June 1995

There were only two days left of the school year, and they were a mess. Some students hadn't returned to Hogwarts after the latest attack at the ill-fortuned Quidditch stadium, and McGonagall was working around the clock making sure everyone was accounted for.

Prefects were doing head counts at every meal, then scurrying off to report any changes to their Head of House. Professor Burbage took over for Gryffindor – Harry hadn't even known her House affiliation before – since McGonagall was busy as the Acting Headmistress doing a hundred things at once and being swooped at by dozens of owls at every meal.

Madam Hooch supervised what would usually be a Transfiguration lesson on Thursday morning, and simply got their class to read their textbooks quietly.

After that dispiriting class Harry caught up with Neville and Luna, who had a free period like himself while Hermione was off at Arithmancy, and his Slytherin friends were at either Divination or Ancient Runes. It was a subdued gathering in a quiet corner of the library, and Luna asked so many questions about what had happened – still struggling to believe it all – that eventually Harry encouraged her to jot down some notes.

"You can send it to your dad for an exclusive for The Quibbler," he said. "Tell him he can pay whatever he thinks is a fair going rate. Merlin knows… Merlin knows I got questioned so many times last night and this morning I may as well tell everyone at once. Though, you might want to ask Krum or Delacour for their versions too. Make it you know… more accurate with multiple sources."

The mention of Merlin reminded Harry that he should visit Ambrosius and give him an update before he left school for the year. He'd been eager to hear how the Tournament went. Harry still didn't know the answer to that; no-one had announced a winner.

Luna nodded her agreement with Harry's advice, and scribbled down some notes. "I saw Krum this morning."

"Oh! Did you talk to him already?"

"No, he was busy. Hugging Hermione."

"Uh… oh. Right." Harry asked no questions; he didn't want to hear the answers.

"Don't worry," Luna reassured him. "One of the Patil twins was nearby chaperoning them, Parvati, I think. It is much better than Goyle doing it. That annoyed her when he tried. Parvati knows how to look the other way."

Extracting a promise from Harry to write to her over the summer, Luna headed off on her fact-finding mission, leaving Harry and Neville on their own.

There was an awkward silence for a moment, then Neville put up a Muffliato Charm to foil eavesdroppers – shaky but serviceable, they'd all been practicing it – and blurted out, "He worried about you, you know. Dumbledore."

"That I'd what… go bad?"

"Maybe a bit. Though I meant he worried about your relationship with your family, and if you were happy or not, how things were with Black; he cared about you, Harry, even though you were often nervous around him. I do not think he truly thought that you would join You-Know-Who, just that you would not fight him. That bothered him. We talked about it a little."

"Well… that's fair. I don't want to fight, not really. I don't want You-Know-Who to win, don't get me wrong. I just want to personally stay out of it. Plus, I think I'd lose. Unless maybe it was a surprise attack?"

They both fell silent at that, lost in their own thoughts for a while.

"Do you think the Ministry will do anything now? About him? You-Know-Who?" Harry eventually asked.

Neville sighed. "They should, but no, I think they shan't do anything to acknowledge his return – whatever that entails – unless faced directly with him shouting his name to the world and acknowledged by all his followers."

"Is it just me, or was this morning's Prophet article by Skeeter kind of… fear-mongering? About how no-one could stand against the rising tide of the Dark now Dumbledore was gone?"

"It was bad," Neville agreed, his face in sad, worried lines. "I wish it had stayed focused on all the things Dumbledore accomplished in his life. Still, at least it may wake some people up to the threats that are out there."

Lunchtime brought another announcement from a haggard-looking McGonagall, after she'd dealt with collecting messages from the latest influx of owls. Her eyes were dark and shadowed like she hadn't slept all night.

"There will be a funeral for Headmaster Dumbledore at the Hogsmeade Cemetery this afternoon, after classes are concluded. Please record your name on the sign-up sheets in the Common Rooms if you wish to attend. Attendance is not mandatory, and parental permission is required for anyone under seventeen. I understand many of you may not be able to secure your parents' permission in time, and I do apologise for that. Those of you with pet owls who aren't using them today, please offer to lend them to your friends as the school owls have been much in demand. There will be a large number of Aurors present from the Ministry, however, you are welcome to stay at Hogwarts if you have concerns for your safety or if you would find the event distressing."

Harry didn't think the Dursleys would appreciate receiving a letter-bearing owl – Pansy's borrowed owl to be precise – so instead tried to send a message to Sirius to ask for his help, if he was well enough. Her owl, however, looked very puzzled and refused to take wing.

"Wards?" Pansy asked knowingly.

"Very likely," Harry agreed. "Well, that's it, I guess I can't go."

"I could ask my parents to talk to the Dursleys for you?" she offered.

Harry sighed. "They'll probably say no anyway. I imagine they won't be in the best of moods."

"Because of your cousin Dudley? But he would surely be all healed up by now."

"Yes, but still… no-one likes their child getting injured. I… I don't think they even knew he was coming to the Tournament. I think Sirius helped him sneak away from school."

Pansy let out a long whistle. "Galloping gorgons, they are going to be furious."

Harry nodded glumly. It was a depressing but fair thought.

