Chapter 11: The New Normal
Over the following weeks, Gawain settled into a hectic sort of routine, constructing a new definition of a "normal day". Work was busy: rushing between courtrooms and the Auror Office; followed by long-running meetings at Grimmauld Place; followed by annoyance from Mary at Gawain's late return in the evenings. Lather, rinse, repeat.
The peace at home bought by his outing with Ella was short-lived, in the end. Quite frequently, Gawain left for the office before Ella was up the morning and came home after she had already gone to bed. Mary's frustration with this grew and, in turn, Gawain's frustration with Mary responded. An exchange of sharp words and barbs were recurrent at home, and more and more Gawain found he preferred the long hours pouring over paperwork to time spent in the company of Mary's temper.
By contrast, life in the Ministry was showing promise. There was an ordered sort of chaos forming at work, and little-by-little, Gawain could see things coming together. For the first time in what felt like an age, he thought he could see a light at the end of the long dark tunnel the institution had been operating in for so very long. It filled him with exhilaration to consider himself a part, however small, of bringing them all closer to that light shining ahead.
The meetings at Grimmauld Place were a regular part of Gawain's new normal. Who exactly was present at each meeting varied some, based on the evening's agenda. At times, it was just the Aurors and Amin. Kingsley showed to most, though occasionally he had other commitments. Edward Bones and Brannagh Roslyn were bidden to attend some, others not. Gawain seemed to be the only one who was consistently asked to be present every Monday and Wednesday without fail.
Not long after the meetings began to occur on regular interval, Ben had dubbed the group who met at Potter's house, 'the Grimmauld Gang'. Gawain had rolled his eyes when first he heard it, but within days, the term had caught on amongst its members, and soon thereafter, Gawain even found himself using the name (much to his own annoyance). Ever wary of security, Gawain reminded everyone not to use the word "Grimmauld" within the Ministry where it might be overheard, and Ben had consequently shortened the term to 'the Gang,' clarifying that this was obviously to be spelt with a capital 'G'. Almost immediately, Gawain began even hearing other people in the Ministry using the term 'the Gang' when describing the Minister's inner circle, and it spread like wildfire. Gawain wished Ben could have come up with a word that made them sound less like a bunch of lawless hooligans.
Early on, Kingsley had sat down with the whole Grimmauld Gang and reminded them that these meetings at Grimmauld Place were entirely secret. He had also made a point to add that the use of the house was a privilege they were being offered, and any breach in Harry Potter's privacy or security would not be tolerated. Gawain hoped that this warning was not needed, but knowing Ben's mouth and how quickly the term "The Gang" had spread among the Ministry, he was glad of Kingsley's frankness. As it was, Gawain didn't mention Potter to anyone outside of the Gang. He never even spoke of Potter or the meetings to Mary, though perhaps this was more because civil conversation with Mary was becoming rarer by the day than out of a true need for discretion there.
Potter's privacy seemed to be a subject of concern not just to Kingsley. June came and brought with it the first of the running jokes that the most common phrase in the Daily Prophet was "Harry Potter declines comment." A couple weeks later and people began speculating as to what was keeping Potter out of the public eye. To the frustration of the Prophet and its readers, genuine Potter-sightings out in public were a rare occurrence and soon whispers began. Wild rumours started to circulate: that Potter was off on silly adventures abroad; that he was now locked in a mental institution; some even theorised that Potter was dead and that his Wizengamot hearing and the sightings of him in the Atrium had actually been an elaborate ruse concocted by the Ministry to cover it up.
The rumours were in stark contrast with the frequency to which Gawain saw Potter these days. Potter-sightings for Gawain were now almost… mundane. Gawain found himself called to Grimmauld Place regularly; some days Potter was there, others not. But when he did see the lad, it was with a certain casualness that did not inspire fanfare. Potter didn't seem to care two shrivlefigs about the rumours his isolation inspired.
The first evening Gawain had crossed paths with Potter after their meeting in the Leaky Cauldron, Gawain had immediately taken note that the boy was at last wearing new clothes. Potter had Flooed in mid-way through a meeting with just the Aurors and Amin.
"How's it going?" Potter had asked them casually, as he passed through the kitchen. There was a jumble of greetings muttered in response around the room. Potter was wearing a simple cloak that was a pleasant shade of green that was so dark as to be almost black. When he removed it and passed it to the ever doting House-elf who had Apparated into the kitchen upon his master's return, it revealed clean jeans and a plain t-shirt. They were just as simple as his old clothes, of course, but happily free from blood stains or holes. Gawain was relieved to note the change. It was a bit too much to be borne that the saviour of the Wizarding World should be dressed as a pauper.
"Looks like your negotiations with the goblins must have been a success," Gawain observed, nodding to the new cloak.
Potter followed his eyes, then laughed. "Yeah. I was really glad Bill was there, mind. Don't think I could have gotten them to listen to me without him. As it was, it took a lot of grovelling. Sooo much grovelling. Reckon I wounded their pride quite badly. I really don't think it even occurred to them that it was actually possible for someone to break into Gringotts. Not really."
"Oh, I get that," replied Gawain dryly. "Wounded pride from someone breaking into a building of which you are responsible for security… Yes, believe me, I get that."
