The reflection looked back at him impassively. Sometimes he still looked in the mirror and expected to see two round spectacles looking back, but instead his visage was unmarred by them. His eyes looked bigger, more ready for expression even though the frown of uncertainty he bore before his unfortunate encounter with Oril's wand was gone. It was obvious what Ron – someone who had been around him for a decade – saw when he looked into Harry's eyes. He didn't see the same person; it must be quite alarming.
Thankfully no one else had. People did change, without the need for outside intervention. It might be a rare thing, but they did. And as Harry thought back on his newfound impetus, he couldn't see it as a bad thing. Without it he might still be saddled with Selander, or McMillan could have torn him to pieces during his debate. But most important of all, he would never have dared to take Hermione from Ron.
What good were good intentions if they didn't improve your life? Good intentions were what had killed Sirius, and what had let Voldemort take Hogwarts. Good intentions had kept him with the Dursleys. No, Harry had had enough of good intentions, and Hermione seemed to share that notion.
A smirk appeared on his face as he thought of her. This was all still very new.
He buttoned the top of his casual robe and stepped out into the parlour, where Ginny was sitting hands folded over her purse.
"Ready?" she asked.
"I am."
They floo'd over to the Leaky Cauldron to start their shopping date in Diagon Alley. Ginny smiled at him seeing the turned heads and whispers around them as they walked side by side. A bit further a young wizard, probably shopping for school supplies, dropped a jar of doxy eggs and it shattered on the floor.
Harry laughed and moved ahead, reforming the jar with a flick of his wand. The doxy eggs reassembled in the container. "Be careful next time, young man," he said, handing it back. The child nodded, his eyes bulging as he muttered something like a thank you.
"Thank you Mr. Potter," the young mother said. "F – for what it's worth you'll have our vote come September."
"I'm thankful, you have a good day."
"You're very popular," Ginny said in a low voice. "Honestly I don't see why you have to have all these meetings. There's no way you won't get elected."
"It's more than just about getting elected, Gin. It's about being able to do anything else once we are."
She nodded, unconvinced. As clear as things were when it came to Ron, he really couldn't decide what Ginny's place would be in all this. Could she take the olive branch and accept a breakup? Her fiery temper would suggest otherwise, but she had moved on before. She didn't have the same complexes as her brother did, which was encouraging. Time would tell where she would fall.
After a busy and frankly exhausting bout of shopping, they went over to get a snack at a sandwich shop. A few photographers had appeared and kept their respectable distance taking pictures. It was something Ginny enjoyed, basking in the attention, especially when he was there. He didn't think it was something shameful, he enjoyed the positive attention as well and always had. In some other life he could imagine flying in the league too. But that pipedream seemed unwise to hold on to, especially with how titillating his recent activities had turned out to be.
"Do you want to visit the Wheezes before or after we get some ice cream?" he asked.
She downed the rest of her water and stood up. "Let's go now. God, it must be weeks since I've surprised George. He'll be glad, I just hope Ron won't be a pain."
"Has he said anything lately?" Harry asked.
"He's got it in his head that you're all different now," she sighed.
"Am I?"
She shrugged. "You don't seem any less sharp than before, so… I mean you would never have entered politics, you told me that enough. Everyone's just glad to have you back, who cares if you're a little different?" She took his hand. "And I think we can all thank Hermione for getting rid of those awful glasses. Really, Harry, to think that you never changed them."
They entered the Wheezes, which on a Wednesday afternoon was still ridiculously busy. Several children went over to their parents to ask to buy them one of the 'Harry Potter' branded products to get them signed. Harry and Ginny dodged between the aisles to get to the front before they could get swarmed.
"Look who we have here!" George said, hugging them.
"We were just having lunch and thought to come over," Ginny said.
"Is Ron here?" Harry asked, fully aware that he wasn't.
"He's in Dover to take care of some overseas business."
"We're getting some ice cream at Fortescue's later," Ginny said.
George nodded and turned to the back. "Alex! Get over here!"
A young brown haired wizard came from the back, putting on an awkward smile. He wore a large shirt with the Wheezes logo on them.
"Alex, meet the Messiah himself, and my sister who's accompanying him for a date."
Alex, still looking awkward, shook their hands. "Good to finally meet you."
