Chapter 5: Ceremony

The discussion that Harry dreaded having with Hermione on Saturday didn't go quite as he expected. He had been right that she would prod him for as many details as he could provide. As the reality sunk in with Hermione that Harry was responsible for Dagmar's death, she grew quiet in her upset rather than loud. Harry could feel her disconnecting from him. He knew he deserved something for his hand in it, but this didn't feel good at all. When Hermione left earlier than expected, Harry had a very stark feeling that she would need more than just a little time to digest everything. There was a real possibility that she wouldn't be able to reconcile this. Harry might lose her as a friend.

Fear of it seized him for the rest of the day. Harry wished he had anybody else to see. Pansy and Ron were both at work. Harry didn't do well alone with his thoughts, wishing that his self-preservation hadn't kicked in. It was easier to die than to live with the consequences of his actions. Harry heavily entertained the wish of the Earth swallowing him up.

When he considered it long and hard enough, he didn't really want to die. There would be no point on this side of everything. It wouldn't fix what had happened.

Ron made it home before Pansy. He came up to Harry's room, still dressed in his work clothes. He pressed his lips as he leaned against the door frame, studying Harry where he laid on his bed.

"All right?" he asked.

Harry shrugged.

"How'd it go with Hermione?"

"Shitty."

"Did she get mad?"

"No, quiet."

Ron grimaced.

"It's not like any other time." Harry pushed himself up. Since he'd laid down right after showering, his hair was more wild than usual. "I don't think she'll forgive me."

"We'll see." Ron sighed. "Come downstairs. I ran into Pansy on my way out of Diagon Alley. She's grabbing dinner for the three of us."

Harry nodded. He hadn't eaten since the previous morning. He didn't see that trend breaking anytime soon. Gearing up to at least pretend he tried, Harry dressed and headed down to the kitchen.

Ron waited for him there. "Do you want me to talk to Hermione?"

"Nah," Harry said. "She said she needed time to process. I don't wanna push her on it."

"Well, she's gotta be reasonable. It's not like you pointed your wand at Ramstad. It'd be like blaming you for everyone else too."

Harry quietly busied himself pulling a cup down for the tea Ron had started to brew.

"You don't blame yourself for that," Ron said as something between a statement and question. "None of it was your fault except for You-Know-Who. It's like Kingsley said. It was his call for you all to go up there. You'd cleared the place. The Aurors outside got jumped. You had to deal with Bellatrix Lestrange inside, and I bet it wasn't made much easier with Malfoy and Ramstad there. You probably didn't want them to get caught in the crossfire."

"No," Harry replied, not willing yet to admit it was him that cornered Malfoy and Dagmar in their dining room. He had a mental block against them cowering there, as if a shadow covered that part of his vision in the memory.

The fireplace sounded upstairs as Pansy flooed in. She came straight down. After setting a brown bag on the table, Pansy came around to where Harry sat and kissed the top of his head while squeezing his shoulders. "How was your day?"

Harry shrugged. "It was a day."

"Did it go okay with Hermione?"

"Not really, but that's what I expected."

Pansy slunk down more so that she could wrap her arms loosely around Harry's neck. She kissed his cheek next. "That's too bad."

"Yeah."

Harry was still a little awkward about being overly affectionate with Pansy in front of other people, so he was relieved in that aspect she backed off. He felt calmer overall in her and Ron's company, since both had plenty to say after a Saturday workday. Harry much preferred sitting back and listening to them gripe or laugh about something unrelated to all this. He even managed to forget about his lacking appetite enough to mindlessly eat half his dinner. It was a lot more than he'd intended to get down.

Pansy headed upstairs after they ate. Harry followed her to his room and laid down while idly watching her change into something more suitable for lounging. He rubbed his stomach. Even if he'd barely ate, he still felt uncomfortably bloated.

"So, I did a thing today," Pansy said with such a slight pause that Harry almost didn't catch it.

"What's that?"

"It was actually more Madam Malkin's idea." Pansy sat down on the edge of the bed. "She said I could have the next week off if I wanted. I took it."

Harry hesitated. "What did you tell her about what happened?"

"Nothing specific," Pansy quickly clarified. "I just said you were going on leave for a bit, and that I'm worried about you. She said that since we're making good time on the pre-Christmas rush that it was fine. She'll manage."

"You're sure?"

"It's a done deal. Just don't worry about it."

Harry nodded. He didn't have the energy to protest against something so silly, especially when it meant he wouldn't be facing the next week alone.

He was made even happier for that when another owl arrived Monday morning from Kingsley. There would be a private honours ceremony for the Auror office on behalf of the Ministry on Wednesday. Although not required Harry attend it, Kingsley asked him to consider it as a show of respect. Harry couldn't say no on that note, but he dreaded it for what Kingsley closed the letter with: Rufus Scrimgeour would be there, and he wanted to see Harry.

"The Minister?" Pansy's eyes widened when Harry passed her the letter to read. "I guess he wants to congratulate you, or. . .?"

