Whenever the trio stayed at the Burrow, Molly cooked them a series of hearty meals, for which Harry and Hermione slowly felt guilty, despite helping out with chores around the house. So, most evenings they decided to join Molly in the kitchen (after convincing a reluctant Ron), with their novice cooking spells ending in the extremes of disaster or perfection.

Harry had cooked the basic components of many meals for the Dursleys over the years, but never using intentional magic. There were a few instances when he hadn't timed out a dish correctly and braced for Aunt Petunia to scold him, only to find everything miraculously unburned or cooked through. After his first year at Hogwarts, Petunia and Vernon limited his access to the kitchen, probably afraid of all the mystical poisons he learned to brew at school.

Making dinner with the Weasleys was entirely different. Well, they still quibbled over method and ingredients and were spice-averse, but apart from that, Harry found he actually enjoyed cooking with them. Not the recipes that required advanced magic, mind—simpler spells strengthened his foundational skills of preparing food that allowed him to clear his mind and let his muscle memory take over.

Ron was slower to learn the basics, but had an intuition that often produced better results.

"Taste if it's ready," said Ron, holding out a spoon of tomato sauce to Hermione.

She took a sip and thought for a moment. "It could use a bit more garlic, but otherwise, it tastes good."

Ron had the rest of the spoonful, and with the spoon still in his mouth, something passed between them, a slight awkwardness that they laughed off. When all three of them were in the kitchen together, Harry felt like a third wheel, catching one of them wipe a bit of food off of the other's mouth, or Ron touching the small of Hermione's back as he squeezed past her to retrieve something, or Hermione touching Ron's arm to get his attention instead of saying his name. Ron was oblivious to Harry's reactions to this (his sighs or tiny smirks), while Hermione was oblivious to Ron's slightly sour expression whenever she showed Harry the same level of affection.

Knowing that Harry was bisexual likely quelled Ron's jealousy, though by definition he could still be attracted to women as well as men. He didn't have to read too far into it because every now and then, Ron made it clear he was still grappling with the concept.

"I've been meaning to ask—never mind," said Ron, on one such occasion.

"Ask what?"

"It's stupid."

"Ron, you ignored me for two weeks after I came out to you. There's hardly anything you could say that I'd find particularly stupid."

The color beginning in Ron's cheeks deepened. "So I . . . I was wondering if you ever, you know."

Harry's mind flew to a number of wild guesses, all of which seemed unlikely. He was just about to burst out with an "Ever what?" when Ron continued, "So, have you . . . did you ever fancy me?"

"Fancy you? Will you be more offended if I say yes or no?"

"Er, I don't know. But was there anything you realized because of me? Or had I done something to . . . ah, forget it."

"No, no, I never thought of you like that." His earliest memories of Ron were muddled by his happiness in finally having a friend, in being known and knowing someone in return. So had he ever been truly attracted to Ron in his teenage years, with his easy smile and attentive blue eyes, the kindness beneath his occasionally coarse exterior? "Maybe if you hadn't worn those horrid dress robes in fourth year, I could have fancied you."

Ron's expression was unmoved. "What kind of person do you even like? Malfoy isn't anything like us. Anything like me. How can you be sure you don't just like him because he's different?"

"If you knew him like I do—"

"I want to understand. I'm not trying to start something."

"Yes, he is different. That doesn't mean we aren't similar. He's as stubborn as I am, loyal, and he wants to make something of himself, you know. I think, too, that . . . he's quite sensitive, but he was beaten down a lot by his dad over the years."

"You were beaten down by your uncle, and you didn't turn out a dickhead."

"That's true, but . . ." Harry searched for a reason, wishing Hermione were there to help him explain this. "My aunt and uncle didn't want me to be like them, they treated me like a foreigner in my own house. It was easy to see their cruelty and want to be completely unlike them. But Draco's parents loved him, they rewarded him for being like them and for believing the same things."

"Right, and look at who's moved out and who's gone back to daddy."

"Yeah. Listen, I hope you know that if he had stayed but he was still cruel to you and Hermione, there's no way I would've chosen him over you two."

