This one is short! Also, next week marks the beginning of Draco's weekly appearances (yes, I have managed to work out a week-by-week posting schedule). I realised he shows up almost every single week. This is going to be fun.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is JK Rowling's.

Chapter 11

27th August, 1998

Justice

There was something he had to do.

The uncomfortable feeling that he was holding on to something that didn't belong to him followed him everywhere since the battle. He had thought that when he gave Malfoy his wand back, it would go away. Instead, the feeling had lingered, some days stronger than others. Until he had pinpointed exactly what was bothering him; and even then, it had stayed strong within him, because he didn't want to give it up.

Maybe it didn't belong to him, he thought, staring at the gleaming silver sword in his hands. But who did it belong to? Would he hand it over to the Ministry again? To Hogwarts?

To Neville?

"Harry, stop doing that," Hermione snapped at him.

A week spent packing her parents' things in Australia and living with their disapproval and her own guilt had sharpened her temper, and now, three days after they had come back, he still had to tiptoe around her to avoid her irritation.

"It's creepy," Ron agreed from where he was lying on his back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. "Like you want to off yourself."

He scoffed and held the sword up. "What, with this?"

"Hey, mate," Ron said, "It killed a Basilisk once. It could easily deal with the Boy-Who-Lived."

"Oh, please," he said, looking at it, weighing it in his hands. "If I wanted to end it, I wouldn't choose a sword to do it."

"Nah," Ron agreed pleasantly, pushing himself up on his elbows to look at him. "If you wanted to die, you'd have had plenty of opportunities during the past seven years." He barked out a laugh. "Kind of makes you wish you weren't so good at surviving, doesn't it?"

"Don't talk like that," Hermione said sharply, and Ron rolled his eyes meaningfully at Harry. "Both of you!"

"I didn't say anything!" Harry protested.

"We're just kidding, Hermione."

"No, you aren't," she said.

Harry wished she hadn't said that. They all knew there was an underlying bitterness to everything Ron said, and that talk of dying wasn't always a joke, but did she really have to bring it up all the time? Did taking the easy way out and avoiding the subject make him a coward?

Gryffindor, the sword whispered to him. Gryffindor courage, it seemed to mock him.

"What are you doing, anyway, Hermione?" Ron asked after a moment.

Hermione looked up from the book she was bent over. "I am going back to Hogwarts," she said pointedly. "And I haven't opened a study book in a year!"

"Makes up for all those you read the years before that, then."

She suddenly smiled at Ron, a smile that was too toothy to be sincere. "You two really think you're getting off easy, aren't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I've read all about Auror training," she said, in a superior voice that reminded Harry of her tone on the train in their first year, when she had watched Ron attempt to turn Scabbers yellow. "And Ginny and I used to talk to Tonks about it. It's really intensive. You'll be working ten times as hard as I will."

Ron snorted.

"And I won't be there to help you," she finished, lowering her head back to her book.

Because that was what was bothering her, of course. That she wouldn't be with them. Ginny was a good friend, but no one could replace the years she had spent with Harry and Ron. Ron, whose brain had done a cartwheel after Fred's death and who seemed to have completely forgotten the kiss they had shared during the battle.

And neither Harry nor Hermione herself could blame him. Sometimes Harry thought it was a miracle that any of them could still get out of bed in the morning. It was just too hard to continue living the way they had. It was hard enough leading this sort of half-life.

Auror training would start on 30th August, despite it being a Sunday. They were expected to show up at the Ministry before seven o'clock, something that horrified both Ron and Harry. There were few other downsides to being "Ministry employees." Aside from the maroon trainee robes they would have to wear (which might have been enough to make Ron think twice about entering training if Harry hadn't been there to force him into it), everything else had seemed cool: a hefty pay, status, and the job of Harry's dreams. Not to mention Hermione was right; after all they'd gone through, both of them expected training to be a piece of cake.

Ron echoed his thoughts. "We defeated the greatest dark wizard of all time. What can Auror training be compared to that? At least we won't be risking our lives in class."

