Three Months After
Arthur Weasley and Harry Potter sat in silence on a log overlooking the pond on the Weasley lands. The question that Harry had just asked lingered in the air. Arthur looked less whimsical and sharper than Harry had ever seen him in his life. On that note, Harry looked terrified in a way that Voldemort had never made him.
After about fifteen seconds of tense silence, Arthur chuckled. "It's really a little early for that, Harry."
"But…" Harry waved his hand in the air randomly. "When you and Mrs. Weasley…"
"Harry, you have to understand, those were completely different circumstances. We didn't know if we'd even be alive from one day to the next, and besides, we were at least in our early 20s. When do you plan on marrying my daughter?"
"As soon as I can," said Harry bravely, even if he couldn't keep a little tremor out of his voice.
Arthur shook his head, a dry smile on his face. "Harry…why are you in such a hurry?"
Harry opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, and looked at the pond. "I don't know," he finally confessed.
"There's no need to be in such a hurry. Really, there isn't. You're not even eighteen for another month. Ginny just turned seventeen. A couple of months ago, you would have still legally needed my and Molly's approval to marry her, and I don't think I would have given it."
Harry shot him a dismayed look.
Arthur shrugged. "You're both too young. You are a man, but you aren't the man you'll become. Ginny is a young woman, but she isn't the woman she will be for the rest of her life. For all you know, it may yet end in heartbreak."
Harry outright glared at him a minute, and then his eyes dipped and he bit his lip.
"It's too early to make this decision, Harry."
Harry rubbed his forehead. "But I feel like…like…I don't know. I really love her, and I want to be with her the rest of my life."
"But will you feel that way a year from now? Or three? Or thirty?"
"I'm just not sure."
"Then wait until you are, my boy. And wait until she's sure. How long have you seriously been dating?"
"Well, if you count the time I was in the woods in a tent…"
"No, we probably shouldn't count that."
"Erm…five months?"
"Then the answer is no. God, my boy, take some time to really get to know her. Take some time to date her, take some time to be engaged, the whole process. There is no hurry. You're young, you have so much time."
Harry nodded. He stared off into the pond awhile. Arthur looked at him and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"I'm not just giving this advice as Ginny's father. I'm giving it as a father to you. Wait."
One Year After
"Okay," Harry said, clapping his hands. He closed his eyes. "Hit me."
"This is the ninth time today," growled the man across the dungeon. Snape half-moved to put a hand on his shoulder, then decided against it. "You have dinner with the head of the Department. If I'm going to do this, I'm doing it subtle."
"Well then? Go for it."
Snape sighed. "Legilimens."
For the next half an hour, anyone entering the room would have seen two men with their eyes closed, one pointing a wand at the other, with very little further movement. Harry twitched a few times, and Snape smiled through the last ten – which probably would have been enough to scare off any onlooker.
Finally, Snape lowered his wand arm, and both participants opened their eyes again. Harry blinked once or twice, rubbed his eyes, and looked at his mentor.
Snape genuinely grinned. "Not a chance. Not a chance I would have broken that, not even had I been given a year. The Dark Lord? Probably not even him, either. Unless you were in the middle of intercourse. Mental shields tend to go down during that."
Harry's eyes widened in alarm. "If you're going to do another surprise attack…"
"No, we finished with those six months ago. And as dedicated as I am to finally teaching you this…"
"About four years and nine months too late…" Harry muttered.
"Ahem. As dedicated as I am, that does not include bursting into Grimmauld Place to find you and Ms. Weasley…engaged. I've seen enough of that when I succeeded those times, thank you."
"I never told her about that."
"I don't expect you did. I don't expect you told her mother about the kitchen, either."
Harry groaned. "I forgot you saw that one."
"As a future warning, the kitchen never ends well."
"How would you know?"
Snape actually looked mildly affronted. "I have regained a…social life in the last two years, Potter."
"I still doubt it involves that."
"That's more than you should ever know."
"Unless I decide to learn Legilimency."
"Not from me, you won't. I was never as good at it as Albus or the Dark Lord. Occlumency's different."
A hesitant rap on the door put a stop to their conversation. As Harry, jolted by a glance at his watch, picked up his bag and adjusted his dress robes, Snape stalked over to the door and opened it. A small first-year student, far less terrified than a student of just a couple of years ago would have been greeting this man, handed in his badly scrawled essay.
