Chapter 2
After leaving Dumbledore's Office, it's immediately time to deal with the press. I stand with Kingsley by my side in what's left of the courtyard. This used to be one of Hogwarts' social hubs; students from all houses would come here to relax, talk, study and practice spells. It had been a impressive and reassuring first impression to all those apprehensive wizards and witches starting their first year, because to enter the castle, one normally had to walk through it and admire the grand pillars of stone which make up its perimeter.
The courtyard's beauty always had lain in its simplicity because it had been entirely clear but for a small, modest fountain in its centre. I know that I'm getting stupidly emotional but I still remember to this day, almost seven years after first walking through it, seeing it as a scared first year and soon being confident that my life at Hogwarts would be a good one.
Well, the fountain is now just a hole in the ground. A giant probably thought it was a person and took a swing at it; as a race, they aren't known for their intelligence or knowledge of quaint garden décor. The massive stone columns around the courtyard's edge haven't fared well either: the few which remain standing are lonely and still pretty worse for wear. The ceiling that they had been holding up is now, of course, just a part of the ground.
So you can see why, standing in this derelict, I'm having a hard time trying to smile under the incessant, judgemental flashes and glares of the cameras. Seriously, how am I expected to look my best when there's a dead spider the size of Umbridge's ego about ten metres to my right? Hopefully that, at least, has been cropped out of the picture. The whole experience makes me feel uncomfortably as though I'm under examination. Merlin, I hate journalists. I know for a fact that at least half of the assembled group were cozying up with the Death Eaters up until about... twenty four hours ago? How a day can change one's perspective, hey?
Kingsley grasps my shoulders tightly for the cameras. He wears a victorious but solemn expression on his face, expertly playing the media to appear the strong and profound leader. Though I can't see what I myself look like, I suspect that I look every bit as fucked up as I feel, just with a clearly fabricated smile plastered on my face. Sort of like one of those dogs they dress up and put in calendars; no matter how much they're prepared for the cameras, they still look ridiculous. Maybe that's not the best analogy ever, but you get my point: I never was the most photogenic guy. I try my best, though, for Kingsley's sake. Yeah, I don't like the fact that he wants me to play the poster boy four times a week, but comparing him to Fudge, I decide that there are definitely worse candidates for the Minister of Magic position. Then again, one of Hagrid's blast-ended skrewts with a smiley face drawn on it would have been a more effectual war-time leader than Fudge, who had been about as much use as a cat flap in an elephant house.
Inevitably, we eventually have to take some questions from the pack and as the 'Chosen One', it is more than likely that I'll be on the receiving end of most of them. The good news, however, is that Kingsley has allowed me to pick the journalists I accept questions from in exchange for my being on my best behaviour.
Immediately eliminating any of the cowards who had started to advocate Voldemort at the first sniff of danger, I settle on a rather fat one who, judging by the strong aura of body-odour concealing charms around him, clearly has confidence issues.
"Mister Potter," he asks shyly. "How victorious do you actually feel right now, considering the losses each side suffered from?"
Not a bad question, actually. Credit to the fat man.
I answer with exactly the kind of response Kingsley is looking for: "Very good question, sir. Looking around at the destruction of this beautiful castle and the deaths of so many of my friends, it is difficult not to question our victory. But I am comforted by the fact that now I won't lose anyone else to Voldemort, and am confident that those we lost won't be forgotten. In fact, the Minister has just been telling me about his plans to erect a memorial to the victorious dead in the Ministry atrium."
Lies are flowing easily from my mouth: of course, no such discussion has taken place but I figure that not only will it help Kingsley's image, it will also ensure that such a memorial is put up. Hell, maybe I should be Minister for Magic!
Kingsley nods at me in approval before saying, "Next question, please."
I select a relatively inoffensive looking guy from an independent newspaper, who asks about what I was doing instead of attending Hogwarts this year.
"I'm afraid that I can't divulge that at this moment," I evade expertly. "Classified information."
This is, not to put too fine a point on it, total bullshit, but I really can't be bothered explaining the whole horcrux situation for now. A story for another day, perhaps.
