Privet Drive had not changed in the past year: the lawns still manicured, the houses exceedingly ordinary. Fortunately for its residents, the most misfit part of the neighborhood wouldn't be there long enough to disturb the suburban oasis. Harry had wanted to leave the Dursleys in the past along with Voldemort, but he knew he should see them for a final time.

After his third knock, he had to wait five minutes before anyone opened the door. Most likely, the Dursleys began deliberating as soon as they saw him through the spyhole.

"What is it, boy?" asked Vernon, only opening the door a crack. "Have you come round to ask for money, because—"

"No, and I can't stay long. I only wanted to say goodbye. Forever, if you prefer."

"Ah. Well." He glanced at Petunia. "There's a program on in twenty minutes, so make it quick."

Dudley, apparently ignorant to Harry's arrival, was sat on the couch, reading the Sunday paper. More accurately, he had thrown aside the bulk of the newspaper—the news part—to read the cartoons as he snacked on biscuits. He had grown a beard since Harry last saw him. It suited him, oddly enough. They met eyes as Dudley was mid-chew; he choked a bit and downed his tea to clear his throat.

"Er, morning. You've come back, then?"

For once, his tone was not tinged with disgust. Instead, maybe something close to . . . genuine curiosity? The problem was, Harry didn't know how to interpret a tone from Dudley other than one that reminded him he was only there because he'd been dropped, deeply unwanted, on a doorstep.

"I'm here to say goodbye. For good, probably. And to tell you lot what has happened since the summer." Though he'd always felt othered by the Dursleys, this feeling of separation from them was new.

He turned to his aunt and uncle. "The bad wizard who killed my parents—Voldemort—is dead. You're safe now."

"How can you be sure?" asked Petunia, grabbing Dudley's arm to bring him to her.

"I saw it happen. In fact, I helped kill him. So I suspect you don't want a killer in the house, right?"

Vernon's pasty face turned a deep scarlet. "Of course not. What a ludicrous thought. We knew you would be dangerous, the minute you showed up that night—"

"Yeah, I'm sure I was quite frightening, not quite two and already bloodthirsty."

Dudley snorted. Another surprise.

"More dangerous at two than Dudley is now, that's for certain, boy," Vernon growled.

"Right, and has Dudley saved your lives any time recently?"

"Thank you, Harry," said Petunia.

The other three turned to look at her, shocked.

Petunia flushed, but pursed her lips to tell them she was holding her ground. "That man killed my sister, Vernon."

"But—"

"If his magic was good for anything, it was stopping that awful man—thing—from doing the same to other people."

Vernon stared at Harry with mingled awe and terror.

"Anyhow, I'm going to move in with my friends. We're going to work for the government—wizard government—in the fall." It sounded silly in his own mouth, so Harry braced himself for Vernon's snide comments. Instead, he was met with baffled silence. "I have no idea when I'll see any of you again. Very rarely, I imagine."

"You better not come back here begging for a place to stay!" Vernon spluttered.

Harry snorted. The Dursleys may not understand the appeal, but he would choose the Burrow over Privet Drive every time. "My parents left me quite a bit of money, actually." He saw an opportunity to cut any remaining ties and seized it. "My boyfriend is wealthy, too. So I'll be fine."

"Boyfriend?" squeaked Petunia.

"And that's my cue to leave. If anything comes up as a threat to your lives in the future, I'll protect you as a courtesy. Otherwise, Happy Birthday, Christmas, New Year, Easter, and whatever else I'll be missing."

Now on his own and without a target on his back, Harry found that life had a different aura, changing him from the inside out and outside in. For starters, he had a newfound appreciation for the sensations around him: the sun pressing into his skin, the eye-crinkling and ground-dappling rejuvenating force of it. The color of his face and arms deepened, the scruff on his face tickled him more. If he heard a shift in someone's voice or a snarky comment, he didn't feel the usual anxious sharpening he used to expect. People seemed more dimensional, clearer as they moved than they had been when stress flattened them. Molly's food almost moved him to tears a couple of times.

