Disclaimer - Harry Potter and affiliated ideas and characters belong to J.K. Rowling. I am not J.K. Rowling. Hence, they do not belong to me.

A/N - This story is rated M for MATURE. It has graphic sequences of violence and disturbing imagery. Not for kiddos.

This story will alternate between four points of view. It will not be slash. Pairings have yet to be determined.

I wasn't feeling satisfied with my other story, and so decided to start a new one, but I'll likely update the other story eventually.

Enjoy!

CHAPTER 1

o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o

August 13th, 2017

Harry Potter just wanted to burn.

Burn them all!

"Confringo! Avada Kedavra! Reducto! Inflamara! Sectumsempra!"

Bodies fell all around him, their faces contorted in fear. Nobody could have prepared for anything like this, and even as the security guards began shooting back spells, it was clear that they were still in shock. Half of their shots went wide, and the other half were blocked by an effortless "Protego!"

Harry shot out a few more "Avada Kedavras!" that subdued the most obvious threats before disarming the rest of the people in the atrium with an overpowered "EXPELLIARMUS!"

Dozens of wands flew towards him, and he allowed himself a small smile. Expelliarmus had always been his best spell.

He twirled around and sent a non-verbal Levicorpus! to every person whose heart was still beating. Around fifteen or so screaming, flailing bodies were hoisted unceremoniously into the air.

Burn them all!

"FIENDFYRE!"

Globules of flame spouted from his wand, a horde of hellish creatures all surging forward for the kill. Fire danced in his eyes, his hair was smoking ominously, and his skin was blackened by soot and ash and sweat.

He was laughing, a hollow empty sound that mirrored the crazed grin on his face.

The rebuilt Fountain of Magical Brethren melted instantly into a pool of bubbling lava. The simpering smiles and adoring gazes were gone, devoured, consumed in mere seconds. All that was left were their disgusting, gurgling innards; the truth of their nature laid bare. With a lazy flick of his wand he sent the fire spiraling around the room, careening out of control. He felt it tug and pull, begging to be released. With an insane cackle, he granted its wish and let it free.

The demonic creatures roared, and the hanging bodies screamed.

He allowed himself a few seconds to stare at what he had destroyed, or rather, at what he had created. The Ministry atrium was gone, but in its place was something monstrous, something beautiful.

When tendrils of flame began to nip painfully at his exposed arms, he realized it was time to go.

After one last glance, he pulled his eyes away from his very best work and span around.

A sharp CRACK! filled the atrium, but so loud were the shrieks and cries of the monsters, had there been anyone alive left in the room, they certainly wouldn't have heard it.

Harry Potter apparated away as the Ministry of Magic crumbled to the ground.

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On Wednesday, August 13th, 2017, the Ministry of Magic was attacked. The atrium was utterly destroyed and casualties number in the dozens. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement refused to release any details, but this event marks the most brutal and catastrophic terrorist attack on British soil since the downfall of You-Know-Who. The nation is in mourning over the senseless loss of lives, and the Wizengamot has called a special session to address the attack.

Minister Shacklebolt refused to comment on whether this attack was somehow linked to the numerous other murders and arsons that have been plaguing magical Britain for the past few years. His only statement was that "The Ministry is doing everything we can to catch those responsible for this crime. If anybody has any leads, please contact Ronald Weasley in the Auror Department. Thank you."

The lack of knowledge has sent the public into chaos. Many of the shopkeepers in Diagon Alley have started boarding up their windows, and letters have been flooding the Ministry in droves.

We here at the Daily Prophet urge the readers to continue about their daily lives and to trust in the capabilities of law enforcement. As a nation, we were able to overcome the threat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his reign of terror. The Ministry building might be in ruins, but their resolve is greater than ever, and together, we can weather this storm.

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August 14th, 2017

"We need to notify the Prime Minister, have him use the muggle media to spin this into something believable."

"Notify? The fire was a hundred feet high! Half of London saw it, and the other half saw the smoke!"

"What about the Obliviators?"

"The Obliviators? Really Malfoy, do you honestly think we have the manpower to Obliviate all of London?"

"Don't talk down to me Nott, we have to do something! The muggles might get suspicious!"

