Looking out at the cold fog moving glacially across the yard, Harry Potter brought a mug of black coffee up to his lips, leaning forward on his elbows at his kitchen table. Steam from the drink obscured his sight, making it seem momentarily as though the morning fog from outside had crept in through the locked window and into his home. He sat back, removing his glasses to wipe them clear on the front of his robes before taking up the coffee in his hands again.
Before him atop the barren table sat an urn of onyx stone, which shone with a blue caste from the whitebalance of the morning light through the window. Harry's eyes moved to it slowly, and with another sigh he set the mug down once again. The urn was a sphere carved on a stout cylindrical base, the top lid set snugly and inlaid with a single feather carved of pale gray moonstone. He stared at it now, tilting his head slightly and narrowing his eyes. It had been Ginny's idea to add the feather when he'd had it made. He agreed it to be a good idea, but had warred with himself over whether to have it made of white marble, or a pale gray gem. Her feathers, or her eyes?
This was actually the second urn he had made for Sharlen's ashes. The original had been carved of howlite stone, as bright white as her owl Animagus form and the snow she loved so much, with streaks and cracks of pale gray throughout so he could remember the hue of her eyes. After a couple years, Harry had to switch to the onyx instead. The howlite reminded him too vividly of her, and he could no longer stand thinking she was there each time he walked into the room and caught a glimpse of it in his periphery.
The sounds of Ginny's footsteps descending the stairs pulled him back from his reverie. He took up the coffee once more for another sip, mildly startled to find it no longer hot enough to steam. How much time had passed since he last touched it?
Ginny approached from behind and leaned down, wrapping her arms around his chest loosely and giving him a brief squeeze. They both looked at the urn for several seconds. Ginny turned her head to kiss his cheek, and Harry squeezed her bicep affectionately.
She adjusted to straighten slightly, resting her hands on his shoulders. "Looks awfully cold out for May second this year," she said gently, her gaze now looking out to the fog. The blue of the morning was starting to acquiesce into a golden orange as the rising sun reached the horizon. With a wave of her wand, Ginny made his coffee hot enough to steam again.
Harry chuckled a little and thanked her for the coffee. "She always did like the cold," he muttered, taking another sip. "Don't worry, it'll warm up."
"Does she seem at peace today?" Ginny asked, sitting beside him in an adjacent chair. She lightly traced the feather with her fingertips, her expression soft and somewhat far away. Harry reached forward and took her free hand briefly, one side of his mouth curled up in a weak grin, and stood from the table. He took up the onyx urn of Sharlen's ashes and turned to bring it back to its home on the fireplace mantle in the adjacent living room.
As he walked over, the memory of Sharlen's last words to him when she appeared as a ghost in the Forbidden Forest flooded his senses, his mind full of her voice, her grateful face. "I believe she found peace, yes," he answered Ginny.
He set the urn down in the center. On one side of it, stacked on top of each other, were the two little black books he and Sharlen used to use to communicate. On the other stood his leather-bound, hardcover copy of Hermione's biography of Sharlen's short life, propped up at an angle in a woodblock stand—the first copy ever sold. The silverleaf title, Behind Enemy Lines: The Brief Life of Sharlen Down and The Fall of The Dark Lord, shone brightly from the bay window light.
This was the one day a year he found himself powerless to stay fully present—the anniversary of her death, the anniversary of the day they vanquished Voldemort at the Battle of Hogwarts. Ginny had long since given up recommending that he take this day off of work. He preferred to stay busy, to seek the company of others who revered and remembered her. This morning was the tenth anniversary, somehow.
Hermione started drafting the book almost immediately in the aftermath of the battle. Ron had complained that she couldn't accept that they were done with school and just rest for once, which had sent her into a panic as she remembered that she had not yet graduated. She spent weekends interviewing whoever she could for the book while studying for her seventh year at Hogwarts, while Ron and Harry began working as Aurors for the Ministry.
Hermione left no stone unturned in her investigation while writing the book, sourcing her information largely from Narcissa and Draco Malfoy, two of the exorbitantly few people in the world who had any insight into Sharlen's very hidden and uneventful first 17 years of life. Kingsley, along with a few other aurors, were able to provide thorough accounts of Sharlen's experience and contribution to the Ministry during her summer with them. She never said it out loud, but it was clear to Harry and Ron how much Hermione regretted that some of her greatest sources would have all been people that had not survived the war, including Moody, Lupin, Tonks, and Snape.
While his name had not made the subtitle, the book was also very much about the secret life of Severus Snape. A great deal of information had also been uncovered on Snape and his life with Sharlen through the eyes of his mother, Eileen Prince. She still lived on Spinner's End in Cokeworth, just a few doors down from the home Snape and Sharlen had shared until the end of their lives. Eileen had helped him to take care of Sharlen from infancy until she was around four, when she was starting to form memories and show signs of magical ability. Snape cut his mother off from contact with her at that point, for fear of endangering her by involving her too much in the life of the Dark Lord's daughter.
