It is an irrefutable truth, thought Harry Potter as he was waiting in an abandoned field outside Surrey for his international portkey to activate, that a war does not end with the final battle.
Certainly, the Second Voldemort War did not. Three years to the day of The Battle of Hogwarts and wizarding families were still torn apart. Three years, and the Ministry was still trying to restore itself through its various reforms and bureaucratic strong-arming. Three years, and reparations were still being debated and allocated to victims and their families.
Three years, and Ron is still a broken man.
Harry was on his way to India. It was a bittersweet journey: it marked his last excursion as a Curse Breaker.
He had thrown himself wholeheartedly into the profession after the War. A relatively confined childhood meant that he had not seen much of the world outside of Great Britain, and he had loved the travel that came with the position - the sights, smells and sounds of strange and exotic places from South America to Russia.
He had also enjoyed the sheer challenge of ripping apart ancient curses lain on tombs, monuments and temples. It was dangerous and solitary career, but it provided him with all the distraction he needed. It was a wonderful outlet for his frustrations.
Mostly, though, he had taken the job because it gave him an excuse to get away from home. Away from well-meaning Order members trying to run his life, and away from the interfering Ministry that loved nothing more than using him as a poster boy.
Away from the shattered Weasley family, that no longer felt quite like family.
Now, it wasn't enough anymore. He had been feeling for some time that he needed to be with people again. Maybe reconnect with Hermione whom he had neglected far more than she deserved. He felt that it was time to go back to the society he had been avoiding.
One more job. One last time.
A thrum from the chipped teacup lying innocuously on the ground in front him alerted him that the port-key had been activated. It was time. And despite his maudlin thoughts, he couldn't keep the small smile of excitement from his face.
He was really going to miss this job.
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The small coastal town of Konark in the Odisha district of India was sweltering. Spring was in full force, and though the monsoons were yet to arrive, the air was humid enough to drench Harry to the skin within minutes of his arrival.
Not even his famously obstinate hair escaped the heat's wrath. His black curls succumbed to the weather and were plastered tightly against his forehead by the end of his ten-minute walk through the poverty-stricken town from the Chandrabhaga hotel to the Sun Temple.
The grand structure had been visible minutes before he arrived at the manicured gardens that marked the boundary to the temple grounds. That fact didn't prepare him for the sheer beauty of it up close.
Animals, warriors on horses and frighteningly accurate representations of various plants were carved into every inch of the temple's base, causing the building to seem as if it were alive. The stone plants were in stark relief to the overwhelming greenery of the real ones growing beside the temple.
His eyes traveled up the fatigued and, in places, ruined stone walls, and came to rest on the terraced roof. Each terrace contained several gorgeous carvings of erotic scenes, which seemed to sway slightly in the heat of the day.
"Magnificent, isn't she?", came a shout. Harry grinned as he spotted Bill Weasley, and walked to where he was standing at the main entrance of the temple. Two massive statues of lions were on either side of him. He greeted him and gripped him in a bear hug.
"It's good to see you, Bill."
Bill smiled. "And you. You're much too scarce these days." His good humour didn't quite mask the silent admonishment colouring his voice.
Harry frowned. "I know. I can't… Just… Not yet." He didn't need to say anything else. Bill understood how hard it was for Harry to visit a Burrow without Ron.
The aftermath of the war had not been kind to anyone, but least of all to Ron Weasley.
His breakdown didn't truly occur until after Fred had been buried. The grim determination that carried him through the final battle and the subsequent weeks of funerals and memorial services didn't bleed from his face until it was all over and the three of them were back at The Burrow with the remainder of the Weasleys.
At first, nobody questioned the ever-increasing amount of Firewhiskey he drank. No-one took much notice of his worsening mood swings or his frequent fits of silence during which he withdrew from everyone around him and closed himself up in his room. And when he did speak, nobody paid much attention to the dark comments that spilled from his lips.
It wasn't anybody's fault, really. They were all caught up in their own grief, wading through their own versions of hell and trying to pick up the pieces of their lives as best they could. Everyone was trying to work through the atrocities of The War and trying to heal.
