Harry Potter and the Antiquity Link

Chapter 11

The Life That Should Have Been

Harry slowly came awake, with no small feeling of disorientation. It was as if, on the road back to wakefulness, he passed through more and different levels of consciousness than usual. He'd had strange dreams; not just strange as dreams often were, but in that they didn't even feel like dreams usually felt. There was an unusual texture to them that he couldn't have put into words if he'd tried.

Finally able to look around, he saw that he was in a room, not large or small, with no furniture except for the bed he was on, and a few chairs. He suddenly realized it was St. Mungo's; oddly, he knew more from the smell than what he saw. He'd been there before, and hospitals often had a distinctive smell.

The door opened, and a man and a woman walked in, both obviously Healers, by their deep green robes. "How are you doing?" asked the woman.

He thought for a few seconds. "Disoriented, like my mind isn't sure of what's going on."

She nodded. "I'm afraid that may be with you for a day or two, but it should go away. Along with the sleep deprivation, the goblins gave you drugs that alter one's sense of reality, and can cause memory damage."

"What happened? How did I get here?"

The man silently walked to the door, opened it, and spoke to someone. A few seconds later, Kingsley walked in. Harry repeated the question.

"It was because of Dobby," said Kingsley. "He drank a--"

"Dobby?" Harry repeated, confused. "I don't remember it being Dobby. It was another house-elf..." Harry struggled to remember. In his mind's eye, he had a hazy vision of a very old elf, but the name wouldn't come... "Kreacher?"

"Kreacher? No, that's Sirius's elf," responded Kingsley. "Like I said, your memory may not be reliable for a few days. After that, it should be all right, we hope. Anyway, Dobby drank a substance that allowed us to track him, even through heavy shielding. It turned out that you weren't being held in Gringotts, even though you thought you were. It was made to look like Gringotts, but it was a room a kilometer outside one of the goblin villages."

"Why did they want me to think I was in Gringotts?"

"Probably to discourage any escape attempts," said Kingsley. "The substance he drank had magical properties that would have allowed us to get there even if it had been Gringotts--we think--but it was easier that it wasn't. I think they didn't keep you in Gringotts just in case something like this happened, and we found a way in. Once in, we could possibly have taken Gringotts from the inside. We're still conducting a siege of it, and we'll be arresting any goblins we find. It's basically a state of war right now. We think they have a base of operations somewhere other than Gringotts, but we have no idea where. There have been terror attacks on humans in the past few days; we think they're in league with the dementors and the remainder of the Death Eaters.

"We took the magical portal that was provided by what Dobby drank; of course we had shielding so that what happened to him didn't happen to us--"

"Why didn't he have shielding?" asked Harry, still very sad over Dobby's loss.

"He insisted we not give him any," said Kingsley. "It would have tipped the goblins off that we expected you to call him, and they might have suddenly moved you, or even decided to suddenly kill you. You know how he was, Harry. Hermione tried to talk him out of it, but he insisted that whatever was the best way to get you back, we did, even if it was very dangerous to him.

"So, we were able to get you out of there, but we weren't able to capture any goblins, which we hoped to do. You've now been sleeping for a little over twelve hours, and you should get some more soon. But I wanted to check your memory first, since they tell me that there may be temporary damage. I'm going to tell you a few things, and you tell me if they sound right. Okay?"

Harry nodded. "Your name is Harry Potter. Your parents' names are James and Lily Potter; you have no brothers or sisters. Your closest friends are Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, who are also a couple, and have been for a year. You're famous; you're known as the Boy Who Lived, because you survived a Killing Curse at the age of one. Is this sounding familiar?"

"It's kind of hazy, but yes, it sounds right," said Harry.

"Good. You live in Godric's Hollow, and you're a hero in the wizarding world because of your recent defeat of Voldemort, who almost killed you as a baby. Your godfather, Sirius Black, lives in Grimmauld Place, which was the center of the resistance to Voldemort. The leader of the Order of the Phoenix, Albus Dumbledore, died last year; the senior members became your parents, Sirius, and me. You've been something of a hero since defeating Voldemort, which you're not very thrilled with. You left Hogwarts a year ago, before your seventh year, to become an Auror. Your colleagues are worried about you, by the way. I'll be happy to tell them you're all right."

"I'm an Auror?" asked Harry, surprised.

Kingsley nodded. "And a good one, though you still have a lot to learn. Youngest one ever; we made an exception and let you in early. Mainly because of all you'd done at Hogwarts, being the leader of Dumbledore's Army, and so forth. Do you remember that?"

"Yeah, I kind of do..." Even though he hadn't been awake for very long, Harry felt himself growing tired again. "I don't remember much about my parents, though."

"Well, they'll be sorry to hear that," joked Kingsley. "Seriously, they'll understand. They were worried sick when the goblins kidnapped you. They wanted to come see you now, but I told them it was better to wait until we knew what your situation was going to be. The Healers tell me you're going to be okay, and I think you will, but you need to get acclimated to being back. Are you tired?"

"A little," Harry admitted.

"I'm not surprised," said Kingsley sympathetically. "From the memories, it seemed as though you hadn't slept for five or six days. That'll do bad things to you, so you do need to rest up more. I'll come back later to check on you."

"Okay." Kingsley left the room with the Healer, and Harry was alone again.

Thank God I'm out of there, he thought, I thought I'd never sleep again. That was horrible. Damn them for screwing up my memory, can't even remember my own parents. Strange how I feel like they died a long time ago, something about being the Boy Who Lived has that association. I guess it's just weird stuff bouncing around my head, whatever drugs those goblin bastards gave me. Poor Dobby, he didn't deserve to die like that...

He rolled over, got comfortable, and was soon asleep again.

* * * * *

"He's awake, I saw his eyes move!"

"Sssh, honey, let him take his time. You know what he's been through."

Harry opened his eyes completely, and saw his parents beaming at him, clearly extremely pleased to see him. He felt a very odd sensation: it was as if it was the first time he'd ever seen them, and yet they were very familiar. "Hi," he said weakly.

His mother took his hand in hers, kissed it, and clasped it with both of her hands. "How do you feel, Harry?"

"Better than before," he said. "A lot better. Do you think the St. Mungo's people will get mad at me if I get up?"

His father shrugged. "You never let that kind of thing stop you before."

"I guess that's true," agreed Harry. "Physically, I'm mostly okay. Mentally, I'm still kind of foggy. I can't remember much about you, or my childhood. When I was out, I had this dream that I grew up with your sister and her husband," he added, looking at his mother.

James roared with laughter; his wife gave him an admonishing glance. "James, we've been through this. I don't want you making fun of Petunia. I know how she is, but still... she can't help it, she has her own problems."

"I'll say; one of them is her husband. But that's her fault too." Sitting further down the bed than his wife, James patted his son's leg. "I'm sorry the stuff they gave you made you have nightmares," he said with an impish grin.

Harry chuckled. "Yeah, it wasn't good. Have I even met them? I must have, I had a clear image of their faces... usually angry at me."

"Yeah, they don't like wizards," agreed his father. "Yes, you've met them a few times, on your mother's admirable but futile attempts to make a connection between our family and theirs. I think she's more or less given up, so hopefully, the nightmares will stop."

"James Potter, don't you dare blame me for the dreams Harry has, especially under the influence of those awful goblins." Harry reached out for his father's hand; understanding what his son wanted, James gently pulled Harry's hand, providing leverage so his son could sit up. He swung his legs over to touch the floor, sitting on the edge of the bed. James started to stand, but Harry gestured for him not to. "I want to see if I can get up on my own."

"Just like always," said James.

Slowly, Harry got to his feet, and found he could stand without too much difficulty. Lily stood quickly and wrapped Harry in a hug.

Again, he had the sensation of this being both strange and familiar. He hugged her tightly, feeling far more of an emotional impact than he would have thought. He felt it should be natural to hug one's mother, but now it felt different somehow. "I missed you," he said.

"We missed you too, sweetie," she said, squeezing him harder. She let him go, and his father patted him on the shoulder. "Ready to go home?" asked James. Harry nodded. "Right, we're already done the paperwork, so we'll just get you to the nearest fireplace."

Harry took a few steps, then looked at his right hand, and stopped. He held up his right hand and looked at it; there was a simple gold ring on his right ring finger. "I don't remember wearing a ring."

"You don't remember a great many things," his mother gently pointed out.

"You've had that ring," said James, "since you were eleven. Clench your right fist tightly; that should help you remember."

Harry did, and suddenly he saw, as if it was a little above wherever he happened to be looking, the living room of a home. He saw Ron and Hermione sitting on a sofa, and Cho sitting near them, on a smaller sofa. They were apparently chatting happily, but he could only see them, not hear them. He looked at his father quizzically.

"When you were eleven, you were very happy to go to Hogwarts, but you said you would really miss us," explained James. "You said you wished there was some magical way you could be there and be at home at the same time. Of course, there isn't, but we gave you this ring, which is the next best thing. By making a tight fist, you can always see the living room of our home. You've said that when you were homesick, you often used it, and it made you feel better."

Harry nodded. He still didn't remember, but it sounded good. "I'm sure it did."

They walked out of the room, down the hall to the elevator, and were finally in the lobby. Harry had to sign one form, and they could go. In front of the fireplace, he hesitated. "What's the name of our house?"

His parents exchanged a glance; Lily gave him a sympathetic look. "It's all right, dear. You'll feel better soon, things will start coming back to you." She threw Floo Powder into the fireplace, said "Potter's Hollow," and walked through. His father gestured him to go ahead, and he did.

He was suddenly in his home's living room, which as he had already seen through the ring, looked like most living rooms he had ever seen. Nice furniture, but very lived-in, with a few books and magazines spread on end tables and a coffee table. He looked up to see three faces: Ron, Hermione, and Cho.

Hermione was first, walking up to him and giving him a hug. "They said your memory would be strange. You remember me, right?"

He put his hands on her shoulders and smiled. "If you always knew the answer to every single question in school, then yes."

Ron and Cho laughed. "Well, there might have been a few that I didn't know," said Hermione, with a small grin.

Ron stepped forward and gave Harry a quick hug. "But she never would have admitted it," he agreed. "We're so pleased they got you out of there, mate."

"I'm pretty pleased too," agreed Cho, who stepped up to Harry and with a mischievous grin, took his head in her hands and planted a strong kiss on his lips. Slightly surprised at first, Harry soon responded in kind.

