Author's Notes: Well, I suppose in addition to thanking my beta, goingbacktosquareone for the quick turn around on this chapter ... I should also let you know that this is likely the penultimate chapter of this fic.

The way things are right now, it will be finished next chapter. I don't anticipate that to change. There won't be an epilogue. I will continue to write one shots and/or short fics that continue in this universe but this story has really just about spun it's arc.

So ... enjoy!

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Harry kicked idly at the wall opposite the entrance to Professor McGonagall’s office. He knew why she’d asked to see him, the anniversary of what The Daily Prophet had coined ‘The Final Battle’ was just days away and thus far Harry had not been told of any plans concerning it’s commemoration. He hadn’t asked either, because he did not want to know. He suspected that there would be a ceremony or some other such tedious event in which he’d be expected to participate. No doubt this was what Professor McGonagall wanted to see him about. Taking a deep breath, unable to put it off any longer, Harry marched up to the gargoyles.

“Ginger Newt,” he grumbled to the gargoyles. They glared at him as the staircase slowly revolved, taking Harry upwards and to the Headmistress’s door.

“Ah, Potter,” Professor McGonagall called as she looked up to see Harry hovering in the open doorway. Her office was crammed with people and Harry hoped his face did not show the annoyance he felt. He forced a smile hesitantly as several faces whipped around and stared at him.

“Harry!” Kingsley’s voice boomed, reverberating throughout the circular office. Harry raised a hand in greeting as he edged into the room. The murmur of voices and the whisper of rustling parchment did not stop as Harry took several tentative steps around the curved wall towards Kingsley. He had not gone very far when Percy suddenly materialised in front of him with an exceptionally long parchment and one of his beige quills.

“Most of the speakers are set,” Percy murmured, scanning his parchment. “Now would you like to go last or next to last? We could always put Milton Burbank at the end; no one actually cares about his pontificating.”

“Last for what?” Harry asked, eyeing a wizard in a set of bright red robes who was approaching with a rather animated purple measuring tape.

“Speeches of course,” Percy muttered, scribbling furiously on the parchment.

“Who’s Milton Burbank?” Harry had a sinking feeling that Percy was expecting him to give a speech. Harry wondered idly what would happen if he refused to do so before he sighed and resigned himself to doing this sort of thing for the foreseeable future. He didn’t like it but he wasn’t completely insensible of the facts surrounding his fame. As the end of the school year drew closer Harry was thinking more and more about how he’d have to actually face everything head-on once the train pulled into Kings Cross. Some days he felt ready to take on the world. Other days he felt no older than the scared eleven year old who dragged his trunk into the railway station eight years ago.

Harry scanned the room while Percy muttered and scribbled on his parchment. The number of people present indicated a complex event, the likes of which would probably make Harry scowl a lot. The wizard in red robes smiled brightly as he approached. Before Harry could say a word, the purple measuring tape suddenly sprang out of the hands of the red-robed wizard and wrapped itself around Harry’s head. He grunted and jerked away.

“Mr Potter, sir, please stay still!” The red-robed wizard panted breathlessly as he scrambled for the end of the measuring tape. “If you move too much it could strangle you! I can’t say I would want to be responsible for that!”

“It would make a terrible headline,” muttered a dark-haired, spotty-faced witch from behind Percy. “Can you imagine the mourning?”

“The morning? It’d be in the evening paper,” retorted the wizard grabbing for his measuring tape.

“It’s not going to be in any paper,” Percy said authoritatively. “I’ll thank you not to decapitate the keynote speaker!”

Harry glared darkly at Percy who totally ignored him, still scribbling on his parchment furiously. The red-robed wizard finally tugged the measuring tape free of Harry’s head and the spotty-faced witch thrust a sheaf of parchment at Harry. He clutched at the parchment convulsively, crumpling several of the pieces and peering at them curiously.

“That’s yer paperwork,” said the witch. “Somewhere around here that idiot’s got yer speech. Wouldn’t let me near it, that slimy little toad. I don’t know how I’m supposed to do me job if he won’t even give me half ‘is co-operation.” Harry just stared at her in confusion.

“Or would you like to be first?” Percy mused, batting the measuring tape way from Harry with the ugly, beige quill.

“Er, no,” Harry said, eyeing the purple measuring tape. “Not first, I don’t want to be first.”

“Excellent!” Percy exclaimed. “We’ll go with last then. Good to see you, Harry. Pass on my regard to Ginny.” And then Percy was gone, leaving Harry with the wizard in red robes, the spotty-faced witch staring at him, and the purple measuring tape creeping up his inseam. The witch was making him nervous and the red-robed wizard was eyeing him speculatively.

“I’m sorry,” Harry croaked, groping for the end of the measuring tape and flushing crimson. “I’m not sure …”

“Oh good!” Kingsley boomed as he came up behind Harry and slapped him on the back. “I see Clint has measured you up and Beth has found you! You’ll get the robes tomorrow and try and get those forms back to me by the end of the week.”

“What?” Harry asked blankly, forgetting about the measuring tape which immediately began to wind itself around his neck.

“This is Clint. He makes the Auror’s robes,” Kingsley said, gesturing at the red-robed wizard. “You’ll need them for the service. The people expect to see you in uniform!”

“But … I’ve got a uniform,” Harry said, gesturing at his Hogwarts robes. The witch — Beth — rolled her eyes at him.

“Not a school uniform, an Auror uniform — now that it’s been officially announced and all,” she said matter-of-factly, tapping the sheaf of parchment in his arms. Harry clutched at it convulsively.

“Er, what?”

“Don’t you read the paper?” Beth asked him, eyebrow raised. “Official announcement of you being an Auror was made last week. Course, it wasn’t as big news as your engagement. Caused a stir, that did.” Harry tugged at the measuring tape which unwound from his neck and began stretching out along his arms.

“There was an official announcement?” Harry questioned Kingsley. “What for?” Kingsley stared at him in amazement for a moment before he sighed and began muttering about Harry being dense. Harry frowned at him, batting away the measuring tape which was curling around his waist.

“There are never new Auror recruit announcements,” Harry pointed out sharply. Kingsley looked at Harry and rolled his eyes.