"Don't know what for," Harry grumbled. "I haven't even heard from Dumbledore yet if he's been to Azkaban to talk to Malfoy. So who knows what's going on with Voldemort. That's Scrimgeour for you, though. I've met him before. He's all about looking good."

"Oh really?"

Harry nodded. "After the Ministry admitted that Voldemort was back and Fudge stepped down, Scrimgeour asked me to say I believed that the Ministry under him would be more than capable of handling the Death Eaters. He didn't have anything to say about how. After joining the Order, I knew from Kingsley that there wasn't really anything coming down from that office. Every plan Kingsley had to handle Voldemort was what him and Madam Bones had come up with. Scrimgeour's lucky Voldemort sodded off to find his phylactery instead of bothering with him."

"Hm." Pansy bunched her lips off to one side as she read over the letter again. "Kingsley says you can bring someone."

Amused, Harry couldn't suppress a smile when Pansy raised her eyebrows at him. "I was gonna ask."

"I'm sure."

Although it excited Pansy in the moment for them to attend a function together, that it wasn't exactly going to be a fun one settled in before the two of them got ready to go on Wednesday morning. She dressed in black, while Harry put on his suit. Even though it'd been less than a week since the last time he wore it, it felt more like a month. The ceremony was due to take place in the gathering room down the hall past the Auror office. Harry grew nervous as he and Pansy neared the Auror office's door, since he didn't intend to stop there. However, spotting Dumbledore talking to Kingsley within slowed Harry. He chewed his bottom lip briefly before redirecting Pansy to the office.

It was mostly empty. When Dumbledore and Kingsley spotted Harry, they stopped talking. Dumbledore smiled at Harry in a way that didn't quite reach his eyes. Kingsley nodded in greeting.

"Just, er, wanted to say hi," Harry lamely said. "I didn't realize you were coming, Professor."

"Rufus invited me," Dumbledore replied. "I had a meeting scheduled with him afterward. He thought it acceptable I just arrive early."

"Oh yeah."

"I went to visit Draco yesterday." Dumbledore folded his fingers together in front of him. "Bellatrix told him that Voldemort's phylactery was incomplete."

Harry blinked, his heart skipping a beat. "So. . ."

"He's truly dead."

One of Pansy's hands came to rest on Harry's lower back. With his mind driven to a halt, Harry couldn't think of anything more intelligent to say than, "Oh."

"Indeed," Dumbledore replied.

"So that's it, then."

"It would seem so."

"Is there a point asking how Malfoy is?"

A grimace pulled enough on Dumbledore's face for his beard to shift with it. "Not really."

Harry's mood sunk with that. He didn't expect to hear anything else, but he'd coped with how badly he cocked up by trying not to think about Malfoy.

"Is he going to get stuck there?" Harry asked. "He's innocent, right? He was just going along with everything like he told you he was going to?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Bellatrix brought Voldemort there because of his injuries. They wanted Dagmar to treat him so that they could go out and look for the locket again. You were right when you said it sounded like Bellatrix was disappointed in Louis Gage's memory. Magnus no longer had it."

"But it wasn't finished?" Harry replied. "So why would Voldemort want it back? Just because he liked the locket?"

"I don't know enough about phylacteries or the process of creating them to say an incomplete one wasn't worth something to him. It may have still contained a portion of Voldemort's soul. Incomplete might just mean he's unable to regenerate from it."

"Hm." Maybe if Harry hadn't cocked up, they would have greater access to the wealth of information Bellatrix Lestrange could've provided.

"There was a connection between Voldemort and Dagmar related to the phylactery." Dumbledore lowered his voice as an Auror passed by a few cubicles away for the office exit. "Voldemort used her as collateral against Hildegard to ensure that the phylactery was finished. If Voldemort died, so would Dagmar, as Bellatrix put it."

Harry's stomach fluttered with anger. "Why didn't Hildegard tell me that? She knew I was after Voldemort. She knew who I was."

"Don't know." Kingsley sighed. "Won't know, now. Dumbledore and I tried to speak to Hildegard yesterday after Dumbledore finished with Draco, and she caught on fast that something had happened. She wouldn't answer anything until we told her Dagmar was okay, but we couldn't lie like that. We had to tell her that Dagmar was gone. She won't be answering any questions now."

"What about Mr. Malfoy?"

"News like that travels fast between prisoners. It beat us to his cell. He already knew that Draco was in Azkaban somewhere, so he's clammed right up too."

Harry nodded mindlessly. Mad at Hildegard or not for playing her own part in Dagmar's death, he still felt terrible for her. Harry hoped that the pain of losing a child was one he never personally experienced. He couldn't help but wonder just how many times and how many different ways Hildegard had already imagined his death.

"Anyway, we'll talk more about it on Friday," Dumbledore said while Kingsley glanced at his watch. "This ceremony isn't something to be late to."

As Harry and Pansy fell behind the other two, Harry couldn't help but notice that she'd gone deep into thought. She didn't react to Harry studying her, although seemed to snap out of it when he touched her hand in the hallway.

"All right?" he asked.

"Yeah, just. . ." She shrugged. "We can talk about it later."

