Chapter 3: Awkward Silences

The meeting passed much as it had the night before, though perhaps improved by the absence of Burgess's long-winded speeches. While no one was particularly sorry to see him go, Gawain couldn't help but to think that the process would be a great deal rockier if Burgess chose to resign. Building trust with the foreign governments was hard enough without constantly changing up the ambassadors with whom they were dealing. Three Heads of the Department of Magical Cooperation in two years might be too much to handle with all the other things that had been happening.

For all the usual tediousness of the conference, it did at long last feel as though things had begun to advance. They had, at least, agreed on a plan of action for most of the areas they had been debating. Gawain couldn't help but notice that things seemed to resolve themselves much more quickly in Burgess's absence.

After several hours of discussion and planning, the committee was disbanded for a short time, each member with his or her own instructions and chores to complete. But a break was a break, and most of the company were more than glad of an excuse to get out of the dusty kitchen for a time.

And so it was that upon Apparating back to the Ministry, the group ambled in their separate directions: Kingsley off to meet with the Wizengamot, followed by Ben who had the look of a puppy out for a walk with its master and Margaret who had her wand out, her one eye glaring at everything that moved; Brannagh Roslyn to the security desk in the Atrium to analyse what precautions were in place; Edward Bones up to his office where he was to receive a report about the goings on in Hogwarts. Gawain did not move from the Apparition Zone for a moment, merely choosing to watch them all go. He took a deep breath and mentally prepared himself for the chaos that he was sure to find in the Auror Office after his long absence.

A quarter to seven o'clock that evening found Gawain standing once again on the stoop outside Number 12 Grimmauld Place. The allotted three hours to complete their work was nearly at an end. In that time, Gawain had met with the other Aurors, heard report after report of the chaos spreading across the country, prioritised their responses, issued orders, signed off on more than a dozen case files, and shouted at more people than he cared to admit to. He felt as though he had just crammed a normal week's worth of work into just a couple of hours. And so, after shovelling an early supper into his mouth while poring over another case file, he had made his way back to the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix and was much surprised to find that he was actually relieved to be back.

The house was as dark as it had been the night before. He wondered if he was the first one back— he was a bit early, after all. When he reached the door to the kitchen, however, light was streaming out from the crack beneath, and he heard rustling from the other side. He pushed the door open, expecting to see one of the other officials but instead he found Harry Potter standing at a cutting board slicing vegetables. At the creak of the door, Potter dropped the knife with a clank and his hand had drawn out his wand so quickly, Gawain thought he would have missed it if he'd blinked. The movement seemed much too well practiced for a boy of his age.

Potter's eyes met his own, and the boy's grip on his wand loosened. Very slowly and cautiously, Potter lowered his wand, but Gawain noted that he did not re-pocket it; instead he delicately set in on the table beside the cutting board where it was easily accessible and resumed the chopping of a potato. Gawain found himself rather impressed by this.

"I didn't mean to disturb you," said Gawain in his low gruff voice.

Potter glanced up briefly, but the knife did not still in its rhythmic cutting. "You didn't." He picked up the cutting board, held it over a large pot and used the knife to scrape the pieces in. The pot sizzled, and Potter turned to take up a carrot, resuming his slicing in a way that Gawain found rather menacing. "I had thought Kingsley had let you lot go home for the evening. Working you lot a bit hard, isn't he?"

"Desperate times," Gawain responded. "We all knew what we were signing up for." Still he stood awkwardly in the doorway, uncertain if he should go seat himself at the table.

The boy's hands stilled for a moment, and he looked at Gawain. Just looked, his face unreadable. Gawain found himself fighting the desire to squirm under the gaze— he felt suddenly like a boy who had just been caught by his mother after stealing biscuits. He abruptly realised how ridiculous he was being and wanted to kick himself in the shin. He's just a child. A perfectly normal seventeen year old child. Who cares what he's done. You're a grown wizard. Act like one. He forced himself to approach the table. He rested his hands on the back of a chair but did still not sit down.

