Headmaster Dumbledore

Evans has informed me that he would be amenable to the meeting.

Granger

On Friday night at exactly 6 O'clock, there was a knock on his office door.

Dumbledore was surprised as the portrait had not informed him of anyone coming and the gargoyle did not easily let anyone pass besides. Dumbledore waved the door open, nonetheless. The Remnant had many secrets locked away in their hearts and minds: This was just another question to ask of them and especially of Evans, who had intrigued him from the very beginning.

He was even more surprised to see Granger walking calmly beside him, he suspected that she might be there as a deterrent against any further 'incidents'.

"Miss Granger, Mister Evans," he nodded genially. "Welcome. You know Professor McGonagall, Professor Black and Professor Flitwick. I don't think you've met Professor Riddle yet, however, Mister Evans."

Dumbledore indicated the man sitting beside him.

Evans had been tense ever since he had entered the room and now he simply turned those disturbingly serpentine eyes upon the man lounging comfortably on the loveseat. Riddle wore dark green robes with silver swirls—like snakes coiled to strike—that sparkled by the light of the candles. Sitting beside him were Minerva and Sirius, Filius in a cushioned armchair next to them, but Evans paid them no mind. He had eyes only for Riddle.

Riddle nodded politely enough.

"I'm told you and the young woman besides you is two of the four who led Hogwarts after its fall against the Dark Lord, Voldemort?"

There was no hostility, no disdain in Riddle's tone of voice or words, yet Evans replied with scorn: "I thought you were given a copy of the Report—what, too lazy to even read it or are you just that stupid?"

A sharp, "Harper!" didn't keep Evans from looking upon Riddle with all the disgust and anger he had shown Umbridge—and more.

Riddle reacted, as always, with utmost propriety and did not react against the outright hostility Evans had against him with anything but a slow blink of the eyes. Dumbledore knew, however, by the slight twitch of his wand-hand that he was not as unaffected by Evans as he would like them to think. Evan's high position, his parseltongue ability, and the power he carried around with him, visible with every flare of his temper, were something to be wary of.

The smirk Evans threw Riddle told them he had not missed the gesture either, the amusement clear in his eyes to see.

Granger sighed, exasperated.

"Harper," she tried again.

"Victoria," he replied, not taking his eyes off of the man sitting across from him.

"Need I remind you of the talk that we had just last night about a certain issue, which you'd promised to work on?"

At this, Evans turned half-way around in order to face her yet keep Riddle in his sight.

"I am."

"And this," she said, waving her hands between the two of them, Evans and Riddle, "isn't relevant to that discussion?"

"What, I'm supposed to be nice to him?" He asked, outraged. "I'd rather eat slugs."

Still he sat down easily enough when it seemed she was drawing breath for a truly spectacular "discussion". As it was the only open seat, he then proceeded to enlarge it with a lazy wave of his wand, to make room for his companion.

"Don't jinx us. We had rats just a fortnight ago, remember?"

Evans made a sound of disgust.

"Oh, do I ever."

Dumbledore cleared his throat pointedly when it seemed that the discussion would move on to things not on the agenda for tonight.

"Ah," he said. "I had thought that we would be meeting Mister Evans alone…?" He inquired, curiously.

"Apologies but it's policy and good insurance both to for to never travel alone, even in safe quarters. Especially for those who hold some high or vital position among the Remnant."

He watched bemused as she conjured her own tea set, despite one already present before them and tapped the side of the kettle. Immediately glittering, lemon-scented steam poured forth from the spout and as soon as it turned a lovely ivory, carefully poured out a cup for Evans and herself. She then added some cubes of sugar and a good helping of cream, and something that smelled strongly of the more potent restorative potions he had come across.

"Even we would be accompanied by a guard, but seeing as this castle and it's wards are under your control, it was deemed safe enough to come alone, just the two of us, for this one meeting at least. Still, we do have guards waiting down the stairs in the corridor, just in case anything unexpected should occur."

"I see."