With his painless scar, the Prophet brimming with good news, and constant good company, Harry finally felt like the person he was always meant to be. Almost. He had to remind himself that Draco would've complicated this newfound happiness. It was easy to forget how much he cared for Draco among friends who hated him. And besides, he had grown accustomed to loss. After living through the loss of his parents, Sirius, and Dumbledore, he wanted to take comfort in loss being a fact of life. Some people would inevitably leave him; with the war over, he could only hope they wouldn't leave his life by dying.

Sometimes, though, Harry had more difficulty controlling his thoughts and indulged in mentally replaying the phrases he'd heard throughout the loop, the soft pressure of Draco's skin, and the smile that was reserved for him alone. Sometimes the hurt was no more specific than a wrenching pain that felt both beneath and above his bones. It was like homesickness (in Harry's case, Hogwarts-sickness), except he felt disconnected from a possibility, not a place. As the days after his last day at Hogwarts turned into weeks, Harry overwrote his newer memories of Draco with memories from their rivalry, when Draco was still "Malfoy" and intended to become a Death Eater. How could they be meant for one another with so much bad blood? While sure, they may reconcile at some point in the future, a relationship was far too premature.

Harry's attempts to convince himself of this narrative were half-hearted enough to crumble after reading an article that included Draco. On his birthday (which the trio celebrated at Grimmauld Place), the Prophet ran a featured story about significant figures from both Wizarding Wars called "HEROES, REBELS AND SPIES: Forces for good changed the outcome of the Wizarding Wars." Harry flipped through to read the passages that interested him, skipping over the passage about himself, which was largely cobbled-together information from past interviews. A photograph from his parents' graduation accompanied the passage about his parents in the "HEROES" section. He remembered it from one of the first few pages of the album Hagrid had given him, primarily because as his parents posed for the portrait, Sirius snuck up behind them and gave them literal bunny ears. That moment never came in this photo, however.

James Potter and Lily Potter, 21. Died October 31st, 1981.

James and Lily Potter were pivotal to the cause of the Order of the Phoenix, leading a few of the battles and missions that undermined You-Know-Who's agenda. You-Know-Who targeted them toward the end of the war, hoping to kill their son, Harry James Potter. (see page 8). They died in their efforts to protect him. The Potters were skilled wix, commended by their Hogwarts professors for their dedication to their studies and potential for greatness, all (continued on page 8).

He didn't feel the need to finish it, having read similar pieces before. Instead, he skimmed the passage about Dumbledore before reaching the next section, REBELS, where he found Draco's profile. Alongside the short piece was a picture of Draco standing outside Malfoy Manor. It had been taken recently, judging by the improvement in his complexion. If he was happier, he didn't let on, his serious expression fixed.

God, he was handsome.

Draco Malfoy, 17.

The son of Death Eaters and a Pureblood, Draco Malfoy made an unlikely ally to Harry Potter and his friends at Hogwarts. In the days leading to the fateful final battle, Malfoy provided Potter important information that had been disclosed to his family by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The youngest Malfoy is currently studying his father's craft and attempting to restore his family's legacy.

Harry ached for more, rereading the paragraph until words lost their meaning. Flipping the page was like turning over a boulder. The section he arrived to, REBELS, was the longest, and he was familiar with a fair number of the names. Some of his friends from Dumbledore's Army were included with a couple sentences each. Sirius had a small blurb, only to say he was imprisoned in Pettigrew's place and had fought alongside the Potters. It was clear that through the Prophet, the Ministry wanted to downplay its role in wrongfully imprisoning Sirius.

To distract himself from his frustration, Harry looked for someone whose name he didn't recognize.

Raven Faralyn, 21. Died November 17th, 1981.

Raven Faralyn was one of a few notable witches born into a blood purist family who rejected the beliefs of her upbringing. While attending Hogwarts, Faralyn rejected the Dark Arts, making her a target for attacks after graduation. Upon leaving school, Faralyn, along with several other witches and wizards, started a covert home for witches and wizards on the run from You-Know-Who. Raven Faralyn's death was the last in a string of murders led by the notorious Bellatrix Lestrange in the wake of Voldemort's death. A few days after Faralyn's murder, Lestrange was captured and imprisoned in Azkaban.