"He resented me for his upbringing, no doubt," Eileen had told Hermione feebly in their third interview session. She was in her eighties by that point, and in very poor physical health. "I was just glad to be able to do something for him later in life. I like to think maybe it wasn't too late." The most involvement she had with Sharlen after age four was to provide meals secretly when Snape could not be home with her.
Visuals in the book were scarce, as Sharlen had barely ever existed publicly. A few scans of her black book outlining visions from the war that had come to pass showed up in a few chapters, as well as the letters she kept in the back from Harry, Stacy, and Mrs. Weasley. Anti-Muggle propaganda fliers and articles were most prominent, to illustrate and document the height of the war during Sharlen's espionage. Hermione had also hunted down photos from The Daily Prophet of Rufus Scrimgeour flanked by Kingsley and Sharlen, though her face was turned away and obscured by her cloak hood in each of them. Only one identifiable picture of Sharlen existed in the world, and it moved slowly on the cover of the book. It had been taken from between two drawn shades in the building next to the Hog's Head inn by a neighbor alerted by the Caterwauling Charm and subsequent commotion on the night of the Battle of Hogwarts. It showed Sharlen on the last night of her life, standing tall between Aberforth and a crowd of Death Eaters in Hogsmeade.
Harry had seen it so many times and his feelings on it were mixed to this day. From a tragic-hero perspective, it was a perfect picture: a battered young witch, her stance and expression firm, seemingly guarding the last of Albus Dumbledore's kin against some of her father's most faithful Death Eaters. But while seeing her from this angle rather than from where he, Ron, and Hermione stood hidden in the second floor of the Hog's Head that night—seeing her at all—did captivate him, he wished any other likeness of her existed that didn't highlight how severely she had put herself in harm's way to help him. Her ruined eye and bruised ribs faced the camera, the Dark Mark barely visibly in the twist of her forearm, her scarred left shoulder stark in the black and white image.
Harry stayed there a moment, his eyes moving from the book's cover out the window where the lifting fog was allowing some remnant of the village Ottery St Catchpole to finally be seen. He and Ginny bought a house in Devon to stay close to the Weasley's Burrow, the Lovegoods, the Diggorys, and the Fawcetts, though their home was markedly closer to town. The two of them would go up to the Burrow regularly, including every Sunday for supper where Ron and Hermione would join them. He used to reread the book every year at the beginning of May, driven to immerse himself as though tempted by a gleaming Pensieve, but a few years back he realized it had grown detrimental. That he had to live in this present world they fought so hard for—that doing so would be a better testament to her memory.
This day wasn't just for Sharlen, though she was paramount in his mind. This day was for Fred, Lupin, Tonks, and Snape as well. Each year they'd all gather at the Burrow for a small vigil and toast before sharing a meal together and telling stories of those they'd lost in an attempt to keep their memories strong.
Harry went back over to Ginny, who was at the stove pouring her own coffee into an insulated mug to take with her. Harry folded his arms around her stomach from behind and pressed his forehead against the back of her neck. "You're telling them today, yes?" he asked.
Ginny turned her head to the side to glance back at him, grinning. She brought a hand up to squeeze his wrist over her stomach and said, "Yes. I probably can get through to August before I leave."
"That far along? I don't love the idea of you dodging Bludgers on a broom while six months pregnant," Harry muttered against her neck, giving her a quick kiss. Ginny turned to face him, leaning her hands back on the counter.
"Oh, are you a doctor now?" Ginny said with a little sneer, smirking up at him. "Because my doctor seems quite unconcerned. There are spells for that you know, and I am quite essential."
"You are," he said softly, playfully. "I've no doubt the Holyhead Harpies will be absolute rubbish without you."
"And I'll write all about it as a correspondent for the Prophet now that Hermione's cleaned them up," she laughed, giving him a quick kiss. She stood up straighter and grabbed her coffee to walk away back up the stairs and finish getting ready, one of Harry's hands trailing across her stomach and hip as she went. Today marked twelve weeks, and there was no physical sign of her pregnancy yet. Harry walked back to stand at the kitchen table, finishing his coffee and staring out the window once more before eventually rinsing out his mug and joining her upstairs.
Up in their room, he went to the closet and reached past Sharlen's folded Weasley sweater on the top shelf for a new button-down shirt, allowing the side of his hand to brush against the knit before he pulled away.
The two finished dressing and gathered their things to leave for the day, Ginny in her green and gold Holyhead Harpies athleisure and a duffle of her Quidditch robes over her shoulder and Harry securing his Ministry robes and badge over his chest. He watched Ginny curve her spine to lace her boots absentmindedly, a vivid memory of Sharlen standing on the outskirts of the Burrow's enchantments flooding his mind's eye. The choking pressure of his heart in his throat at the sight of her, the surge of fury, the gleam of the Auror intern badge on her thin chest. The fear in her eyes when he appeared before her beyond the enchantments, the fluttering sound that escaped her as she fought for composure before Scrimgeour.
