Author's Notes: This is the third part of a continuation after chapter 36 of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, for no good reason except that I wanted to read a little more. Not knowing the rating system very well, this is for anybody who could read DH. I probably won't change anything due to criticism, constructive or not, because this was written strictly for my pleasure. Flames will be used to toast marshmallows. Flattery will get you anywhere.
I certainly will depart from canon on some points, try as I might not to do so.
This has been revised to account for the discovery that the raid on Gringott's was to have been on Friday, May 1st. It now begins on the following Tuesday.
In any case, enjoy. (Disclaimer at the end.)
RECOVERY
Only five days ago Diagon Alley had been all but deserted save for beggars, a grim, sullen place compared to the cheerful bustle Harry had been used to. This morning, it was again silent and still, but bright decorations hung from walls and littered the street along with bottles. Tom the proprietor had looked exhausted and his bar had been empty, but in a very quiet voice he had insisted upon welcoming George back, and Bill, and saying how sorry he was about Fred. Then he had caught sight of Harry, who very shortly had wished for his Invisibility Cloak. He hoped his hand would regain its feeling. As they walked along they saw bottles, piles of ashes, half- burnt "Undesirable Number One" posters, more bottles, a few of Friday's wandless snoring in doorways. Apparently Diagon Alley was hung over and having a lie-in. Bill went on to Gringott's, saying he would send for Harry if he was needed, and the rest set to cleaning up Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes until the other shops should open. Harry wondered how many would be able to; he had forgotten to ask Ollivander yesterday about his plans.
George professed himself grateful that only the front room had been looted, saying that they had left only the most colorful and the worst- selling items in the showroom while packing up most of the back room and the really valuable stock, moving it to Muriel's; the Pygmy Puffs had been breeding well enough, he said, that they could resume selling them at once. The next few hours saw the jinxes removed, most of the damage cleaned up and the front windows fixed. Soon there was a tap on the door, and George let in two young women that Harry remembered from the funeral yesterday. Suddenly he recognized them; they were the shop assistants he'd seen the first time he'd been here, wearing magenta robes and calling the twins "Mr. Weasley." Just behind them was Lee Jordan. They all tackled the back room, restocking the front and returning to Muriel's for more.
In the midst of it all Bill walked in, asking for Harry, who excused himself. As they walked up the street Bill explained that the goblins weren't going to demand payment for the dragon or the damage it had caused, officially taking the view that the death of Voldemort was worth the trouble. Unofficially, Bill explained, they were waiting on the estates of those who had died at Hogwarts intestate, because there were hefty rental and cataloguing fees levied (with interest) on the vaults that did not pass indisputably and immediately to a new owner, and a transference fee even for those that did within the mandated thirty- one days. Nor were the goblins eager to appear disobliging to Harry Potter; and it was considered to Harry's credit that he had approached them, even through an intermediary, so promptly. Apparently many debtors tried to run, and Harry remembered Ludo Bagman.
Nonetheless he was appalled. "You mean they're letting me off because other people died that night?"
"No, not quite. Say rather that they are permitting you the benefit of their good fortune because you killed Voldemort, which gave them back control of the bank. Don't ever forget, Harry, that they really are not humans, and there is less common ground between us on some subjects than, say, with centaurs or merpeople."
"What about you and Fleur? Do you still have jobs?"
"Yes. It didn't hurt us either, letting me argue your case. I ought to mention, however, that it's also a good thing that Charlie does what he does. I think they're angling for a dragon egg out of this, or something just as fearsome. But whatever you do–"
"–don't tell Hagrid," they said together.
"Don't tell Hermione either," said Harry. "She won't approve of their training methods. I don't myself."
"It'd be in the hands of the International Committee anyway, not Charlie. If you or Hermione tell him about the dragon, though, he may see fit to report it.
"But to business. You will be in front of a committee, very like a jury, and you should be able to answer everything honestly. If you need help, just look at me and I'll answer. It's supposed to be just a formality since the case has already been already decided; they shouldn't spring anything new on you, but that's not a hard and fast rule."
