Author's Note: For anyone not already familiar, Talbot Winger who is mentioned in this chapter, is a character in the Harry Potter Hogwarts Mystery game. I have decided to bring an older version of him and a few other of said characters into the storyline.

Even though she knows where she's going, it still takes McGonagall the better part of twenty minutes to get there. The atrium and the parts of the ministry building that are most traveled, may be well organized and aesthetically pleasing to look at, but the lower floors, the floors where the bulk of the work is done, still remind her of a rabbit warren. A busy place with too little light, and tunnels leading off in absolutely mind-boggling directions.

Standing outside the open door of an office the size of a janitor's closet, she taps lightly against the door frame to get the attention of the young dark-skinned man with eagle eyes seated behind the desk inside.

When he looks up in response to her knock, McGonagall is mildly surprised to find him sporting a purplish, and rather painful looking black eye. His amber-colored eyes hold the faintest hints of distraction and irritation, but they flicker out of existence upon sight of her. "Professor McGonagall." He rises to his feet, almost smiling. "Come in."

She steps over the threshold as he points to the one and only guest chair in the room and eases around his desk to remove the stack of file folders currently stationed there. As he moves them to the top of a positively archaic filing cabinet that is badly dented and scratched, she asks, "Am I interrupting anything pressing?"

Returning to his seat as she takes hers, he answers, "No, you aren't, but it wouldn't matter if you were."

She looks around his cramped postage stamp sized office with the outdated furniture, and the fluorescent lighting overhead, the window that barely opens, the owl perch on the same window seal where a potted orchid also resides; and she is vividly reminded of the one she inhabited more than four decades earlier. "Nothing ever changes below the lobby of this building, does it? I had an office down here that was nearly identical to this one almost two decades before you were born."

Talbott Winger shrugs. "My guess is that if they give the guys who do the grunt work better accommodations, those guys might be less inclined to leave their cushy office is to do said grunt work."

"You may have a point there. Although, yours has to be the cleanest auror's office I've ever seen. Most of them look like extra-large versions of the kitchen junk drawer - a catchall for anything from vials of powdered root of asphodel to zebra's teeth."

"Most of the aurors I know like to collect souvenirs that remind them of both their successful captures, and the ones who get away. I understand the practice, and I don't spend any more time in my office than most of them do, but when I am here, I need an uncluttered working environment."

"It looks like you met with a bit of trouble on one of your recent trips into the field."

Winger lightly touches the bruised flesh around his right eye and nods without comment.

"Sprinkle a bit of dried mugwort on a warm compress in the evenings when you have some downtime. It'll start to clear up a little faster."

He nods. "I'll try that. I am grateful that you didn't tell me to cover it with steak. There are better things to do with a prime cut of meat."

"Agreed."

Silence falls and after two beats, he raises an eyebrow. "It's good to see you Professor, but I'm guessing you didn't just drop by to say hi."

"I did not. I find myself in need of some discreet help."

"Ask anything. I owe you so much."

"Mr. Winger, you owe me nothing. I've come to ask a favor. Feel free to decline."

"What is it that you need?"

Using her wand, McGonagall closes the office door and makes good use of an anti-eavesdropping charm before she says, "Without going through official channels, I need someone to keep an eye on one of my father's friends for a while. Today is his birthday. Yesterday I made the rather thoughtless mistake of inviting a family acquaintance to join us for dinner to celebrate. As family get-togethers often tend to do, things got a bit chaotic. Magic was exposed. She was not obliviated. I have good reason to think that she will not need to be. She has promised that she will keep the secret, and I believe her…"

Winger nods. "Trust but verify."

"I don't particularly like that sentiment, but yes. I would do it myself but…"

"If you get caught doing so, it puts you in a sticky situation with your father."

McGonagall shakes her head. "No. It doesn't. He may not like that it needs to be done, but he does understand the need. He's a muggle, who, like most of them, loves his children. I cannot do it myself because I don't have time."

"The Hogwarts Board of Governors has you in their crosshairs. 1 September is approaching like a bullet with your name on it."

"Correct."

"What exactly happened?"

She starts with, "My 13-month-old grand-nephew levitated a piece of birthday cake because the adults in the room, myself included, were too busy talking to realize what was about to happen…"

Twenty minutes later when she's done telling him nearly everything there is to tell, Talbot Winger simply nods and says, "I'll get on it."

