"This is not one of your smarter ideas," Hermione muttered, slipping past the grumpy gargoyle and going up the stairs to the Headmistress's office.

"Where else are you going to get a pensieve on Christmas?" Ron hissed back.

Harry popped the door open and led them into the office, which was a lot less cluttered than it had been in Dumbledore's time.

"I don't know, come back during the day so we're not breaking in?" Hermione replied.

"We're not breaking in," Harry interjected, his voice regular volume instead of a whisper. "The gargoyle let us in. Technically we just snuck onto school grounds."

"I sort of miss it," Ron said, grinning. Hermione rolled her eyes at him, but then offered a small smile of agreement.

Harry opened the cabinet with the pensieve and drew it out, placing it on a stand in the middle of the office so they all had room to gather around it.

"I've only done this spell once, during the trials after the war, so the memories might get cut off at the wrong spot," Harry said. He put his wand to his head and drew several threads of memories out, swishing them down to the bowl. "Don't comment on anything till we're back at mine, the portraits here are nosy."

Harry glanced up as he said that, and saw several portraits reacting to that statement. Some appeared insulted, some chastised, and Dumbledore just winked before going back to sleep.

"Here we go," Harry muttered, leaning forward with Ron and Hermione to enter the memories.

The swirling memory turned into bright sky and light grey clouds as they passed through, landing with a soft thump on dirty tile flooring, beside memory Harry who was quickly moving in the crowd.

The whistling and cheering echoed down the stairs as memory Harry made his way out of the tube station, wincing in the bright light that shadowed Big Ben. The chants were louder now, colourful flashes passing by as people walked from the bridge to the parade route. Harry walked along the wall, slinking through the crowd, reading some of the signs as he passed. He was dressed as a regular muggle and blended in, though the light on his arm from the night in the cemetery a few weeks earlier caught a few glances as he walked down the street.

"Hey hey, ho ho!" the crowd shouted, anger raising the volume. Harry turned the corner and walked toward Downing Street.

"28 has got to go!"

He felt plain, in jeans and a t-shirt, and didn't know where was appropriate to look. There were a huge variety of people out, with a dizzying array of glitter and feathers floating through the air. Men in nothing but underpants, women in leather, drag queens with the tallest heels he'd ever seen. Harry was sure he was staring, and realised that this was likely what muggles felt like when they encountered wizards. He watched the middle of the parade, looking at a tall slender man, shirtless and in royal purple skin tight bottoms. He carried a sign with a photo of Margaret Thatcher on it, devil horns drawn on and a scrawled 'Screw Thatcher' underneath. The man was gazing back and forth through the crowd, and Harry looked away to avoid catching his gaze.

He wasn't the only one to be staying back in the shadows, and Harry froze as they made accidental eye contact. Across the street, watching from a nearly identical alcove to his own, was Severus Snape. Not the Snape of Hogwarts, the imposing wizard with miles of robes and consistently stern look, but rather a muggle-ised version, light grey jeans, plain blue shirt, and his hair still long but tied back.

"Shit," Harry muttered, having lost all interest in remaining at the parade. It had taken him two hours to convince himself to go, and now he was kicking himself for doing it.

"Leaving already?" Snape hissed, having suddenly apparated and blocking Harry's path.

"You can't apparate in front of muggles," Harry said, glaring up at Snape. "Sir."

"Today of all days they'll never notice," Snape immediately answered. "Why are you here, Potter."

It was a statement more than a question, and Harry bristled. He pushed against Snape, trying to leave, but Snape caught his shirt and held him in place.

"What does it matter?" Harry said. "It's a public event and I don't have to explain why I came to see it."

The grip softened slightly, and Harry glanced down to Snape's wrist, where there was a thin beaded rainbow bracelet, the only thing that gave away that Snape was there as more than just as curious bystander. Snape noticed him staring and the tendon of his arm flexed, but there was no long sleeve to cover it up.

"Why does it matter? The Dark Lord has just returned and you decide to galivant to London. And of all places to stand, you happened to be across the street from myself," Snape growled.

"Are you okay, honey?"