It would be best if they were under wards and the protection of wizards in any case, with the Dark Lord planning who knew what. Harry just hoped the Dursleys would be okay. Majorca. Majorca would be safe. Maybe they could take Dudley and overseas again? Just for a while?

Neville had leave to go to the funeral with his Gran (who was clearly in the gossip loop as she had owled her grandson at breakfast), and Harry asked him to offer up a flower arrangement on his behalf, which Neville was happy to do.

"Gran had a message for you too, Harry," Neville said. "Sirius was worried a letter wouldn't reach you in time because of your owl ward, so he passed on a message through her. Apparently, there is going to be a will reading after the service, and you're listed in Dumbledore's will, so he'll attend on your behalf as your Regent. I am in the will too, Gran says, so she shall escort me."

"Sirius can't approve me to go, can he?" Harry asked. "Since he's my Regent? That's kind of like a guardian."

"I do not know. However, from Gran's message it sounded like he expected you were staying at Hogwarts. 'Stay safe, Harry, I will pay our respects at the funeral and attend the will-reading as your Regent.' That is all she relayed from him. Sorry."

It had been announced at breakfast that Defence Against the Dark Arts classes had simply been cancelled for the last two days of the year. Perhaps the teachers were too superstitious to step into those cursed shoes to act as a substitute. The Potter Watch group leaders were certainly too wary of the rumoured curse to want to run any kind of defence training without an official DADA teacher in residence to take any magical fallout.

So, Harry had free time that afternoon instead of a double period. He helped Neville – who was dithering over his choice – pick out some formal robes for the funeral. Then with a murmured explanation to Neville that he wanted some quiet time in the Chamber of Secrets away from the weight of curious gazes and questions, he slunk away for a chat with Ambrosius, and to retrieve some of his cached snacks just in case he needed them over the holidays while staying with Sirius. Besides, while the charms on his cooling shelf were good, they wouldn't preserve food forever, and he hated to see good food go to waste.

Ambrosius was an appropriately sympathetic listener and said a lot of reassuring things to Harry about how it wasn't his fault that Dumbledore had died or that his cousin and Sirius had been attacked. He was also genuinely eager to hear a blow-by-blow recounting of the final Triwizard task.

He reminded Harry of Storm in an odd way, however, for his priorities and reactions weren't quite what most people's would be. He didn't seem at all distressed by the Headmaster's death or the Fiendfyre danger to students, and was purely focused on what it all meant for Harry: how would Harry learn the prophecy about himself now, would it impact his schooling, when might he hear if he'd won the Triwizard Tournament, and would Harry and his family still be safe and protected.

"You have to remember that I am a rather ancient simulacrum, and not a person, much though I feel like one occasionally," he explained self-deprecatingly, when Harry queried his priorities. "I have existed for centuries and heard of many Headmasters come and go. I never met Dumbledore and know only mixed reports of him from yourself and Tom, so it is impossible to genuinely mourn his loss. Over the years I have heard of many exemplars of light and justice who have lived and died without the world ending, and more than a few Dark Lords who have come and gone, making a much smaller impact on wizarding society than they had hoped for. Tom himself is but a flash of lightning to one such as I – noisy, dangerous, terrifying for those he strikes, and wondrous to behold for those unthreatened by his fire. But ultimately… brief. A flash of light in a storm that is soon ended.

"As such my concern is more for how his choices and yours impact Slytherin's Heirs, for it seems that but you and he alone still carry the bloodline of my old friend, and it would be a shame to see that line die out. Should you both perish without heirs, I would be left alone down here until such time as some curious treasure-hunter or history-minded Ravenclaw blasts through the walls and floors to find the long-lost Chamber of Secrets. A long, lonely wait…"

He trailed off, looking lost. "I sometimes wonder… did he, did the real Ambrosius truly comprehend what he was creating in me? Bringing me into being like a child… or a shadow… forging me with his blood and his will, impressing an echo of his soul onto chips of stone? It is a strange existence, and I am grateful for the charm that lets me slumber when no-one is around, but it makes consciousness an odd, fragmented thing, with what seem like jumps of months… years… decades even, between periods of waking. It is jarring… unnerving. I think your modern portraits seem more content with their lot. Better enchantments, I'd wager."

Harry had expected to spend the time talking over his own problems, but after the first wave of discussion was done he found he spent the rest of the afternoon reassuring Ambrosius, instead. That he wouldn't be forgotten, that Harry would survive this war, and would eventually marry and have heirs who would visit the famed mosaic of Ambrosius Aurelianus in his lonely hideaway.

"Don't forget that I have plans to make more mosaics for you to visit," Harry promised. "One day, when Potter Manor is rebuilt. Or sooner, if you want one up in the Great Hall? I'm sure no-one would mind, if I got permission. We could include some houses in the background for you to hide in, and peep at the world from. You – Merlin – you're famous. The most famous wizard who ever lived, and everyone would be thrilled to get to talk to you whenever you are ready."

"Perhaps," sighed Ambrosius. "Though I think the legend may be more exciting than my reality. I was god-like when I lived, of unmatched power with skills beyond mortal comprehension, able to live my life twice-over with knowledge of the future and bend the very elements to my will! Now, such skills are the province of barely-trained children. Only the skill to take on an animal's form seems increasingly rare. Perhaps one day the ability will be lost again, and I may yet impress future generations. It is little comfort, however, to think that future generations may be even less powerful and less long-lived than their ancestors, ever-more dependent on their wands like a crutch."