However curious, Harry had no choice but to nod for the time being as they came up on the gathering room. There was a quiet din coming from inside, and Harry started to feel his social battery pre-emptively drain. He stayed close to Pansy while looking for a place to sit. Harry veered to the left side of the room when he laid eyes on a long-faced Blaise Zabini in the front row on the right. Although Zabini sat facing the front, his head was turned in Harry's direction as he talked to his neighbour. Harry could only see the back of the other person's head, but he had no reason to expect that Zabini spoke to anyone other than Luca Parasca.

Harry picked a place to sit where he didn't know anybody. He was tempted to join Dumbledore where he sat with Mr. Weasley, but didn't feel much up for conversation. Harry wondered if it would be disrespectful to leave now that he'd made an appearance. If Luca Parasca was here, that meant the other families of the deceased couldn't be far away. Indeed, as Harry looked up at the front rows, he noticed a few kids that he'd seen around Hogwarts but didn't know the names of. Since term was still underway for another week and a half until the Christmas holidays, there was no other reason to leave school early than suffering a loss in the family.

The seats filled up as eleven o'clock neared. Close to the top of the hour, a door at the side of the chamber opened. Rufus Scrimgeour stepped out. Although he didn't do much more than glance at the room's occupants, a hush fell over everyone. Behind Scrimgeour was Madam Bones, Kingsley, and a slew of other high-ranking Ministry officials that Harry didn't know by much more than name and reputation. They formed a line behind Scrimgeour as he took up behind the podium. Scrimgeour lifted his chin and eyebrows at someone at the back of the room, then nodded before the doors were quietly closed.

Scrimgeour had taken some papers with him to the podium, which he flipped idly through while everyone waited on him to start the ceremony. Harry started to feel annoyed when it went on a little long. He didn't like the sense that Scrimgeour was dragging it out on purpose to make a solemn ceremony more emotionally charged than it already was.

"Good morning," he greeted the room in a crisp, carrying voice. "I would like to open this ceremony by acknowledging first of all the present members of the Copeland, Durham, Fulton, Hartford, Parasca, Shipley, and Wallace families. The partner, child, or parent that you grieve made a great sacrifice in the line of duty. This ceremony is intended to honour them, and to acknowledge your losses."

Against his better judgement, Harry looked up through the attendees over to where Luca sat. He wasn't surprised to see Luca's head bowed, a hand over his face, and his shoulders shaking.

Perhaps for the families' sake, Scrimgeour didn't say much else before beginning to invite up whoever had been slated to accept an Order of Merlin on their loved one's behalf. Harry thought he was doing pretty all right until Hartford's wife returned to her seat. His throat tightened up as Scrimgeour prepared to move on.

"Ekaterina Parasca was not in service of the British Ministry for very long, but she brought a multitude of experience with her from her time as Head Auror in the Balkans," Scrimgeour said. "She shared it not only with us in the field, but with our children when she taught as the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor last year at Hogwarts. Thankfully, because she also published books during her retirement, her knowledge isn't fully lost to the tides of time. I'd like to invite her son Luca to accept an Order of Merlin on her behalf."

Harry's tongue ached from the effort of holding a straight face. He hadn't yet had the emotional capacity to acknowledge the void Parasca's death left in his own life. Since they worked together, Harry spent almost more time with her than Pansy. She was his teacher and mentor. If Harry was lost, she either had an answer or knew what question to pose for Harry to get himself back on track. He didn't have that anymore, when he needed it now more than ever.

Luca struggled similarly as he fought to hold himself together while accepting the gold medal with a green ribbon from Kingsley. He clenched his eyes shut as Kingsley clasped his hand and squeezed his shoulder. Whatever Kingsley said to him had Luca nodding but unable to meet Kingsley's gaze. Luca similarly struggled when Scrimgeour took his hand next.

Harry was relieved when Wallace's elderly mother had taken her seat again at the end of the ceremony. Scrimgeour's closing remarks were lost on him. He just wanted this to end. Harry felt better when the people closest to the exit started to stand.

Pansy slipped a hand into Harry's. "Did you want to find somewhere quiet to relax for a minute?"

"It's okay," Harry declined.

He just wished the bereaved families would go. He didn't want to potentially upset them further by going up pre-emptively where Scrimgeour, Kingsley, Madam Bones, and Dumbledore spoke to them. Dumbledore talked to the Hogwarts students among the bunch, managing to make someone that looked like either a first- or second-year smile. Harry ended up dipping out, intent to put some cold water on his face in the men's toilet. He'd hoped that would kill some time, but his insides flushed as Luca and Zabini exited when he neared the gathering room again.

They glanced in Harry's direction, then again. They stopped walking and looked at each other. Harry braced himself as they started his way instead of for the lifts.

"Er. . .hi," he awkwardly greeted them. For all the focus they'd gotten from Harry in his seventh year at Hogwarts, Harry realized then that he didn't actually ever talk to either of them. "Look, erm. . .I'm sorry about your mum."

Luca glumly nodded, his eyes dry and red. He looked exhausted. "Thanks."

"I really liked working with her."

Luca fiddled with the plain, black box in his hands. When he looked up, it was to Zabini.