A few seconds later, she slowly broke off the kiss, and smiled at him. He grinned back. "So, you're my girlfriend, right?" he asked, with feigned uncertainty that wasn't entirely feigned.

Ron, Hermione, and his parents broke up laughing. "If she's not, I'd say she has some explaining to do," joked James. "Well, son, she was the prettiest girl at Hogwarts, so yes, she must be your girlfriend. We Potters could--"

"Always pick them," Lily finished in unison with him. "How many dozen times have you said that now?"

James shrugged. "I can't help it if it's true."

"If you want to go upstairs," said Cho with a gleam in her eye, "I could remind you in more detail."

Harry laughed. "That sounds good," he agreed. "I'm really happy to see you all."

"Well, come on, let's sit down," suggested James. Lily, Ron, and Hermione sat on the sofa, James in a comfortable chair, and Harry and Cho in a loveseat near the sofa. She snuggled close to him; he put his arm around her shoulders. He looked at her, and was heartened to see her happiness that he was back.

"So, you really don't remember a lot of stuff?" asked Ron.

"Before I was kidnapped, no, not much."

"But why would they mess with your memory? Or, why did they kidnap you in the first place?"

"They wanted to put me on trial," Harry said, recalling that detail out of the fog that was his memory. "Because of something I did... something we did?"

"Breaking into Gringotts," supplied Ron.

"Oh, yes, to get the Horcrux," recalled Harry. "They were really angry about that, especially because it got one of their people killed. They thought that was an offense against them, as if they were a different country or something. They wanted me to recognize their legitimate right to put me on trial, which of course I wouldn't do. So they wouldn't let me sleep for days and days, figuring that in the end I'd break down and agree."

"You never would, of course," Ron said confidently.

"I'm not so sure," said Harry. "It's terrible, almost worse than pain, in some ways. It's kind of like being starved. Your body just wants one thing, it needs it, but it can't get it, and it's hard to focus on anything else. I think I would have either broken, died, or gone nuts. I'm not sure which would have happened. Then after they killed... funny how I still think it was Kreacher, strange how memory is... after they killed Dobby--I mean, it was almost like he exploded, it was disgusting, and so shocking--I just lost it, I was raving at them, so I probably wouldn't have broken soon after that. But before, I might have. It's such a horrible feeling."

"Well, you're out of there now, and with the people who care about you," said Lily reassuringly. Harry looked down at Cho, who smiled up at him. He leaned down to give her a quick kiss.

James gave Ron an amused glance. "You're not going to say anything about that?"

Ron shrugged. "Usually I would, but I'll give him a break today," he replied magnanimously. "I sometimes give you a hard time when you two start doing that around other people too much."

"Ron means 'around him' and 'at all,'" clarified Hermione.

"And, 'always,'" added James.

"All right, all right," said Ron. "I get it. So, you didn't find out anything from them?"

"Not really. Just that they seemed to want to be recognized as their own country, they seemed really sensitive about the idea that they're under the domination of wizards."

"Huh," muttered James. "Domination, my ass. They could've chosen to live by themselves. They did, mostly, except for Gringotts, and they did most of the dominating when it came to that. The Ministry didn't allow competing banks, and believe me, the goblins took full advantage of that."

"Why didn't they allow competing banks, anyway?" asked Harry.

James shrugged. "Do I look like I got a History of Magic N.E.W.T.?"

"Do you look like you ever opened a history textbook at all?" asked Lily, with a wry look at her husband.

"Well, come on, it was Binns," protested James. "As the kids have told us, death didn't make him any more interesting."

"It's not the teacher's job--"

"To make it entertaining," James finished. "Yes, I've heard that. But it sure helps."

Any further discussion on the topic was cut off when the fireplace lit up and a tall, handsome, dark-haired man walked out. "Sirius!" said Harry happily, disengaging from Cho to stand up to greet him.

"He remembers me! A very good sign indeed," said Sirius, giving Harry a friendly hug, then taking a seat near James. "Great to have you back, Harry. A lot of people at the bank were asking about you."

"The bank?" repeated Harry.

"You don't remember the bank?" asked Hermione, surprised.

"Well, as long as he remembers his godfather, I don't care if he remembers the bank!" joked Sirius loudly, with his trademark barking laugh. "A few weeks ago, after the goblins started to keep people from their money, I happened to ask my worthless house-elf a few lucky questions, and he reluctantly told me about a small fortune my parents had hidden in a wall, never told me about."

"Three million Galleons," put in Harry.

"Ah, so it is coming back to you," said Sirius. "Good. So, I decided to get the help of Ron's recently unemployed oldest brother, and open up my own bank. Business was brisk at the beginning, and now that Gringotts is shut down, it's even harder for us to keep up with demand. I'm just taking a break to see you, but I'll be heading back there. So, you do remember the bank?"

"Yeah, except... some things I just remember differently. You'll think this is strange, but for some reason I thought it was my bank."

Sirius laughed loudly. "Well, good! You can go down there and work, and I'll stay here and relax!"

There was laughter all around. "No, thanks," said Harry, smiling. "I think, bad memory or not, banking's the last thing I'd want to do."

"You're telling me," agreed Sirius. "Don't care for it much myself. I'm really just helping Bill, right now, more or less as a public service."

"With Sirius, it's all about helping others," teased James.

"You better believe it, old friend. Besides, I don't see you doing anything useful with your three million Galleons."

"Do I have three million Galleons?" asked James facetiously. "Hmmm, let me check my coinpurse..."

"Check your wall," countered Sirius. "Here, I'll help." He took out his wand and pointed it at the wall. "Toujours Impur!"

Harry burst out laughing, as did everyone else. Sirius shrugged. "Well, don't look at me, I did my best. You should have bought one of those homes with the huge, ancient supply of cash in the walls. Lack of foresight, James."

"Yes, well, I have two things that are even better than money," replied James, with affectionate glances at Lily and Harry.

"Ah, but you see, you've generously chosen to share that with me," said Sirius, with a superior expression. "But you're not getting any of the money."

"I wouldn't want it," sniffed James. "Merlin only knows how it was obtained."

"Knowing my family, it would probably shock even Merlin," agreed Sirius. "The gold didn't want to be lent to Muggle-borns. When we took it out, it was pleading, 'please, please, use us to bribe government officials, purchase Dark artifacts, subvert all that's good in the world!' But I just laughed, and I said, no, you'll be used to... feed hungry Muggle-born children! And it screamed, oh, the piteous screams, of bad gold being used for a good purpose..."

Laughing again, Harry took a second to notice how content he felt. In his family's home, with good friends, pretty and adoring girlfriend by his side. Life is pretty good, he thought. Funny how it seems strange for it to be this way.

"I always said you should be a fiction writer," said a grinning James.

"Nah, too much work. Besides, they have lots of fiction writers down at the Prophet."

"Well, it should be getting better now that Voldemort's gone," countered James. "I was thinking of doing a few pieces for them."

"Oh, that reminds me," said Harry. "Sorry I don't remember this--"

"You don't have to say that every time you can't remember something," his mother said gently. "You don't have to apologize."

He nodded, appreciating his mother's concern. "Anyway, Dad, I wanted to ask what you do for a living."

To Harry's surprise, Sirius and Lily chuckled. Feigning great interest, Sirius turned to James and said, "Yes, I've been wondering about that myself." Looking at Harry, he added, "I believe the phrase is, 'man of leisure.'"

"You should talk, Mr. My-House-Is-Made-Of-Gold," retorted James. "You don't exactly get up and go to the Ministry every morning."

"And thank Merlin for that," rejoined Sirius. "Can you imagine me at a desk every day?"

Smiling at their repartee, Lily answered Harry's question. "Your father's usual answer to the question is, 'a little of this, a little of that.' Some people say that when they don't want to answer the question, but in James's case, it's really true. We're not rich, but we have enough money to live on, so we don't need regular jobs. One year, he replaced Madam Hooch at Hogwarts when she was away on sabbatical; that was before you started there. He's done some freelance writing for the Monthly Snitch, the Quidditch magazine, and the odd piece for the Prophet. Let's see... some curse-breaking, security consulting for permanent spells for newly constructed buildings..."

"You did some dragon stuff with Charlie," said Ron.

"That's right," said James. "Fortunately, all the burn scars healed."

"I wish I could have been with you at Hogwarts," said Harry wistfully.

Lily grinned. "You said that so many times when it was happening. I remember your asking why Madam Hooch couldn't have taken a sabbatical a few years later. You weren't happy with her."

"I had a good time, though," said James. "Worked with Charlie; I hoped he'd go professional. He was good. Not as good as my son, of course--"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "If I had a Galleon for every time--"

"Yes, all right. But did you ever think he may have forgotten that?"

"No, I remember Quidditch," said Harry. "I was a Seeker. I seem to remember that I was pretty good."

"You were the best," said his father proudly. "Anyway, at Hogwarts, I also made it my business to annoy Snape as much as possible. Nothing crude, just pinpricks in his self-satisfied self-regard. Arrogant prat, always thought he knew everything, and was better than everyone else."

"Is that why he always gave Harry such a hard time?" asked Ron.

Without thinking, Harry answered, "No, it was because he fancied Mum."

There was two seconds of total silence, then Sirius burst out in hysterical laughter, barking like a hyena. James and Lily both looked surprised, but for different reasons, Harry felt.

"Harry, I think this is one of those things you're remembering wrong," said Lily.

"You think?" said Sirius sarcastically, laughter slowly ebbing. "Oh, Merlin, what a funny thought... no, sadly for him, Snivellus wouldn't have lowered himself to be interested in such a fine woman as our Lily. Not pure enough, you know. But then, he never did find himself anyone, so who knows? Maybe it wasn't the ladies he was interested in."

James chuckled. "If I had a Galleon--"

"You've said it before--"

"I know, but you're way ahead. No, I just don't think any woman would have wanted him. With that personality? A toad would be better."

Harry noticed that his mother looked a little uncomfortable... or did she? He wasn't sure, and he decided to try to change the subject. "What's the situation in the wizarding world right now? I guess it's much better, now that Voldemort is dead, right?"

His father nodded. "Much better, but far from settled, as your kidnapping showed. We still don't know why the goblins did it; it's as though they had a death wish or something. If they were going to go over to Voldemort's side, they should have done it when he was alive. Now, they're just begging for an ass-kicking, and after what they did to you, I'd be happy to oblige. As would 90% of the wizarding world. I know, you said they don't want to be dominated, and you did break into their precious bank. But boy, talk about overreacting. Kingsley's going to have a hard time preventing a massacre if we find out where they're hiding, assuming it's not Gringotts. So, I think it will calm down at some point, but you Aurors will have your hands full for a while."