The great doors showed a few dents, but had been reset on their hinges. When Harry asked, Bill said that since the damage had been purely physical and not magical, the goblins had been able to repair them fairly easily. Every head turned and stared as they entered the Atrium, likewise cleaned and restored, and at the far end a goblin nodded and walked quickly to the right behind the counters. Bill followed, leading the way to a room with a high ceiling and walls paneled in dark wood, as imposing in its way as the atrium. A dozen or so goblins sat behind a semicircular railing set so that they were just above eye level. Below the central seat the mangled cup of Helga Hufflepuff rested on a small stand. Harry was reminded of his hearing at the Ministry, for once again he was at the focus of the arrangement. Bill moved to his right, standing midway between the seated goblins and Harry. The doors closed with a sound like thunder. As their echo died away, the goblin in the center spoke.
"Mr. Harry Potter, as of this morning you stood accused by Gringott's Bank of breaking into its vaults, forcing an employee to open a high-security vault not in your name, stealing therefrom a treasure not belonging to you, and compromising the security of this institution by releasing the guardian dragon which then forced its way through the bank, causing damage to the main doors and hall.
"Mr. Weasley has related to us the entire story as he heard it from you, including the use to which the stolen object was put by the Dark Lord. He absolves your human accomplices of blame in the matter, and presents the object, now cleansed of its curse. He states that this curse was broken by your accomplices, which action was delayed by premature claim of the sword bargained to Griphook, and that breaking the curse was indisputably necessary to the defeat of the Dark Lord.
"Griphook has related to us his story, of his rescue from the dark wizards and the terms of his bargain with you. We do not find any discrepancy.
"Likewise we find no discrepancy in the testimony of Bogrod, employed by this institution, nor of Tom, of the Leaky Cauldron. We have been unable to confirm this testimony with Travers, a customer of this institution.
"Mr. Weasley has stated that you do not deny these actions. Is that correct?"
"Yes-- er, that is correct." Even with Bill's assurances Harry was sweating.
"Yet despite these actions you sent an intermediary to negotiate terms. This also is correct?"
"Yes."
"You are aware that the item received by Griphook as payment for his services is no longer in his possession?"
"Yes." He glanced at Bill, who looked a little nervous.
"Do you know how that came to be?"
"I saw what happened, but I don't know how it was done. It came from the Hogwarts Sorting Hat when someone else really needed a weapon. Without it we couldn't have defeated Voldemort," he said. "That happened to me once, five years ago."
The goblin in the middle was silent, although whispers came from the others. After a moment they stopped and looked at the middle goblin, who looked back at his fellows on each side.
"Very well; we will accept that you did not renege on your bargain. The final verdict of this case is therefore: that the damages to this bank are weighed against the fact that your actions were necessary for the destruction of Voldemort, which in turn was necessary for the control of this bank to be returned to its rightful owners. We will set the one against the other, and no gold, silver, bronze or other treasure will change hands over this matter, now or in future, by you or your accomplices, or your heirs, or this bank or any goblin or employee thereof. It will be so reported to all of our branches and to your Ministry of Magic. Do you have any questions?"
"Well, one," said Harry. "Was the cup goblin- made?"
"No." The tone implied that it was therefore inferior.
"What happens to it, since the Lestranges are dead?"
"The vault and its hoard, including the cup, were bequeathed to an unrelated heir, now also deceased and without issue. It will therefore pass to the next heir of the Lestranges' bloodline. If, when that heir is legally confirmed, he or she wishes for any recompense, that will be a purely wizarding matter."
"Oh." Harry wasn't sure he liked the smile on the goblin's face when he said that. It looked as if the goblin would have liked to see a duel.
Some time later Harry returned to the joke shop, his pockets and pouch full of both gold and Muggle money. He pulled Ron and Hermione aside and recounted the story to them, realizing that it had been worrying them too.
"So, how far are we? It's noon, and a lot of places are saying they'll be open this afternoon. We'll be able to do our shopping."
"Nearly there," said George, who tried to look as if he hadn't listened to a word. "In fact lunch sounds good. We can all go before we reopen. We don't have open the back room today. If any place is serving it's on the shop."
After lunch they first went to a more- than- usually disorganized Flourish and Blott's, then the stationer and apothecary and cauldron shop, where Harry replaced the cauldron left at Privet Drive, which had been damaged by the vandals. Leaving the heavy load at the joke shop, Harry retrieved his Firebolt and went up the street with Ginny. The crowds had been thickening all day and many people were, to no one's surprise, staring at Harry. It was almost a relief to have the occasional stranger bold enough to greet him. It was definitely a relief to duck into Quality Quidditch Supplies. The boy tending the counter didn't even notice Harry when he saw the broomstick; his expression was close to tears at the ruin, but he disappeared and came back a moment later with the manager, who took one look at Harry and sent the boy out of the door at speed before turning to them.
