about must be a hell of a guy." Many in the audiences laughed, and Harry smiled. "Except for the bit about my privacy, that much is true.

"I want to thank people, like they did, but first I want to say something about our situation right now. We were attacked a few days ago by dementors, some of Voldemort's allies. I've been attacked by them quite a few times, and they're the most foul, evil creatures you can imagine. Even before they try to take out your soul, they suck out your happiness, anything positive. Anybody who's ever been near one would tell you that they simply have to be fought. I view this like I viewed Voldemort and the Death Eaters: an evil that we can and will defeat. It may take some time, it may involve some inconvenience and sacrifice. But we can do it. Please give Kingsley and the Ministry your support while they try to deal with the situation, and I urge everyone to do their best to learn the Patronus Charm. Hogwarts, Dumbledore's Army, let's see your Patronuses."

To Harry's surprise, about thirty Patronuses sprang from students' wands, though there were only about fifteen D.A. members currently at Hogwarts; Harry wondered whether Neville and others had been quietly teaching it. Obviously impressed, the Atrium audience applauded. Harry noticed an otter and a terrier pass in front of him; he turned and grinned at Ron and Hermione. I guess I did say D.A. members, he thought.

"Thank you. Next, I want to thank everyone at Hogwarts who fought that night; without your help, I couldn't have done what I did. I'm especially proud of Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, and Ginny Weasley for keeping up the fight at Hogwarts--" Harry paused as there was loud applause at Hogwarts. "...under very difficult circumstances, and the rest of Dumbledore's Army. You definitely learned more than what I taught you. And the Hogwarts teachers, especially Professors McGonagall, Sprout, Flitwick, and of course Hagrid... you did a lot too. So, thank you. And Professor Dumbledore, who's gone now, but who knew what he was doing when he set me on this path."

To Harry's surprise, someone in the first few rows shouted loudly; Harry assumed the whole Atrium could hear. "What about the goblins?"

Harry said the first thing that came into his head. "You want me to thank them?" After the laughter quieted, Harry mused, "I didn't know there were going to be questions. I guess you're referring to the fact that they want my head on a platter." This was met with scattered booing.

Kingsley stepped forward, nudging Harry away from the microphone. "I was going to say this later, but now is a good time... Harry and the others might have had to do a few things that were technically illegal, but were absolutely necessary to defeat Voldemort. In view of that, I've issued for Harry, Ron, and Hermione full and complete pardons for any actions, known or unknown, they might have had to take in order to defeat Voldemort." The audiences cheered heartily.

"Thank you, Kingsley," said Harry. "And as for the goblins, we did what we did because we had to; there just wasn't a choice. I can understand why they're annoyed, but I hope they'll look at it like, we did what we did and Voldemort is dead, or we didn't, and Voldemort is still alive, which situation would they pick. If it's the first, they should see it as something that was unavoidable and necessary. If it's the second, then that tells us where they have their priorities, and... they can live in that society if they want to, where money means more than freedom. I know I don't want to." This was also met with loud applause.

"Back to what I was saying... I guess I was almost finished. I just want to say that I was very glad Ron and Hermione are up here with me today. It feels right, and they deserve it. I want to thank them properly, but... I'm not sure I can." He turned to look at them, and his heart was warmed by their faces. Without thinking about it, he walked over and hugged Hermione hard, followed by Ron. He then waved to the still-applauding crowds, indicating that he was finished speaking.

Kingsley took the microphone again. "Thank you, Harry. And lastly... there's one more image that I'd like to show, from yesterday. I would have thought that Harry had done enough, but apparently not. You may have heard or read about this." Images in the air showed his fast descent and rescue of the children playing; a surprised Harry wondered from whom they had acquired the memory. "I don't recommend that anyone fly around, like Harry was, but the fact that he saved more lives surprised me not at all. This just seems to be what he does, and it emphasizes the reason we honor him today. Let us try to have a society in which his example is followed: in which we help those in trouble or danger, not thinking of ourselves first.

"That concludes our ceremony for today. There are still many things to be done, a lot of work ahead of us, to restore our society to what it was before the darkness came upon us. I am sure that we can and will do just that. Thank you for your attendance and attention, and thank you to Hogwarts." Both audiences applauded, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked through a door at the back of the stage, and were behind it. Kingsley joined them a few seconds later, and gave Harry a wry look. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Did you really have to do that last one?" asked Harry, exasperated. "All it does is build me up to be some kind of hero, and you know how I feel about that. You know I wouldn't have wanted you to do that."