Potter made a funny sort of choking noise as he tried and failed not to laugh. "Oh… right… Sorry about that," replied Potter. He didn't look particularly sorry. Margaret was grinning from ear to ear and Ben snorted. "But I mean… you could just think of it as though I did you a favour," he continued.
"A favour?" Gawain replied incredulously. But he found he was grinning as he anticipated Potter's response.
"Sure," said Potter. "I mean, I helped to point out the holes in your security for you to repair. Isn't it better that I do that rather than someone who actually meant harm to the Ministry?"
"I suppose," replied Gawain begrudgingly. "Though, in truth, my one comfort is that you did very nearly get caught eventually."
"That's fair," replied Potter with a small smile. Though, honestly the only reason we got found out was because someone noticed I had nicked Moody's eye out of Umbridge's office door. Bit stupid, really."
Abruptly, the smiles slid from all the faces in the room as they all stared at Potter. After a moment's silence, Margaret said haltingly, "That… that was you?" Potter glanced around and frowned at their response clearly trying to read their expressions and the sudden chill to the mood.
"Yeah," he replied awkwardly. "Like I said. Stupid. But I couldn't bring myself to leave it there, being used for something Mad-Eye would have despised."
"Why…? What… What did you do with it after that?"
"Oh er… I buried it," Potter shrugged. "In the forest. Can't remember exactly where. Dartmoor, I think it was? I found the oldest most gnarled and resilient-looking tree I could find and buried it under the roots." He licked his lips, seeming uncomfortable with all the eyes on him, no one saying anything. He shrugged again. "I dunno if it's what he would have wanted but… well, I'm sure he would have preferred it to being used by Umbridge to spy on people."
The silence stretched out again. Potter clearly seemed worried that he had done wrong. But Gawain knew better. He knew why his comrades were quiet in that moment. He knew, because he was feeling it too.
"You were closed to him? Mad-Eye?" Margaret asked after a bit. There was sadness on her face.
Potter let out a small laugh. "I suppose. I mean… It was complicated. I thought I was getting quite close to him. In fourth year. He helped me out a bit in the Triwizard Tournament. He was the one who suggested I become an Auror. Then I found out it wasn't Mad-Eye at all, but a Barty Crouch Junior impersonating him with Polyjuice Potion. And then, of course, he tried to kill me… So kinda put a damper on the relationship," he laughed weakly at his own joke, but no one else did. Gawain leaned an elbow on the table, scratching at his beard perplexedly as he took this in.
Potter licked his lips, looking around the room at them. He continued, sobering in response to the seriousness in the room. "But yeah… I mean, he was in the Order, of course. And around a lot over the years after that. He helped make sure I made it out of my aunt and uncle's house and onto the school train without getting murdered and stuff." Potter paused and seemed to swallow a lump in his throat. "And well… he died for me. So I guess that means we were pretty close."
Amin was studying his entwined hands thoughtfully. Margaret was gazing at Potter with an expression of sorrow on her face. Ben was looking back and forth between them as though lost. Gawain merely sat silent.
"I didn't know that… I didn't know how he… how he… died," said Ben after a moment. He said the last word as though he barely knew what it meant. Potter blinked in surprise.
"It was all very hushed up," supplied Gawain softly to Potter in explanation. "We just saw the eye and… knew…"
"I think they intended it as a warning to us," Margaret added bitterly. "To stay in line."
"Ah," said Potter, looking around at them all, still frowning. "Yeah. Well, when there's a hushed up murder, you can usually assume I was involved in some way or other…" he said ruefully. Then he sighed, seeing all the eyes still on him, clearly asking for more information. "Voldemort killed him personally," he said finally. "Mad-Eye was in charge of moving me from the Dursley's to an Order safe-house last summer. This was just before the Ministry fell. We were ambushed. A whole hoard of Death Eaters was waiting. And Voldemort— well, he…" He trailed off.
Pottter's gaze was far away, fixed on nothing as though he could see something the rest of them could not. No one spoke for some time and Gawain knew he was not the only one silently paying tribute to this fallen warrior. Then Potter blinked and gave his head a little shake. "Anyway," he swallowed again. "With that happy conversation, I think I'll leave you to your work," he concluded. Then Potter made to move toward the door.
"Potter," Gawain called, just as Potter had opened the door and was about to leave. The boy paused, holding open the door and glancing over his shoulder back at him, his expression wary. Gawain wasn't sure what made him feel the need to call out. But he abruptly found himself determined that Potter should know before he left the room. But just as suddenly he found he didn't know how to say it. "We all knew Mad-Eye very well," Gawain gestured to his companions at the table. "Worked with him for years. He was… a comrade in arms, a mentor, a… a friend." Why did these words feel so awkward? Gawain swallowed before continuing. "The tree. Where you laid him to rest. You said you didn't know if it's what he would have wanted. I just thought you should know…" Gawain licked his lips. "He would have approved. He would have liked that."
Potter's eyes roved around the room, taking in each of the occupants. Out of the corner of his eye, Gawain saw Margaret nodding earnestly. Ben still had that lost look on his face and Amin was looking at Potter with a sad sort of respect and just the hint of a smile turning up his lips.