"If you will bear with us, Mr. Potter, I've sent him after a salesmen who just now left for lunch."
"Actually I was going to ask about reconditioning--"
"He'll be able to talk to you about that, he represents the Firebolt's manufacturers. But I'm sorry to say it doesn't look good for this broom-- there's water and vermin damage as well as a hit from a spell, that's what cracked the handle-- May I ask what happened...? A sad waste. You're the second customer today with a good broom that had to be hidden and was spoiled, and we just re-opened. I'm afraid we're in for a depressing week. But," and his manner became all business, "I will tell you something frankly, Mr. Potter. You evidently do not realize that this broom is more valuable now, as it is, than it was when new. There will be many, many people interested in owning or even just seeing it, because it is yours. I believe you rode it when you defeated the dragon in the Triwizard Tournament, as well as for Gryffindor? Yes. I don't expect you to like your situation entirely, but I encourage you to use it. Defeating You- Know- Who was the greatest deed any wizard could have done, but there's no cash reward involved and you're still school- age, so any gold you've got you'll need over the coming years.
"What I am thinking you can arrange is a trade. Any manufacturer, including the Firebolt's, will gladly give or lease you their best model in exchange for the right to display this one. No matter which company you might deal with, this would have a good home, and you might not even need to relinquish ownership. What the salesmen won't tell you is that right now they are desperate to sell. British Quidditch was reduced to five combined teams over the winter due to the Ministry's blood prejudice; many of the fliers are Muggle- born or half- blood, and left the country. Amateur leagues were banned outright by the Ministry and you know what happened at Hogwarts." Harry nodded. "So take a few moments, wander around and collect your thoughts. If you wish to trade, they all have enormous stocks. Today would be a good day to try. But this one will never be a racing broom again-- the cushion charm is totally faded and there's no levitation response."
"If I may ask, Mr. Flyte, what do you get out of it?" asked Ginny sweetly, who had overheard despite wandering around the showroom.
"Me? Business, young lady," said the manager. "If I'm lucky I'll get to display this first. That window is the best place in the country to display anything," he said without a trace of modesty. "Now that the Death Eaters are gone, Diagon Alley will be full of people buying only what they need-- no one's got much gold now-- but they will all be looking, and most of them look here, even ones that don't fly. I think they'd rather look at this and read what Mr. Potter says about it than look at a top- of- the- line model they'll never be able to afford, for a sport that may take another year and more to revive."
"I'll think about it." Harry did so as they moved back among the colorful team robes towards the professional league souvenirs. He sighed. "There's going to be a lot of this, isn't there?"
"Probably. You'll lose your reputation for humility, if nothing else," said Ginny. "But you shouldn't give up flying and Quidditch for want of a good broom, and you've had the best. Like he said, too, no matter how much you've got, it's not a good idea to spend it all right away. And I've never heard any complaints about Mr. Flyte; he's been here for ages, Charlie used to come in here all the time to visit, and I know he's a good friend of Madame Hooch-- that's her picture behind the till, from about twenty years ago."
"I thought the Daily Prophet already did for my 'reputation for humility,'" he replied. "Now, the other side-- let's see-- I might be made into a flying advertisement, with some sort of obligation or penalty. I might end up with no control over the old one-- but I'd thought I'd lost it anyway; it's just that Sirius gave it to me."
"That's really the best argument for you buying a new one outright, you know. See what he says, though; he might think it's better if it stays yours. You can always say no."
The door chimed, but it was a dark- haired woman in green, not the boy with the salesman. Harry thought. It sounded good, but he rather wished Hermione or George or Bill, or all three, would walk in and give him some advice too. He nearly asked Ginny if she could go find one of them, but then the salesman did come through the door and Harry decided to try.
The Firebolt was still on the counter, and the woman in green was looking it over and shaking her head as they approached. Ginny suddenly grabbed Harry's hand, staring at her. Just then Mr. Flyte started introductions: Mr. Plantagenet the salesman, Mr. Harry Potter, Miss Gwenog Jones, and--?
"Miss Weasley, I believe," interrupted the woman in green. "Gryffindor Chaser until the final Cup match last year, when Mr. Potter"-- she acknowledged him with a nod-- "was unable to fly and Miss Weasley substituted as Seeker, winning the game and the cup for Gryffindor." The lady was short, with mostly- black hair and dark eyes in a very battered Welsh face, and Harry suddenly knew where he had seen her. Once had been in Professor Slughorn's photo collection; the other had been last night, on Ginny's wall.