"Damn the Statute of Secrecy, the Ministry is in ruins! What are we going to do about that!?"

"Gentlemen!" boomed a voice from the middle of the room, cutting through the cacophony of arguments that filled the Wizengamot. Malfoy and Nott were by no means unique in their distress, as nobody truly knew how to respond to a threat of this magnitude.

An elderly bearded man stood on the raised dais reserved for the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, his watery blue eyes crackling with electric intensity. Aberforth Dumbledore, once scorned and mocked as the wizened barkeep of the Hog's Head, had accelerated remarkably fast through the ranks once he decided to pursue a career in politics. Undoubtedly, it had something to do with his name, Dumbledore, which held a sacrosanct respect in the post-Voldemort era. But any witch or wizard who met him could attest that it was more than his name that instilled instant respect. He possessed a quiet, rumbling power that could be sensed stirring just below the surface.

It was this power, now released, that brought the Wizengamot to an immediate silence.

"I'm sure there are many pressing matters to discuss, but let us first address the most important issue. We found no bodies, but there are twenty-six people missing who were supposed to be at the Ministry during the time of the attack, five of whom were among our number," he said, indicating towards the five empty seats that lay scattered across the room. "They are presumed dead. Please allow for a moment of silence to remember and honor those who were killed in this tragedy."

And there was silence. A few men and women looked to be holding back tears, and a few more made no attempt to hide them. Many had lost friends and family, and the air of the chamber was heavy with grief.

After a long moment that to some felt like ages, and to others, was not nearly long enough, Aberforth spoke once again. "Now, it seems the most immediate issue is damage control. What is the latest report from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?"

Hermione Weasley stood up, clearly uncomfortable being the recipient of so much concentrated attention. "Sir, we sent an ambassador to contact the Prime Minister and explain the situation. The muggles are calling it a 'pyrotechnic fireworks display gone wrong,' which helps explain why some people saw creatures in the fire. The Fiendfyre dissolved most of the wards and protections around the building, exposing it for muggles to see. Thankfully, most of the Ministry is underground, so nobody saw more than the crumbling remains of half of the atrium. Still, our office felt it prudent," she paused, adjusting the robes around her neck nervously, "to destroy the rest of the above-ground building. The Obliviators have been focusing on those who saw the rubble before we manage to destroy it."

"The Auror Office destroyed the Ministry?"

"That's treasonous!"

"Utterly insane!"

"Who gave the order for such a thing?!"

"We'll see you all arrested!"

"Azkaban!"

"Mrs. Weasley, thank you for your office's quick response," interceded Aberforth before the cries for blood could become anymore vehement. "Had it not been for your efforts, we would have a much larger problem on our hands. You managed to maintain the Statute of Secrecy, allowing us to focus on more pressing issues. I'm sure everyone can agree that a half-destroyed building suddenly materializing in the middle of London would be much harder to explain than no building at all."

The hems and haws grew silent, finally appreciating the logic.

Hermione took a deep breath of relief and continued, "As you said, by the time we managed to control the fire, there were no bodies left to be found. It is likely that the heat of the Fiendfyre liquefied them. There are currently twenty-six people assumed dead, and there are fourteen in St. Mungo's being treated for injuries. The Muggle Prime Minister says that his law enforcement accounts for sixty-seven dead, and over two hundred being treated for injuries and smoke inhalation."

A wave of uncomfortable murmurs swept the chamber. Clearly, not many people had given much thought as to exactly how many muggles had been affected by the incident. Even the most bigoted Purebloods looked discomfited at the number.

"That is distressing news," said Aberforth gravely. "Does the Auror Office have anything else to add?"

Hermione sat down, and from across the room, Ronald Weasley stood up. There was a bit of a scandal when he was promoted above several senior aurors to be head of the Auror Office, and many found it highly coincidental that his wife just happened to be the head of the department. Still, their dedication was unquestionable, and their role in the downfall of Voldemort soothed more than a few rumpled feathers. But not all.

If his wife had looked uncomfortable, he looked downright haggard, and it was clear to most of the chamber that he had been doing damage control all day.