He still thought it was a bit over-the-top but, as he kept reminding himself when dealing with any of the Remnant, he could not ever hope to truly understand the affects of their particular war.

His own experience in war with Gellert was cruel and bloody, yes, but it had not gone on for so long and neither did his world suffer through such a process of rebuilding. There were some followers who'd escaped and some lawlessness left over from war—but the war had never touched the Muggle world nor affected it to such a degree; the Secrecy Laws broken and reaping the consequences of such…all the while dealing with the destruction of the Wizarding World's entire infrastructure.

What these young men and women had done, rebuilding their world from such a situation…there were no words to describe both his great sympathy and his never-ending astonishment at their many accomplishments.

"Ugh."

Not looking at all comfortable to be met with the hard wood when she tried to prop herself on the couch, Granger promptly added a dozen or so cushions of various sizes and colors with a sharp jab of her wand. She gave a grateful sigh and leaned back, bringing her legs up and cuddling contentedly into the side of the young man beside her. Evans simply tugged her closer and place an affectionate arm around her, squeezing her shoulders the once.

He watched as they settled comfortably together, without any hesitation and wondered…

"Forgive my prying, but are the two of you….?" Dumbledore trailed off, not wanting to ask in case it would offend but curious nonetheless.

Evans opened his mouth to answer, an unhappy curl to his lips, but Granger elbowed him in the side. While he was left clutching himself in pain, uttering a loud "Ow!" in her general direction—which she promptly ignored—she answered for the both of them.

"We're together, if that's what you're asking. Have been for years, ever since…what was it again? It's been so long—oh, now I remember—fifth year. I suppose by the standards of this world and in mine before the War, we would be considered engaged."

"Really?" Dumbledore exclaimed.

"Oh yes and apparently no one was surprised either. But I suppose since we've been friends even before Hogwarts that everyone simply assumed we were dating long before we actually were."

Dumbledore considered asking more questions concerning their relationship but decided to save them for a later time, as Evans was beginning to look more and more unhappy with each word spoken.

"Do they really need to know anything about our relationship, Victoria? It has nothing to do with the contract between our Clans and is frankly—none of their bloody business."

Granger rolled her eyes.

"Honestly, Harper. Do you really think they wouldn't have found out sooner or later?"

His expression seemed to suggest that 'yes, they wouldn't have found out sooner or later.'

Her own expression went more or less along the lines of, 'don't be an idiot, Harry, of course they would have.'

"So when's the wedding, if I may ask?" Sirius interrupted their staring match to say.

As one, they turned toward him with identical confused expressions.

"What are you talking about?" She asked.

Sirius looked back at her with equal confusion.

"The wedding—you know, with the white gown and vows? Family and friends gathered for a momentous event…?" He trailed off. Seeing that they weren't looking any more certain about what he was talking about than before, he added, sighing, "well, since the both of you are more or less muggleborns, do the words: 'in sickness and in health, for poorer or richer' mean anything to you two?"

At once, their confusion cleared and Granger motioned for Evans to answer.

She poured another drink, this time adding drops from a suspicious-looking bottle. Dumbledore guessed it was something a bit stronger than tea, but didn't comment on it. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Minerva purse her lips but was very grateful she didn't say anything either.

Thank Merlin she was feeling a bit more charitable than this morning, as he didn't think Granger would take kindly to anyone scolding her for drinking—she was a grown woman, after all—and the leader of her people besides.

"There isn't going to be one," Evans answered.

"What! Why?" Sirius honestly looked upset about the whole thing, as if not having a wedding was the worst thing imaginable. "There's always a wedding!"

Evans snorted contemptuously.

"For one thing, neither I nor Hermione care too much about ceremonies. And for another, everyone already knows we're together and are going to stay together, 'till 'death do us part' and all that rot. Lastly, what makes you think having a wedding is even possible in the first place, where we come from?"

"What do you mean?"

Dumbledore thought that it was only Sirius' genuine confusion that made Evans answer at all, given the impatient look on his face and the absolutely condescending look he sent Sirius.