"I learnt how to summon my wand, remember?" encouraged Harry. "Just like you taught me to! I think it is mostly that people don't try very hard. It's a lot of work!"

"Perhaps…"

He didn't seem to be cheering up like Harry hoped, no matter how much they talked, so Harry eventually opted for a distraction instead, and read aloud from a History of Magic book he'd borrowed from the library to study up for his test, and was planning to return that afternoon. It covered the Victorian Era, which Ambrosius knew very little about, but was very interested in due to Britain having a rare queen as ruler. Harry added in bits of commentary about what the Muggles had been up to in the nineteenth century, to balance out the wizard-centric perspective. It kept them both busy and distracted, and Harry thought it wasn't such a bad way to spend the afternoon, in the end.

-000-

At dinner that evening Professor McGonagall reread the eulogy from Dumbledore's funeral, then solemnly called for people to doff their hats and spend a moment in prayer – or simply in silent remembrance – for Professor Dumbledore, and also for the other lives that had been lost to the terrible spectre of Fiendfyre. It was a sombre silence, in which the muffled sobs of more than a few students could be heard, trying unsuccessfully to hold back their tears.

She did, after that, cheer the room slightly with some happier and very unexpected news.

"Professor Moody is not dead," she said, then paused for an angry susurrus of outrage to ripple around the room, "because the man at the Triwizard Tournament was not Professor Moody, but someone changed by Polyjuice Potion! The disguised murderer's identity is yet to be confirmed by the DMLE, but our witness says it was in fact someone long thought dead in Azkaban – convicted Death Eater Bartemius Crouch Junior, son of the late Mr. Bartemius Crouch Senior, formerly the Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation."

The rumbling murmurs at the tables were much more interested now, but people were quickly shushed by their fellows, as everyone was eager to hear more of what McGonagall had to say.

"You are no doubt wondering how we determined this. Well, Mr. Yaxley from the DMLE informed me that Aurors would be by later this evening to collect Moody's belongings to distribute to his next of kin. In the process of tidying up his room in readiness for their arrival – checking for wards and curses and removing Hogwarts' books and supplies – we came across something rather interesting in his previously locked chest. We found Professor Moody. The real Professor Moody has been locked up all year in a magical trunk, unconscious for the majority of it thanks to forced ingestion of a few doses of the Draught of Living Death. He is now convalescing in the Hospital Wing under Madam Pomfrey's care, at his own preference. I would ask that no-one disturb him as he is understandably extremely wary of strangers at the moment."

"'Constant vigiliance'," murmured Harry.

"Didn't I always say it was strange how he wanted to teach us the Unforgiveable Curses?" Hermione said. The shock was wearing off fast for her, and people were quick to agree with her – if perhaps a little unconvincingly – that they too had always suspected that something was wrong with their 'Professor'.

"It was a good act," Neville said, with a frown.

"I guess this explains why he was happy to sign my permission slips for the Restricted Section," mused Harry. "Do you think that's something the real Moody would have done?"

"Crouch Junior," Neville muttered distractedly to himself. "I thought he was dead."

"I imagine it's something the real Moody would do, for he clearly worked hard on keeping up his persona to be able to fool everyone," Hermione said.

Neville looked deeply lost in thought and was frowning angrily.

Harry hummed thoughtfully. "Maybe." He was thinking of how Moody had loved to pick on some of the Slytherins. There was nothing he hated more than a Death Eater who walked free. He'd assumed it was because the man fought in the war… which he had, but on the other side. Perhaps he'd hated them escaping without consequences while he'd gone to Azkaban.

A memory of Moody's body flashed into his mind, topping over with a hole through his chest. And Dumbledore's throat. So very much blood. He'd tried to save him, he really had…

He sighed and pushed away his bowl of jam roly-poly with custard. Suddenly the raspberry jam filling wasn't appetizing any longer.

"Are you okay?" Hermione checked, looking instantly concerned as he pushed his dessert aside unfinished.

"Just… tired. Thinking about… Dumbledore… and stuff," Harry said vaguely. "It's good that they found the real Professor Moody, don't you think? Do you think he will teach next year?"

Patil, who was sitting between Hermione and Brown, jumped in with her thoughts. "I would not dare to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts here no matter how much you paid me! I doubt Professor… Mr. Moody will be at all interested when the curse felled him before he had perhaps even started. Especially if he is even half as paranoid as how Crouch portrayed him."

"Good thoughts, I think you might be right, Patil," Hermione said, and the other girl gave her a pleased nod.

That evening before bed Neville passed on to Harry his bequest from Dumbledore.

"Sirius asked me to give this to you. Almost everything from Dumbledore's estate went to his brother. He left a few things to teachers – including Snape – and to some friends of his. For you, he left you his wand," Neville said, passing it over. "It is a very personal thing for a wizard or witch to do. Traditionally one is either buried with it, or it is passed down to your closest family member who has a match with it."