"'Course."

"You would've had to give him a chance."

"Sure. I'm sorry, Harry, about this whole thing . . ." Ron's voice choked, so he stopped talking.

Harry's eyes prickled. "I get it."

Ron nodded, eyes fixed on his hands. "I'll, er, I'll have a lot of questions. Hermione's caught on so much quicker than I have. I'll try and talk to her more. She's a better friend."

"No point in beating yourself up, really."

"It won't be weird now, will it? I don't want anything to change because of . . ."

"Hey, who's the one who snogged Lavender in front of probably all of Hogwarts? We dealt with that well enough."

"Touché. Maybe we can forget that happened."

"Nah, doubt it, mate."

Their laughter broke the tension, though Harry felt a part of him writhing with the desire to tell Ron he would only ever date girls in future, there was nothing to worry about.

Since Harry's initial conversation with the Minister, the trio rallied some younger members of Dumbledore's Army to draft a petition calling for Umbridge's removal. By mid-November, the petition was ready to deliver to the Ministry.

According to Ginny, the petition was largely written by Ravenclaws, who reviewed laws and precedent related to the case. Gryffindor House led the campaign for signatures, and more Hufflepuffs signed it than students from any other House. The Slytherins—some of whom had already left school—apparently provided the most vivid accounts of Umbridge's actions, although a few accounts had to be revised for anonymity. Finally, most faculty members signed the petition, with a few preferring to make separate statements when inevitably interviewed by the press.

The beginning of the petition read:

We are a group of concerned students and faculty who feel Ms. Dolores Umbridge is unfit to serve as Senior Under-Secretary for the Ministry and demand that she be removed and barred from future Ministry service.

It must first be acknowledged that the Ministry of Magic sanctioned many of Umbridge's policies, largely motivated by its desire to undermine Albus Dumbledore and obfuscate accounts of Voldemort's return. The Ministry continues to employ Umbridge, allowing her to influence the Wizengamot, which is particularly troubling given the number of trials of Death Eaters in recent months.

Before You-Know-Who's return, Umbridge legislated discrimination against the werewolf population, which pushed more werewolves to join his forces. Her discrimination against non-Pureblood students and wizards, typically in the form of preferential treatment of Purebloods, is well-documented and can be corroborated by those who studied at Hogwarts or who have worked with her.

Included in our petition are a number of accounts intended to illustrate the depth of injustices committed by Umbridge. Not every story was included in the petition out of concerns regarding retaliation, but there are a number of people who stated they would testify under the right circumstances (please see the end of the petition).

In the summer of 1995, Umbridge ordered dementors to attack Harry Potter in order to suppress his claims that You-Know-Who had returned. When this incident was brought to the Ministry's attention, they suggested waiting until sufficient evidence could be found, despite there being several witnesses to her confession before the Battle of the Department of Mysteries.

In her role as a professor, Umbridge threatened to use the Cruciatus Curse to extract information from Harry Potter (again, witnessed by several students), but was interrupted. She also believed herself to be using Veritaserum, which is a controlled substance, on students without their knowledge. Throughout her tenure, she used physical and verbal abuse to keep students in line, including carving words onto the back of Harry Potter and other students' hands until they bled; facilitating the attack of Rubeus Hagrid and Minerva McGonagall with the aid of John Dawlish, an attack motivated by her well-known hatred for part-human Beings; authorizing caretaker Argus Filch to whip students who misbehaved (though he did not have a chance to use this punishment) . . .

The petition continued to detail the harm Umbridge inflicted, whether directly or indirectly. Several dozen students had signed the petition, along with Headmaster McGonagall, Professor Trelawney, and Professor Flitwick. Other professors had written their own statements to be submitted in addition to the petition. Of the names included, he was surprised to find Severus had written an entire page explaining Umbridge's shared ideology with the Death Eaters and what kinds of potions she requested he brew to help maintain her regime. When reading it, Harry couldn't help feeling triumphant; both because his words before the summer must have impacted Severus, and also because Severus' words alone may prove enough to affect public opinion.

