Chapter 8: Shedding the Masks
Silence hung thick in the air of the courtroom. Complete and utter silence. It was tangible. Solid.
Potter gazed up, first at Kingsley then his eyes roved around all the members of the Wizengamot, waiting politely. Gawain noted Kingsley did not meet his gaze, instead keeping his eyes closed, massaging the ache in his temple and breathing deep calming breaths.
"What… what happened to the Elder Wand?" Madam Marchbanks finally spluttered into the silence.
"I had no need of it. I used it to repair my own broken wand and then disposed of it. I'll say no more about it. We can only hope it never again sees the light of day. It would have been better if it had never been made."
Gawain swallowed a lump in his throat. A wand of that kind of power. It was wise of Potter to dispose of it. Keeping it put an even greater target on Potter's back than was already there. It was wise, yet Gawain wasn't sure he would have had the strength to do so if their positions were reversed. A few indistinguishable splutters were heard from the stands, but a look of sad pride flashed across Kingsley's face as he at last looked up at Potter.
Silence fell again. And Potter waited.
A dull buzzing was filling Gawain's head as it struggled to process all he'd heard. Gawain's eyes roved across the faces of the Wizengamot looking to see their reactions. Most looked stunned. A few confused. A couple, downright ill. Gawain shared all three sentiments. Still no one spoke.
Finally, Kingsley cleared his throat. "I think… I think perhaps we should adjourn for the day. Harry." He licked his lips and swallowed before continuing. Gawain noticed he did not maintain eye contact with Potter as he addressed him, instead focusing on the parchment before him. Gawain was surprised to break so soon. He had expected a barrage of queries firing in Potter's direction before adjourning. But perhaps the level of shock was beyond that. "Thank you so much for coming down and speaking with us today. I imagine we will have some follow-up questions later once… once we have had time to… time to digest." He ran a hand across his face. "And we may call upon you to help with some details regarding certain Death Eaters you have had dealings with. As their trials come up, that is."
Still he did not quite look at Potter. Gawain thought he looked distracted. He seemed to be struggling to keep the light and even-tempered demeanour he was so known for. Potter had dropped a bombshell on the entire congregation. Everyone was shaken. But Gawain thought there was something more to Kingsley's reaction. Something he could not read. He frowned at him, trying to puzzle it out.
"Of course," replied Potter. Gawain noted that he was currently frowning up at Kingsley too, his head cocked to the side, seeming to be puzzling the same thing.
"Brannagh, I want to see the redacted copy of the transcript on my desk by tomorrow morning," Kingsley continued. "We will want to leave out any discussion of horcruxes. The last thing we need is for anyone else to get any such ideas. You and the committee can discuss how best to go about that." Roslyn nodded, scribbling something on her parchment. Kingsley paused, collecting his thoughts and swallowing again. "Yes, well… Thank you, everyone. You're dismissed."
This all seemed quite an anticlimactic ending after everything Potter had just said. For a full ten seconds, not a soul moved. Then, gradually, the members of the Wizengamot set about collecting their things and rising to their feet.
Gawain too stood motionless for a moment. He caught Potter looking at him questioningly, clearly trying to ask if they could go. Gawain ignored him for the time being. He didn't have an answer to that just yet. It wasn't his call.
Gawain's mind felt fuzzy and dizzy. There was a dull ringing in his ears that reminded him of the Muffliato Charm. He sidled up to the head table as all the members of the Wizengamot bustled about retrieving their things and preparing to go. "If you're ready to extract Potter now, I can send a memo up to Preston," he offered. Kingsley glanced up to Gawain distractedly, then finally to Potter who had clearly been trying to meet his eye from his point halfway across the room. Kingsley gestured for Potter to approach.
"Sounds good," he replied to Gawain distractedly, passing him a sheet of memo paper and a quill. Kingsley looked tired. Tired and… troubled? Dejected? Aggravated? Still Gawain couldn't quite read the expression on his face. Gawain scribbled his note and sent it off with a tap of his wand just as Potter met them.
"Gawain has arranged a barricade in the Atrium and a larger guard to see you to the Apparition Zone," Kingsley offered Potter. Gawain wondered if Kingsley had forgotten that Potter had been there when they had been discussing it before the hearing. But Potter did not point this out. "It will be more secure," Kingsley continued, "though I imagine garner more attention. We'll wait for the others to leave, then take the lifts straight up." Potter just nodded. He too looked tired. He licked chapped lips and swallowed. Abruptly realising the boy must be thirsty after all that talking, Gawain pulled out his wand, transfigured Kingsley's stapler into a goblet, muttered "aguamenti," pointing in the goblet, and passed it to Potter without a word.
Potter eyed it with a hint of suspicion for a second, glanced at Gawain, then drained it. Gawain vaguely wondered it Potter had been speculating if Gawain was poisoning him. "Thanks," he said, handing him back the empty goblet. Gawain took it with a nod of acknowledgement, prodded the cup with a muttered, "finite" and handed the stapler to Kingsley who was packing up his brief case. Kingsley took the stapler without comment, seemingly lost in thought, and placed it in the case. Still he appeared to be determinedly not looking at Potter.