"We believe this event to be linked to the other instances of murder and arson that have occurred in the past few years. None of the other events were anywhere near this magnitude, but the signature remains the same – a building burned down by dark magic, with all of the witnesses killed. We've had our best men on the case for some time, but we've yet to make any solid breakthroughs. Some believe this to be a new terrorist group, perhaps a copycat of the Death Eaters -" he broke off as a buzz of angry and fearful muttering filled the air. It had been nineteen years since the fall of Voldemort, and nobody wanted a return of that sort of terror.

"But," Ron continued, his authoritative voice managing to slice through the noise, "it is my personal opinion that this is the work of a single individual. There is a group of anti-Ministry radicals called the Morsmordres that has been stirring lately, but we've been monitoring them for some time. They are small, unorganized, and mostly frequent Knockturn Alley and plan small attacks on muggle houses that they never actually follow through with. There is no domestic group large enough, organized enough, or brutal enough to commit this sort of attack, especially without our agents catching wind of it. Now, we can't rule out the possibility of a foreign attack, but the earlier pattern of small arson attacks and individual murders make it unlikely that this is the work of a foreign terrorist group, since they would have nothing to gain from them."

"So, you believe that this is the work of one person? How could one person possibly cause so much destruction?" asked Dumbledore, clearly trying to understand Ron's reasoning.

"The Fiendfyre spell was a favorite during the reign of You-Know-Who because it allowed for relatively unskilled witches and wizards to cause unparalleled amounts of destruction. When released, the Fiendfyre burns and consumes everything in its path until the energy used to create it runs out. The magnitude and duration of the spell used on the Ministry indicates that this was a very skilled witch or wizard. If you want to know the logistics of it, I'll send you a copy of the report, but to put it briefly – the most likely scenario is that a single deranged witch or wizard walked into the Ministry and start firing spells at the hapless workers and visitors. When they started fighting back, the culprit likely released the Fiendfyre spell, causing mass panic and destruction, allowing him or her to apparate away once the wards broke down."

"How could the Ministry have such lax security?"

"Don't look at me, that's his department!"

"After You-Know-Who, we should know better!"

"We needed normalcy, not militancy!"

"Maybe if there were fewer regulations and red tape to jump through!"

"Enough!" shouted Dumbledore, allowing his frazzled nerves to get the better of him. His wrinkles were stretched tight on his face, and his posture was one of a man burdened by the weight of the world.

The chamber grew quiet once more, but this time, it was an ominous silence. If Dumbledore was worried, things must be very bad indeed.

"Mr. Weasley, is there anything you can tell us? Any leads you might have as to who did this? Any ideas as to what they might do next?"

Ron Weasley looked around, and saw that every gaze was riveted on him. This was the crux of the matter; this was what really had them all afraid. They wanted to know who it was, and they wanted to know if they would strike again.

Ron cleared his throat, and answered, "The nature of the dark magic makes identifying the magical signature impossible. There is one lead, but we're not sure if it'll come to anything. An injured woman was screaming at the top of her lungs about how she saw 'The Demon.' She quickly passed out from pain and blood loss and is currently being treated at St. Mungo's for third-degree burns and severe nerve damage. It's entirely possible that she was in a state of shock over the Fiendfyre creatures, but so far, it's the best lead we have.

"As to whether the culprit will strike again… The pattern seems fairly predictable. When the attacks first started four years ago, they were once every six months, not nearly large enough or frequent enough to cause alarm. Then, they became progressively more frequent, until they were every four months, and then every two months, then once a month. The last attack before this one was four weeks ago. It's safe to say that if my theory is correct, and if we don't manage to catch the culprit in time, we can expect another attack in the next two to three weeks."

True chaos exploded in the Wizengamot, and even Dumbledore's demands for "Quiet!" went unanswered.

Ron collapsed back down onto his chair, utterly exhausted. He had been containing the fire most of the morning, destroying what remained of the atrium for the rest of it, and then proceeded to mass-Obliviate any muggles who saw anything they shouldn't have. It had been a long day.

When the pandemonium finally started to subside as people realized that two to three weeks was a long time away, and did not necessitate immediate panic, Ron looked across the room and met the concerned gaze of his wife.