It was still strange for Harry to find himself referred to as an Auror. "And the dementors are still running around?"

"Well, really more like gliding, but yes."

"Not that that stops you from flying," said an obviously unhappy Lily.

Puzzled, Harry looked at her. "Do you mean me, or..."

"Both of you." She glanced at her husband. "You both had to make a point of going for a fly, even with dementors around." Harry got the impression that there had been at least one argument on the topic.

"You're damned right," said James. "We're not going to let them tell us what to do. And Harry was even keener to do it than me."

"I remember," sighed Lily.

"In fact, he wanted to call the Prophet, have them send over a reporter to take pictures, to make a public point about not being intimidated."

Harry's eyes narrowed slightly. "That doesn't sound like something I'd do."

James laughed. "No, it's not. I was making that up, test your memory. No, I suggested it, but your dislike of reporters is as strong as ever. Speaking of which, just so you know, there's a half-dozen more interview requests we've gotten since it was announced that you're okay. I don't suppose you'll be doing any of them."

"That depends," said Harry. "How much are they offering?"

James looked puzzled. "That doesn't sound like you."

Harry grinned. "I was kidding."

Everyone laughed, Sirius loudest of all. "He got you! Doesn't happen often, but I love it when it does."

"That wasn't fair," complained James. "His memory's messed up. He caught me off guard."

"Well, you taught him, old friend," retorted Sirius. "As I've said many times before, he is his father's son."

The comment gave Harry a warm, happy feeling that he felt oddly unaccustomed to. Right then, he couldn't think of a better thing to be said about him.

* * * * *

The rest of the day went equally well. There was a nice family dinner attended by the same people; the others told Harry stories about when he was younger that he had forgotten, like the time when he and Ron had broken into the Quidditch supply shed and put magical itching powder on Draco Malfoy's broom, so he couldn't stop scratching himself while he was supposed to be looking for the Snitch, and so lost to Hufflepuff, then thought to be the weakest Quidditch team. Ron explained that they hadn't done it before a Gryffindor match partly so they wouldn't be suspected, and partly so they could watch the results more easily. The story didn't sound familiar to Harry, but after he heard it told, he felt he could remember it.

A few hours after dinner, James went out to help Sirius with some bank business. Harry sat at the desk in his bedroom, the desk at which he'd apparently done some summer schoolwork. He looked through the drawers and found a few old essays, but nothing exceptional, nothing to stir up important memories.

His mother suddenly appeared at the door to his room. "How are you doing, Harry?"

"Oh, Mum," he said, slightly startled. "Fine. Just... everything seems a little unfamiliar, but they say that'll go away. Why did you ask?"

She sat on the edge of the bed, facing him. "Harry, you were tortured, deprived of sleep," she said, her tone showing her feelings. "I know how strong you are, and that you might not want to talk about it, but that kind of thing has to have an effect on you, your father's bravado notwithstanding. I just wanted to know how you were feeling."

He shrugged lightly, not sure of what to say. "Right now, the fact that I can't remember much bothers me more than anything else they did to me. As for the other stuff... well, it was really hard, of course. One thing I remember... or at least, I think I remember, it's hard to trust any memory right now... is that part of how I got through it was by deciding that I didn't care if I died or not. One reason I don't trust that memory now, though, is that I definitely don't feel that way now. I feel like I have a lot to live for. Great family, friends, girlfriend... I feel like I'd really hate to die right now. But I'm pretty sure that was how I felt then. I can't imagine why."

She nodded; both her pain and her pride were in her eyes. "I think I can guess. If you're captured, you have no control over anything, including whether you live or die. The only real defense against that is to decide that you don't care, so they can't use it to coerce you. I thank God you're alive, of course, but I can understand why you would have felt that way."

"I just don't want you to think I didn't care if I saw you again," said Harry somberly.

Tears coming to her eyes, his mother stood. "Oh, Harry..." She reached out for his hand; he took hers, stood, and hugged her. "You're such a good boy," she said, her voice heavy with emotion. "We've always been so proud of you."

He said nothing as he felt his own tears threaten; he just held her, lost in the comfort and security of being held by his mother. After a minute, she kissed him on the cheek, and they both sat on the bed, facing each other. She held onto his left hand.

"Anyway, it was bad, but I guess it could have been worse. What really bothers me is losing Dobby. So, he was our house-elf?"

"Not exactly, but kind of. After you freed him from Lucius Malfoy, he helped out here a lot, but your father and I refused to own him. We asked him to work at Hogwarts, mainly so he could look after you, but since you left Hogwarts, he spent more of his time here. We liked him, of course, and we miss him. But he died doing exactly what he wanted to do. Without him, we might not have you back. It's very noble, and not that different from what you did against Voldemort."

Thinking about that reminded him of another very hazy memory, one he felt he should ask about. "Mum... how did I survive the Killing Curse, at age one?"

"No one knows," she said. "It's one of the biggest mysteries of the century. It's part of the reason you're so famous."

Harry didn't want to tell her the other, vague memory he had, the one that couldn't be right. "I guess Dad had some ideas about that."

She laughed. "Oh, he did, all right. Quite a few of them. His favorite seemed to be that you were just too stubborn to die. He said it when you were small, but it really did turn out to be true. You always have been quite stubborn. Like with this business about flying, even though the dementors are there."

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "I guess you would worry. But we can't just run away and hide, let them intimidate us."

"I know. It's almost driven me crazy all your life, when you were constantly taking chances at Hogwarts. But this is just who you are; you get it from your father. I have to accept it, but that doesn't mean I like it."

After a short pause, she changed the subject. "Harry... when you said that earlier, about... Professor Snape... where did that come from? I mean, you said it casually, you seemed very sure of it."

"I... I don't remember a lot of it. I remember a broken tree branch hitting Petunia." His confidence in his memory increased slightly as he saw her look of recognition. "He gave me some memories as he was dying. A lot involved you, but you wouldn't have him because of his interest in the Dark Arts, and his friends. I got the impression that he was on our side partly because it was what you would want from him. I think he never stopped loving you."

He saw the sadness in her eyes; her grip on his hand tightened a little. "I always thought there was more to him than what I could see. Unfortunately, he didn't show it anywhere near enough. But even if he had... we were just too different. It's one of those things where you can't help hurting the other person, even if you'd rather not."

"I'm sorry I said what I did earlier," he added. "I guess Dad doesn't know."

She almost smiled, and shook her head. "No, he doesn't. Can you imagine if he did? I'd never hear the end of it. They always hated each other so much. You remember--well, maybe you don't, but after you told us that Dumbledore had wanted Severus to kill him, and Severus hadn't wanted to but did it anyway, your father had a very hard time believing that, even though you were sure. He and Sirius were incapable of believing anything the least bit positive about Severus. I gave up trying to change your father's mind quite a while back." She paused for a minute. "We have a good marriage; there are very few things we just don't talk about. Severus was always one of them."

Harry found that he had conflicting feelings about Snape, especially since he couldn't totally trust his memories, even though his mother had confirmed some of them. He decided to change the subject, and ask more about his current situation. "Mum, I'm wondering... what do you think of Cho?"

Lily chuckled wryly. "What's a mother to say when her son asks her what she thinks of his girlfriend. No matter who her son is, the mother is almost bound to say something along the lines of 'she's not good enough for you.' Considering that my son is the youngest-ever Auror and the hero of the wizarding world... you get the idea. She's certainly pretty, as your father is fond of noting. And she's quite taken with you, but who wouldn't be. She's very nice; I have nothing bad to say about her. I'm not sure I know her well enough to say much more. The important thing, Harry, is how you feel about her. If you love her, then what I or your father think isn't that important. Of course, if I disapproved of her, then I probably wouldn't be saying this." She smiled a little at her own expense.

He grinned. "I understand. Really, I was just curious. But it's nice of you to say that."

"To be honest," she said, "and don't worry about your memory loss, because I've never told you this before, but when you were younger, I kind of hoped that you would end up with Hermione." To Harry's raised eyebrows, she added, "I know you didn't look at her that way, but I've always liked her quite a lot."

Harry felt oddly apologetic, as if he'd let his mother down by not having been attracted to Hermione. "She's a terrific friend. I guess I can see why you thought that. But I'm really happy for her and Ron, I think they're a good couple."

"Have you told them you think that?"

"Well, I can't really trust my memory right now. But no, I don't think so."

"I understand. Especially at your age, we don't always think to say things like that. But I think it would be very nice if you told them. I'm sure it would mean a lot to them."

"Maybe I will," he said.

She nodded. "I should go back out there; there are things I need to finish in the kitchen, and I'd like to finish before your father gets back. But I wanted to see how you were doing." She stood, and looked down at him for another moment. "I love you, Harry."

His chest tightened; it was as if he had never heard the words before, even though he was sure he had. He stood to hug her. "I love you too, Mum."

She kissed him again, and left the room. He sat back down, thinking about how lucky he was to have the life he had.

* * * * *

Harry woke up the next morning, noticing that the digital clock read 8:22 in large, red numerals. It occurred to him to wonder why he had a Muggle clock, but suddenly he remembered that he shared his mother's interest in Muggle artifacts and had occasionally gone shopping in the summer with her in Muggle London. It had given him something in common with Ron, whose father was also interested in such things. He remembered his mother and Ron's father having animated conversations when the two families got together.

Thinking about those times, he suddenly realized that his memory was gradually coming back; he hadn't been able to remember that the day before. Thank goodness, he thought, I was getting worried that I'd never be able to remember anything. He walked over to his chest of drawers. Let's see... socks are in the third one down. He opened it, and saw several pairs of clean socks. Yes! It's coming back.

He got dressed and headed down the stairs, remembering on the way down that his mother often greeted him with a kiss on the cheek in the morning, because she was happy to see him during the two months a year he wasn't at Hogwarts. He walked into the kitchen to see his father at the table reading the Prophet, and his mother preparing breakfast. As he walked past her, she intercepted him to kiss his cheek. He smiled and sat down.

He was surprised to see a second copy of the Prophet at his usual seat opposite his father. "We don't get two of these, do we?"

James chuckled. "No, but it's good that you knew that. If there's an article about you, or you're prominently mentioned, they send you an extra copy. I always joke that it's like having a second subscription, since you live here. Speaking of which, we kept them away yesterday because it was your first day back, but you have to decide whether you're going to talk to the Prophet about what happened."

