Note: Thank you very much to InkandPaper for the idea about the Muggle PM wanting to try the Floo Network!
CHAPTER 23
All Good Things Must Come to an End
Harry performed a quick wash-up and went quietly to the dormitory to change his clothes. An assortment of snores and heavy breathing issued from the other boys' beds. Harry tiptoed over and pulled the edge of Ron's bed hangings aside. Ron lay sprawled on his stomach diagonally across his bed, his legs hanging halfway off the edge. His pillow was nowhere to be seen, and the bedding was cascading onto the floor.
Harry spied a sock lying on the foot of the bed. He picked it up, pinching it between the tips of his thumb and forefinger and holding it as far away from him as his arm could reach--Ron's smelly feet being legendary--and slowly and gently draped the sock over Ron's nose. Then he waited.
For a few moments Ron didn't stir. Then he began to mumble in his sleep. He moaned loudly and abruptly flipped over and sat up, coughing and choking. When he had recovered, he saw Harry standing there laughing, and he gave an annoyed groan.
"Ha ha, very funny," he grumbled, and flopped backward onto the bed. "It's a weekend, Harry--what time is it, anyway?" He squinted out the window. "Looks awfully early to me. Why are you up so early--and more importantly, why are you waking me up so early? Go away and let me sleep, Harry." He dug into the mattress and grabbed the edge of his quilt--then, deciding it was too much trouble, subsided and lay still. He began to snore again almost immediately.
Harry rolled his eyes. "Ron, get up!" He pulled the bed hangings all the way open so that the morning sun, just coming over the hills, shone full in Ron's face.
"Gah! All right, all right! I'm up," Ron said in disgust. "No need to resort to torture."
"Hurry up and get dressed," Harry urged. "I've got something to tell you. I'm going to go get Hermione up--meet me in the Common Room. And, Ron?" Ron turned bleary eyes in Harry's direction and gave a huge yawn. "Do not go to sleep again. You'll want to hear this. It's big news--the biggest!" He dashed out of the dormitory to see about waking Hermione.
Behind him, the other boys were beginning to awaken, roused by all the early-morning ruckus.
"What did he say?" A sleepy Neville poked his head out of his bed hangings. "What's happened?"
"I dunno," Ron said with another great yawn. "Big news, he said. Suppose I ought to go see what's going on." He cast about aimlessly amongst the bedclothes for a shirt that was reasonably clean and trousers without holes in them and began to get dressed.
Meanwhile, Harry flew down to the Common Room and across to the girls' dormitory. He and Ron had learned the hard way that boys were magically prohibited from entering the inner sanctum, so he merely stood at the foot of the stairs and resorted to the simple expedient of shouting.
"Hermione! Oi, wake up, Hermione! Come down here, will you?" There was a chorus of indignant cries from both the boys' and girls' dormitories at this rude awakening. Harry waited impatiently, and a minute or two later a tousled Hermione appeared in the gallery above.
"Harry?" she said sleepily. "What is it--is something wrong?" She rubbed at her eyes and looked at him more closely. "Look at you--you're grinning from ear to ear. What have you been up to?" She peered round the Common Room. "Where's Ron--is he in on this with you?"
"He 's getting dressed. Hermione, please--I've got something huge to tell you, but I want you both here. Get dressed and come down--please? And hurry!"
Hermione flapped a hand at him. "Oh, all right. I'll be down in a minute. But no more yelling, Harry. Honestly!" She shook her head and disappeared again. Harry could hear her muttered scolding recede into the depths of the dormitory along with the slap-slap of her bedroom slippers.
He walked idly around the Common Room, picking things up and putting them down again, wishing Ron and Hermione would hurry up. Before long they joined him, neither looking especially enthusiastic about the early wake-up call.
"Okay, we're here," Ron said. He flung himself into an armchair. "What's so bloody important?"
"Well," Harry began, "it all started last night--wow, I can't believe it was just last night--when Snape sent me a message using Legilimency."
"What?" Hermione interrupted, rather more alert now her interest had been piqued. "Why on earth would Snape be sending you any kind of message at all?"
"Well, as it turned out," Harry said, and proceeded to tell his story, leaving nothing out. When he got to the part about Draco volunteering to help get the others into Malfoy Manor, Ron snorted.
"Yeah, right," he sneered. "And of course you're just supposed to trust him. I hope you told him off, Harry." He looked indignant. Harry couldn't--quite--meet Ron's eyes. "Oh, Harry. Tell me you did," Ron persisted, sounding suspicious. Even Hermione was looking at him rather strangely.
