Harry was running again. Hurtling through narrow halls, leaping from banisters over stairwells. He was not at Hogwarts this time, but at the Burrow, or a twisted, nightmarish version thereof. He passed by infinite darkened bedrooms, tumbled down flight after flight of steps, feeling the cold dread of something sinister chasing after him. He skidded to halt at a sudden dead-end. He turned to face whatever monstrosity had him in its sights...raised the Elder Wand to fend off whatever assailant had pegged him as its next target…

"Harry!"

Harry's eyes flew open. He was staring at the ceiling of George's bedroom, panting hard, sweating profusely. It was still dark; Harry fumbled around for his glasses and shoved them onto his face. George was standing over him, looking alarmed.

"Blimey mate, and I thought MY nightmares were bad," George whistled. "You alright?"

"Yeah," Harry sighed, still catching his breath. "Fine. What time is it?"

"Not quite dawn," said George. "I'm off to Diagon Alley to tend to the shop. Tell Mum I'll be back 'round lunchtime."

"Yeah, will do," said Harry, his head falling back onto his pillow. "Do me a favor and don't mention this to anyone, would you?"

"Got enough people asking if you're okay all the time, eh?" said George with a sad smile. "I get it. No problem, mate." And George swept from the room, leaving Harry alone in the darkness once more.

Harry continued to stare at the ceiling, knowing he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep. He'd thought he would be able to now that Voldemort was gone, that his task was complete, but his mind seemed unable to relax, his demons continuing to chase him. He considered asking someone for a sleeping potion of some kind, but that would only invite more questions from concerned onlookers, and he didn't want to deal with any more of that. Nightmares he knew he could handle.

Harry eventually slipped out of bed and snuck down the stairs. No one was awake yet; he could hear quiet snores emitting from behind closed doors as he passed by. He slipped out the back door into the garden, and walked up the dirt path towards the crest of the nearby hillside. The sky was beginning to turn from gray to gold, and he thought he might enjoy the sunrise in the peace and quiet before the Burrow was teeming with life again. He sat among the tall grass and closed his eyes against the cool breeze. Harry had never been a morning person, but if he couldn't sleep, he might as well enjoy it.

When he stood and returned to the kitchen, Molly was up and preparing breakfast; she jumped about three feet when he slipped in through the back door. "Goodness me Harry, what are you doing outside at this hour?" she gasped. "Well never mind, Proudfoot is around, I'm sure she had an eye on you… Breakfast, dear?"

"Sure," said Harry, even though he wasn't particularly hungry. He had no idea how long he would need to remain at the Ministry today, so he might as well have some energy stored just in case. A few more people trickled downstairs as he ate: Percy, Charlie, Ron and Hermione, and Ginny, who diplomatically sat at the opposite end of the table from Harry. Finally, just as Harry waved his wand to levitate his plate into the sink, Arthur came hustling down the stairs, already dressed for work.

"Oh good, Harry, you're up," he said breathlessly. "Listen, d'you reckon we can leave a bit earlier than planned? Lots to do, lots to do…"

"Sure," said Harry. "I can be ready in five minutes."

"I'll come with you, Father," spoke up Percy. "I've got some business to attend to myself."

"Very well, very well," said Arthur. "Quick as you can then, boys."

Harry bounded upstairs to change into a nice set of robes. He wasn't sure what he ought to bring with him; he shoved his Invisibility Cloak into his pocket as an afterthought, along with his holly wand and the letter Kingsley had left for him at Gryffindor Tower. As he turned to leave the room he reconsidered, rummaging through his bag for the Elder Wand and stowing it in his pocket as well, before heading back downstairs. For some reason he felt compelled not to let it out of his sight – at least not until he could return it to its final resting place.

"Right then," said Arthur as Harry and Percy followed him out into the garden. "We're headed to McCamish Station in London. I take it you can Apparate on your own then, Harry?"

"Erm," Harry hesitated. "I can, but technically I don't have my license yet…"

"Ah, well I'm sure we can sort that out when we get there," said Arthur. "With me, then."

Arthur extended his arm, and Harry took it. Arthur and Percy turned on the spot, and Harry felt himself being pulled into nothingness; a moment later they emerged in a dilapidated station of the London Underground. There wasn't a soul around except for the three of them. And Harry could see why: the station looked like it hadn't been in service in decades.