“Never mind,” Kingsley said brusquely as the purple tape measure finally uncurled itself from Harry and leapt towards the red-robed wizard who grabbed at it and scurried away. “Come and meet Marvin and Patricia Wifflebatten, they designed the new fountain and will be opening the ceremonies-”

“I have no idea what is going on!” Harry said desperately, squinting at the parchment in his arms as he stumbled after Kingsley. The Minister ignored him, instead greeting a large man effusively. He had salt and pepper hair and a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles sat on the end of his nose. He was standing with an elegantly dressed woman who had her hair twisted up in an elaborate knot on the top of her head.

“I’m so glad you like the design,” the man boomed. “It’s been a pleasure to work on such a project.”

“We’re very honoured,” the woman murmured. Kingsley prodded Harry forward and he nearly dropped the pile of parchment in his arms.

“Have you met Harry?” Kingsley asked. It was like a cue for the couple to start gushing. Harry tried desperately to shake hands, hang onto the parchment and sound interested, the whole time wondering why the punk wizard in the corner was staring at him. Harry turned slightly so he could concentrate on the couple in front of him. He nodded as they spoke, hoping it was in all the right places and trying to sound interested in the design of the fountain.

“It was such a challenge, you see,” the man said thoughtfully. “To make a monument that would serve as a reminder, yet be infused with such grace, such beauty … and reflect … reflect …”

“The true nature of who we want to be,” his companion said, enthused. “A tribute not only to those who sacrificed, but to those who remain and the world we’re building for ourselves and our children!”

“And that is why we used children!” cried the man fervently. “They represent the innocence we had ripped from our very souls! They are the hope for the future! Now that these dark times are over we should more fully embrace the future and rebuild the wizarding world. We no longer have to be afraid for our children, afraid to have children! You want children, don’t you, Mr Potter?”

“Erm, of course,” Harry muttered. He didn’t know how to escape. The pair seemed to go on and on about their fountain, which as far as Harry cold tell was just four children playing. He was sure it was a lovely fountain, it just didn’t captivate his soul and make it’s way into every fibre of their being, infusing him with hope and peace and love — the way it clearly had theirs, if their effusive commentary was anything to go by. Harry murmured his appreciation for their hard work and excused himself as soon as he felt it was polite. He tried to double back to Professor McGonagall’s desk where he could set down the parchment burden he still carried. He was within sight of his goal when a thin, hunch-backed wizard with wispy brown hair darted forward and thrust a scroll at Harry.

“I finished your speech, sir!”

“Speech?”

“You’re last, right?” the man asked. Harry nodded uncertainly and the man scurried away.

“Ah, Potter, there you are!” Professor McGonagall beckoned from her place near the hearth. Harry sighed and made his way across the room.

“The artist needs to see you,” the Headmistress murmured and prodded him towards the punk wizard who had been staring at him earlier. He was standing with a woman whose lips matched their entirely black clothing. The man had a lime green Mohawk and six safety pins dangled from his left ear. The woman’s spiky red hair was no distraction for the plastic vampire fangs revealed when she smiled. Harry stared at the plastic fangs.

“I told her not to wear them,” the man droned. Harry just blinked at him. The man adjusted his black collar. “She thinks they make her look more … arty. I think they just make her look daft.”

“Because green hair is so normal,” the woman said, spitting the fangs out into her hand. She put the plastic fangs into her pocket and extended her hand to Harry. He eyed her hand carefully before nodding to the parchment clutched to his chest, hoping it would be sufficient excuse not to shake her hand.

“Spenks,” said the man. “Clive Spenks, official Ministry artist and this is my assistant Penelope.”

“Pen,” muttered the woman. “It’s just Pen, you overgrown tosspot.”

“Now, what will you be wearing, Harry?” asked Clive suddenly. “I can call you Harry, yeah? I just don’t do a lot of formality, you know?”

“Wearing?” Harry asked. “I think that Clint guy said I had to wear Auror uniform-”

“Uniform for the portrait then ...” Clive said thoughtfully, stepping back and squinting at Harry.

“What portrait?”

“Will you be wanting a personal copy of the portrait or just the display version?” Clive asked, producing a black quill out of nowhere and holding it poised above a notepad in the shape of a bat. Harry stared at the notepad.

“He’s so very Muggle sometimes.” Pen rolled her eyes as she spoke.

“You’re the one wearing my plastic Hallowe’en fangs,” Clive muttered. He looked at Harry expectantly.

“Erm … just the display?” Harry ventured. Clive began scribbling and Harry looked around desperately. A kind-looking woman with rather large glasses perched on her nose gazed at him with a friendly smile.

“So, just the display portrait, in your Auror uniform …” Clive chewed on the end of his quill thoughtfully. “I could throw in a miniature for nix if you want? Yeah, the chicks dig those. Anything else?”

“I … guess not?” Harry said timidly, watching in alarm as the parchment in his arms began sliding to the floor. The woman with the large glasses sprang to his side, catching the parchment as it cascaded to the floor.

“I don’t know why they gave all that to you,” she muttered, sounding like she was tutting at unseen minions. “I am perfectly capable of handling it all. I thought that’s why they hired me …” She trailed off, shuffling the parchment expertly and making it into a neat pile.

“Oh good!” Kingsley’s voice broke through Harry’s confusion. “I see you found Mrs Langley. Look after Mr Potter, won’t you, Veronica?” And then Kingsley was gone again. Harry just stared around in confusion.

“Here we are then,” Mrs Langley said. “I brought a spare quill and I think if we start with the employment contract and work our way through to the uniform acknowledgement we should be right.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, shaking his head. “I have no idea what is going on.” Mrs Langley looked at him and tutted softly.

“I think everyone may have gotten carried away and failed to fill you in,” she said softly. “I thought this might happen.”

“Will you fill me in?” Harry asked a little petulantly. Mrs Langley smiled.

“I’m your secretary, dear,” she said patiently, guiding Harry to a seat near one of the narrow windows.

“My what?”

