"They create a wilderness and call it peace"
-TACTICUS-

"Ron!" Harry bellowed. "Ron, where are you?"
Ron's voice floated back from he other side of their tiny little flat. "The kitchen."
"Come here, quick!"
There was the sound of a chair scraping the floor, feet thumping the floor, and then Ron himself bounded into the study. "Harry- what d'you want for your birthday? I know it's a week off yet but I just can't think of what to get you, and-"
Harry interrupted, indicating the fireplace, where he had just been conversing with Hermione via Floo network. "That was Hermione. She says Dumbledore wants to see us right away. It's about Voldemort."
Ron's eyes widened a little. "We found him?"
"I think so," said Harry with a grim smile.
"Wicked." Ron's smile mirrored Harry's. "Shall we pop off to Hogwarts then?"
Harry shook his head. "Nah. Hermione said Dumbledore wants to keep it top secret so she's coming here first, with a portkey, and then we're all going together."
Ron's eyes widened even more. "She's coming here?" He looked down at his scruffy shirt and jeans doubtfully. Harry grinned.
"You look fine."
"The house is a mess."
"I'm sure she doesn't care. She's been here lots of times when it's been messier than this."
"You're right, you're right," Ron said, biting his lip. "I'll just go and clear up the kitchen a bit."
Despite being best friends, Harry and Ron probably weren't ideal flatmates for each other, given that both of them were so used to having things tidied up for them thanks to spending years at Hogwarts that the state of their flat in London sometimes reached disgusting proportions. Harry sometimes had to make a conscious effort to leave things around- living in fear of Aunt Petunia's cleanliness all his life made it an automatic reaction to tidy things up.
He smiled as the sound of Ron gargling mouthwash in the bathroom reached his ears. Harry knew Hermione knew perfectly well that Ron was in love with her, and to be honest, she reciprocated his feeling whole-heartedly. The two of them had even been on a couple of dates. But both were so shy of their feelings, and so scared of ruining the almost-decade-long friendship that they had, that Hermione was waiting for Ron to initiate anything, and he was waiting to find the courage. Harry found it all very amusing.
The front door opened- Hermione had visited the boys so often that she let herself in, now.
"Hello?" she called out.
"In here," Harry called back, smiling as she appeared in the doorway. 'Hi."
"Hi!" she said, returning his smile and holding up-
"A toothbrush? That's our Portkey?"
"What's wrong with it?"
"Has it been used?' Harry said doubtfully.
"I don't know. I think it's Dumbledore's."
"Brilliant, one-hundred-and-sixty-year-old-man germs."
"Don't be so immature, Harry."
Harry obligingly stuck out his tongue at her, and she rolled her eyes. 'Where's Ron?' she laughed.
"Right here," said Ron, once again bounding into the study. Hemrione beamed at him.
"Hello!" she said. "are we all ready to go?"
"Yes," the two boys answered.
"Well then," said Hermione, and all three put their hands on the toothbrush crawling with one-hundred-and-sixty-year-old-man germs.

*

When Harry was fifteen the Aurors segregated themselves from the Ministry, and became a vigilante fighting group against Lord Voldemort. Partly because the Ministry refused to acknowledge that Voldemort had risen again, but mostly because Cornelius Fudge, who was still the Minister for magic at the time, ordered it. Never one to let anything go undisputed, he announced the "official" parting of ways- from the moment he announced it, Albus Dumbledore and any of his associates were regarded as highly dangerous. So it became that they were two separate teams, both fighting against Lord Voldemort but totally opposed to each other as well. Upon leaving school Harry got a job as an Auror, and prompted Ron to become one too- not that he needed much convincing. It took a while to convince Hermione to become an Auror too, as she had already began a job at the Ministry, something that made Harry incredibly disappointed.

But eventually she came around and for the past year the three of them had been fighting the Dark Lord and all his followers. Eventually they tracked him down- he was at Hogwarts in the forbidden forest, but he was not alone. Hundreds of thousands of Dark followers, death eaters and Dementors were in the forbidden forest that day, and for a moment Harry had thought they were done for- but then Dumbledore had come, and with him came and army of Aurors and giants and centaurs, ready to fight against Voldemort.