"I will treasure it," Harry said sombrely. He looked at the wand curiously. It seemed like… it liked him. It felt warm in his hands – not really physically warm just… friendly – a bit like his holly and phoenix feather wand did. "Do you think it has a phoenix feather core? It feels a bit like mine."

"Maybe? The will did not say. 'To Harold James Potter I bequeath my elder-wood wand. May he use it well and nobly in the defence of others.' So, any affinity would not be from the wood. His phoenix flew away after the funeral, by the way. It sang this really touching song, then it was just… gone. In a flash."

Harry inspected his bequest carefully. It was a long wand, around fifteen inches. Very dark wood, lumpy with nodules down its length, and a band of visibly inscribed runes encircling the wand near the handle.

"You never see runes on wands," Harry observed curiously.

"I think they put them on the inside of wands these days," Neville said, "but do not ask me how. Wand-makers are very secretive about the creation process. This wand must be older than Dumbledore; perhaps it is a family heirloom."

"Wingardium Leviosa," Harry cast, trying to float a pillow in the air.

A safe target, just in case, but his caution was unnecessary. The pillow leapt up instantly, almost eagerly. He tried again, wordlessly, as it was one of the few silent spells he'd mastered, and the Levitation Charm worked just as well as the first time. If anything, it was even more responsive to channelling his magic than his own holly wand.

"I think it likes me," Harry said, looking down at the wand in his hand. "Is that weird? Maybe I'm imagining it."

Neville's smile was soft. "I think it is a lovely thing, to find a wand that suits you. Perhaps you are right, and it is made with a phoenix feather too. That Dumbledore's wand is a good fit for you is marvellous. I will never forget you buying me a new wand, Harry. The difference… to have a matching wand is so special. It feels… close to me. More than my father's wand ever did. I think it is a good omen for you. I doubt you are imagining anything; some wands are very temperamental."

Harry nodded. "And it looks to be quite an old wand. Anything exposed to a lot of magic over the years sometimes gets a bit… sentient."

"It doesn't think, Harry," Neville corrected.

"I know. But things get personality, right?"

"True."

Harry patted his new wand. "I like you too," he told it. "It is nice to have a second wand. I'll look after you like Dumbledore would have wanted." He still wasn't sure it was more than his imagination, but he thought it approved of him.

"What did he leave you?" Harry asked.

"His Pensieve. Professor McGonagall is packing it up for me and will send it to Longbottom Manor. There was still a memory in it, or possibly a few, and she does not want them to accidentally be ruined. He… he was going to show me more memories of… him… next year, and some more of my parents. They might be in there. If they are not… well… Gran promised she will learn how to pull out memories so she can share some of hers with me."

Harry nodded. "That sounds nice. I guess Dumbledore died with a lot of things unsaid. He tried to pass me a memory as he was dying," he said sadly. "It just… melted away."

Sirius' letter arrived late at night after sunset, basically repeating what Neville had told him, but with a lot more details of the funeral. Dumbledore's old friend Elphias Doge had cried throughout the whole funeral and had been left anything from Dumbledore's wardrobe that he wanted to keep, plus his collection of records. Dumbledore's brother Aberforth had looked as angry as he was sad, ranting in his eulogy about Death Eaters and You-Know-Who, and no-one taking his brother as seriously as they should have. Snape had been there, looking 'angry as a thundercloud', and had received some vials of unknown potions as his modest legacy. Sirius himself had received an unspecified 'small amount' of Galleons, and a mention in the will that Dumbledore regretted not trusting him as much as he should have, leading to too many years lost in Azkaban.

Sirius didn't sound overwhelmed in the slightest by the apology or the gift, and Harry honestly couldn't blame him.

The letter ended with Sirius' carefully vague promise that he was refortifying his 'non-Muggle home' and 'sorting things out' and would see Harry at King's Cross station. He paranoidly included an identifying code-word to memorise, just in case someone tried to imitate him, or in case Sirius himself felt the need to be disguised. Harry was instructed not to leave the station with anyone beside Sirius himself, Mrs. Tonks, or young Miss Tonks, should he be running late for any reason.

-000-

One last day of school, then they'd be free. Professor Trocar's History of Magic class was oddly cheery, compared to the others. He didn't appear upset in the slightest by Dumbledore's death, and when asked about if he'd be back again to teach next year, smilingly promised them (with a hint of fang) that McGonagall had said his continued appointment would be assured so long as she had anything to say about it.

He spent his lesson teaching them about high-profile assassinations and murders throughout history, including Julius Caesar killed by his own senators, the poisonings done by the potioneer-rich Monvoisin family in renaissance Italy, and even relatively recent murders like that of a half-blood wizard who'd worked with Lee Harvey Oswald to kill President John F. Kennedy, over in America. He'd betrayed his former helper and sent someone to silence Oswald but had been caught all the same and was quietly executed for his crimes by their magical government, MACUSA. It had set back magical-Muggle relations in the country for over a decade, and permanently halted plans President Kennedy had been discussing with MACUSA about broadening the number of people in the government who knew about wizards and witches.

Harry, Hermione, and Neville were in a minority in taking detailed notes. Most of the class just sat through the lesson with a façade of attention, a few having literally had it beaten into them that you must at least look like you were listening to their professor.