Then Potter's eyes met Gawain's again. He gave him a weak sad smile and a nod. Then he turned at left the room without another word.
The weeks stretched on, and the Gang came and went from Grimmauld Place. Some days, Gawain and the others would arrive to find Potter waiting for them, Kingsley having specifically asked him to be present to discuss some case or other. Other times, they saw nothing of Potter and the house was dark and quiet. Some days, Potter passed through the kitchen, offering a few pleasantries, but making no move to take part. One evening, Gawain had Apparated onto the stoop just as Potter had been leaving; Potter had held the front door open for Gawain with a welcoming smile before Disapparating without a word.
When Potter did take part in the meetings, Gawain found himself impressed. The boy had good instincts and a sharp mind for pertinent information. He had an investigative way of thinking that was useful to the proceedings. His knowledge of the Death Eaters and his experience proved invaluable on more than one occasion. Gawain had not been optimistic that a seventeen-year-old boy would be of any use, but he had been fast proven wrong. For this was no ordinary boy, Gawain reminded himself. Seventeen years old he may be but with seventy-years-worth of experience.
More than that, Gawain was also just finding that he very simply liked Harry Potter, for all that he had been loath to admit it before. Potter had a relaxed air about him and a good sense of humour that was a refreshing change from the usual Ministry stuffiness. The meetings he was present for invariably seemed to be more light-hearted and to involve quite a bit more laughter. Much to Ben's delight, they often also included snacks.
Gawain knew he was not the only one to be developing a fondness for Potter. The Auror team who frequented Grimmauld Place had started to see Potter with an affection akin to that of a younger brother. Gawain had once arrived at Grimmauld to find Potter and Ben seated at the table awaiting the others together, both positively crying with mirth as they exchanged some story or other; Gawain only caught a few words about Ben charming an office to pour with rain. Gawain had even seen Margaret once offer a rare smile and ruffle Potter's hair teasingly in passing. Amin was frequently seen staring at Potter with an air of amused wonder as he seemed to struggle to piece this strange boy together in his mind. And, of course, Kingsley still had that fond smile he reserved only for Potter and the pair were frequently heard exchanging their playful banter.
Only Bones and Roslyn seemed immune to Potter's allure. Bones frowned whenever Potter entered the room, and Gawain suspected he had still not forgiven Potter for putting his daughter at risk in the Battle of Hogwarts, at least as he saw it. Roslyn, on the other hand, quite simply seemed too busy to pay Potter any particular mind unless it pertained to work. Gawain rarely saw any form of true expression on her face, but day by day, she looked wearier and more and more stressed. Gawain couldn't help but wonder to himself it the Wizengamot was regretting their choice in passing him over for that promotion yet.
It wasn't really a fair thought. Gawain knew that, and he felt guilty even as he thought it. Still he was not particularly sure that not getting promoted to the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was such a bad thing, seeing how much stress and pressure Roslyn was under in these mad times. And as Gawain's path crossed with Roslyn's more and more, he began to notice how little support she had on both a professional and a personal level. Unlike Gawain, she did not seem particularly close to any of her colleagues. The Auror team was a tight-knit lot and Gawain considered most all of them friends he could lean on. He did not see Roslyn with such backing. Gawain had even once overheard some of her former co-workers from the Improper Use of Magic Office disparaging that she wasn't fit to fill Amelia Bones's shoes. Gawain supposed it must be quite lonely at the top. And being childless and with her husband stationed in New York, Gawain could not help but to speculate that her home-life was likely even more solitary than her work-life.
Gawain had not given any of this a moment of thought, of course, until one afternoon, he had come back to his office from the courtrooms to find her there waiting for him. Roslyn had had her back to the door and her wand was held loosely in her hand as she gazed around the office with a nonplussed expression.
"Looking for me?" he asked as he entered. She turned her head and watched him cross the room to circle his desk and relieve himself of the stack of casefiles in his arms.
"Yes," she's said. "Well, no. Not exactly." She straightened her robes as she turned to him. She was dressed smartly in business attire with her silver-streaked brown hair pulled back into a polished French twist as always. "I'd just had a report from Amin on his efforts to rid us of these Surveillance Charms. It's not going well. So I thought I would take a look for myself."
"Yes, I did the same," Gawain acknowledged. "Frustrating isn't it? I couldn't make much of it. Try to take it down and it seems to instantly regenerate. You having any luck?"
"Same," she replied, shaking her head. "It's not like anything I've ever seen before. There seems to be quite a lot of the charm's magical signature surrounding your office. Next to none around mine. As mine was once Yaxley's, I thought he might be behind it all—no need for him to spy on himself. I tried to interrogate him, but he's not giving me anything." Gawain blinked in surprise. He was impressed. It had been a good thought. One he should have considered.
"Not sure if I should feel flattered that the Death Eaters felt the need to monitor me especially," Gawain commented wryly. Roslyn merely looked at him, her face as blank but eyes shrewd. She did not smile at his joke. Well, maybe it wasn't such a good joke really, he acknowledged. But it made him wonder what did make her smile. He didn't think he had ever seen her do so.
