Chapter One Hundred Sixty-Eight: Retaking the Ministry
Retaking the Ministry was ridiculously easy. The Battle of Hogwarts had gathered most of the Death Eaters in one place. What remained were the Imperiused Members of the Ministry. And Dolores Umbridge. And a couple of Death Eaters.
"Not you again," he said, when he encountered Umbridge. "Really, you were subjected to your own Unforgivable Curse, antagonised the centaurs to the point of needing therapy…what punishment suits you, exactly?"
His hands clenched into tight fists. The words I must not tell lies stood out stark white against his skin. Something had to be done about Umbridge. What she'd tried to do to these poor muggleborns….
She seemed to recognise his anger, but there was no glee at seeing it, now when she could inflict no punishment on him, and the scales were tipped back in Harry's favour.
"Hermione is dedicated to finding a fitting punishment for you. We've given her that authority. But that doesn't meant that I can't find a stopgap punishment or two."
He turned to Ginny. "Send her to Azkaban," she suggested.
"Yes, but they'll be instituting reforms. The dementors won't be there anymore to trap her in her own worst fears."
Ginny nodded, and smiled at him. He felt good about the promise of her words even before she spoke. "When has that ever stopped you?" she asked sweetly over her shoulder at him. Umbridge wiggled in her bonds, but apparently Ginny had figured out how to make them like chains. Or maybe that was an unexpected benefit of the Star Preserver Spell.
He took the hint, and a smile started to spread across his face almost against his wishes. Umbridge attempted to back away, and failed. "When, indeed?" he asked. "How would you feel about your own, personal, invisible dementor?"
There are always workarounds.
Lucius Malfoy had been put in charge of part of the operation, under the assumption that it was so simple that even he couldn't screw it up. Narcissa Malfoy was having none of it.
"Really, Lucius," she said, shaking her head. "The Dark Lord has been defeated at long last. There is no more need to pretend to serve him."
Harry rolled his eyes. Sometimes, you just had to. Still, he understood what Narcissa was doing. If Malfoy unexpectedly snapped to his senses with this news, he could claim that he was being blackmailed and threatened into serving, he never meant any of the muggle baiting. He had to, to protect his lovely pureblood wife from the mean old Death Eaters.
Harry knew better. Ginny knew better, judging by the gagging sounds she was making behind Harry. But if the Malfoys put on enough of a show, they'd get off lighter—not scotfree this time, but lighter.
But, of course Lucius Malfoy's pride got in his way.
"Well, I tried," Narcissa Malfoy's expression said as she stunned him to cut off his speech about how no one manipulated a Malfoy, their blood was purer than the rest of Wizarding Britain, and—what was that, something about Merlin? Never mind, Harry didn't want to know.
"I suppose Azkaban was just too much for him," Narcissa Malfoy said with a sad smile. "I do help he regains his sensibility soon. I will stand by him, as a dutiful spouse should."
She pulled off the look of distraught damsel quite well.
"I was what?" asked Pius Thicknesse.
"Under the Imperius Curse," Thor repeated, wondering why he'd been set to this task.
"You fed information to the Death Eaters," Hermione added.
"I—what—no, I wouldn't—"
"If it's any consolation, only about one in every fifty wizards has any resistance to the Curse," Hermione said sympathetically, patting him on the shoulder as he sobbed.
And, when what few orders as Riddle had managed to pass through the Ministry had been rescinded by a horrified Minister of Magic Pius Thicknesse, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Sirius went back to Hogwarts. It took a while for news to spread that Voldemort had gone—for real, this time. Harry was safe in Hogwarts by then.
He was lucky to be in Hogwarts for the next year. He stopped by for a visit to the Dursleys, to tell that Riddle was no longer a threat to anyone. They had almost a friendly argument about what should have been done to Voldemort, given their druthers.
"What?" Minister Carlisle asked, stunned. "He—he did it? In less than a month, he defeated this big bad wizard that your lot have been trying to off for years?"
He peered more closely at the stranger before him. "You do seem to go through Ministers for Magic, don't you? In the past year or so, it's been that Cornelius Fudge, and then Rufus Scrimmage—"
"—Scrimgeour, yes. He was supposed to be a perfect pick. Former auror and all. May God have mercy on his soul."
"And now, you. Well, at least you have a memorable name. Pious Thickness, yes?"
"I was made Minister for Magic when the Death Eaters took over. Put under the Imperius Curse. It was dreadful. But everything's okay now."
Unfortunately for the newest Minster for Magic, David Carlisle remembered what the Imperius Curse was, and what could have been a short conversation turned into a much longer one that ended up calling in some hotshot wizard named Kingsley Shacklebolt to reassure Carlisle that the Curse was no longer active.
Professor McGonagall's funeral was postponed until her friends from overseas could come. She was a highly influential witch, and had touched a lot of lives. She'd let Harry down sometimes, but he had to acknowledge that she was doing her best, and trying to be fair and impartial in her own way (even if it failed). Despite their long-standing rivalry, even Professor Trelawney came to pay her respects, and said nothing bad about her.