Zabini quietly sighed. He looked just as tired as Luca, with some puffiness under his eyes. He rubbed them briefly. "Could you do us a favour?"

"Like what?"

"You were there when all this happened, right?" Zabini asked. "Nobody will tell us what's going on with Draco and Dagmar. All we know is that they were involved. Are they okay? Can you just tell us that much, so we can know?"

Harry would've rathered been confronted with the accusation that Parasca was dead because of him. He felt his face grow warm. "Er. . ."

"Please," Luca said quietly. "Just tell us."

Even though Harry wasn't sure it was his place, there wasn't a mystery anymore. They deserved to know so that they could start the grieving process for all the losses they'd sustained this week. "Dagmar died."

Maybe worse than Luca's sharp inhale before he brought a hand to his mouth was Zabini's face falling in slow motion as that news absorbed. His eyes shone, and he swallowed hard. "Draco?"

"He's alive, but I don't know how much I can say about it."

"In bad shape, or. . .?"

"Not hurt or anything. He knows about Dagmar, is all."

"Where is he?" Zabini's voice trembled a little. "Could we see him?"

"He's in Azkaban," Harry said. "I don't know if it's permanent, but he shouldn't be there. Dumbledore is working on getting him out."

Luca started walking away toward the exit. Zabini looked back at him, then to Harry again before taking a step after Luca. His voice was barely a whisper, his tone defeated. "All right. Thanks."

Harry watched Zabini catch up to Luca, touching his lower back before putting an arm around his shoulders.

Pansy was still in the gathering room, chatting with Mr. Weasley. Mr. Weasley gave Harry a strained smile and pulled him into a one-armed hug. "How're you doing?"

Harry shrugged. "Meh."

"Molly was saying we ought to have you all for supper one night." Mr. Weasley kept a tight hand on Harry's shoulder. "You're off work for a little while?"

Harry nodded. "Not sure how long."

"What about Friday after the Order meeting?" Mr. Weasley asked. "Talk to Ron, Hermione, and Viktor, anyway. See if it works for them."

"Er, might not for Hermione and Viktor."

Thankfully, Mr. Weasley just nodded rather than ask why that might be. "Float it by Ron, then."

"Okay. I'll send Hedwig your way later today."

Mr. Weasley clapped his back with a fresh smile. "Have a good rest of the week."

Harry just nodded again. He doubted he would, but he appreciated the sentiment. Mr. Weasley headed for the exit, so Harry led Pansy up to the front of the room. Dumbledore, Kingsley, Madam Bones, and Scrimgeour had all been talking, standing in a circle. They stopped when Harry and Pansy approached. Harry hated feeling like every conversation he interrupted like this had been about him.

"Harry." Scrimgeour was the first one to address him, his hand extended. "Good to see you again."

"Right," Harry replied. It had been a few years, but not long enough for Harry to let go of his reservations.

"Wish the circumstances were different, of course," Scrimgeour said. "And this is. . .?"

"Oh—my girlfriend, Pansy." Harry touched her elbow.

"Charmed," Scrimgeour's face wrinkled when he smiled at Pansy while shaking her hand. "Which family do you belong to?"

"My parents are Rose and Cassius Parkinson," Pansy politely replied.

"Ah, yes. How's your father?"

"He's well," Pansy said without missing a beat.

"Give him my regards next time you see him," Scrimgeour told her before looking around at Kingsley, Madam Bones, and Dumbledore. "Well, shall we go up to my office, then? Harry, you might as well come."

They all headed for the lifts. Pansy pulled Harry aside when Scrimgeour hit the button. "Should I head home, or do you want me to wait here for you?"

Before Harry could reply, Scrimgeour cleared his throat. "You're more than welcome to wait in my office's reception area, Ms. Parkinson."

"Okay," Pansy agreed. "Thank you."

Harry had never been to the top level of the Ministry. It had more offices than he expected it to, and a larger support staff. Percy Weasley was around there somewhere, although Harry didn't see him. Harry nodded in greeting at Ernie Macmillan when their gazes met. Ernie was filing something in one of many cabinets down the hallway toward Scrimgeour's office.

Scrimgeour led them into a conference room. He waved his wand to light it up and invited everyone to sit while he waited to close the door. Kingsley and Madam Bones went around to the other side of the table. Harry followed Dumbledore. Scrimgeour's limp was more obvious to Harry's ear when Scrimgeour passed by behind him on his way to the head of the table.

"We might as well get straight to it," Scrimgeour said after taking his seat. "What did the Malfoy boy have to say for himself, Dumbledore?"

"Plenty." Dumbledore folded his hands on the table. "The most pertinent part being that Voldemort is dead."

Scrimgeour's eyebrows leapt up. "How does he know?"

"He didn't tell me that explicitly, but that Bellatrix Lestrange told him Voldemort's phylactery had not been completed before it was stolen. It was apparently a stroke of luck for Voldemort in 1981 that he only took his Killing Curse on a rebound. When he took it directly on Friday, he had no safeguard."

"So he's gone for good."

"According to our current understanding," Dumbledore said. "When it comes to Voldemort, I'll never say anything is definite."

