The second interview
Harry awoke the next day with an idea fully formed in his mind. Perhaps it had come to him a bit late, as Hermione's inspiring speech had been hours ago – but only now had Harry thought of the perfect solution.
He shot up in bed and ripped back the curtain. It was daylight, though most likely sometime in the afternoon. He changed quickly and burst into the common room, without checking whether Ron was awake. No one was there; Harry guessed they were probably all at lunch.
His brisk walk took him to the Great Hall in minutes. Taking advantage of the customary silence at his entrance, Harry announced to the room at large:
"Does anyone know where I can find Rita Skeeter?"
"Lovely, just who I was looking for," an acidly sweet voice replied promptly beside him.
It was just like Rita, to be completely out of sight when she wasn't supposed to be around, and then make a miraculous appearance the second her name was mentioned. She looked just the same as ever, though perhaps her lined face was a little more excited than usual. She was wearing stylishly cut robes of shocking pink – they made Harry's eyes water to look directly at them.
"I need you to interview me," said Harry quietly once attention had turned away from him.
"Harry, what are you doing?" It was Hermione, looking vehement, with Ron at her shoulder.
"I'm borrowing an idea from you," he answered coolly, and then turned back to Rita. "Only there are a few conditions involved."
"Of course there are," she said unenthusiastically, as if dodging around them was the easiest thing in the world.
"One. You will not add any embellishments or speculation to what I say. Two. You will not interject your opinion in attempt to allude to a certain ridiculous result. Three. Your goal is to report the facts, as I tell them to you, so the public can get the truth, for once." Hermione beamed at this and looked very proud of Harry.
"And how about 'four,' I say nothing insulting about Harry Potter so he is portrayed as the perfect golden boy that he is," said Rita sarcastically.
"Say whatever you want about me. Just stick to the facts of what really went on that night."
"Though you might want to consider, Rita," said Hermione with a triumphant smile, "what the public wants to hear right now. Will the papers sell if Harry looks bad in them? I don't know about you, but I think not."
Rita glared but did not reply to that. "How about my pay?"
"I think we'll stick to the conditions of the last time we had this little venture. Besides, won't the prophet pay you loads for this material?"
Once again, Rita's response was defeated, and Harry looked extremely smug.
"Harry, I have to talk to you first, though. In private," said Hermione furtively. Rita, scowling, walked away for a few minutes to interrogate some poor second year.
"Harry, you can't tell her about the horcruxes," she whispered seriously.
Ron seemed confused. "Why not? I thought we were going to tell them everything!"
"Yeah," agreed Harry.
"And give ideas to future dark lords? You will tell the truth, Harry, just not all of it. And we can't let people know about the Elder wand, or else they'll come and try to take it from you!"
"So what you're saying is I should dance around the horcruxes and the hallows?"
"Exactly. Just… name the creatures that were there, how many fighters there really were, just be vague about what you were doing in time you supposedly ran away."
Harry was skeptical, but said, "I'll try." He called Rita back over, who was looking suspiciously at the three of them.
"Shall we?" he said, leading her out into the entrance hall. "I think an abandoned classroom will do."
And so the two of them sat there as Harry hashed out every detail of the night before up to the death of Voldemort. He enjoyed squashing the rumors about the chimaeras and the dragon, though shocked Rita to confirm the presence of giants and acromantulas. He explained, partly truthfully, that he did send a message to the Order of the Phoenix to help fight, as he had known Voldemort was on his way to attack him. The closest Harry came to a lie was when discussing the time before Voldemort was killed. He said that while gathering reinforcements for the battle, Voldemort had cornered him, but Harry managed to escape to the castle to prepare to fight.
Equally vague was Harry's description of Voldemort's death. He simply said that Voldemort's Avada Kedavra curse bounced off of Harry's 'expelliarmus,' which can sometimes happen when two wands have the same core. Rita, who clearly didn't know much about wandlore, seemed to believe him and behaved unexpectedly well; perhaps Hermione's comment about the papers selling resonated more than Rita liked to admit.
In the Great Hall afterwards, Hermione asked him how it went.
"The clever readers will be able to tell what might have really gone on with the wands. We can't prevent that. And I had to lie about my wand being broken."
"I suppose that's the best we could do," she agreed. "Thank you for doing that, Harry."
"Hey, it was all you, really."
Hermione stood for a moment, thinking. "I hope Kingsley doesn't mind if I skip out on the building for today… Do you think he'll mind?"
"Why would you do that?" said Ron sharply.