Harry looked at the front page, on which there were two equally prominent headlines: "Harry Potter Returns Home Safely" and "Aurors Beat Back D/D Attack in Hogsmeade." He glanced up at his father. "What does D/D mean?"

"It's shorthand the Prophet has been using lately, from around the time you were taken. It means dementor and Death Eater; since they're working together now. The Death Eaters conduct an attack, doing it in such a way that they allow dementors to get close to people."

Harry nodded, started to read the article about him, then noticed something he found surprising. "Rita Skeeter wrote this?"

"Of course," his father responded. "Why?"

Harry shrugged. "I just... had this idea that I didn't like her."

Lily laughed. "You don't, and neither do I. Your father persuaded you to make peace with her after everyone found out that Voldemort was really back. He's always been the one who thinks about your public image, which neither you nor I really care about. Unfortunately, your father is right, in that thinking about it yields better results than not thinking about it."

"Well, thank you, dear, for giving me that much credit," said James with what Harry assumed was feigned surprise. To Harry, he said, "It really is better to have her as your friend. If she likes you, or if it's in her interest, she'll write about you in a very flattering way, which helps your public image, and therefore, your influence, your ability to get things done that you want to do."

Harry nodded. "I vaguely remember this conversation; my memory's getting better. I had to get Hermione to promise that she wouldn't out Skeeter as an Animagus, right?"

"Yes, that's right. And it's been better in the long run. Skeeter had to go to ground when Voldemort took over, of course, but her positive articles in your sixth year made a big difference in how you were perceived after they accused you of Dumbledore's murder. There are definite benefits. And she's not a bad person."

"Just utterly without conscience," muttered Lily.

"A minor flaw," deadpanned James. "Actually, I'm not sure whether she has a conscience or not. I would say that she's a real 'user,' in that she looks at you in terms of whether you can be of use to her or not. And if you can, she makes sure she's of use to you. It's very symbiotic."

"You mean, 'repugnant,'" retorted Lily as she served James and Harry their food. "I know it ends up better, but I'd rather be pure, and restrict myself to dealing with people I like, or at least, don't dislike. I hate the breathless way she writes everything, as if a scandal is always right around the corner."

"Not about Harry," pointed out James. "Not since those Triwizard articles, anyway. Now, it's, 'can you believe how wonderful this young man is?'"

"Well, I'm not going to give her extra points for writing the truth," retorted Lily as she sat down with her own food, with a small grin at Harry. "But you know what I mean. If you hadn't made that deal with her, it would be, 'he can't really be this good, so what are the skeletons in his closet?'"

"And you've made my point for me," countered James. "If I hadn't made the deal with her, then yes, she'd be doing that. Therefore, my doing the deal with her was the right thing to do."

Lily sighed. "I know. It just comes down to how it makes you feel. I know the alternative isn't good. It just leaves a bad taste in my mouth."

"Well, have one of the scones," suggested James, as he took a bite of one. "It leaves a very good taste in my mouth."

"Yeah, they're really good, Mum," added Harry.

"Thank you, Harry. That's very sweet."

"I don't get one of those?" asked James with mock indignation. "I said it first, you know."

"You were just trying to change the subject."

"I'd say the subject was ready to be changed, and I did it with a compliment. I'm hurt that you don't appreciate it."

She chuckled. "I'll bet." Harry saw her give her husband a look that suggested that she did in fact appreciate the compliment, but she said nothing further.

There was silence for a few minutes as they ate and read. Finally, James said, "So, Harry, you didn't answer my question, about the Prophet."

"Hmmm? Oh, sorry, I forgot. Yeah, I guess I'll do it. Is it part of the deal that Skeeter gets first dibs on me?"

"Exactly. Wouldn't be worth it to her otherwise. I'll go down to the Prophet after breakfast and tell her she can come. I know you don't like to do that kind of thing."

Harry was about to thank him when someone walked into the kitchen; he was surprised, as he hadn't even heard the fireplace. "Hello, Hestia," James greeted her.

"'Morning, sorry to interrupt your breakfast. I wanted to stop by to see how the young Mr. Potter is doing."

Harry remembered that an article almost a year ago, just before Voldemort had taken over the government, had referred to him as 'the young Mr. Potter,' and the other Aurors had taken to calling him that, in fun. He answered in kind. "The young Mr. Potter is doing a lot better than yesterday."

"Good. Now for a few memory tests. What was the code phrase when the Ministry fell?"

"Give me liberty, or give me death."

"Very good. Which Auror said that Cho wasn't pretty enough for you?"

Harry chuckled at the memory. "Stanley."

"Excellent. How many Galleons do you owe me for losing that bet we made two weeks ago?"

"You owe me four Galleons, since I won the bet."

She shook her head sadly. "I see the memory's not completely back yet."

"Very funny. You can owe me if you don't have it now."

"Sorry, Hesty," said an amused James. "I remember it too."

"Well, I tried. Yes, you do seem much better. So, when do you think you can come back?"

"Today, if you want. Is there anything going?"

"No, no ops today, just patrols. A few things are coming together; we might have an op set up in a few days. But not now."

"Sure you don't need me? Get me out of a Skeeter interview."

Hestia laughed. "Sorry, but you will have to submit to another interview after which you will be fulsomely praised by the media. You can come in tomorrow, in the morning we'll catch you up on what you missed. There should be a new briefing at noon. Enjoy your day, if you can."

"After Skeeter, I might be able to. Thanks, Hestia." She said goodbye and left through the fireplace.

* * * * *

After breakfast, James went to the Prophet and found that Skeeter had been expecting him or Harry to come by. James came back and got Harry, who went with his father to Skeeter's office, where he submitted to a half-hour interview. On leaving, James suggested that they Apparate to a park in Muggle London that they'd gone to a few times before to get away from wizards. Harry agreed, and they got under the Invisibility Cloak and Apparated to what they knew to be a fairly secluded part of the park. Once there, they took the Cloak off and walked around, enjoying the scenery.

"Well, that wasn't so bad, was it?" said his father humorously.

"It was... different than I remember," replied Harry. "Before, she was all insincere, in fourth year, like she wanted me to think that she was my friend. This time, it was like I was being debriefed. All business."

"That's because you have a business relationship," said James. "You're useful to her, she's useful to you. She acts like she doesn't care, and she doesn't, but tomorrow, you'll look like the bravest and strongest wizard since Merlin himself."

Harry shrugged lightly as they walked. He still felt as his mother did--that dealing with Skeeter left a bad taste in the mouth--but didn't protest further, knowing how his father felt, and not wanting to argue. "I guess one good thing about this park is that there won't be dementors around."

"Not that I'd ever run away from them, but for your mother's sake, yes, I agree," allowed James. "And it is very nice, I suppose. It's our first time here since you beat Voldemort, but now that you're even more famous than you were before, I suspect you may be coming here more often, to get away from it all."

"Wouldn't surprise me," agreed Harry. "But yes, it is nice. I'm wondering, has it been difficult for you, having a son who's as famous as I am? I mean, are there problems, things I wouldn't think of?"

"You mean like, being jealous of your fame?"

"No!" Harry responded, surprised. His father grinned at him. Harry sighed, annoyed at having been taken in. "C'mon, seriously."

Still smiling, James patted his son's shoulder. "Sorry, I can't resist sometimes. But no, not really. The obvious thing is the danger you're always in. That's always hard for us, but that's not directly connected to your fame, as such. It makes our lives... busier, more interesting, maybe more difficult. You could say it affects us as it affects you, on a smaller scale. People talk to us, many of whom we don't know, tell us we must have done a good job raising you. And when the Prophet was attacking you, the opposite, a lot of people saying we must have fed your ego too much. I had a hard time adapting to that. A hard time not cursing them, you could say. It's hard when someone attacks your kid; anything bad that happened to you, we felt like it was happening to us. But apart from that, I really couldn't think of anything."

Harry nodded. "I guess that makes sense. I just hadn't really thought about it from your point of view."

"Almost no kid would," said his father. "One of the skills you get as an adult is seeing things from another person's point of view. It doesn't come naturally to kids, to put it mildly. Looking after yourself is a survival trait; it's instinctive. Looking at something through another's eyes is a social skill; it's good and useful, but not instinctive. I didn't learn it until well after I was an adult. Some people never learn it."

Harry was suddenly curious; his father seldom talked to him like this, and it seemed like an opportunity to understand him better. "What made you learn it?"

James gave Harry a slightly abashed grin, as if remembering something he was embarrassed by. "Your mother." They continued walking in silence; Harry understood that his father was thinking about how he wanted to say what he would say, so he waited.

"Your mother, Harry, has the patience of a saint. I was never easy to live with, and sometimes, I'm still not. Oh, I have plenty of good qualities, not least of which is a healthy ego, though that can be both good and bad. You got a lot of my good qualities, but fortunately, not the ego. At Hogwarts, I was thought by many to be an incredible jerk, including your mother to some extent. I could also be charming, and I thought that was what won her over. It turned out I was wrong; what she'd seen was a glimmering of potential that I had, to be a better person. But it would take a lot of work.

"Early on in our relationship, I did a lot of things that upset her. Even though she knew that I wasn't the most sensitive guy in the world, she still couldn't help but be upset at times. She'd get angry, I'd get defensive and angry back, it was a cycle. You almost can't avoid it.

"What gradually happened was that I realized how much what I'd done upset her, and even if it was something I thought she really shouldn't be upset by, the fact was that she was upset. I could either continue to be as I was, and continue to upset her, or I could change, and try not to. But the only way I could change was to understand how she saw the situation, not just how I saw it. And that took a lot of time, and a lot of work. There's something in us that doesn't want to do that. But I loved her, and I didn't want to upset her, so I did it. And the first step in understanding how she saw a situation was understanding her, how she reacted, her feelings, why she saw something differently than I did. That was what got me started.

"Now I'm reasonably good at it, and a lot of arguments that used to happen now don't because I can see the argument approaching, and I change course before it gets there. I don't do what I would have done, or I say something that lets her know I understand her feelings. I can even do it with other people, though only to the extent of how well I know them. You see, everyone sees the world a little differently. The better you know them, the more you can see the same world they see. Some people live in a scary world, where lots of frightening things happen, a danger behind every door. Some live in a cruel world, where if something bad can happen, it does, or at least seems to. Some live in a nice world, where most things seem to go their way. You live in a world where there's too much attention focused on you, where everyone seems to want something from you, and you wish they'd leave you alone. It's just a little different for everyone."