"Now Gwen, you know the rules: no recruiting Hogwarts students until after N.E.W.T.s!"
"Won't need to this year, once we get everybody back. They've all sent owls, they're coming. And this is not Hogwarts, although I don't expect Dumbledore's rules to change under McGonagall," said Gwenog Jones. "But if they start up next fall I'm trying to get to most of the matches again. I expect some reserve positions to open up in a year or two. But to business-- I've a bag full of old Snitches to trade in, and we never heard about that batch of robes last fall, or Rhiannon's Nimbus..."
"The robes will be here Thursday, the seamstress had to hide her entire business last August and just got back from Holland yesterday, but she sent us an owl already. The broom has been ready in the shop, but neither of our owls ever returned. Martin's just finished all the Snitches we had on hand and will be very pleased to have yours. Sawyer, could you take Miss Jones back, please?" Harry had seen a notice on the front of the counter about Snitch respelling, but now was not the time to ask.
They got down to business. Ginny was still gripping Harry's hand, by which he understood that she had her mind on the captain of the Holyhead Harpies; but Mr. Plantagenet immediately proposed almost exactly what the manager had. At the end of half an hour, Harry was the somewhat bemused owner of two Firebolts, one ruined and one new, sent directly from the factory via Floo messenger. There was a slight improvement in performance, especially acceleration, the salesman had explained; but the big change was that the cushioning charm had been reshaped. Harry mounted it in the rear courtyard given over to trials and lessons, kicked off and hovered. The new seat felt somewhat more secure as well as more comfortable than his old one, but didn't interfere with mounting or maneuvering. Then the manager whirled his wand, saying "Vortex relativo" and telling Harry to go ahead and fly; to his vast surprise and delight, he could fly in a sort of treadmill as his broom remained tethered over one spot.
"This Firebolt was given to me by Sirius Black, my godfather, after my first broom had been destroyed. As Gryffindor Seeker, I used it through three seasons of Quidditch, contributing to two Quidditch Cups for Gryffindor, and I flew it against a Hungarian Horntail in the Triwizard Tournament resulting in a tie for first place for that task. It was damaged beyond repair in the events surrounding the fall of the Ministry of Magic to the Death Eaters, and was returned to me in its present state shortly after the battle at Hogwarts. Harry Potter"
Both Mr. Plantagenet and Mr. Flyte pronounced themselves satisfied. At Harry's insistence a hundred Galleons, a small part of the broom's value, changed hands to seal the bargain; and in addition Harry bought a carrying case that he thought would still fit into his trunk.
As they left Ginny fell silent and thoughtful; Harry recognized the symptoms-- they had been turned on him for a long time.
"I hope you're planning on trying out next fall. She was really interested in you."
"Harry, don't make fun of me. Not over that."
"I wasn't! You saw--"
"Harry, we both saw the World Cup. There's just no way I'm good enough to play professionally."
"Why not? Oliver is, but he'll probably never be Keeper for England. And she seemed to think you do well in both positions. Did you ever think of anything else you really want to do?"
Ginny was quiet again. Harry had wished to be an Auror, but wouldn't be sure for months-- if not a year or more-- if his marks were good enough. Ginny had never seemed enthusiastic about any future that didn't involve flying, now that he thought about it.
"Look, whatever you do, don't let her put you off. You love Quidditch too much to give it up just because someone's watching. We never let Ron quit, and that was his problem."
She smiled at that and changed the subject. "If you're still at school, are you going to be Captain next year?"
"No idea. I won't argue if McGonagall wants me to, I'd like to do it again. No, wait, it won't be McGonagall, will it? I wonder who's going to be Head of Gryffindor now? And for that matter, who'll teach Transfiguration?"
When they got back to the joke shop, the purple and gold sign outside had changed to read WEASLEY AND JORDAN'S WIZARDING WHEEZES. They hesitated for a second, and it changed to WIZARD WHEEZES, JOKES AND JAPES, Weasley and Jordan, Perpetrators.
"Well, they've noticed! Maybe we should ask them," said George, from across the street.
"I don't feel right about it. Not yet, anyway. Tell you what-- leave it the way it was, and we can think about it later, after New Year's, maybe. I mean, you've got Ron too, and if you ever do buy Zonko's you'll need a manager," said Lee.