"There is something else. I don't mind if you enlist some discreet help with the leg work. I know what a toll surveillance work takes on time and energy, but it would be greatly appreciated if Logan McGonagall is not unnecessarily discussed with anyone you may pull into the matter."

Talbott frowns curiously. With no need to take written notes, he mentally files back through everything he's just heard. "Your brother's eldest daughter? The one he adopted? Why? You've told me nothing particularly alarming about her."

"I have my reasons, and they are of a highly sensitive nature."

"Right then. Anything else?"

"I should've mentioned it to the minister when I crossed paths with him in the atrium, but he looked like he was on his way somewhere else."

"That man is always on his way somewhere else. I have no idea what possessed him to take the job when they offered it, but I'm glad he did."

"Me to."

"You need?"

"I need a temporary classroom, and I'm wondering if there might be any unused space in one of the conference rooms here that might be made suitable. I know you're the wrong person to ask, the ladies and gentlemen over in H.R. would be most likely to know the answer to that question."

"I'll walk you over. I'm friendly with Moses Greenwood over there. We'll run it up the flagpole and see what we come up with."

"Thank you." She says, aware of just how busy he really is, even though he has been too kind to say so.

He rises with her and as she passes through the door he's standing there with his hand on the doorknob, when he says, "Hang on. School's out. Why do you need a classroom?"

"Because at present the building I usually teach in is not a fit place to train dogs, much less the budding witches and wizards of tomorrow."

He repeats, "But school's out."

"Yes, and in five weeks' time all of my recent 7th year students are going to be taking their NEWT's, and although, she spent the entirety of the last year away from school and hunting horcuxes with her friends Misters Potter and Weasley, Miss Hermione Granger would still like to take that test."

Catching on, Winger nods. "And you intend to do everything you personally can to see that she's prepared."

"Of course."

"I've never met her, but I've heard of her. Some folks around here are saying she's the one to watch from the graduating class this year. Very high expectations all around. People are saying she's going to make something of herself."

"We all make something of ourselves Mr. Winger. The question is not, 'Will we make something of ourselves?' but rather, 'Is what we make of ourselves worth watching."

Hermione approaches the Burrow at twilight on Monday evening surprised to find Ron alone in the garden and busy chucking gnomes over the fence one right after the other.

Stepping through the squeaky gate, she calls out lightly, "Hey stranger! Is your mom planning an outdoor dinner party?"

He turns her way with a grimace, and although he ducks quickly trying to hide it, she can see evidence of tears.

Instantly realizing her mistake, she says softly, "Ron, I'm sorry. That was thoughtless and stupid of me. Of course, she's not. I just saw you de-gnoming the garden and I remembered…"

Belatedly realizing that he's using the activity purely as an outlet for his grief, she rushes on. "Well, never mind. You want some help?"

Ron shrugs, glad to see her but incapable of saying so at the moment.

Hermione hangs her backpack on one of the gate posts, walks to his side, and without looking at him, she grabs the first gnome she sees by its arm, and rips it out of the ground.

Turning it upside down and grabbing it by its ankles, she whirls the squealing creature high overhead like a lasso before letting it fly over the wall at the back of the garden.

The next day, after supper, McGonagall calls out to Harry to halt his progress as he's leaving the Great Hall. "Mr. Potter?"

When he stops and turns back, making eye contact through the crowd of departing AMR squad members, she asks, "A moment please?"

Nodding his understanding, he steps out of the doorway and out of the flow of traffic.

The large room is nearly empty, with the exception of the few people who have not yet exited on their way to more work, or because they have become too befuddled by the weight of their evening meal to do anything but retire to the privacy of their appointed chambers. Looking around at the few stragglers, McGonagall makes an impromptu decision as she joins him. "Let's talk in my office, shall we?"

Harry nods agreeably. "We've barely started repair work on the ground floor. It's astounding to realize that the bulk of this damage was done in the course of one night, and yet, it's going to take months to put it all right again, even with the help of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad. It was good of Minister Shacklebolt to send them our way though."

McGonagall nods. "Destruction always takes less time and energy than resurrection does Mr. Potter."

"I'm not complaining. I'm glad I'm here to help." Stepping into the corridor leading to the transfiguration department, Harry grins, "Maybe we should erect a statue of a phoenix somewhere on the grounds. Eh… unless you think that's a little too on the nose?"

She inhales deeply. "I think Dumbledore would second the idea. Do you have any weekend plans?"

Harry squints. "Not yet. It's Tuesday, Professor."

"Yes, I'm aware. Make some."

"Weekend plans?"