She looked away from him and awkwardly smoothed her hair back unnecessarily. Abruptly, Gawain realised that while she came off as aloof and well…boring, he suspected it was really that she was even more socially awkward than he was. He felt a surge of empathy and solidarity toward her, and wondered if he should express this somehow. But most unfortunately and predictably, with two people who were both bad communicators in the same room, the conversation fell into uncomfortable silence instead.
Gawain licked his lips, trying to think of something else to say. He settled on changing the subject. "Any news on Travers? From my communication with the US Magical State Department, I'm gathering that the Americans must be wanting to charge him with something over there. Can't think of any other reason they'd be so reluctant to extradite."
Roslyn blinked at him as though distracted from another thought. "My husband has someone on his team looking into it. But I haven't heard back, no." A look of sadness flashed across her face. "But it's been difficult for us to speak regularly." Her words stumbled out awkwardly. "Since the promotion, my hours have been so long. And with the time change…" She trailed off.
Gawain's pity for her intensified. For all that Gawain and Mary were in a rough patch in their marriage, at the end of the day, Gawain was still glad that every night he had a family to go home to. Roslyn, it seemed, was not so fortunate. "That must be hard," he said, albeit a little uncomfortably. This sort of talk was not his forte, especially not with someone he knew as little as Roslyn. And especially not given that said person was also his superior. "Long-distance isn't easy."
"It's not. We used to take turns traveling once a month to see the other. But since the War… and now with my new job…" The sadness intensified on her face for just a moment before she suddenly seemed to remember to whom she was speaking, and she wiped it blank again. "Still, it could be worse," her tone turned more business-like. "We have an enchanted set of mirrors that lets us talk. We can sometimes find a few minutes before he goes to bed and before I have to head into work in the morning. Anyway. I'll be sure to ask him for an update on Travers next I speak with him."
Gawain struggled to think of what to say. Should he keep this conversation on the personal, given that she likely had no one else to confide in? Or was she deliberately steering it back to business? He was spared from responding, however, when she glanced at her watch and said, "Well, I must be going. I have a meeting in five. I'll keep you posted if I hear anything." And with that she had swept from the room, not even leaving Gawain with enough time to wish her good day. Still, he resolved himself to think kinder of her in the future.
"Smells great in here!" commented Ben, hopefully when they entered the kitchen on a Wednesday evening in mid-June. It was a rare meeting where the entirety of the Gimmauld Gang was in attendance at once. The other half of the group were already present and seated when Kingsley, Ben, and Gawain entered.
"Yeah, Kreacher makes a mean French Onion Soup," replied Potter. The ancient House-elf blushed to the tips of his bat-like ears as he stirred the pot from atop his perch on the large overturned stockpot which allowed him to reach the stove. "I've asked him to make extras in case anyone wanted some."
"I'm glad you're here tonight. I have something I've been meaning to talk to you about." Kingsley said to Potter as he took his usual seat at the head of the table. He bent down to retrieve a scroll from his bag.
"Oh? What's that?" asked Potter curiously. He was seated halfway down the table, leaning back in his chair to balance on the back legs.
Kingsley hesitated a moment, looking at the parchment in his hand. "You know we've torn down the statue that was in the Ministry Atrium? We've hired Badeea Ali to design a new piece—she's a very talented sculptor. She's been working with a Ministry committee to come up with some options. Something to symbolise the new administration and commemorate the end of the War." Kingsley paused, frowning at the parchment in his hand.
"Okay," replied Potter slowly, frowning at Kingsley. "Cool. But what does this have to do with me?"
"Well…" Kingsley sighed, before holding out the parchment to Potter. "This is what they came up with."
The front chair legs clicked as they reunited with the floor as Potter leaned across the table. He had a look of trepidation as he reached out and took the parchment. His eyes were on Kingsley, and he held his gaze as he unfurled the scroll in his hands. Then his eyes flicked down. He studied the parchment for no more than five seconds before looking back to Kingsley with a raised eyebrow.
"Absolutely not," Potter said, firmly.
"I told them you were unlikely to agree. They seemed quite crushed by that thought. So I said I would ask…"
"I'm sure they'll get over it," replied Potter dryly. Ben, curiously plucked away the parchment that was being held limply in Potter's hand. He looked it over and snorted, then passed it to Gawain.
"They're trying to honour you," said Kingsley, reasonably. "Acknowledging what you've gone through for the wizarding community. What am I supposed to say to that? The design was very popular when they polled a collection of Ministry employees."
Gawain studied the parchment. It was a sketched out mock-up of a statue drawn repeatedly from various angles. A statue of Harry Potter's likeness. In the drawing, the boy held his wand pointed straight up in the sky dramatically, a cocky smirk fixed upon his face.
"You're a politician now. Why don't you find a nice polite and diplomatic way to say 'No chance in hell'." Potter restlessly got to his feet and began retrieving spoons and bowls quite unnecessarily. 'Unnecessarily' in that Gawain was sure the House-elf would have done this, but Potter seemed to need an excuse to turn away from the conversation for a moment.