“Things got a little out of hand after the engagement announcement,” Mrs Langley explained, perching on a chair opposite Harry and offering him a quill. She pointed to blank spaces on the parchment and Harry automatically signed them as she spoke. “So Mr Shacklebolt hired me to start taking care of things. I’ve been fielding international press mostly but we’ve also managed to draw up your employment contracts and settle the matters relating to you starting in the Auror department full-time in July. I found a very excellent speech writer to do your commemoration speech and made sure Clint was here to get your uniform organised. Oh and the artist wanted to meet you informally before the first sitting.

“I think most of the ceremony details have been admirably taken care of by Mr Weasley. Such a lovely young man, I understand he’s your fiancée’s brother? Very efficient I must say. Professor McGonagall has been very helpful too. There’s practically nothing left to do. I made sure young Mr Weasley paid special attention to security. Not that I had to do a lot, he’s a very conscientious young man — very concerned with your safety.

“Now your employment contract is here, I had it checked by an independent legal firm. It’s a standard Auror contract, no extra rubbish about public appearances and what not. The head of the Auror Department wasn’t very impressed but Mr Shacklebolt was quite firm with him and we got our way in the end, dear.”

Harry signed the parchment she gave him and watched as she efficiently rolled each piece and sealed it. She seemed to know exactly what she was doing and Harry breathed a sigh of relief and made a note to thank Kingsley for hiring her. He slumped back in the chair as Mrs Langley gathered up the scrolls and patted him on the shoulder.

“I’ll be off to sort these out, don’t you worry about a thing,” she said kindly. “I think you’ve enough to worry about at the moment. It can’t be easy, this time of year …” She trailed off, staring out of the window for a moment.

“No, it isn’t,” Harry said softly. Mrs Langley smiled a sad smile at him and turned away, giving his shoulder one last pat. Harry glanced around the room. Pen was watching him critically while Clive scribbled furiously on his notepad. Clint, the red-robed Auror uniform maker was arguing with Beth, the spotty-faced witch, who seemed to be producing more parchment forms by the minute. Harry idly hoped he wouldn’t have to sign any more of them. Professor McGonagall was smiling and nodding at the very elegant Wifflebattens. Several other witches and wizards, some in Ministry robes, were scattered about the office consulting sheaves of parchment and talking animatedly.

Harry wondered if he could sneak out undetected. He decided not to try it because huddled in this chair he was being ignored for the moment. Harry idly reached out and fiddled with the spindly silver ornament on the table in front of him. It made him think of Dumbledore, and he wondered, not for the first time, what the instrument did. He picked it up only to have it melt into a puddle of molten silver in his hands. Hastily, he tried to put it back on the table, hoping no one would notice the pool of silver slowly dripping onto the floor.

“Have you finalised the seating, Kingsley?” Professor’s McGonagall’s voice rang out above the hubbub.

“Percy should have it,” Kingsley called back. Harry wondered where he’d be sitting. He doubted it would be with Ginny. He’d probably have to sit up the front where people could stare at him. Harry pulled a face at the thought. A camera flash suddenly went off. Harry blinked frantically, scowling at being caught unawares.

“Ah, Mr Potter, good, you’re here!” A short, pudgy man in lavender robes appeared in front of Harry, behind the spots left by the flash. The man was brandishing a massive camera and looked like a squashed version of Lockhart. “What we’ll do is have you come out after everyone is seated — maximum effect, they’ll go wild. Now you’ll be wearing Auror robes, yes? Excellent, nothing like a man in uniform to get those nubile hearts pumping-”

“Excuse me, what?” Harry stared at the man, horrified. The wizard was scribbling feverishly on a purple clipboard in front of him.

“McDonald!” Professor McGonagall’s voice was like ice as she struggled past Mrs Langley who was arguing with Pen over the location of Harry’s portrait sitting. “You are here only to organise the official photographs, not turn the memorial service into a rock concert!”

“It could be magical-”

“Of course it’s magical,” Professor McGonagall spat with disdain. “He’s a wizard!” Harry struggled to hide his snort, turning away from them as the Headmistress continued to berate the obnoxious man.

It was only out of the corner of his eye, but Harry could have sworn Professor Dumbledore’s portrait winked at him as Kingsley swept up to him once more.

“Any questions, Harry?”

“Yeah,” Harry muttered. “What in Merlin’s name is going on?”

“Mrs Langley didn’t tell you?”

“Well … yeah, she did but-”

“Excellent!” Kingsley said with a grin. “I’ll see you at the commemoration service!” Harry scowled again and got out of the chair, determined to go to the doorway. It seemed as though every witch or wizard wished to stop him on the way.

“Are you sure you don’t want an additional smaller portrait for your office?”

“Two uniforms or three?”

“You simply must come and see the fountain next time you’re in London!”

“You’re sure you don’t want to speak first?”

“Mr Potter!” The Headmistress’s tone was commanding and Harry froze obediently. “A word, please? In private?” Harry just nodded at her and Professor McGonagall winked at him. The moving mass of humanity in the Headmistress’s office began murmuring their apologies and one by one they moved out of the door or clambered into the fireplace, whisked away by the green flames. Kingsley patted Harry on the back as he stepped into the Floo.

“See you later, Harry,” he boomed and was gone. Harry stared at Professor McGonagall as Pen’s robes fluttered around the edge of the door and then the room was still except for the whirring of one of Professor Dumbledore’s old silver instruments.

“Biscuit, Potter?” asked the Headmistress, holding out her tartan tin. Harry took one slowly.

“I knew fame would go to his head,” sniffed a voice from behind the desk.

“Now, now, Severus,” said Professor Dumbledore’s portrait. “Don’t be too hard on the boy. I thought he handled that rather well.”

“If that’s what fame does, you can have it,” Harry said as he bit savagely into his biscuit.

“I rather think it’s yours whether you like it or not, Harry.” Professor McGonagall sighed as she selected a piece of shortbread. Harry just grunted and sank into one of the plush armchairs in front of her desk. The two of them polished off the remainder of the biscuits before tea time.

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

The first anniversary of the day Teddy’s parents were killed dawned grey and cloudy. It was not a fitting day to remember Fred. On the other hand, it suited Snape’s memory perfectly. Harry fumbled with his tie and swore colourfully before ripping it away from his throat and throwing it across the room. Hermione sighed and stepped over to pick it up, her dainty feet picking through the mess he’d made in front of his dresser while trying to find his socks.

