rated T, similar to the novels.
NOT compliant with book 7. Contains mention of original characters in monor roles - all recognizable characters belong to JK Rowling. No profit is being made.
...
Harry clenched his hand, hoping to avoid pulling his wand. The war was supposed to be over, he shouldn't stir things up again by attacking half the Wizengamot when they'd lured him in here. Even if they'd used the despicable trick of claiming that it would be nothing more than a simple and most importantly private awards ceremony for some of the survivors of the Battles. It was supposed to be a recognition of the sacrifices that so many people had made to make things better, safer.
Truth was that they were trying to find a way to use his renewed fame to make themselves look better. To look like they hadn't been cowering in their homes while children had fought, bled and died. While some of their number had stalked around in masks and black robes.
Malfoy the elder was dead, caught in the back by a blasting hex when he'd tried to run away. Malfoy the younger was still alive, his fortune drastically reduced by a hush-hush deal that had let him avoid Azkaban in return for half the family fortune and having several magical bindings placed on him. Harry thought that someone had been too kind to the ferret, but such was the power of money. Snape was dead. There were only a few of the most well known Death Eaters who had survived, and most of those wished they hadn't. One of the Lestrange brothers had survived, but something had gone wrong with a spell that he'd tried, and his wand had exploded, taking with it his right hand and arm to the elbow, though the flame had cauterized the wound, and leaving him unable to cast any magic at all. The Healer from St. Mungo's said that he was unlikely to regain his spell-casting abilities, though he might be able to father magical children. Fluffy had used MacNair as a chew-toy.
Snape was dead – Harry felt that it bore repeating. Bellatrix and the other LeStrange brother had perished at Hogwarts, having chased Neville into Greenhouse Seven. Only Professor Sprout had asked, and she'd looked a bit shaken yet proud after Neville had whispered something into her ear. Rookwood had been snatched by the Department of Mysteries, who had claimed there were a few experiments that they had wanted to try for decades… Rookwood's look of terror had been worse than many people faced with Voldemort.
Those who had fought for a safer tomorrow were trying to use their abilities to make things better, in a variety of places and ways, depending on their abilities and interests. The survivors, at least. Some were able to put in more effort than others – Remus Lupin had only survived due to the enhanced healing of a werewolf, and Tonks was still in treatment at St. Mungo's. The Weasleys had been devastated by the deaths of Molly, fighting Yaxley, and Percy, along with the grave injuries of both twins, and Ron and Ginny. The twins had only just been released from St. Mungo's and Ron would have a permanent limp. Ginny flat-out refused to talk about the after-effects of her injuries, which had left parts of her exposed to their horrified view that were never intended to be exposed to anything, let alone on the trampled ground outside the Three Broomsticks. Hermione had thrown herself into fighting for house elf rights, and equal treatment for those who carried creature heritage, like Hagrid who had fallen fighting Voldemort, Flitwick, who had perished defending students from Fenrir Greyback, and Fleur, who had lost the baby that she and Bill hadn't even told their parents they were expecting. Fleur was fighting depression, caused by the loss of their baby and the scars the wounds had left on her.
Harry had died. Oh, he'd come back, and he hadn't had any relatives to lose to the battle, not like so many others had lost family. He hadn't lost any of his limbs or extremities, hadn't suffered any irreparable damage to his internal organs, or lost the use of his magic. He'd refused to talk to the Ministry's people or the mind-healers at St. Mungo's about his injuries or what lingering effects they might have.
He hadn't told anyone that he'd actually died, letting them think that it was just a heavy stunning, or that the Death Eaters had been overly hopeful. He hadn't told them of the horrible nightmares he still suffered, from the things that he'd seen Voldemort do through that awful link. Hadn't told anyone that now, after everything he'd suffered and learned, he hated Dumbledore as much as Voldemort. Couldn't tell anyone that he envied those who had lost their beloved relatives to the war… because they'd had time with them first.
There had been a small ceremony, with awards and Orders of Merlin and Stars of Valor and Commendations. He'd seen some old friends, and some people that he could only vaguely recall seeing. Nothing too surprising.
Then one of the old men in purple robes had stood up and started talking. Harry had winced when he'd realized that they'd lured them into an ambush to talk about political plans. Measures to restore public confidence. To make people feel better. To bring things back the way they were… as if that was even possible!
"… that if you would marry someone from an old family, we feel that"
"Stop right there," Harry demanded, feeling the air grow tense and staticky around him. "I am not ready to marry anybody at this point in time. If and when I feel ready, it will be to a woman of my choice, not to someone picked out by a group of politicians based on her pedigree. Focusing more on someone's pedigree than their abilities is half of what got the magical world into that damned mess with Voldemort to begin with, and I'm not going to support it!"
"Mister Potter, we are talking about a young lady of good family, not someone's pet Krup!" yelped a man with a bushy mustache and a bald head.