A lesbian couple, looking very butch with black shirts with rolled up sleeves, buzzed short hair, and jeans with braces, had turned around from the parade and were watching them closely.

"Yeah," Harry said, nodding. "Yeah, we... know each other."

"All right then, you be good."

One turned back around to watch the parade, but the other watched for a few seconds longer, hand on her hip.

"Fuck section 28!" the crowd yelled, breaking some of the tension.

Snape nodded at the woman, his fist still gripping Harry's shirt. He looked younger than he did in school, but then finding Snape in the muggle world, dressed as a muggle, was something Harry never thought he'd ever see.

"I didn't want to see someone I knew. I'd rather you not go around spreading the news either, sir," Harry said, "no matter what the particular motivation I had to be here."

Snape tilted his head a little, his eyes dark and focused and making Harry uncomfortable. The parade carried on loudly around them but Harry was trapped, watching as Snape studied him.

"It's a very lonely life, Potter," Snape said finally said, his tone odd and quiet. He seemed to have realised that Harry had only run into him by honest accident.

"Be sure it's what you want."

He let go of Harry's shirt and stepped back, disapparating before Harry could process the sentence. Harry pulled his shirt down and looked across the street again, but didn't see Snape. All of his excitement about going out had immediately drained, and Harry watched the people go by, feeling like he belonged in the shadows where he stood.

A swirl of mist swallowed up the sounds of the parade and the next scene was months later, Harry in his invisibility cloak in the hallway outside of Snape's office. Umbridge was in the office, her mock friendly high voice carrying through the door as he eavesdropped.

"Surely you have something," she said, in a tone that conveyed that she thought she was right, "I know you're not exactly fond of the boy."

"I am not fond of any of the students," Snape blandly replied. Harry shifted his position a little, and Snape could be seen through the gap of the door, sitting at his desk and looking bored.

"Hem hem," she said, clicking her tongue. "Perhaps I shall put my request in a different format to ensure you understand. I need to make certain that the boy obeys every decree I set. Any particular information you may have to assist that is immediately required."

A second ticked by as Snape stared at her with an impassive face.

"I understood your request. There is no such information."

The dungeon disappeared before Umbridge's reply was heard, and they were catapulted a few years ahead, to the bothy. Harry and Snape sitting silently on the bed, sheet hanging between them, as they covered their arms with the pain-relieving salve. It swirled to the next scene, Harry on the floor leaning against Snape, Hermione's patronus telling him that Ron was safe.

The memory was short and cut quickly, as if Harry didn't want to spend a lot of time reliving the moment he'd found out about Fred. The next memory was still in the bothy, with Harry laying on the floor on his stomach, giant hand drawn map of Hogwarts laid out. Stacks of note paper were skewed about beside him, knickknacks from the bothy representing different elements of the castle. A cup of coffee was in the middle, where the Great Hall was.

"The seven passages have been blocked," Snape said, leaning against the worktop with his own cup of coffee in his left hand. He, much like Harry, was wearing plaid pyjama trousers with a t-shirt, and was in stocking feet. It was clear they'd been in the bothy a while.

"I don't think those are the only ways into Hogwarts," Harry said. He was propped up on his arms, but it was obvious that the right one was only just supporting him and not able to do anything else. "But noted. I think there's at least one, maybe two things I'm looking for."

"The castle has many hiding spaces," Snape said, somewhat sarcastically. "It would help if you knew what you were looking for."

Harry moved his coffee cup to a room off the side of the library, and drew a line from the seventh-floor corridor toward Ravenclaw's tower.

"Not that way," Snape said, nudging Harry's leg with his foot. "That area is monitored heavily."

Harry nodded and scribbled out his writing. "Once I've destroyed them, I'd rather the battle be outside; less damage to Hogwarts that way."

"The castle will self-repair," Snape said, not sounding too bothered about destruction. He also understood that this would be the final battle.

"Does it really?" Harry asked, looking up in surprise. "Huh."

"Will any of your mystery items be in the Shrieking Shack?" Snape asked, nodding at the scrunched up green napkin that was serving as a tree on the map.

"Doubt it," Harry said. "It'll probably be something from each of the founders."

He tapped the pen on his chin as he studied the map.