"You know, at some point you're going to have to get used to the idea that people want to thank you for what you did. But no, you'd rather just hide away here. Heaven forbid that anyone should actually try to give a war hero any credit for his work."
"Ugh," Potter turned back to Kingsley, a hand across his stomach and looking like he was about to be sick. "'War hero'," he repeated the words with disgust. "Now you're just being cruel." Gawain also noticed a spasm run through Bones's temple at the word.
Kingsley sighed, though a small amused smile tugged at the corner of his mouth through his disappointment. "Well, do you have a different suggestion I can relay? Something that would be more to your taste?"
Potter considered him for a moment, a crease between his brows and a stack of bowls in his hands forgotten. "Tell them… it's not about one person. This is supposed to symbolise the new administration right? Tell them it's about unity. I didn't do anything alone. I had help every single step of the way. I had the Order. And the Hogwarts teachers. And my classmates—kids told they were too young to make a difference, but they went on anyway, and they kicked some major league arse. And then there were the centaurs who rode into battle. They could have stayed out of it; centaurs don't concern themselves with the affairs of wizard-kind. But they came anyway. And there was Grawp. Hell, Kreacher rallied a whole legion of House-elves. Let's honour him!" Potter gestured to the elf behind him who paused in his administrations to the stockpot to look back at Potter with a flush of pride and embarrassment. But Potter was looking earnestly at Kingsley and did not notice this look. "When have you ever heard of House-elves going to war? If you want something to honour, honour that. People of all different walks of life coming together to fight for what's right. And not like the stupid Statue of Magical Brethren where everyone was looking up to the wizard as the leader. This wasn't about leaders and followers. It was about equality. No matter your blood-status, your gender, your race, or even your species. It should show that."
There was silence after this little speech. Gawain sat for a moment, taking it in, remembering their walk across the Hogwarts grounds when Potter had stopped to talk with Centaurs and giants and House-elves alike. Gawain's eyes flitted around the room, curious to the reactions of his companions. The gaze of every person was fixed on Potter, looks of rapt wonder on each face. Kingsley was looking at Potter with a particular expression of pride, a small sad smile on his lips. Even Edward Bones seemed to be struggling to maintain his usual frown.
Potter abruptly seemed to notice that everyone was looking at him. His cheeks flushed. "Anyway. That's not really why we're here tonight, is it? Surely there're more important things to get through…" He retook his chair and scooted into the table as Kreacher began dishing out soup. The elf slid a slice of crusty bread onto each bowl and sprinkled them with cheese. With a snap of the elf's fingers, steam rose and the tops of each were browned and bubbling merrily. He bustled up to Potter with the first and sighed in irritation as Potter passed it down the table instead. Potter ignored this, reaching for the next bowl to pass it too down. "So who are we looking at today?" Potter asked, definitively changing the subject. When the last of the bowls were passed down the table and Potter finally took one for himself, Kreacher Disapparated in a huff.
Kingsley smiled indulgently, the change in subject not lost on him. He picked up the illustration of the statue from the table where Gawain had left it and tucked it back in his bag. "Well, the biggest name to discuss tonight is Dolores Umbridge."
"Umbridge!" replied Potter, with raised eyebrows. "Well, that's gonna be fun." He tried and failed to contain a small smile turning up the corner of his mouth.
"Thought you might enjoy that. She's up for crimes against Muggle-borns."
"Don't suppose you could just add a charge for being a total bitc—" Kingsley cleared his throat loudly and pointedly. "Totally rubbish teacher," Potter amended what he had been about to say with a sheepish smirk.
"I think, as a general rule, a prosecution's best tactic is to stick with actual law-breaking. But there should be enough of that to land her a life-sentence in Azkaban. Merlin knows she dug herself a plenty deep hole. There's really not a shortage of evidence against her."
"She was always well-connected though," noted Potter now serious. "You don't think she's got the Wizengamot in her pocket?"
"Once maybe," acknowledged Kingsley. "With the old Wizengamot. But most all of those who may have supported her are gone now. Those that remain definitely have no love for her. I don't anticipate any issues there.
"No, I think getting a conviction on Umbridge should be relatively straight forward," Kingsley continued, flipping through the stack of case files before him. "A couple of these other smaller fish are the more challenging ones. Ever heard of a bloke named Scabior? We picked him up at the Battle, but we really can't seem to get much on him. He doesn't have the Dark Mark."
"Scabior…" Potter repeated musingly. "Why does that name sound so familiar…?" Kingsley passed him the case file and Potter squinted at the attached photo uncertainly chewing on his lip. "Oh!" Potter snapped his fingers. "Snatcher. Worked for Fenrir Greyback. Yeah, I think that might be him." Gawain set down his spoon between bites to scribble a note to explore this lead. "He was one of the ones who captured Ron and Hermione and me and took us to Malfoy Manor. I think… maybe."
"You don't remember for sure," asked Margaret sceptically. It was a fair question. They couldn't exactly send a man to Azkaban on 'I think maybe.'