"Hey you," came Ginny's voice again, breaking the memory's grip on him. Harry shook his head a little and widened his eyes as he focused back on her. Her head was cocked to the side slightly, watching him watch her. "Why are you frowning at me like that?"
"I'm sorry," Harry said quietly. "I wasn't aware I was doing it."
Ginny stood from the end of the bed with a soft smile, took his hand, and led him back downstairs. Harry walked her to the door and opened it for her; her teammate Grace also lived in town, so they always met up to go to work together.
"I am sorry I'm off today," Harry said again, keeping hold of her hand as she stepped outside the door frame.
"You know I understand," Ginny said softly, kissing his forehead. She swept away down the lane, calling back over her shoulder, "You have all day to live in the past and tomorrow you go back to being obsessed with me 24/7."
Harry laughed and watched as she disappeared around the corner, shaking his head before he set off to work as well via Floo Network.
XXXXXXXXX
Once he emerged, he moved quickly to stand by the Fountain of Magical Brethren to wait for Ron and Hermione to arrive. He checked his watch only once (a new record), looking up in amusement when he heard their tell-tale squabbling.
"Honestly Ron, I swear if you try to open even one more door for me…" Hermione was tutting as she stalked toward Harry, securing her robes around her shoulders as she went. Her growing stomach peaked out between them, no longer able to be hidden away. "You look ridiculous insisting on treating me like a porcelain doll while not letting me carry a single thing."
Ron did indeed look laden in her wake, his own Ministry robes tucked over an arm while each shoulder carried one of their bags. Harry discerned that Hermione's was the one bulging at the seams with books and folders. Ron rolled his eyes at her back. "If you would just accept that you're carrying new life and let me help you—"
"I assure you I am acutely aware that I'm carrying new life, and I'm able to get by just fine on my own, thank you very much," Hermione snapped back as they approached Harry, turning on her heel to face her husband and reach for the strap of her bag. "I don't need you to do every little thing—"
Ron gave a wolfish grin and held her there for a second, saying quietly, "I don't insist because you need it, I insist because I love you."
A blush crept into Hermione's cheeks as she coyly averted her gaze long enough for Ron to kiss her forehead. Harry grinned at the pair of them as Ron allowed Hermione to take up her bag, clearly overladen with large texts, and turn to Harry so they all finally faced each other. Behind her back, Harry saw Ron use Wingardium Leviosa to levitate the strap a few inches off of her shoulder.
"Alright Harry?" Hermione asked him, clearly wanting very much to change the subject.
Harry nodded with a close-lipped smile. "Tough day," he answered, clearing his throat, "but it will pass."
"I can't believe it's been ten years already," Ron said, shaking his head at the floor. He still had not donned his Ministry robes.
"We'll talk all about it tonight, but I've got to go, I'll be late for a hearing," Hermione said, checking her own watch and starting to walk away. She turned to face them, walking backwards toward the lifts as she called back, "Don't you two be late to the Burrow tonight, you know how Molly gets about May 2!"
"Face forward!" Ron hollered after her, sighing as she rolled her eyes at him, waved him off, and swept into the nearest lift with a dozen others. "I swear, this woman would jump off a cliff just to prove she can do anything while pregnant," he muttered to Harry, amused. "Imagine that, the love of my life, annoyed I'm carrying a library around for her after she finally agrees her career is stable enough to grant me the gift of children."
"I think she's a bad influence on Ginny," Harry responded as they started off toward the Auror Headquarters. "You know she's got it in her head she'll still be on a broomstick in August?"
"Mental, both of them!" Ron shouted.
The two lamented playfully about their pregnant wives all the way to the large mahogany doors of the main Auror office, where Harry was almost immediately bombarded by Stuart McKinley, an intern who was in Hufflepuff a few years behind Harry and Ron, and Riya Patil, the older and much more serious cousin of the Patil twins. Harry and Ron much preferred Riya, who seemed as though she never would have been miffed about not being danced with at the Yule Ball, having little to no natural expectations of other human beings. The walls of the Auror office, once covered nearly floor to ceiling with wanted posters of Death Eaters, were decidedly bare in comparison as they worked to maintain peace.
"Harry," Riya called flatly, her lips pursed and wide eyes unmoving, "Kingsley's looking for you. Another transfer from Dawlish." Stuart came to a stop by her side, always looking a little too cheerful to be at work, especially in contrast to Riya's signature under-expressive state.
"Right, I'll start there then," he responded, nodding to her and Ron and side-stepping the group.