"We shouldn't be here so late tonight, I think." Gawain tried to reply conversationally, hoping he succeeded in concealing his internal disquiet. "Just each giving our reports. Hopefully no more than a couple hours, and we'll be out of your hair."

The boy nodded as though this really hadn't worried him, then resumed his chopping. The pot on the hob sizzled again as he deposited the carrot. After a moment, he spoke again.

"You're Mr. Robards, aren't you? Head of the Auror Office?" At Gawain's nod, he continued. "Interesting time to be an Auror. Stressful," he added with a humourless smile. "But interesting." For a moment, Gawain was surprised that Potter should have remembered his name after their brief introduction that morning. Then he remembered that Potter had reacted to the name as though he had heard it before.

"Yes, it is," Gawain replied to Potter's comment, his mind half on the conversation, half questioning Potter's response to his name that morning, internally debating with himself on whether he should simply ask. Perhaps he didn't want to know. Perhaps Potter had heard about some kind of foul-up he had made in his past.

But the side of his brain which was still in the present conversation was failing him miserably. It could not for the life of him come up with something interesting to say to Potter. Merlin, where are the others already? Gawain had never been much of a conversationalist, and he got the impression Potter wasn't particularly good at it either. Not the best combination. And so it was that as the silence began to stretch again, the part of his brain that wanted to confront Potter about his reaction teamed up with the part that simply wanted to fill the awkward lull in conversation.

"May I ask you a question?" Potter, who had gone back to his knife and vegetables, froze. He looked extremely apprehensive, and Gawain belatedly realised that was probably not the best way to open; Potter was probably expecting Gawain to start interrogating him about his defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or some such. But when Potter looked at Gawain reluctantly inviting him to ask his question, Gawain barrelled on. "It's just. This morning, when Kings—when the Minister introduced us, you seemed to know my name, and I just...couldn't interpret your expression."

"Oh." Potter let out his breath looking immensely relieved. He visibly relaxed, and the knife resumed its repetitive strokes, this time on a parsnip. "Nothing bad, I assure you," Potter said glancing at him with a slight smile. "It's a...complicated...story. I had just...heard your name from Scrimgeour. A while back."

Gawain frowned, trying to interpret this. While Rufus Scrimgeour had tried to keep it quiet to the general public in the interest of his political reputation, it was not exactly a secret in the Auror Office that he and Potter had never exactly hit it off. Truth be told, when off the record, Gawain had heard Rufus flat out cursing the boy on more than one occasion. 'Pig-headed,' was his preferred adjective, though the nouns it described tended to be more... creative.

When Potter saw that Gawain clearly didn't understand and clearly had no intention of letting it go, Potter sighed and said, "On the first day we met, Scrimgeour... threatened... to introduce me to you."

'Threatened.' It was an odd choice of word and more than a little offensive. But then Gawain considered the double meaning in his comment. "He threatened to arrest you?" he asked, incredulously.

Potter laughed. "No, no. Though I don't doubt he considered that option a time or two. He just... well... he wanted to give me a job. Under you."

Now Gawain was completely lost. He supposed it must have shown on his face because Potter laughed again and said, not without some bitterness, "I did tell you it was complicated." Potter sighed as he added the parsnip to the stew. "Scrimgeour and I had a very... tense... relationship. Our objectives didn't mesh very well. And I don't exactly have a reputation for playing nicely with the Ministry." Gawain suppressed a snort at that. "I think he thought that if I were to work at the Ministry, it would help ensure trust in his administration. That I would be offering my endorsement publicly. And I was... something less than cooperative. It proved to be the foundation for a lot of bad feeling between us, and I..." Abruptly he looked at Gawain and frowned. "...and I have absolutely no idea why I'm telling you all this," he finished shaking his head and smiling ruefully to himself.