"Perfect, just in time for our ride," said Arthur as a subway train rumbled into view from down the tunnel. Harry followed him and Percy to the edge of the platform as it screeched to a halt. He could see Muggle passengers already on board, looking bored on their way to work.

"But Arthur," said Harry, confused, "isn't this a Muggle train?"

"Those compartments are," said Arthur cryptically. "And here's ours." The last compartment of the train rolled into view, heavily graffitied with broken-down seats. It was empty aside from a lone old woman seated haphazardly on a bench that had half-fallen to the ground. The doors slid open, and Arthur, Harry and Percy stepped aboard.

"Morning, Arthur," the woman nodded politely.

"Morn' there, June," Arthur nodded back. The woman then noticed Harry standing behind Arthur and gasped.

"Oh my," she said. "It's you. Harry Potter."

"Hello," Harry smiled weakly. Her eyes never left his face, even as the train rumbled back to life and began pulling away from the station. "So Percy," said Harry in the hopes of turning attention away from himself, "are you still working for the Minister, then?"

Percy stiffened; Harry realized too late that it was a bit of a sore subject. "Erm, I'm not sure actually," he muttered. "That's what I'm here to find out. I worked with the last three administrations, but none of them were very kind to Shacklebolt or the rest of the Order—"

"I'm sure they'll find a place for you, son," Arthur said hastily. "You fought alongside us at Hogwarts; they won't overlook that. Besides, there's so much to be done that they can't rightly afford to turn willing workers away, can they?"

A cool voice rang out over the intercom: "Next stop Ministry of Magic. Please hang on." Percy and Arthur reached for the metal bar overhead; Harry quickly followed suit. There was a terrible grinding noise, and Harry realized with alarm that their compartment had decoupled from the rest of the train, which was zooming off down the tunnel without them.

"Not to worry Harry," Arthur reassured him. The train suddenly lurched sideways as it switched onto another track, heading down a sloped tunnel deeper into the ground. They were gathering speed rapidly now...Harry gripped the bar harder...but the slope gradually leveled out, and the train screeched to halt at a much cleaner-looking station.

"Not the most elegant of entrances, but you get used to it," Percy shrugged, and he was the first off the train when the doors opened. Harry was glad to see he wasn't the only one shaken by the experience; Arthur also looked a bit green in the face as he stepped onto the platform.

"Not used to the VIP Entrance yet," he muttered to Harry. "Shacklebolt extended top clearance to all the old Order members. I might stick to the loo entrance myself…"

The station platform narrowed into a long white hallway that Harry presumed led into the Ministry of Magic. Sure enough, at the end of a hall was a security station manned by two bored-looking wizards in official Ministry attire.

"Please deposit your wands in the receptacle," one of them droned as they approached. Harry, Arthur and Percy obliged, and the machine whirred as it scanned them.

"Thank you," the same cool voice said. "Arthur Weasley, Percy Weasley, and Harry Potter." At Harry's name, the two security wizards looked up in surprise, eyes resting on Harry's face. Luckily Arthur was already pushing Harry along through the turnstile, preventing another awkward staring match.

"I take it you can show Harry to the Minister's office, Percy?" said Arthur, jamming the button to summon a lift. "I've got to get down to Level Seven...just got a shipment of contraband from Malfoy Manor that needs attending to."

"Certainly," said Percy, and Arthur crammed himself into the first packed lift that came, which jostled him sideways and then down out of sight. "We're going up, Harry," Percy explained as he called for another lift. "Level One. First time in the Ministry?"

"Fourth, I think," said Harry. "Once for my disciplinary hearing...once for the Department of Mysteries mission...and well, last year of course."

"Ah yes, how could I forget?" Percy chuckled. "Impersonated Runcorn, didn't you? I heard you gave Umbridge quite the Stunner...can't say she didn't deserve it, I never liked that woman…" Harry followed Percy onto the next half-full lift car, slightly bemused. He always thought Percy was a traitor for siding with the Ministry all those years, but it warmed his heart to know he too thought Umbridge was a foul human being.