"Are any of the ghosts related to the founders, Severus?"

"Pardon?" Snape said, still leaning relaxed against the worktop.

"The ghosts," Harry repeated, still tapping his chin as he looked down.

"The name," Snape clarified. Harry looked up at him with a daring expression.

"We're adults planning the final stages of a war that will likely kill me," Harry pointed out.

Snape looked slightly annoyed, but didn't counter.

"I believe the Grey Lady may be of assistance in this case," Snape said. "Harry."

"Brilliant," Harry said, ignoring Snape's tone. "So possibly the room of requirement, and then find the Grey Lady. And once they're all done… I don't know if I'll know. I don't know if I'll be missing anything."

"You should consider the snake," Snape quietly said. "Albus specifically mentioned that you will know what to do once the snake is guarded."

"That's news to me," Harry muttered. He took a few more terribly-written notes and then struggled to sit up, given that his right arm still refused to mostly support him.

"This will do for now," Snape said. "Once you have confirmation on locations within the castle you can send them through the potion card."

"Sure," Harry said, dusting off his pyjamas as he stood. Snape still looked relaxed, but also satisfied with what they'd discussed. Harry almost felt bad that he was about to ruin it.

"What do you know of the Deathly Hallows, by the way?"

The map became blurry and the scene changed, to Harry lying in bed and staring up the bothy's ceiling. The sheet dividing the bed was missing, and even though all the lights were out, Snape was clearly visible, not that far away.

"I must die," Harry said, his voice slightly rough. The silence in the room was not a comfortable one.

"Yes," Snape finally answered. The bothy was quite warm from the fire still, and they were both laying on top of the blankets.

"All this training, all this searching, it's been so I can die, at the right time and in the right way."

"I thought you'd suspected this for a while," Snape sardonically said. When Harry didn't answer, Snape reached over with his bare foot and tapped Harry's.

"There's a difference between being killed in a war and actively sacrificing myself," Harry said, his voice low in the dark. "Just as I'm not as brave as everyone says. I don't have a choice. That's different."

He shuffled himself on the bed, a little bit closer to the middle and toward Snape.

"There's also a difference between suspecting and being told it's true."

The scene shifted again to a bright sunny day, of Snape sitting at the table shirtless, his face contorted in pain as Harry did his best to massage an arm muscle cramping so strongly that the knot could be seen through the skin.

Finally, they ended up in the bothy in the evening, cheap beer at the table where Snape was sitting. Harry was in a vest, moving his right arm constantly as he fought the pins and needles from the nerve regrowth.

"You've thought of what you'll do after the war?" Snape asked. He had a stress ball in his right hand, squeezing it methodically.

"I'll go to the muggle world for a bit," Harry said. "It's what I've done every year after, gone to the Dursley's. And something has always happened at the end of the school term. It's like a time to reset myself, take stock of what's happened and deal with it."

He swung his arm around as he paced in front of the bed, grimacing at the feeling.

"What about you? Will you leave Hogwarts?"

"If I escape Azkaban, I shall consider myself lucky," Snape said, taking a sip of his beer. "Should I even survive."

"You'll survive," Harry said, pausing to pour some more beer for himself. "What happened to that brew fame and bottle glory stuff?"

"Bottle fame, brew glory," Snape corrected, rolling his eyes. "Thank you ever so much for paying attention."

"That's it," Harry said, with a smirk. "Maybe I was thinking of Slughorn's speech."

Snape threw the stress ball at Harry, but his right arm wasn't strong enough yet to aim it properly. Having had a jar of cockroaches launched at his head once before, Harry was grateful for that.

"It may come to a surprise to you but the killing curse isn't cured by a potion."

Harry shrugged. "It's not supposed to be survivable at all. But you should plan for something. You won't be tied to Dumbledore, or Hogwarts anymore."

"That's very naïve of you to think that," Snape said. He got up to retrieve the stress ball, so he could continue to work on his arm. "I will always be seen as a professor, as a Death Eater."

He moved around Harry, picking up the ball. Harry had stopped swinging his arm around, but was still trying to flex his muscles to see where he was in the regrowth stages.

"Which is rubbish," Harry said. Snape looked at his arm, tracing his finger down the bicep to Harry's elbow.