"And both of you tell your wives we're going out tonight, they both owe me a pint and I'm not waiting a second longer for them," Riya muttered deadpan.
"They're both pregnant," Ron reminded her with a laugh, "and it's May 2."
Riya's eyes dropped down to her wrist watch for a moment, which showed the placement of the moon, sun, and stars. Riya could read the sky as though it were written for her in the Roman alphabet. In seconds, she had looked back up at Ron, said, "Tomorrow, then. Let them know," and started back on her way out of the office with Stuart in tow. No further explanation was ever needed beyond the calendar date. Everyone knew their plans for this day were secured.
"Imagine if we'd had her to copy from for Astronomy homework…" Ron muttered to Harry before the two parted ways.
Harry followed the lined hall of offices of the Head Aurors, watching the framed photos on the left side as he walked to Kingsley's office. All mismatched sizes, photos of Alastor Moody, Sharlen, and Nymphadora Tonks hung side by side amongst the rest—Aurors who had given extraordinary service to the Ministry. A frowning Moody stood with arms crossed and wand in hand on the left side, his magical eye zooming endlessly around the frame. On the right, Tonks winked at him while demonstrating evasive spell maneuvers in the training room to a pack of interns. In the center was the same single photo of Sharlen, this time looking from Aberforth back to the Death Eaters as the groups argued.
Harry continued past them, rapped his knuckles twice on Kingsley's closed door at the end of the hall, and entered the office. "Morning Minister," he greeted him with a grin. Kingsley shook his head with a smirk, standing to shake Harry's hand.
"So formal, Potter," Kingsley's deep voice replied. He looked tired but overall pleasant.
"Just strange to have the Minister of Magic tucked into a broom closet in the Auror office, but if you didn't like the lavish suite, to each their own," Harry said sarcastically.
"Can I help it if this is where I feel safest and most needed?" Kingsley asked. "What do you think of the place? Not bad for a broom closet."
Harry looked around the office and shrugged to tease him. They laughed again, Kingsley sitting back down and sliding a piece of parchment over his desk toward Harry. It bore his signature as Minister of Magic. "I need a favor," he said, changing his tone and dropping his voice a little quieter. "Not much longer now until Dawlish officially transitions, but in the meantime I need you to take over Malfoy."
"What's he done?" Harry asked incredulously. Draco and his wife Astoria had both transitioned from their families' pure-blood mentalities to be more tolerant and accepting, from what little Harry knew, but all the old Death Eaters who had defected were still under watch by the Aurors.
"Nothing yet, hopefully nothing ever, but he's still considered high profile for the time being," Kingsley responded. "Look, he's first on my list to have his record expunged when this new ruling passes, but for now I need him transferred to your lineup. You don't need to engage outright."
Harry agreed with little resistance and reached down to sign his own name on the transfer. He didn't care much for the idea of remembering Draco existed, let alone seeing him so close to the anniversary.
Setting down the quill, he took up the parchment and looked around the rest of the office, his eyes locking right above where the desk met the wall. The same picture of Sharlen from the cover of the book hung in Kingsley's office, right by his desk. Kingsley's soft spot for Sharlen was immense, having worked so closely with her. Harry glanced at it a few seconds too long, causing Kingsley to notice. In the photo, Sharlen was looking at him dead-on now, pale eyes locked on his, before turning to glare at Rowle again. Kingsley cleared his throat and said, "Thank you Harry. Sundown at the Burrow, right?"
"That's right," Harry said with a nod. "As always."
Kingsley inclined his head forward with a small smirk as Harry left the office to find Dawlish. As he walked through the front room past the desks, he caught Dawlish's eye and jerked his head to his desk, motioning for the older man to join him.
Harry took a seat and set the papers from Kingsley before him as Dawlish came over. Over the years, Dawlish had developed something of a bad tremor in his hands from being on the receiving end of a bad jinx. It wasn't constant, but happened often enough that he was considering retiring from the force and transferring departments; his wand work just wasn't what it used to be. "Taking over the Malfoy account, Potter?"
"Yes, I'll be by there tomorrow," Harry answered, sliding the papers to the edge of his desk where Dawlish came to a stop.
"Good man. Little joy for you, I'm sure," Dawlish said gruffly, reaching across the desk for the quill so he could sign off on the transfer.
Dawlish gave a great, "Oh!" and a curse of surprise as he accidentally toppled the jar of ink on the desk while reaching to quill his signature on the order. Harry stood quickly to move out of the way, watching the black ink creep slowly across the wood, suddenly breathing very hard.
