I know, it's been a while, but I've had a fairly hectic summer and my WIP's total well over 250,000 words by now and I have around 30 WIP's. Including this one. So please enjoy.

Some people have wondered as to the identity of the two people who watched Harry, Emrys, Eirian and Dudley at the pub. All I will say is, look at the man's eyes. Particularly when they change colour briefly. It's a double shout out, one to Doctor Who and the other to… well, work it out.

I've also just realised that I have – subconsciously - put a fair bit of myself into Emrys (though thankfully he isn't a straight up copy of me. I like to think of myself as being a little more mature. And a little less honourable, among other things). I'm not sure whether to be worried or not. *shrugs* It's worked out well enough and it is said that an author should put some of themselves into their writing.

Aragorn was worried. The appearance of Earendil sans Silmaril, and according to Frodo by magical mirror, Elwing as well, was a worrying one to put it lightly.

The Silmaril's were some of the most dangerous artefacts in existence, and put together, they had terrifying power. They contained the light of the two trees, and therefore a portion of the power. They were also the keys to the Doors of Night. Whoever was behind this attack could also command Dark Wizards, which sent a shiver down Aragorn's spine.

Harry, for all he was great friend and valued ally, was a terrifying sight in battle. As was his wife, who was - if possible - even more frightening. The very air crackled with power as he prepared for a fight, and his powers seemed to have few limits. He dreaded to think what someone without Harry's scruples might be capable of. And he could only think of one being with the power, charisma and influence to set off such a chain of events. Even bound behind the doors of night, Morgoth was causing trouble. And he was on the move.

The commander in him grudgingly admired Morgoth's removal of his most experienced foe and stealthy gathering of power. All that puzzled him was how Morgoth had managed to make contact with the world outside the Void in the first place.

One thing did brighten up his day, however. Boromir's explanation of Morcar's father to Morcar himself.

"So, let me get this right," Morcar said slowly. "My father was the reincarnation of the ancestor of the Darkness Slayer, a man called Godric Gryffindor, who was responsible, at the very least, for that damn great silver cat thing at Helm's Deep. And the Ringbearer's glowing finger. "

"Yes," Boromir said, sounding relieved that the end was in sight and that there was light at the end of the tunnel.

Morcar nodded, looking to be deep in thought. "So. Why haven't I blown up the city yet?" he asked thoughtfully.

Boromir looked like he was having a stroke. "I'm not sure," he muttered, having discovered that the metaphorical light at the end of the metaphorical tunnel was a metaphorical flame thrower.

"And how am I supposed to explain all this to my long lost, very distant, enormously powerful, very frightening and probably insane relative who bends reality to his will?" Morcar asked.

"He doesn't exactly bend reality," Boromir muttered.

"Lord Boromir, I once saw him transform a rock into a pie. Then eat it," Morcar said flatly. "If that does not count as warping the basic tenets of reality, I do not know what does. And I note you don't deny his power. Or his insanity."

Boromir glared at him. "Anyone who spends more than ten minutes with Harry Potter is certain that he is mad. This is true. But anyone who spends long enough in his presence and pays attention becomes aware that he puts on at least some of the madness merely for his own amusement and he has very many valid reasons for the rest."

"There is valid reason for regularly turning Prince Eomer into a canary?" Morcar asked sceptically.

Boromir's voice went cold. "If you count having your parents murdered at the age of one and remembering your mother being murdered right in front of your eyes by one of the worst evils I have ever encountered. If you count then being raised by guardians who routinely mistreated him and made him live in a small cupboard, then being treated as the Chosen hero by an entire world from the age of eleven, and thereafter fighting in a near constant war. If you count then having almost everyone even resembling a father figure murdered, often in front of you, and when you finally won, and sought surcease, being thrown into another world and another war, being trapped there. If you count all of that, then yes, he has valid reason," Boromir said, voice cold and harsh as the north wind in winter.