“Honestly Harry, why is this so difficult for you?”

“Why is it so difficult?” Harry stared at her. “This is easy for you?” Hermione looped the tie around his neck and began threading the ends through each other in a complex pattern.

“I already did Ron’s and Neville’s and then Seamus and Dean-”

“Oh … you mean the tie …”

“Of course I meant the tie,” Hermione snapped as she tugged it a little too tight and smoothed it down his chest. “You lot wear them all the time, its part of your uniform and yet-”

“Yeah but we never untie those from the first time,” Harry smirked at her.

“You didn’t untie your school tie for six years?” Hermione raised an eyebrow. Harry just shrugged at her. He smiled as she huffed at him and started picking up all his mismatched socks.

“Where is Ron, anyway?” Harry asked, fingering his wand nervously. He wasn’t sure where to put it. Moody’s voice yelled in his head every time he tried to put it in his back pocket and he couldn’t, for the life of him, find any damn pockets on the stupid Auror uniform.

Hermione faltered as she folded a pair of socks that she had located but didn’t say anything. Harry watched her hands tremble slightly as she wrenched his top drawer open. She scowled at the haphazard pile of boxer shorts and slammed the drawer shut, yanking open the next one down and shoving the socks in roughly.

“Hermione?” Harry asked gently, impressed with his own maturity in not batting an eyelid that Hermione had just been in his underwear drawer.

“He … he said he … he’s with George.” Hermione looked up at Harry and a lone tear ran down her face. Harry searched his trouser pockets, knowing he’d put a handkerchief in one of them. He offered it to Hermione as she sniffled and sank down onto his bed.

“How is George?” Harry asked softly.

“He keeps making jokes about that article,” Hermione said with a shrug. “Nearly got a Bat-Bogey to the nether regions. I couldn’t tell if Ginny was more annoyed that he was joking today or if it was because he was asking how soon he needed to pass on the cradle.” Harry groaned and flopped backwards onto his bed, closing his eyes.

“I say two words and its front page news!”

“What exactly did you say, Harry?”

“I believe my exact response to the question of having children was ‘erm, of course’, not a lengthy discussion about single-handedly repopulating the wizarding world!”

“Romilda Vane brewed Ginny a contraceptive potion yesterday,” Hermione continued. “That stuff is nasty.”

“It is?” Harry opened one eye and looked at Hermione who was smirking at him.

“It is when you’re wearing it on your head,” Hermione confided. “Madam Pomfrey said there was nothing she could do about the smell in Romilda’s hair or her pink and blue streaks. Then she gave the entire fifth and sixth years a lecture on being sexually responsible. I think if she could have, she would have taught them all how to brew an effective birth control potion on the spot.”

“Charms are more effective anyway,” Harry murmured.

“So, you know a bit about this then?” Hermione asked with a smirk. Harry sighed and sat up.

“Yeah, I do,” he said softly. Hermione blushed and didn’t answer him. The two of them sat in silence until Neville poked his head around the door.

“Professor McGonagall said it’s nearly time to start,” Neville said quietly. “Ginny … um … asked me to tell you that she … she’s with her Mum.” Harry nodded and Neville withdrew.

“I don’t want to do this,” Hermione said suddenly. “Ron was supposed to be here — be with me … but George needs him. I don’t think I can do this by myself.”

“We’ll do it together,” Harry said quietly. “The last thing I want to be doing today is this. I have to sit up the front where everyone can gawk at me and give a stupid speech and pose for pictures. Believe me, I had several long and argumentative Floo calls with Kingsley about this.” Harry sighed. “I’ve got a secretary now, you know. She supposedly looks after me.” Hermione laughed.

“A secretary?” she repeated. “To look after you?”

“Well … it’s probably a good thing,” Harry said slowly. “Because I’m not at all sure I’m ready for the world that’s waiting out there. I’ve been so wrapped up here … they’re putting a portrait up — in the Ministry. I couldn’t talk Kingsley out of it. There’s paperwork and letters. Apparently there are a lot of owls … daily — fan mail.” Harry scowled.

“So … Kingsley organised a secretary to look after you?” Hermione’s mouth twitched.

“Yeah,” Harry said wryly.

“Well, I supposed someone has to,” Hermione said with a smirk.

“Very funny,” Harry said, shoving her lightly. Hermione sighed and her face fell suddenly.

“I just … who’s going to look after Ron?” Hermione asked. “I want to be there for him but he never lets anyone … He’s always so strong for George-”

“He’ll be fine,” Harry said, pulling Hermione close. “I was going to refuse to do this, you know, but Professor McGonagall talked me into it. She said people need this chance to remember and that if we don’t remember, we’re just doomed to repeat things. I hate it but … we can’t go through it all again, Hermione. We can’t. If putting on a uniform and reading some dodgy little speech will help us remember — so it doesn’t happen again — I’ll do it.”

“That’s very mature, Harry,” Hermione said looking up at him. Harry shrugged and grinned at her.

“I can be mature,” he said with a smirk, “sometimes. Come on. We’ll stick together and when the dodgy little speech is done we’ll go find Ron and Ginny and then maybe we can get drunk.”

The two of them made their way out of Harry’s dormitory, finding the common room deserted. Hurrying through the portrait hole they scuttled down the staircase and joined the last few stragglers in the Entrance Hall.

“Oh! There you are Potter!” Professor McGonagall called shrilly from the doorway. She beckoned to Harry frantically. “I’ve had that obnoxious McDonald fellow looking for you. You’re supposed to be somewhere for photos-”

“Yeah well, I don’t want my photo taken right now,” Harry muttered, gripping Hermione’s hand tightly and pulling her through the crowd. “It’s bad enough I have to sit up the front on the stupid dais. He can take all the pictures of me he wants when I’m up there.”

There was a commotion behind the Headmistress and suddenly McDonald was struggling up the steps, dressed impeccably in a set of eye-watering purple robes and brandishing his camera.

“Where is Miss Weasley?” he asked frantically. “She’s supposed to be with you!”

“She’s with her family,” Harry said shortly.