"Still can't really feel that," Harry said. "And that's the problem with the magical world. Everything is judged, from the moment you step in as a child. Your wand judges you and proclaims the type of person you are or will become; your robes, whether they're new or hand me downs. Your animal that you bring to school. The house you are sorted into. That's a lot to put on an eleven-year-old."

Snape prodded Harry's arm further, gently squeezing Harry's forearm, and then moving to his fingers to test their strength.

"I didn't choose to be a Death Eater at eleven, if that is what you're implying," Snape murmured.

"I'm not," Harry said, staring down at his hand as Snape worked. "But my point stands. People still talk about what house someone belongs to, long after they've left Hogwarts. Why can that person not have changed? Grown? What if the hat is only right for that moment in time?"

Snape moved back up Harry's arm, tapping the skin with his finger. He got to the upper arm and started poking it.

"The sorting hat is one of the most intelligent and sentient objects in the magical world," Snape said, moving to the inside of Harry's arm.

"Ow," Harry said, swatting away Snape's hand. "Stop it, I can feel that."

"Can you?" Snape asked, and he had a mischievous glint in his eye as he kept poking, despite Harry trying to wrestle his arm away.

"Yes," Harry said, laughing. He tried to spin away but tripped on the chair leg that was next to him. Snape caught him, pulling Harry back against his chest.

Harry watched himself in the memory, seeing the soft and happy smile on his own face as Snape held him tight and murmured something in his ear. He felt a sudden pang in his gut, longing for that closeness again.

"Okay," he said, and they shot up out of the memories and landed back in the office, Harry with a guarded expression as he waited to see what his friends would say. It was a lot to take in, he knew it was, and he'd been deliberately vague when previously recounting his time in the bothy. And now they knew why.

"Harry," Hermione said, slowly shaking her head. He couldn't tell if she felt sorry for him or disappointed for what he'd shown her. "I wish you could have told us before."

He gave a hopeful little smile at those words, but looked on to Ron to see how Ron was doing.

"He never mentioned that summer day to you again?" Ron carefully asked, making sure his words wouldn't be understood by the portraits.

"Never as long as I was a student. Ever," Harry confirmed.

Ron nodded.

"There's one more memory," Harry said. "One more that I want to show you. But it starts a little, um. Well, you'll see."

"It's okay, Harry," Hermione said. "We'll keep it secret."

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "It stays with us."

Harry drew one more strand out and floated it down into the bowl, taking a deep breath before they entered the memory.

It was early morning, frost on the window sills of the bothy and the sun just starting to rise in the window. The dark room suddenly flashed brightly and an alarm sounded, piercing the silent morning.

In the flashing light it became evident that two people were together on the bed, sleeping in a spooning pose under the same blanket. The little spoon, Harry, immediately jumped out of bed, stark naked as he ran to the window to look outside.

"We've been discovered," Snape urgently said, whipping the blanket off and grabbing a shirt to put on. He dropped his wand a few times, but finally gripped it strongly enough to cast a few spells. "Several people in the outer perimeter of the forest."

"Outer?" Harry asked, "they're not by the bothy, but I can see smoke to the south."

"Muggle or magic?" Snape demanded, not bothering with socks as he shoved his boots on.

Harry squinted as he looked out again.

"Can't tell, but…. the smoke looks like a dragon's tail."

Snape froze, before throwing trousers at Harry. "Fiendfyre. They know you're here"

"How?" Harry demanded, getting dressed as quickly as he could. Once he was done, he used magic to summon everything useful in the bothy, cramming it into a backpack. He'd put a space enhancing spell on it, like Hermione's bag, but Harry wasn't sure he'd be able to fit everything in in time. The alarms were getting more frequent, and the flames of the fire were closely visible in the window.

"It doesn't matter," Snape said, also packing all his things. "They don't know exactly where, hence the fire. And it'll burn this whole area."

"So, this is it," Harry said, closing his bag and looking around for anything else he'd missed. One of the windows suddenly exploded from the fire, which had formed into wings of a dragon and smashed it. Harry fell to the floor, grunting as a shard of glass slashed him in the leg.