Kingsley spoke calmly. "You did the thing, Harry. Yes, I didn't have to show it, but it was pertinent to what we were there for: to recognize and honor your contributions to society. And I wanted it emphasized that, however imprudent what you did was, you were out there fighting dementors."

"I didn't go out there to fight dementors! I wanted to have a fly!"

"Yes, but you did fight them. A lot of people would have run away, and of course, they wouldn't have been out in the first place. I'm sorry, Harry, but if you insist on doing heroic things publicly, I'm going to publicize them. And yes, I do want you as a symbol. There are a lot of things you could do to help right now. I'm not asking you to do them because I know how you feel these days, and as I said up there, I don't blame you. You've been through a lot, and you deserve a rest. But you can be a symbol without actually doing anything, and right now, our society needs a symbol, someone who they can rally around, be proud of. After what you did, like it or not, you are a hero. I'm not going to apologize for pointing that out to people." Kingsley's stern expression reminded Harry of a parent talking to a child who was acting ungratefully. Then Kingsley's face softened, and he added, "But I also wanted to thank you for what you said about the dementors. You said it every bit as well as I could have, and I'm sure it'll help."

Appreciating Kingsley's compliment, but still annoyed over the last set of images, Harry nodded and said nothing. Ron opened his mouth to speak as a paper airplane flew into Hermione's left hand. Surprised, she unfolded it and read it. "Some reporter for Witch Weekly... he's asking me to meet him in the lobby of the second floor, says he has information about my parents! What information could he have? Did something happen? I'd better go..." An apprehensive Hermione hurried off. As she did, two reporters made their way behind the stage and asked Harry for an interview; he turned both down, saying he had to go. He said goodbye to Ron and Kingsley, and Disapparated.

Not sure exactly when he had made the decision to go there, Harry found himself in front of the door of the Hog's Head. He knocked, but there was no answer. Could it be closed? Not wanting to linger outside, he tried the door, which was unlocked. He went inside in time to see an old man appearing from a doorway which no doubt separated the living quarters from the establishment. "Hello, Mr. Dumbledore."

Aberforth grunted. "Call me Ab, everyone I don't dislike does."

Harry smiled a little. "Thanks for the compliment." He sat down at the bar. "Are you closed, or do you just have no customers?"

"Comes out to the same thing. Right now, no fireplace, no customers. Anyway, I thought you were off getting honored."

"Just finished."

"And you came here to get drunk, to escape the trauma and humiliation of the experience."

Harry couldn't help but chuckle. "Something like that. I wasn't planning on getting drunk. I was escaping the press, though."

Aberforth nodded. "Vultures. You don't know how many people have been in here asking about Albus since that stupid woman wrote that book."

"But it turned out--I admit, I was surprised--it turned out that most all of what she said was true."

Aberforth, dusting below the bar as Harry spoke, shot him a glare. "That's not the point, boy! You should know that better than anyone. It's no one's business but those who were involved. All people like her do is open old wounds, cause pain for others' entertainment. Or do you want a biography written about you?"

Shame flushed Harry's cheeks as he saw Aberforth's point. "No, I don't," he admitted. "I... I guess I wasn't thinking when I said that."

Aberforth nodded understandingly. "A common affliction of the young. And even the not-so-young, sometimes. We learn."

Harry had no response, but appreciated Aberforth's comment. After a pause, he asked, "How about a butterbeer?"

Aberforth Summoned one from a container at the other end of the bar, removed the cap, and put it in front of Harry. "Two Sickles. You may be a hero, but you're still paying."

Harry grinned. "I appreciate that. But I don't seem to be carrying any money right now. Can I owe you?"

Aberforth rolled his eyes. "If only I had a Knut for every time I've heard someone say that... Longbottom's already run up a tab of more than ten Galleons, swears he'll pay me back after the term ends." With exaggerated annoyance, he waved his hand, indicating his reluctant agreement. Smiling again, Harry started in on his butterbeer. A minute was spent in silence. Harry looked up at the portrait of Arianna, who smiled at him; he smiled back. It was odd to think that Hogwarts was just on the other side of the portrait.

"Well," said Aberforth. "Aren't you going to tell me?"

Harry frowned. "Tell you what."

"That I was wrong, that my brother was right. He asked you to do the thing, you did it. I was sure it would end up with your death."

"Well, it did," said Harry causally, before realizing how that sounded. "Well, it kind of did. I went into the forest to give myself up, and Voldemort did the Killing Curse. I was sort of dead."

Aberforth eyed Harry as though he were not quite right. "Got better, did you?"