A few more questions about Voldemort, my relationship with Kingsley and the war in general come and go and eventually, after I resort to accepting a question from Teen Witch Weekly about my relationship status, Kingsley insists that I take at least one question from the Daily Prophet, considering it is the wizarding world's biggest paper. Of course it was also Voldemort's propaganda machine during the war, but it seems Kingsley's ready to iron over that.
"Go on then." I groan and point to a Prophet representative. "Make it quick."
"How do you feel now that Voldemort is gone, considering how much of a part he's played in your life."
I stare at the journalist in disbelief. "Awful, yeah. I don't know how I'm coping. What a shitty question!"
My voice drips with sarcasm as potent as basilisk venom. With my new fiery phoenix personality, apparently I have no time for idiots. Kingsley cautions me, but to be fair, it is the first time I've misbehaved in the entire session. A few more questions come and go before Kingsley ends proceedings with a last statement.
"In recognition of young Harry's achievements in defeating the Dark Lord and ending this war, the Wizengamot has unanimously agreed to award him an Order of Merlin First Class. He will become the youngest ever recipient of this award." Kingsley says in that deep, powerful voice. "I should add that other names are currently under consideration as well."
I get a short round of applause while I stand there and pretend to be awed by the honour of receiving such a prestigious award, trying not to laugh at the memory of Sirius chucking his family's old Order of Merlin in the bin. I imagine that mine will probably meet the same fate. Of course, I've known for a long time now that they were going to try and pin some kind of medal on me at some point.
When I re-enter the Great Hall I am met by an unpleasant sight. No, actually make that two unpleasant sites: firstly, Ron and Hermione have moved down from the Common Room but are still kissing (if you can actually call it that) - but far more worrying is the fact that Ginny appears to be in deep conversation with Rita Skeeter. Don't get me wrong, Ginny's a smart girl who hates Skeeter as much as anyone, but I have a sneaky suspicion that she's going to want to broadcast her new 'relationship' with me as far and wide as possible. It's her way of marking her property.
Is that what I am now? Her property?
Damn! She's noticed me! Pretending not to notice her gesturing for me to come over, I hastily turn on my heel and make my exit. As I look behind me to see if she's following me, I walk straight into someone.
"Oh, sorry." I say, turning around to see who I've hit. I can sense who it is halfway through my pivot: only one person I know carries such a distinguishable aura. It's difficult to describe what it feels like, but it definitely inspires passion and lust powerful enough that without any self-control one feels inclined to jump her bones on the spot. And remember, this is what just her natural, weakest aura can cause.
It is, of course, Fleur, and her pink, very kissable lips curl angrily for a moment before suddenly turning morphing into a radiant smile. "Why are you in such a rush, 'Arry?"
Merlin, she really is indescribably beautiful. I can barely stop myself from drooling just at the sight of her. How on earth did Old Harry manage to control himself around her for so long without having these thoughts?
Hmm, shall I tell her the truth: that I'm fleeing from a young girl? Or shall I try to save some face?
I tell her that I'm on my way to an urgent meeting with Kingsley. She doesn't look convinced but lets the matter drop for now. An awkward silence ensues; as I said before, I have basically nothing in common with the French witch. Conversation can, therefore, be somewhat difficult.
"Sorry for bumping into you." I say weakly, immediately cringing afterwards.
"It iz okay," she laughs at my pathetic attempt to converse. "Well, I will not keep you for any longer, 'Arry. You might be late for your meeting with Kingsley."
As she walks past me, I screw my eyes up and sigh. I couldn't have come across as more pathetic if I tried. And she definitely saw right through my Kingsley lie.
My situation only worsens as I hear a high-pitched call from behind me. "Harry?"
Without a doubt, that is the voice of Ginny Weasley. Damn! I thought I'd lost her. Plastering a smile on my face, I turn to face her, already trying to think of some excuse for running off at the first sight of her.
"Oh, hi Ginny!" I enthuse. "Where have you been?"
She approaches me. Behind her, Fleur is raising her eyebrows at me; clearly she has put the pieces together. 'Kingsley?' she mouths with a cheeky smile before walking back towards the Great Hall.