They were walking along a path now in the main area of the park. Couples were sitting on benches, talking or snuggling. Families were sitting on towels, blankets, or tarp, picnicking. Children were running around; two were throwing a Frisbee back and forth. One threw it far above the other's head; the other ran, but Harry knew he wouldn't catch it. Reaching into the inner pocket of his light jacket, he touched his wand, causing the Frisbee to descend more suddenly. The boy jumped, and made a great catch. Pleased, he ran back to throw it back to his friend. "Now, now, we're among Muggles," murmured an amused James.

"I was careful."

"I know. Just giving you a hard time, on principle."

"How did you know, anyway? It wasn't that obvious."

"I saw your eyes, and I saw your hand move. And it's also what I was just saying, understanding how others think. It just felt like the kind of little thing you would want to do."

"But I've never done anything like that before," protested Harry.

James shook his head. "You've never done that before. You have done things like it before. That's a crucial difference, and key to understanding other people. For example... How would Ron and Hermione react if each of them was given a house-elf?"

"Hmmm... well, Hermione is easy; she'd set it free, or try to persuade it that it should want to be free. She'd never ask it to do anything. Ron... he'd ask it to help his family, especially his mother. But Hermione would want him to set it free, or do what she would do. They might even have fights about it, come to think of it."

"But why does Hermione not try to get you to do the same thing?"

"I've actually been a little surprised she hasn't," admitted Harry. "I guess it's because I'm not her boyfriend. She doesn't expect of me what she does of Ron."

"And how do you think they reacted to your being made an Auror?"

"Well, they were happy for me."

"No, I mean, did they have any reactions to that that they didn't tell you about?"

Puzzled, Harry asked, "How would I know?"

"By knowing them," said James gently. "You know how Hermione would react to a house-elf because you've seen her with them. There might be things they would feel about you that they wouldn't tell you, for various reasons.

"Now, I can't say I know for sure, and I don't know Ron and Hermione nearly as well as you do. But I do, to some degree. I am sure they were both happy for you when you were made an Auror. But I'd be willing to wager that Hermione was worried that it would bring you more danger, but she didn't say anything because you three were already doing something very dangerous. But she would probably have that reaction. And I'm pretty sure that Ron was envious, at least a little. Ron has probably envied you lots of times that you weren't aware of. You're best friends, but you are Harry Potter, and he probably sometimes feels like a second fiddle, or a sidekick. Your being an Auror would just reinforce something like that. Remember when you had that fight in fourth year, after your name came out of the Goblet of Fire? He was jealous because you were a Hogwarts champion. Deep down, he knew that you didn't put your name into the Goblet. But he couldn't admit that he was jealous, so his negative feelings came out another way. You find that quite often, people's feelings, especially anger, get shown one way when the real reason is something very different."

"I'd never really thought about it like that," said Harry.

"I wouldn't have either, at your age. It's something to keep in mind. The next time somebody blows up at you for what seems like no good reason, or you do at them, it's probably because they were angry at some other thing, and it was something they couldn't tell you about, or didn't realize themselves, or you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Harry looked around at the trees as they walked, the people lunching and playing. What kind of arguments do they get in, wondered Harry. Do they get upset at each other for no reason? Do they realize why they do? I guess it makes sense; I remember when I got mad at Ron and Hermione sometimes in fifth year for things that weren't really their fault, because so many other bad things were happening. "How do you know when that sort of thing is happening to someone else?"

"Experience, knowing the person. Knowing what they get upset at, and thinking about why. Like I said, the better you know the person, the better you can do this. Right now, it's not so critical. Just something to keep in mind."

"I really hope Ron's not that jealous of my being an Auror."

"He'd know he shouldn't be, and he'd get over it," his father assured him. "Sometimes you can't help but think something, even if you'd rather not. I'm sure that now, he wouldn't feel that way."

"I told him I wanted him to apply after Hogwarts, that I wanted him there with me."

"But he didn't get his N.E.W.T.s, because he helped you with Voldemort. He might feel as though that disqualifies him. If you really want him there, you may need to talk to Kingsley and the Aurors, maybe get him special dispensation. It wouldn't be like a special favor; he deserves it, after all he did to help you."

Harry nodded. "I will." He made a mental note to talk to Aurors about it the next day. A thought popped into his head from what his father had said earlier. "You said that you thought it was your charm that won Mum over, but it wasn't. Can I ask what it was, then?"

James chuckled. "Thought I slipped that one by you." Harry thought about saying that his father didn't have to talk about it if he didn't want to, but he realized that his father was kidding.

"It was in sixth year, late sixth year. I was pretty popular, and as I said, I had an ego to match. Some girls were interested in me, and I was interested in them, though it was more that I enjoyed that they were interested in me. I didn't want to commit to any one person. I wanted Lily, but she wanted nothing to do with me. The fact that she didn't want me probably made me want her more. That, and that she was very pretty. Still is, of course.

"Sirius was also popular, and he had a girl or two. Peter couldn't get a girl, and he was too timid to try anyway. But Remus... even though Sirius was my closest friend, I liked Remus quite a lot. Sirius and I exchanged insults all the time; it was part of how we communicated. I gave Peter a hard time, and he accepted it; I suppose it was just an indication of our relative social status. But I never insulted Remus. Partly because of the werewolf thing, and partly because he was genuinely a nice guy, and I respected him. I was basically a jerk, but I had a real soft spot for him.

"There was a girl he liked, named Sally Partenus. Same year as us, a Hufflepuff. He tried to talk to her a few times, using school stuff as an excuse. She was polite, but no more than that. I told him he should ask her out, but he wouldn't do it. He was afraid of getting into a relationship, mostly because at some point he'd have to tell the girl that he was a werewolf, and the girl would dump him, he was sure. I thought he was wrong, but he wouldn't do it.

"So, in my wisdom, I was sure he needed my help. There was a same-year Hufflepuff girl named Linda who liked me, who I was kind of so-so on. I approached her, and suggested that I'd be happy to go out with her if she'd persuade Sally to go out with Remus. She seemed happy enough, and she accepted. The next day she told me that she'd talked to Sally, who had agreed to go out with Remus. I told Remus to ask Sally out, and promised him she'd say yes. I laid it on heavy, basically telling him that if he didn't ask her out, it meant he didn't trust me. He finally, reluctantly, agreed to do it."

James's face slowly took on a chagrined expression as he talked. "The next day, I was talking with Sirius, and I told him the whole story. What I didn't know was that I was being overheard. I was crass, saying that I didn't give much of a damn about Linda, but I was happy to be able to help Remus. And... well, you can probably guess where the story goes from there."

Feeling bad for Remus as he spoke, Harry nodded. "It got back to Sally, and when Remus asked her out, she turned him down."

"Turned him down hard," James agreed. "Linda was furious, told Sally, and when Remus asked her, she dumped all over him, read him the riot act. Well, he was crushed. Imagine, the first time you ask a girl out, you're nervous as hell, and this is how she reacts?" James paused; Harry could hear the regret in his father's voice even now, all these years later. "He was inconsolable. Surprisingly, he wasn't all that angry with me; he was too busy beating himself up, saying that he'd never have a girlfriend, that no girl would have him, and he shouldn't have even entertained the thought.

"Well, at first I reacted with my usual bravado. Said she wasn't good enough for him, it was better for him that it was that way, and so forth. Not surprisingly, it didn't do a bit of good. The next day, he didn't go to any of his classes. Said he was sick, but of course, everyone knew better, since Linda and Sally hadn't been shy about talking about what had happened. It started to dawn on me that it was serious, and that I'd let Remus down in a big way. I went to our dormitory, and for probably the first time in my life, apologized. Sincerely, and profusely. I said it was all my fault, that I hadn't been a good friend to him. I even offered to apologize to Sally directly and take responsibility, but he asked me not to, saying it would just make it worse. I spent over an hour talking to him, trying to tell him that he shouldn't give up on it, that it was only me. He was miserable, and so was I. For the first time, I could see the folly of something I'd done, and it killed me. I put up my usual brave front in public, of course.

"A week later, Lily had a private conversation with Remus. She said some of the same stuff I'd told him, that he shouldn't give up, and so forth. In that conversation, he told her what I'd said, how I'd apologized, the way I'd said it. She was amazed; she didn't think I had it in me to do that. Because of that, she started to change the way she thought about me. That summer, I decided to have a last gasp at asking her out, after the meeting in which Professor Dumbledore told us we'd be Head Boy and Girl. She accepted, but she never put up with my usual egotistical idiocy; she always put me in my place. But she had accepted. I thought I had won her over. It wasn't until after we were married that I found out the real reason she'd accepted."

"Wow," said Harry. He couldn't think of anything else to say.

James nodded. "Yes, indeed. 'Wow' is a very reasonable reaction. This, my son, is one of the ways we learn. We sometimes do things that hurt the people we care about. With any luck, we make it right, and we learn from it. This was a big one; for all I know, I set him back ten years in dating. It probably had to be that big for it to have any impact on me, the way I was then. I... I made bigger ones than most, but we're all going to make mistakes. The only question, I've discovered, is whether we learn from them or not. Not learning from them is... quite a waste."

They walked on in silence as Harry thought about what his father had said. He felt bad for Remus, and also for his father; how hard it must be to find that your carelessness and arrogance had caused tremendous pain to a good friend. "I'm trying to think of any mistakes I've made that hurt someone I care about."

James patted his son on the shoulder. "You have the advantage of me here. You've made minor mistakes, but nothing on the stupendous scale of mine. You can be careless, but not overly so. You're definitely not arrogant, as I was."

"Snape always said I was arrogant," recalled Harry.

James grunted. "As far as Snape was concerned, you were James Potter with green eyes. He had no idea who you were; he was too busy seeing me." As they walked, James seemed to be making a decision. "But, speaking of careless... that comment you made yesterday, about Snape fancying your mother..." Harry felt a sudden flush of shame, hoping he'd caused no problems. "I'm not reprimanding you, since your memory was messed up; it's not your fault. But that could have caused problems. I... know perfectly well that Snape fancied your mother."

Harry's eyebrows went high; he decided to say as little as possible, since this was obviously a sensitive issue between his parents, and he'd already made a mistake regarding it.

"She doesn't know I know; we've reached kind of an unspoken agreement not to talk about it. I assume you know this from what you saw in the memories he gave you when he died." Harry nodded.