"Well… I was a little blind at the time. I was hit in the face with a Stinging Jinx, and I'd lost my glasses. I'm really blind without my glasses. Like really blind. But Ron or Hermione would know for sure. If it's him, I'm honestly a little surprised he's still alive. I thought for sure Bellatrix Lastrange was going to murder the lot of them…"
"We are probably overdue to have Weasley and Granger in for an interview," Gawain muttered as he scribbled himself another note on his to-do list. "Get their perspective on everything that happened over the past year. Should probably set something up."
"Gotta see if they corroborate my story, huh?" asked Potter. But he didn't look offended. On the contrary, he was grinning at Gawain.
"Absolutely," Gawain tried to keep a straight face, but a small smile was twitching at his cheek to be let out. "You have to admit. Your whole tale was more than a little far-fetched."
Potter laughed good-naturedly and there was a tittering around the table as the others snickered. "That's fair," replied Potter. He smiled around his spoon as he took another bite of soup.
"Is Hermione back yet?" asked Kingsley smiling between Gawain and Potter.
"Any day now, according to the last owl I received from her."
As though on cue, there was a whoosh and a streak of silver light flashed through the kitchen door and headed straight to Potter. Gawain and several others reached for their wands before seeing that the silver light had materialised into the form of an otter. Its silvery fur glistened, sliding fluidly as though made from mercury.
Before Potter could more than blink at it in surprise, it stared up at him from the floor just to his left, opened its mouth wide and a stern voice echoed around the kitchen. It came in a fast clipped tone as though the speaker barely paused to draw breath.
"HARRY POTTER! Did you really Fidelius me out of the house? I'm gone less than a month and you've become a complete hermit! Ron says you've scarcely spoken to anyone in weeks. I swear to God, if I get in there and find you skulking around in the dark in your usual self-pity, I'm going to drag you back to the Burrow by your ears. Now get out here and LET ME IN!" And with that, the Patronus dissipated into mist.
There was utter silence in the room, and all eyes moved to Potter. Potter meanwhile, was still blinking at the spot where the otter had been, his face a blank mask of shock. He opened his mouth to speak then closed it again. He drew in a breath to say something else. Then merely let it out in a huff of self-conscious laughter. "Er… Secret-Keeper?" he said at last to Kingsley, a flush touching his cheeks. "Would you mind? I think Hermione might be at the front door."
Without a word, but smiling broadly at Granger's blatant way of taking Potter to task, Kingsley got up and headed to the door. Margaret followed him dutifully. The others remained silent. Gawain diverted his attention to his French onion soup, but he could not stop himself from casting furtive glances at Potter who was shaking his head and laughing softly to himself as he picked at his soup himself.
A moment later, soft voices were coming from the corridor. "I wasn't expecting you here, Kingsley. I thought you'd be at the Ministry. Are you Harry's Secret-Keeper? What are you—" Granger broke off abruptly. As she had pushed the kitchen door open, she had been glancing back over her shoulder at Kingsley behind her. Now, she did a comical double take as she took in the occupants of the room.
Wide brown eyes landed on Potter, and her cheeks flushed with colour. "Oh." A hand suddenly came up and clapped itself over her mouth. "Oh," she said again from behind her hand.
Hermione Granger gave Gawain much the same first impression that Potter had in that he immediately marvelled at how very young she was. Of course he knew she would have been a seventh year at Hogwarts and, as such, could not be more than eighteen. But somehow this did not tally with what he knew about her from Potter's tale, and so he had never pictured her as such. He took her in now, looking so young and smooth-faced. She had delicate features and a thick shock of bushy brown hair and brown eyes. And at that moment, she looked absolutely mortified.
Potter was leaning back in his chair casually. "Well, hi Hermione," he said cheerily. "Welcome back." He was grinning at her broadly from his spot at the table. The eyes of the other occupants of the room travelled quietly between Potter and Granger. Kingsley was smiling as he resumed his seat at the table.
Granger stood stock still just inside the kitchen for a moment more, still staring at Potter. Then her eyes travelled around the room again. Then back to Potter. All the while, her hand was still firmly affixed over her mouth. Then, very slowly, she lowered it enough to say, "I thought you were alone," in a voice that was an octave higher than it had been when coming from the otter Patronus.
"Oh, we got that. We alllll got that," replied Potter good-naturedly, gesturing around the table at the other occupants of the room. "Nice job with the Patronus, by the way. You've been practicing." Gawain would have thought it impossible for her to turn an even darker shade of red, but somehow she managed it.
She looked away at nothing in particular for a moment, with a self-deprecating smile, then looked back to Potter. "Sorry…" Then, with a glance to the room at large, "Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt… whatever you're doing."
Potter's smile was broad and teasing, but he seemed to take pity on her. He got to his feet and crossed the room to envelope her in a warm hug. "It's good to see you. Welcome home."
"Thanks," Granger replied, hugging him back and smiling. "It's good to be back. I missed you." She punched his shoulder playfully as they broke apart, and she looked him over. "It was weird not seeing you for a whole month after going a year of being together literally every day." Gawain watched her take in his new clothes, his trimmed hair and satisfy herself that he was whole and well.
"Yeah," agreed Potter. "Want some dinner?" he asked, moving back to his place at the table. "Kreacher made French onion."