"Oh I don't know—perhaps it was the utter and complete destruction of the Wizarding World? Or the fact that just stepping outside of a Sanctuary—or wherever you were holing up—was a suicide mission? Or maybe, just maybe, too many people had died, were missing, enslaved or worse for there to make any kind of gathering possible—or justified, in light of the many threats to one's life."

There was an uncomfortable silence after his words and Dumbledore took that opportunity to guide the conversation back to the task at hand, before either tempers flared (Evans) or curiosity (Sirius) moved the conversation beyond his control.

"Thank you for taking the time to explain, Mister Evans. We appreciate it very much, but let us not be carried away by our curiosity." He made sure to look pointedly in Sirius' direction as he said this. "And remember the reason for this meeting in the first place."

At once, the conversation became more serious as everyone reminded themselves that learning the personal details of one's lives were good and all for relations, but that some things take precedence over the personal—such as Evan's parseltongue abilities.

They all looked at Evans and Granger expectantly.

"Yes, well, if you had read the Report I'd given you," she said, sounding as if she was not at all sure that they had, "you should have known that snakes, among other animals and magical creatures, were often used in the War—by both sides—and aren't at all remarkable otherwise. They were just another tool of war."

She shrugged and frowned, as if wondering why they were even discussing this in the first place.

But Dumbledore, while acknowledging the fact that yes, the Report had mentioned them in passing; there was no mention of Evans being a parseltongue capable of commanding snakes outside of spells, as he'd wrongly assumed.

"And yet, you made no mention of his abilities," he said, just the barest hint of accusation in his tone.

"Look, I understand that it come as a surprise but it's just a skill. That's all it is and that's how it was seen—how it was used—and there's nothing else to it."

She sounded reasonable enough, but he, too, had his own reasons for being suspicious of anyone who could speak to snakes and he would not let her limit parseltongue to a mere ability.

"A skill that has been known as being primarily aligned to the Darker forces of magic; to those who were Dark and rose as Dark Lords. And as such, something I would have very much appreciated knowing about." At her disagreeable look, he added: "A quick warning would have been enough, if a lengthier explanation was not possible until a later time."

But she was shaking her head and when he made to speak once more, she countered: "Yes, it may have been nice to know, for you and your staff, but it wasn't necessary. Why? Because it has no impact on the Contract between us, except in consideration of your Clans' sensibilities."

"Sensibilities?" He remarked, indignant on behalf of everyone in Hogwarts who could not speak out for themselves and irritated at Granger's continued insistence—and the excuses she was making—for not informing them about Evans.

She rolled her eyes at him, this time.

"Yes, your sensibilities." She gave him a hard stare. "What else would you call judging an entire group of people, based on the actions of the relatively few witches and wizards who possessed the ability to speak to snakes and used them for evil purposes, compared to the dozens of other witches and wizards around the world who didn't? Who were simply symbols of fertility and immortality; worshipped as protectors and guardians; normal people just living their lives like anyone else?" She retorted harshly, incredulously.

Dumbledore stared back, feeling just the littlest bit discomfited.

"Well?" She snapped.

"Even so….even so, I must judge him from what I know and have experienced; from the history known to me and what my research had revealed. And though you are correct that it is unwise and unjust to judge him by the standards of a few, it is also true that my questions and concerns are valid. He may refuse to answer, but I have the right to question him." He repeated quietly with conviction. "I have the right."

She did not let up on her stare but she nodded grudgingly and satisfied, turned to Evans.

"Well, Harry?"

Evans sighed.

"Isn't that exactly what we came here to do?" It was very obviously a rhetorical question, but when it seemed she would actually answer him, he waved away any replies she may have given and sighed again. "Yes, I'll answer." He looked up at Dumbledore. "Well, go ahead and ask."

Dumbledore nodded in thanks, it didn't hurt to be polite after all.

"Were you born with the ability?" He asked, very interested in the answer, as it would tell him whether or not he may have a possible descendent of Slytherin before him.

