Disclaimer: I own nothing; it all belongs to J.K.Rowling. I’m just borrowing the characters to play with for a while. This is for pleasure only, no profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter Thirty-one

Dawn of a New Era

Ron Weasley left the hospital wing and stormed down the corridor. His long, angry strides brought him quickly to the staircase, and he sprinted up the stairs, taking two at a time. This avoiding-Harry business of Ginny’s had gone on long enough. He didn’t care what Hermione said; Harry was hurting, and Ron wasn’t going to allow it to continue if he could do something about it. He had to knock some sense into his stubborn little sister; she was hurting both herself and Harry by hiding away.

Ginny had been through hell, and Ron knew it, but he also knew that the hell she was creating for herself now was worse and entirely unnecessary. Ironically, it was something Harry would do. Ginny’s guilt over what had happened in the Chamber was eating her alive, and Ron suspected that Harry was the only one who could actually make her feel better.

And Harry desperately needed Ginny right now. Ron suspected that once Ginny finally went to see him, Harry’s physical health would finally start to improve more quickly. It was over; Harry had done it. He was finally free, and, damn it, Ron was going to see to it that Harry would find the happiness that had eluded him for so long. He deserved it, he’d earned it, and he was going to get it – even if Ron had to knock both Harry and Ginny’s heads together to make them see it. Damn it, how could Hermione expect him to just stand back and watch them suffer?

As Ron hurried up the grand staircase, he had to stop twice to catch his breath. He still found himself short of breath when he exercised. Madam Pomfrey had said he’d probably experience it for some time. The blade from Lucius Malfoy’s sword has pierced his lung. Ron had no memory of anything after the elder Malfoy had stabbed him. He’d been in the Chamber one moment, and the next thing he remembered was waking up in the hospital wing, feeling as if a herd of hippogriffs were sitting on his chest.

He’d awoken to find Hermione staring anxiously at him and firing off questions faster than he could process what she was saying – not that that was unusual for Hermione. When he’d stared at her in confusion, she’d promptly burst into tears. Fred had told him that Hermione had used some kind of Muggle breathing technique to breathe for him. Ron had no memory of it, but he wished that he did. He liked the idea of Hermione breathing for him; it connected them, somehow. He’d grinned smugly at Fred after he’d told him.

Madam Pomfrey kept him in hospital for several days after Harry had been transferred to St. Mungo’s. When he’d finally managed to convince her that he was healthy enough to leave, she’d warned him about the breathing difficulties. The final Quidditch match against Hufflepuff was fast approaching, and Ron worried that his health might keep him from playing.

He’d already resigned himself to the fact that Harry wouldn’t be able to play, and it hacked him off to no end. Voldemort’s final jab at Harry – ruin the last Quidditch game of his Hogwarts career. Ron was determined that Gryffindor would win for Harry. He deserved that.

Ron reached the portrait hole at last and barked the password at the Fat Lady. He climbed through and searched the crowded common room. Since Voldemort’s downfall, a party-like atmosphere had permeated the school. Even students revising for the upcoming NEWT and OWL exams were easily distracted. Students would randomly slap high-fives or embrace one another in the corridors. Everyone was high on simply living. The dazed expressions everyone wore at first had given way to joyful exuberance. It was only now – several weeks after the battle – that things were beginning to get back to normal. He knew that Professor McGonagall was growing frustrated with the lack of concentration among the students.

He spotted Ginny curled up in a corner away from most of the crowd in the common room. She was exceedingly pale and had deep purple circles underneath her eyes. She hadn’t looked well since they’d all come out of the Chamber, but Ginny had deteriorated even further since Harry had regained consciousness.

“Hey, Ginny,” Ron said, plopping into the chair opposite her and fidgeting with the frayed edges of the armrest.

Ginny eyes flicked up briefly before returning to her page. “Hey, Ron,” she said. Her voice was dull and listless, as if she really didn’t want to spare the energy to talk with him.

Ron ignored her hint. “What are you reading?” he asked with false cheeriness.

“Charms,” Ginny replied. “Where’s Hermione?”

Ron knew she was trying to distract him, but it was the perfect opening he needed. “She’s on patrol. We split up our rounds so one of us could always stay with Harry.”

Ginny flinched, but didn’t look up from her book.

“I just left the hospital wing,” Ron continued, his eyes locking on hers and refusing to let go. “Madam Pomfrey has him flying high on painkillers. He’s asleep now.”

Ginny bit her lip and blinked rapidly to clear her filling eyes.

Ron stomped down on his wavering resolve. He didn’t want to hurt her, but this had to be done. “He asked me why you haven’t been to see him, Ginny.”

Ginny flinched again, but asked, “What did you say?”

“I made some stupid excuse about how you had been there the whole time he was unconscious. He didn’t seem to care. You have to go to him.”

Ginny straightened her shoulders as her expression hardened. “Don’t tell me what I have to do, Ron; this has nothing to do with you.”

“It bloody well does have something to do with me. I don’t like to see him this way. He’s hurt, and he’s been through enough. If he were the one messing this up after you’ve finally won, I’d be trying to knock some sense into him, too. But it’s not him; it’s you, and you’re hurting him. For crying out loud, Ginny – you’ve won – bloody act like it!”

Ginny’s eyes blazed. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you. What do you know about any of this? You did what you had to do, and when you got hurt, Hermione jumped right in and saved your life.”

“What does that have to do with anything? When it came down to it, you killed Malfoy before he could kill Harry.”

“It’s not the same! I had already attacked Harry at that point. Even after all that training, after everything I’d learned and promised myself…” Ginny inhaled sharply as her voice began to crack. “Even afterwards, all it took was one simple word from him...Imperio…and I was right back to being that foolish little girl doing his bidding again.” Ginny’s hands shook as she wiped swiped furiously at her eyes.

“You were under the Imperius,” Ron shouted, knowing their row was attracting some attention in the common room. “Don’t give me any cock and bull about being able to fight it; it was soddding Voldemort. That’s why so many witches and wizards got off in the first war, because it’s so impossible to fight. But you did it, Ginny; you broke free. Don’t let him win now.”