Silence fell and Gawain realised that the forthcoming mood in which he had found Potter had now come to an end. He searched his brain for something more to say, something to ask that might get him talking again, but nothing came to mind. There were plenty of questions, of course: whether Potter knew the circumstances behind Rufus's death— that he had been tortured for Potter's location; precisely why Rufus had thought that the Auror Office would be a good fit for Potter; what more was there left unsaid behind Potter's reluctance to work for the Ministry. None of these questions seemed entirely appropriate to ask in their first proper meeting. And so, again, the pause stretched to the point of unease.

Just as the silence was beginning to get painfully long, the door opened behind Gawain and Edward Bones strolled in. Like Gawain, he paused when he saw Potter. He looked between
Gawain and the boy curiously for a moment before nodding at Potter with a soft, "Good evening." Potter replied with the same, and Bones strolled around the far end of the table, pulled out the chair he had occupied earlier that day, and seated himself to wait for the others, not looking at anything in particular. Gawain followed suit.

Edward Bones was a man of about forty. His thick auburn hair was just beginning to fleck with grey, his face just beginning to show the lines of decades of concern and weariness. He was one of those lucky few who seemed to grow more handsome with age. His was the kind of face that seemed to tell a new story with each wrinkle. Naturally, all of this was quite annoying to Gawain. Now, Bones sat silent and patient, his hands intertwined and resting on the table top.

All that was heard in the room was the chopping of a stalk of celery. By the time Potter had added this to the pot along with a broth and set it all on the stove to boil, the silence had long since passed the point where it could be broken without awkwardness. Potter looked around for something else with which to occupy his hands while his dinner was cooking. When nothing became apparent he glanced at his company, first at Gawain and then at Bones.

Clearing his throat uncomfortably in such a way as to remind Gawain that he was, after all, just a child and not at all at ease with polite conversation, Potter said to Bones "You're Susan's father, I believe?"

Bones looked at Potter with an expression that Gawain could not quite get a grasp of. It was almost accusatory. "Yes," he said after a pause. He began drumming his fingers rhythmically on the table top.

"I saw you. At Hogwarts. At the Battle," Potter said. This was news to Gawain. He had been under the impression that Kingsley had been the only one of their company to have actually been there.

"'After the Battle' is more like," Bones corrected with a wince. "It would seem I missed the majority of it."

"Either way, I know I was not the only one who was relieved to see you lot arrive," Potter assured him earnestly. "Slughorn did a good thing, going to collect all of you. It was more than I would have expected of him."

Bones did not reply to this. He was gazing at Potter with his jaw clenched, annoyed about something, though Gawain could not imagine what. Potter apparently understood however because he looked somewhat ashamed when he said, "Susan was well, I hope, when you left her? She wasn't injured?"

Bones said nothing for a moment, just continued his drumming on the table. "Just a few cuts and bruises. Nothing life-threatening," he said at last

Potter flinched ever-so-slightly at Bones's curt voice. After a moment of awkwardness, he said, "I'm sorry she had to go through that. I never intended to have her fight... or anyone else."

"She should never have been there in the first place," Bones said softly. "She should have been evacuated. Merlin knows enough people in my family have died for this cause."

There was another awkward pause before Potter said, just as softly, "I was very sorry to hear about your sister. I only met her once, but she was... good to me. At a time when very few people would have been."

Bones looked up at him, looking faintly taken aback. "Thank you," he said at last. This was clearly not a comment he had been expecting. His finger drumming stopped and he entwined his two hands as though forcing them to cease their fidgeting.

Gawain had never known Bones particularly well. He had always been a person of some interest in the magical community, but it was more because of the family he was connected to than for his own right. Not to say he was without merit. Like the rest of his family, he was a man of fierce intelligence, powerful magic, and strong morals. But unlike his two siblings, he had kept himself out of direct confrontation. He had watched his brother, Edgar, fight the good fight in the First War and he had seen where it had gotten him: murdered along with his wife and three sons. And Amelia had been one of the first casualties of the Second War. Edward Bones may have known what was right and wrong, but that didn't mean that he was about to let the same happen to his wife and children. In that, Gawain saw a great deal of himself in the man.