Kingsley was collecting his papers and quills. Beside him, Roslyn was doing the same. Members of the Wizengamot had begun filing out. Several nodded to Potter who nodded back politely. A couple came by to shake his hand as they left.
"I look forward to watching your career going forward with great interest, Mr. Potter," said Madam Marchbanks, shaking Potter's hand in farewell. Potter merely smiled politely at her, an expression Gawain noted turned into a grimace once she had her back turned and he thought no one looking.
"Oh, I almost forgot," said Kingsley as he and Roslyn were just finishing gathering up their things. "I'm glad you're both here," he glanced from Gawain to Roslyn. "Gawain, you mentioned that Travers has been caught?"
Gawain cleared his throat; trying to bring his brain back to his usual work seemed challenging. It was still feeling fuzzy and disconnected, as he had been replaying the story he had just heard in his mind. "Yes. He made it as far as New York. I've sent messages to the Americans to try to get extradition rolling, but they're being evasive for some reason." He said this for Roslyn's benefit. He had already relayed this to Kingsley.
"I was thinking that perhaps your husband might be able to help," Kingsley said to Roslyn.
A quill skittered from Roslyn's overloaded fingers as she slid her notes into her briefcase. She bent to retrieve it. "My husband? Surely that's more Burgess's department?" she said, distractedly. She snapped her briefcase shut.
"Perhaps," said Kingsley. "Guy has a tendency to clash with the Americans a bit. As a general rule, Americans don't seem to like being told what to do, and Guy sometimes misses the mark in asking politely or offering the right things in return. So I thought of Robert. He's already there, isn't he? And as the Magical British Ambassador to the U.S., I thought he might be well-placed and have the right contacts. Travers is a big name among the Death Eaters. Don't want to bungle his trial on some technicality."
"Yes. Yes, of course." Roslyn was glancing in the direction of the door through which several of the Wizengamot were already filing out. "I can send a message to Robert and get back to you. Last I spoke to him, it sounded like the British Magical Embassy was quite swamped. But I'll let you know when I hear back." She checked her watch. "If you'll excuse me, I have another meeting to get to." As she rushed off in the direction of the lifts, once again Gawain thought how glad he was to have been passed over for the promotion to Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. There was so much on her agenda, Roslyn was looking more harried by the day.
Kingsley looked around the room. The last of the straggling Wizengamot were just reaching the door. All that remained were Kingsley, Potter, Gawain, and four other Aurors including Ben and Margaret. The Aurors had tightened ranks around the head table, awaiting instruction. Gawain noticed Ben chewing his lip and looking Potter up and down from behind, clearly sizing him up with new eyes. Margaret's one good eye was whizzing back and forth, focusing on Gawain, then Kingsley, then Potter, then back to Gawain. She adjusted her eyepatch agitatedly.
Potter meanwhile just stood there, stock still, his hands in his pockets, his head bowed, his eyes hooded tiredly as he waited. Periodically, he would look up to Kingsley, frown slightly, then go back to his former position. Kingsley's face seemed frozen in a hard mask. He was watching the door as the final people filed out.
When the door closed behind the last set of heals, Kingsley spoke to the collected Aurors. "We'll wait until the last of the Wizengamot are up the lifts. Then take a separate lift. Straight to the Atrium. Preston's crew should meet us there. Then right across to the Apparition Zone. I want everyone in tight formation around Harry. We'll be walking fast. Any reporters asking questions, you can remind them of the press briefing this afternoon, but say nothing else. Gawain and I will see Harry home."
"That's really not necessary," Potter spoke up. "I'll be just fine from the Apparition Zone. I know you have more important things to do. And I mean, I'm honestly probably just gonna go straight home and do something terribly thrilling, like take a nap. Not like anyone can follow—"
"Nonetheless, I'll be seeing you home," Kingsley interrupted firmly, though still not looking at Potter directly in the eye.
"Minister, with all due respect, I don't like it either," spoke up Margaret, quite predictably. "If you're leaving the Ministry, I request permission to join you."
"I'll only be a few minutes, Margaret. I have to get back for the press briefing anyway. And I'll have Gawain. You can wait for me at the Apparition Zone. As Harry just stated, we're headed where no one else will be able to follow. I'll be perfectly safe."
Kingsley glanced at his watch, then to Gawain. "Reckon we gave them enough time?"
Gawain nodded. "Preston knew to be ready," he agreed.
Kingsley nodded, picked up his brief case, slung the strap over his shoulder, and walked around the table, heading for the door. He kept his eyes forward, trusting the others to follow. Still his face was hard, jaw clenched. Potter fell into step beside him. The group made their way in tense silence down the hall in the direction of the lifts. Gawain noticed Potter repeatedly casting confused glances up to Kingsley.
They reached the lift and Kingsley jabbed the button to call it with a little more force than necessary.
Potter licked his lips and shook his head slightly. "You're angry with me," he said to Kingsley then, breaking the uncomfortable quiet.