"No… thanks," replied Granger distractedly. She was frowning at the dishes around the table, clearly trying to puzzle out why there were a bunch of Ministry employees she had never met having dinner at her friend's kitchen table. "I just ate at the Burrow." Her eyes had migrated to the photos on the wall and her frown deepened. "Where, I'll add, there was an empty place setting at the table for you." She looked back at Potter pointedly.
"I was there at lunchtime! And I told Mrs. Weasley I wouldn't be over for dinner."
"Well, according to Ginny, she always sets a place for you. Just in case. And they have a bed made up for you in Ron's room. A bed, I'm told, you've slept in exactly zero times."
Potter sighed. "Et tu, brute?" he asked tiredly.
"Don't give me that…"
"I mean… you've been to the Burrow," argued Potter. "Percy and Charlie and George and Ron and Ginny… all staying at home. The house is packed. I just wanted a little space. Why is that so hard for everyone to understand? A little peace and quiet."
"So I see," replied Hermione sarcastically with a pointed glance around at the other members of the Grimmauld Gang before looking back to Potter.
Potter seemed to decide to ignore this implication. "It's not like I'm not checking in! I've been by the Burrow almost every day!"
"Alright!" Granger raised her hands in supplication. "It's fine. I get it. We don't have to talk about this now. They're just worried about you, is all. You're all they talked about at dinner."
"Well, you can tell them to stop worrying. Because they're clearly not listening to me when I say it."
"Wonder why…" Granger muttered sarcastically under her breath. "Anyway. I should go. Mum and Dad are expecting me at home. And ever since… well, they get nervous if I don't check in regularly. And I don't want to interrupt. I really just stopped by to check on you and make sure you weren't…"
"Skulking?" supplied Potter.
She blushed again. "Yeah."
"Oh, hey!" said Potter, suddenly, reaching for the Scabior case file. "Real quick, since you're here. Was this the bloke who worked with Greyback? The Snatcher who dragged us to the Malfoys'?" He passed the file to Granger who frowned at it
"That's him," she said, glancing at the photo. She frowned again, looking to the stack of casefiles on the table before taking in the Ministry members again, one at a time. Gawain wondered if he imagined her gaze lingering a little longer on him, her expression contemplative.
"See! Told you she'd know," Potter said to the room at large. "I was pretty blind that night. Never got a good look at him. Someone had hit me in the face with a Stinging Jinx at the time."
Granger grinned sheepishly. "I told you I was sorry about that," she said defensively.
"Did you?" replied Potter sarcastically.
Granger contemplated that for a moment. "Okay, maybe I didn't. But next time I save your life, I'll remember to apologise for it."
"Touché," Potter laughed. "But for the record, it did really hurt."
"We were actually just talking about you, Hermione," Kingsley spoke up. He had been quietly watching the pair with a smile on his face up to this point. "We were thinking it would be a good idea to have one of the Aurors interview you and Ron. Just to get your side of the story."
"Of course. Not a problem," replied Granger, earnestly as though she had been expecting this request.
"Maybe Margaret can set something up this week?" said Kingsley, glancing to Margaret who nodded.
"I'll reach out to you in a few days. After you've had time to settle back in," said Margaret to Granger, who nodded in response.
"Harry already testified about everything to the Wizengamot," Kingsley continued. "So I think we can spare you that formality."
"Yes. I read about that," said Granger dryly, glancing back to Potter. "In the Daily Prophet," she added severely. "Because my best friend can't be bothered to send me an owl to tell me about these things directly."
"I sent you an owl!" Potter countered indignantly.
"Yes. An owl. Singular. Over the course of a month. An owl which contained only news about other people and absolutely no information about what you've been doing." Gawain had the impression of a stern mother scolding a child. "But we'll get to that another time too."
Potter merely smiled guiltily. "Hey, that's pretty good for me, you know."
"Well, no arguments there," replied Granger, rolling her eyes. But a small smile broke through her determinedly severe expression. "Alright. I've got to go."
"I'll walk you to the door," said Potter, getting back to his feet.
"Good to see you, Kingsley," Granger called as she made to leave the room.
"You too, Hermione," he replied, still smiling affectionately. And Potter and Granger left the room.
There was a rustle as everyone turned back to the case files and tried to remember what they had been doing. Gawain decided to take advantage of the interrupted momentum to pop to the loo before they got back to things.
Out in the hall, he heard the murmur of voices down the dark corridor from the direction of the front door where Potter and Granger were saying their goodbyes. He ignored them and turned right up the stairs, heading for the toilet off the first floor landing.
He did not mean to listen in. Truly he didn't. But the sound of his own name made his feet falter halfway up the stairs and his ears perk up.
"—what? You mean Mr. Robards?" he heard Potter say from below. "He's Head of the Auror Office."
"I know who he is. He was on the front page of the newspaper when that man tried to assassinate you in the Ministry Atrium. Another thing you neglected to mention in your letter, by the way…"
"Hey, the Daily Prophet was going to reach you faster than any owl from me."
"That's not the point, Harry, and you know it..." replied Granger's voice tiredly.
"Alright, alright. Sorry. But what's wrong with Mr. Robards? He's a nice bloke. I like him."