"Well--sort of--to start with. I mean, I tried," Harry said. "But, well, then he followed me out and caught up with me on the lawn--"
"Wait, wait, wait," Hermione broke in. "Caught up with you--just you? What about Dumbledore and the others? Oh, Harry, you didn't go off on your own!"
"Well," Harry said defensively, "they were wasting so much time with all their planning. We could have been there talking all night--and Snape needed help."
"That's another thing," Ron said. "Since when have you and Snape become such pals? Why would he send a cry for help to you--and why were you in such a hurry to go haring off and rescue him?" His eyes grew wide as the implications became clear. "You did, didn't you?" he breathed. "You went off by yourself and rescued Snape! Another adventure and, what--you couldn't take the time to wake me up?" He sounded hurt.
"Wake us up, you mean," Hermione said. "You could have, Harry. You know we would have helped--even to rescue Snape, if you really had to. I expect you were doing it for your aunt, weren't you?" she said, digging a well-placed elbow into Ron's ribs.
"Oof. Er--yeah, right. I forgot about that side of it," Ron said with a grimace. "Still, we would've been there for you, Harry, you know we would."
"I know," Harry said. "It's just that things happened so fast. There wasn't really time to come all the way back up to Gryffindor to fetch you. We were Apparating before I knew it."
"We?" Ron asked jealously. "You--and Malfoy?" His voice rose on a squeak of indignation. Hermione said nothing, just sat down suddenly on a sofa. Her mouth worked, but nothing came out.
Harry quickly proceeded to tell them the rest of the story, not wishing to dwell over-long on the cooperative nature of his and Draco's--not to mention Lucius' and Snape's--activities the previous night. As he had hoped, the enormity of his ultimate news overshadowed even the intriguing point about Draco's change of loyalties.
Ron's and Hermione's reactions to the news of Voldemort's end were everything Harry could have hoped for. Hermione gave an excited squeal and bounced on the sofa, then clapped her hand over her mouth and gazed at Harry over it.
Ron's face paled and then turned bright red with suppressed emotion. "Dead?" he said wonderingly. "Voldemort is dead?" He stared blankly at Harry for a moment. "Just like that," he said softly. "It's all over--just like that."
He stood and walked over to Harry. "So you really were the one," he said. "Harry--you've killed Voldemort. Do you have any idea what this means?" He grabbed Harry and planted a smacking kiss on his cheek. Then he let out a whoop and whirled about in dizzy circles. He zoomed over to pluck Hermione out of her seat and waltzed her around the Common Room. She indulged him for a moment, then steered them to a halt in front of Harry.
"But what about Malfoy?" she asked.
"What about him?" Ron snorted.
Hermione looked at Harry. "Well--does this mean he's one of us now, do you think?" she asked hesitantly.
Ron, who, lacking a partner, had returned to dancing joyously round the room by himself, stopped abruptly. "You have got to be kidding, Hermione," he said scornfully. "Malfoy will never be one of us." He looked at Harry for confirmation of this obvious fact.
Harry returned his look steadily but said nothing. Ron, realizing that he was about to hear unwelcome news, sank into a chair.
"I don't know what Malfoy is," Harry said slowly. "But I do think the line between 'them' and 'us' may be a bit fuzzy just now. I also know Malfoy is the reason we got into Malfoy Manor at all. And that he was standing right next to me when the four of us spoke the Killing Curse. His voice was as loud as anyone's. You can't get around the facts, Ron: Malfoy did every bit as much to destroy Voldemort as I did."
"Yes, he did," Hermione echoed. "And so did Lucius Malfoy--and Snape. I can't believe it, Harry! It's fantastic. It seems too good to be true."
"Interesting that Lucius Malfoy's not in Azkaban with the other Death Eaters, eh?" Ron said casually. "Wonder how he managed that?"
"I don't know, exactly," Harry admitted. "It couldn't have hurt that he was trying to rescue Snape and then he helped to destroy Voldemort...and he's always been good at wiggling out of tight places with the Ministry."
"You know, Harry," said Hermione, "I'm really very proud of you."
"Why's that?" Harry wanted to know.
"Well, when Snape sent you that message using Legilimency, you could have ignored it. Or let Dumbledore and the others deal with it. But you didn't. You did something about it yourself, because you love your aunt. Dumbledore was right about you, Harry, and so was the prophecy--you do have a power the Dark Lord didn't know."
Harry blushed. "But I haven't," he protested. When Hermione just looked superior, he shrugged. "Okay, then, what is it? What power could I possibly have that Voldemort didn't possess a hundred times stronger than me?"