Ginny shook her head stubbornly. “I swore I’d never be controlled like that again, but it happened, anyway, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.”

“Damn! The two of you are cut from the same cloth,” Ron said, exasperated. “I’ve heard you shouting at Harry for drowning in this kind of guilt trap. Just give yourself a break, Ginny; go and talk to Harry.”

“I can’t!” Ginny shouted, jumping up from her chair and covering her face with her hands. “Every time I think about going there, I remember that part of the reason he’s there now is because of me.”

“You’re letting Voldemort win. Harry needs you, Ginny,” Ron said, his frustration growing.

“I hurt him,” Ginny looked up and shouted, two high points of color rising on her cheeks.

“Madam Pomfrey cleared all those burns long ago. It’s your absence now that’s hurting him more than any curse you could have used. You’ve had enough of people forcing you to do what you didn’t want to do – don’t do it to yourself,” Ron said, running his hand through his hair.

Ginny set her lips in a thin line. “Back off, Ron; leave me alone.”

“I can’t do that, Ginny. If you don’t go to him and soon, I’m not going to let you near enough to hurt him again when you finally come to your senses,” Ron said, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re doing the one thing Voldemort was never able to do – break his spirit.”

Ginny spun around, raising her wand. “Hemicillus,” she hissed.

Ron felt his nose and front teeth elongate and his ears moving to the top of his head. He tried to speak, but only an “Eee aw” sound came from his mouth.

“Now you look like the jackass you are,” Ginny spat before turning on her heel and storming up the stairs.

Hermione – who had just entered the portrait hole in time to see Ginny hex her brother – rushed over to Ron and removed the spell.

“Ron, what did you say to her?” Hermione demanded, staring in shock at the girls’ staircase.

“I just said a few things she needed to hear about Harry,” Ron replied, working out the kinks from his readjusted jaw.

“Oh, Ron. I thought we were going to let them work this out on their own,” Hermione said, sighing.

“No. Ginny needed to be forced to see what was right in front of her. She’ll go see Harry tomorrow,” Ron said with a smirk.

Hermione glanced at the staircase uncertainly. “I don’t know; she looked really angry.”

Ron crossed his arms over his chest. “Trust me; I’ve got the Inner Eye,” he said cheekily.

Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn’t contain her giggles. “Oh, the Inner Eye, is it, now? Tell me, oh wise one, what is your Inner Eye telling you right now?” she asked, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

A slow grin spread across Ron’s face. “It’s telling me you forgot to inspect the Room of Requirement while you were making your rounds. You’d better go back and check. Come on; I’ll help you.”

Hermione continued to giggle as Ron dragged her out the portrait hole.

A bright ray of sunlight shone through the crack between the windowsill and shade and crept slowly across Harry’s face. He tried to shut his eyes tighter to force the light away, but it was too late, and he became aware of other sounds in the hospital wing. His eyes fluttered open slowly, and he fumbled for his glasses.

It looked like a beautiful day, not that Harry would get to see any of it. He could barely raise himself into a seated position without gasping at the sheer agony tearing into his side, never mind get up to walk outdoors. Besides, what difference did it make? Harry rolled on his good side, facing away from the window. Maybe he could fall back to sleep. The throbbing pain that seared as he shifted his weight dispelled that idea. He was overdue for some pain potion – way overdue, from the feel of it. He didn’t want to be thought of as a whining crybaby, but he really hoped Madam Pomfrey would come by soon.

He sighed heavily, knowing that sleep wouldn’t return. His groggy mind vaguely recalled asking Ron about Ginny the previous evening, and Ron giving Harry a vague answer, yet again.

That did it.

If Ginny wouldn’t come to him, he was going to go to Ginny. He just hadn’t quite figured out how to do that yet. He didn’t think he could walk all the way up to Gryffindor tower without collapsing. He was also slightly fearful of the reception he would receive. He knew the students had been rejoicing over Voldemort’s fall, but Madam Pomfrey had screened his bed off from the rest of the wing to ensure that he wasn’t disturbed. He knew several rowdy groups had tried to break in to see him, but Madam Pomfrey had managed to keep them away. He wasn’t ready for that yet; he wanted at least to feel stronger physically.

If he could make it to the entrance hall, he might be able to summon his Firebolt. Professor McGonagall had told him that the collapse of the Chamber had caused severe damage to parts of Hogwarts. She’d debated on whether or not to close the school while repairs were made, but had instead decided to hold off until the summer holiday. Charms and Arithmancy classes were being held in the Great Hall, while Ancient Runes had been moved outdoors. Harry hadn’t been able to get a good look at the damage, and he wasn’t really certain that he wanted to see it. It was easier to avoid thinking about things that way.

Still, if he could make it to the entrance hall – he didn’t think the corridor from the hospital wing had sustained any damage – he could summon the Firebolt and… No. That wouldn’t work. Harry’s magical reserves were once again at burnout levels after using all his strength in the final battle. He’d had to promise Madam Pomfrey on his honor that he wouldn’t attempt any magic.

How else could he get to Ginny? It was much easier to focus on Ginny than to let his mind drift back to that Chamber, and Luna…

Fawkes!

If he called Fawkes, perhaps the phoenix would agree to lift him up to Gryffindor tower. As he straightened up in bed, a flutter of wings caught his attention. It wasn’t Fawkes, however; it was Hedwig. She flew gracefully around the hospital wing before perching on the rail behind Harry’s bed. She nipped at his fingers gently when he raised his hand to scratch her head.

“Figures,” he muttered with a fond grin. “Did you know I was thinking of asking Fawkes for a favor? Are you still jealous, girl?”

Hedwig had had her nose completely out of joint since Fawkes’s perch had been moved into Harry’s dormitory. She’d coldly turned her back on him and refused even to accept an owl treat for several days.

Harry smiled and scratched her head affectionately. “We’ve been through a lot together, Hedwig. No one will ever take your place.”

Hedwig hooted and cocked her head toward the rustling curtain surrounding Harry’s bed. Harry peered around Hedwig to see if it was Madam Pomfrey arriving with his morning dose of pain potion.

It wasn’t.

It was Ginny.

She didn’t say anything, but nervously bit on her lip, a hesitant smile crossing her features. She was extremely pale and almost wraithlike as she stepped inside the curtains.