The Forbidden forest became a bloody battlefield that day. Tremendous losses from both sides ensued- so many people died or lost their souls to the Dementors that Ministry workers were still out there looking for survivors and checking who was dead. Harry was the one who had alerted them there- he had woken up to find himself surrounded by the dead, and eventually came to his senses enough to contact the Ministry.

Harry's team had consisted of (among others) himself, Ron, Hermione, Mundugnus Fletcher, Arabella Figg, Mr and Mrs. Longbottom, Professor McGonagall, Daedelus Diggle, Remus, Sirius, Seamus Finnigan and his mother, Evelyn; Mad-Eye Moody, and Hagrid. It had been Hagrid and the headmistress of Beauxbatons academy, Olympe Maxime, who had extended the hand of friendship towards the small colony of giants on behalf of Dumbledore. So the giants had ended up fighting on the side of the Aurors, another reason why the Ministry refused to associate with them. Giants were natural killers, as Ron had once told Harry, and they felt no remorse about snapping a death eater's neck. They got the job done though, Harry would tell himself unfeelingly. They got the job done. The giants were the extra push they had needed to finally defeat Voldemort. Or at least, Voldemort's army.

Lord Voldemort had disappeared. That much Harry knew. He had cornered Voldemort, ad they had been fighting, and then something…something happened. But for the life of him Harry couldn't remember it. Voldemort had pointed his wand at Harry to administer the fatal Avada Kedavra curse, and Harry had pointed is wand at Voldemort to do the same. But neither had ever said it. There had been a flash of light (had it been Harru's powers? Or Voldemort's?), and the sound of Voldemort screaming in pain, an amazing pain in Harry's scar- and the next thing Harry knew, he was waking up to find the battle was over, and everyone was dead. And Voldemort had disappeared.

But Harry didn't care any more. As far as he was concerned, Voldemort could go stuff himself. Ever since Harry had leant he was a wizard, Voldemort had haunted his dreams and forced Harry to live in fear. Well, he was sick of it.

He wasn't going to be afraid any more.

There was nothing to be afraid of, because the worst had happened. Ron had been killed. Hermione had been killed. Sirius, Remus, his mum, his dad, Neville…all for the sake of Voldemort. People he had known, loved with all his heart, had been killed for that man. It was such a powerful shock it swept all the feelings out of him. He didn't even feel hatred or sorrow or anger. Just nothing. Just pain.

He knew there were questions he should be asking himself, like where was Voldemort now? And where were they keeping the survivors? And how hurt were they? And what had happened to the few surviving death eaters? Were the Dementors back at Azkaban?

But he didn't want to know the answers. Right now all he wanted to do was curl up somewhere and sleep without dreaming.

But there was another question that had crept into his head, something he shouldn't- couldn't- ignore, because it was something that needed- really needed- to be answered.

What had happened to Dumbledore?

Harry, wrapping his cloak tightly around him, walked out of the wrought-iron gates of the Ministry of Magic, which closed magically behind him. The day was grey. Slate clouds hid the sky from view, and dirty fallen leaves scurried around Harry's feet as he walked along the cold, stone cobbled street. Magus Alley was usually a busy, crowded place, full of Ministry workers off to Diagon Alley for lunch or store owners who had set up in the Alley that led to the Ministry selling there wares. But today there was a repressed quiet around the place. People hurried past, skirting around him, cloaks wrapped around themselves and heads bent, faces grey from mourning, faces grey from despair.

Harry didn't care that people were skirting around- he was so used to it by now that contempt from the general public rolled off his back. He had always been famous, but his choice to become an Auror had made sensational headlines. His dad had been an Auror. So had his mum. So he'd followed in his parents' footsteps without meaning to. Hermione had said it was in his blood. Ron had said it was freaky. Harry had known it was a coincidence, but nevertheless, felt secretly glad that he was doing things that his father had once done.

"You truly are you father's son." Sirius had said that once.

It occurred to Harry, as he left the Ministry, that he didn't know what to do next.