"But is it more likely?" Scrimgeour pressed. "I assume that's why we're having this meeting, isn't it? If you're unsure, what's the point of telling me anything? Kingsley was there, so the Auror office is caught up. He would've informed Amelia, which brings it to me in a briefing."

"I suppose it's more likely that Voldemort is permanently gone," Dumbledore spoke with a hint of hesitation. "The fact that Voldemort survived after attempting to murder Harry in 1981 could have just given him the illusion of immortality. He was certainly pursuing that. His own arrogance delayed him against achieving it. I imagine he thought that the hard part of dealing with the Potters was done once Peter Pettigrew informed him of their location. He could eliminate the person who he interpreted would someday better him, and then focus solely on completing the phylactery."

Madam Bones leaned forward onto the table, catching Scrimgeour's eye. "There are still dangerous Death Eaters at large. This will be the most perilous time to take after them. Without their leader, they will have nothing to lose. I'm sure we'll confirm if Voldemort is dead along the way."

"Did the Malfoy boy say where the Death Eaters might fall back to after Bergen?" Scrimgeour asked the table. "And who was all present?"

"They were using Fantomøy as a base," Kingsley told him with a glance toward Harry. "I sent Kat and Harry to Trondheim to find Fantomøy back in October. They didn't have any luck."

Harry felt his face grow warm as everyone looked at him. He didn't think he'd be required to actually participate in the meeting. "We looked all through the fjords with Magnus' sister and brother-in-law. Checked all the islands for any sign one of them might be Fantomøy. I also had a thought while up there that it was weird none of the Death Eaters ever saw us. But they could've just been in Paris or wherever at the time."

"There's some sort of illusion spell on Fantomøy." Dumbledore nodded. "Narcissa Malfoy was also on the island. Bellatrix brought her to Bergen. She's hidden under a Fidelius Charm, with Bellatrix as her Secret Keeper. She told Draco that Wesley Nott saw the island differently than she did. I recall mention, Harry—" Harry jolted out of trying to absorb that Mrs. Malfoy and Mr. Nott were involved, "—that there was some sort of shift in Fantomøy's appearance when Magnus first found it, according to Marit."

"Yeah," Harry confirmed. "He'd told her that it looked terrifying, and that he was targeted by the creatures that live on there. After Hildegard rescued him, the island became warm and welcoming. The creatures left him alone."

"It might also be hidden by a Fidelius Charm," Kingsley said. "We already suspected this after Kat and Harry's search came up empty. If Narcissa Malfoy is hidden under one, then they're certainly using the charm to their advantage."

"Narcissa Malfoy," Scrimgeour said her name in a thoughtful tone, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his chin. "So we have Lucius and Draco Malfoy currently in Azkaban. Narcissa's gone and gotten herself involved, has she?"

"Presumably against her will," Dumbledore replied. "I didn't go very much in-depth with Draco yesterday, but that's what he implied."

"Of course he did. She's his mother. You're going to trust the word of some kid whose father avoided Azkaban in 1981 by lying about the Imperius Curse? Whose father eventually ended up in prison anyway? Who housed Voldemort himself and a slew of Death Eaters before seven people died there in an ambush?"

"Eight," Harry said before he could stop himself. "Malfoy's fiancée died too. You think he planned that?"

"I think he was a fool." Scrimgeour raised an eyebrow at Harry, his tone cool. "No one said that being smart was a requirement to be a Death Eater. I doubt he intended that to happen, but I don't know what else he could have expected."

"You're talking about him as if it's confirmed he was a Death Eater," Harry shot back. "He wasn't. You don't know the whole story, and he hasn't even had a trial yet. How can you make assumptions?"

"Fairly easily. Someone has to be held accountable."

"Why him?" Harry's volume rose along with him from his seat. Although Dumbledore, Kingsley, and Madam Bones all looked uncomfortable, Harry didn't care. It felt good to finally have someone to direct all of his anger, frustration, and regret towards. "Just because he's in Azkaban? You think it'll look good for the Ministry to put someone innocent behind bars for the rest of his life? I really wonder who else could be pinned for everything. How about—hm, I don't know—Voldemort?"

"Harry," Dumbledore said.

"No." Harry put a hand up toward him. "I'm not going to sit here and listen to this. Not when Malfoy did everything he could to help us—to help me. They would've never willingly invited Voldemort into their home. Did you even know he was injured? That it was Dagmar who did it? They always said they were gonna go along with whatever Voldemort wanted if it came to that."

"Of course." Scrimgeour shrugged dismissively. "I suppose the end to that decision is what will be up for debate in the trial. If the Malfoy boy knew enough about a connection between his fiancée and Voldemort, then I think it begs the question about how that might have changed their allegiance. You really think the Malfoy boy would've done anything that might bring about her death, Harry?"

Harry clenched his jaw, which gave Dumbledore a chance to interject. "Draco believed he was being followed when not at home. He'd considered writing to tell me what the situation was, but didn't want to risk being caught."

"Why not?" Scrimgeour asked. "It's not like either of them would've seen any harm. Voldemort was injured."

