A/N: Hi everyone. Thanks for taking the time to click on my story. I hope you enjoy it. I'm confident that you will if you have a deep love for canon pairings but also have an open mind about what is and isn't possible in the magical world. Reviews are always appreciated. Thanks!
Chapter One: The Students
Take up your arms, Sons and Daughters
We will arise from the bunker…
Here all the bombs fade away
-The Decemberists, "Sons and Daugbthers"
Harry Potter had defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort. He had repaired his broken relationship with Ginny Weasley, the love of his life. He had been accepted to the Auror Training Academy.
All was well.
Or, at least, most was well. Fred Weasley was dead. Remus and Tonks had left Teddy an orphan. Molly and Arthur Weasley, the closest thing Harry had to parents, were distraught over the loss of a child. And Harry was still an orphan, with no living parents or godparents to celebrate his victory over Voldemort with him.
In a moment of uncharacteristic emotional sensitivity, Ronald Weasley sensed that something was up. He and Harry were in their third month at the Auror Academy, and, not for the first time, Harry was not paying attention during dueling practice. Certainly, when Harry Potter was applying himself, he was a force to be reckoned with, so Ron could have been grateful to be getting off easy. However, concern won out.
"Expelliarmus!" Ron shouted, firing a spell so strong that Harry not only lost his wand, but was also thrown to the ground.
"Damn it, Ron!" Harry muttered, examining a scrape along his arm. "That was a bit much, don't you think?"
"Got your attention though, didn't it?" Ron replied, offering a hand to Harry. "What's on your mind?"
"Nothing," Harry said, most unconvincingly.
"It's Fred, isn't it? You need to stop blaming yourself."
"Not just Fred," Harry said, avoiding Ron's eyes. "Remus, too. And Tonks. And Sirius. And my parents. And, hell, even Dumbledore."
It was a mark of how much Ron cared about Harry that he managed not to roll his eyes. Ever since Ginny and Hermione had returned to Hogwarts to finish their seventh years, Harry had become standoffish and taciturn. His grumpiness was most often directed at Ron, his housemate and classmate.
"They knew what they were getting into, mate. You're going to have to accept that eventually."
"But if I had turned myself in sooner-"
"You wouldn't have had the strength to totally accept death, would have died, and then they'd all be dead anyway because Voldemort would be in charge and they'd never obey him. Or something like that." Ron was still a bit confused by the strange series of events that took place during the final battle, and was wary of the emotional trauma further discussion would cause Harry, or the headaches it would cause himself.
"Something like that, maybe," Harry said, more to shut Ron up than because he agreed.
"Oi! Weasley! Potter!" yelled an imposing man from across the room. "Less talk, more action!"
Theseus Scrimgeour was head of the Auror training program and the nephew of the late Minister of Magic. Ron had many colorful names for him that his mother and Hermione would have disapproved of, but Theseus was a good teacher. Harry once pointed out that apart from Lupin and Snape, Theseus was his only defense teacher that had never (really) tried to kill him, and was therefore alright in his book.
"Alright, everyone!" barked Theseus. "That's all for today. You may go."
The auror trainees were scrambling about to gather their stuff and miss the rush at the Ministry's apparition point when Theseus once again called across the room. "Potter! See me."
Harry picked up his bag and trudged to the other side of the practice room. "Yes, sir?" he asked.
The corners of Theseus' mouth twitched. "Don't you, 'sir' me, boy. You know damn well you could knock me down in a duel."
Harry chose not to respond. He realized very early on that his prowess at defense set his teacher on edge.
"Err, anyway," Theseus continued, "is something bothering you?" It appeared that showing this much concern for The-Boy-Who-Lived-(Twice!) was very taxing.
"No," Harry responded.
"Well, you don't seem to be paying much attention. If I didn't know better, I'd say it was arrogance, but…"
"I'm sorry if I was a bit distracted today. Won't happen again," Harry said.
"Fine, fine," said Theseus. "Tomorrow, then, Potter…" he trailed off as he walked out of the practice room.
Harry sighed, shouldered his bag, and made his way to the apparition points in the atrium.
"I don't understand why you can't come home for your mother's birthday, Hermione!"
Hermione Granger sighed exasperatedly into the phone. To ease muggle parents' worries after the war, Hogwarts had installed muggle phone booths in the common rooms. Hermione had thought it was a fantastic idea until she had started receiving calls.
"I have school, Dad. I've never been able to leave school during term before, I don't know why you think it would be any different!"
"Because you don't really have to be there, do you? You chose to go back to that place and you can choose to leave it!"
Hermione rubbed her temples. Her parents had not taken losing a year of their lives to memory charms well. They claimed to understand why she had forcibly removed them from England, but bitterness about losing that year and, more importantly, losing their only child to the wizarding world remained.