"May I ask, Mr. Potter: exactly how well do you know my daughter?" Bones asked contemplatively after another lull.

Potter looked grimly amused by this question. "Exactly as well as a Gryffindor and a Hufflepuff of the same year know each other after six years of classes. We didn't properly meet until fifth year. But I like to think that we're friends."

"Must be some friend. That she would risk her life for you."

Potter looked him straight in the eyes, stared him down at that. "You can't honestly think... that she did any of that for me."

"What else would she have done it for?" Bones had a strange expression on his face as he said this. He seemed torn somewhere between anger and sorrow and guilt and a true desperation to understand. He did not intend this to be a rhetorical question.

Potter looked at him pityingly. "For her aunt?" he said shrugging. "For her uncle and cousins? For you? You'd have to ask her." Gawain was beginning to think they had forgotten his presence in the room. He wasn't so sure he was meant to hear all this. It was starting to feel all together too private.

Guilt was beginning to win out on Bones's face. "This wasn't her fight. She's going to remember what she saw that night for the rest of her life." He turned his gaze back to the table top. "She's just a little girl."

"To you." Potter said it firmly but kindly. "She's just a little girl to you. You wouldn't be her father if you didn't look at her that way." Bones did not look up from his entwined fingers as he considered this, a crease between his eyebrows deepening. "Have you ever seen Susan do a Reductor Cham, Mr. Bones?" Bones looked up to him, seeming confused at the turn in conversation. "She can reduce a solid wall to sawdust. What about a Stunning Spell? An Impediment Jinx? Because I have. And believe me, Mr. Bones. If you saw her do that, you wouldn't be able to call her 'just a little girl'. She knows how to take care of herself if she has to."

Bones looked at Potter meditatively. He stared at him for some time. Potter met his eye unflinchingly, awaiting a response; but it never came. Finally, Bones simply nodded and went back to staring at his hands.

"It all turned out well in the end, I suppose. And you saved her life, in a way. Saved everyone's life. Wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes." Gawain perked up his ears at this. This was an interesting turn of the conversation, something he was much more curious about than Bones's musings about his teenage daughter. But then no one could help but be interested in a first-hand account of the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Potter, however, seemed determined to avoid sating anyone's curiosity. He grimaced at Bones's last comment and busied himself with stirring the pot simmering on the hob. Bones tried again. "Not sure I understood what was happening most of the time, mind," he prompted, pausing to give Potter an opportunity to answer. Potter didn't oblige.

The room fell again into awkward silence. Damn, but this was painful. Gawain looked at his watch. It was seven o'clock. The others should be here. Merlin's Beard, would they hurry up already. No sooner had this thought crossed his mind than he heard the front door slam and Ben's voice floated down the hall toward them, chatting contentedly. Gawain sent a 'thank you' to the gods of bad conversationalists for saving him again.

Ben's voice grew louder as it approached and the kitchen door swung open to show Margaret, clearly scoping out the room for any imposters. Kingsley followed with Ben hard on his heels. Kingsley looked rather distracted, as though he were only listening to Ben with one ear. Ben however, didn't seem to mind. Gawain sometimes got the impression Ben just liked the sound of his own voice. Then again, Gawain was also rather jealous of Ben's complete lack reticence; he suspected these damned uncomfortable silences never happened to him.

Kingsley nodded in greeting to the room at large and, at a lull in Ben's banter, "Harry," he acknowledged. Harry nodded to him from his spot leaning against the kitchen counter and said in subtly mocking imitation, "Kingsley. You want to be a bit louder coming in? I'm sure Mrs. Black would love to have a chat with you if you wake her up."