"You wanted this early for corrections, Professor?"
"Yes. Congratulations, you're one of the few dunderheads to turn it in so far." In marked contrast to his time with Harry, "dunderheads" had an affectionate undertone to it.
As Snape began to close the door, Harry moved towards it.
"It's been a pleasure, and I actually mean it."
Snape inclined his head.
"Oh, and Hermione wants me to remind you that you still haven't written her recommendation to Avalon."
"She has nine months until the application is done, you know."
"We both know what she's like."
"At least she's continuing her education, unlike some of us who want to be Aurors."
"Only Neville and I. Though I still don't think his heart's in it."
"I thought Weasley was going to…"
"He decided against it…I didn't think he really wanted to either. Quidditch is his thing. Me though? Catching Dark Wizards is what I am, after all. Never been any other way."
Snape looked at him curiously. "You want a normal life. I know you want that."
Harry returned his gaze. "It's different now. I'm not in anybody's bloody crosshairs. I'm just another Auror. And it pays well."
"As if you need…"
"I know. I know."
"So…why then? Why not play Quidditch?"
"Ron's approaching Quidditch from the right angle – he's gunning to be a coach. Me? I'd have how many years as a seeker before age and injuries caught up with me? Ten? What do I do after that?"
Snape exhaled softly. He looked at this young man in front of him, a young man ready to face anything but the prospect of being useless. They were a lot alike in many ways…and if he only knew what he'd be facing in another few years, he'd take a little time off.
But Snape couldn't tell him. Couldn't even begin. The most he could do was prepare him for it.
"What are we doing next Monday?" Harry asked, facing the door, away from Snape.
"Wandless," said the other man in defeat.
"Sounds difficult."
"Without a strong mind? Impossible."
"Good thing I have one. See you then, Severus." Harry walked out the door in a rush, trying to get away from truths he didn't want to acknowledge. Snape closed the door, trying to forget truths he already did.
Three Years After
"Why is she always in charge?" muttered Ron to Neville as they hung shimmering decorations from the ceiling of the Burrow with their wands. He was watching Hermione with something akin to a mixture of pride and bemusement. She was bustling around the kitchen, giving people instructions and wringing her hands. She looked positively frantic and not a little unhinged, as Ron had quickly learned she acted when things got disorganized and frustrating. She had looked just like this when she had to finish an article for Transfiguration Today fifteen hours before it was due to the editors.
"Can you imagine a world without her in charge of practically any situation she finds herself in that doesn't involve Dark Wizards?" Neville asked calmly, concentrating on his wand work as the streamers wound themselves around a peg. "Cause Harry usually covers those."
"Or Quidditch," said Ron.
"Only cause she doesn't care about Quidditch," Neville pointed out. "If she did, she'd control it too."
Ron grinned. He was currently a junior Quidditch strategist for the Chudley Cannons and reserve Keeper. It was the strategist part where he was making his mark; already the Cannons had gone from bottom of the league to somewhere just below the middle. And he'd had to play Keeper in a few games, and that hadn't gone too shabbily either. "My Mum could probably beat her out there. Or even your Gran."
Neville looked longingly at the decorations. Ron gave him a friendly punch in the shoulder.
"You'll get one of your own soon. A party, I mean."
Neville nodded. "Yeah. Not as many people, though."
"Oy! Don't be like that. That was me, not too long ago, you know. We're always gonna have a toe or two in his shadow. We should just accept it and move on."
With a meaningful glance, the two men waved their wands again, causing a series of balloons to warp themselves into a set of letters: "Happy Auror Graduation Harry".
"That 'A' is off," muttered Hermione, racing by. "George, the cake needs to move into the living room, he can't see it when he comes in!"
Neville fixed the "A" calmly. "Can I murder your girlfriend, Ron?"
"You could try." Ron peeked out the window. "They'll be here any minute."
"Who's actually at his graduation?" Neville wondered aloud.
"Just Gin and our parents. And Teddy, of course. And probably a hundred reporters. And almost certainly Dennis Creevey."
"Would this set of streamers look good over the sink?"