“How am I supposed to get a photograph of the couple of the hour-”

“You know what?” Harry said. “I don’t actually care. She’s busy at the moment and I couldn’t care less what photographs you take of me but you will leave her alone! She has enough to worry about today without you nosing around like-”

“Harry,” Hermione warned in a low voice, squeezing his hand. Harry stopped abruptly and just hissed at the photographer before plunging down the steps, pulling Hermione in his wake.

He stomped across the grounds, Hermione hurrying to keep up with him, faltering only when he neared the rows and rows of chairs set out in front of the marble monuments that Harry avoided at all costs. The back rows were filling up with students in neatly pressed uniforms. Elegantly dressed adults filtered into the front rows. Harry could see Neville sitting with his grandmother in her vulture hat and Luna floating down the aisle to her father, who was wearing an electric blue hat with a crimson feather. Dennis sat hunched next to Dean and Seamus in chairs near the back and Gilbert sat quietly next to his parents who were cradling the small children from the Children’s Home on their laps.

A few haughty looking witches and wizards sat on the dais. Harry knew he’d seen them before at official events but couldn’t put a name to any of the faces. Kingsley was wandering among the crowd, shaking hands and speaking quietly and Percy was standing on the edge of the dais. His face was drawn and he clutched a clipboard in his hand. His eyes constantly flickered to the group of redheads near the front row. Harry’s heart ached as he noticed Ginny, hunched under Charlie’s arm while Ron stoically stood beside George who was staring at the monument. Jonathon appeared to be talking to him intently and Bert was holding Angelina the way that Arthur held Molly. Bill and Fleur were wrapped around each other and Harry wanted to go over there, to worm his way into Ginny’s embrace and never let go.

But he had to play The Boy Who Lived today.

Harry took a deep breath and looked up at Percy who nodded fractionally. Harry squeezed Hermione’s hand before letting go.

“I have to go sit up there,” he said heavily. “You’d best go to Ron.”

“I’ll come with you,” Hermione said, shaking her head.

“Hermione-”

“You can’t sit up there all by yourself,” Hermione said quietly. “Everyone else has got someone. Why should you sit alone in the middle of a bunch of stuffed shirts? I mean you’re probably seated next to Milton Burbank!”

“Who is he, anyway?” Harry asked.

“He’s in charge of Magical Monuments and Memorials,” Hermione said, leaning close to Harry and talking quietly. “Smallest department in the Ministry and he’s utterly full of himself for doing such a good job the past year. Honestly. He’s had virtually nothing to do for the past seventeen. I’m sure he had a stockpile, smarmy little git.”

Harry just stared at her. Who knew there was a Ministry Department for Monuments and Memorials? He was startled as a flash went off and as he turned he saw a flash of lime green vanishing in the crowd of students who were taking their seats. Harry scowled. He’d told that stupid photographer to take pictures later.

“Come on now ‘Arry,” Hagrid said gruffly as he appeared at Harry’s elbow. “I think it’s you we’re waitin’ on.”

Harry gazed around and realised that a lot of people were looking at him expectantly. Hermione slipped her hand into his again and he clutched it gratefully before he put his head down and made his way up to the dais.

Hermione followed him. She stayed with him the entire time, stopping his knee from jerking up and down with nerves, unfolding his speech for him and glaring at Milton Burbank when he asked for Harry’s autograph. Harry couldn’t bring himself to pay much attention to the proceedings. He avoided looking out over the sea of faces. His gaze was fixed on a tiny, blue haired boy who chewed on a yellow duck as he sat in his grandmother’s arms, occasionally squealing with delight and waving the toy around. The speeches were long and tedious and the sky overhead remained a gloomy grey. The white marble monuments glowed with a sort of eerie half light in the gloom and the speakers droned on and on.

“Pssst, Harry, you’re up!” Hermione leaned over and spoke urgently, pushing Harry slightly. A camera flash went off and Harry slowly got to his feet. He searched out Ginny as he made his way to the podium that Kingsley had just vacated. She gazed up at him from under Charlie’s protective arm and offered him a half smile. Teddy squealed loudly and Harry smoothed his parchment on the podium in front of him, clearing his throat.

He stared down at the parchment he’d read several times over the past few days. It really was a decent speech. Hermione had helped him adjust a few things so he was a bit more comfortable reading it and now all that was left to do was get it over with. He took a deep breath and prepared himself to look up and really see the audience for the first time. Before Harry had even raised his head pandemonium erupted. He was pulled away from the podium and thrown to the floor of the dais, his head narrowly missing the edge of Milton Burbank’s chair. Screams were echoing across the grounds and the sound of spell fire whizzed overhead. Percy was crouched over Harry, alternately swearing and shooting spells over his head and into the crowd.

“What’s going on?” Harry asked frantically, getting to his knees and reaching for his wand. Percy pushed him to the floor, hissing at him to stay down. That’s when Harry heard Hermione’s shrill shriek. He whipped around; trying to locate her but was distracted when he heard Ron bellowing for Ginny. Harry threw Percy off and scrambled to his feet, ducking and weaving behind the rows of scattered chairs and jumping off the edge of the dais.

“Harry!” Percy shouted. He leapt off the dais after Harry. The two collided several feet from the edge of the dais and tumbled into a decorative urn on the edge of the roped off area in which the chairs had been set up. Harry swore as his head connected with the edge of the urn and he felt warm, sticky blood slide down his face. Percy landed on his left leg and reached for the urn urgently. Harry bit back a shriek of protest at the fire now shooting through his leg and only groaned, when suddenly the world began to whirl and tilt alarmingly. Harry heard Hermione scream as he went rolling through space, crashing against Percy as they landed in a heap on a stone floor.

Percy groaned, rolling off of Harry and sitting up. Harry pressed one hand to his head and lay still for a moment as he tried to focus. His back throbbed and his left leg was sheer agony. He blinked a couple of times and gazed around. He and Percy were in the Gryffindor common room. The urn lay on the floor beside them, rolling back and forth slightly.

“Well, well, well,” purred a feminine voice. “This is surprising.” Harry looked over at Professor Crockwell who was standing a few feet away.

“What the hell happened?” Harry spat.

“Security Portkey,” Percy said shortly. He turned to Professor Crockwell. “What are you doing in here? This was to be the secure, empty safe location. As Head of House it was your responsibility to ensure that, but not even you are supposed to be here now.”