"Blast. I forgot. Sorry," replied Kingsley, looking over his shoulder toward the hall. "Been so long since I've come here regularly.

"No harm done. It's just best if you all keep as quiet as possible when in the hall," Potter told the room at large.

"What? Is there someone else who lives here?" Ben asked curiously. Margaret looked annoyed at this piece of information and Gawain didn't blame her. How were they supposed to maintain security when they didn't know all the facts?

"Nah. Portrait of the former owner of this house. Not very fond of visitors." Potter offered no other explanation.

Kingsley smiled indulgently at Potter before glancing around the room. "Brannagh still not here?" he asked. Gawain and Bones both shook their heads.

Potter moved to stir his soup again as the new arrivals took seats at the table. Kingsley's eyes were on Potter's back as he spooned some to his mouth to taste. The boy grimaced and reached for the salt to season it. "I really do need to learn to cook properly," he said more to himself. "It would have come in very useful this past year."

As they waited for Roslyn's arrival, the members of the group began to converse quietly, merely exchanging pleasantries and small talk. Margaret and Bones had their heads bent together in quiet conversation and they were laughing. Gawain remembered they were old friends, dating back to their school days, he believed. Gawain did not take part. He rarely did in such situations like this. He preferred to simply sit back in his chair and watch and listen.

Just as Potter began ladling his stew into a bowl, Roslyn entered the room, out of breath and apologising for her lateness.

"Excellent. We can get started then," Kingsley said.

"And that's my cue to leave," muttered Potter softly, tearing off a hunk from a loaf of bread and balancing it on his bowl.

He made toward the door, but Kingsley stopped him, saying "I'm hardly going to boot you from your own kitchen, Harry. You are welcome to stay if you choose." Margaret and Gawain shot the Minister sharp warning looks which were casually ignored.

Potter raised his eyebrows. "As fun as that sounds..." he said, trailing off sardonically. He smiled at Kingsley and then continued to the door. "I'll be in the drawing room," he called over his shoulder at Kingsley before disappearing down the hall.

"Well," Kingsley continued "I know we would all much rather be at home having supper with our families right now, so let's try to move it along, shall we?"

The meetings were beginning to fall into routine. Kingsley would open, someone would give a report, notes would be taken, questions asked, obstacles trouble-shooted, plans made. At least this evening was relatively short. The next day they were to begin their own assignments and would not be meeting here. Gawain was filled with a mixture of relief at a break from this house and trepidation at which of the ten billion undesirable projects he would be assigned to.

Brannagh Roslyn had been dispatched to initiate the plans for the new security measures in the Ministry: there were to be a more intensive background checks for prospective employees as well as several current ones who were considered suspect; more severe screening for any visitors to the Ministry; more security personnel stationed on each floor. Also, as the only member of the committee already established in the Wizengamot, Roslyn was to begin setting up trials for known Death Eaters in custody and overseeing the collection of evidence against them. Suddenly, Gawain found that he really didn't envy her promotion to Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement after all.

It had given him a twinge of jealousy when it had been decided that Roslyn would be taking over after Yaxley had been booted. Objectively, Gawain knew it was not an unreasonable choice for the Wizengamot to have made. Roslyn had been the Head of the Improper Use of Magic Office and she was among the highest ranking official in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Still, as Head of the Auror Office, a small part of Gawain had hoped to have been considered for the promotion. But in seeing Roslyn's caseload, that part of him was growing smaller by the second.

There had been questions by some when she was first offered the position. She had previously worked an administrative position in the Improper Use of Magic office, and many did not consider her qualified to take up one of the most high-ranking posts in the Ministry. The Head of Magical Law Enforcement also had a reputation for being something of a dirty job, and there were doubts that she would be able to cope. Traditionally, heads in the department had arisen from the Auror Office, the Wizengamot Administration staff, or, on occasion, high ranking officers in the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol.