"I'm not angry with you," replied Kingsley, though his voice was harder and colder than Gawain could ever remember hearing it. He did not turn to look at Potter, merely stared at the closed grille, waiting for the lift to arrive.
"Okay. Sorry," replied Potter sceptically. "But you seem angry. And frankly, it's a weird look on you."
"I said I wasn't angry at you. I didn't say I wasn't angry."
"Then what— Oh… Dumbledore," said Potter, suddenly with understanding. "Right…"
Kingsley said nothing, just stared straight ahead, grinding his teeth. Gawain had never seen Kingsley like this before. He was famous for his calm and collected manner.
There was silence for a moment before Potter said casually, "You know, I don't Dumbledore for that. He did what he had to do, and I get it. And I really do think he was trying to find a way to get me through all this alive. I mean, if I can forgive him, surely you—"
He broke off, eyes wide as Kingsley pummelled the lift button with his fist again, hard enough to crack the plate around it.
Then Kingsley took a deep breath and turned to Potter, visibly trying to get his anger under control. He at last looked Potter in the eye. "Harry. You are the most forgiving person on the planet." He pointed down the hall in the direction of the courtroom and extrapolated, "Peter Pettigrew betrayed your parents and tried to kill you, and I just heard you speaking of his death with regret. Hell, I think you would have even forgiven Voldemort if he'd shown even a hint of remorse. So while you may have found yourself able to forgive Dumbledore, you'll forgive the rest of us if it takes us a little while longer to get there." With that, he turned back to stare at the grill to the lift again, crossing his arms over his chest.
Potter was staring at Kingsley with his mouth slightly open. "Right… Sorry…" he managed after a moment.
"Stop apologising," cut in Kingsley tersely.
Potter winced. He was quiet for a moment, clearly searching for something to say. But just as he opened his mouth to speak, there was a ding as the lift arrived, and the grille slid open.
Potter and Kingsley entered first, standing side-by-side in the centre of the lift. Gawain and the four other Aurors filed in to either side. The grille slid shut.
"I'm not just angry at Dumbledore," Kingsley abruptly elaborated as the lift jerked into motion. "I'm angry at a lot of people. Myself. Voldemort, obviously. Sirius, for not just agreeing to be your parents' Secret Keeper and then for getting himself arrested. Your parents for dying and leaving you alone. The Durselys—"
"The Durselys?" Potter cut in incredulously. He had been looking more and more confused as Kingsley had gone down his list. "What on earth do the Durselys have to do with any of this?"
"I'm angry, Harry," Kingsley said, with forced calm cracking, "at anyone who played a role in your upbringing to make you think your life was worth less than that of others."
A ringing silence fell in the lift. Gawain and the other Aurors shifted awkwardly, but there was no escaping listening in to this conversation.
Potter rather looked like Kingsley had slapped him. He opened his mouth several times to speak, only for him to shut it again. "Blimey," he finally managed. "Are we going to try to unload seventeen years of childhood trauma in a thirty second lift ride surrounded by strangers?" It was Potter's turn to look angry now. He looked straight ahead, not meeting the gaze of anyone.
Kingsley sighed, rubbing his temples again. "I'm sorry. You're right. That wasn't appropriate. I shouldn't have—" but he cut off as the lift shuddered to a halt at that moment. Kingsley pushed off the back of the lift he had been leaning on, straightened his slumped shoulders, raised his chin, and suddenly the calm, collected, easily smiling Kingsley was back. Just in time for the lift doors to slide open.
They moved off the lift together, and Proudfoot, bless him, was right there waiting for them with a group of six other Aurors all of whom immediately closed ranks around them, wands out and at the ready. The group paused taking in the sight of the Atrium.
"Bloody hell," Gawain heard Potter murmur as he took his place at Potter's right elbow again. Reflexively, the boy's hand had gone up to flatten his hair over his scar again. "On second thought, I think I prefer the idea of the lift therapy session."
All around them screams and hails were filling the air. Cameras were flashing from every direction beyond the golden gate ahead. The Magical Law Enforcement Patrol had put up magical barricades to keep people back from their path across the Atrium. They were now spaced along the way, their wands out, holding the crowd back as the people strained to get a good view of Potter.
"Harry! Harry! Over here!"
"Thank you, Mr. Potter! To your health!"
"You're a hero, Harry Potter!"
"WE LOVE YOU, HARRY!"
Kingsley stepped out to the front of the group. He was smiling, and he raised a hand in greeting to the gathered crowd. The cameras flashed wildly.
Then he turned back to Potter. "Ready?" he asked him, quietly. "Straight across. Then home. That nice quiet nap you mentioned is sounding better and better, isn't it?"
Potter took in a deep breath, looking very uncomfortable. Then nodded. They moved out.
Potter made the whole way with his hands shoved in his pockets, his head down, eyes straight ahead. Kingsley was waving to people and smiling at the crowd, but he cast furtive glances to Potter at regular intervals to check on him.