As Dawlish apologized in his muted grumbles, Harry's mind was far away, walking through the dark trees of the Forbidden Forest to reach the clearing where Voldemort and his followers waited for him. As he came around the trees, the first thing he saw was Voldemort seething, his slitted eyes still wide with shock. The second thing he saw was Sharlen, laying on her back at her father's feet, her gray eyes wide and empty as they stared forever up at the sky, black ink spreading out from her body across the leaves, a massive hole inside her still heavily dripping black into the earth…
A firm hand grasped Harry's shoulder and shook him back into the present Auror office. He looked up quickly to see Ron's expression of muted concern just as he waved his wand to vanish the ink back into its bottle. Harry took a deep, steadying breath and reached up to gently remove his friend's hand from his shoulder, giving him a single nod to answer his unasked question.
"Sorry, Potter, these damn hands…" Dawlish muttered, scribbling a minimal signature across the parchment and setting the quill down instead of trying to return it to the bottle.
"You're grand," Harry told him, taking a step back. "I need some air, Ron, I'll be back."
Harry swept out of the Auror office and down the hall to the courtrooms, listening in at the doors until he found an empty one and rushed inside. His slowing footsteps echoed as he came into the center of the room, looking around the empty stadium seats as he sat down in the chair in the center made to hold the accused. He put his elbows on his knees and hung his head, closing his eyes.
Every year this happened. Every year on this day, the memories became so vivid, and he was torn on whether to chase them or try to bury them. It warred within him, and even now all he wanted was to sit with this feeling that had resurfaced, this almost tangible memory of seeing her body on the forest floor, how he dragged his eyes from the sight of her to meet Voldemort's gaze again fueled by nothing but relief, relief that he would be with her and his mother again soon.
Harry removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, frowning. It was a horrible thing to think, now. To remember with longing, even a glimpse of longing, but it happened every year for moments long or brief. But when it had happened, it had been genuine. He really was prepared to die, and the idea of joining her really was all it took to give him the strength to stand before Voldemort and take the Killing Curse without flinching.
He went through the motions of talking himself down from it. That feeling had nothing to do with Ginny. He loved her now and he loved her back then. He was overcome with joy that they were starting a family together. This feeling of relief to be able to join Sharlen in death had always been about his survivor's guilt. He'd had so many conversations with Death in his mind over the years, asking why he had let her go and made him stay. But Harry had made his choice to return to everyone, to stay and finish the fight. Had Sharlen been given the same choice?
No, he'd reasoned many times. Her suicide had broken her body. He knew if she'd had the choice to return, she wouldn't have hesitated for even a moment. Lupin had recorded it before his death, the interaction with her ghost Merope that had haunted him since that night on the bridge: "Sharlen is not long for this world. Soon we will both be free. Death will be merciful to her, almost as an equal."
Harry stood and placed his glasses back on the bridge of his nose, the courtroom swimming back into view. All there was to do was feel gratitude for the life he'd been able to create since, to honor her sacrifices. Harry walked back to the Auror office slowly, reflecting on that.
When Hermione first told him she was writing a book about Sharlen, his initial reaction was anger. It was too soon, the loss was too fresh, insurmountable. He didn't want her seen as some great martyr or an abomination, or, perhaps worse, to open up her existence to the public eye to be potentially misconstrued in any way. He didn't want to have to answer questions about her over and over—he wanted to forget, to pretend she had been imaginary, that it had all been a long dream that he could wake from. But Hermione helped him to see, in all she collected to compile the book, that this would be a testament to all she did, to the life she should have had after the war, to what they can all never repay. That it was okay to remember her, and miss her. That they should remember her and miss her forever, despite the pain. That they should be grateful. That everyone should know all she'd done for them.
That had struck a loud chord in him. He said those words to Sharlen himself their last night together, when he was trying to convince her to follow them into the tunnel to Hogwarts from the Hog's Head Inn. She had been afraid to face more scrutiny, to waste time knowing how hated she was. He decided then and there he would help Hermione correct all perceptions of her.
As far as it mattered to the trio, they'd succeeded. Throughout all of the wizarding world, the book had sold well and Sharlen Down was posthumously almost as well-known as Harry himself. Hermione's over-eager publisher had hounded her for years about allowing some type of merchandizing or franchising, but for Harry's sake (and the fact that she viewed her book as a historical document), she had outright refused.
The rest of his day went by uneventfully as he attended two trials and accompanied Kingsley to the Muggle Prime Minister to deliver the monthly update on the state of the wizarding world. Hermione was strangely too busy to join him and Ron for lunch, saying she would meet them at the Burrow later.
"What's gotten into her…?" Ron was complaining out loud to himself as they passed the statue of the Magical Brethren on their way out of work at the end of the day. A courier from The Daily Prophet was still handing out the last of the day's issues, and even for the early evening hour, the pile was surprisingly low. Harry recognized him as Stan Shunpike's nephew Liam and tuned in to what he was saying as he and Ron passed, understanding why so few copies remained: "Don't miss the cover story, 'A Decade Without The Dark Lord!' Ten years today folks, a day of remembrance for the Second Wizarding War!"