"So you'll be staying? Excellent!" said Ginny, shaking Lee's hand.
"Yes, well, I was working for my uncle until last August," he said, "but the Death Eaters trashed the radio station and I had to run for it--"
"So then you started Potterwatch! Maybe we ought to have you do an autograph session--"
"Huh? Why?"
"Wait 'til you hear what they did for Harry--"
"Yeah, but he's Harry--"
"Shut up and listen."
Harry had thought Ollivander's was still closed, but when they accompanied Ron and Hermione to look, the door and windows had been un- boarded. There was a customer inside: a woman, protesting even as the tape measure was winding itself happily around her shabby hat; and Mr. Ollivander, coming out of the stacks with half a dozen boxes. They watched from the window as he pondered, finally opening one and gently extracting a wand, handing it to the woman, watching sparks fly out; they saw Ollivander say something. The witch removed her hat, pointed the wand at it; spoke; it shook itself and was clean once more, invisibly mended. In a few seconds she came out, dabbing at her eyes but smiling. They went in.
Ollivander greeted them, happier than Harry ever remembered seeing him. Harry had decided to tell him about the Elder Wand, though not its fate; at the end Ollivander merely sighed, and then asked if he might see Harry's own wand. He looked it over for several minutes, then handed it back. "As good as new. I will always regret the loss of the Elder Wand to the wizarding world, no doubt, but I would therefore have proven the wrong master. There is so very much it could repair and restore, but also much harm to be done. Someone would think to take it for himself and the story would begin again. I have no wish to see it repeated."
They left shortly, as the witch with the new wand led a man in filthy, ragged robes inside. Ollivander greeted him by name, pulling out the tape measure again.
There were other things to be discussed over tea in the absence of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. The Weasley offspring, like Harry, were determined to do something nice for their parents; Hermione went so far as to suggest taking them with her to Australia, but Bill wisely pointed out that that would be difficult enough without shepherding Arthur through a Muggle airport. Also, Kingsley would certainly need him back tomorrow; Percy had been working heroically, it seemed, and Bill thought it was how he was dealing with Fred's death, but Kingsley needed more people he could trust. It might well be autumn before they could spare any time at all. Nothing was decided; they went back to work and shopping, thinking about it. Ron decided to get some owl nuts for Pig. Harry went in to Eeylops with him, thinking sadly of Hedwig and wondering if he should get himself a new owl.
"Hey, Ron-- your parents still just have Errol, don't they?"
"Yeah, but they never use him anymore. Never got a new one, they just used Pig all winter, and... Oh, yeah, that's an idea!"
"Help me pick one out. And no, get your own idea, I really do owe them. But you can help me with the message."
Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny went back to the Burrow by Floo Network. Shortly after, a great gray owl flew onto the kitchen windowsill and waited for Molly to untie the message from its leg. She read the note, looked uncertainly at the owl and gave the paper to Arthur, who laughed for the first time all week.
"Housewarming present! He's a beauty, too! Harry, that's your writing!"
"Good thing we didn't listen to George," put in Ron. "He wanted Harry to write 'Forever yours, dear Molly' and send a rose."
"So what are you going to name him?" said Harry, grinning as Mrs. Weasley hugged him.
"That will require thought. Just look at him-- he'll be able to fly straight to Romania!"
After supper Ron and Ginny hiked to the paddock with Harry to take cautious turns on the new Firebolt. George and then Percy came in after sunset, tired and still quieter than usual; it occurred to Harry that it might be a long time before George wanted to stay in the flat over the joke shop again.
Harry realized it had been a long while since he had spoken with Hermione, and that with only a month until end of term, she would have to start planning her search for her parents on top of preparing for N.E.W.T.s. He had had an idea, but wasn't sure if it would be practical. He found her outside with Crookshanks.
"Do you know yet how you'll find your parents?" he asked.
"No, not really. I need to start looking. I was wondering if I could get to a library and start with the Internet. But I may not have enough money to fly there any more," she said, her voice cracking.
"Don't worry about that, Hermione. We can get you there and bring you all back. I've got loads, more than enough for that."
"But Harry...!
"No buts. You've never seen inside my vault, have you? And I've got Sirius' stuff on top of what Mum and Dad left. So no argument. But I was wondering if we should ask Mr. Weasley if it's possible to use Portkeys. I know that's what they used to get everybody to England for the World Cup."