"Love, Harry. You possess more love and caring in your little finger than Voldemort ever knew in his life. And not only do you show love, but you inspire it in others." When Harry looked puzzled, she explained.
"Well, of course I don't mean hearts-and-flowers love, you nit. But you draw people to you--you have, ever since you came here. McGonagall, Dumbledore, Hagrid, us--" She indicated Ron and herself. "Harry, there are dozens of people who would do anything for you, don't you know that?"
"I reckon she's right about that, mate," Ron said.
"Of course I am," Hermione said with her usual infuriating smugness. "And not only that. Even Snape is coming round, it seems."
"How do you get that?" Ron asked doubtfully.
"Like Harry says, he could have sent that message to anyone--Dumbledore or Professor Lovejoy, or any of the professors. But he chose Harry." She turned to Harry. "It seems to me he put an awful lot of trust in you, Harry. And you've more than repaid it. That ought to help your relationship with him, don't you think?" she said, looking pleased.
"Oh, no," Ron said in an aside to Harry. "Watch out--she's getting all happy-ever-after on us."
Hermione tossed her head. "Rubbish. I think it's marvelous! After all, don't forget we have another year to go here at Hogwarts--and it'll be ever so much better if Snape, Harry, and Malfoy aren't at each other's throats all the time. Not to mention...Harry, do you think your aunt and Snape will get married?" she asked curiously.
Harry gulped. "I--I dunno. I suppose...someday."
Hermione's eyes shown. "Wouldn't it be wonderful if they had a wedding here at Hogwarts? So romantic," she enthused.
Ron rolled his eyes. "Oh, man--wedding talk. Why do girls find all that stuff so exciting?"
"There's a very good reason why we like discussing weddings, Ronald," Hermione retorted. When he slid his eyes toward her, she smiled sweetly and said, "It's good practice, of course!" He closed his eyes and swallowed audibly.
"I am so dead," he moaned.
"Yeah," Harry agreed cheerfully. "But you know what they say. Ron glanced at him dolefully and Harry laughed. "Better you than me." He gave Ron's foot a little kick. "Come on, pry yourself out of there and let's go get breakfast. I'm starved!"
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Hermione was not the only person at Hogwarts with weddings on her mind.
Monday morning Professor Lovejoy arrived at breakfast and made her way through the minor chaos of the morning meal to the staff table. Snape had already arrived. As she approached, he stood gallantly and waited for her, then gracefully held her chair for her as she sat. She thanked him, beaming, and he sat down next to her.
Leaning toward her, he said softly, "You look good enough to eat this morning." She blushed and dropped her napkin in confusion. When she bent to retrieve it, she left a lingering kiss on his hand, resting on his knee. She resurfaced, napkin safely in hand once again, and gave him a melting smile. Snape sat in pleasurable agony and waited for his heart to start beating again.
Professor McGonagall watched these antics with a barely concealed grin. She turned to Dumbledore and whispered, "Albus, I rather think we ought to get these two married off--and the sooner, the better."
He leaned discreetly around her and peered at the outrageous flirting going on a few feet away. "Indeed," he murmured, the twinkle back in his eyes. "I believe Trillium and Severus plan to be married from her father's home just as soon as the term is over." He sighed. "Call me a sentimental old fool, but I do love a wedding."
Professor McGonagall smiled happily. "Oh, so do I. I've always felt there was nothing nicer than a summer wedding." She picked up her teacup and sipped, envisioning the event to come. "Trillium will make such a lovely bride. It's almost enough to make me wish I were young again!" Smiling sheepishly, she shook her head at her own foolishness.
Dumbledore regarded her curiously. "Do you, Minerva?" At her inquiring look, he added, "Wish you were young again, I mean?"
Professor McGonagall, somewhat unprepared for the seriousness of his tone, gave a hesitant laugh. "Well--I--of course not, Albus. Not really. It's just foolishness--the sentimental wanderings of an old maid, I suppose. Don't regard it--truly." She moved as if to pat his hand reassuringly, but he suddenly captured her hand within his own. Startled, she looked at their joined hands, then at him.
"It's not foolish to want love, Minerva," Dumbledore said gently. "It's one of our most basic human needs. And whether you know it or not, you are most fortunate in that regard. You, my dear, are very well loved indeed. Never think otherwise." He smiled and gave her hand a little squeeze, then released it and stood up to make his announcements.
Professor McGonagall sat in bemused bewilderment. Now what, she wondered, had he meant by that, exactly? Surely--she tried to recall what his precise words had been--surely he hadn't meant--? Oh, blast the man, she thought with fond exasperation. After receiving a tiny number of hints like that over the last thirty years, was it any wonder she felt like smacking him sometimes?