Multiple Slytherins had also signed their names, though were listed after students from other houses. Among their names—and close to the end of the list—was Draco Malfoy. Harry didn't know what to make of this. Did he only sign it because he knew Harry would see it, or was this proof he wanted to be a better person? Regardless, as one of her primary supporters during her tenure, his accounts of her actions would be vital if the Ministry continued their cover-up. It was possible he had even supplied some of the details of her abuses in Hogwarts, since there was information only the Inquisitorial Squad would have knowledge of, and none of the other former members had signed the petition.

Extracts of the petition were published in the Prophet the next day, and the Ministry was buzzing with the news. Umbridge was brought in for a special hearing as more and more wix in the community (mostly parents and guardians of Hogwarts students) either sent letters or went directly to the MoG service desk, demanding to speak with someone to file a complaint. To top it all off, Fred and George sold limited edition Howlers that, when finished with the user's rant, caterwauled while scurrying on the atrium floor.

As the trio had hoped, the Wizengamot held a hearing to discuss the accusations, with senior members of the Ministry and Hogwarts professors called to the court. Harry was surprised that they didn't summon him to testify, let alone any current or former students of Umbridge who were named on the petition. Interest in his story came more from the Prophet and international papers, as well as Ministry employees, who would stop him to confess their gratitude in low tones.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione waited with Tonks for Kingsley Shacklebolt to report back about the proceedings thus far. They were watching the door so intently that they jumped when Kingsley Shacklebolt strode into the office, expression impassive.

Immediately Harry asked, "So? What did they decide?"

"Dolores Umbridge has been placed on unpaid leave and will go on trial. If I had to guess, I expect the Wizengamot to terminate her within the week." He waited for them to finish high-fiving. "The Minister's position has been questioned, as well. Concerns about his oversight came to light, and more people have felt dissatisfied with him as a leader than I expected. Having you three," he nodded at the trio, "as symbols of a new era has apparently not helped him as much as he hoped."

As the trial began, files were unearthed from Umbridge's office that revealed plans to create a governmental blood registry, rating purebloods as 1; those over half-blood as 2; half-bloods as 3; those under half-blood as 4; Muggleborns as M; and Muggles, blood-traitors, or Squibs as X.

By studying these files, it was discovered that John Dawlish and Albert Runcorn had corresponded with Umbridge about her new blood rank system. Most significantly, as evidenced by a brief letter, the Minister knew about Umbridge's proposal, but told her to "wait until such ideas are more favorable to the moderate wizarding community. If you prove to have sufficient support, we can discuss your ideas further."

The whispers in the corridors escalated to mutinous outbursts with each new revelation about the proposal and Umbridge's past, until finally she was fired and banned from future employment at the Ministry.

"She actually cried," said Ron in awe, starting in disbelief at the photo of Umbridge that appeared along her front-page feature in the Prophet. "I didn't know she was capable."

"She's lucky she's not going to Azkaban," said Harry as the photograph looped back to show Umbridge, hair coiffed and face crumpled, dipping into an alley and Disapparating to evade reporters.

"I'm sure she'll come back one way or another," said Hermione, sighing as she flipped through her own copy of the paper. When Harry and Ron didn't respond, she added, "But yes, it's good news. I'm relieved people cared enough to make this happen."

When they arrived for work at the Ministry, Tonks ran up to join them, a little breathless, her eyes bright with excitement. "Over half of the Ministry is calling for Scrimgeour's removal."

Although she was excited herself, Hermione cautioned Harry and Ron about displaying their satisfaction with this turn of events, mostly because there was still plenty of uncertainty with what Scrimgeour's repercussions should be. "Scrimgeour wasn't elected, he was appointed, so the public has less loyalty to him, even though he was well-liked in the past," said Hermione thoughtfully as she flipped through the paper. "Still, there's a good chance this all dies down and he stays in office."

By December, Dawlish and Runcorn were fired, joining Umbridge in an exodus to the United States. Discussions about Scrimgeour's position carried on, with even those against him advocating for talks to be delayed until after the holidays. As a consequence of their involvement in the Ministry's upheaval, the trio was ferried to the Department of Magical Games and Sports—to Harry and Ron, it was like a reward, but they all understood it was the furthest they could get from politics.