"Yes Mr. Potter."

Harry studies her face briefly. "Are you… annoyed with me? Have I done something wrong?"

"No. I'm not annoyed with you. You've done nothing you shouldn't have, and I greatly appreciate your help. However, as much as you are needed here right now, you need to figure out what to do with yourself once the restoration of Hogwarts is complete. It's not difficult to imagine how you might feel a bit adrift at the moment. It's understandable, but I would hate to see you stay that way."

Harry holds open the door to her office and waits for her to pass through. Once the door is closed and they have a bit more privacy, he shakes his head. "I'm not… adrift."

"Are you sure of that? It has not escaped my attention that you seem to be quite comfortable here. Up early every morning, down late every evening. You're working very hard. All of your classmates, even Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger have moved on to other things."

"Ron needs to be with his family right now. They've just lost Fred. And I haven't talked to her for a few days, but I'm sure Hermione is off making plans to take the world by storm. I just need…"

McGonagall tilts her head to one side, "Yes, what do you need?"

Harry starts to speak, then stops, collects his thoughts, and starts again. "I told Minister Shacklebolt last week. This is the first place I can ever remember being welcomed. Hogwarts is home for me. I can't stand to see it like this. I'll go. I just have to fix it first."

"And where will you go?"

"I don't know exactly."

She chuckles softly. "That's the part that has me concerned Mr. Potter. It's fine to take pride in your home, even admirable, but you can't shut yourself up and stay there your whole life long."

"That's not what I'm doing."

"As long as you're sure of that."

"Minister Shacklebolt… He asked me to join the ministry. Did he tell you that?"

"No, he didn't, but I'm not surprised. Are you willing to accept his offer?"

Harry nods slowly, almost hesitantly. "He says there will be some red tape to get around, since I haven't graduated, but he says the ministry will find a place for me."

"I'm sure they will. I'm sure they will keep you very busy."

"Professor…"

"Yes?"

"Do you think that's fair? I mean, I don't wanna come back here next year, not as a student, but everybody else had to graduate in order to get jobs with the ministry. Is it right that they just give me a job because of what I did the weekend before last?"

McGonagall exhales slowly. "As an educator, I shouldn't say what I'm about to say."

Harry raises an eyebrow.

"A diploma is indicative of nothing more than successfully completed course work. It says very little about a person's intelligence or value as an employee. It says absolutely nothing about real world application."

"For the last seven years, there have been people here - students here, and even a few teachers - who have thought that I enjoyed the fame that came with being 'the boy who lived.' It sounds great, but honestly, there were times when it was nothing less than miserable. Now that Riddle is finally gone, I'm sure that the people who think I'm some sort of glory hound will be even worse than before. If I'm going to go to work at the ministry, in any capacity, I don't want my coworkers thinking I'm only there because I took down big bad Lord Voldemort. I want them to know I earned my place."

"You have, I assure you, you have. Furthermore, you already know how to think for yourself. I've seen you do it a number of times over the last seven years. There's nothing you can do about what other people think. Sadly, most people think whatever they want, regardless of what is true or just. Your life will be much happier going forward if you adopt one simple belief. What other people think of you is none of your business. Don't compete with other people Mr. Potter. Don't seek to win their approval. Most often, that will be a waste of your time. Compete with yourself. Be the best version of yourself and let that take you anywhere you want to go. However, if it's graduating you would like to do, you simply need to pass the NEWT exam in just under five weeks."

Harry laughs. "I'm betting that's going to be easier said than done."

"I've procured a space suitable to tutor Miss Granger so that she can take the exam. You're welcome to join us."

Harry laughs again. "Of course, Hermione wants to take the exam."

McGonagall reaches for her quill and a scrap of parchment "Does that mean you will be joining us?"

Harry groans. "Sure, why not!"

"Good." She jots down the time and place for their first meeting and passes it to him.

Harry barely glances at it before folding it and shoving it into the pocket of his jeans.

"When you're done here, after the restoration is complete, where will you go? Where will you live?"

Harry's green eyes widen behind his spectacles. "That's the part I'm really not sure about. I'm realizing that except for Ron, Hermione, and maybe Ginny - I really don't know for sure about her yet - I really am alone now. I don't have anybody to tell me what to do anymore. I know - a lot of people would think that would be great. It's really not. Going back to Privet Drive is not an option, and even if it were, I still wouldn't do it. That place was never home to me. I own 12 Grimwald Place, but I don't think I would like to be there without Sirius. It is sort of gloomy even under the best of circumstances." He shrugs. "My parents left me a bank account. Maybe I'll take a flat in London."