Hedwig fluttered her feathers and stepped closer to Harry. She appeared to glare at Ginny accusingly.

Harry’s breath froze in his throat. He’d been so anxious to see Ginny; hadn’t he just been plotting a way to get to her, moments ago? But now that she was here with him, he didn’t know what to say. His mouth opened and closed several times as he stared at her, drinking in the sight of her. He even managed to forget the pain in his side for the first time that morning. Ginny.

She held a notebook in her hand and put it down at the foot of his bed, not quite meeting his gaze. She wore her hair tied back in a loose ponytail, but several wisps had escaped to gently frame her face. She was the loveliest thing he’d ever seen.

“You came,” he said, releasing a long held breath.

With that, Ginny’s composure broke, and she burst into tears.

At first, Harry didn’t know what to do. He sat in his hospital bed, blinking stupidly, until the sight of the tears running freely down her cheeks and splashing onto his bedcovers sent his protective instincts into overdrive.

“Ginny,” he gasped, both from shock and from the pain of sitting up so quickly. He reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her closer to him. She perched on the edge of his bed with her hands covering her face and sobbed into his arms.

“Shh,” he said, rubbing her back soothingly. “I’m okay, Ginny. Everything is going to be okay.” As he said the words while holding onto his Ginny at last, Harry could almost believe they were true.

He held her for what seemed like an eternity, allowing the maelstrom of her tears eventually to whither and fade on his shoulder. After she had quieted, he gently kissed the top of her head, breathing in the delicious aroma of wildflowers. The scent always reminded him of the Burrow – of home. He pulled the ribbon from her hair, allowing it to fall around her shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Now that Ginny’s tears were spent, Harry felt a lump growing in his own throat. “You came,” he repeated gruffly, tightening his embrace. He shuddered forcefully while burying his face in the crook of her neck. Ginny tightened her own grip around him to the point that Harry wasn’t certain who was comforting whom.

“Someone with some great insight knocked some sense into me,” Ginny said, smiling wryly.

A slow grin spread across Harry’s face. Ron. The big, wonderful, interfering prat. “Great insight and extremely poor timing?” Harry asked.

“Right in one,” Ginny said, giggling into Harry’s chest as Hedwig hooted and leaned over to peck Ginny’s hand hard.

Ginny pulled her hand away quickly. “I’m sorry, Hedwig. I promise not to hurt him again,” she told the owl solemnly.

Hedwig blinked several times before lowering her ruffled feathers and settling down behind Harry’s head.

“Why did you stay away?” Harry asked, not wanting to do anything to make her leave again, but needing to hear, all the same. He scratched his loyal pet fondly as she leaned her head into his touch.

Ginny sighed deeply before sitting back to stare Harry right in the eye, as if she were on trial and prepared to meet her fate. “I panicked. I let the guilt overwhelm me; I did the same thing I always shouted at you for doing. I hated that I let him control me – again – and that you got hurt because of it – again.”

Harry shook his head, wincing at the pain. “But Ginny, it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t let him do anything – he takes, and he destroys without giving anyone else a say in the matter.”

“Yes, that is what he did. That is the way he worked, but not anymore. He’ll never use another person that way again. You did it, Harry. You’re free,” Ginny whispered, swiping the hair from Harry’s forehead. She gently ran her fingers through his hair the way he liked, and he was thrilled that she was finally here.

“We did it, Ginny – you and Ron and Hermione and Neville and the twins and even Percy; we all did it together,” Harry said firmly. “It was the force of our friendship and the feelings we had for each other that finally did him in.”

Ginny blinked as a few more stray tears fell.

Harry swiped them off her cheek. “I know it’s over, but I don’t know what that means. I don’t really know how I’m supposed to feel. What happens now?” Harry asked with great uncertainty, feeling rather small and insignificant at the moment. He inhaled sharply as a hot, searing bolt of pain ripped through his side.

“Are you all right?” Ginny asked, jumping off the bed and raking her gaze all over him.

“Don’t go,” he gasped.

“I’m not going anywhere again, Harry; I promise. What’s wrong, though?” Ginny asked, both concern and remorse evident in her eyes.

“I’m fine,” Harry said, forcing a pitiful excuse for a smile. He knew he wasn’t fooling her since she continued to stare at him, so he said, “I’m just due for a potion.”

“I’ll get it,” Ginny said, and before he could say a word, she’d marched over to Madam Pomfrey’s office.

He had to admit it – he enjoyed having her take care of him. She returned with three different phials, and he downed them all quickly. The first one had been the pain potion, and he felt the relief instantly. He hoped it wouldn’t make him start saying anything stupid. He knew the one Madam Pomfrey gave him at night was stronger and tended to mess with his head, but even the smaller doses sometimes made him loopy.

“What happens now?” he repeated, still wanting an answer.

Ginny stared at him silently. She seemed to be working up the courage for something, but he had no idea what it could be. Finally, she squared her shoulders and said, “Let me see, Harry.”

Harry didn’t have to ask what she meant.

“No, Ginny. It’ll be fine,” he said, shaking his head.

“Let me see,” she repeated, pulling back his blanket and undoing the buttons on his pajama top. Harry sighed in resignation, but let her do it. When she had the buttons undone, she pulled the top apart to inspect the damage to his side. He was bandaged from under his armpit and along the length his ribcage to his hip. The skin around the bandage was red and raw. What was underneath the bandage was even worse, and Harry’s skin broke into goose pimples when the air touched his lightning-shaped wound.

Harry held his breath, fearing her revulsion, but only sorrow showed on her face.

“It’s another curse scar,” Harry said, shrugging and trying to make light of the situation. “It’s not like I’m not used to that. Madam Pomfrey says it’s so much bigger because of the shield that deflected it.”

“Our shield made it worse?” Ginny asked in horror.

“No! I mean…it made the scar bigger, but the alternative would’ve been death. I’ll take the scar,” Harry said.

Ginny swallowed visibly and began to re-button his pajamas. She smiled tremulously and started the conversation right back up as if there had never been an interruption. He loved her all the more for doing it.