She was buried on Hogwarts grounds, recognised as Hogwarts's Headmistress. But her tenure was so short that a successor had not been chosen. Despite that, her portrait and Dumbledore's were put up, together at the same time, in the Headmaster's Office. Since there was no Headmaster at the moment, anyone could come and go. There was a period of time when former students and strangers streamed in and out of the office constantly, to gain closure, and say the things that they couldn't at the funeral.
"Thank you," Harry said, even though he could speak to the real headmistress at any time with the Resurrection Stone and his knowledge of how to bring the souls of the dead into their shades. He didn't want to speak to McGonagall, really. It was his fault that she'd died. His idea, executed not-well-enough.
"Your sacrifice helped to reunite a family. It helped to save Hogwarts. I'm sorry that I couldn't save you."
"Now that the war is over, Remus and I are getting married!" Tonks cried, beaming. "We wanted to make sure that you knew, right now, so that you could make the arrangements you need to come to the wedding! Don't worry, I won't steal Bill and Fleur's fire. It was a lovely wedding, wasn't it?"
Apparently, Tonks had seen fit to celebrate this latest burst of good fortune by turning her hair a different colour. It was teal, now, and hung to her shoulders in separated locks tied with hot-pink hairbands.
"But, there isn't any discomfort?" Harry asked. "I don't know how well this is working—"
"Oh, it's fine. Don't worry about it. Remus worries too much as it is. There are potions to help suppress werewolf genes, too, you know. Or, at least, there's something in the works. Professor Slughorn said something about a modified version of the Wolfsbane Potion perhaps doing the trick. Between your oh-so-mysterious special skills and the potions, I know I'm set."
Truth be told, there just hadn't been much of a sense of not-quite-humanity about the baby, whatever it was. It was possible that werewolf genes didn't show until later in a pregnancy, so Harry had committed to looking again every month.
"You're coming to the wedding, right?"
For being a pregnant woman, she sure had a lot of energy. But she and Remus were both Harry's friends. Still, it was odd. He didn't know how to behave with the war over. For seven years it had been his focus. Now, he had to confront the idea that life went on. This period of peace was a reward to all of them for the difficult choices they'd had to make, and for fighting so hard for it.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered a time before suffering and war. Of innocence. "Of course we'll come. Me, and Ginny, and Ron, and Hermione."
"Wonderful!" Tonks cried. She pressed a hand to her abdomen. "Look! The baby's pleased, too."
Harry smiled.
"I was at the Battle of Hogwarts," Stephen insisted. "I just didn't interfere. I don't think the wizarding world would react well to muggles with magic."
"You were hiding using that invisibility disc," Harry said, narrowing his eyes at Stephen. Stephen shrugged, in response.
"And you died. Again. How do you keep dying and coming back to life? I think I deserve to know, as every time, you risk collapsing time because I no longer regain my memories in 2002."
Harry smiled. "I don't think you have to worry about that, anymore. I'm not dying again anytime soon. And…I have a new weapon for the war."
Stephen did not take this as well as Harry had expected. "That was the reason you were out for the count for three days straight?"
"I've been through worse," Harry said. Somehow, he was now on the defensive. "I can do so much more now that I have the Deathly Hallows—"
"No," said Stephen. It was Thor all over again. "They're called 'Deathly Hallows' for a reason. Using them brought you to death's door, and this time you couldn't even tell, because the strain of using them is hidden from you."
It really was like trying to talk to Thor. "I know my limits," Harry snapped.
"Which was why you were in the Hospital Wing for three days after the Second Battle of Hogwarts. Retaking the Ministry had to wait on you."
"Everyone was tired after the Second Battle of Hogwarts," Harry said, with a shrug. "And Dumbledore is powerful. He took more than I expected—"
"See!" Stephen said. "The Hallows are different—"
"How am I supposed to learn how to use them in time if everyone worries needlessly over inconsequential dangers?"
"You're talking about the artefacts that, according to a fairy tale that is apparently more truth than fiction, killed two out of three of its first masters before their time! A wand that trades owners when the previous one dies! A ring that encourages their owners to kill themselves. How is that not dangerous, especially for someone like you?"
Harry let the injustice of that last part slide for the moment, especially since he had to know: "Ron told you about the fairy tale, didn't he?"
"He agrees with me that those relics are trouble. Just having them gives you a fancy title and abilities, apparently. Why not use those?"
"They only work with the Deathly Hallows!" Harry replied immediately. "I don't know why you two won't let me try to learn—"
"Because it could kill you," Stephen said, as if that would be the end of that.
Harry foresaw a new recurring argument ahead. It would take him a long while to win any of them over. Why did no one trust him?
"I'm not going to be Headmaster of Hogwarts, son," Moody insisted. "I'm retired—"
"We called you out of retirement. You came. You showed that you still have great skill in combat. You were Dumbledore's friend. In the next few years, as we're still rounding up the last of the Death Eaters, and freeing victims of the Imperius Curse, we'll need someone who knows these things. You're a war hero. There's no better choice."
"People call me paranoid—"
"A highly valuable trait in headmasters. Children are not to be trusted. I heard the Marauders pranked Dumbledore a few times. You'd never be taken unawares."