"I'd wondered if I could arrange one-- it could save days-- but I don't know, it might need to be an emergency or something. Things won't settle down here for a long time."
"We still might ask Mr. Weasley. I mean, we don't have credit cards or passports or driver's licenses, I'm still underage for a Muggle--"
Hermione was smiling now. "Speak for yourself. I've had a passport for years. I don't have a credit card yet, though."
"Well, we could always try broomsticks--"
"No way, Harry!"
"...or dragons, or thestrals, or hippogriffs-- "
"Now you're making a cruise sound good. But that would take forever."
"So let's talk to Mr. Weasley before he goes to bed."
Mr. Weasley was not hopeful, as Harry had expected. The current wave of Portkeys had been intended to deal with the emergency at Hogwarts, and it would not be legal to try one by the end of term without Ministry approval, unless Kingsley dropped the severe restrictions put in place by Fudge and Scrimgeour.
On the other hand, he felt very strongly that if any individual in the country had the right to expect such help from the Ministry, it was Hermione. And if Harry was involved, so much the better; Harry thought he had put it tactfully. He ended by saying that he couldn't be sure when, but he would find the opportunity to take it up with the Office of Magical Transport or, better yet, Kingsley himself.
"One other thing. I would dearly love come along, but I'm sure I won't have the time. Unless you actually locate them from here, I wouldn't recommend taking anyone but Harry, who knows about Muggles. And I certainly wouldn't go alone. It won't be a vacation. I don't expect Ron or Ginny to take it too well, or Molly either."
"We'll tell them," said Hermione.
Harry did tell Ron as they were changing for bed, but the plans were too indefinite yet for Ron to object. He did agree that Portkeys would be better than anything else, as Hermione didn't like to fly except in a jet ("Can't see it myself-- how can those things stay up, anyway? Broomsticks are loads safer...") He didn't like the idea of not going along but approved of Harry accompanying her. Harry was relieved; Ron seemed to have outgrown his jealousy entirely.
He wished he could have said the same thing about himself and his nightmares. For the first time since Voldemort's death, he had a bad night. Something was missing, he was alone; and though his wand rose and fell time after time, clanging like a bell, he could not protect his friends or his family. Their faces drifted frantically in and out of view until he could not distinguish among who had lived and who had died.... At least twice he woke, his eyes snapping open in the darkness to hear the ghoul rattling the pipes. Finally, well after midnight, his thoughts settled and he slept. At least his scar didn't hurt. Maybe he was missing the pain that had been with him all these years.
"I couldn't sleep either, these last two nights," confessed a bleary- eyed Ron on Wednesday morning. "I think I dreamed about Fred. Why now, and not days ago?"
"I remember reading something about it once," said Hermione. "It happens like this sometimes. I think we've all been in shock since Voldemort was killed, and things are going to start catching up with us over the next few days. It won't be easy but it has to happen sometime, and better now than later. It's not just the funeral-- it's having been through the battle, too."
"Where'd you find something like that?"
"A magazine in Dad's waiting room." She helped herself to more toast. "So what's to do today, as it's raining? Does George need us? Or is there something we can help you with here, Mrs. Weasley?"
"George hasn't said," said Ginny. "I might go with him for a few hours and help with the back room, if he needs."
"Let's see what he says first," said Molly. "There's always plenty to do here but the Burrow doesn't have customers like the shop does, so I'll let him have first dibs on your services."
"He'll be down shortly," said Mr. Weasley, sitting down and serving himself a large portion of a potato dish left by a neighbor. Percy followed suit. He also sported dark circles under his eyes, magnified by his horn rims, although he had looked tired every time Harry had seen him since the battle.
"Well, most of our people should be back at the Ministry today," Percy said. "Maybe things will slow down a little. I don't expect to be back to normal tomorrow, but perhaps we won't need to be there so late."
"Hope not," said Arthur, "at least not for you. You've been working hard, don't forget you need rest too."
"I'll be fine...."
"I know you will," said Arthur, "but still try not to overdo it. There's no shame in knocking off a few hours early at this point if you have to. As you say, everyone should be back by now."
George finally came down, bathed but tired like the rest of them, and helped himself to the last of the potatoes and sausages. "What's everybody doing today?"
In the end, George persuaded Molly to come to Diagon Alley as well; Harry was kicking himself for not thinking of it before, as she would have been alone all day otherwise. Charlie was to meet them for lunch before heading back to Romania, and Bill and Fleur were back at work.