The two of them had been each other's anchor through the good times and the bad, and neither of them could hide anything from the other for any significant period of time. They simply knew each other too well, and loved each other too much. He sent her a tired smile, which she returned, along with a look that clearly communicated 'We'll talk later.'

"Ladies and Gentleman, ENOUGH!" called out Dumbledore, finally silencing the room. Everyone turned from their conversations to focus their gazes back on the Chief Warlock.

"Now that we know the situation, we need to decide on the best course of action," he said authoritatively. The people who had been in a mindless panic minutes earlier felt their backs straighten and their shoulders square. They were here to do something, and it was their duty as the Wizengamot to restore order.

"We need to contact our allies, ensure that it was not a foreign attack," immediately opined Susan Bones, the head of the Department of International Cooperation, and one of the few who had stayed calm the entire time. "Then see if any nations would be willing to offer support in case we have budding Dark Lord on our hands." Her suggestion was met with a number of approving nods.

"We should ask the centaurs what omens they see in the sky," trilled the airy voice of Luna Scamander, head of the Centaur Liaison Office and noted naturalist with her husband Rolf Scamander. Nobody deigned to respond.

"We have to double-down security, bring old hit wizards and aurors out of retirement and ask for volunteers," explained Ernie Macmillan, who had long ago lost all of his pompous air and was now the no-nonsense captain of the Hit Wizards. "The more people we have guarding important strategic locations like Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade and Hogwarts, the safer the public will feel and the more prepared we'll be for any sort of attack."

"I agree with Mr. Macmillan," said Bill Weasley, who was now the chief ward-breaker for Gringotts as well as the head of the Goblin Liaison Office. The Weasley family had experienced an unprecedented surge in prestige and popularity and had been welcomed back into the elite circles with open arms. "I think we should also establish stronger wards around important buildings and locations. We have grown lax since the defeat of You-Know-Who, and there are entire towns and villages that are completely unprotected."

"Aye, and we definitely need to start rebuilding the Ministry immediately," said Cho Chang, who had inherited her late father's Wizengamot seat as well as his trade empire, which coincidentally had a large stake in the wizarding construction market. "Right now it makes us look weak and defenseless, and is demoralizing the people. By reconstructing, we'd be showing that we're stronger than this terrorist attack, and that our spirit remains unbroken!"

Despite the fact that many people knew of her very personal interest in the reconstruction of the Ministry, her statement was met by a round of thunderous applause.

"Well said Ms. Chang," praised Dumbledore, himself clapping politely in her direction. "Shall we put the propositions to a vote?"

The old days of bickering and partisanship in the Wizengamot had not waned in the era after Voldemort. New policies had been ushered in to help the legislative body work smoothly, but there were too many people with ingrained beliefs about how the system should work for them to ever be truly effective. There were still kinks in the system, still dissenters that bitterly opposed any sort of change that favored muggleborns or purebloods. So great was the deadlock that very few people ever tried to pass meaningful legislation anymore, and overall, the Wizengamot was as ineffective as ever.

However, a catastrophe as huge as the Ministry itself burning down allowed for a quick and easy vote. Every measure was passed, even Mrs. Scamander's (by a slim margin), and the session was disbanded.

Now, it was in the hands of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Auror Office to try to apprehend the culprit. The Wizengamot had done all that they could do.

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"Why didn't you remind them about Harry?" asked Hermione the moment he flooed home. She had clearly been waiting to question him all day, but knew better to talk about such things at the Ministry. Even after all of these years, the walls still had ears.

"Bloody hell, you know why!" exclaimed Ron. He brushed lingering ash off of his robes and kicked off his boots before sinking into his armchair. It was red, plushy, and he often considered it his very best friend, especially during moments like these.

"No, Ronald, I do not! Look, I loved him just as much as I love you, albeit in a different way. He was my brother, my best friend, and his death -" she sucked in a breath, the pain of thinking about it still very sharp.

"Hermione, that was eleven years ago. We lost so much that night… I didn't want to bring it up again. I didn't know if I could. That would've been some sight, yeah? 'Head Auror breaks down and cries during Wizengamot session!' They're already looking for a reason to oust me, most of them think I got the job because of you," said Ron, admitting what they both already knew.