Snape dropped to the floor, wand immediately at the glass to pull it out.

"Leave it, I can do it," Harry said, his own hand shaking as he tried to do it himself.

"We need to go," Snape needlessly said. Within seconds the glass was out and Harry grimaced as the cut was healed. Snape worked fast; his own bag used as a shield over his head as the second window in the bothy exploded. "The fire will consume everything."

He shoved the remaining bottles of nerve regrowth potion in Harry's pockets, and went to stand up to disapparate. Harry caught him before he could, his hand reaching to the back of Snape's head and grasping his hair.

"See you at the finish line," Harry said, giving Snape a rough and desperate kiss. The back wall of the bothy darkened ominously and started smoking as the fire raged around. Flames broke through as they disapparated, and the memory vanished.

The landing back in the Headmistress' office was smoother this time, and Harry spent a minute collecting his memory from the pensieve while Ron and Hermione processed what they'd just seen.

Hermione approached, picking up a Daily Prophet from the desk, and instead of offering sympathies, began whacking him in the arm. "I thought you said you were fine!"

"It was war! Fine is relative!" Harry exclaimed, caught off guard and trying to shield himself from her smacks.

Ron made absolutely no effort to stop her, but drew his wand immediately when he saw a shadow move at the other end of the room.

"What a surprise, to find you three in a place you don't belong at Hogwarts."

McGonagall was standing in the doorway of the office in a dressing gown, her hair tied up into a bonnet and her expression slightly less than amused as she stared at them. She looked like she had been in for the evening and been disrupted by whatever alarm they'd set off.

"Happy Christmas, Professor," Ron said, relaxing a bit once he realised they weren't in danger.

"And to you, Mr Weasley. To what do I owe this honour?" McGonagall said. "You could visit during regular daytime hours, of course."

"Sorry," Harry said, "but we needed a pensieve and couldn't think of where else to get one on Christmas day."

She tsked at them, but Harry suspected she wasn't really that angry.

"And I suppose it couldn't wait?"

"Not really," Ron said, with a contrite shrug. "It's some war stuff. And it's been a long day."

"We should probably go, in that case," Hermione said, giving Ron and Harry a pointed look. "Sorry to bother you, Professor."

McGonagall gave them a fond smile.

"You're always welcome," she said. "And should you decide to give me notice next time, I shall have tea ready."

Harry grinned.

"That'd be nice. We'll send an owl," he said. She was stern and often had a disapproving look on her face, but Harry knew that she cared for them quite a bit.

"I will see you in a few days in any event, Mr Potter, to continue your NEWTS. I presume you received a note from Severus regarding the change?"

Harry nodded as he put the pensieve back in the cabinet.

"I really don't know why he changed his mind all of a sudden," she said, looking at him expectantly. "But I look forward to teaching you again."

"Conflict of interest," Harry offered. He pointed at the fireplace. "Could we use the floo?"

She waved her permission, and before they could get into further trouble, they said their goodbyes and spun away into the flames.

Harry landed first at the flat, noting that the television had switched over to a different muggle Christmas movie that Harry wasn't as familiar with.

"So now you know," Harry said, dusting the fireplace ash off his clothing with a dust pan. He still hadn't looked up at his friends, and was trying to act casually.

"He seemed so different," Hermione said, as she moved into Harry's kitchen to put on a kettle.

"Yeah. It was weird," Ron said, flopping down on the couch. "How's your leg?"

"Scarred," Harry shrugged. "You've already seen me naked tonight, so you'll just have to imagine the scar."

Ron laughed.

"Are you okay with this?" Harry asked, his tone more serious.

Hermione stood in the doorway of the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to finish.

"We don't know him like you do, Harry," she said. "I'd be open to meeting him again, as adults, but it's going to be a challenge to make the wizarding world like him."

"He's built a bit of a reputation," Ron said, intentionally understating the truth.

"Yeah, he has," Harry agreed. "But I know this side of him now. And I miss what we had in the bothy."

Ron glanced up at Hermione, his expression softening as he looked at her.

"I get that, mate," Ron said.