Aragorn, watching from the shadows, unconsciously drew his cloak closer as the room temperature dropped sharply. Morcar looked shocked. "He is my friend. And I will not have him mocked, guardsman. Is. That. Clear?"

Morcar gulped, and nodded.

"Good," Boromir said coldly. "Now go, guardsman. I don't care how you tell him. It's none of my damned business."

"Aye, my lord. Just one more question: Why do you actively avoid me, yet seek the company of the Royal Wizard?" Morcar said, sounding subdued.

"Because the Royal Wizard is my friend. Unlike you, he is not a walking, talking and breathing reminder of my second greatest failure. He has shown me kindness and friendship on levels you could not even begin to grasp," Boromir said, tone not warming in the slightest. "Now. Leave."

Looking stricken, the guardsman left at a quick walk.

"That was perhaps a little harsh, Boromir," Aragorn said in a quietly reproving tone.

"I stand by every word, Aragorn," Boromir stated flatly, removing his hand from where it had automatically dropped, the hilt of his sword, and not sounding the slightest bit repentant. "I was not exaggerating when I said at his funeral that he was like a second Faramir. He is like a younger brother to me, and I will not stand by and let him be insulted."

Aragorn smiled slightly. "And I expected nothing less from you, Boromir. Nevertheless, the young man has just seen his world turned upside down. In the last few hours, he has discovered that he possesses at least a fragment of the power that he associates with feats of valour and might on an unimaginable scale. He survived an attack by one of the most dangerous beings to walk this earth. After less than five and a score years of ordinary life, he has found that he is related to the most dangerous man alive, however distantly, as well as the truth about his father. That would unbalance even the calmest and most collected of men. And men of his age are rarely calm and collected at the best of times."

"I understand his considerable level of upset, even empathise with it. What I will not accept is his venting his hysteria on Harry, and that is the end of it, Aragorn," Boromir said firmly. "I will not stand for it."

"As you say, my Lord Steward," Aragorn said quietly, melting back into the shadows.

"As I say, my Lord King," Boromir said to the air.

The Ministry

Harry's next stop was to give a lecture to the trainee Auror's, and he started it with a question.

"Which House provides the best Aurors? And why?"

Cho raised her hand hesitantly, and at an encouraging nod from Harry, said, "Ravenclaw. Because they can emotionlessly apply logic and analyse threat levels and enemy strategies."

"Wrong."

"Gryffindor," this one was Dean Thomas. "Because they have the courage to stand up and fight, and chivalry to treat prisoners well."

"Wrong," Harry said, and there was susurration of sound, whispers going around. Everyone, Harry knew, had expected him as a former Gryffindor to say it was Gryffindor. They would be in for a big surprise, he thought, suppressing a smirk as he did so.

"Hufflepuff," said Susan Bones. "Because they have loyalty to their comrades and a sense of fair play."

"Wrong."

"Slytherin," said Theodore Nott. "Because they have the cunning to outsmart and outmanoeuvre the enemy and the ambition and drive to make things happen."

"Wrong," Harry said, and savoured the dumbfounded looks on the trainees faces.

"Too much logic will cause you to lose sight of emotional motives and your own emotions. That will get you killed. Too much bravery and chivalry will make you a sitting duck and get you killed. Loyalty to a doomed comrade can get you killed and lose you an engagement. Fair play will definitely get you killed. Too much cunning and too little trust will have you isolated and deader than Voldemort," Harry said. To their credit, few of the trainees flinched, though they all looked shocked.

"What, you expected me to say courage would get you through everything?" Harry said and snorted. "I've seen where leaping before looking and blind courage gets you. It gets you dead. And trying to play the hero often gets other people killed."

"You played the hero often enough," Nott pointed out.

Harry smirked. "I did. And only after sufficient planning and application of cunning, analysis of threats and trusting the loyalty of my comrades. And I was lucky."

"Lucky?"

"Usually the only person killed was myself," Harry said.

Nott raised an eyebrow.