Gawain's eyes were roving the crowd, looking for any potential threats. His eyes swept across Graham Haversham who was calling out, trying to get either Kingsley's or Potter's attention to issue a statement for the Daily Prophet on the morning's events. Gawain was surprised to find he had a sudden impulse to tear the notebook and Quick-Quotes Quill from Haversham's hand as he passed. Still, all around them people were shouting to Potter, begging him for even a glance, something he determinedly did not oblige them with.
They reached the Apparition Zone quite quickly, all things considered. Kingsley stepped in, and turned holding out an arm inviting Potter to follow. Gawain was right on Potter's heals. Potter glanced over his shoulder at the throng as the other Aurors closed ranks, blocking the crowd a clear view of Potter or Kingsley. Potter somehow looked both agitated and relieved.
"We should not be long," said Kingsley to Margaret. She still looked dissatisfied with this plan but made no further objection. Kingsley then looked to Gawain who nodded. Then to Potter who just frowned back, chewing on his lip. "Let's go."
And together, the three of them Disapparated.
They arrived on the stoop of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. The quiet in the air jarred in contrast with the hails and screams of Potter's admires in the Atrium. A car alarm was going off a few blocks away and the wind was jingling a wind chime across the street and a lorry was trundling away from them down the road a way. But it might as well have been completely silent by comparison.
Gawain heard Potter draw in a deep breath and let it out. Then he realised he had just done the same. As had Kingsley. They all looked at each other, but no one spoke. Gawain's head was spinning as though he was falling through the Floo Network and couldn't get out. Forming complete thoughts, let alone words, seemed out of the question.
Finally, after a moment in which no one said a word and no one made to open the door, Potter said, "Well, that was fun." Then he turned, pulling out his wand and tapping the door to unlock it. He looked tired.
"Was there something you wanted to talk to me about?" he asked Kingsley as he pushed the door open.
Kingsley, who had seemed deep in thought, looked up to Potter with a glassy distracted look. "What? No. Why?"
Potter raised an eyebrow at him and then shrugged. "You just sent all your people away and insisted on Apparating me to my front door. Not usual Minister of Magic protocol, I shouldn't think. Just thought you might have had something you wanted to discuss." He frowned at Kingsley confused.
Kingsley frowned right back at him. "No… no, not exactly… I just… wanted to see you home and… I think I just wanted a minute to process without half the Ministry staring at me. Before I have to go and give a press briefing to the other half." He sighed.
Potter nodded. "I get that." He stood in front of the open door but did not go in. "Did you want to come in?" he asked, uncertainly. "Have a cup of tea or something?" Gawain got the subtle impression that Potter did not in fact want them to come in. That he was, in fact, quite ready for them both to leave. He wasn't sure what gave him this impression. Every bit of Potter's words and expression were polite. But there was something in the set of his shoulders.
"No… no, I should get back…" said Kingsley. He still seemed very lost in thought, only part of his brain on this conversation.
Potter frowned at him, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. When Kingsley made no move to leave, nor to speak more, Potter asked abruptly, "Are you alright?"
Kingsley spluttered a laughed. A rather sad and slightly hysterical sort of laugh that Gawain had never heard from him before. "'Am I alright?'" he repeated incredulously, little more than a whisper. He ran a hand over his bald pate. "You're asking me if I'm alright?"
"Is there a problem with that?" Potter asked, clearly as confused as Gawain was.
"Yes! Yes, damn it. Because I should be the one asking you if you're alright, don't you get that?"
Potter looked utterly bewildered. "Me? I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be? I have already taken my bow and left the stage. You're the one doing all the work now. You're the one rebuilding a government from scratch. All I've done this week is lazed about at home, popped over to the Weasleys' for dinner periodically, then came back home and lazed about some more."
Kingsley didn't respond beyond a grumble in the back of his throat. He turned away in frustration, his back to Potter, gazing out down the street. Gawain saw his face in profile. He had that look again. He was… angry? Or as angry as Kingsley was capable of being. "Is this still about Dumbledore?" Potter asked after a moment.
"This isn't about Dumbledore," Kingsley said, waving the name away as though he didn't even want to entertain the thought of the man at that moment. "And I don't think anyone is going to begrudge you some time to recuperate, Harry. That's hardly the point."
Potter was staring at his back, clearly confused. It was rare for Kingsley to show strong emotion. To see his calm façade crumble… "So, the point is… what exactly?" Potter asked, still struggling to keep up.
Kingsley was regaining his composure. He sighed. "The point is… I should have done more. I should have been there for you." He said it softly. Still with his back to Potter, still looking out across the street.
Gawain understood then. He looked down and studied his shoes. He felt awkward. To think that Kingsley felt he had not done enough… Kingsley, who was largely regarded as a war hero at this point. Gawain, meanwhile, had done absolutely nothing. He had kept his head down, continued on his work, and completely ignored the whole world falling down about his ears. He did not belong here with these two men who had moved mountains.
He remembered how hard he had fought in the First War. How idealistic he had once been when he was young, jumping at any opportunity to head off to fight the Death Eaters. And he compared it to what he had become. What they had made him when they had murdered Katherine.