Harry stopped before him and took the copy in his hands. "Don't worry Harry," the teen said with a knowing smile, "It's not all about you." Harry gave him a close-lipped grin; the boy knew well how Harry generally avoided any paper with him on page one. He ran his eyes over the front page where myriad photos faced him, including the wreckage of Hogwarts castle; an old shot of Dumbledore's Army in the Room of Requirement; the "golden trio" staring back at him warily the morning of May 2, 1998; the mugshots of several Death Eaters; and that too-familiar photo of Sharlen outside the Hog's Head Inn with the caption: "Sharlen Down, the Dark Lord's daughter, guarding Aberforth Dumbledore from Death Eaters on the night of the Battle of Hogwarts."
He couldn't help but shake his head. "Thanks Liam. I'll read it later," Harry told him with a little wave, setting off with Ron toward the fireplaces again.
XXXXXX
When Harry arrived in the Weasley's fireplace at the Burrow behind Ron, he squinted as he stepped out to see his friend already being mauled by his mother with a damp cloth. "I asked you boys to Apparate did I not, I haven't had time to clean the grate!" Molly Weasley fretted as she clung to Ron, holding him still while he craned his face away from her aggressive swiping.
"Get off, mum, we'll wash off upstairs!" Ron growled, finally escaping her. Harry leaned down to give Mrs. Weasley a kiss on the cheek before following Ron up to the second landing to rid themselves of soot. Mrs. Weasley busied herself siphoning the ash and dirt away from the fireplace with her wand, muttering to herself that others may opt for Floo tonight as well despite her instructions.
As the men came back downstairs, they heard the roar of Hagrid's motorcycle bang and stutter to a halt in the yard. Mr. Weasley, Percy, and George were already present, having just come home from work. Harry shook their hands as Hagrid burst through the door, stooping low to enter the home with his goggles still secured over his eyes. "'Allo, all," he boomed, closing the door a bit more gently—an unspoken apology. "'Appy Remembrance Day."
The group of them said their hellos to Hagrid as he clapped Harry too hard on the shoulder with a massive hand. "Sorry I had to leave Grawp at home this year, he wasn't feelin' well enough ter travel tonight."
The group politely murmured that that was okay and he would be missed, the look of relief on Mrs. Weasley's face spared to no one but Hagrid, who only missed it because he was removing his goggles.
"Hagrid, that bike of yours sounds like it needs a bit of work," Mr. Weasley said pleasantly, walking up to him and craning his neck to peek at it outside. "Anything wrong?"
"Ahh, few o' the Muggle parts need replacin' I reckon," Hagrid grumbled back.
"Shall we have a look, then?" Mr. Weasley asked excitedly.
"Arthur, don't you be out there all night," Mrs. Weasley warned, lighting candles about the room. "We have more people arriving any minute now."
Mr. Weasley assured her they wouldn't be long, opened the door for Hagrid and gestured for him to go first, and followed the giant man outside.
Ginny swept in before they could close the door again, brushing her hair back over her scalp with a free hand, her coat in the other. "I ran home to feed the cat first," she told Harry, stopping against him to kiss him. "You made it through in one piece?" she asked softly.
"Still standing," he told her, smiling gently. They kissed once more before Ginny moved further into the room to kiss her mother, hang up her coat, and help her mother prepare for the toast, asking if Hermione had arrived yet. Harry walked over to George.
"How'd they go over? The Instant Darkness Sunglasses?" Harry asked George, handing him a pint of butterbeer. A subsequent product to the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder Harry had found extraordinarily useful in the past, the sunglasses caused temporary blindness in anyone you could trick to wear them. When George had told them he was launching them last Sunday at supper, Harry had to admit they sounded needlessly terrifying, but George had never before steered him wrong as a shareholder in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.
"Blinding," George said with a grin. Harry laughed at the pun. Without his twin to bounce new ideas off of, George had taken on his mother as an unofficial (and highly reluctant) consultant. His approach to new product development was to ramble on to her about them or provide demonstrations and move forward with whatever earned the most anger or outrage from her. "Never fails to fly off the shelf, everything she truly hates," he'd say slyly, ruffling his mother's hair affectionately.
"Enough of that now, you'll spill all over me," Mrs. Weasley huffed with a grin, swatting her son's hand away.
Kingsley, Luna, and Neville all arrived shortly after, everyone catching up and passing around drinks as the room grew louder. Mr. Weasley and Hagrid had come back in, covered in motor oil and scolded thoroughly by Mrs. Weasley as they washed up in the kitchen sink, gushing about spark plugs and various metal bolts. Luna and Neville, currently pregnant with their third child, had just come from dropping off their two girls at Luna's father's house. "Sorry to be late," Luna sang musically as Neville took her coat and draped it over her chair. Her signature radish earrings swung by her jaw, clashing predictably with the bright orange raincoat she'd worn. "The girls just love looking for Wrackspurts in the yard with their papa."