"Alex is from the States, but don't hold it against him."
"Really?" Harry asked. "How did that happen?"
"It was always a dream of mine, coming here and working for… well, Zonko's back then. But then I heard there was a position at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and I applied for that instead."
"I'm glad you finally hired help, George," Ginny said. "Do you want to join us?"
He looked appraisingly at Harry, who nodded.
"Yeah all right."
Several children had formed a line behind Harry with pictures and paraphernalia ready to be signed.
George laughed. "You go ahead Gin and get us a spot. I'll help Harry with the fans."
It took about fifteen minutes of Harry's undivided attention to help all the children to an authentic Harry Potter autograph, George helping them pay for their things and hurrying them along.
"I swear you're still responsible for half of the shop's income," George said. "Let me get my jacket."
He followed into the back room where George found his favourite dragon leather jacket. Harry leaned against a wall, looking very unhappy and brooding. The look was almost second-nature to him, and it invariably caused any well-meaning person present to show inappropriate maternal concern.
"Something you want to talk about, mate?" George asked.
There it was. Like taking candy from a baby.
"It's – never mind, it's probably me worrying too much."
"Is it Ginny?"
Harry bashfully smiled and shook his head. "No, Ginny's fine." He sighed heavily. "I'm worried about Ron and Hermione."
"Oh what is it this time?"
Harry summoned the most innocent hurt look he could before replying. "He… he thinks we're having an affair."
"No way," George said, more out of shock than disbelief.
"He talked to Andromeda, and she told me."
"Really."
"Look if it were only that, I wouldn't be worried. Hermione, she didn't use to talk to me about that, and I guess now she does. And maybe she's been acting up, but… Bloody hell, George, I tried talking to Ron about it and he almost bit my head off. She looks scared to go home sometimes and I don't know what to say. George… what the hell am I supposed to say?"
He looked up to George who had a morose look on his face, appropriately so. Clearly Ron had kept his brother in the dark about his little crusade.
"It's that bad?" He walked over and put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I'm sure it'll turn out fine. It's Ron, he'll just apologize in the end."
"Yeah, you're right," Harry said wiping a single crocodile tear from his eyes. "Let's go get some ice cream."
They went to get ice cream and try to erase the doubt Harry had purposefully planted. On the other side of the British Isles, a young witch also in the running for the Wizengamot walked along with the half-giant professor and groundskeeper up to the Headmaster's tower.
"Shame Harry coudn't be 'ere."
"I'm sure he'll come visit soon," Hermione laughed. "I just had a free afternoon and though to visit before the year starts."
"An' Ron o' course!"
"Yes," Hermione said quietly.
"Yer think Harry might come give sum lessons this year? He might be too busy o' course!" Hagrid asked excitedly.
"I'll ask him. I know he liked it the last time."
"Maybe sum day e'll be teachin' ere, as a real professor!" Hagrid dreamed on.
"Maybe," Hermione said with a large grin.
They ascended the steps of the tower and Hagrid stood before the gargoyle. "Lucet," he recited, "that's the password. Ye have a good cup o' tea right? Say 'ello ter Harry fer me."
She said goodbye to Hagrid, almost being crushed by his embrace and passed the hallway into the Headmaster's office. Minerva McGonagall, her sharp eyebrows frowning above her square spectacles, seemed to be busily penning something down on parchment. But as soon as her – this not being a secret to anyone – favourite alumni walked through the door, she stashed her quill and stood up to greet Hermione.
"Such a pleasure to see you come visit," she said with a restrained hug. She couldn't help glance down at the scar peeking out of her collar. "Are you well? You do look rather well, if I do say so myself."
"I –" For the briefest moment her voice faltered. "I am, there's no pain at least. And we have the expert on curses available if anything should happen, but really there have been no issues since we woke up. Not for Harry either."
"That is good to hear", she said pulling up two chairs with her wand. "I have to apologize for not coming to your announcement party, I trust you both got my letters."
"It's all right professor, we know how busy things can get this time of year."
They enjoyed a cup of McGonagall's favourite Darjeerling tea, the quiet of the summertime castle settling over the room. Behind the Headmaster, the portraits of her predecessors snored, or pretended to at least, occasionally poking open an eye to spy at the guest.
