Again - I'm not English, so if the story has Americanisms in it, it's inadvertent. If you point them out, I can fix them. I tried to find a UK English Beta, but had no luck. Hope you enjoy this despite its flaws! :)


Hermione and Ron had both been required to turn over the wands they had; she was using Bellatrix's wand and he had Peter Pettigrew's. They were both now using wands that belonged to the Weasley family – one that had belonged to Gideon Prewett went to Ron, and his grandmother's wand went to Hermione. They worked reasonably well, although Ron and Hermione had the general impression that their wands were only tolerating them.

When he'd first found Hermione's wand in the jumble of dark artifacts and documents that had been turned over by the Malfoys, Harry had been elated and had all but begged Robards to let him have it so that he could be the one to return it to her. While this wasn't the usual way to return items to the people from whom they had been stolen, particularly in the case of wands, it had really been the only thing Harry had asked for, so Robards gave in and handed it over to Harry.

Harry had been looking forward to seeing Hermione and Ron again, and the wand made him a little more anxious for their return. But something Hermione said before they'd left occurred to him when he'd gotten back to the Burrow that day. He was looking the wand over, waiting for the ink to dry on the letter he'd just written to Ginny.

"Memory charms can be really tricky to reverse, especially without the wand that placed them – and I haven't got my wand back yet," she'd said.

According to Ron, no one had attempted to reverse the memory charm yet. Maybe if he could get the wand to her quickly, there would be less need to delay, and less risk that something would go wrong in the process. He scrawled a note to Hermione, wrapped up the wand, and then headed back to the Ministry.

International portkeys were usually open just one day a week, although for the last several years many countries had been unwilling to maintain one with Great Britain due to the tumult in its Ministry. Australia had opted to close theirs except upon approval of their own Minister. Kingsley Shacklebolt had been able to open the portkey again for Ron and Hermione, so Harry hoped that regular travel had resumed.

The International Portkey Office was untidy, and the witch at the Information and Assistance desk seemed rather put out to have been asked for her assistance.

"Courier for Australia leaves in twenty minutes. Parcels must be clearly marked and may not contain food, potions, breakables, or anything which breathes."

"Right – well, it's just a wand."

The witch turned back to the stack of paper she was sorting, her wand flicking left, right, up, and forward. "Wands are considered breakable and may not be taken via courier," she informed Harry in a monotone.

"But I need to get this to my friend as soon as possible," he replied.

"Wands. Are considered. Breakable." She didn't even look up.

Not willing to give up so easily, Harry began, "Well, is there someone I can talk to about this? I really need to get this to my friend, she needs-"

"NO EXCEPTIONS!" thundered the witch. Then she set her own wand down, leaned across the counter, and narrowed her eyes to slits. "Not even for you, Harry sodding Potter."

Harry was surprised at the venom in her voice. "I never expected-"

"I'll tell you what I never expected," she spat. "I never expected to be a widow at thirty-five! I never expected to have to raise my daughter alone! I never expected my own parents to turn me away because I chose to marry someone who wasn't magical, and they feared for their own lives. And all the while I was trying to manage on my own, what is the Wizarding world concerned about? A boy," she seethed. "A boy with a family to care for him. Maybe you lost your parents, but you had an uncle, didn't you?" Harry couldn't answer, confounded by her anger. "Didn't you?"

"Yes, but-"

"But nothing! And while everyone else was suffering, what were you doing? Camping with your mates, traipsing about the countryside!"

This was too much for Harry, and he tried to end her tirade. "Look, I don't think you read the article properly. Maybe have another go at it. All I want right now-"

"All I want right now is my husband back." The witch straightened and took up her wand again, her cold gaze on Harry unwavering. "You were the exception that could have saved him, should have protected him, and you didn't. You'll get nothing from me." And she went back to her work, ignoring Harry completely.

He left the office then, Hermione's wand still in his hands. The critical voices from the Sunday Prophet, the ones that had been kept at bay by the kind words Mr. Weasley had spoken in the orchard, began to swirl in his head again. True, he knew nothing of the woman and her circumstances, but that didn't stop Harry's almost instinctive reaction, which was guilt – for not having known sooner, for not having done more, faster, for being too thick to understand the puzzle that Dumbledore left him to solve in time to save more people.

As he walked the corridors of the Ministry, slightly dazed and not really knowing where he was headed, he came upon Gawain Robards, the Head Auror.

"Hello, Potter – wasn't expecting to see you here," he said cheerfully. "Thought you'd gone."

"I did," replied Harry. "I, uh . . . I came back."

Robards paused, waiting for him to elaborate, but he didn't. "Right. Well, it's good that I bumped into you. Come to my office, I have something to share with you."

