Author's Notes: Well folks, here it is. I'm sorry it took so long, really sorry but it was just not working and Real Life was just making me nuts and .. well it's here now.

And it's finished. Thank you all, to everyone who read this from the moment it started until now, two years later.Thank you to everyone who picked it up at some point. Thank you to everyone who left kind words and enjoyed the little tale I wove.

I'm going off to write a Thesis now. And finish the other fic project I have going - Finding Us.

Many thanks to my beta readers and cheerleaders Rachel - who taught me about commas, parakletos - who made betas seem less scary and made sure I was staying Brit, Melindaleo - who picked me up more than once, dusted me off and set me back on the road, and especially to goingbacktosquareone - aka Jen2 without whom this fic would never have made it this far. *mwah*

Please, enjoy the final chapter of Rebuilding Life.

xxx Kezza

---

The first time Harry woke up it was dark and the hospital wing was silent. A lone figure was slumped in the chair by his head. Arthur’s eyes were closed, his hands folded across his chest, soft snores emanating from his mouth. Harry was too tired to do anything more than sink back into his pillows and let sleep claim him again.

The second time Harry woke up a red-gold haze infused the Hospital wing. Harry turned his head to the window and watched the soft glow of the rising sun for a moment before he turned his attention to the chair by his bed. George’s head lolled to the side, his feet were propped on Harry’s bed and he snuffled slightly in his sleep. Harry peered past George to see Ron sleeping quietly in the next bed. The absence of his snores disturbed Harry more than he’d like to admit. For once, Ron was as quiet as the hospital wing and Harry soon drifted off.

The third time Harry woke up he could hear harsh whispers and paper rustling. An angry thwack punctuated the tense air. Harry debated pretending to sleep but he needed to use the toilet. He cracked one eye open to find Ron glaring at someone across his bed. That’s when he realised the hissing he could hear belonged to Hermione. Harry sighed internally and opened his other eye.

“Do you mind?” he asked testily, trying out the mobility in his limbs.

“Harry!” Hermione was hovering over him in an instant.

“How’re you feeling, mate?” Ron asked. Harry thought about it for a moment.

“Like I’ve been hit by a curse, knocked on the head and stuffed with enough potions to make my bladder stretch around the room and back,” Harry replied tersely. “Can you two not stop fighting for one moment?”

“Fighting?” Hermione asked. “We’re not fighting, we’re-”

“Did you not hear the man, Hermione?” Ron demanded. “You’re stressing his bladder!”

“Can we not discuss my bodily functions?” Harry whined.

“Well, we’ll have to if you want to go-”

“Hermione!”

“Shut up, both of you,” Ron said, rolling his eyes. “No point getting embarrassed about all that now. D’you think she never heard us last year in the bushes?”

“Ugh,” Hermione said eloquently.

Harry sat up, shaking his head and wincing. The hospital wing was still and quiet except for the ruckus Ron and Hermione were making at his bedside. The curtains were drawn around several of the beds and the bathroom door beckoned at the end of the room. Harry wondered idly if he would be able to make it there and tested his injured leg carefully by wiggling his toes and foot impatiently.

“Should be all healed, but you don’t want to take a chance,” Ron said, peeling back Harry’s bedclothes. “Pomfrey said to make sure you didn’t try to walk on your own. She’ll have my hide …” And suddenly Ron had hauled Harry’s arm over his shoulder and was pulling Harry off the bed and down the aisle between the rows of beds.

“Ron-” Harry started to protest.

“Don’t fight it,” Hermione grumbled from behind them. “He’s turned into a caveman.”

Harry shook his head and let Ron half-drag him to the bathroom. He drew the line at Ron coming into the stall with him and slammed the door in his best friend’s face.

“But they’ll have my balls if I let you over do it!” Ron whined through the door. “Mum made me promise and Ginny threatened me with a Bat-Bogey!”

“I’m not overdoing it,” Harry grumbled as he took care of the necessary tasks. Ron insisted on practically carrying him back to his bed and fluffing his pillows, setting one carefully under his injured leg and stealing one from the next bed to make sure Harry’s head was carefully pillowed.

“I still say it’s wrong,” Hermione insisted when Harry was settled. She waved the newspaper in her hand emphatically, as if to prove her point.

“You need to stop worrying about it.” Ron sighed heavily.

“It’s a lie!” Hermione shrieked. “A complete and utter fabrication! They should be taken out and … and …”

“It’s doesn’t matter,” Ron hissed vehemently. “Let it go!”

“Do you want to live the rest of your life like this?” Hermione demanded. “We should do something about this — and do it now!”

“Whatever you are fighting about, can you just stop?” Harry asked. “I want to know-”

“Oh, you’re taking his side now!”

“I’m not taking anyone’s side,” Harry insisted, “seeing as I don’t know what the sides are!”

“Here!” Hermione thrust The Daily Prophet at him. Ron rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair. Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Harry as if daring him to disagree with her. Harry opened the paper out and smoothed it on his lap.

’Anniversary in Tatters’ proclaimed the headline. A large photograph of Percy defending Harry on the dais dominated the front page but it was the sub-heading and accompanying photographs that Harry knew had Hermione twitching.

’Potter’s Love Life also in Ruins’

Where was Harry Potter’s fiancée while he lay bleeding to certain death yesterday? Probably not by his side if these pictures are any indication of the private life of our nation’s most important figurehead are anything to go by.

Harry stopped reading and stared at the pictures of him and Hermione as he held her hand and leaned close to her to whisper something in her ear. A camera had documented every move he and Hermione had made from the time they’d appeared on the steps of Hogwarts until he’d risen to give his speech. It did look rather incriminating, Harry had to admit.