Hermione was thankful for the chance to work harder on her studies, using concealing charms to hide her schoolbooks at the office. Harry, meanwhile, spent about two hours of the day working, and the rest he spent reading about Quidditch. On a particularly slow Tuesday, he was fancying an image of himself as a Quidditch referee when a voice above him asked:

"Excuse me, have you seen Tonks today?"

Harry looked up. The man leaning on the file boxes next to his desk had high cheekbones and electric blue hair, but his roots and eyebrows were black, which indicated he probably wasn't a Metamorphmagus.

"I've stopped by her office but thought I'd try asking you. She's mentioned that she meets you for lunch sometimes."

Harry felt increasingly ashamed for staring at him without replying but didn't understand why he should feel ashamed.

"Sorry, I'm Rolf, by the way."

"Harry."

"Nice to finally meet you!" The man's voice was soft, feminine; up close, Harry could tell he was wearing makeup. Now he was no longer certain if the person was a man or a woman. The possibility that they were neither crept up in the back of his mind.

"I was here for an interview with the Prophet, thought I'd surprise Tonks while I'm here."

"Oh, what was the interview about?"

"Magical creatures and the Statue of Secrecy. Disappointing, honestly, they mostly asked questions about my grandfather's legacy since he refuses to comment directly on these matters. Don't blame the man, if I were retired and living out in the country, you couldn't Accio me to London for something like this."

Harry's eyes gravitated toward the rather large emerald earring that dangled from one of Rolf's ears, and he forced his attention back ."What did your grandfather do?"

"He's a Magizoologist, like me. You may have read his book Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them in school."

Rolf's eccentric appearance now made more sense; a vague image of Newt Scamander's Chocolate Frog card flashed across Harry's mind. "I have. It was, er, a good read."

Rolf beamed, as though Harry had come up with a more imaginative compliment. "I'm glad to hear it."

Harry searched for something else to say, wishing Ron and Hermione hadn't already gone to lunch, but Rolf apparently had a lower tolerance for silence than he did and continued, "I knew Tonks in school, we were both in Hufflepuff. The same year, too, class of '91."

Harry nodded, watching as Rolf fiddled with the rings on their fingers.

"She and I, we made Hufflepuff cool again. I mean, it was already cool, but because of us, people respected the House more. I don't miss those times much, though. Life after Hogwarts has its perks, you know."

What were they trying to say? Could they tell Harry was also queer? Before Harry could figure it out, Tonks entered the office, beaming upon seeing Rolf.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Harry."

"Er, you too."

"Rolf! Merlin, it's good to see you, it's been too long." Tonks hugged them. "I love the hair, what a gorgeous color."

"Thank you, love. You're radiant, as always." Rolf seemed suddenly much shier than before.

Harry turned back to his desk and flipped through the book in front of him, keeping one ear open to their conversation.

"Are you still working in the Auror Office?"

"Yes, I am. But I'm hoping to move into politics."

"So you're going for Scrimgeour's job, are you?"

They laughed, then Tonks said, "I've been dying to talk to you about life and everything. We should go for lunch, I haven't taken my break yet."

"Sure, that's perfect."

"It's a date, then! Well, not a date date, I've got a boyfriend—"

"You've got a boyfriend?"

Harry looked up, interest piqued by something in Rolf's voice, a particular emphasis on the boy in "boyfriend."

"His name's Remus, I met him in the Order. Even you'd have to admit he's handsome." Tonks nudged him.

Rolf chuckled. "Well, there's news there, too."

Tonks blinked. "Oh? What d'you mean?"

"Ah, c'mon, let's have a plate of chips and curry in front of us before getting into tales of woe and heartbreak."

Tonks pulled on her coat. "We've got the walk there, haven't we?"

"Sure. I want to hear all about Remus. And I can tell you about . . . well, let's see, there's Louis, Garnet, Christine . . ."

Tonks grinned and locked arms with Rolf as they walked out of the office. "Boys, too? Rolf, you're unsurprisingly full of surprises . . ."