Perhaps it was Roslyn's manner as opposed to her background that caused doubts. She was quiet, soft-spoken, polite by all accounts. But she lacked the aggressiveness most considered necessary, the strength of spirit, the willingness to fight for what was in the interests of the department. To many, she was, quite frankly, unextraordinary. But she got her job done; nothing more and nothing less. Somehow, she managed to fly under the radar to this point. Gawain realised that in the nearly ten years that they had worked together in the same department, he knew next to nothing about her on a personal level.

To her credit, she offered no complaint to the workload she was assigned, even as Gawain sighed in gratitude that he wouldn't being asked to slog through so much. He rather doubted that she would be resurfacing in the next year. He soon discovered, however, that he had been overly optimistic to think that Roslyn's caseload was any more than what Kingsley would assign to him.

Not long after Roslyn had been given her assignment, had the topic of Hogwarts been breached. Less than forty-eight hours post battle, the wizarding school was, from all reports, in a state of some chaos. Minerva McGonagall had stepped in as the Head Mistress and was doing a remarkable job at supervising the repairs to the castle, caring for the wounded or transporting the worse off to St. Mungo's. Despite this, however, it is not easy to maintain control over so much and so many people, even in the best of times. They were in desperate need of supplies and manpower. The security wards around the castle had been almost completely dismantled in the attack by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his followers; much of the castle was in ruins; most of the people injured; bodies of Death Eaters, of Order of the Phoenix members, and, horrifyingly, of school children were still being unearthed in the rubble.

For all Gawain's many years of experience as an Auror and all the horrific things he had seen in his career, Hogwarts right now sounded like something from one of his worst nightmares. And so naturally, it was Gawain who had been chosen to go to Hogwarts to aid in repairing the magical wards and ensuring security.

It could have been worse, he supposed. At least he wasn't alone. Edward Bones was assigned to supervise the clearing of the rubble and reconstruction of the building, and Kingsley was scheduled tomorrow to meet with McGonagall and the Heads of Houses to help establish what other aid was needed. They could suffer in good company.

Margaret was to be sent back to the Auror Office to take charge and deal with anything that might arise in their absence. This left Ben to protect the Minister alone at Hogwarts, something Margaret wasn't too happy about.

When the meeting was called to an end, Roslyn packed up her notes quietly and took her leave for the night. Ben, who had been getting increasingly fidgety, jumped to his feet and ran for the door saying something about the toilet. This gave Margaret more fodder for her objections. She fell into a debate about the Minister's private protection with Edward Bones who was arguing that both he and Gawain would be with Kingsley for most of the time and that there were already other Aurors posted at Hogwarts; Kingsley would be safe enough, he argued. They did not seem to notice that the subject of their debate was currently slipping quietly from the room without guard.

Gawain sighed in annoyance and shadowed Kingsley down the hall, internally berating him for walking away without protection. Internally, because he could hardly berate the Minister of Magic to his face. Kingsley glanced back at him, sighed in exasperation, but nodded in acceptance at the same time. They followed the hall past the front door, past a set of heavy curtains Gawain suspected covered a doorway, and up a flight of stairs before Kingsley turned right through a door on the first landing. Gawain followed and looked around what appeared to be a spacious drawing room.

It was Gawain's first time viewing any part of the house other than the kitchen and the hallway to it. He was unsurprised to find the rest of the house was just as (if not more) dingy and depressing. The room was dimly lit from a few candles and the orange glow from the street lamps streaming through the large mullioned window. Potter was seated on a rather uncomfortable looking green divan in the centre of the room. He was sitting motionlessly staring at the wall opposite him, seemingly lost in thought. The bowl of stew was sitting on a wooden end table, half-eaten and looking cold and forgotten.

Kingsley joined him on the sofa, letting out his breath in a sigh. Potter did nothing to acknowledge him, and the pair of them stared at the wall together in silence. Gawain hung back, leaning against the wall near the door to give them some semblance of privacy.