Hermione leaned down from behind the armchair and wrapped her arms around his chest. He turned his head, and they shared a tender kiss that seemed to melt the years away, sending them back to the time when they were just children, falling in love. It had been so many years, and yet their love had never faltered.

"I love you," she whispered, her lips touching his. "You got the job because you're the best, not because you're my husband."

He groaned and kissed her, harder this time, until she reluctantly pulled away.

"But Ron, this is serious," she continued, her words supported by the solemn look on her face. "Eleven years ago, Harry and James both died. Why? Because their house was burned down. Their bodies were charred almost beyond recognition. Don't you think that's relevant?"

Ron knew the story. Everyone in the wizarding world knew the story, or at least, the end of it.

The beginning of it, however, only a handful of people knew.

After their eighth year at Hogwarts, a year that Ron considered to be the very best year of his life, they had all gone their separate ways. Harry lived with Ginny in the newly repaired Godric's Hollow, while Ron and Hermione bought a small house in Sharktooth Village with the 'compensation' money paid by the Ministry. Sharktooth Village was just a small rural peninsula in Wales that had about ten wizarding families and a small magical market, along with about a hundred muggle families. Ron and Hermione's house was right on the shore. Harry and Ginny fixed up Godric's Hollow until it was as homey as the Burrow. They had all been so happy.

Harry and Ron both went into the Auror Academy while Hermione pursued a Ministry career and Ginny played quidditch for the Hollyhead Harpies. They went through the Academy, both of them receiving top marks, with Harry the very best in the class (the best ever, some said). After graduation they were soon assigned to different mentors, and thus, they drifted. They spoke less and less, but they still kept in contact and visited each other for dinner.

Seven years went by. Harry and Ron became full-fledged aurors and advanced quickly within the department. Harry and Ginny had their first son, James Sirius Potter. Ron and Hermione had their first child, Rose Weasley. All was well.

But, it was that year when things got strange. Ginny was pregnant again, and Harry started leaving for long stretches of time with no explanation. He stopped scheduling dinners where they could all get together, and he stopped attending them soon after. He stopped going into work, and after several days of not showing up, Kingsley announced that Harry was on an 'indefinite' leave of absence.

When questioned about it later, Kingsley told Ron that Harry had begged him to quit, and had repeatedly said that he had 'something' that he needed to do.

One day, Ginny came to them crying because Harry had been gone for two weeks and she had no idea where he was. James was starting to teeth, forcing her to quit her career to take care of the children. She didn't want to be a single mother, and didn't understand how it was all falling apart so quickly.

That was the first time that Harry and Ron actually dueled. When Harry got back, Ron confronted him, but he refused to say what was going on. He denied that he was cheating on Ginny and just kept repeating that he was doing 'something' that he 'had' to do. Ron refused to back down, and refused to accept his friend's evasiveness.

Things got ugly, curses flew, and Ron ended up in St. Mungo's for a few days. After that, Ron refused to speak with Harry until he apologized, but the apology never came. Hermione stayed by Ron, and after a few rejected attempts at trying to get them to reconcile, she eventually gave up.

Things only got worse. Harry was almost never home and Ginny spent most of her time crying. When he was home, they slept in separate beds, and she said it was like he was a different person. He never talked to her, he never touched her, he barely even looked at her. It was like she didn't even exist. The only thing that gave her hope was that occasionally, when looking at their son James, he would get a warmth to his eyes and smile, and for the next few hours she would have her Harry back. But the warmth always faded, and then it was back to living with a stranger.

Finally, there was that fateful night, when Ginny gave birth to their second son, Albus Severus Potter.

She gave birth in St. Mungo's, but there was a complication. The baby was stillborn. No matter how hard the Mediwitch tried, she could not get the baby to breathe, or get its poor little heart to start beating. Ron was there, outside of the delivery room, and he'd never forget the howls of despair that came from Ginny's throat.

That was when Harry showed up.