“They think Ginny has … has … scorned you!” Hermione said forcefully. “They think I am you new — new — your new … fling!” Ron sighed.

“I keep telling you, Hermione-”

“I can’t believe you don’t care!” Hermione shouted. A sudden rustling from one of the curtains across the room interrupted her tirade.

“Miss Granger,” Professor Fiesche said icily. “If you cannot keep it down, perhaps you could take your histrionics outside?”

“Sorry professor,” muttered Hermione, subsiding and sinking back into her chair. Professor Fiesche glared at her again and retreated back behind the curtains surrounding the bed opposite.

“What’s he doing here?” Harry asked quietly, discarding the paper on his bedside table.

“You don’t care either?” Hermione hissed, snatching at the paper and waving it under his nose.

“Not really,” Harry sighed, batting the newspaper way from his face. “Are you going to get this bent out of shape very time we’re photographed together? It’s going to happen, Hermione. I mean we’ll be related-”

“Fiesche has stayed with that patient all night, George reckons,” Ron interrupted suddenly, the tips of his ears red.

“We’re not related!” Hermione said, slapping the paper down on Harry’s bed.

“Which patient?” Harry asked, ignoring Hermione.

“I don’t know,” Ron said, leaning towards Harry and lowering his voice. “Those curtains have been drawn the whole time. Course, I’ve only be awake a couple hours — you took your time waking up, by the way — but George reckons-”

“Oh, what would George know, he was asleep half the night!” Hermione interjected, still clearly disgruntled.

“Well if you’d let me finish, you’d know he heard it from Dad and-”

“Can you please, just stop it?” Harry said desperately. “I don’t know what’s gotten into the pair of you but I feel like I’m back in fourth year!”

“Sorry,” Hermione said quietly.

“Yeah, sorry mate,” Ron added. The two of them settled back in their chairs.

“Where’s Ginny?” Harry asked to break the silence. “Is Percy okay?”

“Yeah, um Madam Pomfrey released Percy this morning,” Ron said. “Ginny was sort of dragged out of here by Mum at about midnight. She was back about an hour ago but Mum made her go back to bed. I think they drugged her to stop her coming back.”

“She needs to rest, Ron,” Hermione said primly.

“Percy’s gone into the Ministry to see if he can figure out what happened yesterday,” Ron said, ignoring Hermione. “There’s quite a bit of a stir going on, but they’re not telling us much.”

Harry sighed, closing his eyes. Things felt completely out of control. Everything had felt that way for several weeks now. He’d been avoiding dealing with anything that seemed remotely difficult or would dredge up any sort of memory or association with the day Voldemort had been defeated. It had only resulted in things feeling worse. Harry had avoided talking to Kingsley and tuned Percy out at every opportunity. Harry recognised now that Arthur had also tried to broach the subject of his future once he finished Hogwarts, but Harry had distracted him with something electrical from the dusty bench in his shed. It was no surprise he’d been somewhat blindsided the other day in McGonagall’s office. Not really.

Harry Potter had spent the year hiding. While he didn’t regret it, and probably even needed it, Harry knew it was time to face everything. There had been something going on the last few months that Ron had been willing to face. Something that George could see was a real threat but Harry refused to acknowledge. Hermione had paid more attention to the world around them than he had. She’d written an entire piece of legislation and set herself up with a job in the Ministry. Ginny had gone after her dream and made it come true. And Harry had earned a decent mark on a Potions project with Draco Malfoy and taught Gilbert Chumley how to play Monopoly. He wasn’t ashamed of the things he had done this year but he knew he’d been deliberately ignoring and avoiding the unpleasant things. He suspected those around him were only too well aware of that and he wondered how long they had been planning to let him hide. Harry took a deep breath and threw back the bedcovers.

“Here, where d’you think you’re going?” Ron asked, alarmed.

“Well I can’t sit around in bed all day,” Harry began.

“Sure you can,” Ron argued. “You broke your leg and got a bump on your head and ... and you’re Harry Potter!” Harry rolled his eyes.

“Ron, there’s … I need to … do some things,” Harry began.

“No, you don’t,” Ron practically stomped his foot. Harry raised an eyebrow at Ron’s display but Ron kept going. “I mean I think you’ve done enough and … and people should be doing things for you!”

“Erm …” Harry was unsure what to say so he said nothing.

“Don’t you think you deserve a break, Harry?” Ron persisted. “Take it easy; maybe go on a holiday or something.”

“Ron, it’s been a year and I’ve buried myself in this castle-”

“Ginny needed you!”

“That’s not why I’m here, not really,” Harry said.

“I think you’re entitled-”

“Oh don’t be ridiculous, Ron,” Hermione chastised him. “Harry’s sense of entitlement is so low it practically handicaps him!” Harry thought he detected a glint in her eyes that confirmed his theory about his friends knowing he’d been avoiding things.

“So I’ll need my clothes,” Harry prompted, testing his injured leg by flexing his foot and stretching his calf.

“Well they’re shredded, aren’t they,” Ron replied with a smug smirk, “so you’ll just have to get back into bed …” He punctuated his words by pushing Harry back into the bed and roughly pulling the covers over his lap.

“You could go and get some for me,” Harry said, undecided whether to be irritated or amused.

“Oh, no, you’re not dragging me into this,” Ron shook his head emphatically. “No, no, no.” He stood firm and immovable at the foot of Harry’s bed.

“Dragging you into this?” Hermione asked. “Aren’t you glad he’s finally doing something?”

“Getting out of bed is not doing something,” Ron scoffed. “Except maybe handing my bare neck to the womenfolk.”