“We move on with our lives,” Ginny said, straightening Harry’s bedcovers. “Mum and Dad have already started rebuilding the Burrow. Did you know that Dad was promoted to the Head of Magical Law Enforcement? He took Madam Bones’s old position and got a nice pay raise to go with it. Along with the money you gave them from Sirius, they’re making a ‘new and improved’ Burrow, as Mum says.”

Harry grinned; he couldn’t think of anything more fitting than Mrs. Weasley getting herself a kitchen fit for a queen. “I like that.”

“Hmm, me, too. As for the rest of us, well, we’ve got the rest of our lives to plan. You promised me we’d look into a vacation home by the sea, remember?” Ginny asked, continuing to run her fingers in Harry’s hair. The combination of her soothing touch and the pain potion was making him drowsy.

“I remember. I’d like to have my own place on the beach,” he said with a small smile.

“Well, I still have another year of school left, and you’re going to have to start considering what you really want to be,” Ginny said.

“What do you mean?”

“Harry, have you seen the stack of job offers that have been piling up?” Ginny asked with wide eyes.

Harry furrowed his brow, perplexed. In truth, he’d been avoiding his mail. “But…I haven’t even taken my NEWTs yet.”

“Doesn’t seem to matter – although I wouldn’t tell Hermione that,” Ginny said with a grin.

“What about you, Ginny? How are you doing with all of this?” Harry asked.

“I don’t really know,” Ginny said, shrugging. “I’ve kind of been in shock these past few weeks. I’ve got plenty of newspapers and magazines hounding me for my story, but nothing that has jumped out at me. I suppose I should feel guilty for killing Lucius Malfoy, but I don’t.”

“You have no reason to feel guilty for that. He attacked and nearly killed Ron. If you hadn’t done what you did, I’d be dead now,” Harry said, grabbing Ginny’s hand and squeezing it firmly.

Ginny averted her gaze. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do,” Harry said loudly. He tightened his grip on her hand. “My magic was completely drained at that point. You saved my life in that Chamber, the same way I did yours all those years ago. We’re completely bonded together now.”

A ghost of a smile flickered across Ginny’s face. “I like that.”

“I do, too,” Harry replied. He pointed towards her notebook. “What do you have there?”

Ginny scrunched up her nose. “You’ve heard about Rita’s article while you were in hospital?” she asked, a fierce hardness crossing her features. When Harry nodded, she said, “I wrote a response.”

“Really?” Harry asked, trying to cover his grin. He didn’t know how to explain how he’d seen Ginny haul off and deck Rita Skeeter, although he cherished the image in his head.

“I’ve always liked to write. I used to write short stories when I was younger, and I’d always kept a diary,” Ginny said, clearing her throat. “After the fiasco in first year, I couldn’t go back to it; it felt tainted. After everything that happened down there this time, I needed to do something to claim me back from it all. I’m not all that keen to try a diary again, yet, but this was a part of me that he destroyed, so I decided to take it back. He’s gone, and we’re still here.”

“Can I read it?” Harry asked

Ginny shook her head. “Not yet. It still needs some work. You can read it with everyone else after I send it in.”

“I don’t get a first peek?” he asked, pouting.

“Nope. You’ll be highly embarrassed and beg me not to send it. I’m saving you the anxiety of waiting for everyone’s reaction after I refuse your demands,” she replied airily.

Harry gave her a lopsided grin. “You think you know me so well?

“Oh, I do,” Ginny replied, smirking.

“Then I’ll have to work on surprising you,” Harry said playfully.

Ginny giggled. “Has that pain potion helped yet? You seem more comfortable, anyway.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Right,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes. “Would you like some help freshening up?”

“Are you offering to give me a sponge bath?” Harry asked, waggling his eyebrows.

Ginny raised a single, finely arched eyebrow before casting a cleansing spell.

“You’re no fun,” Harry said, grumbling.

Despite all his threats, pleas and cajoling, Harry was unable to convince Madam Pomfrey to release him from the hospital wing. She insisted that this time, his health was in her hands, and he’d do things her way. He was restless and bored, but he didn’t mind her company, really. Aside from Mrs. Weasley, she was the one who had mothered him the most in his life – unless he wanted to count Ginny and Hermione – which he didn’t.

The area around his bed was covered in a wide variety of cards, candy, gifts and well wishes, mostly from people he didn’t even know. It seemed that everyone in wizarding Britain – in wizarding Europe, even – had felt compelled to write him. Harry wasn’t certain how he felt about it all, and noticing his dismay, his friends had taken to screening his mail even after the house-elves got finished with it.

The Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly, Wizarding World Today, and a variety of other papers and magazines were clamoring for interviews. Harry had ignored them all until Professor McGonagall had gently told him that they would continue to hound him until he made a statement. She told them that she was holding them back while he was in hospital, but once he left the sanctuary of Hogwarts; the press would have a field day. He’d be better off to face them on his own terms beforehand.

He’d grudgingly agreed to set up a few interviews, but not until he was feeling better. He didn’t want to show them any weakness. They’d already picked up on Rita’s claims that he’d turned dark. Even worse for Harry, they’d begun to speculate on his childhood with the Dursleys. Harry most definitely didn’t want to talk about that.

Minister Bones had been by to visit, and Harry had painfully recounted everything that had happened in the Chamber. It had been a difficult conversation, and Harry had to pause several times to get through it, but Ginny, Ron, and Hermione had all sat with him, filling in blanks along the way.

Hermione had been in full protective-mode and kept jumping in to answer questions before Harry could open his mouth. It was Ron who finally leaned over and whispered loud enough for everyone to hear, “Let the man speak, Hermione. There wasn’t any damage to his vocal chords.”

Hermione looked abashed, but Harry squeezed her hand to let her know he appreciated her good intentions. He quietly but firmly answered the remaining questions himself. The Minister promised to ensure swift justice for Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange, and that Harry would be well guarded for his return trip on the Hogwarts Express in June.

Yet another headline with his name attached almost escaped his notice, except that this one had a very familiar name attached to it.

The Boy-Who-Should-be-Left-Alone

By Ginevra Weasley

I’ve seen so many articles written about the Boy-Who-Lived over the years that I usually just laugh at the supposition. It is always so obvious that the authors of these articles know absolutely nothing about the real Harry Potter. I stopped laughing recently when these articles became anything but funny.