DADA was, of course, another free period, and one spent gossiping with friends and acquaintances in the library, though there was more of that after Charms at lunchtime, when the Slytherins joined them at their regular library table they'd staked out as theirs. They chatted both about recent events and about their holiday plans.

Hermione was nervous about the current climate in Britain for Muggle-borns and was planning to go abroad with her family for the summer. She wouldn't share exactly where she was going, which Greg scowled quietly about but Harry was happy to hear. It should help keep her safe.

Draco said his family was planning a few parties and activities and seemed to be hesitantly feeling out in a Slytherin fashion who would want to come; Hermione was pointedly not among those interested, but she wasn't openly rude about it. Harry counted that as being as close to a win as they were going to get with those two.

Pansy and Daphne said their families were staying home and going to work on their wards over summer, to Harry's pleased relief.

Tracey, like Harry, was deliberately vague about her family's plans, and refused to be drawn out on the topic, which people respected. Harry did mention he'd be going to a St. Mungo's dinner.

"What's that for?" Hermione asked. "Fundraising?"

"Didn't I mention it? I'm sure I did. I got a letter months and months ago. Umm, they're awarding me the Paracelsus Medal at their next charity dinner in summer, for helping heal people at the Quidditch World Cup. It… I dunno. It doesn't seem right, anymore. I couldn't save Dumbledore," he mumbled.

"Oh! I remember your medal," Hemione said, over the top of the murmur of approval from those hearing about it for the first time, like Theo. "They wrote about that around Christmas, didn't they? And Harry, the fact you can't save everyone doesn't negate the fact that you were very brave and helped as many people as you could."

"You tried to save him," Neville agreed. "Sometimes that's all anyone can do, even a professional Healer."

Millicent seemed uncertain about what she was doing during the holidays except for Quidditch practice, which Draco promptly invited himself, Vincent, and Greg along to. She didn't seem to have any objections to that, and in fact looked quite pleased.

Neville said his Gran was lining up a tutor for the summer, at his request, and Draco politely recommended Master Runcorn for duelling, whom Harry also endorsed. Neville thanked Draco and made a note of her name; it was the most courteous Harry had seen them be to each other in months. Harry promised he'd visit Neville, and then was forced to promise some other jealous friends (Draco foremost among them) to visit them too, if he could.

Theo also invited Harry to visit him over summer, however, Harry thought it very unlikely he'd be on Sirius' approved list of people safe to associate with. He'd had to be cagily noncommittal to Draco, too.

"Perhaps a bunch of us could catch up in Diagon Alley at Fortescue's for ice-cream, some time? And meet up again when our book lists arrive?" Harry suggested, and that plan was met with general approval as a safe, neutral option. He promised to check in with everyone via owl mail and pick a good couple of days for group catch-ups on dates that suited the majority.

Potions was an odd mixture of soothing and worrying. Professor Slughorn threw away any plans to actually teach them potions and instead seemed politely eager to hear whatever they wanted to share about their holiday plans or long-term hopes for the future. He approved, encouraged, and dispensed advice on the best places to see at various holiday locations, and who to talk to about hobbies and careers.

Slughorn, like Hermione, was making plans to be overseas for the holidays, and smilingly refused to be drawn on where.

He tapped the side of his nose in a cautioning gesture. "Best not to say too much to anyone right now, loose lips sink ships! I want everyone to be cautious out there, please. Do have fun, but I would advise staying away from any big public gatherings for the foreseeable future and ensure you have at least one adult chaperone with you at all times. Someone who can do Side-Along Apparition. Just in case… ah… just in case."

He might have been smiling, but the warning was a grave one, dimming the cheer in the room.

Harry raised his hand. "Will you be back to teach again next year, sir?"

Slughorn hummed thoughtfully as he smoothed his moustache. "Well, that remains to be seen. I do not wish to impose where I am not wanted, not by any means. I do not wish to be trouble to anyone! I have heard a rumour… confidentially children… that Professor Snape and our dearly departed Headmaster Dumbledore had a wee bit of an argument that contributed to his departure. I have greatly enjoyed my time here, but if, all things considered your former teacher asks for his position back under a new Headmistress – or Headmaster – I would not want to stand in his way. However, perhaps he is a brave soul and would wish to tackle the Defence position again! If so, or if he is simply happy in his new job, then I would certainly be willing to return to Hogwarts. 'Tis a bit soon to check on such matters, truly. Time will tell. Should I move on, I hope that some of my dear students will drop me a line from time to time to let me know how you are doing!" Here he looked around at the class, his gaze lingering particularly on some of his favourites, including Harry, Hermione, and Draco. Neville too was bestowed with a cheery smile too, if not as long-lasting.

Exam results were handed out late, at dinner time at the start of the Leaving Feast. Hermione shrieked in angry shock at the 'Dreadful' she'd been awarded for DADA by Crouch (under Moody's name).

"I'm going to appeal," she vowed. "Now we know who he really was, his obvious bias against Muggle-borns gives me an excellent case for appealing. McGonagall will understand, I'm sure."

"I got a Troll!" Dean Thomas called out. "I'm up for appealing!"