There was silence for a moment as they all processed this comment. But Potter broke it. "Are you completely mental?" Gawain jerked his head up to him. It seemed it was Potter's turn to look angry again. Gawain found himself angry too. Who had the gall to call the Minister of Magic 'mental' to his face? The comment also had Kingsley turning around in surprise. Potter pushed his glasses up his nose, shaking his head as he gathered his words. "Kingsley, you watched my back more times than I can count. You helped get me out of the Dursley's safely. Twice. You fought at the Department of Mysteries, and you were right there when I needed you at Hogwarts. You were the one who warned me to go on the run when the Ministry fell. Potterwatch—"
"I talked in a radio broadcast, Harry. Hardly a thrilling act. None of that counts for anything."
Potter was staring at him flabbergasted. "It counts for everything." He almost whispered the words. "Everything," he repeated. There was silence for a minute. The anger had melted from his face. Now he just looked sad. He licked his lips. "Kingsley, I wanted to give up. I felt so alone. And all around us people were dying. The Ministry had fallen. Hogwarts was being run by Death Eaters… I'm sure it all sounded very thrilling talking about it in the courtroom, but I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing most of the time. Where I should be looking. It felt… it felt like we'd already lost… But hearing your voice and Lee's… and… and Remus and… and Fred." His voice cracked as he said the last names, but he rallied quickly. "It was what made me know that someone was still out there. Still willing to fight for what was right. That it wasn't just me." He looked at Kingsley as though imploring him to understand. "It was everything."
Kingsley was studying his fingertips, still looking sceptical. "And you forget," Potter continued. "I was only faking I was dead. I did actually see you duelling Voldemort with McGonagall and Slughorn at the Battle." Gawain appraised Kingsley in surprise, impressed. This was the first time he had heard of Kingsley fighting You-Know-Who himself. "So, I really don't see what more you could have done for me. Just go ahead and get that idea out of your head right now." Potter finished curtly.
Kingsley processed this for a moment. Then nodded, still looking quite unconvinced. He sighed.
"We always knew it was going to be a totally shit time," Potter offered after a moment in which Kingsley said nothing. "But hey. I'm here. I'm alive. Miraculously…" he shrugged. "Not sure how much better we could have hoped for it all to turn out, really…
"The point is, I'm fine. So stop worrying about me so much. And get back to work, you lazy bum. Don't you have a country to run?" He flashed Kingsley a grin now, and Kingsely managed a weak smile back and a nod.
"You're sure you're alright?" Kingsley asked.
"Yes! Honestly, Kingsley. I'm good. Let it go." He was smiling fondly at Kingsley.
"Alright. Get some rest, Harry. That was a long morning. You deserve it."
Potter smiled at him brightly, then nodded at Gawain in farewell, before entering the house and closing the door behind himself.
Gawain and Kingsley stood in silence on the stoop for a moment. The smile that Kingsley had mustered had slid from his face the minute the door had snapped shut. Gawain found himself wondering if Potter's easy grin had slid away so quickly on the other side of the door. Had he shed that mask as swiftly as he had put it on when he had sat down in that chair before the Wizengamot? The boy seemed to be an expert in taking it on and off without a hitch.
"Quite the actor," Gawain commented, voicing this thought as Kingsley stepped up beside him.
"Sorry?" asked Kingsley distractedly. He seemed to be deep in thought. He glanced over his shoulder toward the closed front door. He seemed to be only half-listening to Gawain.
"Potter. He's quite the little actor, isn't he? That whole hearing must have been proper torture for him. He doesn't seem to like attention. And reliving all that. Having a bunch of strangers all staring at him and judging him. Telling them about his friends dying. Through the whole thing, he just sat there, acting all relaxed and matter-of-fact, like it really didn't matter to him at all. But inside, I expect he must have been right shattered." Gawain took his stance, preparing to Apparate. "Anyway. Back to the Ministry? Before Margaret sends out the cavalry."
When Kingsley didn't respond, Gawain glanced back at him over his shoulder. Kingsley was standing stock still, staring at Gawain, a crease between his brows. Then he turned his head, looking back the way Potter had retreated as though he could see through the closed front door. "Problem?" Gawain asked.
"I don't know. Perhaps." Still Kingsley stared at the closed front door. "I just have this feeling… Something's not right." He looked back at Gawain for a brief moment. Then he turned and let himself into the house without another word. Gawain followed without question.
They moved back down the hall in the direction of the kitchen. Years of training for both had resulted in silent footsteps. Gawain held his wand at the ready. Kingsley's intuition was generally right, and if he said something was up, something was up. Ahead of him, Kingsley pushed the kitchen door open. Gawain had no idea what they were going to find, but he was poised for attack.
But Potter was alone. His back was to them, he seemed not to notice them come in. Rooky mistake, Gawain thought. He needs to be alert at all times. He thought of Mad-Eye barking 'Constant vigilance!' and a small smile tugged at Gawain's cheek.
But barely had the thought entered his mind than he realised that indeed something was wrong.