“I don’t need to explain myself to you, young man,” she replied with a sniff.

“Percy,” said Harry, trying desperately to stem the flow of blood from his scalp with the sleeve of his robes. “What are we doing here?”

“We put security Portkeys near the dais,” Percy said as he lurched to his feet, holding his head. “In case something happened. Ron was very insistent.”

“Is that why you launched yourself at me?” Harry grumbled, struggling into a sitting position. “To get us to one of these Portkeys?” Percy nodded.

“Let me look at that nasty cut,” Professor Crockwell said. She started towards them and Harry hoped she’d be decent at dealing with cut heads — maybe she could even do something about his leg, it was torture and Harry wondered just exactly what Percy had done when he’d landed on him. Percy suddenly drew in a sharp breath and moved between Harry and the Professor.

“I’ll just take Harry down to the hospital wing,” Percy said.

“It is bleeding rather a lot, dear,” said Professor Crockwell. “And Mr Potter is supposed to stay here until Mr Shacklebolt gives the all-clear, in the event of an emergency. I didn’t think you’d be one to break the rules, Mr Weasley.”

“Harry?” Percy said, staring at the Gryffindor Head of House. “Get up, Harry.”

“What? Why?” Harry groaned as his head started spinning but he didn’t have time to reorient himself before Percy was hauling him to his feet. Harry groaned and lurched sideways, favouring his injured leg as spell fire rang out.

“Get to the portrait hole!” shouted Percy, shoving Harry away, sending him sprawling on the floor. His leg was on fire and he gritted his teeth, trying to slow his breathing. He didn’t see exactly what happened next, possibly because his head was spinning and his vision was getting fuzzy, but suddenly Gryffindor Tower was awash with spell fire, shouting and a loud clang.

“Bloody hell!” Ron’s shout rang through the common room.

“Get down Hermione!”

“Neville! Look out!”

“Harry!”

“Get him out of here!”

Harry was hauled unceremoniously to his feet. He could feel hands tugging at him, pulling him towards the portrait hole. Blood ran freely down his face and into his eyes and he felt dizzy. His left leg refused to support his weight and dimly, Harry wondered if it was broken. He saw Hermione in front of him before she suddenly lurched sideways. Pulling Harry down as she darted closer to the fireplace.

“What’s going on?” Harry asked desperately as Ron reached out and dragged them behind the overturned couch he and Percy were sheltered behind. Harry gritted his teeth as a wave of pain washed over his leg. He swiped at his face furiously, blood coating his palms.

“It’s Crockwell!” Ron hissed. “She’s got a bloody army!”

“Don’t be ridiculous Ron,” Hermione said. “There are only two of them. It’s just they blocked the portrait hole! We’re lucky they’re such terrible shots!” Harry shook his head, confused and dazed. Neville suddenly dove behind the couch, clutching at his knee. Blood poured from a wound on his leg.

“Damn!” he said through gritted teeth. A red spell sailed through the air, sizzling into the wall above their heads. Harry could hear Professor Crockwell barking orders. Neville threw up a shield hastily, wincing as he kneeled up to hold it steady. Hermione reached over to tear off Neville’s shredded trouser leg and began winding it around the gash in his leg while Ron wadded up his handkerchief and pressed it hurriedly to Harry’s head.

“What the hell is happening?” Harry demanded. “How did you get here?”

“Security Portkey,” Ron answered. “Hermione was screeching about your head bleeding so I grabbed the one next to it. To make sure you were okay, you know? Neville here wouldn’t take no for an answer about coming. Didn’t know we’d be landing in this mess though!”

“You’re supposed to be safe,” Percy said. “It’s supposed to get you out of harm’s way not land you in it! No one but Ron, Kingsley, Professor Crockwell and I even knew about them!”

“Well who knew Crockwell had a little army of knobheads?” Ron said sarcastically. He swore as he pulled the handkerchief away from Harry’s head and began pulling on his tie. The handkerchief was soaked but Harry ignored it, almost bending double over his left leg which throbbed painfully.

“What are we going to do?” Hermione asked. “We need to get Harry and Neville to the hospital wing and we’re trapped in here!”

“Perce! Give me your hanky!” Ron demanded. “You too, Hermione.” Percy fished out an impeccably clean and pressed handkerchief and Hermione handed Ron a piece of white lace. Ron frowned before transfiguring it into a simple cotton handkerchief. He pressed them to Harry’s head, still trying to pull his tie from his neck with his other hand.

“What the hell does she want?” Harry asked. His vision was swimming and he could barely think for the pounding in his skull.

“What do I want?” Professor Crockwell’s manic screech echoed through the Tower. “You need to ask?” Her voice rose in fury as a spell slammed into the pot of Floo powder on the mantle piece, igniting the powder which began sparking dangerously.

“Yes, I bloody need to ask!” Harry shouted back, clutching his head as his own voice reverberated through his head. Ron batted his hands away impatiently as he tried to anchor the handkerchiefs to Harry’s head with his tie.

“I can’t stop this damn bleeding!” Ron said, a note of panic creeping into his voice.

“It’s a head wound, don’t worry about it. They bleed a lot,” Harry said impatiently, fighting back a wave of nausea and craning to see over the couch.

“Gryffindor Tower was supposed to be the safest place in the castle,” Percy muttered.

“We didn’t factor her, though, did we?” Ron said, still holding Harry’s head in a vice-like grip.

“She’s got one of her goons by the portrait hole and the other by the staircase,” Hermione whispered. “We can’t get past them.”

“We have to think of something,” Neville said. “I don’t know how long I can hold this shield.”

“Why are you doing this?” Harry shouted again.

“This is all your fault!” shrieked Crockwell. “You cannot be allowed to get away with this!”

“Get away with what?” Harry muttered, wincing as some of the sparks from the Floo powder ignited his trouser leg and began singeing Neville’s hair. Hermione frantically beat at the smouldering spots on all of them while Crockwell began muttering about revenge.

“She’s like a cartoon!” Hermione said in disbelief.

“What’s a cartoon?” Ron asked, puzzled.

“Oh, you’d love them-” Harry began.