So where to now, Harry? Hogwarts was a definite no, as was Remus's house in Oxford. Hemrione's house? The Burrow? Their families would have to know sooner or later. Privet Drive? He'd be less than welcome there, but the wizarding world was becoming increasingly dangerous for him anyway. There were so many memories- sooner or later he'd run into something which would force him to let it in.

Magus Alley led directly onto Diagon Alley, through a wall in an alleyway between Eyelops Owl Emporium, and Mr. Ollivander's Wand store.

Harry shivered as he entered the alley. So often he had come here with friends. It was impossible not to see memories around every corner, to see Ron and Hermione's faces; Ron's longing as he looked at things he could never afford, Hermione interest in school books that she saw in the window. It was impossible not to…

"Hermione, why on earth would you want a book about the Medieval Council of Witches in Europe? Are you trying to bore yourself to death?"
"Just because it's summer Ron, doesn't mean I don't have to pick up a book for three months. Unlike some people I could mention, certain people who could be illiterate for the amount of books they read."

"Oh, leave Harry alone, Hermione."
"Very funny Ron. You know very well whom I'm talking about. You know, if you just did a bit of independent research you might be able to bring you History of Magic grade up to a D…"

Harry shook himself. Memories. Weird, stupid things. He didn't want to be reliving memories.

Diagon Alley couldn't have been a bigger contrast to Magus Alley. Whereas the Ministry was chilly, muddled, grim, Diagon Alley was bursting with life and music and celebrations. Harry wasn't surprised. The general wizard community believed Voldemort to have died, died at the hand of Dumbledore and his Aurors. They believed that once again, the terror had been banished and they could live without fear.

Hurrah for the Aurors, they were right all along, what a shame we supported the Ministry all throughout the war against You-Know-Who, but no hard feelings, eh? Oh yes, terrible shame about the losses of course, brave men and women all of them, but at least the Dark Lord's gone, they got the job done, didn't they? That's all that matters isn't it? They got the job done. You-Know-Who's dead, dead and gone, never to bother us again. Ah yeah, those Aurors, heroes- each and every one. And the boy lived, didn't he? The boy who lived lives again! What a champ, what a wizard!

What a load of shit.

Harry walked like a shadow cutting a path through the colours under the grey sky. A few people who recognised him cheered and patted him on the back. Harry shrugged away from them all. He felt too empty, too limp and lifeless to let himself be filled by the life and celebration that surrounded him.

"Oh, cheer up Harry!" Ron said coaxingly, slapping him on the back, "It's graduation! School's over! Here, get sloshed, it'll help."
Harry took the mug of mead Ron handed him, but didn't cheer up. School was over- that's exactly what the problem was.
Hermione didn't look especially happy either. "If Ron's keeps going the way he's going," she said quietly to Harry, "He's going to end up with his head in a toilet, throwing up his lungs. Should we stop him, do you think?"
"Nah…" said Harry after a moment's hesitation, "Should be good for a laugh. It is graduation after all."
"Come on, you two!" shouted Ron, "Sing with me! Hogwarts, Hogwarts, hoggy warty Hogwarts, teach us something please!…"

"Oh, Mr. Potter!" someone said, grabbing his hand, "Oh, Mr. Potter, thank you! Thank you for saving us again! You know, you're my son's hero, would you mind giving us an autograph?"

"Yes," said Harry pulling away, 'I've got to go."

"Oh, Mr. Potter, wait…"

But Harry hurried off, deaf to the man's cries. Rita Skeeter had given him a reputation six years ago of being sulky, disturbed, temperamental and dangerous, and he didn't care if people thought it was true. People could think what they like, but it was Harry's friends who were dead, not theirs. People could get stuffed.

He repeated that thought aloud with savage inflection. "People can get stuffed." And he kept the thought in his head as he dodged around the coloured wizards and witches, who were in actual fact, probably decent people, but who Harry just couldn't be bothered with now.

He couldn't be bothered with himself.

All of a sudden, a very, very familiar voice met his ears. "Harry! Hey wait- Harry! Harry stop please!"

And for one incredibly stupid moment, as Harry turned and for a split second saw a flash of bright red hair and long legs pelting towards him, he could have sworn it was Ron. But it wasn't. It was Percy Weasley.