"Not at all, we're still waiting on Hermione," Ginny said, sitting between her and Harry. Nearly everyone was seated now, save for Mrs. Weasley, who seemed to be calculating something intricate in her mind. "Where is she, Ron?"
Ron had been staring at the Weasley's family clock, which now included both Harry and Hermione. Hermione's hand was firmly set in the LOST position. Ron turned to his sister with a nervous shrug. "Not in mortal peril, that's about all I know."
"I'm sure she's okay, Ron," Harry told him, though LOST had always been the most unsettling placement on that clock to him.
"She'll be here soon," Luna told the room with her pleasant, distant smile.
"How d'you know?" Ron asked eagerly.
Luna pointed back to the clock, and everyone turned around to see Hermione's hand had indeed moved to TRAVELLING.
The sound of the door swinging back open alerted them all to look over seconds later. "I'm sorry I'm late!" came Hermione's voice as she swept into the Burrow in a huff, a large tote over her shoulder. She pulled her long, bushy hair out from under the strap with great difficulty as she closed the door behind her.
"Where have you been?" Ron asked, standing to help her. He took the tote from her shoulder and she sighed gratefully, turning to hug Harry around the neck as he, too, stood to join them. "I thought you were coming straight here from work. And you know you're not supposed to be straining yourself!"
"I'll never get used to you nagging her like a hen, Ronald," Ginny teased, clapping her brother on the shoulder and grinning. She took Hermione's cloak for her and hung it by the door while Ron rolled his eyes and muttered, "Ha ha," derisively.
"How much longer now, dear?" Mrs. Weasley gushed, coming forward and putting both hands on Hermione's stomach. A twitch of annoyance at her personal space being invaded crossed her face very briefly before she answered.
"Only a month or so," she said, and then to Ron, not missing a beat, "I've just come from the Creeveys' house."
Ginny, Harry, and Ron gave her varied looks of confusion while Hermione beamed back at them. "I just had the most incredible idea this morning. I need to call my editor first thing in the morning."
"Here, sit down and rest, dear," Mrs. Weasley insisted, steering Hermione to a chair and forcing her down into it. "We're just about to do the toast—"
"Oh it can wait, it must wait," Hermione rushed out excitedly, turning back to her husband. "Ron, give me my bag, you will not believe what I have for all of you."
"Did you have another book idea?" Ginny asked, sitting down across from Hermione at the long, reclaimed wood table. "I thought you had your hands full with moving into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and… preparing the nursery…" she continued, trailing off slightly with a furtive glance at Ron, remembering too late that Hermione had seemed content to all but ignore that she was pregnant since the very start.
"She does have her hands full," Ron muttered, setting the tote down on the table before his wife and slumping into the chair beside her.
"It's not a new book idea," Hermione answered, unearthing a photo album from the tote. She beamed at Harry, who was still standing in the entrance of the Burrow. "I'm putting out a second edition of Sharlen's story."
Everyone at the table fell very quiet, following Hermione's gaze to Harry, the rest of them just realizing he hadn't moved since she said she'd been at the Creeveys' house. Harry stood completely still. "What are you changing?" he asked Hermione quietly.
"Not changing," she said gently. She set the album on the table, her eyes glassy. "Adding."
Harry swallowed hard, but didn't move. He glanced at Ginny, who gave him a small, reassuring nod, and held out her hand for him to join her at the table. Harry moved back across the room and sat down beside her, his hands shaking despite himself.
Hermione turned the book toward him and slid it gently across the table. "I saw Dennis Creevey in the lifts today at the Ministry," she explained to the table, watching Harry stare at the cover of the album. Penned in the late Colin Creevey's erratic scrawl read "Hogwarts 1997-1998."
"It was complete happenstance. Today of all days. We got to talking," Hermione continued, so overcome with a combination of hormones, emotions, and professional ambition that her voice trembled slightly. Beside her, Ron was sitting up with both elbows on the table, leaning forward in awe. "I realized it had completely slipped my mind all these years how Colin was always taking pictures while we were at Hogwarts. I asked Dennis if they had ever come across any pictures of Sharlen in his albums, and he told me he and his parents hadn't actually looked through any of them in all the time since."
"Are you saying…?" Ginny asked, awestruck. Hermione nodded, wiping away a tear with the back of her wrist in unison with Mrs. Weasley bringing a dish towel up to dab at her own eyes.
Ginny reached forward to hold onto Harry's forearm with both hands, grinning. "You'll get to see her again," she said, gripping harder in a brief squeeze.
Ron looked up to Harry from the album's cover and said quietly, "Mate, if you need some time… I think we'd all understand."