Harry was well aware of the many eyes gawking at him as the lift car rumbled upwards. He did his best to ignore them. The car opened at levels Four, Three and Two, letting witches and wizards off at each stop along the way, before the cool voice announced, "Level One: Minister of Magic and Support Staff." He stepped off behind Percy and followed him down the ornate hallway.

"Right," said Percy. "I'm headed to the staffing office to talk to my contact there. You'll want to head straight across the courtyard and up those stairs. That'll take you to the Minister's office."

"Okay. Thanks, Percy," said Harry, as the elder Weasley hustled off down a side corridor. Harry stuck to the edges of the courtyard, avoiding as many people as possible, not wanting to attract attention. He located the correct stairway and hastened up the steps, arriving at a thick oak door emblazoned with ornate letters spelling out MINISTER OF MAGIC. He raised a hand to knock. "Enter," said a deep voice, and Harry opened the door.

Kingsley Shacklebolt's office was a mess. Papers were strewn haphazardly on every surface, and paintings hung askew on the wall, their inhabitants sitting uncomfortably at an odd angle. The Minister himself was speaking in a hushed tone with a young aide, who yelped in shock at the sight of Harry. "Thank you Fiona, that will be all for now," said Kingsley to his aide, and she hurried from the room, her wide eyes never leaving Harry's face. "Don't mind the mess, Harry," he said as soon as Fiona was gone. "We've been busy putting things back together since Thicknesse and his people fled. More important matters to attend to than tidying up, I'm sure you understand. Have a seat."

Harry sank into the oversized armchair beside him. The Minister looked tired, as though he too had trouble sleeping in the past few days since the Battle. But he remained the same unflappable figure as ever: tall, imposing, and stern. Harry was glad to have a leader like him in charge.

"I'm surprised to be seeing you so soon," said Kingsley, settling into his own chair across the desk from Harry. "I thought you might take some time for yourself, considering all you've been through."

Harry shrugged. "Like you said, there's lots to do," he said simply. "Besides, I wanted to make sure my friends and I aren't about to get chucked into Azkaban."

"Ah, so you heard about the goblins?" Kingsley grimaced. "I wouldn't fret about that. The Ministry will protect you if things get out of hand."

"Surely there won't be another war with the goblins?!" Harry said with alarm.

"I doubt it will come to that, Harry," said Kingsley. "Voldemort was cruel to the goblins, and they will surely realize that they are better off with him gone. They are just embarrassed that you got through their extensive security and will want to know how...as well as why, of course."

Harry knew this moment was coming. Kingsley was looking curiously at him, anticipating some kind of explanation from him. "Minister," he began, having thought through what he would say, "I don't know if I should say what we were doing at Gringotts that day. It's...something Dumbledore asked us to do, something he asked us not to tell anybody about."

"I thought you might say that," Kingsley sighed. "That does complicate matters. But not to worry, we can still smooth things over. The Ministry has pieced together its own version of events, and the goblins took extensive inventory, which was quite difficult with the Gemini Curse you set off, but nonetheless…"

Harry's heart sank; did everyone already know about Hufflepuff's Cup? Would they be able to deduce what Harry was up to, what the significance of the Dark object was?

"You took the Sword of Gryffindor from her vault, didn't you, Harry?" Kingsley smiled.

"Um," Harry stammered, suddenly at a loss for words. How much ought he divulge with Kingsley? That the Sword was not their true target? That the one in the vault was a fake planted by Snape? But surely the goblins knew that...why did they not inform the Ministry of this fact? Perhaps out of fear that Bellatrix herself would find out? Voldemort had slaughtered several of them in his anger just days before, after all…

"All I can say is," said Harry carefully, "that we needed something from that vault...something to help us defeat Voldemort. And we succeeded. We didn't expect to have to fight our way out, and we didn't want anyone killed because of what we—"

Kingsley held up a patient hand. "I understand," he reassured Harry. "We can hope that is enough to appease the goblins for now. But as I said, there is no scenario in which we allow you and your friends to face imprisonment for your actions."

"Okay," Harry said with a sigh. Hermione had told him not to worry, but it was nonetheless a burden lifted off his shoulders.