“Womenfolk?” Hermione glared at both of them.

“Come on, Hermione,” Ron whined. “You know they’d both have me strung up-”

“I can’t believe you’re afraid of your mother,” Hermione muttered.

“I can,” Harry smirked, throwing the covers back again and scrambling out of bed.

“Oi!” Ron grumbled. “Go back to bed.”

“No,” said Harry, exasperated. “I’m fine, Ron. Let me go and sort things out.”

“Who says you have to sort it out?” Ron demanded his voice rising again. “Haven’t you done enough? Given enough? What else could anyone possibly want from you?”

The curtain around the bed opposite was flung open. Harry caught sight of a dark haired woman lying still on the bed, her face nearly as white as the sheets. Professor Fiesche was standing with the curtain clenched tightly in one fist and a thunderous look on his face.

“What anyone could possibly want, Mr Weasley, is a modicum of quiet and solitude in the hospital wing where there are people who are blatantly unwell!” The professor growled at the three of them, making Ron take a step back.

“We’re really sorry, professor,” Hermione said hastily. “We’ll keep it down.”

“I don’t think you lot know how,” Professor Fiesche grumbled. “It’d be like asking you to stay out of bloody trouble!”

Harry looked critically at the Defence Professor. For the first time he looked as though he hadn’t slept a wink. His hair was a mess and he had dark circles under his eyes. His face was pale and he seemed to tremble slightly.

“Are you all right, professor?” Harry asked quietly. “Is your friend-”

“Perfectly fine, thank you, Potter,” Fiesche said briskly. He straightened up a little. “But I would appreciate it if you would take your … conversations elsewhere to allow my — my … wife to rest.” The professor retreated back to the bed and pulled the curtain shut.

“He’s married?” Hermione whispered.

“Explains why he’s been by that bed all night,” Ron said.

“Where’s his cat?” Harry wondered. Hermione just shrugged and picked up the newspaper again. Harry sighed heavily and tried to ignore her as she began complaining again about the photographs and captions.

“It doesn’t matter,” Ron said, leaning back in his chair while Harry bounced on the balls of his feet, testing his newly repaired limb. “The torrid affair you two are having will be yesterday’s wrapping once they get a gander at your portrait.” Hermione shuddered and Harry stopped bouncing to peer at Ron.

“Hang on, what portrait?” Harry looked at them in confusion.

“Oh, well …” Ron trailed off.

“Yes ... well that … thing is … unfortunate,” Hermione muttered.

“Mum likes it …” Ron shrugged.

“What’s wrong with it?” Harry asked slowly.

“That artist guy brought your free miniature thing this morning,” Ron said hesitantly.

“It’s dreadful,” Hermione said with certainty.

“Where is it?” Harry asked curiously. Hermione reached down and pulled open the bottom drawer of his bedside cabinet. She bit her bottom lip hesitantly as she handed him a sloppily wrapped package, the brown paper and string hung loosely around a gilt frame. Harry pulled the wrappings back slowly and turned the frame over.

It was hideous.

“Is that … did he paint a halo on this thing?” Harry asked in disbelief. Hermione nodded soberly.

“That’s what it looks like,” Ron agreed.

“And my hair … it’s neat,” Harry said.

“I personally think the pipe is the best touch,” Hermione murmured. Harry stared in horror at the tiny table painted into the portrait. A brown pipe sat on the top, smoke curling out of it.

“There’s no way they are putting this up,” Harry said. “I look like a thirty-seven year old pimp!”

“Dragon hide boots are not that shiny,” Ron muttered.

“And you do not have a cane,” Hermione said.

“Your mother likes this?” Harry asked. Ron shrugged. Harry just shuddered. “Now do you see why I have to get out of bed and rejoin the land of the living?”

Ron nodded, still eyeing Harry warily as he stretched his foot and began to pace around his bed. They were silent for a moment before Ron spoke suddenly.

“What d’you think happened yesterday?” he asked in a low voice.

“Goodness, Ron,” Harry said sarcastically. “I don’t know … maybe a band of pink fairies came and stole everyone’s innocence and turned us all into trolls.” Ron rolled his eyes.

“I think we’re clear on the fact that Professor Crockwell is not who she says she is,” Hermione said, ignoring the sarcasm. “And it’s pretty obvious she’s more than a little upset about the loss of her sister-”

“Yeah, well, she’s not the only one who lost someone,” Ron growled suddenly. “It’s not Harry’s fault. I don’t know why she had to go blame him-”

“We all blame someone, Ron,” Hermione said quietly.

“Yeah, but it’s not Harry’s fault!”

“Gerald blamed me,” Harry said quietly. “George blamed me! I even blamed me for a while.”

“Yeah, but normal people get over it,” Ron said. “It’s only demented people like her that can’t get past it and make their own little army of Death Eater wannabes!”

“D’you think she’s been the one — I mean all year … you know …” Harry stopped pacing and trailed off. Ron shrugged but Hermione nodded slowly. Harry sighed heavily and sat on the bed. He stared at the curtain around the bed where Professor Fiesche hovered over his wife. He was roused from contemplation by Neville who arrived quietly, shuffling his feet as he approached.

“Hey, Neville,” Ron said idly.

“Hi,” Neville said quietly. “How are you doing, Harry?” Harry just shrugged.

“How is ... everyone?” Hermione asked.

“Bit subdued, really,” Neville replied. “Classes have been cancelled for the rest of the week and Slughorn’s practically in charge because Flitwick and McGonagall are holed up in her office Flooing parents and writing Owls. The press is all over the gate but Hagrid sent Grawp down there …” Harry and Ron snickered. Hermione shook her head.