Harry looked up at Ron and held his gaze for several seconds. He glanced around the table, just realizing everyone was looking at him, and gave them all a weak smile. "And deny everyone else? Not a chance," he answered, sitting up a little straighter. George, Percy, Arthur, Molly, Kingsley, Neville, and Luna all stood from their seats and moved to stand behind Harry and Ginny as he opened the cover, Hagrid hovering eagerly behind them all in the back.
They were in no particular order, and plenty of the photos carefully tacked six to a page did not show Sharlen, but Harry's eyes seemed to find her effortlessly anywhere she was featured. The first picture of her was of her and Stacy sitting beside Harry at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall one morning at breakfast, taken just after Hedwig and Piotr had come down with the post. Sharlen was laughing, each hand on one of the owls. Harry had always been inordinately happy that wizarding pictures moved, but never quite to the degree he was now, watching her laugh purely, her face unbroken.
"Set aside the photographs she's in," Hermione whispered across the table, wiping more tears away though a grin seemed stuck on her lips. "I'm sure we can find a better cover photo of her for the new edition."
Harry complied, carefully removing each as he found them. Sharlen and Hermione out in the stands, watching Gryffindor Quidditch practice. Sharlen and Stacy helping Hagrid in Care of Magical Creatures class, tending to Nifflers. Sharlen and Harry slow dancing in front of the Christmas tree at Slughorn's Christmas party. Hermione was preserving them one by one with her wand as he set them on the table.
"Bit dodgy, this, don't you think?" Ron muttered, peering at the photos upside down. "Colin always was creeping around taking photos no one asked him to."
"Shut up, Ron," Ginny and George chorused together, staring at the next picture Harry set down on the table: George and Fred taking turns shaking hands with Sharlen in the hospital wing when Ron was poisoned.
"But in the Hospital Wing? I was dying—"
"Shut up, Ron," Harry and Hermione chorused this time.
"I forgot Colin was at that party," Ginny said, taking up the picture of Sharlen and Harry dancing to look at it more closely. She leaned forward to see the other pictures from the party, pointing out one of her and Luna to the blonde girl at her side, grinning. "Slughorn hired him for the night to take pictures."
There were several of Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Sharlen on the couches and at the tables in Gryffindor Tower, studying. There were two of Harry and Sharlen walking around Hogsmeade together, one arm-in-arm down the lane when she talked to him about living with Snape, the other of both of them grinning as she pulled him past Scrivenschaft's Quill Shop. One of the last few was taken from the castle entrance, Harry and Sharlen facing away from the camera as they sat alone out in the grounds, facing the lake with dozens of other students in the background. The glint of his mother's necklace could just be seen against her skin in a slice of sun from the tree canopy above them. Harry held the picture close to his face, his eyes burning. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand, squeezing his eyes shut tightly.
"What is it, Harry?" Ginny asked, both hands on his arm.
Harry exhaled shakily, trying to compose himself before opening his eyes again. More than anything, he wished he were alone—he wished that he could have spent the day in solitude with these images, soaking in every detail. He wished he didn't have to share them or hold himself together.
"This is right before she told me who she was. Dumbledore died that night," he told the group quietly. No one said anything in response. Harry opened his eyes again, soaking in the image, their body language. He was leaning back on his hands, one of his arms loosely behind her back. Sharlen was sitting cross-legged, her face turned to him, a sad smile on her face as she watched him. Colin must have taken this while passing by, because no subsequent photographs of this scene of their lives existed; they sat together only briefly before she started prompting him for questions, Malfoy tried to interfere, and he tore the necklace from her throat.
Harry set the photo down, shaking his head.
"This is the one," Kingsley said eagerly, pointing past Harry's shoulder at the last page of the photo album, "This is the one that should be on the new cover." They'd revealed twenty-two never-before-seen photos of Sharlen in the hundreds carefully displayed in the massive album, and this last one was zoomed in on her, out by the lake on a warmer spring day. Some areas were light-leaked from the sun shining down through the trees around and behind her. From what Harry could recall, this must have been a final exams study break in the warmer, dryer stretch of May. She was smiling softly at someone to the left of the camera, her shoulders adjusting as she leaned back in her uniform. Somewhere behind him, he heard Hagrid's breath catch before he blew his nose loudly on a handkerchief.
"What do you think, Harry?" Ron asked, though Harry didn't look away from the photo. "Does it feel right? To replace the old photo with this?"
"I think the cover needs both," Harry said after a while, gripping Ginny's hand tightly. "To show how she was and what she sacrificed to help save us all."
The group agreed, sitting back down at the table to pass the photos around once Hermione had preserved them all with her magic, refilling their drinks and sharing stories as they did every year. They toasted to their fallen, said their names aloud as they did every year: Fred, Lupin, Tonks, Snape, Sharlen, and now Colin, who had given them something they had never dreamed.
Harry kept the new cover image of Sharlen propped up at the head of the table, leaning on the spine of the album where she could watch them talk and laugh, brought together by her memory. For the first time in a decade, he smiled at the sight of her.