"And that's fine. I just wasn't expecting to find him here. I mean, what do you really know about him? He stayed with the Ministry even after it was being controlled by Death Eaters, didn't he?" Gawain felt the guilt rile his gut at the words. "And I remember a couple of those Aurors taking shifts at Hogwarts sixth year. And wasn't that Susan Bones's father? I remember her telling me he's Head of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, isn't he? It's just a lot of people we don't know that you've let in through the Fidelius Charm. How do you know you can trust them? What do you really know about any of these people?"
Gawain could almost hear Potter shrug. "Kingsley trusts them. I trust Kingsley."
"Just… be careful. We've been burned that way before."
"I seem to remember it mostly turning out pretty well for us before, actually."
"Harry…"
"I know, I know. I promise. I'm being careful. The usual wards go up after they're gone."
"Alright. It's just…" There was a pause.
"Just what?" Potter prompted
"It's just…" Granger sighed. "It's stupid… It's not logical and it's petty, it's just… I guess I'm feeling a little replaced."
"Replaced?"
"It's just… for so long it's just been the three of us. Doing everything together. And now, here you are…"
"That's not fair," countered Potter. "You've been away. And Ron has been busy— his mum barely wants him out of her sight now, and he's helping George get ready to reopen the joke shop…"
"I know it's not fair. It's silly. It's just…" There was another silence for a moment. "At the Battle. When you went off on your own into the Forest. It felt like a turning point. Where we weren't factored into your decisions anymore. I don't know if you can understand what that was like for us— for me and Ron. We didn't even know you'd left, and then we had to see Hagrid carrying your dead body out." Her voice cracked. The silence stretched out again.
Then Potter spoke very softly. "I'm sorry… Hermione, I… It's not that I didn't want to tell you. It's just… I knew you would try to stop me. And… I didn't think I had the courage to not just let you stop me."
Gawain heard a sniff and there was a break in Granger's voice as she continued. "I know. I know why you did it. And I know why you couldn't tell us. But afterwards… Everything happened so fast. I left for Australia, and Ron to the Burrow, and we all went our separate ways. I don't think I really had time to process it all. And I guess I thought you were taking a break from…everything— Stupid of me, because I know you, and I know you're physically incapable of not being in the centre of everything ever— But then I get back to find you working with the Ministry without telling either Ron or me about it… It just feels like the end of an era."
"Honestly, Hermione. I think you're over-inflating what I've been doing here. I'm really not doing that much. Just periodically, Kingsley asks me to look over a few cases of Death Eaters to make sure they have enough evidence for their upcoming trials. Just the Death Eaters we crossed paths with. That's it."
"And of course you want to help Kingsley," Granger said. "I get that... I've been gone so long, I guess I'm just feeling out of the loop. I didn't know you were involved in any of this. And then to come back to find Kreacher's here cooking you dinner and you've cleaned up the house and you've hung pictures on the walls… What are you doing here, Harry? You hate this house."
"I don't hate this house." Gawain imagined Granger raising an eyebrow in the silence that followed. "Okay, maybe it was never my favourite place ever; but it's not like I have anywhere better to be. Don't start," he cut off a sound of protest from Granger. "I like it here, okay. It's quiet."
There was silence again, long enough that Gawain thought that maybe they had stepped outside where he couldn't hear them. Then Granger's voice said, "Fine. If that's what you need. Look, I have to go. Mum's probably going mad with worry. Can we talk more about this later? Maybe we can get lunch?"
"Sure. Tomorrow?"
There was a small pause, then Granger said awkwardly. "Not tomorrow, no. I, er… I have a date."
Potter laughed. "Well, about bloody time." And Granger laughed back.
"Friday?" she asked.
"Friday," Potter agreed. "'Night, Hermione."
"Goodnight, Harry."
There was a shifting of floorboards and then the sound of the door closing and the locks being slid into place. Gawain hastened to make his retreat up the stairs to the toilet before Potter noticed him.
A few minutes later, after relieving himself, Gawain re-entered the kitchen. Potter was back in his seat, leaning back on the hind chair legs again and listening to the discussion about the evidence against Dolores Umbridge with a cock to his head and rubbing a spot on the back of his left hand absently.
When Gawain resumed his seat to Potter's left, he noted Potter's eyes slide to him. He seemed to consider Gawain for a moment. Gawain wondered if Potter suspected that he had overheard their conversation. Or perhaps he was considering Grangers' warnings not to trust him. Gawain took in a deep breath and shoved the guilt aside and reminded himself that he had more important things to worry about than whether or not Harry Potter trusted him.
A/N (15.04.2021): Thanks for your patience, all. I know I was a little slow posting this chapter; I was busy cutting and pasting whole paragraphs into different places then back again, then to a new spot, over and over until I'm pretty sure I ended up with it all exactly as it was the first time I wrote it. Aw well.
Thank you so much to all my reviewers. You guys are really amazing. I'm in awe at the details you pick up and how thoughtful and deep the observations you make are. Some of you have pointed out themes that I've barely introduced but that are major parts of the story going forward. Also, I laughed out loud when one of you used the term "Gang" as I had just written the section that introduced that word in the next chapter. Pretty impressed with you folks. You keep me writing!