Harry laughed. "I'm not quite sure how it worked, to be honest. He did the Killing Curse, and all of a sudden I was in this strange place..." Harry spent the next twenty minutes telling Aberforth the story, backtracking to cover the search for the Horcruxes, pausing only to drink butterbeer.

Aberforth was impassive as he listened, and said nothing until after Harry finished. "So, you weren't wrong about him, in a way," concluded Harry. "He sent me out to my death. I'm pretty sure he didn't know I would survive."

"And you don't hold that against him," asked Aberforth calmly, with an inscrutable gaze.

Harry shrugged. "It had to be done. Would you want to walk around for your whole life with a piece of Voldemort inside you? It was no fun, believe me."

"Is death better?"

Harry's eyebrows went up; he hadn't thought of it that way. "More peaceful, anyway."

"Wish you'd stayed?" asked Aberforth with a shrewd expression.

Surprised, Harry shook his head. "I did choose to come back."

"Why?"

Harry thought about it. "I'm not sure. Maybe to finish off Voldemort. I just did. One thing I didn't think of until now, though, is that I'm not really afraid of death anymore. Whatever happened, that place... if I'd gone the other way, I have no idea what's there, but I'm sure it's something, and I'm sure it's not a bad thing."

There was a silence. "Walking out to your death... I'd think that would do something to a person."

Harry glanced down at himself. "Well, I seem fine."

Aberforth was rearranging bottles on a shelf as he spoke. "There are things apart from what meets the eye. Are you sure you didn't imagine it?"

Harry had wondered the same thing. "It didn't feel like something I imagined, and it was pretty specific information I got. But it didn't happen in the... physical world, so I can see why people would think that. But I was thinking that just because something doesn't happen in the physical world doesn't mean it must be imagination. It felt real, it affected me. So, I'm going with the idea that it really happened. If someone says it must have been imagination, I'll just say, maybe it was. I don't need to persuade anyone. It was for me only."

Aberforth's eyebrows rose slightly. "That's a bit of perspective I wouldn't have expected. I suppose it did affect you. Of course, nobody'll ask you, because you're not telling people." Harry nodded. "So, this is the big story, the one everyone wants to hear, that you don't want to tell. So, why tell me?"

With a small grin, Harry replied, "Maybe because you didn't ask. I'm not sure. But I felt like you deserved to know; this was a part of your brother that you didn't know. That he was sorry, that he felt guilty, that he thought you were a better man than him."

"If that was him, then yes, I definitely didn't know that," agreed Aberforth solemnly. He walked to the other end of the bar, picked up a case of ale, and with obvious effort, walked to where he'd been standing, and put it down on his side of the bar. He exhaled, and started putting them behind the bar, a bottle at a time.

"Why didn't you just levitate the case?" wondered Harry.

Aberforth didn't look up. "You have to use the muscles occasionally, or they atrophy. You're young, but it wouldn't kill you to do some physical exercise once in a while. You know," he added, still focusing on the bottles, "you want to be careful what you tell to a bartender. Stories are currency to a bartender, his stock in trade. He hears them, he tells them. You've just told me the granddaddy of them all." Now he looked up at Harry with those penetrating blue eyes. "Why do you think I won't tell people?"

Harry hadn't thought about it. "If you do, then you weren't the person I thought you were."

Aberforth grunted in amusement. "Is that supposed to make me feel guilty?"

Harry shook his head. "I just mean, I would have made a misjudgment. But I don't think I did." He gazed at Aberforth serenely.

"Did you misjudge my brother?"

Harry thought for a minute. "No. I trusted him, and I don't regret it. There were things I didn't know, but he was right not to tell me; it would have made things harder. I'm sure if he could have saved me, he would have. He cared about me, but he knew he had to do what was best for everyone. In the end, I think he was the person I thought he was."

Aberforth was silent, uncertainty behind his eyes. "I, on the other hand, was wrong. I told you to run off, save yourself. Think of how things would be different if you'd done as I told you. Looks like you were right to trust him."

"You didn't know," said Harry simply.

Aberforth nodded, and sighed. "There are always things we don't know. An old friend once told me not to judge other people quickly, because there are always things you don't know that would affect your judgment if you knew. Things aren't as they seem. Clearly, she was right. In my mind, he was still the person he was when we were young. I suppose people do change."

For some reason, this made Harry think of Malfoy; Dumbledore had clearly hoped that Malfoy would change. "I guess so," he agreed. "Well, I should be going," he said, standing. "Do you mind if I come by again?"