Harry nodded and followed him down the corridor, the witch's harsh words still stinging his ears. When they reached their destination, Harry sat woodenly in the chair opposite Robards, who pondered him for a moment.

"Is that your friend's wand?"

Harry looked down at his hands. "Oh – erm – yes, this is Hermione's. I was at the International Portkey office . . . they wouldn't send it with the courier. Said it was breakable."

He made a face. "Margaret is rather . . . unyielding about those kinds of things. Wouldn't make an exception, eh?"

Harry offered a humorless laugh. "No. She was rather vocal about that, actually." Not wanting to think about it any further, however, he looked up. "You said you had something for me?"

"Oh yes!" Robards smiled. "Potter, we have a very special mission for you."

The tone with which he made this statement, as well as the smile upon his large, sculpted face, led Harry to believe that what they had for him was something exciting – maybe a tad dangerous – and, above all else, useful. He was not prepared for what his future leader said next.

"We need you to go into Wales . . . and retrieve the Dursleys."

He spoke with a flourish and Harry got the impression that Robards thought he was bringing Christmas early. Harry stared at him open-mouthed for a moment, until he realized that he likely resembled a codfish.

"Sorry?"

Robards chuckled a little. "Your family!" he replied. "We've determined the house on Privet Drive is safe to return to, and you can retrieve them at any time you like."

Harry really didn't know how to react. He was silent a moment, searching Robard's face for any kind of clue that maybe he wasn't serious, maybe it was a joke that Ron had put him up to, but there was none.

"You know, sir . . . I uh, I never had any delusions about the job," he began.

Robards creased his brow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean . . . if this is a way to show me that being an Auror isn't glamorous, I already knew that. I mean . . . I've gone without showers and food . . . I lived in a tent for a long time."

"This is a way for us to get your relatives back where they belong," replied Robards. "What are you saying, Potter?"

"Nothing," he replied quickly. If that was his task, then that was his task. He wasn't in charge and he didn't want to be. "Nothing. Who's going with me?"

Robards smiled again. "You were probably hoping for something a little more exciting, eh? But don't worry, that'll come. I think you can handle this one on your own. That'll give me a chance to get caught up a bit."

Harry nodded woodenly. "I guess I'll check in with you once I get to Wales," he said slowly.

"Very good, Potter! Oh – and about that wand. I know you wanted to give it back to Granger, but one of my Aurors can take it to Australia."

Harry's head snapped up, and he eyed Robards closely. "But . . . Margaret, at the portkey office, said wands-"

Robards rolled his eyes. "Margaret is, and always has been, a melodramatic bureaucrat," he replied. "No decent wizard goes anywhere without his wand. What's the difference if he has two?"

This made Harry smile, and he handed Hermione's wand to Robards across the desk. "That would be great," he replied. "More than great – can you get it to her soon?"

"I can have Williams take it tomorrow," he replied. "How's that?"

Now the younger man smiled, relieved. "Fantastic," he replied. "Thank you so much."

They parted cheerfully, and Robards went back to his work. Harry left the office, still slightly dazed, and made for the Burrow.


To say that Mrs. Weasley was in a bit of a bother was an understatement. Harry had just informed her of his plans to make 12 Grimmauld Place his permanent home, which she was not taking well. She was flitting about the kitchen at the Burrow, talking at top speed and not paying much attention to what she was doing.

"I don't like it, Harry . . . I just don't like it. You're not even eighteen . . . no parents . . . no siblings . . . living in that place . . . could be Death Eaters around every turn . . . no one there to help you . . . I don't like it one bit!"

Harry had, as delicately as he could, just informed her that he'd soon be leaving the Burrow for Grimmauld Place. He was sitting at the scrubbed oak table in the kitchen with Charlie, who'd offered his assistance in the matter. "Kingsley says it's safe – he had the Auror office check it out – and I've got Kreacher," said Harry helpfully.

He shouldn't have said it; Mrs. Weasley rounded on him. "Aurors and house elves? Paltry excuse for a proper family! How is a house elf is going to parent and protect you, Harry?"

He bit back commentary on his almost life-long lack of parents. "I just meant . . . he's there. He defended us at Hogwarts, you know. Plus he does all of his house-elfy things . . . laundry, the washing up . . . he's not a bad cook, either . . . although he's not you."

This compliment caught Mrs. Weasley off guard a bit. "Well . . . thank you, Harry . . . that's very kind of you to say. But I still don't like this business of you going to London, all alone."

"Who's going to London?" asked George, who had just come in the back door.

"Harry is," replied Charlie, taking advantage of his mother's distraction to steal a dinner roll.

"Grimmauld Place, eh? Not very cheerful, Harry. But not all that different from here. Tell you what, mate – I'll go with you. Shop needs opening."

"George . . . ." Mrs. Weasley had stopped what she was doing and covered her mouth. "How can you even think of leaving?"