Harry's mind swirled into a frenzy of thought at the allusion to Rolf's sexual orientation. Did Rolf talk to him because they could tell he's queer? Did Tonks like to go to lunch with him because she could tell, too?

He must have looked the picture of distress when Hermione returned to the office, because she sat down across from him, expectant.

"It's nothing. Just remembered something . . ."

"Do you want to talk about it?"
"Not particularly."
She wouldn't look away, even when he turned back to his desk, pretending like he knew what project to return to. "Harry, we need a night out. I'm caught up on schoolwork, so let's go to the Leaky Cauldron tonight."

"On a Tuesday?"

"It'll be less crowded." He still seemed uncertain, so she added, "We can just stay for one drink."

"Sure. You're right, I could use a break."

Hermione eyed his desk, where the book Quidditch Referees through the Ages lay open.

"What? Reading takes work."

"Mhm. . ."

At five, the trio went straight to the pub. On the off-chance that Death Eaters would swoop in if they visited the Leaky Cauldron, they typically opted to drink at Muggle pubs instead. After twenty minutes passed without a cloaked figure rushing up to attack them, they let themselves relax.

Harry took a long sip of beer as an excuse to get a better look at the woman sitting at the bar. She was likely only a few years older than himself. He tried to figure out what drew his attention—probably the woman's straight posture, dirty blonde hair, her height, the frown that gave her an air of indifference. The handsome features suddenly caught his gaze, and he tried to pretend as though he hadn't been starting, nodding animatedly at whatever Ron and Hermione were talking about. When he looked back at the bar, the woman was approaching their table.

"Hello. You're Harry Potter, aren't you?" She was looking down at him and smiling.

"Er, yes. I am."

"So good to finally meet you, then." Even her voice was attractive. She shook Harry's hand, sour resting face now glowing with a familiar mix of gratitude and awe.

"Oh, this is Ron and Hermione."

"I'm Ira, and yes, I know you two, as well." She duly shook their hands before again meeting Harry's flustered gaze. "Although you undoubtedly hear this all the time—I'm grateful for everything you did. My ex was in a lot of danger, and he easily could have been killed. Thank Merlin we survived, but without you it surely would have gone the other way. I owe you an immeasurable debt."

Harry couldn't help make a mental note of the ex. "You don't owe me anything," he mumbled, knowing modest words were usually dismissed by the grateful.

"I at least owe you a drink, then. What would you like? Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger as well?"

Although at first they insisted they were fine, really, they eventually gave in and let her get each of them a pint.

No sooner had their drinks arrived did Ira wrap her scarf around her neck and say, "Well, it was a pleasure meeting you all."

"Er, you as well."

"Oh, I nearly forgot to ask how you are. Everything on the up and up?"

Harry shrugged, but Ira's eyes boring into him made him add, "We're all great, no complaints here." He couldn't deny he was better off without Voldemort, but a distant ache tugged on him.

Ira peered at him, prompting Harry to punctuate his statement with a smile. This seemed to satisfy her, because she immediately turned around to leave, throwing a "Have a good night!" over her shoulder.

Over the next couple days, Harry's thoughts lingered on that half-question: whether things were on the up and up. Improving. Sure, he had gotten over the plague that was the Dark Lord, but he couldn't get over the persistent cold that was Draco. The cliché of "lovesickness" to which he had ascribed no significance before turned out to be annoyingly apt.

Christmas was fast approaching, so it wouldn't be a big deal if he reached out to at least send Draco a card. What if he received a gift or note from Draco but hadn't planned on returning the favor? Was that even likely, or did Draco want nothing to do with him? Even by Sunday night, just a few days before the holiday, he was falling asleep to questions of what he should do. Maybe it would be funny to clip that photo of him from the Prophet to a letter . . . Can you send flowers in the winter? . . . Surely there's a shop on Knockturn Alley that has its own greeting cards . . .

Harry woke up abruptly to loud knocking on his door. "Harry, it's the Ministry, it's under attack." Ron's voice was staggered, his breathing erratic.