"Harry?" Ginny's voice snaps my eyes from the sight of Fleur's swaying hips. "Are you listening to me?"
I nod. "Of course! You have my undivided attention."
Merlin, though, how can anyone naturally walk with such elegance and grace? It is distinctly cat-like in its assurance, balance and quiet. No, to call it a 'walk' is a gross understatement. Fleur does not walk, she glides. All of this, how am I only noticing it now? I mean, I've known her ever since my fourth year... those days feel as though they were lifetime ago.
"So?" Ginny asks expectantly, once again pulling me unceremoniously out of my daydream. "What do you think?"
Shit, this time I really do have no idea what she's asking me about. "I agree entirely," I bluff.
"Great! Thanks, Harry!" She beams. Dropping a quick kiss on my lips, she bounces off before I can find out what on earth I've just agreed to. Merlin, what if she asked me to marry her? Just the thought makes me grimace all the way back into the Great Hall.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of activity; being the Chosen One and Vanquisher of the Dark Lord is pretty hard work. I reject nine total offers from journalists hoping to write my official biography, I pose for photographs with friends and strangers alike, I accept various awards for my 'bravery and courage' and most importantly, I generally try to avoid Ginny. By the time I get a chance to talk to Ron and Hermione, it's evening already. For what must be the first time today, they're not kissing. I guess they've just decided to take a break to gather some well-needed oxygen.
"I can't believe you're getting an Order of Merlin," Ron complains through a mouthful of cream bun. "They haven't offered me or Hermione so much as a gold sticker, and you get a bloody Order of Merlin!"
I raise my eyebrows at him. "You haven't exactly given them a chance, have you?"
"Whadda you mean?" He asks, proudly showing the contents of his mouth as he speaks. How someone as utterly brilliant as Hermione can kiss this guy, I'll never know.
I explain, "Well, you've been attached to Hermione's face all day."
The witch in question blushes, but I can tell she's happy. Good for her. I still think she can do better than Ron, though. She catches my gaze for a second and we share an intimate smile, which relieves me. What with her new relationship with Ron and my new self, it seems like we're destined to drift apart. Believe me, I would do anything to stop that from happening. We've become so closely entwined over the last year and to see that bond unravel would break my heart.
But in my heart I know that things are changing; I haven't even told them about my new patronus yet. I've always shared all of my important news with the two of them, ever since my first year here. It's as Dumbledore said: a phoenix is a solitary creature. The unravelling process, so to speak, is already in motion and I know that I'll have to act fast if I want to retain my old friendships.
"So what are you guys going to do now?" I ask, though only vaguely interested.
Hermione says, "Kingsley's offered me a pretty high ranking job in the Ministry, but I'm not going to start for a few months..."
Ron continues, "...In the mean time, we're going to stay with Mum, until we can afford our own place.
Merlin, twenty four hours into their relationship and they're already finishing each other's sentences.
"Sounds good." I say unenthusiastically. In truth, I'm disappointed that Hermione's joining the Ministry. It's an irreparably corrupt system, even with good people like her and Kingsley trying to lead it and if the two of them aren't careful, they'll become as bad as the rest of them.
"What about you, mate?" Ron asks. "What's the plan for the Chosen One ?"
"Not much," I lie. "Kingsley wants me out on the streets with him for the cameras as much as possible, and I've offered McGonagall my help with fixing up the castle."
I'm doing it again, not telling the two of them about the real plan that I'm forming. Dumbledore was certainly correct about the secrecy of the phoenix...
"Don't envy you, mate." He says pityingly.
Though I don't say so, I don't envy him either. Already I can picture the day when Hermione decides to introduce him to her parents. As pretty well-off dentists, I can't imagine that they'll be too impressed with his rather lax views on personal hygiene. Or his table manners, for that matter; seriously, Ron could make a troll look like a perfect gentleman if they sat side by side at the dinner table. The image puts a well-needed smile on my face.
"What are you smiling at?" Hermione is looking at me oddly.
"Oh, just you guys. You're a great couple." Another lie. They're coming easily now.
They smile and start kissing again.
Great.