I’ve seen headlines with the audacity to suggest that Harry defeated Voldemort – yes Voldemort – because he wanted the title of Dark Lord for himself. I’ve read the most ridiculous scenarios, blatant lies, and misleading innuendo, all in the name of newsworthiness.

I know the truth; I was there. I watched as this man, who was cursed by the Dark Lord before he was even old enough to say the name, faced down this hideous creature whom most feared to even mention. Harry lost his family and the life he should have had because of this villain’s mad desire for domination, and he still offered redemption to the monster who took it from him.

There is enough forgiveness in his heart to do that, and anyone who really knows him understands that. You all ought to be ashamed of yourselves.

He may have destroyed Voldemort in that Chamber, but in doing so, he saved all of us. He gave us the chance to finish school, plan a career, build a home, start a family. Things the rest of us take for granted. Things that mean everything to Harry because they have long been denied him.

He watched a good friend die in that Chamber, because she had been cruelly manipulated in a plot against him. Yet he still offered a peaceful way out. All Harry is seeking now is for the same chance he’s given back to all of us – to live his life in peace.

Harry is still in hospital, recovering from the injuries inflicted on him that day. He can’t get out of bed on his own yet, so he reads a lot. Whoever said that words couldn’t hurt has never had their name dragged through the mud repeatedly for all to see.

Harry is the kindest, gentlest, giving soul you’ll ever have the good fortune to meet, and he’s suffered enough. He needs some time to recover in peace without all this endless speculation about his life.

And we, the public, owe him that much. Don’t you agree?

Harry was both impressed and embarrassed by her words. He really hoped that people would listen to her, but he highly doubted it. More likely, they’d focus their interest on what her relationship was to him. Even so, he’d rather they focus on his relationship with her than what it had been with the Dursleys.

Reading the article made him think of Luna. The Quibbler was the only publication not hounding him for an interview, but he wasn’t certain if that was because her father was in mourning or because he blamed Harry for what happened to Luna. Harry certainly blamed himself. He should have noticed something; he should have suspected. Every time they had been attacked outside of Hogwarts, Luna had known where they were. It had never even crossed his mind that the spy could have been someone so close.

It had been stupid, really. Hadn’t Wormtail’s betrayal taught him anything? He should have been paying attention. Luna paid the ultimate price, but even though she’d betrayed him, he could find no anger in his heart, only sorrow and pity – and guilt. Always the guilt.

Ginny entered the hospital wing with a spring in her step. She peered around the curtain to see Harry playing chess with Ron, while Hermione sat curled up in a chair revising for her Arithmancy exam.

“Hey, you lot,” Ginny exclaimed brightly.

“What are you so chipper about?” Ron asked, barely raising his glance from the chessboard.

“Oh, nothing much. Have any of you seen the Prophet today?” Ginny asked with forced casualness.

“Did you write another article, Ginny?” Hermione asked, beaming. She’d been delighted with Ginny stepping forth and taking the newspaper on. She insisted that change had to start somewhere, and it would be great to get an unbiased reporter to start reporting the actual news. She’d even encouraged Ginny to begin writing Harry’s biography, something Harry was adamantly opposed to doing. Both girls ignored him since they said it would be done, anyway.

“Nope. This is just a front page news item,” Ginny said, grinning.

“Spill it, Ginny,” Harry said. Despite Ginny’s obvious delight, he still held on to some trepidation. He was very wary of anything that appeared in a newspaper, since his face continued to appear in most of them.

“It seems our illustrious former Minister – one Cornelius I’ve-got-my-head-so-far-up-my-arse-even-I-believe-what-I-say Fudge – has been arrested on charges of breaking the Statute for Secrecy,” Ginny said, squealing by the time she’d finished her statement.

“What?” all three seventh-years asked as one.

Ginny nodded emphatically. “Yeah, turns out it’s a second offence, but the first one was covered up.”

“You’re kidding me. What did he do in front of Muggles?” Ron asked, the evil grin spread across his face making him appear strikingly like the twins.

“Well, since the debacle at the Ministry, he’s been shunned in the wizarding world, hasn’t he? No one would hire him or want their name tied to him in any way. From what Fred and George have said, his wife left him after he stranded her at the Ministry gala and took all the family funds, so he had to get work amongst the Muggles. You know how he always thought he was better than everyone else; it turns out, he couldn’t keep up with the Muggles and used magic to try to do his job,” Ginny said, smiling with delight.

“And they really arrested him?” Hermione asked.

“Fred and George also said that there was an angry mob waiting for him when they brought him in. They booed him and threw things at him and everything. They said it was priceless – a politician’s worst nightmare, all covered by the press. The Ministry broke his wand and everything.” Ginny was nearly rocking on her feet in glee as she told them.

“Bloody Hell,” Ron said. “How do they always manage to be there for the good stuff?”

“Ron!” Hermione said with a scowl, although the corner of her lips were twitching. “How did Percy take it?”

Ginny’s expression lost some of its excitement. “I feel kind of bad for Percy; he’s really struggling. He may have won his family back, but he’s not having an easy time with his co-workers. Most of them still associate him with Fudge. Even with his part in the final battle, they’ve only kept him on at the Ministry out of respect for Dad. And that, of course, really rubs Percy the wrong way.

“Still, he’s got a lot to make up for, and I think it’s right that it shouldn’t happen over night. Do you know what I mean?” Ginny asked, biting her lip.

“I agree, but it’s hard to watch. Even if he behaved like a stupid ponce, he’s still my brother, and I’m glad to have him back,” Ron admitted, shrugging his shoulders. “I might want to take the mickey out of him, but it doesn’t mean I want to watch someone else do it.”

“Why so quiet, Harry?” Hermione asked

“Hmm? Oh. Just…thinking,” Harry replied

“About anything in particular?” Ginny asked.

Harry raised his eyes and studied them carefully. With a frown, he said, “I got a letter from Simon Coffey…an offer, really.”