"That would be ideal, especially if you're going to be working with the ministry. Have you considered the fact that you also own the cottage in Godric's Hollow?"

Harry blinks. "I do? Legally?"

"Of course, you do. It belonged to your mother and father, by right, it is yours. They left the deeds for the house and the parcel of land it sits on in Dumbledore's possession. When he passed away, they were entrusted to me." McGonagall opens her top desk drawer and passes Harry a thick, and slightly dusty, accordion-style envelope.

Unable to speak around the sudden lump in his throat, Harry wipes his sweaty palms on the legs of his jeans. His fingers tremble as he releases the stretchy elastic cords that hold the envelope closed. Inside, as promised, he finds the deed for the Potter home as well as the corresponding land title. He riffles through the pages quickly, looking for anything of interest. It's just a bunch of boring legal stuff, but in the bottom of the expanding envelope, he finds a second, much smaller envelope. Opening the flap, which long ago lost its adhesive seal, he finds three keys. Two of them are on the same key ring and look nearly identical to each other. Door keys; probably front and back. The third key in the letter-size envelope is much larger than the first two, and considerably more ornate. It looks like an old skeleton key and is made from tarnished bronze. Holding it up to the light emitted by the lamp on McGonagall's desk, he inspects it carefully - first, one side and then the other, looking for any identifying markers. There are none.

Looking her way, Harry raises a curious eyebrow.

McGonagall shrugs. "My guess is that it unlocks something kept on the property. The mystery is yours to solve."

Harry inhales deeply as anticipation tightens his belly.

"When you go, I suggest you take a friend along for moral support. The place won't be in great shape. It may be hard to be there."

Harry nods, and because the knot is still lodged in his throat, he whispers, "I've already been there… with Hermione this past Christmas. We went to the cemetery. I found their graves. We visited the house. It was strange Professor. It was awful, but I didn't want to be anywhere else… If that makes any sense."

McGonagall assures quietly, "It does."

Harry drops all the keys back into the envelope, and it isn't until he nearly drops it that he turns it face up in his hands. Across the front of the envelope, he finds a briefly shared missive between two people. The first sentence is undoubtedly penned in his mother's handwriting. He recognizes it thanks to the cherished portion of a letter he once found in his godfather's bedroom.

It reads, "Is it really ours?"

She must have been daring to hope for something.

In a different handwriting, with different color ink, someone, presumably his father, had carefully printed an answer. "Yes love, it's really ours."

Harry passes the envelope across the desk. "Is this about the house? The top part - that's my mother's handwriting. I've seen it before. Last year, when I found an old letter she wrote to Sirius."

McGonagall adjusts her spectacles and peers through the lenses at the faded old envelope and the messages conveyed there. She inhales softly. "I have no way of knowing. It could've been about anything. Since the keys for the house are in the envelope, it's possible. It's also entirely possible that the envelope was recycled. Used again. Husbands and wives jot quick little notes to each other on anything that is handy when the necessity arises."

Harry carefully drops the smaller envelope back into the larger and returns the elastic binding cords to their proper place. "Thank you, Professor. Anything else?"

"Yes. Going forward, while doing the repair work, I recommend you start practicing nonverbal magic. It's an advanced skill that you've barely touched on previously. The fidelius charm that you asked for instruction on will require it. I know we're not ready to utilize the spell yet, but a spoken incantation will be of no use."

Harry nods. "That makes sense. It's supposed to be secret, right?"

"Precisely."

"I have used nonverbal magic successfully before, but it doesn't exactly come easily to me yet."

"Well, if you want to pass the NEWT and later move on to auror training with the ministry, I strongly recommend developing the skill. If you are going to make catching dark wizards your life's work then, for your own safety, I hope it becomes second nature to you."

Harry nods. "Goodnight Professor.

"Goodnight Mr. Potter."

Harry steps out of her office and into the hallway, the accordion envelope clutched tightly to his side. Turning back, on afterthought, he asks, "Can Ron come too?"

McGonagall lifts one eyebrow. "In preparation for the NEWT, you mean?"

"Yes ma'am."

She almost smiles. "He may. Though, I suspect you and Miss Granger will have to drag him in kicking and screaming."

Harry trots away.

With a deep sigh, McGonagall rises to return to work, declaring fervently beneath her breath, "Albus, you would be so proud of him."