“Harry!” Hermione exclaimed. “Let’s just figure out a way out of here. She can’t be reasoned with; she’s clearly lost her mind!”

“Reminds me of our old friend Bellatrix,” Neville muttered. “Mad as a hatter.”

“Well, Kinglsey should be along shortly,” Percy muttered. He didn’t sound particularly confident. At that moment a flash of sickly purple light sliced through Neville’s shield and it seemed to disperse with an audible snap. Orange spell fire ricocheted off the wall behind them and Percy hissed in pain as his ear was singed.

“But we’ll not make it before they get to us!” Hermione said frantically as Ron let fire a barrage of stunning spells over the top of the couch. The sparks from the Floo lit on the tapestry behind them and it began smouldering. Neville stared in horror as the flames began to lick up the tapestry.

“The room!” Neville cried suddenly. “It’s got to open for us! We’re in peril! The bloody thing has got to open!”

“Try and get through the wall!” Hermione said, pushing Neville towards the wall. Percy looked at her as if she was mad, ducking as a sickly green light washed across the tower.

“Quick she’s started throwing bloody killing curses,” Ron cried as he dived back behind the couch.

“What is my fault?” Harry spluttered, still trying to figure out Professor Crockwell’s cryptic ramblings. “What shouldn’t I get away with?”

“Just find the damn room,” Hermione said desperately, pushing him towards the wall. “Ron, cover them!”

Neville ripped the flaming tapestry off the wall, throwing it on the couch and sank his hand into the stone wall just as the couch burst into flames.

“It works! Go! Go!” Neville shouted, hauling Harry to his feet. Harry gritted his teeth as he felt his left leg buckle.

“Ron …” he groaned, trying to balance on his right leg. Hermione grasped Harry’s arm, holding him upright.

“Get them out of here, Neville!” Ron warned as he cast several hexes over the top of the flaming couch.

Neville dragged Harry’s arm over his shoulders, clutching his hand as he hauled Harry towards the wall. The three of them plunged through the wall. Harry heard Professor Crockwell’s enraged cry as they spilled into the duelling room. Neville dived back through the wall to get Ron and Percy.

“Come on Neville, come on,” Hermione muttered. Harry lay panting heavily, dizzy from loss of blood, his leg felt like a million knives were tap dancing along it. Neville suddenly appeared, bursting through the wall, with Ron abreast of him, dragging Percy behind.

“She’s got my foot!” Percy yelled in the split second before Professor Crockwell came tumbling through the wall.

The Professor wasted no time, stunning Percy who fell to the floor like a limp rag. Ron gave an enraged bellow and started an incantation when Professor Crockwell neatly disarmed him. Hermione fumbled with her wand, swearing as it skittered across the floor out of her reach. Harry was fighting the blackness threatening to overtake him and couldn’t even remember where he’d put his wand.

“We’re out of bloody practice,” said Ron as Neville threw up a shield.

“She can get through this,” Neville warned. “I don’t know how, but she bloody can!”

Professor Crockwell advanced slowly, smirking in a way that reminded Harry unpleasantly of Umbridge. She swam in his vision and Harry closed his eyes, turning over and trying desperately to get to his feet. Or at least his knees.

“Not so brilliant now, are we Mr Potter?” Crockwell said silkily, still casting curses. Harry could hear them collide with Neville’s shield. “How does it feel to be helpless?”

“Trust me, it’s not a new feeling,” Harry muttered. He felt his pockets frantically, searching for his wand.

“Oh, don’t worry, you won’t need a wand,” Crockwell said as she sliced through Neville’s shield again. “I think I have it all under control.”

Harry’s eyes snapped open in time to see Neville throw himself at her only to be stunned, falling next to Percy, the pair of them lying in a broken heap at the base of the duelling platform.

“Damnit, you evil-”

“Ron! No!” Hermione’s shout echoed around the room as Ron darted forward, but was suddenly thrown backwards by the force of Crockwell’s spell. His head landed with a sickening crack on the edge of the duelling platform and he lay still.

“Honestly,” Professor Crockwell said, shaking her head.”‘It’s a wonder you managed to defeat He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named at all.” She’d stopped throwing curses and spells and was twirling her wand much like a gunslinger from an old Western.

“Well, we weren’t exactly expecting the Head of House to turn on us,” Hermione spat, moving in front of Harry.

“Why not?” Crockwell demanded. “I left plenty of clues! But it’s taken you too long to figure it out! Just like it takes you too long to work out everything!”

“Look,” Harry said wearily. “I don’t know what your problem is-”

“You don’t know?” screeched the professor. She levelled her wand at Hermione, hissing at her menacingly. “Get out of the way.”

“No!” Hermione cried. “You can’t do this!”

“I can!” the professor cried. “I’m not going to stand by and watch while he lets Slytherins just walk around, encouraging Gryffindors to fraternise with them! While he lives as he pleases and my sister rots in the ground!”

“What?” Harry asked, dazed, finally having located his wand in a small pocket hidden in the depths of his new Auror robes.

“She was tortured because of you!” Crockwell screeched maniacally. “They took her and tortured her and she died! Everyone knew you were the Chosen One! And you did nothing! And they took her! She never did anything to them! And now, you want to just live together in some sort of pathetic peace and harmony! She died! She died because of you! All she wanted to do was teach and they took her and tortured her and killed her!”

“Who?” asked Harry desperately as he struggled to pull his wand free of the confines of his robes without Crockwell noticing.

“My sister!” Crockwell screamed. “Charity was all I had left in this world and now she’s gone and it’s your fault!”

“The Muggle Studies teacher?” Hermione breathed. Crockwell aimed her wand at Harry and a sickly red spell burst out of the tip and set fire to the end of his robes. Hermione swore and began beating them out with her own robes, crying out as a purple spell hit her side.

“Should I torture you too, before I kill you?” Crockwell asked, her head tilted to the side. “I’ve been so unlucky with killing you so far. I think you must be the most protected and cosseted man in all of Britain.

“It all seemed so easy. There were plenty of dissatisfied people. It wasn’t hard to find a few people to go along with my plans. Not everyone thinks the sun shines out of your arse, Potter!” She twirled her wand once more before raising it. Hermione groaned, crawling up to Harry who pulled her close.