He wasn't sure yet whether that was a good thing or not, as Evans hadn't shown any signs of insanity—aside from his rather terrifying display with Umbridge. But he had ruthlessly manipulated her from the very beginning and was simply toying with her, Dumbledore knew, so he couldn't consider that the actions of a crazy man, merely one who did not care for Umbridge and wasn't shy about doing something about it, regardless of the consequences. Still. All the records stated that Slytherin's descendants had been cursed and showed that sooner or later, they lost their minds—and magic—or simply disappeared, never to be heard from again.

"That's…not as easy to answer as you'd think." Evans began. "I never knew of a time when I couldn't speak to them. They'd find me to talk with me and some were just drawn to me. The conversation wasn't as interesting as you've no doubt imagined; snakes are animals like any other and only think about hunting for food and finding a mate. It took effort, patience and bribery to get them to do anything else…and it helped to use spells but I preferred not to.

"During my third year at Hogwarts, I tried to find out if anyone else in the family had the same ability but as I had no idea who they were…." He shrugged. "I could only find the genealogy charts of old Pureblood families directly descended from Slytherin, some of whom had died off, were missing for decades or were down to their last heirs—most of whom were too old to have fathered me or my parents. So that was a dead end. And there wasn't anything else worth looking into, unless I wanted to go directly to Gringotts and pay the fee to have an inheritance test taken—which was far out of my financial means—or go to the Ministry, who would have simply dismissed me or made my…situation…worse than it already was.

"I decided I wasn't going to take that chance when I had finally made something of a life for myself.

"To be honest, it wasn't ever really that important; I figured that if they had left me at an orphanage when they could have raised me themselves or handed me over to another family they trusted or knew—they weren't worth the time or effort to find them."

"If you were looking among the records for Slytherin and pureblood family trees…I'm assuming you were thinking that you were either a pureblood or muggleborn born to squibs perhaps?" Sirius asked, considering.

"No."

"What then?"

"I'm a Half-Blood."

"How do you know?"

"Because my Aunt told me."

So surprised was he by Evan's answer, spoken so certainly when he had just finished explaining how he was unable to find any trace of possible relations among the wizarding world that he was rendered mute—for a moment.

Fortunately, Minerva stepped in and asked in a gentle voice, "Your aunt, Mister Evans?"

With her own experience dealing with Muggleborns and Half-Bloods in the same situation he had found himself, it had probably softened her attitude towards Evans—not that she was antagonistic toward him before—but neither had she been more polite than circumstances had required of her.

Evans turned to Minerva, his face softening just a bit. Dumbledore wondered if the Minerva of their world had been close to Evans to have brought about such an unprovoked reaction from a man who had such tight control over his emotions.

"Yes, Professor." He even smiled at her. Granted it was a small smile, but it was there. And more than he had showed anyone else aside from his own people. "I wasn't able to find anything about the magical side of the family, but I was able to find a relative in the non-magical world after some months spent searching.

"She was as surprised to see me as I was. Apparently she had no idea I even existed, since my mother—her younger sister—had never told her about the pregnancy or that she had even been in a relationship with anyone. To make a long story short, I found out that my mother did attend some sort of mysterious boarding school when she was younger but my aunt couldn't remember the name of it, so I'm not sure whether she was sent to some magical school or not…."

He paused, as if unsure whether he wanted to continue but Granger took his hand in hers and that seemed to give him some measure of comfort since he continued.

"It turned out that she and my mother had been estranged for some years and that they had been at odds with each other since they were children; my aunt and she were step-sisters, you see, and that had caused some understandable friction between them from time to time. After one big argument, a year or two before I was born, they never saw or heard from each other again.

"Until I found her, that is." His lips twitched in what could perhaps be amusement, but Dumbledore didn't know him well enough to tell for sure. "…she was either a Muggleborn or had no magic herself, but regardless of which, here I am—a Half-Blood."

"So it's still possible that you were born with the ability, perhaps from your mysterious father?" Sirius asked.