His anger only heightened; just how many people had Bellatrix killed? Pictured on the same page, there was a new memorial to victims of the first war that had been erected in one of the main corridors leading out of the atrium; it was a glass cylinder filled with water in which names floated like tiny, slow-motion fish. Harry wondered why it had taken so long to establish a memorial for a war that ended sixteen years ago. He then flipped to the relatively brief SPIES section, which began with Snape.

Severus Snape, 37.

In the two years following You-Know-Who's return, Severus Snape worked undercover, purporting to be an agent of You-Know-Who as he fed information to Albus Dumbledore. Although vouched for by Dumbledore, it was not until the Battle of Malfoy Manor that Snape's true loyalty was believed by those who doubted him. Snape attended Hogwarts

Harry stopped reading mid-sentence and looked up; there was a light tapping on the window. Once he pushed the pane open, a roll of parchment the length of his thumb leapt from the window ledge into the room. He peered outside, expecting to see an owl flying away or a shadowy figure standing in the street. Two people stood talking at the street corner below, but they appeared to be Muggles, entirely engrossed in their conversation.

Leaving the window ajar to let in some fresh air, Harry bent to pick up the parchment and unfurled it. His chest constricted in a flash at the familiar handwriting.

"Dear Harry,

I hope you have been well. I have spent the past few months working with my father to study Dark artifacts. The Ministry has commissioned him to nullify and/or document the magical properties of objects that have been turned over now that the Dark Lord has fallen. He hopes this work—combined with my role in the betrayal of the Death Eaters—will exonerate him and grant the family protections in case the Dark Lord's followers attack us. My helping him will expedite the process. So I hope you understand I had a reason to leave. I need time to figure myself out, and there is a lot happening with my relatives and friends of the family in the fallout of the war that I could only be involved with (or avoid) if I remained with my family.

I am sure our paths will cross again in the future.

Sincerely,

Draco.

P.S. Don't write back. Our mail could be intercepted."

Once he finished reading the letter, Harry swore several times under his breath. Why, after so long without contact, had Draco decided to write? Maybe he knew the article was going to be published that day and wanted Harry to hear about him firsthand. Had he any idea how much pain the first letter had caused? Harry could understand his reasoning for not returning to Hogwarts, but there had been nothing to suggest Draco felt any remorse for the way he left, having provided just a list of excuses for his decision.

His wasn't yet ready to talk to Ron about it (and Ron wasn't ready to give advice), but he knew Hermione would have some insight.

"It's hard to guess at what he's actually thinking. Knowing him, he's not going to be overly emotional or bear his heart to you. And given that he can't guarantee his mail isn't intercepted . . ."

"Still, he could have made more of an effort. After everything, he's just going to let it go to waste."

"This is probably what 'making an effort' is like for him. I'm not saying it's right, but he's not had any real friends to know the difference." She took a deep breath. "Maybe you couldn't really change him, Harry. He's still the same person you knew. You may become friends eventually, at least."

"I'm not sure I want to be friends. I mean, I'm not sure we can be just friends."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Harry." Hermione hugged him, and he was glad that this prevented her from seeing tears in his eyes.

"Thanks, Hermione. Er, one more thing: should I write him back?"

"He said the mail could be intercepted."

"Not if I ask Dobby to deliver a letter for me."

"What if they catch him? It's not safe."

"He knows his way around the manor. I could ask Kreacher to do it, but that'd be riskier."

"Alright. Then sure. But I wouldn't expect a response from him if I were you."

"I should at least try, shouldn't I?"

While Hermione supported writing Draco back, Ron, who inevitably found out about the letter, was adamant that Harry ignore it.

"He's a prat, he didn't even ask how you are. He's expecting you to forgive him while he has the last word. No, he's not done anything that deserves a response."

Hermione shook her head. "He clearly wants to maintain his pride and is probably looking for a sign of how Harry feels before he does anything more."

"Then what's with saying their paths will meet again in the future or whatever? Seems like he's made up his mind."