"Harry," Hermione started, looking a bit hesitant about what she was going to say next. "Do you think the bothy was real? Or that maybe it was an opportunity of war, for both of you?"

"I dunno," Harry said. "That's why I want to see. I haven't fallen in love with him or anything, it was literally just a few weeks."

"I'd be a bit concerned if you had, given that he murdered Dumbledore and was such a prick at school," Ron said. He looked like he was trying to be helpful at least, and didn't seem surprised when Harry rolled his eyes.

"He's still not that nice," Harry said. "We've argued a few times since I've been back already. But, it's more on even ground, if that makes sense."

Hermione came back from the kitchen with her tea, looking quite pensive.

"It does," she said. "But this isn't going to go down well, I don't think. People are going to have a hard enough time with you coming out, without it being Snape that you're dating. The bad history between you two isn't a secret, and some might think he groomed you."

"That's sort of why I asked about the parade memory," Ron said, making room on the couch for Hermione. "Because if he had, I'm not above…"

"He definitely didn't," Harry interrupted. "He never mentioned it at all, until we were in the bothy."

"Is he out?" Hermione asked.

"He said he was, to some," Harry answered. "But to be honest I think a lot of the people he came out to are now dead."

Ron snorted at that, and Harry smirked a little. It wasn't really that funny, but it was definitely a true hazard of Snape's life up until that point.

Hermione sighed. "You really don't like to do things the easy way, Harry."

"Do you know other gay wizards you could set me up with?" Harry sarcastically threw back.

"Well, no," she admitted. "And from your memories… it doesn't necessarily look like a bad match. But just… be careful, okay?"

"I don't think there's a lot of overlap in being careful, and being myself, in those Venn diagrams you like," Harry said.

…

Harry held the purple heart block up to the window and slowly rotated it, checking to see if there were any knots in it. He'd sharpened his chisels earlier that morning and had split the

wood already, but it was hard on his tools and dulled the chisel edges faster than he'd expected. He had a notepad beside him, and had taken a few notes on the wood as he'd worked. It was stubborn and unyielding, harsh against the steel of his tools. But sanded well, which Harry thought was interesting. Almost like the inside was hardened and strong, but the outside easily finished and yielded to fit the final design.

Perhaps a wand suited for a government representative, Harry thought. He added that to his notes for Ollivander, and continued working on it. The hardness of the wood made Harry think that phoenix feather or dragon heart string would be a better match, as he suspected the unicorn hair wouldn't handle the immobility as well.

He worked a little bit longer on it, shaping the wood into an elongated diamond, to place on the end of a broken elm wand that he had picked up in a second-hand shop. If he was right, the woods would pair well with the dragon heartstring he was adding, and if not, well. He'd test it outside somewhere to minimise potential damage.

Satisfied with how the wood was forming, Harry put it back down on the desk and stretched. Den would be there in the next half hour or so, and Harry was keeping himself busy to distract himself from being nervous. He eyed the red oak again, the small off-cut that he'd found in Diagon Alley, that felt friendly and calming in his hand. He didn't know what he was going to do with it yet, but couldn't stop picking it up. It was a comforting piece of wood, and though Harry's own wand felt back to normal again with the walnut he'd added, he knew he'd find a good use for the oak.

…

"I really appreciate this, Harry," Katie said twenty minutes later, setting up a recorder on the table in front of them. She had a muggle recorder ready to go, and a self-writing quill with a fresh pad of paper next to it. "We've had some sales, but I think you being on the cover will make people take our magazine seriously."

Harry gave her an awkward smile and adjusted his watch, turning it over on his wrist. His scars weren't fully hidden, and though Harry wanted to pull his sleeves down over his hand, he didn't.

"Thanks," Harry said. "This is my one and only interview, I think."

"You make it sound like you have big secrets to tell," Katie said. Den moved around them, setting up photo lights and adjusting the blinds in Harry's sitting room to control the shadows.

"Yeah," Harry said, shaking his right arm a little. He'd noticed that the nerves ached more when he was nervous. "Might do."

"Well, let's start with something easy," Katie gently said. She'd always been a fierce competitor on the Gryffindor quidditch team, but Harry had admired her friendliness all through his years at Hogwarts and was pleased to see that even after the war she was the same honest and likeable friend.