"Bellatrix Lestrange was there," Harry snapped. "You think she cared he's her nephew? She's kept her own sister in captivity."

"Has she, though? You're vouching for Narcissa Malfoy now?" Scrimgeour looked at Dumbledore. "Ever manage to get in contact with your mole? Wesley Nott, was it?"

Dumbledore cleared his throat so quietly Harry could hardly hear it. "No."

"Ran off, did he? Convenient."

"Chased, to be more accurate—"

"I can't believe I'm hearing this," Harry said. "With all due respect, Minister, what do you know about anything? You weren't there. You haven't been there, this whole time. You let us do all the work."

"That's indeed how the Magical Enforcement department differs from the Minister office."

"Harry," Madam Bones spoke up, "we aren't here at the moment to make the case for Draco Malfoy. We all understand that you feel personally responsible about his placement in Azkaban. He'll see his day in court. If he's innocent, he'll go free. We're discussing how to operate moving forward now that we have some sort of confirmation Voldemort may be defeated."

"And why am I here for that?" Harry asked. "I don't know anything. You wanna know about where the Death Eaters might be hiding, then Malfoy's relevant. He's the one who confirmed they were all on Fantomøy."

Scrimgeour started to sound bored at this point. "Yes, how utterly compelling that he would give us such information when backed into a corner."

That touched Harry's limit. He stared at Scrimgeour, seething to the point he couldn't draw words from the hot anger that consumed him. There wasn't even a point. Scrimgeour had an answer for everything. If it was up to Scrimgeour, Malfoy would take his last breath in Azkaban for nothing.

Harry pushed off the table and headed for the exit. There was a buzzing in his ears. He didn't think he slammed the conference room door very hard, but it was enough to make Ernie jump where he stood sifting through some parchment. He looked bewildered when his and Harry's gazes briefly met. "All right?"

Without providing a response, Harry carried on. Pansy sat where he'd left her, her eyes wide as well. She stood as Harry approached, and fell into a brisk walk beside him toward the lifts.

"Hey," she tried, slipping her fingers into his. "What happened?"

Harry just shook his head. When they reached the lifts, he realized he was trembling. Everything that Harry had been trying to keep to himself for the last five days rolled right beneath his surface, and he didn't know how to get rid of it. He just wanted to scream until he ran out of air.

Pansy fell quiet beside Harry. She was nervous, and Harry hated that. He hated being the cause. He despised that it was fear of making her feel unsafe around him that kept Harry from doing anything to make himself feel better.

"I'm sorry," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "I'm not in a good place right now. I won't blame you if you want to go home. I know I'm tiring to be around. I just don't know what to do with myself."

"Are you trying to tell me you want me to go home?"

"No."

At the same time, being alone was the last thing Harry wanted. He needed someone to bleed his frustrations out to, but he refused to let it be Pansy.

She didn't say anything else as they navigated their way down to the Atrium. More people joining them in the lift didn't help, although thankfully they seemed to pick up on the bad air and didn't bother Harry with so much as a nod of acknowledgement. Harry's fleeting thought he might feel better when he got home vanished once he stood in the parlour. He was still left a little out of breath by his anger.

"Still an arse, huh?" Pansy quietly asked.

"You've no idea."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I don't think I can calmly."

"Then don't." Pansy shrugged. "If you're upset, I know it's not at me."

"I don't even know that there's a point." Harry rubbed his eyes. "It won't fix anything. Things are more fucked up than I thought."

"Fucked up how?"

"Scrimgeour's aiming to let Malfoy rot in Azkaban," Harry said. "He doesn't care what's fair. Doesn't care what's right. He already gets to claim that his Ministry is responsible for Voldemort's death, but I guess it's not enough. He was talking like he basically intended to round up all the Malfoys, as if they're some kind of collection. Mr. Malfoy's a git, sure. Now he's got Malfoy in there too. Mrs. Malfoy's been in captivity already, and Scrimgeour thinks the proper thing to do would be to toss her in with her son and ex-husband as soon as she manages to escape. Like seriously, what the fuck?"

"And you're totally sure they're innocent, right?" Pansy asked.

"Well, pretty sure." Harry slipped off his suit jacket and headed for the stairs. "I don't know what's going on with Mrs. Malfoy. Today's the first time I heard she was involved. And Wesley Nott. I guess now we know what that job is he was doing that couldn't be compromised. But if he was willing to work with Dumbledore once he was in the clear on that, and Mrs. Malfoy left that letter for Malfoy before she left—well, I guess she could have tried to cover her tracks. . .but then why did Bellatrix torture the one house elf when Mrs. Malfoy wasn't home?"

"Things are still coming out about it all," Pansy said. "I'm sure Dumbledore had a lot more he wanted to ask Draco than he had time for yesterday. We'll know more by Friday. Do you really think the Ministry could lock him up in Azkaban for nothing?"

"That's the thing, it's all he-said she-said. Scrimgeour doesn't care if I vouch for Malfoy. He doesn't care if Dumbledore does. He's already made up his mind. This wouldn't even be on the table if I had my head on straight after shit hit the fan."