James pointed to an empty bench. "Let's sit for a bit," he suggested. They sat, and turning a little to face his son, James continued talking.

"Snape's death... has forced me to look at a lot of things about my life. Ironically, he was an important person in my life; if you hate someone, you spend a fair amount of time thinking about them. I thought about what I could have done differently with him. I don't just mean that thing after the O.W.L.s in fifth year that you saw the Pensieve memory of; we already talked about that." Harry nodded, recalling the conversation with his father at the end of the fifth year, when his father, while not apologetic about his general treatment of Snape, admitted regretting that particular incident. "I mean the whole thing, most all my life. Remus had a much healthier attitude about this than I did; Snape had done almost as much to him as he did to me, but Remus tried hard to work with him when he was DADA teacher in your third year. Snape and I were both stubborn; we couldn't give up our grudges. In that, at least, we were quite similar.

"Also, it was greatly annoying to me that Snape ended up being on our side after all. I never would have believed it; I was too invested in my own point of view. That's why it seemed like I didn't believe you when you told us. I thought you must have somehow been tricked; your mother was very annoyed at me for doubting you. Sometimes I wonder if your mother was the whole reason the rivalry between me and Snape existed. There's something very... primitive, very evolutionary, about it. Two monkeys fighting over the pretty female. She was there when we first met; maybe we both unconsciously knew that the other liked her, and our fight was about her all along. It's impossible to know, of course, but it would make sense."

"So, what would you do differently with him, if you had it to do again?"

James thought for a minute. "I know what the best thing to do would be. It would be to ignore him as much as possible, not respond to his provocations, and so forth. Consider him a lost cause, not worth wasting breath or energy on. But just because I'm aware of my faults doesn't mean I don't have them. I'm not sure it would have been possible for me to be like that with him. So it's not so much what I would do differently, but what I could do differently. I'm not convinced that it's a hell of a lot."

"Couldn't you and Mum talk about it now, since he's dead?"

"We should be able to," agreed James. "It's just sort of a habit not to. Also," he added with a sheepish grin, "I would have to admit that I was wrong, about him being nothing but evil. So, there's a disincentive for me to do that. But, sad to say, you're right. She won't bring it up; since she was right, she won't want to rub my nose in it. I thought I was going to have to, when you said that yesterday. She pretended not to know, giving me the option to continue ignoring it if I wanted to. But... maybe it's time to clear the air."

Harry was glad his father felt that way; it would certainly be ironic if a truth he'd blurted out carelessly turned out to be something that could bring his parents together on what had been a difficult topic for them. "I'm just glad I didn't cause any trouble."

James shook his head. "Don't worry. But... and speaking of recognizing your mistakes, this is something I wanted to get off my chest... I wanted to apologize to you, about the circumstances of your getting kidnapped."

Very puzzled, Harry looked at his father quizzically. "I'm sure you remember I was with you in Diagon Alley when you were taken. We'd just finished clearing out Madam Malkin's place, and Kingsley told us it was okay, the dementors were gone. The kid came up to you with the card. I'd already told you, and Ron had as well, not to touch anything that was possibly suspect. But a Chocolate Frog card of you appealed to my ego. I was surprised I hadn't heard about it; I thought they must have started making them after you beat Voldemort. I should have been suspicious, made sure you didn't touch it. Ron stopped you from grabbing the paper airplane; he did a better job of protecting you than I did."

"Dad, it wasn't your fault--"

James waved him off. "Maybe not directly. But I absolutely should have stopped it. The problem is what the item was. If it had been an adult, handing you a piece of parchment, I would have stopped it. I'm sure of that. But a kid, who obviously saw you as a hero, giving you a Chocolate Frog card to sign... if someone had deliberately designed it to get it past me, they couldn't have done it better than that. Now, I know you didn't see it either, but in your case, it was for a different reason. Anyway, after you disappeared, I was really scared. Partly because you were in enemy hands, and partly because... if you had died, I'd never have forgiven myself. I should have stopped it."

"It wouldn't have been your fault," said Harry. James shrugged as if to say, maybe, but I would have felt it was anyway. Harry thought, and asked, "When I faced Voldemort, if he had killed me, would you have blamed yourself because you could have tried harder to stop me, but didn't?"

"Good question," mused James. "I suppose, a little bit, but not that much. I would always blame myself a little if there was anything possible I could have done to stop it. If you died tomorrow in the line of duty, I'd blame myself for letting you be an Auror. But it wouldn't be the same as this, since this was something that, especially after the thing with the paper airplane, shouldn't have been that hard to see coming. We all know being an Auror is dangerous. And maybe facing Voldemort is the same way. You were putting yourself in danger to protect wizarding society. I mean, you had other reasons, not least of which was a strong sense of right and wrong, but protecting society was a strong one, and that's a very laudable goal. I could forgive myself for allowing you to risk yourself for that kind of a goal, because it's very noble. I myself took risks this time, as you know, and last time Voldemort was around as well. It's part of life. But you did what you should have done, and your mother and I just thank the heavens that you came out of it in one piece."

Harry remembered things he'd read in the Prophet recently. "But speaking of protecting society, I can't help but think of the thing with the dementors. People were getting on Kingsley's back to do something about the dementors, even though he fought Voldemort, and you'd think they'd be more grateful, give him more of a chance. It's like they forgot what he did."

James nodded. "This is a hard thing about life to get used to, and prominent as you are, you'll see it more than other people. Your mother says the Muggle phrase for this is, 'what have you done for me lately.' This may even happen to you one day. Famous and honored as you are, with all that you've done, some people will seem to forget that, and demand this or that of you, or ask you to explain yourself in ways you shouldn't have to. It's almost bound to happen, and you're not even a political figure. Kingsley now is, and in some ways, it's as if his previous service is out the window. If he starts getting people mad, it's his ass. It's not right, but it's the way life is."

Harry shook his head in amazement. How could people be that way? "So why risk yourself, why endure what you endure to fight for them, if their memories are so short? What's the point?"

"That is what you have to decide," said James firmly. "Some people say, to hell with it, if people are going to be like that, then screw them. If you do it for them, you can't expect rewards. You have to do it because it's the right thing to do, the thing that makes you able to look in the mirror every day. Not that you'll never get rewarded, but in a lot of cases, it won't be in proportion to what you've done.

"You could cash out right now, Harry. You could quit the Aurors, get paid to show your face for various high-profile products and companies, live on that and the Merlin First stipend. You could even write a book about your life--not that you ever would--and it would be a huge seller, it would make you rich. You'll never have to worry about money, in any case, and most people wouldn't blame you. You'd be seen as having done enough. So, why be an Auror? Not for the money; you have enough. Not for the glory and recognition; it's fleeting, and often not enough. For your colleagues? For society? For your own sense of self-satisfaction, self-worth? Because it's what you enjoy doing? That's what you're going to have to decide. Not today or tomorrow, of course, but as time goes by. It's a hard job, a demanding job, an often unappreciated job. Whatever your reason for doing it, it has to come from within you, not from something you'll get externally by doing it."

Harry stared ahead, lost in thought. He felt the breeze of the late spring day, saw it rustle the leaves on the trees. He saw a three-year-old demanding his mother's attention as she gathered up her family's belongings. He imagined similar scenes happening all over the country, all over the world. People doing what they did every day, focused on their own situations, their own problems. If Aurors were fighting Dark wizards, well, that was their job. He saw the people enjoying the pleasant weather, and realized that there were no doubt dozens, maybe hundreds, of wizards in England who would like to be doing the same thing, but couldn't, because of the danger of dementors. He imagined them wondering why something wasn't being done about that, so they could enjoy a simple pleasure to which they'd become accustomed. Would they automatically blame the government for failing to provide the necessary security, or would they consider the situation, and understand why it was difficult for the government to do so right then? He found that he wasn't optimistic. "Are you saying nobody appreciates Aurors?" he asked.

"No, of course not," said James. "Aurors are quite well respected, and as you know, it's a high-prestige job. I'm just saying that people's appreciation isn't something you can count on for job satisfaction. If it's 'I'm happy to protect the people,' then great. If it's 'The people should be happy I'm protecting them,' then you may have a problem."

"I guess I can understand that," said Harry reluctantly. "I'll have to think about that, but I can take my time. It's funny, but I never thought so much about exactly why I wanted to be an Auror. It just seemed like an exciting and worthwhile thing to be doing."

"Well, it is." James stood, followed by his son, and they walked again. "I just hope you'll do it for the right reasons, or at least, what for you will be the right reasons. Maybe I'm selfish, but I'd rather you didn't do it if you weren't going to be happy in the long run."

Harry didn't answer, but instead patted his father's shoulder with his left hand for a few seconds. He always knew where his parents stood: firmly in his corner.

* * * * *

He spent the next few hours practicing dueling with his father. They had done so in the past, as dueling was one of his father's many interests; James knew that for his son, dueling could at some point mean the difference between life and death. James had, of course, always won any duel in which both did their best, but since Harry's short but intense training with the Aurors last year had included heavy emphasis on dueling techniques and practice, Harry's skill was now almost equal to his father's. James was surprised and pleased at the level of his son's ability, and spent time teaching advanced techniques that Harry might not have been able to handle before, but could now. They even talked about it over dinner, to Lily's amusement.

They continued in the living room after dinner; Lily had to admonish them not to use any actual spells in the living room, because of the presence of vases and other items that could be damaged or broken by an errant spell. "So, when you were doing Auror training, did they spend any time on visual threshold issues?"

Harry frowned, not quite sure what his father meant. "You mean, whether a spell can be seen?"

"Not exactly," replied James. "Of course you know that most spells can't be seen by the naked eye, and that it's only some high-powered spells like the Killing Curse or the Stunning Spell that can be seen, and that even with those it's possible to eliminate the visual effect by not saying the incantation, which reduces the spell's power." Harry nodded; he was well familiar with this information both from the Aurors and his own personal experience. Stunning Spells were red, Killing Curses were green, and a few spells at high intensity were white, but many could not be seen by the naked eye as they left the wizard's wand. High-level duelists always tried to eliminate the visual effect from their spells, because it was easier for the opponent to dodge or block the spell if he could see it coming. The Aurors had explained that opinions differed on whether a duelist should try to remove the visual effect from all spells, or just some.

"So," continued James, "what I mean when I say 'visual threshold' is that at a certain intensity, some spells become visible, so ideally you want to keep the spell as strong as possible while not being visible. Did the Aurors work with you on that?"