"I'm much more interested in the wand you have in your pocket," Kingsley mused. "And not the one you relinquished at the security desk." Harry's heart skipped a beat; did Kingsley know about the Elder Wand? He reluctantly reached into his pocket and withdrew it, sensing Kingsley's fascinated gaze upon it. He extended it to the Minister, who accepted it, holding it at arm's length and examining it carefully.

"The rumors are true, then?" Kingsley sighed. "This is the fabled Elder Wand?"

"Sorry," Harry said tentatively, "but can I ask what you mean by that? What do people believe about this wand, exactly?"

"Oh, every wizarding child grew up hearing stories about an unbeatable wand," Kingsley said absent-mindedly, still admiring the magnificent weapon in his hands. "We all assumed it was just that: stories. But if you are to tell me that this is the Deathstick...the Wand of Destiny…and you are its owner?"

"Dunno," Harry shrugged. "I just handed it to you. For all I know, its allegiance is to you now."

Kingsley considered this. For a brief moment, a look of mingled excitement and fear crossed over his face, but it passed in an instant, and Kingsley immediately handed the wand back to Harry.

"Perhaps it's best you do not confirm to me the true nature of this wand," he said breathlessly. "Let us keep this matter between us."

"I think that would be wise, sir," Harry agreed, stowing the wand back in his robe pocket. "Besides, the wand will no longer be in my possession in a few days."

"Also wise," Kingsley mused. "Now, about the reason I've called you in today…"

"It wasn't about Gringotts?" asked Harry, confused.

"I planned to bring it up, yes, but it wasn't the primary reason," Kingsley explained. "As I said, there are more pressing matters at hand. Have you been following the Daily Prophet in the past few days?"

"No," said Harry. "Are they still printing nonsense about me?"

"Quite the contrary," said Kingsley. "Since the Dark Lord's demise, they've had nothing but wonderful things to say about you. The problem is, nobody knows what to make of your role in his defeat. There is a great deal of misinformation being spread—"

"Sir, as I said, I won't be able to tell people exactly what I've been doing this past year," said Harry. "That information could be dangerous in the wrong hands."

"I understand. But I still think it would put minds at ease if you could at least say something to reassure them. Voldemort was thought to be dead once before, yet he returned. Already there are fears that this could happen again."

"It won't," said Harry. "We've made sure of that."

"I believe you," Kingsley smiled. "Tell that to the Prophet, if you would. Give them as little details as you deem appropriate, but at least give them something. The people will believe you if it comes straight out of your mouth."

"I will," Harry nodded. "But forgive me, sir...the Prophet isn't still under the control of the Ministry, is it?"

"Well, that is a bit of a gray area at the moment," Kingsley chuckled. "Their offices were moved into the Ministry under Thicknesse so that the Dark Lord could keep a closer eye on their operations. We've allowed them to stay for the moment, but our relationship with the paper is...unclear."

"If I may, sir," Harry bristled, "I reckon it would be best if they returned to their own operations. It wouldn't be a good look if people think the paper is still under Ministry control, no matter who's in charge."

"As always, your words are wise, Mr. Potter," Kingsley said sagely. "I was trending in that direction myself. I shall let Barnabas Cuffe know this afternoon. I suspect he will be eager to return to his old office in Diagon Alley."

"I'll be happy to visit him there," said Harry curtly. "Anything else, Minister?" He was beginning to grow wary of this meeting, suspecting that Kingsley had something else up his sleeve that he was not revealing at the moment.

"Yes, actually," said Kingsley with a heavy sigh. "I realize that this may be premature, Harry, but I wonder if you'd given any more thought to your future."

"You mean at Hogwarts?" asked Harry. "I don't think I'll be going back for my seventh year."

"I presumed so," said Kingsley. "Even though you won't have the N.E.W.T.s required to apply for the Auror Office?"

"Erm," said Harry, suddenly feeling a bit ostentatious. "Well I just thought...considering what I'd accomplished in the past year...maybe the Auror Office would overlook my education, in light of recent events?" There was a note of hopefulness mixed in with the uncertainty in his tone, and he studied Kingsley's expression.

"So your ambition is still to become an Auror?"