"Well, nobody can blame you for that." Pansy put a hand on Harry's lower back as they rounded the second floor landing. "You'd just killed Voldemort. You saw Dagmar too, didn't you? And then Bellatrix jumping you like that. . ."

"I just feel so stupid. I'm supposed to be an Auror. I don't know how Kingsley holds it together like he does. Not that I blame him, but it was his call we go there. This was pretty much a repeat of how things went with the Ramstads the night Erik died. It was just Erik's daughter this time."

"I guess you don't get to be Head Auror if you can't accept stuff going sideways like that." Pansy sighed. "And—if it helps—you're not an Auror yet. You've only been training for six months. Not even."

"So then why did anyone believe anything I had to say when I was in that state?" Harry asked. "Clearly my head was not on right. Who was I to start making calls about who should be in Azkaban? They should've talked to him first."

"Hopefully on Friday Dumbledore will have more to say about what to do." Pansy closed Harry's bedroom door behind her when they got there. "I know you're frustrated. I know it drives you crazy. But just hold on, okay? There are always things you can do. Yes, maybe Scrimgeour can claim that You-Know-Who died because he was the one running the Ministry. If he wants to play a game of status, you're going to be remembered as the one that actually did it. People won't care about how exactly he was twiddling his thumbs when everything went down. They'll care more about your experience and your thoughts. You could always get someone like Rita Skeeter. She wrote that article for you back in fifth year. Maybe she'll do it again. If the Ministry is going to stack the court, then take it to the court of public opinion."

"Yeah, maybe," Harry mumbled. "I just don't want to air everything out like that, you know? It's a gamble on whether or not it would help."

"You don't have to make a public case for Draco's innocence. You just have to demand he get fair treatment." Pansy pulled off her heels. "Might not hurt to ask Scrimgeour to recuse himself."

"I don't think he's on the Council of Magical Law."

"Oh, that's good, then. Public attention that he's willing to throw anyone in Azkaban if they fit a certain profile could stop him from trying to convince Council members to act on his behalf. Still makes him look bad, especially since he appoints members of the Council."

Harry mulled it over as he undid his belt. "I dunno. I guess we'll see what Dumbledore says Friday. He wasn't saying a whole lot today with Scrimgeour, but. . .I dunno. You kinda have to come at Scrimgeour from a certain way."

Harry felt a twinge of regret for his outburst. Dumbledore had tried to cool him back down, but nothing could touch Harry's anger in that moment. What if Harry had only made things worse by putting Scrimgeour in a position where he either had to admit to an eighteen year old he didn't know as much about the situation, or double down?

"I'm so tired of cocking up," Harry said with a sigh. "I don't even know why Scrimgeour wanted me there today. I shouldn't have sat in that meeting. If he wanted my opinion, he got it. Maybe he thought I'd give him what he needed to skip a trial for Malfoy."

"Maybe." Pansy stopped Harry from undressing by putting her arms around his middle. "Try not to worry too much, all right? Scrimgeour can't do whatever he wants. Dumbledore's working for Draco. Kingsley's Dumbledore's man, and he's the Head Auror. He was also the only other witness to events, along with you. Madam Bones is tough, but only if it's warranted."

Harry nodded against the top of Pansy's head. "I know she is. I owe it to her for not getting tangled up with the Wizengamot when I got busted using magic summer before fifth year."

"I forgot I heard about that from Draco." Pansy chuckled. "What a joke, huh?"

"Yeah." Harry managed a small smile.

As they stood there together, Harry felt what remained of his anger bleed away. He was a little surprised by it, considering how bad it had been before leaving the Ministry. Being away from Scrimgeour certainly helped, as well as being aware of just what Harry was up against in trying to find whatever sliver of justice he might afford Malfoy.

He wasn't angry anymore, but all that energy still remained. Harry pursed his lips, hands slowing as they rubbed Pansy's back. She met his gaze when he unzipped the back of her dress, searching. Harry answered her unspoken question by the deliberate way he took her lips with his.

Sex had been the furthest thing away from Harry's mind in the last week. As soon as he landed on it as a means to clear his head, Harry felt the weight of having gone without through so much emotional turmoil. It didn't hurt that Pansy had unintentionally matched her undergarments to the black dress she wore to the Ministry. It turned out that Harry was a sucker for stockings. He left them on her when he had her on the bed.

Pansy chuckled breathlessly near Harry's ear as he nibbled on her neck. She pushed on his shoulder, forcing Harry to pull back enough to meet her gaze again. With a smile, she started unbuttoning Harry's shirt. "We're not going to get very far if you're still dressed."

"Guess not." Harry had to hold himself at bay from tilting his neck down to kiss her again. "I've missed this, is all. Missed feeling in the mood for it."

"Yeah." Pansy's smile shrunk. "I hope you've realized I don't take that personally. It's like you told me. When you've got stuff going on that makes you feel bad, it affects that. I've just been following your lead, trying to be here for you."

"I appreciate it." A fresh wave of guilt visited Harry. "I know I've been distracted. I don't mean to ignore you, or anything."