“I think you’re mad,” Harry said. He clutched his wand in his hand, fighting the waves of nausea that constantly swept over him. Crockwell let forth a shout of pain and rage and sent a slicing curse at his arm. Harry cried out in alarm, dropping his wand. The additional pain and blood loss made his head spin further and he leaned into Hermione.

“Tut, tut, Miss Granger, what would Miss Weasley think?” Crockwell mocked as the two of them clung to each other. She raised her wand once more.

“I think you’ll find Miss Weasley isn’t threatened by Miss Granger.” Ginny’s voice rang out only seconds before her stunner flew across the room, landing at Crockwell’s feet. Ginny swore violently.

Harry twisted around to see her standing near the small table that held the case of daggers, glaring at the professor. She threw several spells in quick succession but Crockwell blocked them all before hitting Ginny’s wand hand with a vicious stinging hex and she cried out, dropping her wand. Crockwell just laughed and pointed her wand at Harry as Ginny dived near the table holding the daggers to retrieve her wand.

“I think this has gone on long enough,” Crockwell said firmly. She started her incantation but Ginny cut her off.

“Duck, Harry!” Ginny cried. Harry ducked, flattening himself to the floor, pulling Hermione with him as the ruby embedded dagger flew through the air, sailing straight for Crockwell’s chest. She gave one surprised cry before her wand fell from her hand and she slumped to the floor.

Ginny burst into tears as she flew across the room, throwing herself onto Harry. They clutched at each other and Harry felt his consciousness slipping.

“Ginny,” he murmured. He could hear Hermione crawling to Ron, calling out to him but was too exhausted and sore to move. He let Ginny cradle his head in her lap as she murmured over and over that he was going to be fine while she tore the sleeve off his new robe and tied it around the wound on his arm.

“Stay with me, Harry,” Ginny demanded. “Don’t you leave me!”

“Leg … hurts …” Harry moaned. “But I … figured out … who’s trying to kill me.” Ginny sobbed brokenly as Harry tried to smile, fighting to stay with her.

“Don’t,” she shook her head. “Don’t joke.”

From somewhere in the distance, Percy groaned. Harry could hear Hermione murmuring and Neville saying something but he tuned them out, focusing on Ginny. Her robes were torn and she had a black smudge on her cheek. Her hair was falling out of the ponytail she’d pulled it into for the commemoration service. The black armband on her left arm was scorched and she winced as she ran her left hand through his hair, her right hand pressing on the makeshift bandage on his cut scalp.

“Your arm?” Harry asked, reaching up to touch her face.

“Its fine,” Ginny murmured. “I’m fine.”

“We have to get you to the hospital wing.” Neville’s voice moved closer and soon he was hovering over Harry as well.

“You … don’t look so hot … yourself,” Harry retorted breathlessly. Neville waved a hand dismissively.

“Ron’s still out cold,” he said, holding up three fingers. “How many?”

“What?”

“If you can tell me how many bloody fingers, Potter, you can wait,” Neville said, wiggling his fingers impatiently. “I’ll take Ron first.”

“Three,” Harry replied, closing his eyes. He felt Neville’s large hand squeeze his shoulder.

“I’ll be right back, Harry,” Neville said. “Don’t move.”

“I still don’t understand-” Percy’s complaint was drowned out by a sudden commotion in the adjoining room. Ginny’s head jerked up and Neville sprang to his feet.

“What the-” Neville didn’t bother to finish his sentence as he darted through the door which expanded under his touch. Harry shifted to see where Neville was going and cried out as hot needles of pain shot through his left leg.

Neville pulled open the door to the large room and Harry caught a glimpse of what appeared to be the whole of Gryffindor House, the Minister for Magic and half the Auror team who’d been assigned to the commemoration services.

“Mr Longbottom!” exclaimed Professor McGonagall. “What are you doing here? What is this place?”

“How did you get in?” Neville replied.

“The door appeared a few moments ago,” the Headmistress replied. “The Minister here has informed me of the special security measures but when it was obvious Mr Potter was not in Gryffindor Tower as previously arranged … I went to inform the Aurors and … well … this door appeared on the seventh floor landing.”

“And it just let you in?” Neville asked with a frown.

“Oh!” Hermione gasped. She scrambled to her feet, running up to Neville and grabbing his arm. “You were holding hands!” Neville stared at her. “The runes! They said when two hands join! That’s when secrets throng!”

“You think the door appeared because I was holding Harry’s hand?” Neville looked at Hermione as if she’d lost her mind.

“You were holding hands?” Ginny smirked down at Harry and he rolled his eyes at her.

“Don’t you see?” Hermione was practically jumping in her excitement. “When you pulled Harry through with you — the two of you together, it unlocked the secret of Gryffindor’s room! Now everyone can enjoy it!”

“Hermione, I appreciate your … excitement,” Neville said. “Let’s get Ron and Harry to the hospital wing and then you can explain it to everyone again — so it makes sense.”

It wasn’t long before several cloaks were transfigured into two stretchers and the Aurors who had accompanied Professor McGonagall lifted both Ron and Harry, bearing them to the hospital wing. Harry gritted his teeth as every movement seemed to shoot new and torturous waves of pain through his entire body. He clung to Ginny’s hand as if it were a lifeline all the way to the hospital wing. Things began to get hazy after they got there. Harry thought Madam Pomfrey gave him something very special indeed because he could feel himself smiling at her like a loon when she tutted over his leg.

“Did you try to walk on this Potter?” the matron asked. “While it was broken?”

“I didn’t know it was broken,” Harry shrugged, feeling pleasantly warm. “You can fix it though?”

“Of course I can,” Madam Pomfrey huffed. “What do you take me for?”

The special potion clearly did not extend to blocking the sort of agony experienced while resetting bones and Harry thought he must surely be hallucinating from the sheer torture of his treatments when he saw Professor Fiesche standing across the room, gazing down at a patient in one of the beds. The Professor looked as if his heart might break in two. Harry didn’t have long to ponder it because the matron forced several more potions down his throat, muttering about him being unable to keep still and Harry soon drifted off to sleep still clutching tightly to Ginny’s hand.