"Do you think I could just light it on fire?" Potter finally said into the silence. Gawain was completely at a loss until he noticed that affixed to the wall they were staring at was a large tapestry with what appeared to be a family tree.

"I think Sirius would have tried that already, don't you?" Kingsley replied with a small smile. Sirius? Was it Sirius Black they were talking about? Gawain knew, of course, that Black's name had been posthumously cleared, but still...did this mean that Kingsley had been in contact with him while he had been on the run? Kingsley who had been in charge of conducting the search for the convict at the time?

"I expect he would have." Potter grinned in a way that seemed rather sad. There was quiet for a moment before he offered another suggestion. "Maybe I could just take out the whole wall? Combine this room with the one next to it? There must be some way to undo a Permanent Sticking Charm."

"I think that would rather defeat the object of making the spell permanent," Kingsley responded.

"Suppose so," Potter sighed. "I'll just cover it with some drapes, I guess."

They were silent for a time. Gawain was struck with envy for the fact that they seemed able to sit in silence without it feeling awkward.

After a bit, Kingsley spoke up. "Did you visit the Weasleys today?" At Potter's nod, he continued, "How are they fairing?"

Potter sighed. "In the way that a family who just lost a son fairs." Kingsley nodded at this.

"And Andromeda?"

"Much the same."

Abruptly Gawain remembered that Potter had mentioned an Andromeda that morning, but he had been too distracted by Potter's very presence to have given it thought. Now Gawain wondered if it was Andromeda Tonks they were speaking of. If that were the case, it would imply Potter was consoling her on Tonks's death. It had been enough of a shock to discover that Kingsley had had some kind of relationship with Potter over the years, but Tonks as well? How many more of his Aurors were chummy with Potter behind his back?

"I'm glad she has Teddy. I don't know what she would do if she didn't have someone to care for right now."

"You've met Teddy then?" Kingsley asked.

A soft smile came to Potter's lips. "He's beautiful, Kingsley. He's got the look of both his mum and dad. And bright green hair at the moment," he added with a snigger. Kingsley smiled sadly.

"I worry for him, though," Potter continued, sobering abruptly. "I know what it's like to grow up without parents."

"It's different," Kingsley countered firmly. "He'll be alright. He's got his grandmother. And his old godfather," he added as an afterthought, nudging Potter in the ribs. Potter snorted. Gawain wondered who this child's godfather was and what joke he seemed to be missing. "Besides," Kingsley continued. "You didn't turn out so bad." It was Potter's turn to elbow Kingsley, though he seemed somewhat less gentle in the act.

"What are you up to tomorrow?" Kingsley asked after a laugh.

Potter looked at him for a moment before, "More of the same, I suppose. "Go help out at the Weasleys. Come back here and skulk. I'm becoming a world-class skulker, you know." After a short pause, "And I should head up to Hogwarts one of these days," he added as an afterthought. "They'll be needing help. And I have some... things... to take care off."

"That's what I was hoping you'd say," Kingsley said, finally, it seemed, getting to the reason he had come up here in the first place. "I'm heading to Hogwarts tomorrow with a few of the others. I thought you might join us."

Potter looked at him for a long stretch, staring through him much in the same way that he had with Gawain back in the kitchen. "Why?" he asked finally.

"Well, you said you wanted to go—"

"No. I mean, why do you want me to go specifically with your lot?"

Kingsley was silent for a moment, looking at Harry as though trying to read behind his suddenly suspicious behaviour. "Listen Harry. There are still a lot of Death Eaters unaccounted for, possibly even still hiding out in the Forbidden Forest. I'd just feel more comfortable if you weren't always on your own. I want someone around to watch your back."

Potter continued to look at him with eyes narrowed. "Wouldn't hurt your public image either, though, would it? Walking onto the battle site with the Chosen One?"

Kingsley swore. "Damn it, Harry. Are you always this suspicious of everyone? Or is that just for me?" he grumbled.