"You haven't," Pansy reassured him. "These aren't normal times. Believe me, you'd hear about it if I felt neglected."

"I'd rather it didn't come to that point."

Pansy's expression softened. "See, that's what's normal for you."

As much as Harry didn't want to interrupt Pansy working on his shirt, he deemed it more important to snog. Fingers in his hair was just as nice as skin contact, as was a heel hooked on his waist. Harry went with it, feeling pliant when Pansy nudged his shoulder the way she did when she wanted to swap places with him. He folded one arm behind his head, trailing his free hand's fingers over Pansy's stockings as she straddled him.

The energy Harry intended to burn off seemed to make itself scarce as things progressed. It became more important to him to feel close to Pansy. He kept his arms around her as she rode him, and then sought a balance between sweet and intense when Pansy's legs grew tired and they switched positions again. Harry had to focus more than he would've liked to on not finishing too quickly.

That got a lot easier when Pansy stiffened, gasped, and pushed on Harry's shoulder. "Stop, stop—hold on."

Confused and a little alarmed, Harry pulled out. "What?"

"Did you take any Natalise Potion this morning?" she asked.

"Er. . ." Harry's cheeks warmed. "I didn't expect us to—shit, sorry. I didn't even think about it."

"Me neither." Pansy's eyes were wide. "I didn't bother while you were gone, then—yeah."

"Are you okay to keep going if I get some?"

"Yeah, just. . ." Pansy sighed, visibly relaxing. "Glad it occurred to me now instead of later."

"No kidding."

Harry rested his head on Pansy's shoulder while they shared a brief laugh. He kissed her before pushing himself off. By the time he returned from a quick nip down the hallway to where they kept their Natalise Potion in the toilet's mirror cabinet, Pansy had pulled the blanket over her.

"Sorry to break the mood," she said when Harry rejoined her.

"Nah."

It was still very much there for Harry, even if the flow had been interrupted. Falling back into a snog was easy enough. As soon as Pansy slid a leg over Harry's waist, he slipped a hand in-between them. Pansy took over when Harry rolled back on top of her. A tremble, moan, and carnal squeeze was more along the lines of what Harry wanted Pansy to get out of this.

He felt pleasantly drained afterward. Calmness blanketed Harry over, doubly so when Pansy held his head against her chest and idly ran her nails over his scalp. She occasionally pressed a kiss to his hair. Harry buried his face deeper between her breasts.

"I guess we ought to go back to our old Natalise schedule," Pansy said a little while later. "Let's not let an oops be how that discussion comes around."

"Yeah." Harry paused. "I actually haven't thought about it."

"Having kids?"

"Wasn't sure I'd live long enough to."

Pansy nodded slowly, her arms tightening a little more around Harry. "Right."

"You'd said once you want them, didn't you?"

"Eventually."

Harry mindlessly traced out the curve of Pansy's waist. He probably needed time to think about it before he could say with complete certainty, but at first instinct it was something he'd also like. Despite that and how deeply Harry had come to care about Pansy, it was a little weird to think about doing that with her. They were both so young. Even though they were committed to each other, Harry didn't have a gauge on how serious that meant they were. Now that Harry didn't have the constant threat of Voldemort hovering over him, he had the freedom to really start thinking what his life might consist of.

"We don't have to talk about it if we're not at that point," Pansy said. "I'm still enjoying just letting it go where it goes."

"Me too," Harry agreed. "It's worked well for us so far, hasn't it?"

"I'd say so."

Harry lifted his head with that to steal a kiss. Pansy studied him afterward, her smile growing in warmth. She seemed nervous despite the soft gaze.

"I do love you, though," she said.

"Oh really?"

Maybe because Harry sounded so surprised, Pansy snorted. Her cheeks glowed with heat. "Mhm."

Harry ran his bottom lip between his teeth. "I don't mean to be awkward. I think I feel the same and all, but I've never said that to someone."

"Not even—?" Pansy stopped herself there with pressed lips.

"Well, once," Harry hedged. He'd said it to Aunt Petunia when he was about preschool age because she and Dudley had said it to each other. All Aunt Petunia responded with was telling Harry to eat his breakfast.

"You don't have to say it," Pansy told him. "I can tell what you think about me by the way you act."

That was all well and good, but Harry wrinkled his nose. Up until a week and a half ago, he hadn't been sure how long he might live. He'd never planned for anything in his life beyond becoming an Auror. Training for that put Harry through the type of preparation he figured he'd need to best Voldemort. If he could bring justice in the meantime to people that hurt the innocent, all the better. Harry's life was a blank slate now. Voldemort was gone. With this new level of freedom, was Harry going to let himself stay at arm's length to minimize the impact of his potential death? Or was he going to appreciate that he had someone to tell he loved them? How much would Malfoy give to tell Dagmar that one more time? Or Luca, to his mum?

"I love you." Regardless, the words were very foreign to Harry's tongue. "Sorry, I know it doesn't sound natural. I'm not used to it."

"Feel free to practice on me."

Harry chuckled. Maybe saying that was strange, but squeezing Pansy before kissing the side of her head was the easiest thing in the world. "Sure."