"Well, Dad, I don't know what to tell you. Give Mum a kiss for me tomorrow and I'll call her after dinner. I promise. But that's the best I can do this year. Maybe next year."
"Fine, Hermione," said her father, his voice full of anger. "Do what you want." She heard the tell-tale click of being hung up on.
She trudged up to the dorm room she was sharing with the other 7th years. Luckily, only Ginny was there.
"Were they mad?" Ginny asked, looking up from her desk as Hermione entered.
"Passive-aggressive as always!" said Hermione. "You're lucky to have parents that understand."
"Wow. Someone envying my family. That's new."
"You know what I mean, Gin." The girls were quiet for a minute. "Are you writing to Harry?"
Ginny blushed. "Why do always assume that that's what I'm doing?"
"Because you've taken to doing your homework at the last minute since your scouting offers have come in. Why else would you be writing anything at 8 pm? Now, if it was half an hour before your next class…"
"I get it, Mum," joked Ginny. She had to admit that Hermione had a point. Ever since the Holyhead Harpies had offered her a reserve position right out of Hogwarts, Ginny had let her work fall by the wayside. She loved the idea of playing professional quidditch, even though part of her wanted to do something worthwhile. After all, her brother and boyfriend were off becoming Aurors and Hermione was being heavily scouted by all sorts of impressive Ministry departments.
"Yeah, well, what's the point, really? All that matters is that I can fly, catch, and score."
Ginny was musing on her value being purely athletic when Hermione snatched the letter from under her quill.
"Hey!" yelled Ginny. "Give it back!"
Being the superior athlete, Ginny could have wrestled the note from Hermione easily, but was a bit to comfortable in her chair to exert real effort.
Hermione laughed at something.
"Don't mock, Herms," said Ginny. "You know that you and Ronnikins write pure saccharine to each other every day."
"I wasn't mocking, Gin. This is really good," Hermione said, carefully reading the letter.
"What's 'really good?'"
"You can write, Gin. You tell stories really well on paper. I was laughing at one of your jokes."
"Yeah, well, fat lot of good that'll do me on the field."
"You could do something with this, you know. If you don't want to do quidditch."
"Of course I want to do quidditch. I'm just in a mood, that's all."
"You're sure?"
"Yes. Now can I have my letter back, please? I'd like to go to the Owlry tonight."
Hermione begrudgingly handed it back.
Later that night, Ginny lay awake thinking about what Hermione had said. She secretly loved to write. She had been an obsessive journal-keeper until the Riddle incident put her off diaries for life. As a child she had made a fake newspaper for stories of the Burrow called the Weasley World Words (the family had always been fond of alliteration). She had never felt more herself than when she was organizing the DA during their insurgence against Snape and the Death Eaters. She would never get that feeling from playing quidditch, as much fun as it was. What if she wasn't just an athletic body after all?
It was a late night at the Ministry of Magic as two men walked briskly down a series of dark corridors. They were navigating the serpentine corridors almost automatically, trying to deal with the events that transpired in the Love Room as the sun had set.
"Are they all here, Mr. X?"
"Yes, sir. Seven in all."
"Seven?"
"The most powerful magical number."
"Mr. X, you will need to prepare a press briefing for tomorrow. Something this extraordinary will not go unnoticed."
"Yes, sir."
"Of course, the Department of Mysteries does not normally speak to the press, so you may want to liaise with the Ministry's public relations department."
"Yes, of course."
"Any idea how the seven were chosen, X?"
"They're all connected with Harry Potter, sir."
"Even the Diggory boy?"
"They were schoolmates. Friendly during the Triwizard Tournament."
"This is truly extraordinary. Has anything of the sort happened before?"
"Some preliminary research tells us that when other dark wizards were defeated, 'miracles' happened to reward the vanquisher. There are inconsistencies in records that show the same person dying twice."
"You mean once in war and once when they would logically die of natural causes?"
"Exactly, sir."
"So these seven are a gift to Harry Potter from whom?"
"Impossible to say. But they are definitely for him."
The two men had arrived at a holding cell which contained seven people. Five men, two women. Five grown adults, two men who looked like they were only a few years out of Hogwarts. All looked confused and relieved to see someone.
"My son! Where is my son?" cried the two women in unison.
"We'll get them to you as soon as possible, Mrs. Lupin, Mrs. Potter," said Mr. X. "We're going to alert them to your return in the morning. Messrs Black, Potter, Lupin, Weasley, and Diggory, whom should we alert to your return?"
A/N: More to come, of course. I'll explain how this works in the next chapter, so if you're confused, please stay with me for a little longer before giving up. And please review!