Chapter 1

In the last twelve months there had been many changes to the Wizarding World. While it was still important to keep Muggles under the impression magic was nonexistent, the laws against using magic in the presence of knowledgeable Muggles were lifted, being deemed unnecessary since these few were now considered a part of the community.

Above all else the world was finally at peace. All those who had followed Voldemort that survived had run and were considered extremely dangerous. Any information regarding such criminals was incredibly useful to the remaining Aurors seeking their capture and making it priority number one. Oddly enough, even the Muggle population kept their eyes open without a single qualm about the matters in which they had been involved. No one asked questions anymore. It was nice.

Seamus' father had even pleaded with him for a chance to bond once more after his mother had sent him a letter stating the treacherous events of his final school year. To think, it had taken the near loss of a son to open the eyes of those unwilling to understand. The man knew, though, that had the wizard battle not been fought on their own ground, the entire world would have been taken down; Wizards and Muggles alike.

Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley had reportedly left for New Zealand just after Harry had let them know he was alive and well. They never replied of course. The last he'd heard Uncle Vernon was a very successful car salesman and Aunt Pentunia had become a socialite of sorts within their town. Even this, though, couldn't be taken as reliable information.

The greatest victory for Harry was his apprehension of his childhood home. The remodel in itself had been quite the feat with its collapsing roof and worn out, charred décor. But, it was all worth it. He finally had a home of his own, his parent's home.

Harry sat in his usual armchair, the fire beside him crackling merrily in the hearth. Before him lay over ten months worth of Daily Prophets, each open to a different page, stacked precariously on the ottoman. As he skimmed this latest copy, his eyes stuck to a particular article naming the new Minister of Magic. After so long the Wizarding World finally decided they needed a new leader. The competition had been loose what with the death of Scrimgouer being all people saw when they thought about taking on the position.

Of course Cornelius Fudge stepped up right away, hoping beyond hope that someone would want him back. According to this editorial, no one did. He'd failed the people enough the last few years, denying the words of not only Harry Potter, but Albus Dumbledore; the greatest wizard to ever live. And even after Voldemort had revealed himself to the minister he refused to agree with Dumbledore's actions over the following year.

The head runner in this election just happened to be an old teacher of Harry's, Horace Slughorn. Yes, this man was a blow hard and he was a mouse more than a man, but he was still up for the job and with Voldemort gone he felt safe enough to take on the public eye.

"Are you still reading that stupid newspaper?"

Harry's eyes finally drifted, setting on his fiancé, Ginny Weasley.

She moved forward sitting atop the paper, wrapping her arms around his neck, "You've been reading for hours."

"I know. I just, can't get over how nonchalant everyone is being. It's only been a year."

"A year tomorrow," She corrected.

"I mean, it's wonderful the world has moved on, overcome the pain and all but, what about the losses? The sacrifice?"

Ginny lowered her eyes. "Maybe they don't want to remember."

"Ginny." He said softly, pulling her to his chest.

She had lost family and friends during the final battle with Voldemort. Though she didn't say a word about it, Harry knew how much it hurt her.

"I am so sorry."

"For what?" She asked quickly, pulling back to look him in the eye; she always had to put on a strong face. All of the sadness was gone; all that remained was curiosity and mild annoyance. "For destroying the greatest evil ever known in our world? Or is it for being so sorry all the time? Because if you haven't noticed, myself and the rest of the family are doing quite well and apologies are not at all necessary."

"Neither. I'm sorry for being so insensitive."

"You weren't. You were just speaking your mind and I reacted to it. It's called communicating which is something couples are supposed to do."

"I know. I just feel like there are so many things I shouldn't say when it comes to what happened."

"You can say whatever you wish," she said plainly, resting her cheek against the top of his head, her hands back around his neck. "It's your prerogative."

"I suppose."

What Ginny said was true. Only, Harry didn't have the heart to think of his destroying Voldemort as being his ticket to free speech. He would have rather Voldemort never existed and he'd met Ginny and the rest of the Weasley's under better circumstances.

The night passed slowly for Harry. Tomorrow he would face his fear, feel more guilt than he'd felt in the last few months. Tomorrow, he would go to the Burrow to mourn the loss of fallen comrades; fallen family.

Somewhere in a distant place, packed away, were the last remnants of a fallen empire; the only remaining proof of Voldemort's existence. The two Deatheaters sat beside a fire, their faces matted with dirt, their eyes narrowed in thought and disgrace.

The taller of the two stood swiftly, "This is unacceptable!"

"Calm yourself, Roburn."

Roburn threw a thick, finger in his counterpart's direction, "Do not order me around!"

"Think before you speak old friend. I am the last person you want as an enemy."

Roburn's lips tightened his breathing heavy. Finally, he lowered his hand, staring the man down as he returned to his seat.

"We need only one more item for our plan to come to fruition."

"And it is the same one thing we've needed for the last eight months. What makes you believe we can come across something so protected?"

"It is true, the wishes of a man's heart are heavily guarded, but with just the smallest amount of patience they can be ours."

Roburn scoffed, "Patience. You said the same thing weeks ago. Am I supposed to continue to buy this drivel Arsmeth?"

The shorter, hunched man reached for a paper from the stack beside him and rose from his seat slowly. "We will get what we need." He tossed his partner a tattered copy of The Daily Prophet. The front page read, 'One Year Later…Where are they now?' "The anniversary…"

Roburn's eyes lit up with comprehension.

"Our target will be overwrought. Such a compilation of guilt and sorrow will bring forth even the most selfish of thoughts."

"And we will have the key to saving the Dark Lord once more…"

Arsmeth nodded, a wicked sneer spreading over his face.

Roburn began to laugh, anticipation fueling his emotions.