Dumbledore raised his hands for silence. "Good morning, everyone," he began. "As you know, examinations will take place today for the first- through fourth- and sixth-year classes. The examinations will, as usual, take place in your regular classrooms." He paused. An undercurrent of excitement seemed to ripple just beneath the students' polite façade. Dumbledore smiled.
"If I could have your--full--attention, please?" He waited until every slightest murmur had faded into silence. "It appears that most of you have by now heard the exciting news." The buzz of conversation began again. "For those of you who have not heard, allow me to say that Lord Voldemort is...no more." His voice rang out solemnly. He couldn't say another word; the response was instantaneous. Cheers and applause broke out from every side--even from some of the Slytherins, Malfoy among them.
Dumbledore touched his wand briefly to his throat and said, "Sonorus." Immediately his voice was amplified so he could be heard above the din. "It's nearly time for your exams to begin," he said. "You will no doubt discuss the news amongst yourselves, but please--for now it is time to finish out the term. Good luck on your exams, everyone." He pointed his wand at his throat again and said quietly, "Quietus."
He watched the students leave the Great Hall and sighed. Voldemort gone--professors marrying--Harry nearly done with school. Where did the time go? In a few days yet another year would have flown. He felt somehow let down, and smiled to himself as he thought of Professor McGonagall complaining of feeling old. Heavens--if she was old, what did that make him?
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
It is the nature of miracles to come without fanfare, when we least expect them.
That night, as Snape was brushing his teeth before bed, he happened to glance down to where his left hand rested on the edge of the sink. What he saw made his jaw fall open in shock, toothpaste dropping inelegantly from his mouth in frothy white blobs. He couldn't believe his eyes.
The Dark Mark was gone from his wrist, as if it had never existed.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
During the day or two following school examinations, several parties of a celebratory nature took place in the various common rooms throughout Hogwarts. A vague hint of impending goodbyes lingered in the air.
The Gryffindors' combination Successful-Exam-Passing-and-Leaving-Party thrown by Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan was particularly animated and loud. It seemed likely that all seventy members of Gryffindor house were present.
Hermione eyed the merrymakers a bit wearily. She wished it wasn't so close to the end of the school year; opportunities to talk to Ron had been few and far between lately, what with their different class schedules, Quidditch practice, and the fact that when they did have periods of spare time that coincided, Ron seemed to deliberately avoid spending any of it alone with her.
She sighed. She really did love him, but more and more lately she had wondered if it was as one-sided as it felt. In typical Hermione fashion, she worried at the subject in her mind until she was exhausted and out of sorts. It was in this frame of mind that she looked in on the end-of-term party, standing in a relatively quiet spot near the portrait hole. She scanned the crowd until she spied Ron across the room talking with Ginny and Neville.
"Penny for them," a familiar voice said close to her ear. Harry stood there, a bottle of butterbeer in one hand and a Chocolate Frog in the other. Hermione smiled wanly.
"Oh--hello, Harry. Great party, isn't it?" she said with forced enthusiasm.
Harry followed the direction of her gaze. Ah...Ron. Of course. Harry wished there was something he could do to help them get their friendship--not to mention their romance--running smoothly again. Things had been going so well for a while there. Harry wasn't by any means ready to think about anything as irrevocable as marriage for himself yet, but he had really thought his friends had what it took to build a lasting partnership, even if they were rather young. But now--well, maybe he'd been wrong.
Glancing back at Hermione, Harry noticed how wistful she seemed. This was silly, he thought--she and Ron torturing themselves over a broken romance that both of them seemed to want to repair. Because Ron, too, had done his share of moaning into Harry's ear over the past few weeks--saying how much he missed the old closeness he and Hermione had shared, how much he missed twitting her about her bossy manner, how much he just plain missed having her involve herself in his life every day. He was convinced that he had given her a permanent disgust of him, with his love of practical jokes and inability to take life seriously, but he was at a loss to know what to do about it.
"You could try talking to her," Harry had suggested dryly. And repeatedly. But Ron seemed to believe that as long as there was no private one-on-one time between him and Hermione, she wouldn't--couldn't--actually end their engagement.
"Ron, don't be an ass. How do you expect to stay engaged to her if you can't even talk to her?" Harry argued. But Ron stubbornly held his ground. His refusal to be drawn into private conversation with Hermione did not, however, stop him following her everywhere--listening to her conversations from a few seats along the table at meals or around a corner in the Library, watching her longingly from the dormitory windows as she sat by the lakeside with her friends, and so on. Harry was moved to comment sarcastically that Ron paid more attention to Hermione now that they weren't speaking than he ever had before. The word "stalker" might have been mentioned. But Ron ignored him and continued to act the part of Hermione's shadow.