“The Quidditch Scout?” Ron asked, nearly leaping onto Harry’s bed. “What kind of offer? What did it say? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I just got it this morning. He offered me the Seeker position for the English team. He’s going to be at our final match to get an answer. He said I’d begin training as soon as I’ve recovered,” Harry replied. He was still uncertain how he felt about it, and couldn’t decide if this was what he wanted. It was hard to imagine playing Quidditch for England when he couldn’t even manage to get out of bed.

Ron nearly fell out of his chair

“They offered it to you just like that; you don’t even have to try out?” Hermione asked with a frown. She’d been trying to convince Harry to take the upcoming NEWTs more seriously, and she obviously didn’t approve of job offers before the exams.

“That’s what it says. I dunno, why?” Harry asked. Now that he thought about it, he supposed he should have been asked to try out before they offered him a spot on the team.

“It’s because you’re you, mate,” Ron said without a trace of envy. “So, when did Madam Pomfrey say you could start?”

“Ron!” Hermione said.

“What? Quidditch doesn’t require a whole lot of magic, and he can do it sitting down, just to start practice,” Ron said, shrugging.

“So, you think I should do it?” Harry asked.

Ron turned to face Harry incredulously. “What? Are you mad?”

“What about being Aurors together?” Harry asked. Now that Hermione had confirmed that she was planning on applying to the Institute after the NEWTs, he thought Ron would be devastated if Harry gave up that dream, as well.

“Harry, don’t be daft,” Ron said. “This is professional Quidditch we’re talking about. This chance doesn’t come along every day. It changes everything.”

“It does?” Harry asked, feeling stupid. Why don’t I even know what I want?

“Don’t even tell me you’re considering turning this down, because hospital bed or not, I’ll knock your block off if you blow this,” Ron replied, dead-serious.

“Good grief,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes at her brother.

“Ron!” Hermione repeated, apparently scandalized by her boyfriend’s obsession.

“What’s troubling you, Harry?” Ginny asked.

“I dunno. It just seems like I’d be spending my time playing when there are still Death Eaters out there that need to be brought to justice. Everyone isn’t safe until they are,” Harry said quietly.

“It will never be completely safe, luv. You’ve had enough of people forcing you to do what you didn’t want to do – don’t do it to yourself. Someone very wise once said that to me,” Ginny said, smiling at a beaming Ron.

Harry looked at each of them carefully. All of their faces reflected encouragement and support. He knew they’d be behind him no matter what he decided to do. It was a new experience for Harry – having the decision totally up to him. Yet again, he quietly gave thanks for having such wonderful friends.

The Quidditch final was rapidly approaching, and Harry had accepted the fact that he wouldn’t be able to play. He smiled and encouraged Ron and Ginny as they went off to practices, but once he was alone, his depression set in. It wasn’t fair! This was the last game, and he should be able to play. Voldemort had managed to reach out from the grave and ruin that, too.

Even knowing that he was going to accept Simon Coffey’s offer to play for England, and that this wouldn’t really be his last chance to compete, didn’t fully lift his spirits. He suspected that feeling might change once he arrived at training camp, but for now…it was the final game of his Hogwarts career, it would decide whether or not Gryffindor took the Quidditch cup, and he couldn’t even play or sit on the bench. He’d never be able to make the walk out to the Quidditch pitch, and there was no way he’d submit himself to the humiliation of having to be carried into the stands.

His recovery was moving along nicely, according to Madam Pomfrey. His magic levels were on the rise, and she hoped that he’d even be able to perform for his NEWTs. All of his physical injuries except for the burn caused by the Killing Curse had been healed. That one remaining wound was proving stubborn, but it was healing. He still tired extremely easily, but he remembered that from the previous summer. It was due to the fact his magic was healing his body while he slept.

The morning of the Quidditch final dawned bright and glorious. Figures, Harry thought sourly.

He’d pasted on a smile and wished Ron and Ginny luck. Both had been hesitant to leave him, and he valiantly tried to cover his dismay, but he knew he’d failed miserably. It wasn’t their fault, and he wanted them to win; it was Ron’s final game, too, after all, but it still hurt.

Hermione had offered to stay behind with him. She said she was certain if they opened one of the windows they would be able to hear the commentary, but Harry declined. He wasn’t in the mood for company, and he didn’t want her pity.

After they left, he pulled himself out of bed and shuffled over to the window. He managed to pry it open, despite Madam Pomfrey’s sticking charms, and was irritated by how winded that small amount of exertion made him. Just as he’d settled himself on the windowsill, the door to the hospital wing burst open, and Hermione strode in, followed by Fred, George, Bill, Percy, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

“See what you can do with him, boys,” Hermione said, smirking.

Harry gaped at them like a fish out of water.

“Harry, old chap, the match starts in ten minutes. Why aren’t you dressed yet?” asked Fred, staring at Harry’s hospital issue pajamas with scorn.

“Oh, no. This won’t do,” George said, shaking his head. “Mum, you’re good at these charms…could you?”

“What are you lot doing here?” Harry asked.

Mrs. Weasley raised her wand and transfigured Harry’s pajamas into jeans and a heavy, hooded sweatshirt. Harry blinked in confusion.

“Jeez, mum. It’s spring; he’s going to roast out there,” Bill replied, grinning at Harry.

“Out where?” Harry demanded, feeling nettled. “What are you on about?”

“Why, it’s the Quidditch final, Harry. Didn’t you know?” Fred asked in mock horror.

“Gryffindor might win the cup. I’m certain all the good seats are gone by now, but we’ll have to make do,” George said.

“I’m not going to the match,” Harry said firmly.

“Of course you are,” said Percy. “You have to be there; they’re expecting you.”

This only raised Harry’s ire further. “Well, I’m done doing what’s expected of me.”

This sobered everyone up a bit.

“Harry,” Mrs. Weasley said gently, sitting down beside him. “We won’t force you if you really don’t want to go, but we’d love to have you there, dear. I think it will be good for you to get some fresh air. It would mean a lot to Ron and Ginny to see you in the crowd.”

Harry scowled and looked away, knowing he couldn’t refuse her, particularly when she played that card. She knew it, too. “Okay,” Harry said, sighing and rising on shaky legs. He really didn’t think he could walk all the way to the pitch, but he wasn’t about to admit that to them.