“Where’s Crockwell?” Harry asked. Neville looked away and shrugged slightly.

“I think she’s at The Ministry,” he said. “There are still a lot of rumours going around about what happened. The whole school can see the Gryffindor room now. Professor Sinistra had to rope off the duelling room to stop that idiot Watson going through all the swords and daggers. I think … it’s like we unlocked something, Harry.”

“I’m sure you did,” Hermione said. “The more I think about it, the more obvious it seems!” The three men stared at her expectantly.

“It might be obvious to you, Hermione,” Ron said. “But we are mere mortals and not able to understand the workings of your superior intellect.”

“Oh shut up,” Hermione said, but she was smiling. “Well its Gryffindor’s room, isn’t it-”

“We got that much Hermione,” Ron interrupted. She glared at him.

“Didn’t you ever wonder why there were no other House rooms?” she asked, leaning forward slightly. “If Gryffindor has a room, where is Hufflepuff’s room, where is Ravenclaw’s?” She paused slightly.

“Slytherin …” said Ron. He shared a significant look with Harry.

“Didn’t Slytherin have one?” Neville asked thoughtfully. “What was all that stuff about in second year, you know he built a secret Chamber didn’t he, but McGonagall reckons it wasn’t real — d’you think it might be real?” He looked excitedly at them. Harry nodded wryly.

“Yeah, we found Slytherin’s,” he said shortly. Neville just looked puzzled, as if he was trying to figure out where it was.

“I think each of the Founders built something into the castle,” Hermione said, breaking the tension. “A special room, a place for them or their House, something apart from the common rooms, something that reflected the House in some way.”

“So you reckon Gryffindor built a secret room that is like Gryffindor?” Ron asked, brow furrowed.

“Don’t you see, Ron?” Hermione said. “It’s a ballroom and a duelling room!” Ron stared at her blankly. Hermione tried again. “Chivalry and bravery!”

“Yeah …” Ron’s face showed dawning comprehension. Neville still looked a little perplexed.

“Well what about Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw then?”

“I don’t know about Hufflepuff,” Hermione admitted, “but where’s the cleverest room in the castle?” Neville’s eyes widened.

“The Room of Requirement,” he said. Hermione nodded feverishly. “I think it must be. It just makes sense. Slytherin’s Chamber is hidden and meant for … well it wasn’t really meant for anyone and it was pretty hard to open.” Ron just snorted and Neville looked so perplexed that Harry took pity on him.

“It opened with Parseltongue,” he said quietly. “I’m pretty sure he only wanted his descendants to get in there.”

“You got in there, didn’t you?” Neville asked. Harry nodded. “He did it, didn’t he? V-V-Voldemort? Gave you Parseltongue?”

“Yeah,” Harry replied quietly. “Turned out to be a good thing otherwise we’d never have found the hidden entrance and been able to open it.” Neville just nodded.

“See, they are all hidden,” Hermione said suddenly. “There’s something about them keeping them apart, keeping them hidden from everyone and only certain people and talents can access them. My guess, from the way it behaved and what Glenda said that only true Gryffindors could get into that room and two of you at once unlocked it for everyone.”

“I still say I’m a true Gryffindor,” Ron grumbled.

“I’d have to do more research of course,” Hermione said thoughtfully, ignoring Ron as he rolled his eyes. “I’d like to talk to Glenda again too, it’s truly fascinating. She did disappear after all I would love to find out what exactly happened to her …”

“Well, we won’t be here much longer anyway,” Harry said. “I reckon I’ve spent too long here as it is. I need to face the world, not hide from it.”

“Pity you couldn’t do that to begin with,” a sharp voice said. Harry looked up to see Professor Fiesche standing just outside the curtained bed, glaring at him. Harry just stared for a moment before collecting his wits.

“I’m sorry sir,” Harry said, struggling to keep his tone respectful. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Professor Fiesche took a few steps towards Harry, his dragon hide boots barely making a noise on the flagstones of the hospital wing even though he was practically stomping towards the end of Harry’s bed. Neville shrank back a little and Ron straightened in his chair, swinging his feet to the floor.

“It hasn’t been easy trying to keep tabs on you,” the professor said. He suddenly threw his arms wide and laughed. “I don’t even know why I thought it would be but when you decided to come back and I couldn’t convince you I had to think of something!”

Harry stared at the man, perplexed. Ron and Neville moved to stand between him and the professor. Hermione’s brow was furrowed as she studied Professor Fiesche. The professor laughed suddenly, harshly.

“I’m sorry sir,” Harry said, elbowing Ron aside. “I’m not sure I understand-”

“We thought it was Thistlewaite!” Professor Fiesche said with a humourless chuckle. “We thought he was planning to try something and all along it was that half-wit of a woman!”

“Perhaps you could start at the beginning,” Hermione interjected. Her arms were crossed and she was glaring at the professor. Professor Fiesche ran a hand through his hair and glanced back at the bed behind him. He sighed heavily.

“Look, what is your deal?” Ron asked roughly. “We know you can’t stand Harry, we just don’t know why. And I’m telling you now that I don’t do too well with people who want to hurt him.”

“We weren’t trying to hurt him!” the professor said in exasperation. “We were trying to protect him!”

“From what?” Neville asked.

“Whoever wanted him dead!” Fiesche snapped.

“How did you know someone wanted him dead?” Hermione asked. “And you knew about it but no one else did?”

“Do you know how I became an Auror, Miss Granger?” Professor Fiesche asked suddenly. Hermione shook her head. The professor sighed and began pacing. “We used to run a very respectable second-hand music shop. There wasn’t much call for what we used to do in the middle of a war. Business went down.” He stopped and glared at the four of them.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said simply. Professor Fiesche sighed.