"So, the new school year," Hermione said with a sigh. "Anything exciting planned?"
"I imagine you would know more about that than me, seeing as you have been shadowing Harry lately. I would not take it as an insult if he declined guest lessons this year."
"He does love teaching," she said with a wistful smile. "I'd have to ask him, but I think he would fight to make some time even if we do both get elected."
"If," McGonagall laughed.
"It's true that we are in a good position, but you've seen how they attacked Harry in the press again, even if that's starting to come around."
She nodded at that, her mouth stretching into a thin line at the thought of past transgressions of the press. "Well, I'm very excited to see where this all leads you, as sudden as it is. How is everything else? I believe you told me you and Ronald have settled into your apartment?"
Behind the Headmistress, the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black smirked at Hermione.
It was after all he, who was the reason she was here. A few days ago they had heard shouting from the 3rd floor landing, where his portrait was hung.
"Ah! Finally you notice! Ungrateful as ever I see?"
Harry looked back to Hermione with a puzzled look. Phineas had barely spent any time in his portrait at Grimmauld Place. "Do you have a message from McGonagall?"
"I am here for more selfish motives," Phineas said. "As a member of House Black."
"That's nonsense," Hermione said, "everyone knows the Headmaster's portraits serve the current Headmaster of Hogwarts."
"Don't pretend to know everything! And do not underestimate the pull of the Black family."
"Fine, speak then," Harry said.
"Your Weasley friend visited earlier. Although, I imagine friend is not applicable any more, seeing as he was practically begging the Headmistress to help him stop you dead in your tracks. He told her the curse you suffered was turning you unrecognizable – 'I don't recognize my friends any more,' I believe were his exact words."
"All right," said Harry, "but what's it to you? Even if you are here on your own."
"I want to see the Black seat taken up again. Not since Alphard was ousted and the Black reputation further ruined has a Black sat at the Wizengamot."
"But I'm not a Black, am I?" Harry said.
"You are the head of House Black legally, and the Potters and Blacks have historically been close. Regardless of that, you are worthy of the name, defeating a Dark Lord at merely seventeen. And as I hear it you have been taking good care of Andromeda, disowned as she is. You are all that is left of the Black legacy, Harry Potter. Therefore it is my duty to help you."
"And what should we do? We can't help Ron being paranoid, can we?"
"I am not here to advise you, just to inform you. Albus Dumbledore's portrait has convinced the Headmistress to take Weasley's warning to heart, even if she is far from believing anything is seriously wrong."
"Can I ask you something then?" Hermione said.
Phineas' nod told her to continue.
"What do you think of it?"
"If I were not a portrait and my own self… Perhaps I would say it is time for a change in leadership. Britain was incapable of dealing with the cancer Voldemort planted, that points to a historical weakness, not a momentary lapse in judgement. You seem as stubborn as ever. Who better to lead?"
"Who indeed," Harry had mumbled.
Sitting before McGonagall, it was all too easy to lean on the relationship they had built over the past decade. But now a member of their trio had openly stated his concerns, and that wasn't something that easily went away. And Phineas' visit could easily be a trap, although that seemed too insidious to be true.
Harry trusted her to do the correct thing, and in this case, being open might just be it.
"I don't want to bother you with personal problems," she said.
"Hermione, there is no need to feel that way. Since when have you stopped coming to me with personal matters?"
"I feel like Ronald doesn't trust me any more," she said, fidgeting in her seat. "Maybe he doesn't forgive me for what I did to help Harry."
McGonagall sighed heavily and took off her glasses. There came the moment of truth, to see where she stood when it came to their shaky marriage, which she had so far encouraged every step of the way.
"Mr. Weasley has always had problems with confidence."
Hook.
"I do believe your latest heroic act has hurt him more than he cares to admit."
Line.
"But I don't want you to feel guilty for that. He will have to come to terms with it on his own time."
And sinker. Hermione let tears stream down her face. It wasn't some dramatic acting moment, she had done so many times in this office. For similarly stupid reasons. After a while of crying in McGonagall's arms, she dried her eyes.
"Do you think you will be all right then? If you want to talk some more, I am available."
"Thank you," Hermione answered. "Sometimes it feels like I don't understand him at all."
Harry's name hung in the air, thick like gravy. It was on McGonagall's face how much effort she had to make not to simply ask the pertinent questions.
