A/N: And we're back! It's definitely been a longer wait than I'd like - and this chapter is shorter than I'd like - so you have my appreciation for your endless patience. I'm keenly aware that it's been a while.

I'd like to take the opportunity to share with you my plans for two future stories, which I intend to update concurrently after I finish Auror Commander. The first, which is yet to be titled, is a sequel of sorts to Auror Commander, but focuses chiefly on Teddy and Victoire - whom I enjoy writing very much. I can promise you that Harry will appear regularly to kick arse and take names. The second story, tentatively titled Phoenix Rising, focuses on James and Lily in their final years at Hogwarts and their involvement with the Order.

As always, I appreciate reading and enjoy your thoughts on the story and characters - so please let me know what you think!

XI. Rubicon Crossing

"Alea iacta est."

– Julius Caesar

Ginny

"What I am about to tell you cannot leave this room. You understand?"

Kingsley's expression left no room for argument.

I nodded.

"Good."

"Harry was responsible for bringing down Flight 84."

This didn't surprise me - it was what Kingsley said next:

"He Apparated in and out of the plane as it fell, evacuating passengers. Twenty-seven in all."

My mouth dropped open in disbelief.

"How is that even possible?"

"You're telling me. It's a miracle the effort didn't kill him," said Kingsley.

The Minister for Magic ran a hand over his scalp and continued.

"But he couldn't save them all. Harry had no choice but to destroy the plane before it hit the ground and led to greater casualties."

I gasped.

"It was a test, Ginny. The people who did this wanted to test Harry's resolve."

"You mean Rusilov? The one they're talking about on the wireless?"

"Ivan Rusilov was the hijacker, yes. But he was working for another man." "Who?"

"We know him only as Nazar."

The very name sent a chill through the air.

"There is a war coming, Ginny. And Harry can't fight it alone."

Kara slapped the glossy paper down on Harry's desk looking all the world like the cat that got the cream.

"Look who made Witch Weekly's Most Eligible?"

A picture of Harry was plastered across a double-page spread in the magazine.

"They're taking the piss."

"Powerful, heroic, extremely wealthy - and who doesn't like a man in uniform? It's no wonder our readers overwhelmingly voted the young Auror Commander as Wizarding Britain's Most Eligible Bachelor," Kara recited gleefully.

Harry shot her a disgusted look.

"You're fired."

A secretary poked his head through the door carrying a thick ream of parchment.

"Commander, I've got a stack of new reports from the Squadron Office."

Harry looked back to the blonde witch.

"You're hired."

"I want a raise."

Harry shot her a flat look in reply.

Ginny

My expression carefully neutral, I appraised the woman sitting across the table. I met grey eyes set in a high, haughty gaze, and got the distinct impression that she'd been practicing that look half her life.

"What's this about, Greengrass?"

"I prefer Daphne. I'm not all that fond of my last name."

I shrugged.

"Okay. Daphne. Why did you want to meet me?"

"You and Harry."

"Did he put you up to this?"

"No, and I imagine he'd be right royally pissed if he knew I was talking to you."

"So talk."

"Harry never felt anything for me when we were together. Compassion perhaps. But not love."

"If he wanted to be with me, sleeping with you was a funny way of showing it."

"We shared a bed. Not his heart," she replied evenly.

"This is fucking weird."

She made a wry expression.

"Agreed."

Daphne stirred her tea with a certain mechanical grace, and I wondered if she had any mannerisms that hadn't been drilled into her. I was keenly aware of the stark contrast between Daphne Greengrass and the girl who stuck her elbow in a butter dish.

"What aren't you telling me?" I asked.

A moment of surprise flashed across her features, before her expression settled into an appraising look.

"Have you seen Harry's memories?"

"Yes."

"Then you know what Wrath of Merlin did to him."

"I do."

"I was assigned to investigate the Fenrir Greyback incident. Part of that involved interviewing Harry. That was when I saw his memories."

"He won't admit it, Ginny, but he's not right. Wrath of Merlin haunts him. Few could survive what he went through, let alone be okay after it."

"I'm not a Healer."

"For him, I think you might have to be," she replied, pausing in her stirring to raise the cup to her lips and take a small sip.

"How is that a healthy relationship?"

"We're all dependent on those we care for," Daphne said sagely, "in our own way."

The cup was placed on the saucer and the stirring continued.

"How can I forgive him?"

"Harry jumped off the pedestal you put him on a long time ago, Ginny," Daphne said. "He's imperfect. He's made mistakes. It's easy to forget, I guess. But even our heroes are just human."

She shrugged…elegantly.

"What you do is up to you. But I hope that for your sake - and his - you both make things right."

Ginny

Harry's blonde assistant greeted me with a nod of acknowledgement.

"The Minister told me that you might come by."