Moody narrowed his eye at Harry. "You seem determined about this, son. You lose a bet?"
Harry frowned, and folded his arms, leaning back against the wall of the corridor. "Come on. I'm sure for someone like you, retirement is a bit boring. You miss a bit of excitement to keep you justifiably on your toes. Schools are like war zones." He waved a hand in the direction of the Great Hall. "Someday, my kids are going to come to Hogwarts. I want to know that they're safe. The Ministry's too stupid to hire Remus or Tonks because of werewolf 'contamination', and Sirius needs a chance to go stretch his legs. I can't think of any other adults I'd trust with my kids' safety."
Moody glared down at him with an impassive expression. "I'll think about it," he said, and limped away.
Harry smothered a smile.
He graduated from Hogwarts. It was a matter of pride. He'd taken his N.E.W.T.s, and was now certified. This chapter of his life had closed.
And he hadn't discovered how muggles knew divination, any more than he'd figured out its origins. At least he'd at last had the opportunity to give the subject the time and effort it deserved. At least he'd asked Trelawney, even if she hadn't had the answers.
His tarot card readings were less than impressive even after two years, but he passed his Divination N.E.W.T., so it was okay. Trelawney did not even seem to mind. She was ecstatic to have had some part in preparing the school for the final battle at Hogwarts.
The Headmaster kept a tight eye on him, and offered him some one-on-one auror training "since I'm here". Harry shared the knowledge with Ron, who would follow him, of course.
Becoming an auror was nothing next to the excitement Harry was used to dealing with. His reputation preceded him. Within a couple of years of graduating, he was already on track to becoming head auror.
He married Ginny soon after she graduated from Hogwarts. There was sort of the sense that he didn't have much time left. It was 1999, and the year 2000 loomed close. The second war seemed so much closer with that "two" at the front of the year. At least he had Ginny, and Ron, and Hermione, and Sirius, Remus, Tonks, and Teddy, and Stephen, when he deigned to show his face.
Teddy was not a werewolf. He'd never shown signs of becoming a werewolf. He was, however, a metamorphmagus like his mother. They got into competitions, sometimes, about who could make the silliest faces. Of course, she had to take a break from that when she got pregnant again, which made Teddy throw a tantrum, but it was okay.
Really, he was five years old, he should understand that he might not be an only child forever. Or maybe it was that he'd thought that he was this old and still didn't have any siblings, and his parents were constantly fussing over worrying that he'd become a werewolf, that they wouldn't risk it?
He'd sulked and refused to talk to anyone but Harry and Ginny for a week. Remus showcased where Teddy had inherited his sulking skills from by falling into a broody sulk himself. Sirius laughed at him.
Harry had to wonder why Teddy was willing to spend time with him, even though he was aiding and abetting Teddy's parents by giving Tonks all those checkups.
"Well, it's better than something happening to Mum!" Teddy insisted.
Still, it was a bit of a hassle, trying to juggle watching little James and taking care of Teddy at the same time. Teddy earned his keep by making strange faces to keep the baby entertained. He seemed a bit fascinated by James, actually. He left with the decision that having a younger sibling might not be all bad—as long as it were a boy.
Rhea Silvia as born seven months later, much to Teddy's dismay. Really, if Tonks had become pregnant the year before, Teddy would have risked running into Stephen. That would have been hard to explain. Juggling who should be where back then was difficult, and Harry and Ginny had spent half their time at Meadow-Gate with Ron and Hermione. Teddy would have gone there, and if he'd happened to be there when Stephen had showed up in June….
Still, it hadn't happened. Maybe, someday, their paths would cross, but if so, that was in the future. It was a more promising future than it had been a decade ago.
And every month, Mother was there, in the cottage in the woods, to help guide him towards the end goal. There was now only one major goal, burning bright, before him. The Deathly Hallows had twisted his healing. It was much harder to use, now. It seemed to have been twisted into something new, and strange.
He retained the ability to repair serious wounds, but the milder the injury, the harder it was for him to heal. The Deathly Hallows had too strong of a hold on him.
"I need to learn to use the Hallows," he told her, a few years after the Battle, when things had settled down. "But Ron and Stephen won't let me."
"They worry for you," she said. "That is not a bad thing. They have not tried to take the Hallows from you. I believe the time will come that you will need to learn to use the Hallows. If they will not help you, then I will. But, know your limits. It is a risk. The stone and the wand do not behave for you as they did the mortals in the fairytale. That is not the danger."
She paused, leaning back in an armchair that looked out at the back garden were they'd first spoken. "They cannot prevent you from using the Hallows. But, talk to them. Use it for limited periods of time only, and under supervision. Show them that there is nothing to fear. I suspect that, given the time, they will come to accept these small uses, when they see that you are alright. But, remember your limits. You are not as limited as you were before you became Master of Death, but you are still mortal. And, if they tell you to take a break, listen to them. You have time to learn. You need to be free to live, my son."
And live he would, for the next decade or so. While he could. At least this time he knew when everything would start to fall apart.
{end He Who Gathers All Three}