"Did you have a nice holiday in the muggle world?"

Harry laughed.

"Yeah, I think I did. I just wanted to go somewhere where the only thing I had to fight was a cash machine."

Katie grinned. "We'll have to explain what that is to the purebloods. Were you successful?"

"With the cash machines? Absolutely not," Harry said, with a grin. "But again, I wasn't the only one fighting them. Muggles have problems with them too."

"They're more of an inconvenience than useful sometimes," Den agreed.

"But it was all right. For a while it was hard to believe that it was finally over, and I think it was good for me to be in a place where no one talked about it to me. Because they didn't know it had happened."

Katie nodded at that, and checked to see that her notes we being recorded properly.

"Now that you're back are you going to be joining the Ministry?" Katie asked.

"No," Harry said. He didn't add anything else, but she was waiting and he realised that his answer wasn't really helpful for writing an article. "No, I'm interested in making wands and I've been learning about it from Mr Ollivander."

"Learning from, not competing against?"

"No competition," Harry confirmed, shaking his head. "I don't think I'd enjoy running a shop at all. I just…my entire life as a wizard was directed at this one big thing. Defeating Voldemort. And that's okay, that's what needed to be done. But it is done now, and I don't need to be that person any more. I can step back and let other people, more qualified people, do that sort of thing."

"Would you consider teaching defence though?" Den asked. "You were great with Dumbledore's Army."

"You were brilliant as students," Harry said. "And the group was brilliant too, but there's better people that can teach that. I've spent the last few years being paranoid and on high alert, and I don't think I could do that for the rest of my life. "

"I think that's understandable," Katie said, flipping over her question page in her hand. "You've always been known as the Boy Who Lived, and I suppose people expected you to go on to lead the aurors."

"Yes, exactly," Harry said, a bit bluntly. "That's the problem with the Boy Who Lived. They expect him to pick right up after the war and lead the aurors against dark wizards for decades to come. But that's not what I've been doing. I've been jogging, and reading, and watching football. And people are disappointed to hear it. Fine. That's what I want from now on. Mild befuddlement and disappointment. That's me."

"It really isn't," Katie laughed. "For what you've done for us, I don't ever think you'll be a disappointment."

"I hope you're right," Harry said, chewing his bottom lip a little.

"Have you found it hard to let go? To not try to jump in and help people?"

"Sure, that's part of why I left," Harry said. "Back in May there was lots of talk about searching out Voldemort supporters, and I was a bit interested in that. But it brought back a lot of anxiety, so I stopped."

He paused for a moment and summoned a glass of water.

"I do have a friend in the muggle world, who I'd love to help make her life easier. The urge is always there. But I know I can't."

Den called for a pause, and flipped the tape in the muggle recorder. Harry wiped his hands on his jeans, knowing that he'd give his secret soon and still feeling quite nervous about it. He couldn't stop remembering Charlie's reaction, but tried to push it out of his mind.

"This has always been a mystery, since it was first reported over a year ago," Katie started, and Harry knew immediately what was coming. "What really happened at the Massacre of Godric's Hollow?"

"I think the papers built this up to be a big disaster, a conspiracy, or a battle," Harry said. "But it really wasn't. I planned to meet someone there, and I wanted to visit the grave of my parents on Christmas. I wasn't the only one who had that idea."

"Was there a fight?" Den asked, his attention rapt.

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. "I didn't even know they'd died. I escaped, and found out the next day."

Katie's gaze floated down to his hand, and Harry looked down as well.

"I'm not sure I want to talk about that," Harry quietly said. He still wasn't fully sure why; he had plenty of other scars that weren't a secret, and the lightning bolt one was even famous. But the arm scarring was a reminder of how close he'd come to death during the war, that hadn't been inevitable, and it was still a physical weakness to him.

"Sure," Den said. "We'll maybe still show it in the pictures, but that's okay."

Harry nodded, and took another sip of water.

"What about the Burning of Dartmoor?" Den asked.

"I didn't cause it, if that's what you mean," Harry said, with a slightly cheeky smile. "But I was there."