The Auror Office was mostly empty, save for a couple of Aurors at their cubicles and the assistant, who was notating a stack of parchment with red ink.

"Is he here?" "Just in his office. It's this way."

She rose and directed me to a large wooden door on the landing.

"Miss Weasley…" she began, before pausing. It seemed like she wanted to say more, but instead just added, "Er, good luck."

My eyes ran over the gilded lettering on the door.

HARRY J. POTTER

AUROR COMMANDER

Simple. Yet imposing.

I was being stupid.

It was just a door.

At least that's what I kept telling myself.

I raised my hand and gave a tentative knock.

"Come in!"

The door opened in front of me.

The office was spacious and inviting, with rich, warm colours and stacked shelves of books lining the walls. But it was the glinting, somewhat sinister sword hanging on the wall that my eyes were first drawn to.

The genuine Excalibur. Merlin's own hands had borne that blade.

There was a particular majesty about the sword, a simple yet deadly weapon. It was a stark contrast to the other weapon in the room - one much more deadly, and much more complex.

Harry, seated on a couch instead of behind his desk, showed a faint hint of surprise as I met his gaze.

"Why are you here?"

"I wanted to make sure you were okay," I said.

He reacted with a small frown.

"Kingsley told me what happened. How you saved all those people."

I took a seat on the couch, facing him.

"I didn't save them all. I…I couldn't save them all," he said, and I realised with a shocked that his voice was close to breaking.

Suddenly, our row at Halloween seemed like a distant memory.

"Twenty-seven people owe you their lives."

"There were more. So many more."

"No one could have done what you did. You did something that many would consider impossible, let alone even try."

"For all my power, for all my strength, my training…I was too weak. I couldn't do it."

He paused, and then, spoke again, in little more than a whisper.

"I failed them, Ginny."

"It takes a very rare courage to do what you did. You didn't fail them, Harry. You gave them a better chance than anyone else could have."

He ran a hand through his hair and I realised just how exhausted he was.

"Are you sleeping?"

"Not enough," he admitted, before adding with a hint of a grin, "Thanks Mum."

I felt a sudden relief at his show of brevity.

I stood, keenly aware that his eyes had not left me, and took a second look around the room.

"This is some office you've got."

I picked up the picture sitting on his desk. In it, Harry sat between two men, flanked by Kingsley and my father.

"Is this–?"

"Yeah. Wrath of Merlin, in the flesh."

"The Prophet would pay a small fortune for this photo."

"I don't need a small fortune."

I recalled past visits to Gringotts and silently agreed.

"The two sitting beside you, they're–"

"X and Y," Harry finished, his expression unreadable.

"What were they like?"

"They were…" he paused, considering the question. "It's hard to say. Both were unrelenting against the Death Eaters. They used powerful, terrible, magic. And they taught me to do the same. They made me into a weapon."

"But Y always had time for a joke, and X…he was more serious, but an excellent teacher."

"Don't you know their real names?"

"No. Only their call signs. Honestly, Ginny, I didn't know them that well. They were Unspeakables. They rarely talked about themselves or their past. Y told me he smuggled Muggleborns and other Undesirables out of England during the war, and I know X protected the Secrets from Thicknesse's regime, but that's about it."

"What are the Secrets?" I asked, curious.

"I can't say."

"Come on, I've been to the Department of Mysteries," I reminded him.

"Trust me, I really can't say. And believe me, we barely scratched the surface. I spent a year there and only one in every ten doors would open for me."

"Like name like nature, yeah?"

"Yeah. Just like that."

He fell silent, as if he was recalling a solemn memory.

"They were remarkable men in an remarkable time," he said, breaking his silence.

"And now they're just two silver stars on a wall."

The crease between his eyes remained frozen on his features.

"What's wrong?"

"Why now?" he asked suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

"What changed? After Halloween, after our fight…"

"For so long, I had this idea of you as some kind of heroic, I don't know, knight in shining armour or something–"

"I don't know if I'm a hero, Ginny. Or hell, if heroes even really exist," Harry interjected. "I'm just a person willing to do bad things for good reasons."

"That's what I'm trying to say…I think I get that now," I replied.

He stood and closed the distance between us, meeting my gaze with his own, vivid emeralds that told a world of immense sacrifice, of relentless struggle, and the incredible battle that had raged both inside and around him his entire life.

The mask was still there.

But for the first time in a long time, so was he.

"I'm sorry about Daphne," he said suddenly. "I'm sorry…about everything."

"It's okay," I replied. "It's okay now."

And for the first time in a long time, it really was.

"We'll talk. Soon."

I didn't elaborate. At that moment, I didn't need to.

He nodded.

"Goodnight, Harry."

A knock came on the door, and a secretary entered.

"Commander?"

"Yeah?"

"It's time."

"Tell Albion I'll be there in a moment."

"Yes sir."