Potter was standing facing away; Gawain could just make out a bit of his profile. He was leaning over, his hands pressed into the table top, fingers digging into the wood. He hung his head between his shoulders, the table supporting his weight. Gawain could only just make out his face from the angle. His eyes were squeezed shut tightly, his face screwed up as though in intense pain. And he was taking deep shuddering breaths through his nose.
"Harry…?" Kingsley said cautiously approaching. Potter did not look up or acknowledge them but Gawain saw the muscles of his back tense even further. Kingsley glanced to Gawain and signalled him with a shake of the head to hold back, then continued toward the boy. Gawain stayed by the door, but watched cautiously, ready to assist as needed.
Kingsley walked up behind the boy and rested a hand on Potter's left shoulder from behind. Potter let out an audible breath that was almost a groan. He reached up with his right hand across his chest and gripped Kingley's hand tightly in his own. They stood that way motionless for a moment. Potter's breathing gradually becoming less stertorous. Still he breathed deeply in from the nose and out from the mouth, seemingly calming himself with effort. Still his eyes were kept clamped shut.
After a full minute, Kingsley pulled over a chair with his free hand and gently turned Potter and supported him into it. Potter slumped, his elbow on the table, face in his hand. His other hand rested limply in his lap. The pained look had disappeared from the visible portion of his face. Now he just looked exhausted.
Kingsley pulled a second chair close to the first and seated himself facing him. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, looking up into Potter's partially covered face. "Talk to me," Gawain heard him whisper.
"I'm alright," said Potter dully.
"No, you're not."
There was silence for a moment. And then Gawain heard, little more than a whisper, "I'm just so tired, Kingsley."
Kingsley remained silent, waiting patiently for him to continue.
Eventually, Potter sighed and elaborated. His voice was weary and devoid of emotion. "I'm not a fool. I knew it wouldn't be over when he was dead. I knew there would be more to do." The pause stretched out again. And then, just as Gawain was thinking that was all the answer they were going to get, "I just don't think it ever occurred to me… that I would still be alive to be dealing with it myself. Not really."
Gawain shifted uncomfortably. He held back by the door, turning away to look back down the hall rather than into the kitchen. This conversation was not something he should be listening to. It was something intimate. He had been poised to help in a fight. But this was not what he had been expecting. He wasn't even sure that Potter realised he was there. His job was to protect and serve. This was rather out of his job description. But leaving the Minister of Magic unattended was out of the question. No, he must stay. But he wished he could just shut the words out from his ears.
And yet, against his better judgment, he found himself glancing over his shoulder back to the pair at the table. Potter's back was mostly to Gawain, but Gawain could make out Kingsley's face. He looked heartbroken as he stared up at Potter. Kingsley said nothing, just waiting patiently for Potter to continue. It was some time before he did.
After a time, Potter finally pulled his head out of his hand. He leaned back in his chair, his head lulling back to fix his gaze on the ceiling. "For such a long time, my only goal has been to kill Voldemort. I don't know what to do with my life now that I don't have that to work toward. And everyone is asking…" He trailed off.
Kingsley considered this for a moment. Then after a bit, he replied calmly, "Then pick a new goal. And then another. And another. It doesn't have to be big. It doesn't have to be saving the world this time. It can be finishing school or finding a new hobby or starting a new career or getting married and having children. Just keep finding new things to work toward."
Potter contemplated this for a time, still staring at the ceiling. "I don't know if I know how to want those things. Everyone keeps asking me what I'm going to do next. Like they expect me to go on to do something amazing. But I don't think I have anything more to give."
"I'm sure that's not true." Potter just sighed in response, and ran both hands through his hair, fingers digging into his scalp.
There was silence again for a moment. Gawain stood at the door, his back to the occupants, waiting. He didn't know what to think. The image the wizarding world had constructed for this boy was clashing with the evidence before his eyes. And quite unbidden, he felt it tugging at his heart.
For years he had heard of Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One. He wasn't sure how to reconcile the constructed image of who this boy had been made out to be with the pitiable creature he saw before him now. A boy who was, after all, just a boy. A boy who had had no one looking out for him… not really. Not where it mattered. Who had done the impossible at just seventeen years old, only to find himself completely at a loss for what to do next.
"Minerva once mentioned to me that you were sitting the O.W.L.s needed to become an Auror," Kingsley said after a moment of thought. "If that's something you still wanted… it would be easy enough to arrange admittance into Auror Academy." Gawain couldn't help but look back over at Potter at this. He had not known this.
"Don't, Kingsley," Potter said, wearily, cutting him off. "We already talked about this. I don't want special treatment from you."
"I didn't mean to… You've more than proven yourself, Harry. No one would argue with that. But if you feel so strongly about it, then do it properly. Pass your N.E.W.T.s. Apply like anyone else would. Make it your next goal. If it's what you still want."
Potter said nothing, making no move to refute or confirm if it was indeed what he wanted. Gawain could not help but be interested in the idea. There was no denying Potter had potential. More than potential, after all he had just heard at the Wizengamot hearing. He remembered Potter's comment about Scrimgeour having spoken of introducing Potter to Gawain. Was this why? Had Scrimgeour seen it too?