"Huh? What time is it?" Quickly rousing from sleep, Harry pulled on a pair of trousers and a shirt, then opened the door. "Where's everyone else? Are they already there? Are they okay?"

"Hermione's going to meet us here—haven't told Ginny yet. The Order is there—left home as soon as I could."

With a crack, Hermione Apparated down the hall. She ran toward them. "Ready?"

They barely voiced the affirmative before she grabbed their arms and they were jerked from the Burrow. The journey to the Ministry dumped them in the Atrium, which was mostly deserted. Had all the reinforcements arrived already?

"Where's the fighting?"

"At the Veil." Hermione was already running, wand raised, glancing around the fear-stricken Ministry employees, some of whom made for the exits, while others waited at points of entry for additional attackers.

"There!" Ron had glanced behind them and pointed at a Death Eater was in pursuit. All three of them yelled "Stupefy!" and the man was sent soaring backward despite his attempt to block. They didn't bother looking back.

Harry strained to listen for signs of an attack. He wasn't sure, but could have heard shouts and bangs echoing from far away, sounds dulled by distance.

Just as they slowed to think of where to run, a bright figure leapt from another corridor into their path. It was a Patronus—a Lynx—and when it saw them it said in Kingsley Shacklebolt's voice, "Death Eaters in the Death Chamber, level nine. Evacuate immediately or Apparate in."

Chills went up Harry's spine. He never thought he would go back. He couldn't.

"Let's Apparate in." Hermione grabbed their arms. "We've all been there—just imagine the spot directly across from the entrance, on the top level." She Apparated, pulling them along with her, and they reappeared at the edge of the top stone ring of steps, at once barraged with the flashes and shouts of the battle. With hardly any time to orient himself, a pair of Death Eaters fell upon Harry, reaching for him, casting spells to incapacitate him. Luckily, an Auror nearby threw a spell at them that sent them tumbling down the steps.

Standing on a dais in the center of the pit was the ancient stone archway Sirius had fallen through. Harry looked at it, then quickly about the room, for he felt as though a dementor had swooped close to him. Despite the urgency of the struggle below, all his momentum dissipated, and he heard voices well above the sounds of the battle.

"Harry, we have to get a move on!" Ron blocked a spell sent whizzing their way.

"Do you hear that? It's the voices again." This time, they were much louder, so much so that he expected to feel the brush of lips on his ears.

Ron ignored him, launching Body-Binding spells into the pit.

Feeling as though he were in the Pensieve, observing the scene from another time, Harry pulled himself into the present and took a moment to find an opening in the battle. Remus and Bellatrix were fighting directly in front of the Veil. Fear surged within him, and he pointed his wand at Bellatrix. "Stupefy!"

The spell, at an angle unprotected by Bellatrix's defenses, threw her off balance. With his arm already raised, Remus sent a second Stunning Spell straight at her, tipping her back into the portal.

Remus turned to look for the source of the first spell but was too quickly forced to defend himself from another Death Eater.

Without time to feel joy or relief or even disgusted, Harry spun around and ran to join Hermione and Ron's fight against two other Death Eaters. By the time he reached them, the fight was over. Kingsley Shacklebolt said to someone across the enormous room that the Death Eaters had Disapparated. Still, there were a few unconscious bodies on the ground; only two medics had arrived on the scene so far.

A sob rose above the voices echoing in the vast room, and a familiar twist of dread filled Harry. The fighting should have been over, the deaths should have stopped with the War. He was foolish to expect that it was over with so many Death Eaters in hiding.

As he approached the sound of the weeping, he saw that it was Remus, bent over a body, surrounded by a dozen others in various states of shock. No—was Tonks dead? It took him a moment to recognize her standing among the onlookers because her hair was now brown, darker than the previous day's pink. She was supporting a taller woman he didn't recognize.

The whispers rippling through the crowd added to the confusion.

"Is it really him?"

"He came out of the Veil?"

"Is he dead?"

Hermione and Ron caught up to Harry, breathing hard, and helped push through the onlookers. They could finally see who Remus leaned over, distraught:

Sirius.