"Was it a duel?" Katie asked. "We saw almost nothing of you during that year, and only heard lies from Death Eaters, tales of you fleeing and failing and such."

"No, it wasn't a duel," Harry said, his smile gone. "I wasn't just laying low last year, I had things to do to make sure he never came back. I spent months on the run, in hiding. Only seeing or speaking to two or three other people. Trying to be ready for the final battle. And on a cold morning in January my location was found."

Katie had such a look of concern on her face that Harry glanced away, finding it slightly uncomfortable.

"And they couldn't take the chance that they'd miss me," Harry said. "They were smart. Fiendfyre is terrifying and destructive and will never stop hunting and consuming everything in its path. It looks like a massive dragon made of fire. I can't explain the fear and feeling of being absolute prey as it chases you, incinerating everything. I've only ever faced it twice in my life and if I never see it again it'll still be too soon."

Harry took a break in the silence to push away the memory that was at the forefront of his mind. He knew that it had made the news, knew that it had sparked a fierce number of rumours and speculation that Harry had been killed, or Harry had gone mad and started it. He'd read later that it had taken a team of ten wizards to restore the forest to Dartmoor.

"Maybe a lighter question, Harry?" Katie asked. "Do you have happy dating news we can share?"

"That's… not really lighter," Harry said. He scratched the back of his neck out of nervousness.

"I'm not currently dating anyone," Harry said, and that part was easy. Katie and Den looked curious; he could tell they didn't know why it'd be difficult. Harry swallowed. "And when I do, it won't be a witch."

"It won'…oh," Katie said, her voice soft. Den blinked a few times, as if he wasn't sure he'd heard correctly.

"It won't be a troll either though, right?" Katie said, smiling in a way that he knew she understood but was offering the light-heartedness tease.

"No. No, it'll be a wizard," Harry confirmed. "Gay."

Den gave him a small nod.

"Do you want us to print that though, Harry?" Den asked. "Once it's out…"

"Then I will be too," Harry finished. "I know. This could be a terrible idea."

He got up out of the chair and went to the window, looking down on to the people in Diagon Alley. He itched to do something with his hands, and reached over to pick up the red oak chunk from his desk.

"But it's going to come out at some point, and I'd rather control it. I want to do that through your magazine, instead of the Daily Prophet."

Harry turned back around, tossing the wood back to his desk.

"It's a big deal, isn't it?" Harry said, as if he wasn't actually certain himself. Maybe he'd just been working it up in his head for so long that he'd blown it out of proportion. But after Charlie's reaction, maybe not.

"But I can't hide this. I don't want to."

"We'll write it seriously, don't worry," Katie said. "And we'll stand behind you."

"Yeah, Harry," Den said. "We're okay with it. You're the one who beat You Know Who. No one should say anything bad to you."

"Hopefully not," Harry said, with a false smile. He didn't believe it would be that easy. It wasn't even just the differentness of it; the wizarding world was small, and he knew feathers would be ruffled that he wouldn't be settling down and having children right away, as was generally expected. He knew there were more Charlies to come.

"Do you have a message you want to say to anyone about it?" Den asked.

Harry shrugged.

"Other than it's not really their business?"

"Hah, yeah," Den said. "Hopefully people take it that way."

"Even if they don't, I've definitely faced worse," Harry said.

"That's…true," Den agreed. "Why don't we get a picture for the front page?"

"Good idea," Katie said. "I think I can work with what we've got. I'll owl you the draft this week, before we start printing."

They spent a few minutes arranging the flat before deciding on the best position. Den tried a few different angles with the lighting, and finally it was Harry sitting on his couch in jeans, his dark grey knit jumper, and hair wildly sticking up in random directions. He was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, holding the red oak block loosely in his hands. The scarring was slightly noticeable, but not the focus of the shot – that instead was Harry's fierce gaze and strong green eyes.

AN: You can find some helpful information on Section 28 if you google that term - both the BBC and Pinknews have good articles on it. It was a terrible act that was passed to legalise violence, hatred, and bigotry toward LGBT youth and adults, from 1988 up until it was repealed in 2000 and 2003. It took away a lot of support for queer youth at a very hard time in their lives. Fuck Margaret Thatcher.