"You damn well better, you owe me two Sickles," said Aberforth, deadpan. Harry smiled. "I usually open at eleven, so... before then is fine."

Harry nodded, appreciating that Aberforth understood that Harry would rather not have company. "Thanks," he said, and Disapparated.

* * * * *

Back at Grimmauld Place, Harry lay on the bed relaxing for a while, then spent some time reading a book on household spells, which as he would be living alone for the foreseeable future, he felt he should know. Kreacher continued to go about his daily duties well and in good spirits, much better than at any time Harry had known him, but Harry still had conflicting feelings about owning a house-elf, or owning a sentient being of any sort. He felt somewhat guilty for doing so, but he knew very well that Kreacher would be crushed by any move to set him free. He could only imagine what Hermione would be doing if Kreacher had fallen into her hands.

He went downstairs and looked at the mail, which was starting to pile up again, no doubt as a result of the ceremony. He started opening them; as he expected, most were from random citizens praising him, and all said they had attended the ceremony. A few contained praise so effusive that Harry felt himself turning red as he read the letters. An even more effusive letter arrived from Lucia, the mother of two of the children he'd saved.

The next letter was from a reporter; he was about to throw it away when he noticed Hermione's name in the letter, which was very unusual. He read:

Dear Mr. Potter,

My name is Dormus Pinter, and I write for a magazine called Witch Weekly. I am writing to you to offer you an opportunity to react to an article I am writing, which will be printed the day after tomorrow. It concerns your friend Hermione Granger.

Following your highly admirable defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, it became well-known that you, Miss Granger, and your friend Mr. Weasley spent many months in close company, on the run and in hiding. Since you were raised in Muggle households, it would have been necessary for you and Miss Granger to take measures to ensure the safety of those who raised you, who would naturally have become targets of the Death Eaters. The purpose of my article is to investigate and report on the disposition of those who might have been in danger. In your case, it did not take long to discover that you had managed to persuade your uncle, aunt, and cousin to go into hiding. Having heard about your relatives, I do not imagine this was easy.

Following the paper trail left in the Muggle world by Miss Granger's parents, however, led to a much different discovery. In Australia, they insisted that they did not have a daughter, though Miss Granger's mother admitted that she often felt as though she had, and had suffered from some disorientation and seen a psychologist. She was taken to a magical specialist, who was able to mostly remove the memory modifications Miss Granger had made on both her parents. They came to England, and will attend the award presentation, after which they will meet their daughter.

I am in the process of writing an article about these events, and as you are a close friend of Miss Granger's, I would welcome your perspective. I invite you to visit my office (which you can do by fireplace, by saying, 'Witch Weekly Pinter') before six p.m. today if you would like to comment. Thank you for your time.

Sincerely,

Dormus Pinter

Harry had started to cringe halfway through the letter; now he suddenly knew why she had received that paper airplane. No doubt she had been shocked to come face to face with her parents; he could only imagine how traumatic it must have been for her. He found himself becoming angry at the position the reporter's actions had put her in. He put the letter on the table, walked to the fireplace, threw in Floo powder, and spoke the name of the reporter's fireplace.

He was suddenly in a smallish office, with many bookcases, and papers scattered all over counters and a desk. From the general disorganization, he could have easily guessed that a man, not a woman, worked in the office. The man sitting at the desk was in his early twenties, with short dark hair and a face that seemed open and friendly. He looked up, and his face lit up with surprise.

"Mr. Potter! You got my owl, thank you for coming..." He had stood up and was approaching Harry; he appeared to be about to extend his hand when he looked at Harry's face and discerned his attitude. "I... gather you're not happy about the article--"

"That's a huge understatement," said Harry, his tone reflecting his anger. "How could you do this to her?"

His face less friendly now, Pinter spoke earnestly, with the conviction of one sure of being in the right. "I didn't set out to do anything to her. It was going to be a little human-interest story: how did the heroes take care of those close to them who were in danger. No big deal, and that's what it would have been with you; you did what you should have done. But Harry, her actions were irresponsible, bordering on criminal. You just simply cannot change such huge parts of a person's memory and not cause damage, and I was stunned that she would attempt such a thing--"

"She was desperate!" Harry responded, almost shouting. "She was afraid her parents wouldn't believe her, that they wouldn't leave!"

Pinter looked at him quizzically. "What do you mean, 'wouldn't?' They didn't believe her, they refused to leave, and so she..." Seeing Harry's reactions, Pinter's mouth slowly fell open. "She didn't tell you! Exactly what did she tell you about what she had done?"