"Yes, well, this is the part that gets complicated and gives everyone a headache. I could have been born with this, just some trait passed down through the bloodline. But it turns out that I was cursed with powerful Dark magic when I was young and that that could have affected my magical core."

Dumbledore frowned.

"Even if you were subject to powerful magic, Dark or otherwise, as a child—that doesn't mean you'd develop a trait like parseltongue—unless, perhaps, there was some kind of transfer of power." His brows came together. "….but the power it would take…the receptivity of the vessel…the chance of failure…." He began mumbling to himself, lost in thought.

"Yes, exactly: a transfer of power is probably what happened, or at least, that's the most likely theory we've come up with, with what resources we have. According to diagnostic charms, it happened when I was just about a year and a half old. I was hit with the Avada Kedavra—"

Dumbledore held his hand up. "Forgive me, but did you say that you were hit with the Killing Curse?"

Evans looked at him with one arching brow, as if questioning his hearing.

"Yes, I was hit with the Killing Curse, as you call it and—"

"Impossible." He said. "Utterly impossible. No one has ever survived the Killing Curse. No one."

"Well I did. Cast a diagnostic charm yourself, right now—all of you if you want—and see for yourself."

Evans watched carefully as they cast them, but did not interfere, even when Riddle pointed his wand toward him: he didn't relax until Riddle placed it back by his side but neither did he attack him, for which Dumbledore was grateful.

When the results came back positive for the Killing Curse, Dumbledore was stunned.

"Remarkable," he said almost breathlessly in his excitement. "To have survived a curse designed specifically to kill—but who cast it on you?" He asked abruptly, realizing something. "You said it happened when you were but a year old…but who would want to curse a child?"

Evans looked at him with a sort of pitying look.

"Headmaster," he began formally and Dumbledore was immediately suspicious of what he would say next, for Evans had never once referred to him by his title—not without much scorn anyways. "Your world is fortunate, in that it only suffered one War in living memory. But in ours, several self-proclaimed Dark Lords arose one after the other after Grindelwald's defeat, until finally one reigned supreme: Voldemort."

He paused, eyes as distant as the memories his words invoked.

"He was the most vicious, most cunning, and most ingenious of them all. He rallied his followers around him with the cause of pureblood ideology; of "cleansing" the Wizarding World of "tainted" blood and "half-blood abominations.""

Granger snorted in contempt beside him.

"And with more and more Purebloods decreasing in number due to inbreeding—not that they'd ever admit that—and more and more Muggleborns and Half-Bloods being born, he was quite successful in gaining both interest and support. Whether they were only sympathetic to the cause he espoused, or were backing him financially or joined him on his campaigns across Britain, they were a solid foundation for his power base.

"I have to commend him, they were probably the best kind of followers he could have found to use for his own means; rant about his hatred of non-magicals and Half-Bloods, add a bit about Blood-Traitors in there, promise all the power in the world and he had a ready-made army, complete with bank accounts that were his for the taking. He would have to be a hypocrite though, if he had truly believed in all that rubbish. He was living proof, after all, that blood had nothing to do with power or intelligence or any of that other stuff some wizards believed came from keeping the bloodline 'pure'."

"What do you mean?" Sirius asked.

"Well, he was a Half-Blood just like me, so he'd basically have to hate himself for that to work."

"How did they not know that? How did you know that, for that matter? I'd think this was something a Dark Lord who built his power on blood-purity would want to keep secret."

Evans smirked.

"Oh, he tried very hard to keep it secret but when you have an intelligence network that operates through both worlds and all Houses, not to mention, access to certain confidential records…." He trailed off, shrugging. "Well, there isn't a lot I didn't know."

"Anyways," he continued. "The Dark Lord Voldemort was the Big Bad and he was waging war on the Wizarding World—and he was winning. His enemies were few in number and most were either dead, in jail or on the run. There weren't a lot of people willing or able to stand up to him and live. But the few that could and did were ones he remembered. So when a prophecy was made that a child born "as the seventh month dies" would be the only one able to kill him for good, he had every child born on the 31st of July killed.