"You are talking about choosing someone based entirely on ancestry, not on the merits of her education, her accomplishments, or even the appeal of personal beauty. That's a breeding program, however you want to dress it up, and I'm not having that," he scowled at them.
"Mister Potter," this came from an old witch that looked familiar – Madam Marchbanks, perhaps? "While some of us feel that your willingness to marry and begin a family would show that you feel the country has entered a more peaceful state, I can certainly support your desire to choose your own bride."
"Thank you, Madam. Do you have any sensible suggestions for helping get magical Britain back on her feet, a suggestion that doesn't include me tying myself to a stranger chosen by her ancestry?"
"I do have such a suggestion, Mister Potter. First, while I do not mean to point you towards any particular witch, I suggest that you at least consider the idea of finding yourself a bride and having a family. As such a decision shouldn't be made lightly or in isolation, perhaps you could accept a position as an ambassador, and help renew diplomatic ties between Britain and other nations? In such a position, being unmarried might even be an asset," she replied, leaving understood but unspoken the idea that an unmarried ambassador might find a foreign bride.
"Umm…" Harry blinked, not expecting someone from the Wizengamot to have such a sensible suggestion. "The only problem that I can think of with that plan is that an ambassador should speak the language of the country they're trying to be diplomatic with, and I only speak English. Well, English and Parsel-tongue."
"Mister Potter, there are spells for that," this speaker was a very lean, very pale man who somehow reminded him of a bleached and worn-out male version of Luna Lovegood. "We can give you any language that you want, with only a little bit of a headache. We are wizards after all."
"I guess that's good…" Harry couldn't help but wonder if that would really be better than marrying some stranger. Some pure-blood maybe stranger… Probably. But it did look like he knew how he'd be in trouble and danger this time.
"Then we shall appoint you as an ambassador at large, and you and Mr. Lovegood can speak with the appropriate people to acquire new languages," Madam Marchbanks declared. "Between that and asking if you would at least try to be friendly and polite to the ladies and give thought to the idea of a family, we shall thank you once again for your efforts in saving Britain, and the Wizengamot shall move on to other matters."
"Just remember that I vote to maintain creature habitats and all their protections, and that there is a motion to add the Lesser Tyranolagomorpha to the class four dangerous magical beasts listing," insisted the man who resembled Luna.
He was smiling as he walked towards Harry. "Now, shall we go find someone about languages, Mr. Potter?"
"Sure. She called you Mr. Lovegood. I'm guessing that means that you're related to Luna and her dad?" Harry offered. Luna had always been a bit unusual, but he had trusted her with his life on several occasions.
"Oh yes. She's one of my favorite nieces. Her father is my nephew, or perhaps half-nephew. Gran remarried after Grandfather's death and to many people's shock, she had the audacity to have more children. One of them was Tantalus Lovegood, who eventually became the father of Xeno and Scylla Lovegood. And then Xeno got together with Fayetta, and they had Luna… sweet girl, Luna. But she does have a bit of a temper. She also credits you for teaching her to cast the patronus," he glanced at Harry, his slightly large eyes a much more ordinary pale blue than Luna's silver.
"I thought it might be very useful, what with the Dementors," Harry explained.
"Oh yes, a very useful spell indeed. It was an absolute pleasure watching her Tyranolagomorpha patronus shred those Dementors… and please, call me Lewis," Mr. Lovegood gestured with his hands as he talked, leading Harry out of the Wizengamot hall and towards the elevators.
"I thought her patronus looked like a rabbit," Harry mused.
"A frequent mistake when dealing with Tyranolagomorphas. They are related, but far, far more vicious and predatory than any rabbit," Lewis explained.
"So it's like a killer rabbit?" Harry asked.
"Yes, exactly!" Lewis beamed. "You have no idea how frustrating it is when most just dismiss the Tyranolagomorpha as something that doesn't exist."
Lewis led them up the elevator and down a hall, tapping on a door. When it opened, it revealed an older woman who had once been of an impressively amazonian physique, who was still rather striking even though her hair was almost solidly grey and she had crinkles at the corners of her eyes. "Oh beautiful Temis, may young Mr. Potter request your professional skills?"
"What languages would you like, Mr. Potter?" she asked.
"All of them for Europe other than English?" Harry asked.
"Mr. Potter, giving one language will hurt. Giving you all of them for Europe… the pain would be excruciating," she cautioned.
"Would it be worse than the cruciatus, ma'am?" Harry asked. "If I'm supposed to be an ambassador, I should be able to talk to people in their own languages."
For a long moment, she looked at him without speaking. After a few moments, she murmured, "No, it wouldn't be worse than the cruciatus."
"Well then… how do we start?"
"We start by you sitting down, with your wand anywhere but your hand while I start feeding languages into you head. Lewis, if you could renew the silencing charms on my office, please? I apologize in advance for the headache this will give you, Mr. Potter, and I suggest that you give the new languages a few days to settle before you start using them…"
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