He brushed past them all with no word of greeting and walked straight into the delivery room. A moment later, the Mediwitch was forcefully shoved out, protesting fiercely. At this point, everyone was yelling at Harry, telling him to stop, asking him what he was doing, but he ignored them all. He slammed the door closed behind him, leaving him and Ginny and the stillborn baby alone inside of the room.

They tried to get in, they tried to force the door open, but Harry had done something so that not even a unit of Aurors and ward-breakers could get through.

Nobody knows what happened that night, not even Ron, but when the door opened two hours later, there was Harry, holding a living, breathing baby in his arms. He wordlessly deposited the baby into Hermione's lap and walked off. The aurors made to arrest him, but one look from those cold, empty eyes, and they backed away.

Everyone rushed inside, but they were quickly overwhelmed by a wave of nausea. The room felt sick, wrong, like oil slipping under their skin. One of the aurors trainees actually vomited in disgust.

Ginny was alive, but she was unconscious. Her thighs were a bloody mess, and her face was pale. A team of Mediwitches and Mediwizards rushed in and her condition was stabilized.

Ron had never been so thankful for anything in his life.

The next day Ginny wanted to leave the hospital, but the Mediwitch refused. Healing magic was remarkably quick, and she was remarkably resilient, but she needed another full day of rest to restore her health. The baby, on the other hand, needed to be kept for at least another week to make sure he was functioning normally. Nobody knew how long he had been dead in her womb, and there was the very real possibility of brain damage to consider.

Ginny didn't remember Harry coming last night, and tears of joy had filled her eyes at the knowledge that her husband had not abandoned her in her time of need. She begged Ron and Hermione to go to Godric's Hollow and see if Harry was there. Ron was hesitant to agree, but at the look of desperation in Ginny's face, he mumbled his assent.

To everyone's surprise, when Ron and Hermione went to Godric's Hollow that night, Harry was actually there. Or at least, his body was there. His mind must have been somewhere else, because he scarcely even looked at them. His eyes were transfixed on the fire burning in the fireplace.

James was sound asleep in his crib, a toy dragon curled up in his arms.

Ron and Hermione tried to talk with him, but they barely managed to get out one word responses. Yes, he had fed James. Yes, he had changed James' diaper. No, he wasn't going to tell them what happened last night.

After a few glances, Ron and Hermione silently communicated to each other that they should leave. Whatever was going on with Harry and Ginny, they needed to resolve it themselves. Harry, while unresponsive, seemed relatively okay. They both told themselves that it was probably a mixture of shock and exhaustion. Maybe he just needed the night to sleep it off. Maybe now things would finally get better.

As they were leaving, Ron turned and asked Harry one last question. It was the last thing he would ever say to his best friend.

"So how long are you staying this time?"

Harry tore his eyes off of the fire for the first time that night and looked at him. Ron could barely hold his gaze for more than a second before dropping it. Eyes weren't supposed to look like that. Harry was always warm and affectionate, but this new person was cold and empty - a blank stare.

"Don't worry mate," Harry had said, a small ironic smile on his lips, "I'm not going anywhere."

The next part everybody knew.

The auror office received an alarm at 12:04 a.m. that there was a disturbance at Godric's Hollow. Ron was on duty, and before Head Auror Dawlish could so much as get out "Conflict of interest!" he had apparated away.

The sight he was met with was scorched into his eyes and haunted his dreams for many years to come.

Godric's Hollow was burning. The fire had completely consumed the cottage and was starting to spread to the nearby houses. Muggle firemen were everywhere, but their contraptions couldn't put out a magical fire. Only magic could do that.

Ron started shouting out "Aguamenti! Aguamenti!" heedless of the fact that there were a number of muggle bystanders. His jets of water streamed over the house and slowly started to put the fire out. The ceiling crumbled, and with it, a part of Ron's heart. He could only hope that Harry and James had gotten out in time.

It took about thirty minutes to quell all the fires and Obliviate all the muggles. By that time, Godric's Hollow was nothing but a smear of ash and crumbled wood on the ground. Under Dawlish's orders, Ron was not allowed to check out the site, but when he heard what they found, he was glad that he had been spared.