"It doesn't have to be, you know," Kingsley said after a time in which it became clear Potter was not planning on replying. "You can do anything you want. Or nothing, for that matter. It's only been a week since the Battle, after all. You don't have to have everything all figured out." Still Potter said nothing. "But whatever you decide to do with your life, I'm sure you'll be great at it. You're the strongest person I've ever known, Harry."
Potter sighed, and at the sound of a chair creaking, Gawain glanced back over his shoulder. Potter had pulled his gaze away from the ceiling. He leaned an elbow on the table, running his fingers through his hair again. It was looking messier and messier by the minute. Then he finally looked at Kingsley in the face. Gawain thought it was the first time he had done so since they had entered the kitchen. Gawain turned away again, still wondering if he would have done better just to leave right at the beginning. But it felt late for that now.
"I'm tired of being strong." Gawain was studying his fingernails, determinedly not looking at the boy. But the catch he heard in Potter's voice nearly broke his heart. He swallowed a lump in his throat. He couldn't understand why this boy had such an effect on him. Why he should care if he was struggling. It was not like he could do anything to make it better anyway. This was not the sort of thing he was any good at.
For a moment, Gawain thought maybe Kingsley too was out of suggestions. That he didn't know what to say. Gawain sure didn't. What could one say to a boy whom the world had repeatedly asked too much of. Who had been made to be strong for most of his life, with no regard for whether or not he had wanted it. But then, being Kingsley, he found something far better to say than anything Gawain might have come up with.
"Then don't be." Kingsley said the words simply. As though this was the easiest thing in the world. "Let people help you. The Weasleys want to be there for you. They want to support you. Let them. I spoke with Arthur at work the other day. They don't understand why you're shutting them out."
Potter let out a hollow laugh. "So they can look at me the way you are right now? No thanks." He shifted in his chair, and another stolen glance showed the boy drawing his knees up to his chest, arms crossed around them. His eyes were on the floor now.
"Is it so very terrible to have people who love you worry for your well-being?"
"They just lost Fred, Kingsley. They have more important things to worry about than me." Potter straightened. He drew in a breath, letting it out in a whoosh, and his tone became lighter as he continued. "As do you, I might add. You should get back." He gave a small and slightly shaky chuckle, then spoke a little louder. "And you should take Mr. Robards with you. Poor man hasn't even known me a week, and he's already had to bear witness to way too many of my emotional breakdowns. Really not fair on him." Gawain glanced over his shoulder again, surprised. He hadn't even thought Potter had been aware that he was there. But Potter was not looking at him, for all that his crooked smile seemed to be back. Gawain could just make out that dimple on his cheek from his angle. Kingsley, however, glanced over at Gawain and gave a small smile.
"Gawain's good at minding his own business and keeping his mouth shut. Why do you think I keep him around?" He winked at Gawain. Gawain's cheek twitched in an almost-grin that he couldn't quite muster, then he turned away again.
There was a pause again. "I don't think I should leave you here on your own…" Kingsley said uncertainly.
Potter sighed. "Don't worry about it, Kingsley. I'll be fine. The Weasleys are expecting me for dinner. I'll head over soon. And I wasn't joking about that nap." His tone was now much lighter. But Gawain thought he could hear Kingsley's uncertainty in the silence that followed. "Honestly, Kingsley. I'm fine."
"Humph. Heard that before, haven't I?"
Potter let out a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. "I guess that's fair…" Then after a moment. "Alright. Alright. I'll go straight over to the Burrow. Promise. You don't have to babysit me. And I really am fine. This… this was helpful. Thanks." The last line was delivered awkwardly, but the rest had seemed easy enough.
There was a screech as a chair pushed back, and Gawain looked over to see Kingsley had risen to his feet. He clapped a hand on Potter's shoulder and squeezed it. He seemed to be having a hard time letting go, still looking uncertain. Then he moved toward the door. Gawain pushed off the doorframe he had been leaning against and moved into the hall.
"Kingsley," he heard Potter call. "I mean it. Thanks."
Gawain glanced back to see Kingsley giving him a nod from the entrance. Then they were both moving down the hall to the front door.
Gawain sat on the sofa after dinner, his feet propped on the coffee table, studying the fire crackling in the grate. He took a sip of his whisky, and savoured the warm feeling on his tongue. He had poured a second glass which was currently awaiting Mary's return on the table. He could just barely make out the ending notes of Ella's lullaby drifting down the hall. His brain felt dull and blissfully blank for the first time all day.
Gawain had come home early today. His mind had been racing far too fast for him to concentrate on any further work that evening. He was still processing the events of the day: The assassination attempt in the Atrium; Potter's ludicrous tale before the Wizengamot; his unexpected revelations at Grimmauld Place; and Gawain was still struggling to understand why it all mattered so much to him. And so he had abandoned the office at half-past-four and had even returned home early enough to help Ella with her maths lesson and paint with her for a time before supper. Now sitting here with whisky in hand, his mind had finally stopped racing, and in its wake was left blissful emptiness.