"Have you even looked it up?" Hermione asked, exasperated. "Do you know what kind of lessons you'll have? Stealth and Tracking," she cited. "You don't know the first thing about it! There Concealment and Disguise – that's high-level Transfiguration and Potions. There's even a class called Potions and Poisons."

"We brewed Polyjuice in our second year," Ron said.

"You'll have four hours of Occlumency and Legilimency every week," Hermione added.

"Well, that's it, then," Ron said. "We'll flunk out."

Hermione laughed, but Harry felt uncomfortable just thinking about it. What if he wasn't up to Auror training?

He changed the subject, again lifting the sword so it caught the light. "I just don't know what to do with this."

"Give it back to the goblins," Hermione said, without looking up from her book.

Ron laughed.

He felt conspicuous, striding down Diagon Alley with the sword in his hands. It didn't help that the sword, being goblin-made, radiated more light than natural silver should. He probably looked like a robber, a madman, or a killer. It didn't get any better when he swung into Gringotts. A dozen goblins looked up to stare first at his face, then at the gleaming silver in his hands. As one, their eyes narrowed and they pointedly turned away. Oddly enough, he took some comfort from their attitude. It reminded him of Griphook.

He headed forward to the desk behind which the Gringotts Head Goblin sat. "Excuse me –"

"Harry Potter," the Head Goblin said, peering at him over the top of the desk. "Well."

He said nothing else, and Harry felt distinctly uneasy. He didn't know how it was possible, but he somehow had the impression that the goblin knew exactly who had perpetrated the most recent – and very ostentatious – break-in. From what Griphook had told him, goblins took that sort of thing very seriously.

"I – er," he said eloquently.

"Do you wish to make a withdrawal?" the goblin asked pointedly.

"No," Harry said. "I'm here about the sword." He held it up awkwardly. "The sword of Gryffindor."

The goblin's expression turned into something closely resembling a sneer. "I recognise it."

"I broke into Gringotts this year," he said without thinking.

Now, it was a scowl. "I recall that very well."

"I struck a bargain with Griphook. He was... useful in planning the finer details." He looked at the sword. "In exchange for getting us into Gringotts, he asked to have the sword."

The Head Goblin seemed intrigued despite himself. Such a betrayal would normally disgust a goblin, but the stakes were so high they could almost have been worth it.

"Griphook is dead now. And he sort of betrayed us. But he did get us into Gringotts, and I don't feel right, keeping this sword. I think Griphook was right. It belongs to the goblins, doesn't it?"

"It is goblin-made," the Head Goblin agreed. Then: "I am Garwick."

"Pleased to meet you. Garwick, the sword is yours. The goblins', I mean."

Garwick looked at him with an intensity that made him uneasy. He knew the goblin wouldn't thank him. In his mind, Harry had only tried to right a fraction of the wrongs wizards had done to the goblins. But maybe it could almost make up for leaving the bank in ruins after getting away on a dragon after stealing from a vault.

Then Garwick's hand snaked out and he all but wrenched the sword out of Harry's hands. He sat there, staring at it, for a long moment. Then he looked back up at Harry.

"You are indeed a strange wizard, Harry Potter," he said, his voice sounding almost awed. "To uphold a bargain such as this one –"

"I always keep my word."

Garwick cocked his head. "Yes. I see that now. And you would keep a promise broken by another..."

"The Sword of Gryffindor was the goblins' to begin with, wasn't it?"

"It has been at Hogwarts for centuries..."

"Hogwarts will no longer have need of it. It served its purpose."

Garwick surprised him. "Thank you, Harry Potter."

As you've probably realised by now, this fic is actually a collection of post-war moments I always wondered about (What about Draco's wand? What happened to Godric's sword? How did George/family/friends deal with losing Fred? How did Luna feel about her father almost turning in Harry?), strung together so they almost make sense.

Anecdote: The name Garwick comes from the actor who played Griphook in DH, Warwick Davis. Add the G for Griphook and you end up with a pretty goblin-sounding name, don't you agree?

I'll post two chapters next week. One is called "Lilies" and the other is called "Lifeless Grey Eyes." Can you guess which characters they'll be about? :p