Gossip spread up and down the Gryffindor table; the highest scores any Muggle-borns had received were the "Acceptable" scores earned by the Creevey brothers, which they attributed to gifting him some chocolates at Christmas – a suck-up gift they'd given as advised by some unspecified friends, since he hadn't seemed to like them much and it had worried them. Harry, and possibly the Creeveys too, silently attributed their improved scores to their attendance at pagan celebrations (though perhaps Moody had never heard about that, and simply enjoyed the bribe).

The OWL and NEWT students were safe, however, as they'd been independently assessed by the Ministry.

"What else did you get?" Neville asked Hermione.

"Outstanding."

"On what?"

"…Everything," she admitted, with a touch of embarrassment. "I got top in Transfiguration, beating out Ravenclaw this year, but I lost History of Magic and Potions. I'd guess Goldstein and Malfoy got those spots. Unless you got Potions, Harry?"

"An O, but not the top. I did get top in DADA," Harry admitted, with a lot more embarrassment, "though I'm not sure that's worth much right now. I kept top spot in Charms, too, which I think I deserve more. E's in Astronomy, History of Magic, and Care of Magical Creatures. Professor Trocar took me aside and said my ideas are good and I'm capable of getting an Outstanding if I put more effort into polishing my essays, though, so that was nice I guess. Maybe next year I'll have more free time to fuss with them."

It was his first year of not trying to manipulate his grades to achieve any particular level, and he was happy with the results.

"Well done! For Charms, that is," Hermione clarified. "OWLs next year, so that will be the one that matters. Are you keeping your course light for your correspondence studies?"

"That's the plan! Business Studies IGCSE, and my A levels in French and Latin."

"Sounds good. Maybe you heard I got top for Herbology again this year," Neville announced proudly, "and an Outstanding in Charms, and Excellent in Potions again. E's and A's for the rest."

"How about DADA?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Oustanding," Neville said, his brow drawing in angrily as he scowled. "I think I shall appeal it. I want nothing from that man. I would prefer a Troll."

Hermione, somewhat to Harry's quiet distress, totally neglected her dinner in favour of going around the tables garnering support for a review of all of Professor Crouch's subject results. She got to speak briefly to Professor McGonagall, who looked pained, but seemed to be nodding along to Hermione's impassioned speech. He wrapped some food up for her in a paper bag transfigured from a sheet of parchment; it should last long enough.

As the table was magically cleared of dinner but before dessert arrived, McGonagall stood for some end of year announcements. She started off with a long-winded speech about how lovely it had been to host exchange students from other schools that year, the value of international friendship and cooperation, her deepest sympathy for the loss of Headmaster Karkaroff, and the poor ending to the year at the final Triwizard task.

"I am grieved more than words can express that the troubles that plague England have affected our guests and have cast a grave shadow on our hospitality. We can only offer our sincere apologies, and hope that your hearts may harbour some sympathy for the perilous times we increasingly find ourselves in," she said gravely.

"Yet, as our late Headmaster was fond of saying, 'Happiness can be found in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light'. So as a reminder to us all that while darkness rises, so can the light, I have some Special Awards for Services to the School to announce. These are granted to students who have demonstrated truly exemplary service to our school in a given year, and your names will be inscribed on Hogwarts' trophy for all to remember. As I call your names, please stand to receive the thanks of both staff and students for your service."

There was a murmur of interest, quickly hushed.

"Our first award goes to Cedric Diggory," she announced, to an overwhelming cheer from Hufflepuff. He stood and waved bashfully, with a broad smile. "For demonstrating exemplary leadership and care for his fellow students. Mr. Diggory kept the evacuation of the Hufflepuff stand orderly and as calm as was possible in the circumstances. He was also the last to leave as he had remained behind to spray the stand with water and throw up transfigured barriers to slow the spread of fire as students left, ensuring a safe departure."

There was a lot more cheering, and then Diggory sat as the next recipient was announced.

"Our Head Girl, Tamsin Applebee. For caring and compassion towards the wounded. You have done your House proud."

Harry guessed he might get an award too, as he'd organised and helped set up a tent for the wounded. His friends were whispering expectantly, but he wasn't the next person announced, though it was a Gryffindor.

"Angelina Johnson," McGonagall started, then paused for the roar of approval to die down. Hermione was covering her ears and wincing, it was so loud. "For courageously stepping forward to counter the Fiendfyre alongside Mr. Yaxley and his Aurors from the DMLE, and showing that a dedicated student can be as adept a spellcaster as even a trained expert. I have no doubt lives were saved due to your bravery."

There was a sudden burst of fireworks in the air above the tables in the Great Hall. Harry didn't know if they'd planned it, perhaps the Weasley twins knew in advance about the announcement, or perhaps they always carried around fireworks. Whatever the reason, the Weasleys certainly seemed ready to light and shoot off a massive quantity of fireworks at a moment's notice, which after a first few startled shrieks were met with cheers and delight. There were bursts of coloured sparks, whizzing silver spirals, and glittering waterfalls of red and gold. Johnson, impossible to hear over the din, mouthed something to the Weasley twin next to her, a mock frown on her brow but a smile on her lips. Harry guessed it was Fred Weasley who laughed, looking utterly unrepentant as he kissed her hand gallantly and murmured something low to her. Whatever it was it made her grin brightly, and her eyes sparkled as she shook her head in mock-exasperation, dark braids swinging.

