Chapter Four
Past and Presents

Pleasantly full and a bit tired, Harry leaned back on a couch in the living room. Ginny and Ron were seated on its edges, while Hermione perched precariously on an arm.

"This one's from me," she said, tilting to handing it over and stumbling off.

"Thanks," Harry smiled even before he opened it.

Like so many of Hermione's presents, it was merely paper: but in contrast to her normal books, the first sheets fluttered and sailed around the room. One folded itself into a paper airplane that whizzed past Ginny. The others rustled softly in his lap.

"Erm…" said Ron.

"Daily Prophet," said Hermione brightly. "Back issues, these are about the battle. And the stuff we missed when we were gone."

"Most of it's just propaganda," Ron said dubiously, digging through to the bottom of the pile. "Right?"

"Well, there are some Quibblers too. Luna sent you this, by the way…" Hermione reached for a small, delicately wrapped package.

Harry slowly unraveled the ribbon around it. It was a thin tube of metal about as long as one of his fingers. He tapped it gently. A distinct ping reverberated throughout the room.

"It's a Melodica," Ginny explained. "Blow into it."

Slightly embarrassed, Harry blew into one of the hollow ends. Immediately, a slow, ponderous chord sounded.

"It changes depending on your mood," she elaborated.

"Cool," he smiled.

"This is from Neville," said Ginny, passing up a rather lumpier parcel.

"How did you lot wind up with this anyway?" Harry said teasingly. "Seeing as it's my birthday?"

"We've been setting it up for a while," Mrs. Weasley shrugged sincerely.

"Not complaining." He started to open the present. "Hang on, there's a card…"

An animated owl flew across the front of the card, which proclaimed "Happy birdday!". Harry flinched, remembering Hedwig.

"About that, mate-" Ron started, but Hermione shushed him.

Harry opened the card. Dear Harry, it read. I know this should have come on maybe your eighth birthday, but you've seemed so glum at the funerals. Hope you take it the right way, and have a good year.

Curious, Harry propped the package-but its contents were already escaping. "Aah!" Ginny screamed, batting at something that leapt from her head.

Ron guffawed as he caught it. "You're scared of a Chocolate Frog?"

"When amphibians are leaping on me," Ginny said primly, "yes, I rather am."

Still laughing, Ron flipped the Frog to Harry. "Keep the card," Harry told him.

"Excellent, new release-blimey!" Ron laughed even harder-Hermione slid off the couch for safety. "have a look."

Harry blushed at himself from the card. Holding it by the edge, with two fingers, as if it could explode at any moment, Harry flipped it over to read the back. "The Boy Who Lived; thwarted the Dark Lord's rise to power as an infant and defeated him upon his revival. Harry was an accomplished Seeker at Hogwarts School."

Once able to speak, Harry blurted, "The Dark Lord?"

"Well, you did kill him," Hermione said patiently.

"But why do they still call him that?"

"No point in calling him You-Know-Who now that he's dead, is there?" Ron pointed out. "What's he gonna do to you?"

At once a fear gripped Harry. "Is he really dead?"

The Weasleys and Hermione looked about at each other, unsure whether this was an onset of paranoia.

"I mean," Harry pressed on, "he wanted to live forever. Couldn't he come back as a ghost?"

"What could a ghost do, though?" Ginny strove to be reasonable.

"Spread his message-gather an army-"

"He can't," said Hermione authoritatively. "You can't come back if you did-what he did." At a questioning look, she added, "I'll bring my book."

Harry nodded. "Even so. If he is gone, why would they respect him? "Lord"…it's a title, it's what Death Eaters called him."

"Old habits die hard," Ron shrugged.

Unsatisfied, Harry ate the frog. And as he did so, he knew Voldemort was really dead. It was melty and gooey, the chocolate, not a cold weapon against the Dementors. The threat was gone, and he was complacently lying on his friends' couch, eating chocolate.

Eighteen years old and he'd already saved the world. There was nowhere to go.

"This one's from all of us." Mr. Weasley nodded at a large package on the floor.

Harry bent down to pick it up, but found it much heavier than he'd expected. Slowly, he ripped off the wrapping right there, gasping when he saw his gift. "Are these really expensive?"

"Nah," Mr. Weasley blushed. "Just not a lot of trade in them."

It was a Pensieve: perfect circle hewn from stone, filled with what looked like clear water. Harry touched it, but found only shimmering light.

"Thanks," he said when he could think of nothing else to say. "This is…amazing."

"So're you," Ginny smiled.

He turned to her, delight retracing the unfamiliar crevices of his face, but whatever he had to say was forgotten. The evening had worn on, after all, and some of them had lives to which they needed to return.

"I'll drop you off," Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry when they headed for the door, his presents balanced precariously. (Ron's attempt at using Wingardium Leviosa to carry the Pensieve had failed rather drastically. Hermione was still limping as they reached the door, but the swelling had died down.)

"Let's not wait this long before we see each other again, okay? I mean not at a funeral."

"Let's take our Apparition tests together!" Ron suggested brightly.

"Now hang on," said Harry, fear gripping him again. "The Ministry clearly knows when we Apparate illegally, right? Or they couldn't have sent us those fines."

"Right."

"So why didn't we get busted last year? The Death Eaters were in charge."

Hermione shrugged. "Friends on the inside?"

"For about a day, maybe. Voldemort's a Legilimens!"

"Sure," said Ron, "but he's not exactly going to be probing the Apparition department, right? Pretty low on the totem pole."

"You can ask when you show up," Hermione reminded them.

"Right," Harry nodded, unconvinced.

He stepped next to Hermione and they immediately vanished, reappearing on the doorstep of Number Twelve. "Need me to get the door?"

"Yes, please-er, I've got the key."

"Here, I'll take this."

Nodding slightly, Harry let Hermione lift the Pensieve-"oof!" and fished in his back pocket for the key, opening the door. He set down the other gifts and took it back from her, setting it down immediately. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," she replied cheerfully. "Happy birthday, Harry."

"Thanks."

He brought the smaller gifts upstairs to his room, then made a return trip for the Pensieve. Deliberately, he raised his wand to his head and pulled it back. The tip seemed electric, with eighteen years of thoughts compressed into the shimmering threads of light. The wand seemed to move with a life of its own as he lowered it into the basin. Immediately it went still, but the once-clear liquid smoked over. Images rose and fell: Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets, King's Cross Station, the Dursleys, Fawkes, Ron and Hermione arguing, an inhuman figure in a cauldron, a flying motorcycle, a tattered veil.

He felt no more relaxed than he had before he put them in: the memories were still his, after all. And despite the chance to enjoy time with his friends, it had not necessarily been a pleasant day.

The war was over; the struggle continued.