Mr. Weasley grabbed his arm. “Hold on, Harry. I think we have something that will help. Boys.”

Bill waved his wand and a large, squishy purple chair complete with cupholder that held his Omnoculars floated into the room. It reminded Harry of a giant beanbag chair. “What is that?” he asked.

“It’s a hover chair. They’re new from Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes. We expect them to be all the rage. Have a seat, Harry, try it out,” George said.

Harry stared at them dubiously.

“Don’t worry, Harry. There are absolutely no tricks; Mum made certain of it,” Percy assured him.

Fred and George scowled.

“Do try it, Harry,” Hermione said. “The match is about to start.”

Harry allowed Mr. Weasley and Bill to help him into the chair. It was very comfortable, and Harry enjoyed playing with the controls to make the chair speed up and go higher and lower.

“Okay,” he said. “Under one condition. We leave this outside the stands, and you let me walk up to my own seat.”

He could tell Mrs. Weasley wasn’t happy with the idea, but even she agreed to it when Harry looked at her with pleading eyes. That settled, the group made their way out to the Quidditch pitch.

Harry thought the climb up the stairs into the Gryffindor stands would kill him, but he struggled to keep his face impassive. When they finally arrived at the top and settled into an empty bench, Harry wearily sank down and shut his eyes.

“Are you all right, Harry, dear?” Mrs. Weasley asked.

“I’m fine,” Harry said, immediately. “That was just a little longer than I remembered.”

Mrs. Weasley smiled and gently patted his arm. “You just let me know if it gets too much for you, and we can head back early.”

Once he caught his breath, Harry took a good look around. They’d seated him between Mrs. Weasley and the side of the stand. He was grateful, since it gave him something to lean against. Dean, Seamus, Parvati and Lavender were seated behind them, and he could already tell they were guarding him from the younger students who were craning their necks to get a good look at him. This was Harry’s first public appearance since the battle.

He nodded to his fellow classmates in appreciation, and they all smiled brightly. He could see that both Parvati and Lavender were nearly ready to burst with their questions, and the fact that they were controlling themselves meant a lot to him. The flash of Colin’s camera blinded him briefly before Seamus turned and glared at the younger boy so hard that Colin meekly returned to his seat.

“Oh, here they come,” Hermione said, as the Gryffindor team emerged from the locker room. Ginny’s flame-red hair flew like a banner behind her, and she waved at Harry cheerfully. He could see the joy and delight on her face over the fact that he’d come to the match, and it made everything worthwhile.

He gave Ron a thumbs-up sign as he zoomed past, and Ron returned the gesture, grinning madly. Harry was suddenly very happy to be alive. Mrs. Weasley beamed at him and pulled him closer to her. He rested his head on her shoulder and allowed himself to relax. His body ached, but it was a good ache, nonetheless.

He watched as Tracy Bennett sped past, her eyes rapidly scanning for the Snitch. She looked impossibly small on her Cleensweep, but still in control of the situation. He felt as if the torch had been passed.

“Remember your first game, Harry?” George asked. “You were even smaller than Tracy. We were afraid a good gust of wind would topple you.”

“Yeah, Angelina and the girls were all stressed over the little firstie,” Fred said, laughing fondly. “We took bets on how long you’d make it before throwing up.”

Harry glared at them. “Yeah, I remember how supportive you were.”

“Hey,” Fred said, pretending offense. “I won that bet. I was the only one who bet you wouldn’t hurl.”

Harry’s cheeks reddened as he mumbled, “Actually, I did right before breakfast.”

The Weasley brothers howled in laughter, and even Harry joined them while Mrs. Weasley tut-tutted her sons.

“Honestly, you boys. I don’t what trouble you got into here. Picking on a younger student? I raised you better than that,” she said, huffing indignantly.

“Now, now, Molly,” Mr. Weasley said, reaching over the twins to pat her hand. He was grinning along with his sons. “Boys will be boys, and Harry came through that game spectacularly, according to Ron.”

“Yes, despite the odd behavior of his broom,” Percy added.

“Oh, that was Quirrell,” Harry replied. “He cursed it.”

Several red heads snapped to look at Harry at once, and he shrunk back slightly. He forgot that not everyone knew what really happened, even now. “Er…”

“It’s true,” Hermione said. “At the time, we thought it was Snape. I set his robes on fire to distract him, and in the commotion he knocked Quirrell over, thus breaking eye contact.”

“You set Snape’s robes on fire?” Bill asked, impressed.

“I thought he was trying to kill Harry,” Hermione said, as if that justified anything.

“Hermione, dear girl,” said Fred.

“You’ve been keeping…,” said George.

“…things from us,” finished Fred.

“Oh, I hate when you two do that,” Hermione said.

The game was fast and high-scoring. Harry screamed himself hoarse, cheering for his team. Ron made several spectacular saves, inciting a rousing chorus of Weasley is our King. Harry had spotted the Snitch twice, but neither Tracy nor the Hufflepuff Seeker saw it. When Gryffindor had a big enough lead to ensure a victory of the House Cup, he craned forward in his seat willing Tracy to find it now.

Both Seekers spotted it together and raced toward the center of the pitch. Luck was on Gryffindor’s side as the Snitch veered toward Tracy and she clasped her hand around it.

“Gryffindor wins,” Luke Donovan said flatly

Wild cheering spread through the Gryffindor stands, the loudest shouts coming from a section of redheads seated in the center.

When Professor McGonagall stood with the Quidditch cup in her hands and beckoned to the team, Ginny zoomed over the stands and hovered in front of Harry.

“Come on, Harry. This is as much yours as it is ours,” she said, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

“Ginny, I don’t think-” began Mrs. Weasley, but Harry had already jumped to his feet, a huge grin spreading across his face. As he swung his leg over the broom behind Ginny, Mrs. Weasley said, “Do be careful, dear.”

He wrapped his arms around Ginny’s waist, and she zoomed into the air. He inhaled deeply, his senses coming alive with the scents and sounds of flight. Ginny guided her broom alongside Ron, who reached over and clapped Harry on the back.

“We did it, mate; we did it!” he exclaimed.

“Congratulations, Ron,” Harry said, and meant it.