They continued to quibble, voices fading as Harry stared at the line, "I am sure our paths will cross again in the future." It was cruel of Draco to write that, to stir up doubt without a clear explanation of what he was actually feeling. He covered his face with his hands, thoughts spinning out. The future? How long was Draco expecting him to wait around?

A week later, Professor McGonagall passed the trio's internship plan along to the Minister for Magic, who promptly scheduled a meeting with them to discuss their intentions in person. Since Hermione wanted to continue her studies simultaneously, she would coordinate her studies with her professors. Ron and Harry, meanwhile, had resolved to practice Quidditch in their spare time.

They agreed the best way to get insight into the state of the Ministry was to work in as many departments as possible, keeping low profiles to avoid scrutiny.

Ron was unusually nervous, not that the Minister would disapprove of their plans, but that they would see Percy sometime over their trip. Thankfully, the secretary who led the trio to the Minister's office walked so quickly they didn't have time to look around.

Rufus Scrimgeour stood when they entered, his typically grim face pressing into a smile. "Welcome, Harry, Hermione, Ron." He leaned over his desk to shake their hands. "I trust you did not have difficulties getting here?"

Harry's first thought was, I've now appeared in court twice, so no, but instead he said, "Not at all."

"Ah, good. Well, I must say I was initially surprised to get word of your interest in working for the Ministry, particularly you, Harry, but I am pleased nonetheless. What you three have done for the security of this country exceeds what even the Ministry's more accomplished Aurors would hope to accomplish in their lifetime. Of course, though not compulsory, there is still the question of your studies. Ms. Granger made a compelling argument, though, in regards to your need for hands-on learning and your desire to serve the community.

"Ultimately, I envision you three working together in the Auror Office. Until then, you can explore your interests as you like, with an understanding that I must grant final approval on your placement. Not every department is equipped with the resources or time to train you; some departments are in need of more assistance and will likely appeal to have you transferred to them. You will each receive a stipend for your five days a week here—Hermione, three days—and should you choose to continue to work here and find yourself suited to a department, you would be offered our entry level salary."

The three of them thanked him, a bit awkwardly.

"Ronald, I believe it best for you to start out working with your father in the oh-docked-spoh, which is part of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement." Seeing the confused look on Harry's face, Scrimgeour explained, "O-D-C-C-D-S-P-O. Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects. Plenty of acronyms to learn over the years here, you will get the hang of it.

"As for Hermione, the dee-mack, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, has recently hired new recruits in a few of their offices, so I have assigned you to the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, which has not yet sought new hires. The work will have you out in the field, and your knowledge of the Muggle world will serve you well.

"Harry, given your performance in the Triwizard Tournament, I thought you would be well suited for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, likely the Beast Division."

"Is there an acronym I need to know for that, sir?"

"No." Scrimgeour seemed taken aback by this interruption. "Under normal circumstances, I would have my junior assistant serve as your primary point of contact during your internship, but he declined that responsibility." He glanced at Ron. "Instead, Head Auror Gawain Robards will meet with you before your to transfer to each new department. I suggest writing letters to the heads of the departments you work for to give feedback about your experience and thank everyone for their time." He paused, regarding each of their expressions. "Do any of you have questions for me?"

"How should we prepare for each position before we transfer?" asked Hermione. "I assume we should contact the office head."

Rufus Scrimgeour gave a short nod. "There is no need to prepare extensively prior to your training, although if there are special circumstances, you will be informed."

As Hermione continued to ask questions, Harry looked at Ron, who was somewhat disgruntled, probably at being handed over to his dad. Their eyes met and they both shrugged: a silent "We'll see."

In August, the three made a concerted effort to make the most of their time before beginning their Ministry work, which for the most part meant hanging out with everyone who would remain at Hogwarts. Usually, they hosted at Grimmauld Place, where they planned to stay for part of their time working for the Ministry. As cozy as the Burrow could be, Ron quickly felt suffocated.

Hermione spent a lot of time stressing and preparing for her courses, but once in a while Ron and Harry convinced her to join in on the fun. As a final hurrah, they invited Luna, Dean, and Seamus over to the Burrow for drinks (Neville was traveling in Italy with his aunt).

