This is my response to Schermione's "Long Wait" challenge. My characters are Cornelius Fudge and Harry Potter.
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The place where it had all started for Harry Potter, the Leaky Cauldron pub, was not a place that he had visited for a number of years. That fateful day with Hagrid had never left his memory, and he knew that it never would, but until now Harry had managed to ignore the whimsical need to revisit the location he had first come into contact with the magical world. With a young family to bring up, a career to balance and the public eye to avoid, Harry rarely had time to indulge in anything so nonsensical, but the temptation to come back to the pub had only grown.
Ginny had noticed that something was amiss about him long before he had. Inhaling a deep breath of the cool night air, Harry couldn't help but smile at his good fortune in having her as his wife. She knew and loved him for the man he was, not the hero, and that was no small thing. With the persistence of her mother, Ginny had coaxed it out of him. She was very practically minded and it had surprised him when she had shrugged and said that she would take the evening from work so that he could go. Harry knew that she was exceptional, and the thought of his wife set him at ease as he pushed open the wooden door. He winced as a creak announced his arrival, but it barely permeated the sea of conversation washing through the busy room.
Carried back to childhood by the scent of stale drinks and typically English cooking, Harry sat at a table near the back that he had once shared with Ron and Hermione. Perhaps the three of them could come here another time to reminisce, but Harry knew he required solitude for the evening. From his vantage point in the shadows, Harry could observe the patrons of the pub without attracting attention. With a jolt he recognised the wizened old publican Tom. Was it Harry's imagination or had the old man just winked at him? He tensed, expecting his presence to be broadcast in a repeat of his first visit, but the publican only turned and continued his conversation with a laughing customer. Harry sighed in relief and continued to look around him, barely noticing as a young barmaid took his order.
There were many faces he didn't recognise which suited perfectly his need to be alone, but one face stuck in his mind. A man with a deeply lined face was hunched over the bar, frowning into the depths of his tankard. His clothes looked expensive, although they had clearly seen many better days judging by their tattered condition. It seemed that he had lost a lot of weight since they had been made as the brown travel cloak hung limply around his frame. As though sensing Harry's scrutiny, the old man swivelled to face him. Almost imperceptibly, his tired brown eyes widened in shock.
It was Fudge. Harry was unable to move as the once great politician clambered awkwardly from the bar stool. There was something about his slow, shuffling walk that caused Harry to feel something akin to pity. When the older man finally reached his secluded table, Harry had no idea what to say. He took a sip of firewhisky in order to stall, savouring the rich burn at the back of his throat.
"Mr Potter- may I sit down?" Fudge's voice had changed as much as his appearance; it had once resounded with authority, but now it quavered in a way that suggested he didn't use it very often.
"Er... go ahead." It would be wrong to let such a frail being stand, even if Fudge had once made the world seem like a darker place during the war. Harry was by no means happy with the man who had been at the head of the smear campaign that had slandered him relentlessly, but he was not vindictive enough to punish Fudge for it.
"You succeeded. Without the assistance of the ministry and without Dumbledore to guide you-" As Fudge paused to draw breath, Harry saw red. The lies that had been spread about his mentor bothered Harry far more than anything that had ever been said about him.
"No more lies." Harry banged the table with his fist, attracting a couple of glances from nearby tables. He concentrated on keeping his temper, looking anywhere but at the gaunt face of Fudge, and moderated his tone. "Albus Dumbledore helped me every step of the way, even after he was... gone." It wasn't easy talking about the headmaster's death even with friends, and this man was certainly no friend of Harry's.
"How did... how did Professor Dumbledore do it?" Despite himself, Fudge was curious.
"By doing the right thing, even if it wasn't the easiest." It was with satisfaction that Harry watched the old man recoil slightly, his liver spotted hand jerking beside the mug of ale. There was also a twinge of guilt. What was done was done, and Dumbledore had always advocated forgiving past mistakes.
"Yes... my mistakes were many; I am the first to admit it. You can't imagine how much I regret not aiding the resistance against He-Who... oh, Voldemort." Cornelius Fudge wheezed into a grubby looking handkerchief that he produced from his breast pocket for several seconds.
"No, I can't. But there was a man who knew more about regret and guilt than we ever will, and he wouldn't have done anything half self indulgent as hashing over his mistakes." Harry couldn't help but smile at the thought of his old potions professor. Whenever speculating what Dumbledore would have done failed to help, imagining Snape's acerbic tones often nudged him in the right direction. He would never like Severus Snape, not even posthumously, but he would always respect the sacrifices the man had made.
"You mean Snape." Fudge's voice remained level, showing that he was aware of how thin the ice really was.
"Yes." Harry took another sip of his drink, content to mull over his strange situation.
"I'm sorry." With a brief incline of his head, Fudge began the strenuous process of standing. He didn't specify what he was apologising for, but Harry understood the sentiment all the same; Fudge had had time to consider his mistakes and felt remorse for them.
"I forgive you." Harry's words surprised him as much as they did Fudge. The old man looked down at him, shock deepening the lines etched into his face, and held on to the back of the rickety chair for support. After a moment Harry realised that he had been waiting for this moment for a long time. "And not just because Dumbledore would have thought it was the right thing to do. It isn't easy to carry a burden."
"Thank you, Harry." A thin, pained smile graced Fudge's lips. He hobbled out of the pub without anyone taking notice of him and did not turn around.
"No, thank you." Feeling as though a weight had been lifted, one that had been there for so long he had ceased to notice it, Harry downed the rest of his drink and wondered how he would explain this to Ron. He laughed at the thought of his friend's outrage- some things never changed.
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