"What? You think that Voldemort didn't kill me at the battle of Hogwarts? He did, and it was only a combination of the side effects of using my blood for his resurrection and my mother's sacrifice when he first tried to kill me that let me come back. The second time… there were extenuating circumstances," Harry said.

"You were killed?" Nott asked. The former Slytherin was monopolising him while the rest of the crowd watched with bated breath.

"The first time with the Killing Curse. It is genuinely painless, by the way. The second time was with a sword. And it was far from painless," Harry said calmly, unbuttoning his shirt. There was an enormous scar where the Wraith Voldemort had skewered him, all pale scar tissue against muscle. Whispers flew around the room again.

"What happened?" a male trainee Harry didn't recognise asked, as Harry buttoned up his shirt again.

Harry flashed a grin, all teeth and no humour, and said, "I returned the favour. With a little fire spell I'm fond of, so he's dust on the wind. But the wound, and the fall - because we were fighting up in the sky and I fell - killed me."

"What's death like?" another asked.

"I was outright told that it's different for everyone and I generally don't like dwelling on the fact that I've been dead twice. I was buried the second time, so I think you can understand if I just want to mention it and move on," Harry said firmly. There was a general murmur of agreement.

"Besides, this isn't about me. This isn't my life story. I'm not telling you where I went for five and half years, because, quite frankly, everyone who needs and deserves to know already does. What I will say is I fought in a brutal war and made some very good friends. And what I learnt is that the best soldiers, the best commanders, combine the traits of all four houses, to one extent or another," Harry said, then flicked his wand at the white board, dictating.

"Courage is nothing without direction, Loyalty is nothing without others who trust or who are worth trusting, Logic is nothing without application and Cunning is nothing if there isn't loyalty to knit a unit together," Harry said, holding the gaze of everyone in the room. All of them looked back at him, hooked. Then he began to talk, and talk and talk some more.

Just outside

Ginny looked on with pride. Her husband was teaching like a natural, keeping the group hooked and occasionally fielding questions.

"He's really quite good at it, isn't he?" came Kingsley's deep baritone.

Ginny smiled. "Yes, yes he is."

"Do you think you could persuade him to work full time?" Kingsley asked.

"Maybe. But I can guarantee that you'd end up with Emrys and Sirius on staff as well," Ginny said, and smirked when Kingsley sighed.

"I'm not sure if the Wizarding World could survive those two in anything resembling positions of authority. Lucius has been complaining to me about the piranhas ever since he woke up," the Minister said.

"And Draco?"

"He thinks it's rather funny from what I can tell. The two don't get on these days, not in the slightest," Kingsley replied.

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yeah. As far as we can tell, Draco thinks his father is refusing to change with the times, and he's become one of the more vocal proponents for pro-muggle and minority legislation. He even cooperated with Hermione to push through successive Werewolf and House Elf rights bills – somehow he managed to convince her they don't like being freed and that a Ministry vetted approved contract between wizard and elf is an acceptable solution – and repealing Dolores Umbridge's anti-Werewolf legislation," Kingsley said. Ginny's jaw dropped.

"Why?" she asked.

"I don't know. Whether it's genuine or a cynical move to gain popularity, it's moving acts through the Wizengamot at a decent rate, and makes my life a lot easier, so frankly I don't care," Kingsley replied simply.

Ginny nodded thoughtfully.

"Do you think he's going to try and take over?" she asked.

"Give it twenty years and he'll have my job, probably by being elected on a landslide victory. For now, I think he's rebuilding the Malfoy family reputation and distancing himself from his father's past," Kingsley said.

Ginny raised an eyebrow.

"He's as natural at politics as Harry is at war. And your husband is the most talented general I've ever seen. At fifteen, when most kids are worrying about girls and school, he was leading a well-trained resistance, the members of whom managed to successfully duel full grown Death Eaters and survive with no permanent injury," Kingsley said.

"We cut it rather fine, though," Ginny murmured, remembering Ron's near strangulation at the Department of Mysteries.