Now Harry watched as Hermione seemed about to repeat Ron's shadowing performance, in reverse. He shook his head. A person could only be expected to take so much of this.
"Do you want to talk to him" he asked quietly. Startled, Hermione jerked round to see Harry watching her patiently. She sighed, but, being made of sterner stuff than Ron, nodded.
"Actually, I've been wanting to talk to him for some time now," she admitted. "But it's rather strange--he always seems to be around until I'm alone and we could be private, then he disappears off the face of the earth! I do want to talk to him, very much. But--I'm rather tired of chasing him, if you want to know the truth. If he's trying that hard to avoid me, maybe this whole thing just isn't worth it."
"Don't say that," Harry said, alarmed. "Don't even think it. You wait right here. Don't move. I'll be right back." He ducked off into the crowd and resurfaced near Ron.
"Psst! Ron!" he hissed. Ron looked up.
"Oh, there you are, Harry. Come over here--Neville, tell that joke again. You're going to love this, Harry--it's about a witch, a Centaur, and a House Elf, see, and--"
"Ron!" Harry broke in. "Look, sorry, you lot, but I need to borrow Ron for a minute, all right?" He grabbed Ron's arm. "Come on. I've got something to show you."
"Yeah, all right," Ron mumbled as he got to his feet. He followed closely behind Harry, trailing bits of popcorn from a handful that he was munching as he went. "What's so important, anyway?"
Harry swung round and grasped Ron by the shoulders. "Your future, mate," he said earnestly. "Your future happiness." He turned away slightly and beckoned to someone. Hermione stepped forward, a hesitant smile on her face.
Ron's heart thudded madly. This was the first time he'd seen her up close in days. She looked tired, he noticed. As if she hadn't been sleeping well. Nonetheless, he drank in the sight of her.
"Hermione," he croaked.
"Hello, Ron," she said. Strangely, she felt almost shy in front of him. "Nice party, isn't it?" She gave an awkward laugh.
Ron said, "Yeah. Nice." Her hair was such a nice color of brown, he was thinking. Almost the color of butterbeer. No--
"Caramel," he said decidedly. Hermione looked puzzled.
"Er--sorry?"
"Your hair--it's the color of caramel," he muttered. He turned bright red. "Sorry. Stupid thing to say."
"Actually, it was quite a lovely compliment," Hermione said. They smiled at each other, silly grins spreading across their faces.
Harry tsk'd. "Go on, you idiots," he said affectionately. "Maybe you could talk a little. Or something." Hermione and Ron seemed unable to look away from each other, he noted with satisfaction. Maybe it would be all right after all.
"I--I've missed you, Ron," Hermione offered, generously being the first to step out onto the limb. Those few words uncorked several weeks' worth of pent-up feelings in Ron.
"Oh, Merlin's beard, Hermione--I wasn't sure you'd ever want to speak to me again," he said, greatly relieved. "Life's not the same without you."
"Do you know, I've been thinking just that," she exclaimed. "You know, Ron, you really do some things that make me wonder about your sanity sometimes--but without you, life is so dull I can hardly bear it."
"Yeah," he agreed. "And without you bossing me around all day long, it's like--I dunno--like there's this big empty hole in my day. Because you're not there." He took her hand in his.
"Look here, Hermione. I know I'm not the serious type--I doubt I ever will be. But you know I care about you--you do know that, right?--and I do try to be a good person. Really, I do. I'll try to take life more seriously if you want me to. Just--please don't give up on me, Hermione. Nothing feels right when you're not around. I can't concentrate on anything. It's not even much fun cracking jokes if you're not there to roll your eyes at me." He jolted to a stop. "Aw, Hermione, I love you and that's the plain truth of it."
Hermione's eyes shone more brightly with every word.
"Ron, listen to me," she said when he finally ran out of words. "You're not to change one thing about yourself, do you hear? Not one thing," she said fiercely. "Do you know, after you stopped being around all the time, I realized something. Without you, there hardly ever seems to be anything worth laughing at."
"Wh--what?" Ron stuttered. Was she making fun of him?
"I put that badly," Hermione said hastily, seeing his hurt expression. "What I mean is that you have a gift for seeing the humor in everything. Even when I can't possibly see anything to laugh about, you can still make me laugh. I really love that about you. You make me happy."