Harry shook his head. "We didn't have quite enough time for that kind of detailed thing, but they did mention it as we went along."

"That makes sense," agreed James. "Well, let's try it a little right now. Aim for that lamp next to the sofa."

"Not funny, James," shouted Lily from the kitchen; she couldn't see them from where she was, but could hear quite well. Harry and James exchanged a grin, and stepped outside, into the back yard.

Twenty minutes into their practice, Lily opened the screen door. "Will you two come in, Kingsley's here." They stepped inside and greeted him; it still seemed to Harry that he should think of Kingsley as an Auror rather than as the Minister. "What are you practicing?" asked Kingsley.

"Visual threshold," replied James. "This was the first time I've practiced with him with him using the Elder Wand, and it's really something. Even if he keeps his Stunners under the visual threshold, they're still tough to block, they sting a bit. I've never seen such a strong Stunner that I couldn't see. Well, you know what I mean. I'll be very interested to find out what Aurors think."

"Yes, there has been a bit of discussion about how Harry will be with that wand," agreed Kingsley. To Harry, he added, "It's a very good thing you weren't using it before, or else the goblins would have it now. I'm sorry we couldn't retrieve your other wand when we rescued you. I know you preferred not to use this one."

Harry shrugged. "As Hermione pointed out, not using the Elder Wand wasn't the most well-thought-out plan I ever had. Especially being an Auror. Anyway, what's up?"

"Can we sit down?" asked Kingsley. "Lily, too?"

They all sat; Kingsley's expression was unusually serious. "We've been going over the memories of what happened in your captivity. Harry, have you told your parents about what happened at the beginning, when they asked you your name?"

"I haven't talked about it in detail, no. Why?"

To James and Lily, Kingsley explained, "They gave Harry goblin truth serum, which causes pain when the subject lies or refuses to answer. The pain escalates from bad to unbearable, coming close to Cruciatus levels. Harry, when that was happening, it looked as though you were trying to hold your breath. Were you?"

Harry nodded and explained what he had tried to do. "I just did it because I was desperate. I didn't think it would work."

Kingsley shook his head. "It didn't. Five times, the pain became unbearable, and you passed out. Finally, they stopped doing it because their doctor said you might die. You thought you passed out because you were holding your breath, but that wasn't the case. You can't escape torture by doing that. It would be wonderful if you could, but you can't. It was a coincidence that you were trying to hold your breath at the same time."

James looked shocked, and a little angry. "Crucible?" he asked Kingsley.

"We don't know for sure," said Kingsley. "But it almost has to be."

Now his father was definitely angry. "Dumbledore?"

"Again, we don't know. But yes, I can't think of any other answer. He must have done it sometime after Voldemort came back; it's hard to say when. Probably snuck into Gryffindor Tower one night and did it."

"God damn him!" shouted James as he pounded the arm of the chair he was sitting in. "Playing God again! He didn't seem to understand that Harry wasn't his kid!"

"I'm sorry," said Harry, very confused. "Crucible? I don't know what that is."

Kingsley explained as James swore under his breath. "There is no defense, Harry, against the Cruciatus Curse, or chemical tortures such as were done to you by the goblins. But there is a spell, a fairly complex one, called the Crucible, which provides a kind of defense, but at a high cost. When a person is experiencing extremely high levels of pain, the Crucible activates and causes oxygen to stop reaching the brain, which causes the person to pass out. The person wakes up, is tortured again, and it happens again. In essence, it allows a person to resist torture that involves extremely high levels of pain.

"The problem with it, and the reason your father is so angry, is that if the subject is tortured repeatedly, the effect of the Crucible eventually causes death. Death can occur after as few as five repetitions, or as many as fifteen."

Harry slowly nodded, understanding. "And if Professor Dumbledore did it, it was because he knew I had to die anyway, to get rid of my Horcrux. So, if I was captured, better to die from this Crucible thing than, for example, being tortured into insanity, and the Horcrux would still be safe."

"Almost certainly, it was to protect you from Voldemort--" started Kingsley.

"Protect him?" interrupted James derisively. "Way to protect him, Dumbledore! Just kill him! Why not?"

"James," said a concerned Lily. "Please try to calm down." Fuming, James was silent.

Harry looked at his father solemnly. "Dad... I know why you're angry. But to be honest, if I'd known the situation, I probably would have had him do it. I would rather die than be tortured into insanity."

"But it wasn't his call," responded James. "I already wasn't happy with the way he did what he did, not giving you or us any more information than he had to, especially that you would have to die at the end of it. But this is even worse. He seemed to have decided that your life was his to do with as he pleased. You, and we, deserved more information than we got."

Harry had already had a similar discussion with his parents a few nights after Voldemort's defeat, in which James made clear his anger with Dumbledore for having decided Harry had to die when, James felt, there were still alternatives. His father had been very angry, while Harry wasn't, feeling that it had worked out for the best. Harry didn't agree with his father now, so he decided to remain silent, but even so appreciated his father's anger on his behalf.

"No argument from me there," said Kingsley to James. "I came by, Harry, because I thought you probably didn't know, and I didn't want you thinking you got out of that by holding your breath. Of course, I very much hope there is no next time, but if there is, that's not going to work."

"Won't this Crucible thing still work?" asked Harry.

"No, it won't. It can be dormant for as long as ten years, but only lasts anywhere from a week to ten days when first activated by torture. So, it might be gone already, but in a few days, it definitely will be."

Kingsley stayed for a little while, talking to them about what was happening in the government, and how it was being Minister. Harry thought about finding Dumbledore's portrait--he wasn't sure where to find one except Hogwarts or the Wizengamot, neither of which was easily accessible to him--and asking, but he wasn't sure whether the portrait would know. In any case, the more he thought about it, the more glad he was that Dumbledore had done it. He didn't want to die, but some things were definitely worse than death.

* * * * *

Harry felt even better the next day, with almost no lingering memory problems. He read the extra copy of the Prophet as he ate breakfast with his parents; as expected, Rita Skeeter's front-page article about Harry's confinement--the first of a three-part series--could hardly have been more flattering. He found that this didn't make him feel any better about what he was doing to make it possible.

Soon after breakfast, he said goodbye to his parents and Apparated to the Park, the nickname of the Aurors' training facility and work area. It wasn't really a park, of course, but it was large and scenic, with quite a few trees and several nice lawns. There were a few buildings, but they were invisible; Harry had never asked why, but he imagined that it was for security purposes. Right then, four Aurors were outside doing a two-against-two combat exercise; Harry held back an urge to say hello, as they needed to concentrate fully on what they were doing.

Having Apparated to a spot close to one of the entrances, he didn't have to walk far to reach the door, which was of course also invisible, but whose location was known to all Aurors by the subtle differences of the foliage in the area closest to it. He pointed his wand at the door and said, "Auror Harry Potter." Where there had been thin air before, there was now a view of the inside of the building, which only he could see; even another Auror standing next to him wouldn't see inside without first giving proper identification.

The room one walked into first was like a large living room, with four sofas and a dozen fairly comfortable chairs scattered around; six Aurors, four men and two women, were there. "Potter!" called out a middle-aged man named Paul Hedghorn. "Had enough vacation time?"

Harry had never cared much for Hedghorn, whose main mode of expression was friendly insults (though many were unsure exactly how friendly they were normally meant to be), but he always tried not to react to him. He had once, and other Aurors had advised him not to, as that only encouraged Hedghorn. "Hey, Horny," Harry called back, using Hedghorn's nickname. "I wouldn't have minded a few more days of sleep, but I'm not complaining."

"Well, you're an example to us all. I wouldn't have realized it, but Skeeter says so, so it must be true." The one time Harry had been annoyed while reading the article was when Skeeter had written something very much like that.

"Oh, get off it, Horny," said one of the women, who added to Harry, "He only read the article to bother you; we already know what happened, since we got the briefing from your memories. You did good."

"Thanks, Mel," said Harry. "Except for grabbing the card, that is."

She shrugged. "Most of us think that anyone who says they wouldn't have is a liar."

"Except for Mad-Eye," said another older Auror. "We all agree he'd have Stunned the kid." A few other Aurors laughed.

"It's funny because it's true," put in Hedghorn.

"Constant vigilance," said Harry. "That may sink in for me a bit better now." He chatted with them for another few minutes, then left the room, heading for the briefing room. It looked rather like a classroom; there were seven rows of six desks each, and the desks looked like they could have come from any normal university. Harry sat at his, which was in the last row on the far right, as they were arranged by seniority. "Update," he said aloud.

A female voice seemingly came out of nowhere. "Potter kidnap briefing number one--"

"Skip," he instructed. "Skip all Potter kidnap briefings. Display list of remaining briefings."

A list showing the title, date, and time for each briefing hung before him in midair. He pointed his wand at one titled 'Goblin/DE Ties,' and text now hung in the air:

"Word is being put out publicly that the goblins are forming an alliance with surviving Death Eaters. The purposes of this are to: 1) Channel public anger over Potter's kidnapping to all of our current adversaries, especially to help the Minister put off demands for quick action re: dementors, and 2) misdirect DE's into believing we are putting our resources where we are not. The fact is that there is little evidence of Goblin/DE ties, though goblins may have hired a few as mercenaries."

Harry shrugged; this was not a great surprise, and not particularly helpful. He read the other briefings, and was surprised to see the same pattern: unspecific information, most of which could be worked out by reading the Prophet, or with a little insight and guesswork. None of the information was highly sensitive. Mildly disappointed--he'd hoped to learn new information, and felt he'd been let down--he stood and walked to Hestia's office. She was the Head of the Auror Office, appointed by Kingsley, and as such the titular head of the Aurors. Harry knew from experience, however, that the Head of the Auror Office was often not the one who had the most influence; sometimes it was not even an Auror, but rather a politician, who then had very little influence indeed.

The office of the Head of the Auror Office was in two places at once, so to speak: it was at the center of the buildings in the Park, and it was at the Ministry. The office had two doors; one led to the Park, and the other, to the rest of the Ministry. Only Aurors could use the former one, of course.

He saw her walking down the hall when he was most of the way there. "Hestia," he greeted her. "I just saw all the briefings--"

"Not the ones involving your kidnapping," she corrected him; he remembered that which briefings any Auror had read were known by the head of the office. "You should read those, too, even if they're dated; knowing what we knew or didn't know at any time while they had you is important information. Or, it could be, anyway." She casually grabbed his arm, turned him around, and started heading back to her office; her expression told him to hold any questions until they were alone.