"That's more than most people can say. They have all been head hunted by the Auror office, and many are in that room right now. His teaching methods have been integrated into the auror program, and frankly I would kill for the chance to have him head up the department. He has charisma, combat experience and good judgement, and I'm not the only one to see it. Malfoy for one will be looking to at least make sure that Harry won't oppose his ambitions, and preferably support him," Kingsley said.

Then he paused and added, "It doesn't hurt that Harry is the last scion of an ancient bloodline and power wise is what a Firebolt is to a Nimbus 1000 when compared to the average witch or wizard."

"Politics," Ginny sighed. "We get enough of it in Middle Earth, let alone here."

"Love it or hate it, it's what makes a country work. Any of your friends could tell you that," Kingsley said with a shrug.

"I suppose it does. Doesn't mean I have to like it," Ginny acknowledged.

"Nor do I, and I'm involved with it 24/7," Kingsley said. Ginny looked surprised, and Kingsley snorted. "You think I wanted to be Minister? I only took the job because everyone wanted me to, I was the only consensus candidate and every other candidate would have ruined what remained of the country."

"How much longer do you have left?" Ginny asked.

"Another year, then I'm retiring. I'll take a leaf out of your husband's book, and consult for the Auror office, but no more," Kingsley said, and rubbed his eyes wearily. "If I had any hair, it would have gone grey."

"Then I suggest you be thankful that you don't have any hair," Ginny said dryly. "What's up with Fudge? Isn't he your advisor? He's a dick, and spineless, but he knows politics."

Kingsley shook his head. "He referred to an American diplomat as a 'bloody colonial'. Now he's Magical Britain's ambassador to the Faroe Islands."

Ginny grinned. "Do you have a picture of his face when you told him?"

"Mrs Potter, that would be unprofessional," Kingsley said calmly, then smiled slightly. "Of course I do."

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "How did you know?"

"Give me some credit, Ginny. I can say without boasting, that your husband and Mad Eye Moody aside, I am the best Auror in recent Wizarding history. And I am better at disguising myself than both, though admittedly both have or had rather distinctive appearances. I know what to look for, and I see the recent mark of a ring. And you're wearing your engagement ring right now," Kingsley said.

"That does sound like boasting," Ginny said dryly. "Back to your earlier point, is Harry really that strong? I know he's powerful, but on that scale?"

"Since he routinely breaks one of the fundamental rules of magic, Gamp's laws of transfiguration, he most definitely is. One day, he'll be almost as skilled as Albus Dumbledore, and arguably, he's stronger. He is a wizard to be watched," Kingsley said, then slyly added, "especially since he's the Wizarding World's most eligible bachelor according to Witch Weekly."

"He's engaged to me. And I will hex anyone who says different," Ginny said calmly. Kingsley saw the steely resolve in her eyes.

"I thought you might," he said.

St Mungo's

Lucius Malfoy was furious. The Malfoy name counted for nothing these days. Once, anyone who dared raise a hand to him would have been destroyed. Now, the attack of a pureblood patriarch was considered to be valid form of public entertainment. And the mudbloods who had done it hadn't even been charged!

Draco had been immensely unsympathetic, dropping by to say that he had got what he deserved. And the child had the gall to call him out for behaving in a manner unbefitting of both Slytherin House and the Ancient House of Malfoy. He had said that a Slytherin must know when to strike, and to let emotions get the better of one was a cardinal sin. A Malfoy should apparently conduct themself with dignity, and embody the concept of nobility, without, of course becoming a Gryffindor.

Then he smiled, and his mood lightened. It was no matter. Soon enough, he would have his vengeance. His master had told him so. Told him that he was the only one worthy of serving the cause of cleansing two entire worlds of the unworthy. Then the name of Malfoy would command the proper respect once more.

All he to do, his master had counselled him, was to be patient. His master was always right. Though he could not touch his master, something deep within the darkness of his master, a being that was far greater and more terrible than Voldemort had ever been, resonated with him. They were partners. Senior Partners.

Ominous, eh ? And yes, the Angel the Series reference was intentional. Now, please type in the little box below your thoughts on this story.