Nevertheless, realisation that their son, brother and friend was unwell only came when Ron tried to commit suicide, about six months after The Battle. It was quite by accident that Harry had found him, bleeding and unconscious in his room, empty bottle of Firewhiskey on his bedside table, his wand still in his hand. Blood had pooled around Ron, spilling from slashes all over his body.
Harry had recognised the effects of Sectumsempra immediately and could heal most of the damage with a thrice-cast Vulnera Sanentur, the song-like counter-curse.
Ron's physical wounds healed, but the mental ones remained. Even now, more than two years after the incident, he was still in the psychiatric ward of St. Mungos. He hadn't spoken a word in all that time, despite the best efforts of the Mind Healers. He had become little more than an empty shell.
Bill's smile had changed to one of sadness, and he put his and on Harry's shoulder.
"I know," he said. "You really should write Mum at least, though. She misses you. It's not been easy on her either."
Of course it hasn't, he thought, feeling suddenly ashamed. Ron's mental illness had to have been harder for the iron-willed matriarch of the Weasley clan to deal with than anyone else, especially when coupled with Fred's death.
"I'll write her, I promise."
Bill nodded, briefly gripping Harry's shoulder. "She'll appreciate it. Now, let me show you the reason you're here."
Harry had been surprised to discover that the huge structure they had entered was merely the entrance to what was once the full temple complex. The ravages of time had left little more than rubble and dust behind the building the hint at the true vastness of the main temple in days gone by.
"I'm sure you noticed the lack of tourists," Bill said as he lead Harry around the temple. "We had to force an evacuation yesterday with extra strong repelling charms. Obliviations were also necessary."
Harry nodded. It didn't surprise him much. Many ancient religious buildings the world over were large tourist traps, and he had witnessed mass evacuations before when something was discovered to warrant the attention of Curse Breakers. It was always better to be overly cautious than to endanger the lives of hundreds of people.
"What did you find out here?"
"You'll see," Bill winked at him and kept on walking. "It's almost time for it to happen and we don't want to be too close to the temple when it does. We still don't know what it is, really." They walked for another minute or so before Bill halted. "Look." He pointed towards the temple.
The northern side of the temple was just as beautiful as the entrance. Twelve stone wheels were carved into the side of the building, and Harry remembered hearing that the temple was constructed to represent a gigantic chariot. He expected that there were twelve matching wheels on the south side as well.
"I don't see anything." Harry was nonplussed.
"Wait for it. Any second now."
And then Harry felt it: a deep rumble of magic rising up from below the temple. His vision blurred and a strong scent of hot metal overwhelmed him. It was the same scent that he could smell whenever someone cast a particularly powerful spell, but more concentrated by a couple of orders of magnitude.
His disorientation only lasted for a couple of seconds, and his vision cleared. He stared at the temple and gasped.
Blue cracks of lightning flashed over the wheels, and they started spinning. The rumbling had stopped, but a load crack reminiscent of a wizard apparating burst through the air and a golden disk as bright as the sun appeared atop the temple, spinning at the same slow speed as the stone wheels.
A keening song emanated from the disk, rising in volume as the disk started spinning faster. Soon, the disk was spinning fast enough that its shape became distorted, and before long it resembled a bright ball of fire. The song, primal yet melodious, was almost too loud to bear, and Harry flung his hands instinctively to his ears.
And then, as quickly as the whole thing started, the disk blinked out of existence, the wheels stopped spinning and the lightning faded to nothing.
Harry stared at Bill, dumbstruck.
The redhead was positively radiating an air of glee. "Cool, huh?", he grinned. "It started yesterday morning. Happens like clockwork, exactly three minutes past every hour."
"It doesn't feel like a Curse." Harry knew exactly what those felt like, and this didn't carry any of the usual signs. Curses felt cold, and depressing. Dark. Sort of like Dementors, just not as intense.
"Yeah, I know," Bill said. "I still don't know why the bank wanted us to come here specifically. But you can't argue, it's bloody brilliant."
"Are we the only ones assigned to this?"
"No, Parkinson and Nott are here as well."
Harry groaned. Great, the Slytherin dream team. A rarity amongst Curse Breakers, the two Slytherins always worked as a pair. Unfortunately for Harry, it meant putting up with double the annoyance as well.
"Well, let's go find them, then." He nodded at the temple. "S'not going to sort itself out."