Luna had dusted her cheeks with an iridescent powder, a bit of which had found its way onto everyone else after they all exchanged embraces. Dean and Seamus had apparently spent every weekend of the summer together, and as such, were attached at the hip. Harry noted absently that Seamus' shirt was quite long on him before recognizing it as Dean's.

As everyone danced in the last light of the sun, while the fringes of summer kept them warm, Harry felt as though he were someone else, watching an unrecognizable life through a stranger's eyes. His pre-Hogwarts self spent plenty of time imagining friends, but could never have imagined the way the casual touch of a friend's hand could make his whole body echo with light. Thankfully, his overwhelm ebbed when the group moved inside.

"We should play Britannia!" said Luna as they settled into the sitting room, pulling out her wand. As the group watched, she conjured a topographical, illuminated map of Great Britain that hovered in the center of the room. "Ginny taught it to me, we played it with some fifth years . . ."

No one else knew the game, so she let Ginny explain the rules. "Anyone have a coin?" Seamus passed her a Knut. "Right, thank you. So, when it's your turn, you flip the coin onto the map." She did so, and it landed near the edge, where it froze in midair. "Since it landed on empty space, I have to come up with a challenge of some kind. If I'd landed on a challenge that was already on the map, though, I would have to do that, or forfeit and do the next person's dare. The second time, if you don't do the dare, you've got to down the rest of your drink. We'll likely not get that far. You can also come up with something for the group to do. So I have to create a challenge . . ." She paused to think. "The flipper has to transfigure a part of their body." She promptly turned one of her ears into a long rabbit's ear. Tonks would've been proud.

Over the course of the game, the group came up with nearly two dozen prompts, including: pretend to be the person to your right for a round, tell the group an embarrassing story, draw a tattoo on someone, and freeze your tongue. After they'd had enough to drink, some new prompts were more risqué: take off an article of clothing, choose two people to kiss, and the flipper asks everyone in the group to answer a question.

When Harry landed on "Choose two people to kiss," he considered Ron and Hermione, but quickly realized that was a bad idea. So instead he said, "Luna and Ginny." The boys whooped at this, and Harry was too tipsy to consider whether this made him regret pairing them.

The two opted to kiss on the lips, Ginny angling her head and touching Luna's face, Luna raising her hands to place on Ginny's shoulders. It seemed so natural that someone could have assumed that they were dating, or at the very least that they had done this before.

Harry didn't feel jealous, only hollow. Had he touched Draco as gently as Luna touched Ginny? That was the one thing that mattered, suddenly: that he would show Draco the greatest tenderness someone could possibly express to another person. His intoxicated state left him hypnotized by this thought, and it wasn't until Dean asked a question that he realized the group had gone round again.

"What's the farthest you'd be willing to go with the same sex?"

"What are you looking at me like that for? You're a pervert, Dean, I'm not going to say." Ginny took a long sip of beer.

"Well, as far as you can, I s'pose," said Harry, though by this point it was news to no one.

Ron shrugged. "If he was a member of the Cannons, I'd be willing to go in for a kiss."

Hermione only looked at Dean. "Snogging?"

Luna looked around the circle. "Since you're all my friends, I will say all the way. A nice house on the ocean, with an herb garden . . ."

The others burst out laughing. "That's not what that means," said Seamus through his tears.

"I know what you think it means. But for me, 'all the way' is until death, and everything in between."

Harry pointed at Luna, grinning. "I'll change my answer to that."

Seamus kept laughing, until he met Dean's gaze and realized it was his turn. "I'd only go as far as hand-holding, thank you very much."

Dean shook his head. "Alright, you bastard, drink up."

"You think he's lying?" Ron cried, nearly spilling his drink in surprise.

"I happen to know he's lying."

Ron's face went scarlet, and he sipped his beer instead of responding.

"Seems like you and Hermione are the only straight ones here," said Dean, throwing an arm around Seamus and sloppily kissing his cheek.

"Aw, it's meant to be," said Seamus, and Ron attempted to laugh it off.

It wasn't until half three that everyone started curling up in place to sleep, blankets and duvets summoned by Hermione (who had elected not to risk taking the stairs in her state). Luna and Harry were the last ones awake, though their eyes were nearly closed with exhaustion.