“So when I saw the ad, I signed up.” He ran his hands through his hair distractedly. “I assume they had lost a great deal of personnel and I’m not sure I’m terribly successful at the job. I have to presume they were desperate.

“Regardless, I didn’t do anything too involved; a few patrols, just a bit of Muggle protection, things of that nature. You come across a lot of loose lips in that line of work. People talk when they shouldn’t, reveal a lot more than they ought. I learnt more than one secret over the last few years. You don’t get much respect though — not from the real Aurors. It got even worse after You-Know-Who took over the Ministry. Most of us tried to work outside the Ministry — no decent witch or wizard could stomach what they were trying to do. Kingsley took as many of us as he could into his covert little operation but we were all back working for the Ministry once he got back into office.”

“So, how did you end up at Hogwarts?”

“No one else wanted to come, did they?” Fiesche said. “It’s not very glamorous when you can be out chasing down Dark wizards. But then I learned you were coming back.” Fiesche stopped and gestured to Harry.

“What does that matter?” Ron asked impatiently.

“Because of what I heard,” Fiesche said. He stopped pacing and stared at Harry for a moment before continuing. “I had Muggle protection detail at this safe house after the end of the war. Full of the most annoying Muggles imaginable and no idea why they were still under threat. Diggle reckoned there wasn’t any danger, just complex memory altering needed before they could go home. It took a couple weeks. I heard more than one death threat against you.” The professor gestured to Harry.

“Sounds like your uncle,” Ron muttered. Harry just nodded tersely.

“No one took me seriously,” Fiesche said, sounding quite affronted. “Said Dursley was a harmless old tosser and I should just ignore him. Most irregular in my opinion.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Harry sighed. “I’m quite sure my uncle is all bluster and no substance. He’s been threatening that since before I could talk.”

“Yes, but it meant no one took me seriously when I told them about the second man!” Professor Fiesche hissed.

“Second man?” Hermione asked.

“Yes!” Professor Fiesche said, sounding slightly exasperated. “The bloke in the pub! I heard him talking to his drinking fellows that he’d been employed to get to Potter and take him out. I told that Weatherby fellow and he shunted me off to make a report and-”

“You told Percy?” Ron interrupted.

“Yes, that’s the fellow,” Fiesche confirmed. “Seemed awfully distracted.”

“Well, there was a lot going on back then,” Hermione allowed doubtfully. The professor snorted.

“Indeed,” he drawled laconically. “Not the least of which was the pretty brunette he thought I didn’t see hiding behind his door. I’m sure he was more anxious to get back to her than deal with my tale. Robards didn’t seem to think too much of my report. They all but told me it was because I had lodged a failed report before.”

“I still don’t see how you ended up here?” Harry said, struggling to connect the dots.

“They told us we needed an Auror to take Defence classes,” Fiesche continued. “Asked for volunteers but no one was that thrilled about it. We heard you were planning to attend and that’s when I knew I had to keep you away, get you in the middle of the Aurors where you’d be protected. It doesn’t take a genius to work out you’ll be applying to the Aurors, was the worst kept secret in the Ministry anyway. You were supposed to ditch Hogwarts when I refused to teach you. They were supposed to throw you out!”

“You were trying to keep Harry out of Hogwarts?” Ron asked, brow furrowed. Fiesche nodded.

“Because you knew someone was after him?” Neville added.

“But no one believed you?” Hermione asked. Fiesche nodded.

“No one took my warning seriously about a threat. So … Priscilla came with me to keep an eye on you instead.”

“Priscilla?” Harry asked, trying to remember where he heard the name before. Fiesche gestured to the bed behind him.

“My wife.”

“Priscilla is the name of your cat,” Neville exclaimed.

“Indeed, Mr Longbottom,” was all the professor replied.

“Hang on, hang on,” Ron said, holding up his hands. “You couldn’t convince the Minstry that Harry had a death threat because the last time you reported one it was only his barmy uncle blustering so you became the Defence Professor in order to get Harry chucked out of Hogwarts so he could be surrounded by protective Aurors all day and when that didn’t work you decided to act like his bodyguard instead.”

“Yes, and find out who was behind it all,” Professor Fiesche said, nodding. “It seemed like a good plan …”

“It was a stupid plan,” Neville said flatly. Harry agreed with Neville.

“You know,” Hermione said, “you could have told Harry.”

“I couldn’t risk it ... we couldn’t risk it,” Professor Fiesche said. “Priscilla said that if I got chucked from the Aurors for being barmy and lost this job … the shop was destroyed by Death Eaters, we lost all our inventory …” He shook his head decisively.

“I would have listened,” Harry said quietly.

“Priscilla convinced me,” the professor said simply. “She said she could help, she wouldn’t risk my job, and then we saw Thistlewaite and we knew we could handle it.”

“You thought it was Thistlewaite?”

“Yes … it turns out he’s just very in awe of you and reckons he’s the president of some fan club,” Fiesche said, shaking his head. “We had tea one afternoon; the man has a shrine in his quarters …”

“You’ve got a fan club?” Ron asked, bemused. Harry glared at him.

“She promised me she shut that down!” Neville groaned. Harry turned to him and raised an eyebrow. Neville flushed beet red.

“It’s thriving apparently,” Professor Fiesche continued conversationally. “A bit risky during the war of course, but according to him, he’s bringing it back up to its former glory, slowly but surely.”

“And I didn’t know about this because …?” Harry glared at Neville who gulped audibly.