For the next couple of minutes I sit awkwardly next to the two of them, wondering if it might be better if I just walk off. The problem is that I don't really have anywhere to walk off to. In everything that's happened today I've failed to make any arrangements as to where I'll be staying for the coming days. Option one is the Burrow, but I reckon that puts me in too close a proximity to Ginny. She might get the wrong idea. Option two is here, in Hogwarts. But to be honest, I don't really fancy sleeping in the wreckage of a castle which smells pretty strongly of decomposing giant and is where a whole lot of my friends died. Option three is Grimmauld Place, and I won't even bother listing what's wrong with that place or I'll be in danger of losing my voice.
Eventually, the rest of the Weasley contingent makes their way towards us, finally ready to return to the Burrow. George doesn't even bother to crack a joke about the two lovebirds next to me, which is as definite a sign as any that he's feeling pretty heartbroken. Ginny comes and latches herself onto my arm, again. Seriously, right now she's clingier than poor old Dobby used to be, but a great deal less useful.
"Mum's said that you can share my room if we promise to behave," She says rather happily.
"Woah, since when was I coming to stay at yours?" I panic. Seriously, I'd rather sleep in Kreacher's den next to that weird shrine for Bellatrix Lestrange than in Ginny Weasley's room.
The red-haired girl furrows her eyebrows. "Remember? You said you would earlier!"
When did I agree to that? Merlin, I must have been either under the imperius curse (Ginny's so clingy right now that I wouldn't even put it past her...) or extremely drunk to agree to something so stupid.
"Perhaps it was when you were on your way to that meeting with Kingsley?" Fleur hints from somewhere behind the rest of the Weasleys. Though I can't see her, I can tell from her tone that she has a smile on her face.
She's probably right, though. Damn, how could I have been so stupid? Well, at least Kreacher will get to have his den under the pipes to himself.
Fleur squeezes through to the front before continuing, "But wait, 'Arry. Did Kingsley not say that 'e wants you to stay at Shell Cottage until 'e has found the remaining Death Eaters?"
We both know that Kingsley's said no such thing, but Fleur is throwing me a life line, so who am I to argue? Credit to her, she sounds so convincing that even I half believe her. She delivers the line with such complete sincerity, and such a look of absolute innocence on her face, that it is almost impossible not to believe her.
"Yeah, that's right." I agree, wondering why she has decided to help me out. Clearly she knows that I'm trying to escape from Ginny's attempts to manacle herself to me, but I still can't see what's in it for her. Whatever her motives, I owe her big time.
"Don't be silly, Fleur." Molly condescends. "It'll be much safer for Harry at the Burrow."
I argue, "As much as it pains me to say so, Mrs Weasley, I think I'd better do what Kingsley says for now. I'm sure he has his reasons."
"Well." The Weasley matriach humphs. "I'll be having words with him about it."
Not a problem. If I can talk to him before she does, I'll just make him play along in exchange for my helping him.
"Good idea," I say, as if I really want to stay at the Burrow. "Hopefully it'll only be for a few days. Sorry, Ginny."
She ignores me, too busy glaring at the French witch who's thwarted her plans. Fleur still wears that expression of purest innocence.
Over the next few minutes, the Weasleys apparate away, leaving me alone with Bill and Fleur.
"Well, Harry." Bill smiles. "Merlin knows why Kingsley thinks this is the best option, but you'll always be welcome at Shell Cottage."
"Cheers, Bill. I'll try not to get in your way."
Right now, I must be emanating joy at my lucky escape. It must show because Bill gives me an odd look; perhaps he thinks that I'm particularly happy about staying at the Cottage, or alternatively he thinks I've just gone a bit strange.
"Well, we'll be off now, I think." Bill says, looking at his aged watch. "Come and join us whenever you feel like it."
He takes his wife's hand; with a flash, a crack and a subtle wink from Fleur, they disapparate back to their home by the sea and for the first time ever, with all of my friends either dead or gone, I feel truly alone at Hogwarts.
I don't do notes on chapters very often but I'd just like to say: wow, I couldn't believe the response that I got after the last chapter. It was more than I'd ever hoped for, and for that I am grateful. I'll try to make it up to you by posting at least once a week.
Thanks, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.