"I wanted to be one of those stories. In them, I mean."

"Hm? What stories do you mean?" Luna yawned and pulled the blanket that she and Ginny shared up to her chin.

"The unicorn books. You gave them to me in the loop. Obviously not one of the depressing ones . . ." he trailed off, closing his eyes, then jerked awake.

"You can be. You deserve that."

"So do you."

"Thanks, Harry."

"With him, though."

"Even if it's with someone else. Someone who's kind."

"Mhm . . ." replied Harry half-heartedly, before drifting into a hazy sleep.

The following week, on the morning of the trio's first day at the Ministry, Molly insisted on taking pictures of them in their new robes.

"In front of the fireplace . . . perfect. Ron, that's right where your father stood on the day of his promotion." She peered into the viewfinder and held down the button. "We're very proud of you, dear. All three of you."

Harry looked at Ron, straight-backed with a sheepish smile, and had a vision of him at eleven, wishing to be Head Boy. Would his own parents have expressed their pride, too? James hadn't worked after graduating, that he knew, but would he approve of Harry seeming to align himself with the Ministry?

"Alright, you three—and Arthur—you had better head out. Good luck!" Molly stepped back so they could line up to go through the fireplace. Green flames took them one by one to the Atrium of the Ministry, which echoed with the footsteps of recently arriving government employees and out-of-country visitors. After checking in with Eric Munch, Arthur led them to the lift.

"Harry, you'll be stopping off at level four; Hermione, level three; Ron, level two with me."

At the prospect of having to work alone, Harry's stomach lurched. He should never have proposed this plan. Trying to steady his nerves, he stepped out of the elevator and onto the fourth floor, the office door just a few steps further.

His mouth dropped open in surprise as he entered the office. Hagrid would be perfectly content spending an entire day giving a lecture on the walls alone—there were paintings of Cornish pixies, stone busts of larger beasts like dragons and thestrals, and on the ceiling, a black and white mosaic of a map of Great Britain and the Irish Isle with text labeling the creatures found across the land. As Harry waited for someone to greet him, his eyes found a photograph hung on the wall behind the front desk labeled "Paris Headquarters, 1972." The combined effect of pictured building and the British office made Harry set aside his suspicion that he had been shuffled to an inconsequential department.

A woman entered the room, her large hat adorned by a huge pink feather. She had long silver fingernails and bright red lipstick. By the air of authority around her, Harry knew she must be the director of the Beast Division.

"Harry, my apologies for being late. As you now know, our little division is rather tucked away. Glad you've found us, though. Hope you weren't running about trying to find us, only for me to be tardy." She said all of this while peeling off her coat, levitating her hat onto its phoenix-head stand, pulling out a canteen from her bag (which a bespectacled man hurried to fetch), and quickly unloading the rest of her purse's contents. "What stationery have you brought with you? A quill? Parchment?"

Sorting through the haphazardly arranged purse contents, she set aside a pen and pad of paper. "I was already an unpopular hire, thought I may as well introduce pens and paper while I'm at it . . ." She handed them to him and sat down. "Have a seat, Harry."

"Thank you, Ms . . ."

"Call me Cameron." She turned to peer around the office, catching the eye of the two other staff members, each of whom had a desk, though the man had left his to make coffee. "Ranford, Kowalski, could you please join us for a few minutes? Introduce yourselves, help explain what we do here."

The elderly woman who had been grinning excitedly at Harry since he entered stood and offered her hand.

"Susan Ranford. We're so glad you're here, it's a real treat."

"I'm glad to be here. Er, if you don't mind me saying so, I don't think I've met two wix with the same first name before."

Ranford nodded quickly. "Muggle parents. They didn't know about the Complete Index of Unique Available Names for Expecting Witches and their Husbands."

Whether she was being facetious or completely serious, Harry couldn't tell.

The man came over, setting the coffees on the desk. "I'm Antoni Kowalski, pleased to meet you." His accent sounded American, but the influence of British English made Harry uncertain.