“Don’t blame her!” he cried. “It was Colin! He’s the one who told her about fan clubs!”

“She hasn’t had anything to do with that fan club for six years!” Hermione exclaimed, turning to Neville.

“You knew about this?” Harry asked.

“I told you, it was Colin!” Neville protested. “In fourth year he tried to revive it but there was a lot of anti-Potter sentiment with Cedric and things … She promised me she’d shut it down,” Neville said, almost wringing his hands. “After … the Third Task and … everything we talked, and she promised!”

“I guess someone else took it over,” Hermione mused. “It would have had a bit of a fan base …”

“She said it was easy,” Neville said. “Harry wasn’t very popular the next year after all. Colin was a bit hesitant but she convinced him, made Michael have a word to him, which seemed to do the trick. I swear she told me it was shut down.”

“Are we talking about Ginny?” Harry asked, eyes narrowed. Neville wouldn’t look at him. Harry sighed and rolled his eyes.

“The point is,” Fiesche said peevishly, “that it wasn’t Thistlewaite — as obsessed as he is with you, Potter. If you’d just gone out to work with the Aurors like a reasonable person, a normal person, my wife wouldn’t have spent all year pretending to be a spy and wouldn’t be lying in a hospital bed right now!”

Harry didn’t know how to respond. He had agonised over the decisions he should make and it seemed he still got them wrong. He vaguely heard Ron and Hermione arguing with the professor but Harry couldn’t concentrate on that. His head was starting to throb and he rubbed irritably at his forehead.

“Harry,” said Hermione suddenly. She was staring at him. Harry raised an eyebrow at her and gave his forehead one last frustrated rub before dropping his hand.

“What?”

“Is your scar hurting?” she asked urgently, stepping forward.

Harry laughed.

“It’s not funny,” Ron almost growled. Harry raised his hands in mock surrender, his gaze darting between his two friends.

“Sorry,” he spluttered. “No, it’s not that! My head just hurts from colliding with that stupid urn yesterday.”

Hermione sighed heavily. Harry realised that Fiesche had disappeared.

“Where’d the professor go?”

“Back to his wife,” Hermione said. “Poor thing’s beside himself.”

“If you’ve got a headache, Harry, you should be lying down-”

“Ron,” Harry interrupted. “Not now.” Ron just glared at him until Harry sighed in defeat and sat on the edge of his bed, raising an eyebrow as if to ask if Ron was satisfied. Ron gave a staccato grunt and looked away.

Neville shuffled awkwardly in the silence. His uncertainty was short-lived when a burst of noise echoed from the doorway of the hospital wing. Ron groaned as they recognised the shrill voice of his mother.

“-don’t know what you could possibly have been thinking! Of all the times to-“

“Molly, dear,” Arthur remonstrated, laying a hand on her arm as they spilled through the door. “Let it go.” Molly looked at Arthur as if stung.

“Let it go?” she shrieked. “Let it go?”

Arthur just nodded, a smirk playing on the edges of his mouth.

“Capital idea, Dad,” George interjected from behind his parents.

“You stay out of it,” Molly growled, turning on her son who merely grinned. Harry tuned them out as George began protesting his complete and utter innocence regarding the mysterious fireworks that had suddenly exploded over the heads of a group of journalists and began chasing them away from the gate and towards Hogsmeade. Apparently more than one journalist had been convinced that they were being attacked by the next Dark Lord and a wand fight had broken out. Madam Pomfrey was out tending to several broken bones and a number of bad jinx combinations.

Ginny trailed after George and was shaking her head in resignation as he tried to placate his mother. There was a large bandage wrapped around her upper arm and she was paler than normal, dark circles marred her delicate features and she looked worried, her gaze flickering between George and her mother. Arthur pulled her close to his side and whispered something to her. Ginny nodded, smiling slightly before she locked her gaze with Harry’s. Then she was in his arms, her face buried in his chest, her arms wound tightly around his neck.

Harry pulled her close and ignored everyone else in the room. He vaguely heard Molly clucking over his ugly portrait miniature, he knew Neville and Ron had distracted George before he drove his mother nuts, and he heard Hermione start a conversation with Arthur about working at the Ministry, but all his attention was on Ginny, who sighed into his pyjamas and began stroking the back of his neck with feather light touches.

“Hi,” he said into her hair. He felt Ginny tilt her head to place a soft kiss on his neck. Suddenly Harry wished they were alone. With great difficulty he resisted kissing her senseless, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of her head.

“You’re all right,” Ginny mumbled. “I know they said you were but-”

“I’m all right.” Harry cut her off. “Are you?” Ginny nodded.

“I didn’t want to leave you,” Ginny admitted. “I just … they kicked me out. I just wanted to be sure you were all right, you passed out so quickly and Madam Pomfrey was just so busy she wouldn’t tell me anything and Percy wanted to move you to St Mungo’s and he and George got into a fight and Ron and Jonathon had to take them out to cool off and my arm was hurting and-”

“St Mungo’s?” Harry asked, eyebrow raised. “Why would Percy want to do that?”

“Something about expert healers or security,” Ginny said. “Percy’s taking it pretty badly that something happened to you when he was supposed to take care of the details.”

“Well if he’d listened to Fiesche in the first place,” Ron broke in. Ginny drew her brows together, puzzled. Harry filled them in with Neville and Hermione filling in the parts he left out. Ron sat glowering at the closed curtains of the bed opposite.

“So his wife must be an Animagus and has been trying to keep an eye on Harry this whole time,” Neville finished with a shrug.

“And it’s just been Crockwell all along?” George queried. “Because Old whatsherface the Muggle Studies teacher was her sister, and you took too long … ending things?”