"Yeah, I guess so," said Harry awkwardly. "But if you think I'd need to go back and take my N.E.W.T.s, I suppose I can—"

"Don't be silly Potter, of course you won't need N.E.W.T.s to apply," said Kingsley with a smile. "You've faced more dark wizards and witches in the past few years than most Aurors do in a lifetime. The office would be proud to have you in its ranks." Harry glowed at this; he had not expected such a warm reception. But the feeling did not last, as his suspicion quickly returned.

"I suppose it would be good for the Ministry if the Prophet knew I was joining the Aurors?" Harry said cynically.

"Undoubtedly," said Kingsley without batting an eye. "Morale is high in the wizarding world at the moment, but trust in the Ministry has never been lower. If they knew that the boy – pardon me, the man who slayed the Dark Lord was leading the Auror Office, that would go a long way towards rebuilding that trust."

"Hang on," Harry said, "leading the office? Surely you wouldn't put me in charge straight out of school!"

"Not in reality, no," said Kingsley. "I have full faith in Robards to lead the office himself, but he has agreed to name you the head of the department, strictly for ceremonial purposes. He will teach you all that he knows, and when you are ready, you can take proper command."

"Great, use me as a poster boy so the Ministry looks good," Harry scowled. "I don't consent to this, Minister. Scrimgeour tried the same thing in my sixth year—"

"Scrimgeour wanted to use you for personal gain," said Kingsley patiently. "I have no such delusions. I don't just want to prop you up as a puppet for the Ministry, I want to give you real power. You can determine the direction the Auror Office takes heading into the new century. You can advocate for real change, do some real good. I'm not asking for your blind loyalty, Harry. I know what you're capable of and I want you by my side. Hell, you might even have my job someday."

"I don't want to be Minister," Harry muttered, but he was taken aback by Kingsley's words all the same. It was true that Harry had once dreamed of leading the Auror Office after leaving Hogwarts; he just never assumed it would happen so soon. Would people respect him? Sure, the glow of Voldemort's defeat would aid him for now, but what if he was no good at the job? What if the office struggled to rein in Death Eaters on his watch? That would be his responsibility.

But then, he figured, he'd always considered that his responsibility. For the past seven years of his life, he'd felt as though he was alone on an island, keeping the forces of evil at bay while the world of adults kept him in the dark. Now that world of adults was welcoming him into the fold, giving him the power that ought to come with such responsibility. It was an enticing offer. But one that he couldn't even begin to wrap his head around at the moment.

"I need to think about it," Harry said, rubbing his forehead. "It's too soon to commit to that."

"Naturally," said Kingsley. "The Dark Lord has barely been gone three days, for heaven's sake! Take your time, young man. Live your life. The offer will remain on the table for when you feel ready."

"Thank you, sir," said Harry, standing to shake Kingsley's hand. He felt more at ease now that he understood Kingsley's true motives for summoning him here. Now that he knew he wasn't in danger of being chucked in Azkaban or being forced to recount his whereabouts over the past year, he felt he could breathe easier.

"If you'd like, feel free to drop into the Auror Office on Level Two on your way out; they'd be happy to show you around," said Kingsley with a smile. "And if there's anything I can do for you in the meantime, let me know."

"I will," said Harry, and he turned towards the door. He expected much worse from his visit to the Ministry today, as every other time he'd been here, somebody had been trying desperately to either kill him or have him punished. The fact that he would not have to visit the courtrooms on Level Ten was a huge relief. He strode back across the courtroom towards the lift, excited to see what the Auror Office had in store for him.

Level Two, which housed the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, was far more chaotic than Level One. Witches and wizards scrambled from office to office, shouting over one another, dodging paper memos zooming over their heads. Harry approached a frazzled-looking witch sitting behind the reception desk.

"Erm...where is the Auror Office?" he asked.

"Second door on the left," she said without looking up from her paper; she was furiously scribbling a note, and Harry could see the words "IMMEDIATE SURRENDER" and "COMPLY OR ELSE" scrawled on the page. He thought it best not to ask, and he slipped between two arguing older wizards towards the Auror Office. He located the door and knocked before entering.

It was suddenly deathly quiet, like somebody had magically turned down the volume in the room. "Oi, shut the door!" an annoyed voice called from the back of the room; Harry quickly complied. He looked around at the Auror Office, which housed a couple dozen desks, most empty, and a large message board at the front of the room. On it he could see the names and pictures of various Death Eaters, and he assumed it was information regarding their whereabouts.