"Harry Potter–"

The cheers were loud, if not as loud from the Hufflepuff table as they had been for Diggory, or as dramatic with fireworks like they had been for Johnson. Slytherin certainly approved of him, as did much of Gryffindor, and the foreign students were polite as they had been for everyone. Krum certainly was applauding loudly.

"For courage under fire in an attempt to be both an Auror and a battlefield Healer, and organising and assisting with healing the wounded. Your bravery in attempting to take down a Death Eater and your sadly interrupted efforts to save our beloved late Headmaster will not be forgotten. I hope many take courage from your sterling example. You too are a credit to your House."

Marcus Turner, Head Boy from Ravenclaw, similarly received an award. His was for attempting to take down a black-robed figure he'd spotted fleeing the environs of the official Triwizard Healing Tent, shortly after it had been set on fire. It was the first many had heard of a Death Eater being spotted skulking around, and speculative gossip was subsequently rife.

Godfrey Midhurst, another seventh-year from Ravenclaw, also stood for his turn; another student commended for helping the injured.

The Slytherins shifted expectantly, having spotted the pattern and hoping that it was their turn next. Dumbledore was known for his anti-Slytherin bias – at least amongst the Slytherins he was – but some clearly had more optimism regarding McGonagall.

"Peregrine Derrick, for erecting a series of earthen bulwarks, then pre-emptively burning the ground clean of anything flammable, we salute you. Your efforts ensured that the progress of the flames towards the Slytherin-dominated stand was completely blocked, and smaller fires were corralled until Aurors and volunteers could deal with them. Your ingenuity is a credit to your House."

"That's my friend!" Harry called happily, joining in the cheers.

The final Slytherin was a surprise to many, including the boy himself.

"Malcolm Baddock."

As he stood an expression of bewilderment and dawning pride was evident on the young first-year's face as he stood to receive his own accolade.

"Your steadfastness and kindness to your House-mates in assisting the wounded to reach safety was noted by many. When others near you fled in a panic, you stayed to help those injured in the crush, escorting them to receive help from Healers and volunteers. Your exemplary conduct has earned you, our youngest ever recipient, this highest honour to students that Hogwarts offers."

The junior Slytherin students were particularly excited in their applause, and Baddock received a lot of handshakes and a few hugs when he sat down again.

"As Professor Slughorn said to me, 'The offences and kindnesses others offer to us will not soon be forgotten. A cunning and ambitious Slytherin considers the consequences of all their actions.'"

Professor Slughorn nodded in pleased acknowledgement of McGonagall's words, and Harry saw more than a few Slytherins casting thoughtful looks at their Head of House.

McGonagall's final awards went to Viktor Krum – for courage in battle and for fighting the Fiendfyre, and to a Beauxbatons student Harry had only briefly met after the attack on Hogsmeade.

"The Beauxbatons students evacuated quickly and as a group from the arena, which was a sensible choice, and efficiently managed. With all students acting in an exemplary manner there was no standout choice for an award. As such, I turn to commend a student who has acted with consistent kindness over the course of the year, Laurent Durand. You have offered a shoulder to cry on and a ready ear to help those who have found it a trying year. Many have spoken well of you to their Heads of House, and saluted your thoughtfulness in sitting with them for more hours than perhaps you could spare from your studies, just to hear them talk about their troubles. It has been a special service indeed that you have charitably offered all year to students in need."

The young man stood and bowed politely to the audience, before sitting down again quickly. He seemed uncomfortable in the limelight.

"Two final pieces of business before I turn the floor over to Mr. Weasley and our Triwizard judges, who have been waiting their turn very patiently."

Harry had barely noticed them up at the top table, he didn't have a good view from where he was sitting today, with a crowd of people in the way. He was surprised, but pleased, to hear that they'd finally get to know who had won.

"Firstly," continued McGonagall, "the Quidditch Cup this year goes to… Slytherin!"

The trophy was passed to Slughorn as their House cheered, and others clapped politely.

"The House Cup, in a narrowly run race, goes to… Gryffindor!"

Their own House's celebration was more boisterous, as the Great Hall was suddenly hung with red and gold banners featuring a lion rampant.

The Gryffindors were allowed their moment of celebration before Percy Weasley stood, coughing politely until he had everyone's attention. After a recap of the close scores from the first three tasks (with Krum on a narrow two point lead, followed by Harry, then Delacour only a point behind him), and a reminder of the prizes at stake (glory, a replacement trophy, and a thousand Galleons for the winner and lesser prizes for second and third), he turned things over to the judges.

Scamander started things off by reassuring everyone – most of whom hadn't even considered the matter – that all the creatures from the labyrinth had been saved from the fire, and the injured ones were either fully healed or well on their way to a full recovery. Harry got his highest score yet out of thirty, mostly for "expert Niffler and snake handling" and rambling praise for "considerate preservation of the life of a rare and injured minotaur". He did lose a few points for being surprised by Krum and "not showing due care in a duelling arena". Delacour garnered his second-highest score, for "ingenuity with navigation and skilled charm work".