“Honestly,” Molly huffed. “Some people just look for others to blame because of their problems. It’s not your fault Harry, dear.”

“I know,” Harry said quietly. Ron gasped in faux amazement and Harry’s fingers itched to gesture rudely at him.

“I’m just so glad I got to you in time,” Ginny’s voice cracked alarmingly and Harry pulled her closer, scooting them both back onto the bed.

“How did you get in there?” Harry asked quietly. Ginny pulled the amulet from under her shirt.

“I think it must have been this,” she said quietly. She stole a quick look at George who was still smirking slightly. “When you and Percy vanished … George went mental. He went completely bonkers.”

“I was a little distressed,” George allowed with a wry smile. He shrugged apologetically but didn’t say anything else.

“I thought Bill was about to stun him,” Ginny continued. “Then Ron and Hermione and Neville just disappeared too, I think both of us were ready to tear the place apart.” Ginny pulled a face.

“It was very confusing,” Molly added softly.

“I didn’t know why you’d vanished,” Ginny said, turning back to Harry. “Dad explained about the Portkeys and Kinglsey and the other Aurors were getting things under control, so we just ran like hell. You weren’t in the hospital wing though.”

“We changed the safe location to the common room.” Percy’s voice was weary as he walked into the hospital wing, stopping at the foot of Harry’s bed. His hair was a tousled mess and he looked like he’d not slept all night. “Added security. Only Kingsley knew the real destination.”

“Have you slept, Percy?” Arthur asked. Percy shook his head wearily.

“We’ve processed Crockwell and found out who was working for her,” he added. “She used to work in the Department of Mysteries before the Ministry was … taken over. She’s one of only two people who know where the unplottable Quintaped island is. We’re not sure but we think she managed to hypnotwist an Auror.”

“Hypnotise,” Hermione muttered, glowering.

“ She was spouting a lot of nonsense about Muggles and being Muggleborn,” Percy went on, ignoring her. “Some rot about not being able to rely on magic. She went quite mad with grief in the end I think.”

“Have you spoken to Fiesche?” Ron jerked his thumb at the curtained bed opposite Harry’s. Percy shook his head.

“Should I?”

“Yes,” hissed Ron. “Because if you had listened to him before then we wouldn’t be in this mess and Harry wouldn’t have been in any danger at all.” Percy sighed heavily and massaged his forehead wearily.

“There’s been a lot going on.” Arthur spoke firmly, all three of his sons looked up at him. Ginny leaned further into Harry but turned her head to look at her father. Arthur continued, resting his hand on his wife’s knee. “We’ve had to deal with a lot this past year and it hasn’t been easy but … I’m proud of you — all of you.” Arthur looked at each of his children in turn and then his gaze rested on Harry. “We’re not perfect and we’ve made a few mistakes along the way … and we’re probably going to make a lot more. There’s a long way to go but we’ve managed to come this far — together, and that makes an old man very proud indeed.”

“Dad, you’re not that old,” Ron said idly.

“I feel it,” Arthur said, sighing. He patted Molly’s knee and straightened up. “It’s good to see you up and about, Harry.”

“Thank you,” Harry said quietly. “I’m feeling much better.”

“When’s Pomfrey going to bust you?” George asked idly. Harry just shrugged.

“Wish she’d hurry up,” Ron muttered. “I’m starved.”

“Oh here,” Hermione said, exasperated as she searched her bag. “Have a chocolate frog. That should tide you over until we make it to the Great Hall.” She thrust a rather squashed looking frog at Ron who grinned and tore it open. He groaned as he inspected the card.

“I do not need another one of the stupid witch who invented the tea warming charm,” he said, biting the head off the frog. “Iss no’ even a new un!”

“That’s a very useful charm,” Molly murmured absently.

“Yeah but I want a Harry Potter card,” pouted Ron. “Gilbert told me there’s a pool on to see who’ll get it first. Best odds are on a Gryffindor.”

“I don’t even want to know what that means,” Hermione said, picking up the paper she had been scowling at earlier. She folded it carefully and stowed it in her bag. She started tidying the bedside table, re-wrapping the mini portrait and gathering the potion bottles that had been discarded there.

“What’s wrong, Hermione?” Harry asked her. His friend stopped her fussing abruptly.

“Nothing.”

“It’s hard starting again, isn’t it?” Molly broke in softly.

“But we have started again,” scoffed Hermione, straightening Harry’s pillows.

“Not really, dear,” Molly said. “It’s been a bit more like … existing. It was like that last time was well. Very exciting at first and then … then you don’t quite know what to do with yourself and life just goes on and you follow it but … it happens to you, you don’t make it happen.”

“That’s silly,” Hermione said. “I’ve done all sorts of things this year.”

“I haven’t,” said Ron idly spinning the chocolate frog card on his finger tip. “I mean I’ve been busy and all but …”

“I think you’d all be surprised at exactly what you have done,” Arthur interjected.

“It’s a bit blurry though, innit?” George said.

“Yeah, well, you were drunk for half of it,” Ron said without venom. George shrugged.

“Boys,” Molly said with a groan.

“There are lots of good things, exciting things ahead of us,” Arthur said bracingly. “It’s time to start savouring them, really drinking them in.”

Harry nodded. He suddenly felt ready, for the first time since Voldemort was gone, to face the world. He felt ready to be an Auror. He felt ready to be Teddy’s godfather. He felt ready to break out and find out who he was. He was itching to finish school and go to work keeping people safe. There was no denying that this was what he was meant to do. There were still Dark wizards out there. Greyback was still out there. And Harry wanted to be a part of protecting people from that. His smile grew as he thought of how much Teddy had grown and how much more capable he felt than the first time he’d held the tiny baby. For the first time since he was eleven, and Hagrid had told him who he was, Harry didn’t really know who he was. But it didn’t matter because Harry couldn’t wait to find out who Harry Potter was now, what sort of man the boy had really become.