"Nice to meet you, too." The three of them all seemed so sure of themselves, making him wonder how he could possibly be useful. He quickly learned he had nothing to worry about: they had a huge cabinet stuffed full of papers for him to reorganize. Unfortunately, this task was heaped on him after they animatedly described the most exciting parts of the work, so the piles of paper and towering file boxes stirred some of the sluggishness and resentment he had felt during detention. At least he was getting paid, and his new coworkers were kind to him.

Ron and Hermione were also given mundane tasks apparently below the pay grade of other Ministry employees. Hermione, predictably, got the most done over the first couple weeks compared with Ron and Harry, despite only working three days of the week.

". . . What's surprised me more than anything," Hermione was telling them over dinner, "is how many nonmagic folk are aware of wizards. Wix, I mean."

"How many d'you reckon?" said Ron, passing her the dressing before she needed to ask for it.

"In the UK, nearing a thousand who are documented—probably twice that undocumented, and triple that if you count those who have strong suspicions. Compared with about six thousand British wix. Most nonmagic folk who are in the know are those with magic users in their immediate family, but then you also have ex-lovers, childhood friends, close current friends, and those suspected of working with wix for illegal trading and the like."

"Wow. Dad never mentioned any of that."

Hermione laughed awkwardly. "Because he's been told not to. As have I. Signed paperwork about it, even. Thankfully I haven't been sworn to secrecy with magic. Oh—and there are concerns that with the Internet, that number will balloon. The department is considering starting a new office to keep up with nonmagic technology."

Harry's forehead itched reflexively. "Another war."

"What?" Ron looked between the two of them.

"Not necessarily," said Hermione.

"You think the Ministry is ready for Muggles to know about the wizarding world?" Harry's sudden frustration surprised himself. "Not when they have people like Umbridge working for them."

Hermione sighed. "I hope it won't be decided behind closed doors. This is the largest issue we will face in our lifetime; I wouldn't trust the Ministry to determine what we do, let alone Umbridge."

Ron had stopped eating, which drew Harry and Hermione's attention at once. "The world can't know about us. Everyone agrees on that, even that old—"

"Ron!"

"You mean I shouldn't call her a—"

Hermione cut him off. "Umbridge may agree with us wanting to remain a secret, but Harry's right that her beliefs are too dangerous."

"Can you imagine her ministerial decrees?" Ron folded his hands in his lap and pitched his voice up an octave. "Decree number 84, Muggles are prohibited from lying with wizards."

"But she would pass something like that, if she could! The greatest irony is that she would be adopting tools of oppression that Muggles have used for centuries. She's a blood purist, but her own sense of superiority depends on copying the people she considers inferior."

Harry absently traced the scar on his hand. "Would people believe me if I revealed everything she did at Hogwarts?"

"Clearly she can worm her way out of these situations," said Ron.

"She got away with it because no one knew what she was doing. And people were divided on whether to trust Harry."

"So . . . people trust me now."

"Right," said Hermione.

"And . . . they need to know what she's done."

"An exposé."

"Brilliant!" said Ron. "We can do one better than Skeeter."

"I don't think the paper is the right approach." Hermione rubbed her lips with a finger as she thought. "We should start with the Minister, at the very least to gauge what his reaction is to the idea of firing Umbridge. Harry, as Scrimgeour's poster boy, has a shot at getting through to him."

If the difficulty in scheduling an appointment with Scrimgeour was any indication of the Minister's willingness to listen, Harry assumed he'd be speaking to a wall.

"Everything's going well, I trust?" asked Scrimgeour, distracted, when they finally met.

"For the most part. Except for one thing."

"Go on. I only have a few minutes before my next meeting, I'm afraid." Scrimgeour held himself in an unaffected way that made Harry teeter on the edge of anger. Perhaps had he been in a time loop, he would have tried matching Scrimgeour's tone better.

"Dolores Umbridge. She was rehired at the Ministry after abusing students."

"Abusing students is a harsh accusation."

"She was a harsh abuser."

Scrimgeour raised a hand to cut Harry off. "Despite the mixed feedback from professors after her tenure, Ms. Umbridge has proven herself to be a vital asset to the Ministry over the years. I have been more than satisfied with her performance."