"Every child, including muggleborns, half-bloods, purebloods, muggles and squibs…no one was spared."

Evans tapped his fingers in a rhythmic tap-tap tap-tap-tap against the table before him. "To be honest, I'm not sure how exactly he kept them subservient after that; some of the children he killed were the last heirs or only living male relatives of their bloodlines…but I suppose they had to be just as insane as Voldemort was by that time. And if they weren't loyal by their own will, he made sure they were."

"And you were one of the children targeted because of this prophecy?"

Dumbledore leaned forward.

"Yes," Evans said. "I was. And I survived somehow. Some say it was my mother's sacrifice, others that my surviving proved I was the prophesized one, and still others say that it was all a matter of luck. Honestly, I'm pretty sure I was just lucky, but no one knows for sure. And anyhow," he continued with a grim smile, "I wasn't the only one."

"No?"

"No." Granger answered, her hair crackling with magic like that first time. "There were a few more, but over the years they were killed one by one until only Harry was left to face him." She slammed her hand down on the table suddenly. "Fool's Gold!" She hissed, a common Goblin curse. "If only he hadn't killed every child, the NMs might not have intervened so heavily; over a quarter of the children he killed had no magic at all to use against him—and still he murdered them! If he had thought, for one moment, the impact that would have on the War, I doubt he would have done so.

"Then again," she grimaced, "He never really thought about the consequences of his actions very much, with the power and influence he had, he hadn't had the need for quite a while, not since he was a child. But he should have. One of those children was the child of the Prime Minister. And two were the heirs to very old, very wealthy Families—one of which had connections to the Underground!—and he stupidly incurred their wrath."

She shook her head in disgust.

"Yet, would the muggles—forgive me, NMs—would they have the capability to do any kind of actual damage to your Dark Lord?"

She snorted in contempt.

"That's exactly the kind of thinking that got him in so much trouble and left the rest of us to pay the price for it," she said. "But no, they couldn't do anything to him—not at first. Then he broke the Secrecy Laws, unleashed the Plague and let his Deatheaters go on killing sprees within their world. That was when the War changed; it wasn't just two sides fighting against each other anymore, now we had the NMs striking both of us on our safehouses, sanctuaries, supply lines, etc. They basically opened up a third front in the war and that wasn't even taking into account all the 'Dark Creatures'," Granger made sure to stress the words with a sarcastic tone, "who were hitting everybody and anything, hunting freely and without consequence with all the chaos.

"It helped that by the time the NMs had entered the War, their warfare had been tested and refined by Voldemort's actions—the murders, the killing sprees, the kidnappings—he basically made them into the killing machines they became. He pushed them too far, too fast. If he'd left them alone for the most part, they would have likely been content to ignore the strangeness of it all and not go looking into what was causing them. But he didn't care. And when they found out…"

Dumbledore found himself staring into eyes as ancient as his, despite the young face they were set in.

"Tell me, Dumbledore," she said with a casual tone, belying the dread that her words brought him as she said, "do you know how the NMs won World War II? They had this wonderful new technology called nuclear power that allowed them to generate a huge amount of energy, but more importantly, it allowed them to create something called an atomic bomb. A weapon that could be sent halfway across the world with only the push of a button and completely destroy entire cities. America sent two such bombs to Japan, obliterating Hiroshima and Nagasaki in mere seconds—and that wasn't even the worst of it, oh no—you see, long after the ash clouds had evaporated and the rubble had been cleared, the people who had been near the epicenter of the blast—or had drunk contaminated water or simply breathed the tainted air—suffered from radiation poisoning. Worse, some were infected with a lethal disease: Cancer.

"And children born there or whose mothers had been pregnant at the time of the blast suffered birth defects, were weak of body or mind, or suffered the rest of their lives from one medical complication or another. Few, if any, survived unscathed. And that is what the Wizarding World faced because of Voldemort's actions."

"But surely their magic protected them?" Riddle asked, some strong emotion tightly leashed behind his teeth.