They were silent for a bit, but this time it was not so comfortable as before.

Finally Potter sighed. "What time?" he asked.

Kingsley looked at him with a proud if rather surprised expression. "Ten o'clock?" he said it as a question and looked relieved when Potter nodded, returning to his contemplation of the tapestry opposite him.

They had been sitting in companionable silence again for several minutes before Ben stumbled in, slightly out of breath and looking a little panicked. When he saw Kingsley was safe, he relaxed but then jumped when he caught a glimpse of Gawain against the wall beside him. Gawain gave him his best you're-in-trouble-but-we'll-talk-about-this-later look, and Ben slumped against the door frame with a dejected sigh.

Ben glanced at Potter, followed his eyes to the tapestry, frowned, looked back at Potter, then to Kingsley, and finally to Gawain, his expression curious. When Gawain met his eyes with an authoritarian none-of-your-business stare, he quickly dropped his gaze. Dropped it to a glass-fronted wooden cabinet against the wall which seemed to be filled with silver-framed old black and white photographs. He wandered nonchalantly over to it to analyse the pictures.

"Well, I suppose I should be getting out of here for the night," Kingsley finally said into the silence. "You," he enunciated the word by slapping Potter's knee, "should be getting some sleep. You look like you need it." Potter looked at him expressionlessly. "So we'll meet you here in the morning at—"

"Who are these people?" Ben's voice rang out into the room. All eyes turned to him. He was pointing at the photographs in the cabinet with some urgency, his eyes on Potter.

"The former owners of this house, I suppose. The Blacks," said Potter, getting to his feet and moving over to Ben. "Yeah, that looks like Mrs. Black," Potter said picking up a picture of an imposing looking couple and two children. The older boy's face seemed to have been burned out. "That would be Sirius, I expect," said Potter gesturing toward the burn hole. "And that would make the younger boy Regulus."

"But this one," Ben asked urgently, holding out another picture. This one showed the same couple, somewhat older and a young man in Slytherine robes—it appeared to be his graduation from Hogwarts. Gawain frowned, wondering what this was to Ben. He seemed exceedingly rattled.

Potter also had a crease between his brows as he studied Ben, but nonetheless he took up the picture and said, "I expect that's Regulus again," looking back at the former picture for comparison.

"Regulus?" Ben said, more to himself as though feeling the name on his tongue. Gawain really could not imagine why the man seemed to be fixating on this.

Potter seemed to share his thoughts. Frowning, he explained, "I inherited this house from Sirius Black who was my godfather. He received it after his mother died. Regulus was Sirius's younger brother. I don't know much about his family. Sirius had a falling out with them when he was sixteen; he didn't talk about them much. They were big on the whole pure-blood mania." He nodded his head toward the family tree on the wall.

"And this Regulus… he's a Death Eater?" Ben asked taking back the picture and staring hard at it. It seemed a bit of an odd leap to make.

Potter frowned as though unsure how to explain something. "He was... for a time..." he said slowly. "He died in the First War..."

"He's dead? Killed by Aurors?" Ben asked sharply.

"No. After a time, he decided to turn on the Death Eaters. I suppose, once he realised what they were really capable of, he thought better of it. He ended up giving his life in an attempt to help bring Voldemort down. He was... a good man... I suppose… in the end."

"'A good man,'" Ben repeated in a whisper, staring hard at the photograph. He clutched it so tightly in his fists, Gawain thought the glass might break. What on earth was with him? His face was unreadable. Dozens of warring emotions seemed to be battling it out inside him.

"Was there a reason you're interested?" Potter asked, looking at Ben with some concern.

"No." Ben's voice was so soft, Gawain had to lean forward to hear him. "No reason." But he did not relinquish his grip or his gaze on the picture until the others had said their farewells and begun to trail out of the room to head home for the night.

Gawain glanced back at him from the door as Ben set the photograph down softly, almost reverently. He then followed the others to the front door, seeming lost in thought.