“You’re smiling,” Ginny said quietly as Madam Pomfrey bustled up the aisle between the beds.

“I’m happy,” Harry said. And he realised that he was, for the first time in a long time, just happy.

“Well, I hope she’s happy to let you out of here,” Ron grumbled, jerking his head at the matron. “Lunch’ll be over soon.”

“I’m sure you’ll not starve, Mr Weasley,” Madam Pomfrey said briskly as she straightened the sheets on the next bed. She turned and looked at Harry critically. “Why are you still here, Potter? Get dressed and get out of my hospital wing. And I don’t want to see you back here, ever. Surely even you can stay injury-free until the end of exams?”

“I’ll get some cotton wool to wrap him in,” George said cheekily. Harry gestured rudely at him and then swore as Molly Weasley’s wand came down hard on his knuckles.

“And you watch that mouth too,” she said sternly. Harry burst out laughing as Ron and George cheered.

“Finally,” George crowed. “You know you’re really part of the family when you get rapped on the knuckles for flipping the bird!”

“She may have even stopped playing favourites!” Ron chuckled.

“Of course not,” Molly said as she stood up. “If that had been you I would have used the Scouring charm for that disgusting language.” Ron’s face fell and Harry fell backwards laughing.

“We’ll leave you to get dressed, Harry,” Arthur said as he ushered his wife towards the door. “Come on, Ron, I thought you were hungry?”

One by one, his family shuffled out of the hospital wing until only Ginny was left. Harry pulled her close for a moment before kissing her softly.

“Meet you down at lunch?” he asked. Ginny nodded and slipped out of his arms and through the doors. Harry dressed slowly and collected his wand from the nightstand. His leg ached dully where it had been broken but he ignored it and ambled down to the Great Hall.

He pushed the door open to hear loud chatter from the overflowing Hall. Several Aurors and a few parents joined the students for the midday meal. Harry smiled as he watched Ron and Ginny in an arm wrestle at one end of Gryffindor table as George talked to Angelina’s tummy. Bert and Jonathon were still there and sat talking avidly to Neville and Luna, who was perched on the edge of the Gryffindor table wearing her Lion hat. Hermione was reading a dusty old book and Percy was sitting next to Audrey at the Ravenclaw table, her head on his shoulder as they ate.

“You have to do something!” a shrill voice pierced the air and a small, dark Slytherin was storming towards him, trailed by Gilbert and Dexter, Bart clutched firmly in his grip.

“What’s up, Gertrude?” Harry asked indulgently.

“He’s got the card and it’s just stupid because he doesn’t even collect them!” Gertrude screeched.

“Don’t’ be stupid,” Gilbert scowled. “There’s no way that’s the card.”

“But he won’t even let us see it!” Gertrude stomped her foot for emphasis.

“It is a bit mean,” Dexter said. The toad croaked balefully.

“Who are you talking about?” Harry asked. Gertrude gestured to the Slytherin table where Draco Malfoy was smirking and spinning a chocolate frog card on the table.

“He won’t let me have it!” Gertrude whined.

“Well … it is his,” Gilbert allowed reluctantly. Gertrude glowered at him.

“What do you want me to do?” Harry asked gently. “If it’s his card-”

“But it’s not!” Gertrude exploded. “It’s yours! He’s got it and he won’t even show us!”

“How did Malfoy get any of my chocolate frog cards?” Harry’s free mood was dissipating rapidly.

“He bought it,” Gertrude glowered. “I buy them all the time and I never got it. He buys just one and he’s got it!”

“He can’t buy my collection,” Harry said. Gertrude rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand impatiently. She began dragging him to the Slytherin table. Harry looked up to find Ginny watching him with amusement. He smiled at her and shrugged as he followed the first year.

“Show him!” Gertrude demanded when she was standing in front of Malfoy, her little fists planted firmly on her hips, glaring at Malfoy.

“Why?” Malfoy drawled lazily.

“Oh, stop teasing the Firsties, Draco,” sighed the girl next to him who Harry recognised at the sixth year Prefect that had been hanging all over Malfoy for most of the year.

“Oh, all right,” Malfoy said. He looked at Dexter. “But I want a share of that pot, midget.” Dexter just glared at him and Malfoy flipped the chocolate frog card in his hand towards Harry.

Reaching out, Harry snatched it out of the air as if it was a Snitch and flipped it over to peer at the cause of so much anguish. He nearly dropped it in astonishment while Malfoy smirked innocently from behind his dessert plate.

“Reckon the Weaslette is entitled to that one,” Malfoy said as he pushed his chair back and stood up. “You should thank me for saving it from the Firstie vultures.”

Harry ignored him, staring at the card in his hand. Dumbledore was right. There was nothing quite like having your own chocolate frog card.

Harry Potter

The first witch or wizard to survive the Killing Curse, earning the title "The Boy Who Lived" in 1981. He’s is most famously known for the defeat of the most dark wizard of all time, Lord Voldemort, in 1998.

Harry Potter was the youngest Seeker in a century when selected for the Gryffindor Quidditch team in his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Mr Potter is engaged to Ginevra Weasley and enjoys playing Quidditch and flinging Garden gnomes.

A slow smile spread over Harry’s face as he watched his image stalk to the edge of the frame. He had a feeling things would be getting better.

And he couldn’t wait for the rest of his life to begin.