He always noticed the slight change when they walked over the threshold from the Park to her office, but he would have thought it would be a bigger change, as he was traveling dozens of miles with one step. The office was moderately large, with a nice desk, three guest chairs, and two well-stocked bookcases. She waved her wand; he knew she had activated the spell that would foil any surveillance attempts, as she always did when discussing anything of a sensitive nature.

They sat; she let out a small sigh before speaking. "Okay, Harry. What I'm going to say doesn't leave this room, not for anyone, but I assume you already knew that."

Harry nodded; security had been drilled into him when he had joined.

"This is very serious, and it's a very big problem that the Aurors are facing right now," she said gravely. "I think you know through the grapevine that some Aurors went off the reservation during the Voldemort time. Kingsley and I thought we knew who they were, but we were wrong. Taking down the anti-dementor protection for Diagon Alley should have been impossible, or nearly so. Only a few Aurors knew the code that locked it, and we were sure all of them were trustworthy. So, now there are two possibilities: an Auror we trust can't be trusted, or an Auror we trust was overpowered, the information taken, and given a Memory Charm, in which case he or she wasn't up to the level of competence we expect from Aurors. In any case, it's very dangerous. We have to re-evaluate who we absolutely, totally trust. It should go without saying that you're one of those people."

Harry nodded. "And this is why there was nothing interesting in the briefings."

"Yes, that's right. Sad as it is to say, we can't put anything in the briefings that we don't want to get out to our enemies. What's worse, all the Aurors know that; it's more or less an open secret. It's always been the case that we could trust an Auror implicitly, but to put it mildly, we can't count on that."

"Now, you told me when I joined--remember, this was just after Dumbledore died, a month or so before the Ministry fell--that some Aurors would leave once Voldemort took over to fight him, but some would stay to work against him from the inside, and leave only if asked to do extremely immoral things. Did that not work as well as you thought it would?"

She shook her head. "Not nearly. Some people did all right, but Voldemort was pretty clever. He didn't attack the Aurors with a blunt hammer; he was more subtle. His Head of the Auror Office favored some of the remaining Aurors over the others, creating suspicion and animosity. Some simply did what they were asked to do, their reasoning being that there was no proof that Voldemort had taken over, and following the Head of the Auror Office was their sworn duty.

"But Voldemort was in charge for almost a whole year, and that's a lot of time to try to corrupt people. He got some Aurors under his control by blackmailing them, others by holding relatives or loved ones. Those Aurors did things they regret, and have admitted it to Kingsley, and been forgiven. But some have done things that are unforgivable--killed innocents, for example--and know they can never come back."

He asked his question as she paused. "Why can't he just give them Veritaserum?"

"He can't, at least, not lawfully. As you know, Aurors are granted a great deal of autonomy and trust. The law states that the Minister can't interfere with the Aurors' internal matters. All he can do is appoint a Head of the Auror Office, but that's usually just someone to oversee the Aurors, and convey the Minister's instructions to them. Or, rather, the Minister's objectives. The Head chooses which Aurors go on which missions, coordinates intelligence, and so forth." Harry nodded, having learned a lot of this when he joined. "But in terms of methods, and any sort of serious oversight, the Head can't do much. Aurors are supposed to be trustworthy. Kingsley's still trying to figure out what to do about the situation. Normally, it wouldn't be critical. But with enemies out there trying to hurt us, it may be. Not having all the Aurors on the same page really hinders our efforts, and makes the efforts of all trustworthy Aurors like you all the more important. We need you."

Harry nodded somberly. "Of course, I'll do everything I can."

"We know. Now, for the real briefing... our agent who has contact with the remaining Death Eaters is onto something, but doesn't have enough solid information yet. He can only say that the DE's have a loose organization, and their leaders haven't been totally decided yet. We assume the eventual leader will be the one who kills his rivals without dying himself. It is actually true, to the best of our knowledge, that there's no goblin connection. Of course, we can't rule out the possibility."

"Do you assume that what the goblin said to me is accurate, or shows their thinking accurately?"

"It is consistent with their actions," she agreed. "Also, they thought there was no way we could get to you, so it's reasonable to assume that they weren't lying to you, or deliberately giving you misinformation. Based on what he said to you, it wouldn't make sense for them to be helping Dark wizards; to them, apparently, wizards are all the same.

"Anyway, there seems to be an indication of an important project, thought to be a weapon, that Voldemort and the DE's were working on when he died. The source is hardly sure of this; he gleaned it from bits and pieces of information, and of course was careful not to ask too many questions. He heard a reference to 'the site,' suggesting a place where something is happening. Apparently there's protection in place; he heard the phrase 'nobody should be able to get through,' though he only barely overheard it, and can't be sure that that was what it was referring to."

Great, thought Harry. Another big danger to worry about. "No indication of what it could be, or what kind of protection there is?"

"No. We can only guess what it might be, so there's really no point. At no point in the last year did you see anything that could have related to this through your scar connection with Voldemort?"

He searched his memories. "No, I really can't think of anything. And my memories are almost completely back now, so that's not a problem. If something comes to mind, of course, I'll tell you as soon as possible."

"Thank you, Harry. Well, that's all I can tell you right now. But, there's one other thing... this is only a suggestion, but it may not be a bad idea for you to patrol places like Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade--"

"As long as I don't touch anything."

She gave him a fleeting look of sympathy. "Yes. The reason is that we need information, and there could be people out there with some who wouldn't tell someone like me, but would tell Harry Potter. Maybe even hit Knockturn Alley, that sort of thing."

Harry was surprised. "If I go there, won't it be pretty obvious that I'm looking for information?"

"Not necessarily. You could just be looking for lawbreakers. Just because you know what you're looking for doesn't mean they know what you're looking for."

"I guess," agreed Harry. "Well, somehow I don't think anyone will come running up with helpful information, but it's worth a try."

He spent the next half hour wandering through the Park and talking to Aurors. He had never been able to spend too much time around them--he had only recently joined when he had to go on the run from Voldemort, and there hadn't been too much time between his week of well-deserved vacation after Voldemort's defeat and his kidnapping--but he definitely noticed a different atmosphere between the current situation and that of a year ago. Then, Aurors had been casual, friendly, and relaxed even though everyone knew that a dark time was approaching. Now, the casual atmosphere was a little forced, a darker tinge to the joking comments than before. Harry knew that everyone would know that he was totally trusted by the leadership, since he had been willing to die to make possible Voldemort's death, but no one mentioned it to him. He supposed that anyone who brought it up would only be underlining their possible status as not trusted.

He then did as Hestia had suggested, going to Diagon Alley and walking around for a few hours, then taking a walk through Knockturn Alley as well. He got a hearty welcome from most people he saw in Diagon Alley, and was surprised to get a mostly warm reception in Knockturn Alley as well. Unfortunately, no one offered him any information; even though he knew it had been a longshot, he wondered if anyone might have been dissuaded by the fact that standing near Harry Potter was a good way to get noticed. He decided that he should appear in public more often, so people got used to seeing him, and he wouldn't be such a spectacle.

Aurors didn't punch a clock; his time was his to decide what to do with, in the absence of a specific assignment. He went to Hogsmeade to talk to Aberforth, who had heard nothing of any use to Harry. He decided to break out the Invisibility Cloak and hang out in the Three Broomsticks, hoping to overhear something, but all he heard was personal gossip. I guess Aurors could get pretty well-informed by doing this, he thought. He supposed one never knew when scandalous personal information could come in handy, but it wasn't something he wanted to go out of his way to acquire.

In the late afternoon, he went to the Muggle park he'd gone to with his father, to sit and think undisturbed. He tried to imagine what the Dark wizards were up to, where they might spend their time, and so forth, but came up with no new ideas. He reminded himself that much older, more experienced Aurors were doing no better with this question, and that he couldn't expect too much of himself.

During the past year, it had occurred to him that an invaluable resource for a young Auror was the experience of his comrades, and that he had then looked forward to the future, when he would be able to openly associate with other Aurors after Voldemort's defeat. Now, it had happened, but the cloud that hung over the Aurors discouraged him from doing it. Or, should he anyway? Shouldn't he talk to other Aurors and ask them for the benefit of their experience whether he was sure they could be trusted or not? He thought about it, and couldn't think of a strong reason why it should hinder him. He resolved to do so the next day.

He finished the working day by returning to the Auror compound and looking around in their library, trying to identify books he wanted to spend some time looking through in the future. Then, he went home, had dinner with his parents and Sirius, and visited with Ron and Hermione for a while. Cho popped over to arrange a date with him for the next evening. The work situation wasn't great, but all in all, it had been a good day, or at least, a normal day. His life seemed to be getting back to normal, finally.

* * * * *

In the room at Auror Headquarters that was never used but for this one purpose, Kingsley watched as scenes from the reality Harry was experiencing sped by within the blue, white, and translucent field of swirling energy. Harry himself lay on a flat surface in the lower portion of the field. Given the speed of the images, Kingsley guessed that time moved perhaps ten times faster within it than in the real world outside it.

Only Aurors, and then only some Aurors, knew of the existence of the field, and even those did not know where it had come from or how it did what it did. They only knew what it did, and a powerful Forgetfulness spell prevented them from telling anyone.

As they had from time to time since he'd decided to place Harry into the field, pangs of guilt and sadness hit him again. Guilt, because what he was asking of Harry, without Harry's consent, was far beyond what almost anyone would consider reasonable. Sadness, because memories of his own experience in the field ten years before kept coming back to him, memories that even after all this time still stabbed at his heart and his conscience. If he succeeds where I failed, thought Kingsley morosely, it'll be even worse for him than it was for me. Hestia worried that he would never forgive me, and I wouldn't blame him. But I had to do what I thought was right. Now, I just wish I could be absolutely certain that this is, in fact, what's right. My mind says it's right... but my heart most definitely doesn't.

* * * * *

Next: Chapter 12, The Life That Could Never Be: His memory damage finally having faded, Harry's idyllic life takes a cruel turn as his duties as an Auror force him to make a terrible choice.

From Chapter 12: Sorry, Harry, but you're not a good liar. I suspected what the field was, and your reactions confirmed it. I don't want to die any more than you do, but we both know it makes more sense for me to go. Not only because you're young and I'm old, but also because I need to prove to myself that I can do the noble thing.

I know you'll do well, because you know how to do the right thing. I hope you'll remember me with compassion. You'll find the thing, and succeed. Good luck.