With a redhead woman still at the forefront of his mind, Harry stood, quickly changing into combat fatigues, and made his way to a briefing room deep inside the MLE.

Albion nodded in greeting at his arrival.

"Has Healer Booke cleared you for field work?"

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," Harry replied.

The Auror Commander reached out his hand and a broomstick leapt into his grasp. His face settled into a mask of grim resolve.

"Let's do this."

—

It is 4am in the morning, and I am up at this hour, this horrid, ungodly hour, where no sane person should be awake, unless they have a job that requires visiting crime scenes, no matter what time of day - or in this case, night - they occur.

I'm understandably bitter about the whole thing, especially considering I've left the warmth and comfort of my bed for this cold winter chill.

I survey my surroundings. Part of the large house has been gutted by fire, and clear signs of spell damage are evident. A field tent has been set up on the outskirts of the scene, and I head towards it.

The Aurors don't have a dedicated forensics group - they do much of it themselves - but in this case, they've requested a specialist.

"Banks, is it?"

"Yes."

"Good. I'm Stark. Follow me."

"What's all this about, anyway?"

Stark scowls at my question, but answers anyway.

"Who else? Nazar."

I know that name. Everyone in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement now knows that name. It's only been seventy-two hours since one of Nazar's men hijacked a Muggle airplane. And now the MLE is in the midst of the biggest manhunt undertaken since Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban.

There is a war coming.

I follow the Auror to a Pensive. A small table stands next to it with a collection of glass vials. I notice each contains a fresh strand of memory.

"Here are the memories from the assault team. Familiarise yourself with what happened, and then you can comb the scene."

"Are you preserving it now?" I ask.

"We are."

"Check for contamination. Many of these old houses had undetectable magic that would tamper with crimes - removing fingerprints, items that could be used for evidence - that sort of thing," I advise.

He appraises me for a brief moment - as if he is deciding whether or not I know what I'm talking about - and then nods.

"We'll watch for it."

I pick up a vial, and nearly drop it.

Printed on the vial's label are three words, identifying the owner of the memory:

Harry Potter AC

These are no ordinary memories. I am about to witness the Auror Commander himself in action. The very man they refer to as a living weapon. The Daily Prophet would make me a rich man for even a snippet of this memory. Stark clears his throat.

"I don't have to impress upon you the classified nature of what you are about to witness. If you do decide, for whatever deluded reason, to share what you see here today, don't bother running. We will find you. He will find you."

I give the gruff Auror a nod, and uncork the vial, letting the memory flow into the swirling matter of the Pensive.

I exhale, and dive in.

"Three. Two. One."

Harry Potter sits astride a broom, accompanied by nine other Aurors. I look down, and immediately wish I hadn't. We are at least thousand feet up in the air.

The Muggles have something similar to this called a HALO jump: high altitude, low opening. Thing is, they do it with parachutes. Aurors don't.

"Engage."

Harry leaps off his broom, wand clasped firmly in hand, with two backups stashed in holsters strapped to his chest and leg.

He plummets towards the earth, robes billowing out behind him.

It takes only seconds for him to reach terminal velocity.

His plummet towards the earth comes with a stony expression. If he is scared to fall through the sky, it doesn't show.

"Arresto Momentum!"

The deceleration is sudden, and the group jolts to a halt three feet above the roof.

Harry motions with his hand, and casts a non-verbal spell.

The roof disintegrates, and all hell breaks loose. But I cannot tear my sight away from the Auror Commander.

He is truly awe-inspiring.

He duels with fluid, deadly purpose. His piercing gaze never leaves his face as he methodically takes down one, two, then a third assailant.

One hand maintains a shield as the other wields his wand, casting bolts of brutal light that blast figures off their feet.

Behind him, his assault team cleans up the mess as their Commander tears through robed figures.

A bolt of green light forces Harry to leap behind cover, but the reprieve in the firefight is brief; with a quick wand movement he slits the throat of the witch who attempted the Killing Curse.

The leader summons a torrent of flame, and with a shout, he engulfs Harry in fire. For a moment, fire is all I can see. But then, Harry calmly walks out of the flames, his body covered in an inky blackness like a shroud. His lips move quickly, and he dispels the chill blackness.

His opponent hesitates, not believing that Harry has done the seemingly impossible. Harry thrusts his wand forwards, and a jet of white fire explodes from the end. The raging white flame engulfs the Death Eater, and this battle is done.

Moments later, Harry swings his wand through the air, dismissing the flames. He makes it look easy.

I ignore the other vials. I have seen what I need to see.

Harry Potter is a topic of frequent conversation in the halls of the MLE. The Aurors talk of him in reverent tones. The young man who is their teacher, their comrade, their Commander.

Now I understand why.

Now I know for certain.

The weapon is real.

A/N: Next chapter is already halfway there, so it hopefully shouldn't be too much of a wait. Until then, adieu.