"She's down at last," said Mary quietly, coming back into the room. She bent to tidy away Ella's paints and brushes into their box. She looked tired.
"Leave that," said Gawain. "It can wait until the morning. Come and sit down." He reached over for the glass of whisky he had poured her and held it out. She glanced up, looked to the glass, then back to him. There seemed to be a small moment of indecision before she gave him a small resigned smiled.
"Thanks," she said, taking the glass gratefully and sinking into the sofa beside him with a tired sigh. He put his arm around her, and she shifted, sinking down further to rest her head on his shoulder. They sat like that in silence for a moment.
"You left awfully early this morning," commented Mary. "You were gone before I even got up."
"Yeah. I had a busy morning I needed to prepare for." He faltered a moment, wondering if he should mention Potter's hearing, but decided against it. His own thoughts on the topic were still not organised enough; he wasn't sure he was ready to try to break them down aloud. And in any case, the hearing had been top secret. He should wait to see the redacted version to help him know how much to say. They could speak of it tomorrow. "We had the first of the Wizengamot hearings today. Trials start next week."
"Mmm," Mary responded. Gawain glanced down and realised her eyes were closed. He pulled the blanket off the back of the sofa and covered her. She shifted closer to him, turning on her side, her foot resting across his legs, still propped on the coffee table. He kissed her temple. She sighed contentedly and turned her face up to his, asking for a kiss. Her lips were soft and warm against his. He smiled down at her, stroking along her jawline, and she smiled back sleepily. She reached up, pulling a few pins from her hair, and shook out her brown tresses, tossing the pins on the table. Then she turned and rested her head on his chest burrowing herself into a position of warmth and comfort.
"But you got home early, at least," she said drowsily.
"Needed some time to clear my head. Lots to think about. I'll have another early start tomorrow. Going into the training gym."
"You haven't done that for a while," Mary commented, glancing up at him, suddenly more awake. "I mean, you've been mostly on desk duty since the promotion. Why now?" She looked a bit worried. He realised she was concerned that this meant he was preparing to go out into the field more again.
"Ben is asking for more field time. I need to go in and see what he can do. I'm not sure if he's ready. He's been mostly on protective detail so far, but rarely on his own. He's getting bored with it. Told him I'd meet him there at seven."
"I see," replied Mary. She relaxed again. "Seems fair that he should get out more. I mean he qualified what? Four? Five years ago now? You can't treat him like the rookie forever. You were out in the field well before then."
Unbidden, Gawain's mind had drifted to Tonks. She had qualified just the year after Ben. And look where she was now. "Suppose," replied Gawain, not mentioning this worry to his wife. She did not need reminding of the risks of his job. It was a repeatedly a sore subject. "But he can be a hothead. Don't want him making the wrong calls just for glory or some such ridiculous notion."
Gawain found it suspect that Ben had chosen to approach him about this just after hearing Potter's story. He couldn't help but wonder if this request was out of petty competitiveness. At just twenty-six years old, Ben was used to being the young prodigy. Perhaps he didn't like the thought of someone even younger but with more real world experience than himself. Auror Academy had a way of instilling competitiveness into the ranks. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes competition pushed one to be one's best. Other times, though, it got one killed. He decided to push this thought from his mind.
"How was your day off?" he asked, changing the subject. He was playing with a lock of her hair, twirling it around his finger. She was gazing into the fire, absentmindedly tracing patterns on the back of his hand which still held the tumbler.
"Oh, fine. Bit busy, really. Laundry and tidying up. But Ella helped me de-gnome the garden. And we did one of those potions experiments from that book that Mam got for Ella for her birthday. You know the one I mean. One Hundred and One At-Home Potions for the Young Witch or Wizard? Something like that, anyway. She seemed to like it. And it's quite educational. Each one breaks down the magical principles behind the recipe. But we made quite the mess in the kitchen. Amazing how the minute I mention cleaning up, Ella is suddenly nowhere to be found. She takes after her father that way," she teased, turning her face up and kissing Gawain again. He smiled a small laugh.
Leaning forward, he put down his glass of whisky on the table to free his hand. Then leaned back. He stared into Mary's face, tracing a finger along her cheekbone, then back through her thick wavy hair. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she leaned her face into his touch, before turning her face to kiss his palm. She ran her bare foot up and down his shin smoothly.
She really was quite beautiful. After ten years of waking up beside her every morning, sometimes Gawain forgot to take notice of it. But Mary was everything soft and warm and comforting. Her hair, now freed from the messy bun she usually had it pinned in, fell in thick brown waves over her shoulders almost to her waist, just a hint of grey streaking the temples. Her face was round with no hint of a sharp line in sight. Small crinkles marred the corners of her eyes and mouth— he couldn't remember when those had started to crop up, but she was no less beautiful for them. He lifted her chin up and she smiled softly up at him, inviting. He leaned down and captured her mouth with his, gently at first, then deeper.
After some indeterminate amount of time of kisses and soft touches, Mary pulled back, took his hand in hers, smiled impishly at him, and led him toward the bedroom without another word.