The team that was sent in only had to dig around a little bit before they found what they were after. Two twisted, gnarled, blackened bodies were found in what used to be the basement. A number of diagnostic tests were run and every one of them came back positive. It was Harry James Potter, and his son, James Sirius Potter. The blood matched, the teeth matched, and most importantly, Harry's phoenix feather wand was found clenched in his hand.

The official story was that the house had caught fire and the two had died of smoke inhalation while they slept. They public bought it, and they mourned the loss of their Savior, The-Boy-Who-Lived, The-Chosen-One, Harry Potter. A monument was erected at the site of the house to compliment the one in Godric's Hollow's town square. Where the house once stood was now a statue of Harry, his scar displayed for the world to see, holding his son James in his arms.

A national day of mourning was established on August 2nd, the day it happened. It coincided nicely with the national day of celebration established on May 2nd to mark the defeat of Voldemort. Every year, the public rejoiced and grieved the man known as Harry Potter.

But the aurors on call that day knew the truth. The magical signature of the fire was unmistakably Harry Potter's.

Anybody that knew Harry knew that he was a light sleeper, and would have awoken the instant he smelt smoke. Anybody that knew him knew that he could have easily put out the fire with a few simple spells, especially since he had died with his wand.

Harry Potter had committed suicide, and taken his son with him.

Ginny was never told, so as to spare her the horror of the truth.

"Ron, darling, are you alright?" asked Hermione lightly. With a start, Ron realized that he had been staring at the fire in the mantle for some time. When he blinked his eyes, black spots blurred his vision. He gave his wife a sad smile.

"Yes, love, just thinking," he explained. "I just wonder, that maybe there was something we could have done that night, something we could have said -"

"Don't think like that," she ordered him immediately. "Harry must have been thinking about doing it that entire year. There was nothing we could have done. He made his choice," Hermione said, her voice now fragile. "I can forgive him for doing what he did to himself, but killing his son - !" she finally broke down and started to cry.

Ron grabbed her and pulled her onto his lap, stroking her back in long, comforting motions. Her bushy hair smashed against his face as she sobbed into his shoulder, but he didn't mind. He loved every part of his wife. A few tears leaked from his own eyes as well, and it was with a shaky voice that he repeated "It's alright. It'll be alright. It's alright."

This was why he didn't bring it up at the Wizengamot. It would have opened up a can of worms that had long since been sealed shut. It was one of the greatest Ministry cover-ups of all time, and they wouldn't want to hear a word of it unless he was sure the two events were connected. Which he wasn't.

Hermione finally calmed down, and seemed embarrassed that she had lost her legendary composure. She made to climb off of his lap, but he held her there, turning her so that she straddled his waist.

"Look love, I know it's a terrible coincidence that both cases have a building burning down, but you also have to look at the facts," said Ron reasonably, calmer now that they had cried together. "Harry burned his house down himself, and since he's not alive, he could have hardly done the same thing at the Ministry. Also, that was eleven years ago. The arsons and murders only started about four years ago. It just doesn't make sense."

Hermione sniffed, acknowledging his logic. "I know you're right, but I just can't help but feel that there's a connection. You remember our days at Hogwarts?" she asked suddenly.

"What, you mean snogging you senseless in as many broom closets as we could find?" Ron said, kissing her neck teasingly.

"No, not that," she laughed, clearly appreciating his ministrations. "I meant back when there was always a mystery that we needed to solve. I have the same feeling that I used to get, the feeling that we're on to something."

"Maybe you're right," he admitted, earning himself a beaming smile. "I'm sort of getting that feeling too. I'll check into it, but you know that file is sealed tight. In the meantime…" he growled playfully, moving his lips down lower, unbuttoning her shirt.

Hermione let out a very uncharacteristic giggle, and whispered in his ear, "What exactly were you saying about broom closets?"

"My my, you're being a very naughty girl," he said, cottoning on quickly. "Maybe I ought to give you a detention." His lips ghosted across her hardening nipple.

"Oh no, I'm so sorry, I'll do anything for extra credit!" she mock exclaimed.

He picked her up, her legs still straddling his waist, and started kissing her fiercely. He brought her into the bedroom, marveling at the fact that his life had ended up so perfect.

And so for the rest of the night, the two of them reenacted their Hogwarts days in a very unique way.