Harry pursed his lips in a silent whistle and quietly backed away. Someone threw one of Bertie Bott's finest across the room, and as he ducked he thought how amazing it was that something so momentous was going on right there in plain sight and no one had noticed. He glanced back at Ron and Hermione to see them standing with their heads close together, not saying much except with their eyes, and suddenly he felt like the year was ending on the right note after all.
Completely apart from the end of Voldemort's reign of terror which, oddly, he had not thought of much since that night at Malfoy Manor.
In a way, it all seemed like the ending to a story--evil villain destroyed, young lovers reconciled, people saved in spite of themselves. It would almost seem trite, he supposed, if one read it in a book. But if a person had been in the midst of it all as it was happening, as he had--why, that made all the difference.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The Muggle Prime Minister had another late night ahead of him. He wasn't any too happy about it, either. Such a beautiful day as it had been; he'd hoped to leave a bit early, in fact, and go home to try out the new gas grill his wife had given him for his birthday. He envisioned it sitting on their garden terrace in all its stainless steel glory, exterior gleaming smartly, wood-handled grilling tools hanging from a rail along the side--thick, juicy steaks marinated to perfection and ready to toss onto the sizzling hot rack.
But no. He sighed. Instead he was stuck here going over figures from the Department of Health. Blasted idiots had to have got something wrong...the figures were far too low, surely. He heaved another, even weightier sigh of annoyance. Well, the old saying certainly was true--if you wanted something done properly, you had to see to it yourself. He got out his calculator and slapped it resentfully onto his desktop, rolling up his sleeves in preparation for the tedious job of checking figures.
"Ahem!"
He froze. Oh, God, no. Not tonight, he thought.
"Er--if I might have a word, Minister?"
The Prime Minister cringed. Not that blasted portrait again. He turned his head the slightest bit until he could, at the very edge of his vision, see the elderly wizard waving energetically to draw his attention. He cursed under his breath.
"What?" he ground out. It must be admitted that his tone was rather surly.
"So sorry, but the Minister of Magic would like a moment of your time, if it's not inconvenient?"
The Prime Minister aimed his best glare at the portrait. "Does he actually know the meaning of the word inconvenient, do you suppose?" he snarled.
"Ah--well, really, sir--" the wizard sputtered, wishing, not for the first time, that he'd never agreed to his portrait being placed in this office. Would it really have been so bad to be stuck quietly away in a museum somewhere? Had he really asked for this kind of abuse? After all, he was only doing his job. He drew himself up, all injured dignity.
"I'm afraid I really could not say, sir," he said frostily. "Will you see him, sir? He is standing by for your answer. Sir," he added with excruciating civility.
The Prime Minister only just managed to stop another sigh from escaping. "Oh, go on," he said ungraciously. "Might as well, what?" He tossed his pencil onto the desk. Clearly no work would be getting done until he got this over with.
The wizard bowed stiffly and edged out of the frame. This time he did not return to announce the Minister of Magic--probably off sulking somewhere, the Prime Minister thought. He watched the fireplace and waited expectantly.
In a moment the same green flames as before sprang up in the fireplace, followed almost immediately by the Minister of Magic emerging with a little pop! onto the hearth. The Prime Minster viewed Fudge's idea of sartorial splendor--purple robes and lime green bowler--and shuddered.
"My dear Minister, good evening," Fudge said unctuously. He stumbled a bit after energetically brushing ash from his robes. The Prime Minister was almost tempted to think he was acting as if he'd been...drinking?
"What can I do for you?" the Prime Minister asked briskly, in an attempt to get things moving--and get Fudge moving out of the office and back to where he belonged.
"Not a thing, not a thing," Fudge said jovially. "No--it's more what I can do for you, sir. I Have some good news for you. Yes," he repeated, "very good news indeed. You see, I've come to tell you that You-Know-Who is dead. Oh, I suppose it doesn't matter any more--Lord Voldemort, I mean, the Dark Lord. He's gone. Dead. Destroyed! The most marvelous thing. I can hardly believe it, myself. But it's true. I was there. I saw his remains for myself. Just imagine--four of them performing the Killing Curse simultaneously! Oh, what I wouldn't have given to see it for myself. But there, at least we have the comfort of knowing that the danger is past. I thought you should know--give you some peace of mind, I daresay, what?"
The Prime Minister privately thought that what would really give him peace of mind would be to wake up and find that this whole nonsensical business of witches and wizards and demon warlords and magical worlds had all been nothing more than a spectacular nightmare. But he wasn't a practical man, and a politician, for nothing.