Professor McGonagall handed the cup to Ron, who raised it in the air amidst the cheers from the stands. Harry and Ginny got the loudest cheer of all as they held the cup together and circled the pitch. Harry could see Cordelia cheering for them; she’d been named the new Head of Gryffindor House when Professor McGonagall became Headmistress.

As Ginny sped her broom in the air and turned into a steep dive, Harry let out a small laugh. Ginny slowed in order to peer over her shoulder at him. “Harry, did you just giggle? In all the years I’ve known you, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you giggle.”

“I did not giggle,” Harry said, indignantly puffing out his chest and flexing. “It was a chuckle…not a giggle.”

Ginny threw her head back and snorted. “Right. You’re giggling like a school girl, Potter.”

She soared off into the air at breakneck speed, and Harry giggled again.

All in all, it was the best afternoon Harry had spent in a while. He thought his cheeks would stick from the grin plastered across his face. Looking around at his teammates, he saw that they all wore the same jubilant expression.

When the celebration on the pitch finally wore down and Cordelia had taken the Cup back to the Gryffindor common room, Ginny must have sensed Harry’s exhaustion. Rather than landing back in the stands with the rest of the Weasleys, she zoomed off the pitch and flew him directly to the front gate. Some students opened the massive doors for them, and she proceeded to fly right into the hospital wing.

Harry was grateful to her for doing it. He’d been worried about getting through the crowd leaving the pitch. His classmates and the Weasleys had done a brilliant job of keeping him out of the spotlight, but he didn’t think that luck could hold with everyone leaving at once. He was also feeling drained and was just as happy not to have to make the long climb out of the stands.

“Exactly what do you think you are doing,” Madam Pomfrey asked, her hands resting on her hips as she tapped her foot in stern disapproval.

“Sorry, Madam Pomfrey,” Ginny said, grinning cheekily. “I’m just returning your patient.”

“When I gave my permission for some fresh air, I most certainly did not say anything about broom rides or spending the whole morning on the Quidditch pitch. It’s a wonder you haven’t done any more damage to yourself, Mr. Potter. You’re past due for all your potions,” Madam Pomfrey scolded.

Harry grinned. He was exhausted, his side was killing him – and he couldn’t be happier. He pecked Ginny on the cheek and hoisted himself off her broom. He watched her leave the hospital wing to head back to the locker room to shower and change before he turned back to the matron. “I’m fine, Madam Pomfrey, really,” he said.

“I’ll decide that,” Madam Pomfrey said, transfiguring his clothes back into pajamas and pushing him towards his bed. As she tucked him in and readjusted the bed covers needlessly, she said, “I don’t want to see you out of that bed again today. Do you understand me, Mr. Potter?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry replied.

She handed him the potions, and as he diligently swallowed each one, she said, “I don’t know what I’m going to do here next year after you’ve gone. You constitute about eighty percent of my workload.”

“I’ll miss you, too, Madam Pomfrey,” Harry replied softly.

She huffed and returned to her office while Harry grinned. He settled back into the downy comfort of the mattress and had just about dozed off when he heard the door open again. He kept his eyes shut, half hoping that it wouldn’t be anyone coming to see him.

“Harry,” Ron whispered, dispelling that hope. “Harry, wake up.”

Harry groggily opened his eyes to see a blurry redhead close to his face. He pulled back, startled. “Oi, Ron! Don’t do that.”

He reached for his glasses and propped himself up on the bed. It was only then that he realized they weren’t alone – Simon Coffey had followed Ron into the hospital wing.

“Hello, Harry. How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Well,” Ron said, glaring at Harry with narrowed eyes. Harry knew Ron was threatening him not to mess up, and he nearly burst into laughter over Ron’s expression. “I’ll be back later, Harry, after you two have had a chance to talk.”

After Ron left, Simon sat down and smiled his oily smile. Harry had the distinct impression that the man would sell his mother if Harry asked. “Have you made your decision, Mr. Potter? Training camp for the English team is on the northern border of England, not too far from here. It would be an easy journey if you still have friends here that you’d like to visit next term,” Simon said, and Harry knew exactly what he was implying.

“Is that so?” he asked non-committing.

“Yes, yes, it is,” Simon said cheerfully. “When shall I tell the team to expect you?”

“Why don’t they want to see me play first?” Harry asked.

“Mr. Potter, you seem like a bright young man. You know you can play; I know you can play. You have the talent, but you also have celebrity status behind you. Any team would be foolish not to use that to their advantage. I could place you in one of the league teams, but then the others teams would be jealous because you’re such a national figure. If we have you on the English team, we have the support of all England behind you, all Britain, really. It’s a no-brainer. Don’t let your discomfort with your celebrity status ruin your chances at a brilliant career.”

“And a brilliant score for you, as well?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

Simon shrugged un-apologetically. “It will be quite a coup for me, I can admit.”

“I’ll do it under one condition,” Harry said.

“Just one?”

“In order to become a Scout for the Ministry, one has to have a recommendation from another Scout. Is that true?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Simon said.

“I want you to recommend Ron Weasley,” Harry replied.

“The redhead kid who just left?” Simon asked. “Done. The thought even occurred to me after our last conversation. I’ll put the recommendation in when I leave here today. He should hear from the Ministry within a few days.”

“You have yourself a deal then, “ Harry said, grinning broadly. He was going to play Quidditch for England.

When the Weasley clan returned later that afternoon to collect Harry and smuggle him out to attend the Gryffindor after-party – which was already in full swing – they found him sound asleep with a huge grin plastered across his face.

A/N: Thanks so much to my beta, Mistral, for all the help in getting this done and out each week. I really appreciate it!

Huge thanks to KEDme for all her help and guidance with the Daily Prophet article – again! Thanks, Kathy!

I uploaded early this week because I forgot to mention this last week, oops! If anyone is available and interested in a live chat, I’m going to be “guest speaking” (snort!) at the launch of Wizard Tales dot net on Wednesday, June 22 at 2 PM eastern/8:00 GMT, on Thursday, June 23 at 8:30 PM eastern, and on Friday, June 24 at 10 PM eastern. I’d love to get the chance to talk to some of you.