"Because she's dishonest and manipulative!" Harry fought to rein in his emotions. "I mean—you should at least investigate what happened. Have a review or something. She went beyond what Fudge asked, I'm sure of it."

The look Scrimgeour gave was of performed sympathy, a look that said, I'm sure what you're feeling seems real, but you're too close to this to be objective. "What we must prioritize now is maintaining the public's trust. If those we serve lose faith in us, then we shall be vulnerable to external forces, and mass panic may ensue." Before Harry could interrupt, he continued, "I know that her techniques were at times unorthodox as a result of concerns over national security. Her actions, however, were condoned by members in Fudge's administration, many of whom still play an integral role in the Ministry."

"Minister, I've showed you my hand, haven't I?" Before Scrimgeour could respond, Harry held out the back of his hand, moving close enough for him to read the scarred phrase. "Umbridge did this to me. Made me carve 'I must not tell lies' into my hand for hours just for speaking the truth about Voldemort's return. I hope there aren't more people in the Ministry who would hurt a child this way, if they had the opportunity."

Scrimgeour glanced at the scar, then at Harry, lips pressed into a tight line. "I'm sorry for what she did to you. I certainly would not have been as militant as my predecessor. Have you considered that my approval of this internship program is a way to reconcile for how we treated you in the past?"

"If you really care about making up, I would trade the internship for Umbridge's dismissal. In a heartbeat. It doesn't have to look bad on the Ministry's part. You can spin it. I'd even help you. Well, Hermione may be better at that."

Scrimgeour stroked his beard, then glanced at his watch. "In future, I would advise you to remember your position here before behaving so brazenly. There is a lot for you to learn." He started to walk to the door, gesturing for Harry to follow. "I cannot make any promises and any action will require deliberation—however, I agree that continuing to employ someone as volatile as Umbridge has shown herself to be is a risk we ultimately cannot afford."

"So you'll consider it?"

"Yes. I'm afraid I'm out of time; my next meeting begins shortly. Please wait at least another month before scheduling your next appointment with me . . . this will take me some time, and I'm terribly busy. Have a good day." He shut the door behind Harry.

As soon as the trio was back together at Grimmauld Place, Harry exploded. "He's willing to protect that psychopath just to keep up appearances! This is exactly what I was afraid of, that he'd hire us just to show everyone we're on his side! That the Chosen One can be the Ministry's new pawn. Knowing everyone's fine with her here—I don't know if I can continue working for him, not if we can't change anything. I should have known—when I first showed him my scar, he barely even reacted; all he cared about was the public knowing I supported him. He's no better than Fudge. The Ministry's falling into the same old patterns, the same problems they had before Voldemort was defeated, and what are we going to about it? We're just three teenagers . . . Dumbledore isn't around to convince Scrimgeour."

"You quite finished, Harry?" asked Ron as they left the elevator on their way to their floor.

"Hermione's been wanting to speak."

Harry steadied his breathing and looked at her. "Sorry. It's just—"

"I get it. Honestly, I doubted the Minister would be willing to do anything. Umbridge made it this far, there's no reason to expect anyone's willing to take the first step."

"You've got a plan, haven't you?"

"Course she does," said Ron, nudging her. They grinned at each other a moment before Hermione cleared her throat and said, "Scrimgeour's all about perception, right? We have to prove that it'll do the Ministry more harm than good to keep her here. So . . . why not start a petition? Let him see it's bigger than three teenagers who think their teacher was a bit mean."

"A petition may be better than an article . . . the Prophet would have to report on it. But how many people would be willing to sign?"

"Fred and George would, for sure. Really, anyone at Hogwarts who hated her," said Ron.

Hermione took the grocery list from the counter and summoned her purse. "If we started there and got Ginny to help, she could write out every reason Umbridge is unfit to work for the Ministry—"

"Work anywhere, really," Harry cut in, grabbing his wallet.

". . . I imagine parents wouldn't be too happy to hear about everything she did."

"Or at least this way it'd be harder to ignore how terrible she is," added Ron.

"Let's hope it's enough." Harry shut the door behind them.