"Excellent," he said heartily. "Glad to hear it. Good work! Yes, indeed. But look here, I'm sure you'll want to be getting back now," he said, and he came round the front of his desk. He shook Fudge's hand, leading him back toward the fireplace as he spoke. "Congratulations all round, to be sure. A job well done!" he enthused, clapping Fudge on the back. Fudge was torn between feeling insulted at being given the bum's rush and delight at the Prime Minister's unusual display of good cheer and friendliness.
"Right, then!" he said, smoothing his robes with great dignity, a quality he was used to drag out when he wasn't certain how to react. "I'll just--er--be off, then."
"Certainly, yes, off you go!" nodded the Prime Minister. "Thank you so much for coming to tell me yourself." He stopped himself just before uttering the words, "And do come again any time." Really, he had to watch his mouth around this fellow--before you knew it he'd be popping in for tea every second Tuesday, or some such nonsense.
Fudge drew out his small leather pouch of Floo Powder and took a pinch in his fingers. "I don't know when we'll meet again, sir," he said.
"Well," said the Prime Minister, "with any luck at all, we'll never need to, eh?" He smiled cheerfully at the thought and rocked back on his heels.
"Oh--er--right. Quite," murmured Fudge. He was beginning to feel positively disgruntled at this less than gracious treatment. "Good night, then." He flung the Floo Powder into the fireplace and snapped, "Ministry of Magic!" He stepped into the heatless green flames and whirled briefly, then disappeared.
For one brief moment the Prime Minister was seized by the crazy impulse to leap into the flames after Fudge and see what might happen. He stretched out one hand tentatively, but with a little poof the flames went out. He drew his hand back, half disappointed and half chagrined. He glanced surreptitiously at the wizard's portrait, but fortunately it was still empty.
The Prime Minister walked back to his desk. So--that Voldemort person was dead, was he? Best news he'd had all day. He looked for a moment at the papers and charts spread across his desk but thought, no. It's a lovely evening. I've worked hard enough today. The evil wizard is dead. I deserve to celebrate. "By Jove, I will!" he exclaimed aloud.
He rushed to his telephone, lifted the receiver, and punched a well-worn speed-dial button. "Hello, darling!" he said with a smile full of anticipation. "What do you say we try out that new grill tonight--steaks do you all right? That's right, nice thick ones. What's that?" He listened for a moment. "No, pet, I thought I'd be working late but as it turns out, I'm on my way home after all. Yes--right--me, too. See you in a jiffy!" He put down the receiver, leaped toward the door, and made a grab for his jacket hanging on the coat rack. In one swift motion he slammed the light switch down and drew the door shut. His jaunty footsteps echoed down the empty corridor toward the elevator.
In the dim office, the elderly wizard slid cautiously back into his frame, peering round for any sign of the Prime Minister. Satisfied that he was gone, the wizard sank into his armchair with little sounds of contentment and closed his eyes. Really, all this activity for a man his age was a lot to expect, it really was. He ought to see if Fudge wouldn't allow him to change places with one of the dozens of portraits stored peacefully away in the basement of the British Museum--just for the next hundred years or so, long enough to get in a really good nap. With a blissful sigh, he slept.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The Hogsmeade station was chaotic, as usual on a leaving day. There was much running about, looking for friends, last-minute loading of luggage, and goodbyes to those faculty who had come to see the students off. Hagrid was kept busy running after the first-years and making certain they all got aboard safely.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione were among the last to board. However, so many students were still in the passageway that Ron thought they might stand a decent chance at finding an empty compartment. They started down the corridor, weaving their way through hordes of students, and looking into each compartment they passed. After the first few it seemed their hopes might have been in vain, for all the compartments were stuffed full of students and luggage.
"How on earth can all the compartments be full with this many people still out in the passage?" Hermione wanted to know. The train jerked suddenly and started moving, picking up speed gradually until it was moving at a spanking pace and the crowd was swaying back and forth with its movement over the rails.
Suddenly Harry, in the lead, stopped abruptly, causing the others to pile up behind him. "Harry, keep going," Ron said impatiently. "I'm getting squashed between you guys."
Harry turned. "You two go on," he said. "I'll be along in a minute. Just want to talk to someone in here." He opened the door of the nearest compartment and slipped inside, shutting the door against the tide of humanity trying to make its way past.
Malfoy looked up. "What do you want?" he asked suspiciously.
Harry sat down opposite him. They were the only ones in the compartment. "Nothing--just to talk for a minute." He cocked his head at the empty seats. "Where are Crabbe and Goyle?"