Is he very grateful that you saved his life yet again? How is it working this closely with him for the first time since probably the war? How often do you think about shagging your best friend and technically brother-in-law?
Instead they talked school to put the emotional episode behind them. Slughorn was talking retirement again, but probably wouldn't budge. Dan Winston, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was slowly getting used to things and fitting in. And of course there was plenty talk of Neville and his apprenticeship, who she would go visit later.
-M-
Marcy was sitting on the chair in the middle of the Grimmauld potions workshop, still crying and shaking despite having taken her third calming draught. Pansy was next to her, trying to comfort her, but the girl in question had been growing more unstable by the day. To be fair, reliving those memories probably wouldn't be good for anyone.
"I can't – I can't… please Pansy, I don't want to remember any more."
Pansy gulped and glanced at Harry. "It's the only way you'll be safe, okay? Maybe… take a break?"
"Then we'd have to start again tomorrow," Harry said. "There's five more left. Come on, Marcy."
"They were going to make me forget… Mr. Potter, please, I just want to forget."
"They lied to you, Marcy," Hermione said. "You obliviate so much and you risk getting permanently damaged."
"I don't care!"
"Marcy," Harry said in a placating tone, "I told you we would look for a solution. Now, do you want to come in tomorrow and start all over again? Or do you want to finish this today?"
Marcy's blue eyes went blank, just staring at nothing while she shivered. Harry took that as a sign to continue.
"Legilimens!"
It was a tough task, trying to pinpoint every memory accurately, being repressed as they were, but working his way back from the present helped. And really, doing this in as few sessions as possible was for her own benefit. Getting accustomed to the architecture of the whore's mind was easier in one longer session.
He was sure to capture the moment the client drank the polyjuice antidote. Thankfully the idiots who frequented the Frilly Escape really didn't like to do the act polyjuiced. The man, an elderly balding wizard, stepped forward into the room. It was decorated in pinks and whites, in the middle of it a kitsch simile of a girlish bed where Marcy was sitting. Though you wouldn't know it was her unless you were burrowing into her mind like he was, unrecognizable with her blonde hair and youthful eyes.
"Don't you look pretty today," the wizard said.
"Why thank you sir," Marcy replied hazily.
They were all given mindcutter potions when they worked. They took it willingly but that didn't make it any less distasteful. Easier to have compliant workers, as many of them wouldn't be able to do what they did sober. Especially polyjuiced to look half their age.
Harry moved forward through the memory, disinterested in the process.
"That's it you little slut – It feels so good, sir – Who's the tightest little witch! – Ah! –"
Finding the end of the encounter, he flicked his wand, capturing the memory. Hermione held out a flask for him to release it into. Marcy was crying again, but she made no noise, still staring at the wall with dead eyes.
"Four more to go," Harry said.
Twenty minutes later, it was all done. Before carrying out Marcy, Pansy came up to him.
"Harry, I'm really worried about her. I know we're doing this to… get back at those people, but…"
Harry sighed. She was right though, as much as memories were good blackmail material, a witness was worth so much more. Maybe it was time they hit the books again.
"I promise I'll find help. And thank you," he said with a hand on her shoulder, "I know it's not easy. Look after her for me. For now we'll give you a stock of calming draughts and dreamless sleep potions."
"Okay," she smiled.
Kreacher appeared to take them back to the safehouse and Harry and Hermione went to the library, opening up the newly built cabinet containing their trove of memories. All of those with recognizable clients were labelled, and sorted onto their particular shelf. They placed Marcy's on the bottom shelf ready to be sorted and labelled at a later date.
A lone one in a corner was labelled 'G.W.' Harry couldn't stop from looking at. It was by far the most curious memory they had extracted.
"What do you think we should do with that?" she asked, referring to it.
He shook his head. "Keep it for now? In a way it is sad… Maybe now that Barnton has gone on lockdown he can move past it. I had no idea he still was so troubled."
"Well, his troubles aren't over," Hermione said, taking his hand. "Not with his little brother about to be taken out of the picture."
Harry closed the cabinet with a smile. "You are delightfully devious."
She giggled and clung to his chest, her hair extending below his chin like a large mousy brown cloud of smoke. "Thank you," she mumbled.