"Ah, Harry Potter," said a voice, and Robards emerged from a corner office. He extended his hand, and Harry shook it. "Wasn't expecting you so soon. To what do we owe the pleasure?" A half-dozen other Aurors had stood from their desks, gawking at Harry.

"Uh...I just spoke with the Minister, and he suggested I come have a look at the office," Harry said.

"By all means!" said Robards, beckoning for Harry to come inside. He withdrew his wand and pointed it at the door: "Muffliato. Bloody noisy out there, eh? Can hardly hear ourselves think in here!"

"I imagine it's been busy around here the past few days," said Harry. "You lot must be swamped with Death Eaters on the run."

"Oh sure, they're out there somewhere," Robards said casually. "Not much for us to do about it at the moment. Lots of paperwork has to be done before we can engage, and there's nothing we hate more than paperwork."

"Then why's it so chaotic in the rest of the department?" Harry asked, gesturing to the door.

"Ah, mostly dealing with the hysterical public," Robards dismissed. "Witches and wizards who are convinced Lucius Malfoy just Apparated into their garden and contacted us in a panic. I expect it'll take longer than that for us to catch some of these folks, given they're more likely to lay low and stay off the grid."

Robards led Harry to the front of the room to admire the giant message board. Harry could see information scrawled underneath each name and photo, listing known aliases, last known locations, affiliates, and other useful tidbits. "Not all of these are Death Eaters," Harry pointed out.

"You may be surprised to learn that you don't need to be a Death Eater to practice Dark magic," Robards grinned. "Some of these names have been on our board since before the Dark Lord returned."

"And have you been tracking everyone who fought for Voldemort at Hogwarts?" Harry asked pointedly.

"That's being done as we speak, out there," said Robards, gesturing to the door. "As I said, we hate paperwork. We're the ones who go out and do the job, not push pencils at the Ministry all day." The other Aurors chuckled at this.

"Do you have a file for Dawlish yet?" asked Harry. That caused quite a stir in the room, and there was no laughing now.

"Dawlish is a tricky case," said Robards diplomatically. "He had been acting odd for months before the battle. We think he may have been Confunded one too many times, or perhaps under—"

"An Imperius Curse, yeah, yeah," Harry muttered. "So you are planning to go after him?"

"Believe me Potter, Dawlish isn't dangerous," Robards reassured him. "I've known him for many years, and he has always been loyal to the Ministry—"

"...which was controlled by Voldemort for a whole year!" Harry retorted. "And he fought for the dark side at Hogwarts; he injured Aberforth Dumbledore! Isn't that cause for suspicion?"

"Of course it is," Robards sighed, "and I'm sure if you went back into the record-keeping office right now you would find a file on him in there. But it doesn't become an Auror problem until he poses an imminent threat to the public."

"What if he never becomes a threat?!" Harry demanded. "What if he quietly retires somewhere, and never has to answer for what he's done?"

"You seem to misunderstand what we do here, Potter," said Robards. "We are peace-keepers, not judge, jury and executioner. I have no doubt that thousands of witches and wizards will be put on trial for their actions over the past year. We can't just decide to apprehend whoever we like. If you're looking to dispense justice, take it up with the Wizengamot."

Harry should have expected this, but it frustrated him all the same. He had a profound distaste for the wizarding court system, considering they attempted to have him expelled for no reason three summers ago. Weren't Aurors supposed to be different? Couldn't they take matters into their own hands when bureaucracy got in the way? Who were these cowards, sitting in their posh offices and waiting for the green light from upper management, when there were evil forces still at play in the world?

Robards sensed Harry's agitation and sought to guide the conversation away from Dawlish. "Why don't we go through our day-to-day operations?" he said. "This is the kind of work you can expect if you choose to join the Auror Office. Savage, why don't you show him the assignment charts?"

Harry held his tongue on Dawlish and allowed the heavyset Auror named Savage to walk him through the complex assignment system for field duty. He was still preoccupied with the image of a man firing deadly curses at innocent civilians and then setting down his wand and returning to normal life. It filled him with inexplicable rage. I'll go along with your procedures for now, Robards, he thought bitterly to himself. But once I take over this office, we're going to do things a lot differently...