Marchbanks gave Harry a decent score, praising his wandless and wordless spellcasting as being "truly remarkable for a young wizard your age". However, she seemed less impressed with his "reliance on snakes rather than his own skills" and more impressed with Krum's repertoire of spells and duelling abilities. Krum lost some points for not gaining the door key and for blasting his way through a door instead of bypassing it, but still gained her top score. Delacour, like Harry, got a middling score.

Even with Harry getting the full ten points for timely completion of the maze, it was looking like another close race. Then Bagman stepped up to speak. He looked like he was practically quivering with excitement, and the other judges looked surprisingly stony-faced as he spoke. Bagman could hardly wait long enough for all the words to come out, babbling away his final points awards in a rush.

"Sixteen points to Miss Delacour for a slow but steady showing; overly cautious but with good control of spells she cast. Fourteen to Mr. Krum for excellent duelling; his score would have been much higher if he had not broken a key Tournament rule by shattering his way through the final door despite being reminded not to do this at the start. Last but by no means least, twenty-eight points to Potter for peerless wandless and wordless spellcasting, ingenuity, and determination!"

It had looked for a moment like Krum was going to win the Tournament, but Bagman's surprisingly low scores for the overseas champions gave Harry the win.

Percy, who'd done the maths, announced his success, calling Harry up to receive a rather plain gold cup (presumably hastily crafted to replace the still-missing Triwizard Cup trophy, not that Harry would have wanted it if it had been found, no matter how much the blood was carefully cleaned off it).

Most people cheered as he passed, and he steeled himself for back pats and handshakes as he passed. A few from Hogwarts still seemed unimpressed by his accomplishment and clapped in a desultory grudging fashion; Harry was hurt to note the Weasley twins were among them. Though their eyes were fixed in angry glares at Ludo Bagman, rather than on Harry himself, as they muttered something darkly in a huddle with each other and their friends Jordan and Johnson.

Harry took his trophy and large bag of Galleons, waved to the crowd, smiled for a Daily Prophet photographer, and stayed there while Krum got his silver trophy and a hundred Galleons, and Delacour with a disappointed look collected a bronze cup and a token ten Galleons. It would still be a nice little prize for a family like the Weasleys on a tight budget who could buy a lot of second-hand robes and books with a minor windfall like that, but for wealthier families it was more like a few weeks' pocket money.

After a moment's thought, Harry hesitantly tried to purchase some extra fireworks from the Weasley twins, to be let off during dessert, but got only a curt reply that their stock had run out.

Oh well, at least I tried to help, he consoled himself. I suppose I'll keep a little and invest the rest. Do up that stolen Muggle shop in Crown Street that Sirius helped me get for the Potters with beds and cupboards for rental accommodation upstairs for peaceable werewolves, and fix up the downstairs ready for tenanting by a Muggle-born shopkeeper. One who doesn't mind werewolves. I think the witch who wants to set up a high-end grocery store with gourmet imported food as well as some staples sounds like the best investment choice. She prepared a proper business plan with projected profit and everything!

When the feasting and partying was all done, Harry wrote letters late into the night, letting Sirius, Remus, and also Griphook (who looked after the House of Potter's banking interests) know about his choices. He also sent a polite letter to Hyndla, one of two werewolves (not counting Lupin) that he corresponded with, letting her know about his tentative plans, and enquiring as to whether she might know of anyone looking for his planned rare Ministry-approved accommodation option that was set away from both Muggles and from established wizarding residential districts. Lupin had sworn people would go crazy for it, but it would be nice to get a second opinion and some possible tenants lined up, before sinking money into his plan. Lupin had said 'Hyndla' was more a title or pseudonym than a name, but he was pretty sure he knew who she was and approved of her in a general fashion, as someone who didn't follow Fenrir.

There was a letter, that night. It wasn't from Lord Voldemort, but it could hardly have evoked more despair if it had been, carrying some terrible news or threat. It was in an innocuous Muggle envelope complete with stamps, carried by an elderly Owl Office barn owl struggling gamely through the wind and rain outside to deliver its message.

It was from the Dursleys. Dudley was indeed, thankfully, alive and mostly well. However, his aunt's letter was full of vitriol and fury. She blamed Harry for everything.

He read through her letter in a panic, then a second time, more slowly through teary eyes.

Phrases leapt out at him:

"Appalling ingratitude!"

"Poor Dudders was scared to death, he was almost killed!"

"Took you in for poor Lily's sake, and this is how you repay us after all our care…"

"Final straw… lying and putting our family in danger!"

"Go then, live with that horrible, nasty man! We packed up your things for him… no consideration of the work you make for us!"

"Nothing but trouble…"

And one final, cutting warning buried any hope of a possible reconciliation:

"We are selling the house and moving somewhere safer. Don't you dare come looking for us, you or any of your kind."

She signed the letter as "Mrs. Dursley", perhaps taking one small lesson from past interactions with the Parkinson family about how to formally cut a wizard from your family.

As Harry shook with sobs, his back heaving and his eyes and nose running as he cried ugly tears, Storm's anxious attempts at consoling him that 'Dog-man' had better treats anyway and a warmer house were of little comfort. His family had disowned him.