Malfoy shrugged. "No idea. They seem to be avoiding me," he said. He looked at Harry. "You know, even though he's gone, some things will probably never change. Crabbe and Goyle, for example. Their fathers were both taken by the Ministry the night that--that--well, you know," he trailed off. He lifted his eyes to Harry's. "Most of Slytherin isn't talking to me any more, you know."
"Mm. That's rough," Harry said. "Will you be back next year?"
"Of course," Malfoy said. He lifted his chin. "It won't be all skittles and beer, but I'm sure I'll live through it." He stared out the window. "Will you be there?"
"Oh, sure," Harry said cheerfully. "It's going to be great, Malfoy. Just think--we'll finally be seventh-years."
Malfoy smiled faintly. "Right."
Harry studied him for a moment. He leaned forward earnestly. "Don't worry, Draco. It will be all right."
Malfoy lifted one arrogant blond eyebrow. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean." He returned his gaze to the passing scenery.
Harry felt a bit awkward. He felt as if Malfoy had thought him either patronizing or presumptuous, although he hadn't intended to be. What had happened to the rapport he thought the two of them had been building? He looked at Malfoy for a moment longer, then stood to go.
"Fine, then. See you around." He put his hand on the door handle and pushed. Glancing back, Harry caught Malfoy's smirk before he quickly turned away. "What's so funny?" he asked.
Malfoy laughed. "You. Worrying about everyone just like a mother hen." He held out a hand, and Harry slowly took it. "Have a good summer, Potter. Better rest up--you'll have your work cut out for you to beat me in Potions next year." He grinned.
Harry's heart lifted. "Ha!" he snorted. "That'll be the day." He slid the door open and glanced back at Malfoy with a smirk. "Didn't you know? I'm Snape's favorite!" He swung out of the compartment, Malfoy's laughter ringing in his ears.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
When the train pulled into King's Cross at the end of the afternoon, it was still light. Harry and the others made their way from Platform 9-3/4 back to the Muggle part of the station, where their families were waiting.
"Don't forget," said Ron over Molly's shoulder as she hugged him tightly, "in August you're to come to us for the entire month."
"Right," Harry said. "And this time I can Apparate--cool!"
Hermione ran up and flung her arms around him. "Bye, Harry," she said, and squeezed him tight. "Until August!" She threw him a quick smile and went to join her parents, who stood waiting.
"Bye, Harry," said Ginny. She gave him a one-armed hug as she passed, and said, "I can't wait to see you again!" Her glance seemed to linger on him a little longer than absolutely necessary, and it made him wonder...but here came the Dursleys, and he forgot about Ginny for the moment.
Arthur Weasley was busily greeting Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, diving for their hands and shaking them jovially even as they tried to duck around him unnoticed. Harry smiled. Some things would never change. Just then, Uncle Vernon caught sight of him.
"Ah, Harry!" he said, sounding relieved. Well, that was a first, thought Harry.
"Hello, Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia," Harry said warily. They were smiling--awkwardly, but smiling nevertheless--which made him nervous.
"Er--welcome home, Harry," Aunt Petunia said in a trembling voice. She came up and reached for Harry's shoulders. He flinched before he could stop himself, instinctively expecting a slap. But she whispered in his ear, "Your Headmaster came to the house earlier and told us what's happened. I want to hear all about it when we get home, mind."
She drew back and, aware that the Weasleys were looking on with understandable incredulity, patted Harry's shoulder and said brightly, "Well! I expect we'd best get you home. You probably have scads of dirty laundry that needs doing. Boys, you know," she said in an aside to an astonished Molly Weasley. "Always getting so dirty!" She bustled around Harry and Uncle Vernon, moving them inexorably along toward the exit. Uncle Vernon picked up one end of Harry's trunk and motioned to Dudley, who had said nothing the whole time, to pick up the other--which, amazing, he did without comment. Harry brought up the rear, carrying Hedwig's cage and his broomstick.
They emerged from the station into the bright sunshine. Uncle Vernon hunted in his pockets for his car keys, and Aunt Petunia was hovering around him, not really helping. Harry looked back for a moment and saw Malfoy and his father exit the station. Lucius did not even try to fit in with the Muggle crowd but proudly wore his customary black wizard's robes. They had no luggage; Harry knew one of their House Elves had probably Apparated back to Malfoy Manor with it.
He caught Malfoy's eye and nodded, and Malfoy gave a small wave in return. Lucius looked up and gazed at Harry with his cool blue eyes for a moment, then said something to Malfoy and turned abruptly to go in the opposite direction from the Dursleys.
Harry grinned. As Malfoy had said, it wouldn't be all skittles and beer. But he was pretty sure it was going to be all right.