"I have to bring my parents back from Australia."
Ron melted. "Oh, that's fine. We'll cover for you."
"Thank you," she smiled, and there was a slightly awkward pause during which Ron and Hermione stared at each other. "Well, I suppose I'd better be off…"
But she didn't move and continued to face Ron, somewhat dazedly. Harry rolled his eyes and walked away.
"Well… Goodbye…" he heard Ron say, though he didn't look like he intended to leave anytime soon. Harry was walking away as quickly as he could.
"Ginny!" he said, relieved to find her standing close by.
"Don't turn around if you can help it," she advised, just as bemused as Harry.
But as usually happens when someone tells you not to look, Harry looked anyway. Ron's arms were clutching Hermione's hair to hold her face steady as they kissed desperately.
"Those two…" said Ginny.
"One minute they're having a row, next they're snogging," Harry said, laughing.
Kingsley could be heard in the distance rounding people up to start work.
"We'd better go," said Harry, and then put his arm around her as the walked to the front of the hall.
The next few weeks were difficult, as the funerals had at last begun.
It was like a procession of them, one after another after another. Harry didn't cry at any, nor was he asked to speak. He just kind of stood there and listened to the speeches and the wails of the varying sizes of crowds and endured the thank yous from the victims' families. Harry simply could not understand why these people kept shaking his hand, thanking him for being the cause of their loved one's death. It was torture, but he wasn't going to argue when these people were so grieved.
When Harry went to bed each night after a funeral, he lay awake thinking about how that person had died for his cause… How that person had probably thought of Harry as some kind of hero, someone worth fighting for, a leader…
The worst part of this was knowing that it had all occurred by chance. It could just have easily been Neville. Neville would probably have accomplished the same thing Harry had if given the chance. And people were crediting Harry for being this spectacular person whose only real feat was having been extremely lucky at a number of opportune moments. It was maddening. He could only hope that people's fascination would die down after a couple of years.
Tonks and Lupin's joint funeral was an awful experience. To his right sat Andromeda, cradling Teddy and staring, ghost-like, at the two coffins before her. It was impossible not to glance over at her every so often, knowing what she had been through and how much she had lost. He also had to wonder what was expected of him, as Godfather.
But the funeral that hit Harry the hardest was Fred's. It was the first time he had had a proper conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and it nearly broke him to see his closest mother figure bending over and sobbing, with her husband patting her with a shaking hand. They too thanked Harry and said they didn't blame him. Harry was as gracious as he could be, though quickly turned away to take a few heaving, shaking breaths. He wasn't going to break down. Not here, not now.
And then, for inexplicable reasons, he thought of someone. Someone he hadn't much thought of who perhaps was the person deserving the most thought in the world. Harry was ashamed of himself, as he knew there was always one painted by magic automatically. Surely every time one died…
He strode away from the service after it had ended, signaling to Hermione as he went.
"What?" she whispered, walking with him.
"There's something I have to take care of. Something I just realized I have to do."
"Do you need me to come with you?"
"No, no. Stay here, be with Ron and his family."
She nodded and turned back around. Harry continued his purposeful walk up to the castle.
He noticed how decrepit the place really was as he took a familiar path through the corridors. The walls were all bashed in, piles of rock and dust everywhere. It was going to take ages to completely fix it, even with magic.
Harry stopped walking and pushed open the door before him, one he had rarely entered without permission.
It felt as though he hadn't been inside Dumbledore's office for years, though technically he had only been there a few weeks before. He already felt so much older, so much more tired.
One quick glance around the room confirmed his suspicions. The only question was how to remedy the situation. Who could he talk to? The minister? The headmaster?
Almost as if in answer to this question, the door opened behind him to reveal Professor McGonagall. Of course, this was her office now.
"Ah, Potter," she said wisely, seeming to know why he was there.
"Where is the portrait of –"
"Severus Snape, I gather? Why am I not surprised."
"Well, maybe you shouldn't be. Why is his portrait not up?"
McGonagall smiled sadly at him. "It was not the wish of most of the school governors to proudly display a picture of someone so heartily… disliked."
"Professor, surely you know of what he did. What this man sacrificed."
"I heard a few scraps of details, when you and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named were circling each other so menacingly."
Harry slapped his hand to his forehead.
"I can't believe I didn't do this before… I can't believe I missed it… Sorry Professor, I have to go do something to fix this. I need to change all of their opinions. And I think I know what, I just have to catch her."
And Harry bolted out of the room, leaving a slightly mystified McGonagall behind him.
