Chapter 3

"I was beginning to think you'd never show, especially after hearing what the Potter boy's just said." Snape attempted a smile at Phineas which looked like it would have been more appropriate at a deathday party.

Slughorn drew his wand and ambled across the office. "That portrait cannot stay here," he puffed. "In Dumbledore's old office, no less."

"No!" All faces, living and painted, turned towards Harry. "Leave him there, it's where he belongs." Harry maneuvered away from the door through the group until he was level with Severus Snape.

Snape raised his eyebrows until they were no longer visible beneath his long hair. "Yes, Potter? I take it you have seen everything I left you with? It no doubt took you several centuries to figure out what it all meant." He sneered. Harry bit back his retort and ignored this last bit.

"Yes, I have," he said. "And…I-I just wanted…to say…tosaythankyou." Every word seemed yanked from his throat. "For saving George…for helping Dumbledore…and the Order…and…for helping…for helping me. Although, I would have much rather avoided jumping into a frozen pond in the dead of winter," he added ruefully.

"I suppose…" Snape didn't crack a grin.

Slughorn was still standing with his wand at the ready and mouth slightly open. McGonagall was the first to break the shocked silence.

"We should really discuss the—"

"Excuse me, Headmistress," one of the portraits wheezed, "but the Ministry officials have departed and should be here in a mo'."

"Merlin's beard! Thank you, Everard, we need to discuss the evacuation of students, the graduation ceremony for seventh years, as well as a summer plan for the restoration of Hogwarts." Although Harry wanted to find Ginny and then sleep, he knew it would benefit him to know what the plans were.

"If parents want to take their children home now, then I think it is fine to do so. Since the dormitories were untouched by the battle, the other students should be able to stay, "said Kingsley.

"I second that," squeaked Flitwick from behind Professor Sprout.

"And I," Sprout said.

"It's as good a plan as any," said Mr. Weasley and Bill nodded.

"Firenze," McGonagall turned her gaze to the floor where the centaur lay with Bill and Charlie, "what say you?"

Firenze took his time answering; what was McGonagall playing at? Firenze usually pondered everything in the world and then spoke in riddled answers, thought Harry. Why should this question be any different? But he was surprised when Firenze answered almost immediately after a brief pause to gather his breath, "What is one more night away from their mothers? They survived this year under He-Who-Must-Not-Named; I believe it to be safer now that he is dead many floors below. Do you not, Headmistress?"

"No, I agree," McGonagall said. "We will hold graduation for seventh years in two days time. We will devote tomorrow's efforts to evacuating those who wish to leave Hogwarts as well as preparing for the ceremony." She motioned to Harry. "Potter, you, Weasley, and Miss Granger will also partake in the ceremony. I doubt neither you nor Mr. Weasley had any inclination to return to take your N.E.W.T.s. Am I right?"

"Yes, Professor," he said uncomfortably. His collar felt awfully hot against his neck. "But, don't I have to repeat my seventh year if I want to become an Auror?"

"Potter, we can discuss your career options later, but I doubt it, seeing as what you've just accomplished."

"And I can talk with you more in depth on that subject, Harry," said Kingsley. "But what of the dead?" He turned to face McGonagall. "The bodies have been moved to the Entrance Hall for the time being, but they must be taken care of."

Mr. Weasley drew in a sharp breath and Harry knew he was thinking of the son he had just lost.

"Hogwarts cannot be the judge of where the bodies will go. The families will want to hold their own ceremonies. If anyone wishes for a body to be buried here on the grounds, a funeral can be arranged. In the meantime, I shall have those bodies moved."

"Moved to where, Minerva?" Professor Sprout looked grim as she spoke, her patched hat was still smoldering at the tip from the battle. "Most of the castle is damaged. You say the dormitories went untouched. Three of the house dormitories will be occupied tonight, but I'm sure the other will do—"

"Do you mean to pile a bunch of dead bodies in the Slytherin dormitories?" Slughorn shook a stubby finger in Sprout's direction. Mr. Weasley tensed and moved to stand up at the harsh outburst, but Charlie spoke first.

"Those bodies are friends and family and they're to be treated with respect," Charlie ground his teeth as Slughorn turned from red to a shade of deep purple that would put Uncle Vernon to shame.

"Yes, well—" Slughorn spluttered but no more words came out.

Harry knew a room that could house the bodies until burial, but he wasn't sure if it had been destroyed in Crabbe's fiendfyre. "Professor McGonagall, I know a room that can be used. I'm not sure if it was undamaged, but I can check if you'd like."

"Potter, that would be much appreciated." McGonagall looked away from Slughorn, who seemed to calm at Harry's solution.

"They're walking across the lawn now, Professor," Bill spoke from the window where he had gotten up to peer into the rising sun.

"Oh my, well, Potter, I suggest you get up to your dormitory and rest before the ministry officials arrive here. No doubt they'll have brought Rita Skeeter with them. Oh she'll eat it up," she said more to herself than anyone.

"Rita Skeeter? Is she even allowed here at Hogwarts?" Bill turned back to face the room.

"I'm afraid so, Bill. You see, she's the best at what the Daily Prophet does: spreading lies, creating rumors, exaggerating—"

"Minerva!" Professor Sprout whispered seconds before anyone else in the room could here it.

There were muffled voices outside the office door. "Harry, your cloak," Dumbledore whispered from his portrait.

"What—?" Slughorn looked around for Harry, but he had already withdrawn the cloak from his pocket and thrown it over himself. He moved into the corner near the pensieve where McGonagall had stood before.

"Now really, Rita. The boy won't talk with that bloody quill out—"

"Nonsense, Dawlish. Potter'll confide anything in me; we're really very close, you know."

"Rita, if you plan on getting anything out of Potter, you'll have to do so quickly. Fudge is coming in ten minutes, and you know Potter hates him. He won't say a damn thing," said a new voice Harry didn't recognize. "Do you know if Dolores is coming?"

"GAWAIN ROBARDS, DO YOU MEAN TO INSTRUCT ME ON HOW TO DO MY JOB!"

"Rita! Keep it the bloody hell down!" Dawlish cried. Everyone in the office was staring at the door. "I don't think she could make it, Gawain. Still looking for that missing eye. She's interrogating everyone on her floor—" But before he could finish his sentence, McGonagall had flicked her wand and the door flew open.