Astonished, he reminded himself that he was talking to a reporter, and had to be very careful. "I'm not saying anything for you to print in the paper--"

Pinter held up a hand as if taking an oath. "We're off the record. Nothing you say will be used unless you specifically say so."

Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm down. "She told me that she modified her parents' memories and had them go to Australia so they would be safe there. She didn't say anything about having already tried to persuade them. Are you saying that's what happened?"

Pinter nodded. "She did try to persuade them, she failed, then she did what she did without their consent. And she didn't tell you because..."

Harry could tell that Pinter had already realized the answer, but continued the sentence anyway. "She knew I would feel bad about what she had done, or what she told me she had done, and didn't want me knowing the rest..."

Pinter finished the sentence. "Because you would feel responsible, that it was because of you, helping you, that she did it."

Harry closed his eyes for a second in sorrow, understanding that the burden on Hermione had been even greater than he had thought. "You can't print this article," he said earnestly. "You just can't."

Pinter looked unhappy, but determined. "The damage is already done. Not that I set out to do damage, of course, but... the situation between her and her parents is pretty bad now, but printing the article won't change that."

"It'll humiliate her--"

"I don't think so," countered Pinter. "Look, she screwed up. She tried to do a lot more than she was capable of; only a trained Obliviator and Muggle expert could have done it well and covered the tracks, and even then, psychological damage would still have been possible, maybe likely. If she knew the subject better, she would have known this--"

"If it was the best she could do, maybe she'd say it was better than them being dead," responded Harry hotly.

"She did say exactly that, in fact," agreed Pinter. "I sympathize with her, I do. I understand that she was desperate, and didn't have the time or the resources to do it better. But I think people will understand that, and also sympathize with her. It's a tragic story, but people should understand the sacrifice she made to stay with you, and without her--I assume from what we saw at the ceremony, she saved your life--"

"More than once," Harry confirmed.

"And she knew you needed her, so this was in a way a sacrifice she made for wizarding society, and if people know that--"

"It isn't their business!" shouted Harry in frustration. "It's private!" Even in his anger, he couldn't help but remember the conversation he'd had with Aberforth, about Rita Skeeter's book, not that long ago.

"Earlier today, she received society's highest honor," said Pinter quietly. "She's a public person now."

"And this is how we thank her, by opening up her most personal problems for people to gossip about," said Harry bitterly. "Do you know, Mr. Pinter, why I haven't talked to the media, why I won't talk about what happened, what I went through in the past year? Because it's my life, and I don't want it splashed on the front pages, for people to read and think they know who I am, when they don't. It's for exactly this kind of reason. People say, why doesn't Potter talk to the press? They should be written about, then they might not wonder."

Pinter stared at Harry. "I'm sorry, Harry. I do feel bad for her, but... this is my job. This is the way things are."

"You must be able to do your job, and be a good person, at the same time."

Pinter had a rueful expression, nearly a smile. "By all accounts, Rita Skeeter isn't a good person. But she's the top reporter in the country."

"I don't think it has to be that way," said Harry. "I hope it doesn't." After a pause, Harry remembered something Pinter had said. "Why did you say this was a 'tragedy?' That usually means someone died, and here, no one did."

Pinter spoke slowly. "The Ministry has records, of course, of the addresses of the families of Muggle-born wizards. You lived at 4 Privet Drive; your aunt and uncle did not sell their home, no doubt hoping to return. Hermione's parents, not intending to return, did sell theirs, to a young couple. A month after the Ministry fell, they were found dead, in their home." Pinter looked down, his sorrow obvious.

Harry winced, and fought back the tears that suddenly threatened. "Does she know?"

Pinter shook his head. "With the other thing, I didn't have a chance to tell her. She'll find out when she reads the article."

Oh, God, thought Harry. As if the rest wasn't bad enough... "This," he said quietly, "is how our society recognizes and rewards those who have served us well and faithfully. Apparently." He turned to the fireplace, and left before Pinter could respond.

* * * * *

Next: Chapter 4, The Baby and the Knut: As pressure from the goblins to be compensated for their losses escalates, fallout from the trio's actions in the past year causes distress for Hermione and one of the Weasleys; Harry's strong aversion to being told what to do brings him close to conflict with Molly.

From Chapter 4:

"Well, I thought I should go talk to the Dursleys. Now that this is over, they can go back to their usual lives, but they may not know. Do you think Dedalus would have told them by now?"

She glanced down, troubled. "I'm sorry, Harry... I thought you knew. He died a few months ago. Well, not really died, but... they caught him, and..." She sighed heavily. "Dementors."