Dumbledore remembered then that Riddle had lived through the very muggle war they were speaking about—in a muggle orphanage, for Merlin's sake!—and would know exactly what kind of damage Granger was speaking about first hand. Granger looked to Riddle and as if she, too, had remembered that Riddle would know well what she spoke of, shook her head with regret.

"For those who had a place that had been protected for generations upon generations with magic? Yes, but even they were not as protected as they thought. Bombs are meant to contain vast amounts of energy and even if the manors survived the blast, it could not protect the residents from the more common dangers; of consuming water from a contaminated source or breathing air filled thousands of tiny bacteria designed to survive in extreme environments, such as the epicenter of an atomic bomb, and enter their bodies to destroy their immune systems. Most magical beings have some protection against common NM diseases, but just the Native Americans who had no immunity against a disease they had never encountered before—so too, did the magical population have no defense against something they'd never suffered or even heard of, much less understood enough to produce a vaccine against.

"As for those who didn't even have the protection of the manors, they had to make do with fashioning some kind of protection on their own, often failing and dying as a result or finding a Sanctuary like Hogwarts. But like I said, even if the structure survived the assault, the people inside were still vulnerable, since they wouldn't know how to protect themselves properly or have any medical personnel who would know how like the NMs would."

There was silence for some moments, as the situation the young man and woman before them—and the ones under their leadership—had to have dealt with, to have survived and the world they had left behind became real. For Dumbledore, it was a testament of their strength and courage. For Sirius and Riddle, it was all a matter of being cunning enough to have survived. For Flitwick, it was another piece of the puzzle that was the Remnant revealed to him. For Minerva, it was more proof that despite all their bravado and barbed words, that they were hurting still.

"Anyway," she continued, "Harry was the only one left out of all those who had, somehow, survived. As a consequence, he was named the 'Boy-Who-Lived' by a certain journalist and it spread like Fiendfyre. He became the rallying point for the our side—the Light, the Neutrals, the Dark Creatures, and the House-Elves—basically anyone and anything who had a grudge against Voldemort or his Deatheaters; or felt that Harry would genuinely appreciate and accept them, rather than use them as infantry—mere cannon fodder; or wouldn't make them swear under threat of death or hold their families hostage. Harry was, at heart, everything Voldemort wasn't and that was his greatest strength."

She turned to Evans and looked upon him with pride.

"He may be rash and impatient at times, but he will never willingly, intentionally, place anyone in harm's way—not unless he had no choice or they knew full well what they were agreeing to. People may think he's rude and says things he shouldn't sometimes, but he has never once lied about his feelings or his thoughts. He may be prideful, but he is always careful not to let his pride cloud his judgment. He may have his prejudices against certain people, but never has he discriminated against a person because of their blood, status, class, or gender. Harry—"

"—is feeling a bit like he's in front of Fudge, about to receive an Order of Merlin, for doing nothing but surviving where others died," Evans finished. "I'm flattered, really, but like you said, I was ultimately just a symbol for them to rally behind. A banner they could wave and pretend to be united under." He snorted. "I May be a hell of a lot better for your health than Voldemort to be following, but I'm not better than him; he had his weaknesses and I have mine, but we both led people who followed and believed in us for some reason for another, and whether we agree with their reasons why—their experiences are no more or less valid than ours."

"And you say I'm soft."

"Well you are, except when you aren't. And anyway, you make me sound like some kind of bloody 'knight in shining armor'. Which I am not…but if I was," Evans suddenly kneeled on the floor before Granger and took her hands in his. "Then you, my Lady, my most beautiful One, my Queen, is the one to whom I would swear my eternal allegiance."

He bowed his head and kissed her hands.

Granger, for the first time that he had ever known her—which wasn't very long, admittedly—giggled.

She took his hands and pulled him back onto the couch with a huff, and kept pulling him until they were but an inch apart, resting their foreheads against each other. With a light blush dusting her cheeks, Granger exclaimed, "Oh, Harry—you and your theatrics!" Evans just smirked.