"Mum'll kill you if you put anything near her sink."
"Fair point, mate." Neville stopped. "Did you hear that?"
Ron looked out the window. "Shit. They're here," he half-shouted into the living room. A little shriek was heard.
Ron tapped himself on the head with his wand and promptly faded into the kitchen. Neville waved his hands at him, half-panicked, and Ron tapped him too. "Never learned that one," the other man muttered.
"Why not?"
"Aurors prefer invisibility cloaks. Take less energy, you get hit and it doesn't fade."
"Ssh."
Already, they could hear Mrs. Weasley. "…the nerve of that woman, showing up everywhere you make an appearance! Ginny dear, you were right to hex her."
"Molly, there are other ways to deal with issues…"
"Dad, you saw the way she shoved that parchment in his face. And it was harmless – I didn't even use Bat-Bogeys."
"Harry agrees with me, don't you Harry dear?"
"Erm…"
"Don't drag the poor fellow into it…"
Ron rolled his eyes. They're taking forever.
Finally, Harry was the first in, presumably to escape his borderline psychotic girlfriend and mother-in-law. At least, according to Rita Skeeter, who from the sound of it had had the misfortune of learning the truth of her accusations.
Upon entering, he saw decorations, signs of rushed activity, and subtle shifts in the air which indicated Disillusionment. He grinned. "Uh-oh."
From out of thin air, about twenty people burst from Disillusionment (and Hermione from underneath an Invisibility Cloak) and screamed, "Congratulations!"
"Were you really surprised?" asked Ron, grinning, knowing the answer.
"Not really," said Harry. His face looked about to split in two from his grin. "But I have a surprise of my own."
"What's that?"
At these words, and amidst a huge amount of chaotic congratulations and questions that Harry obviously wasn't listening for, Ginny Weasley forced her way in the door. "I'm going to warn the world that I'm in a hexing mood right now, so if the rest of you don't let me through to hug my boyfriend…"
Said boyfriend was already going to a knee. It was now Ron's turn to grin, because Harry had already mentioned this. As Harry pulled a box out of his pocket, Mrs. Weasley started squealing, Hermione had already turned "beaming" up to 11, and Teddy, gripping Mrs. Weasley's hand, stared in wide-eyed wonder. Ginny was speechless and already starting to tear up.
Harry asked the question.
What followed was probably the only time Ron ever felt comfortable watching his best friend and sister snog.
Three Years, 361 days after
Antonin Dolohov sat in a large chair behind his desk. Before him were his three top lieutenants: Rabastan, Fenrir, and a valuable American witch named Bethany.
"Everything is ready?"
"Yes, Lord Regent." Dolohov had adopted the title about three months after the Dark Lord's fall. He needed one, both to maintain authority and to maintain organization. The Death Eaters were now more trained, organized, and prepared than at any time under the Dark Lord. Titles helped. So did uniforms. So did harsh, but most importantly, fair discipline. Dolohov played no favorites, especially not now, at the beginning of the new Reign of Terror. England would be his, and he would play carrot and stick until he had everything he desired.
If you had a large enough stick, any carrot seems appetizing.
"Remember, casualties are not our goal. Impact – that is our goal. We carry this out correctly, it is the first step. And we have to keep them waiting. If this does not have the impact we need, we hit again after three days."
After Dolohov had dismissed them, he turned to the wall and waved his wand. Five pictures appeared on the wall. Five Grand Marshals. Five Dark Lords. He knew of the location of one; he was a public figure, not too difficult. The other three, he had heard of. He knew that they had been growing secretly for the last four years. They had had agendas before they decided to work with the Dark Lord, and they all had different agendas now.
But the fifth. This Anthony Cheever…there had been no sign of him since Dolohov had seen him once in the recesses of the Riddle house. Not a rumor, no trace. Like he had never existed.
Dolohov shrugged. Deal with the opponents you know. His biggest foe right now was the Ministry of Magic – and Harry Potter. First order of business, to be conducted tomorrow. Kill Harry Potter, and you kill the confidence of the Wizarding World. Kill their hero, their savior, the victory banner of the First War and the Reason To Keep Fighting of the Second. Quickest solution to the problem.
Perhaps the Dark Lord wasn't so far wrong, after all.