George approached his mother. "Look, Mum . . . I know . . . I know we're all in pain and we all miss Fred. No one misses him more than I do. But I've been thinking about this ever since his funeral . . . d'you really think he'd have wanted all of us to mope about like this?"

"You don't understand, George," said Mrs. Weasley weakly. "He's my son . . . I carried him under my heart right next to you, I nursed him, I changed his nappies, I taught him how to walk and talk and ride a broom, I protected him from his brothers-"

"Just as often as you protected us from him," quipped Charlie, grinning.

George chuckled and received a scowl from his mother for his trouble. "Scowl all you want; Charlie's spot on. Point is, Fred loved a laugh, and you lot haven't laughed since his funeral. Fred wouldn't want this. He wouldn't want anyone to stop living. I'm going back to Diagon Alley to clean up the shop and re-open it. Charlie's coming with me, and Harry's going home, but Mum. . . ." He put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. "We'll be back."

At these words, Mrs. Weasley leaned into George's chest and sobbed.

"Oh, Mum . . . ." George squeezed his mother, rubbing her back while Charlie and Harry looked on.

After several long moments, Mrs. Weasley pulled away from her son. "You'll be back," she said, conviction in her voice. "Of course you will." She kissed all three of them, and then said, "But I still don't like you being alone, Harry."

He smiled. "I won't be completely alone. I'll have Kreacher, and Charlie and George won't be far away. I'll be all right."

"We'd like to leave after supper," said George. "Harry'll come with us, won't you, Harry?"

Harry turned slightly pink. "Actually . . . I promised Ginny I wouldn't leave until she got back."

Both Charlie and George's eyebrows shot up simultaneously, but Mrs. Weasley patted his cheek. "How very sweet of you, Harry dear," she said as she went about making dinner, this time without so much arm-flailing and wand-flicking.

With his mother thus occupied, George turned to Harry. "Come to the sitting room with me, Harry," he said. "I'd like a word."

Harry looked at Charlie, who gave him a shrug, and then followed George. Harry was happy to see the ghost of the old glimmer in George's eyes when he began pacing the long room.

"Harry . . . Harry James, is it?" Harry nodded. "Mr. Potter. I have heard rumors circulating recently regarding the nature of the relationship between yourself and my baby sister-"

"From whom?"

"From my baby brother, but don't interrupt. Now, I don't want you to be concerned that I don't approve – because I do, of course . . . you know, you being The Chosen One, and The Boy Who Lived Twice, and all that rot. Besides you're a brilliant Quidditch player and loyal friend to ickle Ronnykins. My warning, O Savior of All Wizarddom, is not against you. It's against Miss Ginevra."

Charlie nodded. "Terrible temper, that girl. 'Specially if she doesn't win at chess."

"Once again, Charlie's right – astonishingly enough. I mean, I love the little Harpy, but don't incur her wrath."

"She once hexed me because she thought I intentionally aimed a bludger at her."

"Well, did you?" asked Harry, wanting to smile and enjoying this exchange with Charlie and George. He was genuinely happy that George's sense of humor had not died along with his twin. It had dried up a bit, that was certain, but it was still there and was already playing an integral role in his family's healing.

"What a shocking accusation, Mr. Potter!" exclaimed George. "Charles, what have you to say in your defense?"

Charlie grinned, entertained and eager to defend himself. "Wasn't my fault, that – Percy tossed it at you and missed so it came after me, and I dodged it so it went after Ginny."

"But you didn't stop it?" Harry asked.

Charlie shrugged. "Ginny's a big girl – she handled it all right."

George shook his head in mock dismay. "Shameful, Charles."

Harry turned to George. "I appreciate the warning, but the last seven years I've noted that Ginny just knows how to defend herself. She's got six brothers . . . she was bound to pick up tips from you lot."

"All the same, Harry," said George, "please do heed my advice. And don't forget those six brothers she has – we're all bigger than you, even Percy." He clapped Harry on the shoulder, and then turned to Charlie. "We should pack, eh?"

With a grin, Charlie nodded and headed up the stairs with his brother, leaving Harry to ponder George's words.


Two days later, as he was preparing to go to King's Cross to retrieve Ginny with the Weasleys, a very haggard-looking owl arrived for him.

Dear Harry,

Just a quick note – need to get to the Ministry. Got your parcel. Hermione is in tears, she's so happy to have her wand back. It'll make the memory reversal business much simpler, she says.

We should be home soon – a week, two tops. Tell Mum.

Ron

Harry smiled. He knew he would endure the kind of censure that Margaret had inflicted upon him again, but it had been worth the harsh words to know that he'd done something helpful for his friend. He folded the letter, and went in search of Mrs. Weasley.


Thanks so much for reading!