Shoppers were already in evidence as they emerged from the Leaky Cauldron's yard, although it was not quite eight o'clock. Harry was once again the center of attention as they made their way to Number Ninety- three. He was glad to escape to the back room, clearing out boxes from yesterday, cleaning and restocking displays with the rest of them. Ginny and Hermione dragged Molly off to window- shop when the rain stopped. There was a steady business that morning, many customers buying small items for a few knuts or sickles, and most craning for a look at Harry in the back room. Harry began to wonder as he worked: why was it not bothering him any more? It wasn't like he was the hero they thought he was.
Maybe not, he thought; but remember what you told Ron, stuff like you did only sounds cool. They don't know how terrifying it really is.
But some of them do know by now, and still they think I did something-- greater-- than what happened. I might have been wrong, and then I'd never have been able to beat Voldemort. I'd be dead.
But I wasn't wrong. I spent all winter figuring it out and I was right. And Voldemort's dead.
At that point he had to sit down, shaking badly. When he could breathe and stand again, after long moments, he carefully went back to work, willing his legs to hold him up and trying not to drop anything. It really wasn't that he was afraid of dying, not then and not now. But failure would have been disastrous for all those people trying to catch a glimpse of him, not to mention the Weasleys and Hogwarts and the Order and the rest of the Wizarding world.... So he had, finally, done something to merit the attention. He didn't like it much, but he now felt as if he could never be angry about it again. The fury, the hot temper, seemed to belong to another Harry, whose head could explode in pain at any moment and who didn't know why things happened to him or how to deal with them; a boy sharing his soul with a piece of Voldemort.
In short, now that he thought about it, he felt good for the first time: not always happy, but sound and whole. He could have his own life, his own future. Unfortunately, it would include a lot of people looking at him, strangers introducing themselves, and probably Rita Skeeter writing a very unauthorized and scandalous biography. He would have to deal with that; but there would be good things too.
George entered with a closed basket. He set it down carefully and opened it, inspecting the last litter of Pygmy Puffs ready to leave their mother. Harry put out a finger, smiling as a couple of tongues wrapped around it and laughing as George said he had to buy them now but could use credit. It was the final load from Muriel's; George inspected the back room thoroughly, pronounced it ready, and removed the curtain that didn't quite cover the doorway between the rooms. They left the shop in the care of Lee and the assistants as the rest of the family showed up for lunch.
Mrs. Weasley had reserved tables at a cafe. The food was neither plentiful nor of the best, but with all that had happened that week none of them were particularly critical; the rest of Diagon Alley would be no better until things returned to normal. Mrs. Weasley had Harry take a corner seat away from the windows and they spent a pleasant hour or so, especially when Bill, Fleur, and Percy were able to join them for a while. Arthur stopped by only briefly as they prepared to leave; he gave Harry a folded paper, telling him to read it and to keep his eyes open for trouble.
"Why? What's going on?"
"It's a press release from the Ministry," Mr. Weasley said. "I don't know if you've been following the Prophet, but there's been problems here and there rounding up Death Eaters over the last few days, and a very bad incident this morning. I'd suggest sticking close to everybody and not spending much more time in Diagon Alley this afternoon. There are Aurors here, but there are also a lot of other people and you'll attract crowds."
"Yeah, I'd noticed...."
"Use your cloak if you've got it. Oh, and Kingsley says two things. Firstly, would Mr. Harry Potter graciously consent to give an account of his doings since August so the Ministry has something to say when faced with a free press, and to please hurry up about it because the free press is nosing about in the person of Rita Skeeter. He suggests a sturdy dictation quill and letting Hermione edit the result. The second thing-- Hermione? Oh, there you are-- is that Kingsley will do all he can to arrange Portkeys through the Australian Ministry of Magic sometime during July, but to expect a round of dinners and appearances. They're to help you look for your parents, too, if you'll give me their new names."
He left them soon afterward, Harry facing the prospect of what amounted to homework, and Hermione beaming with relief.
There wasn't a lot more to do. Harry did as Kingsley had suggested and found self- propelling quills at the stationers', then followed Mrs. Weasley's suggestions about gifts for Teddy and Andromeda Tonks; he intended to visit the next day. Once back at the joke shop, he read the press release aloud to the others. The gist of it was that Death Eaters were still known to be loose, and they were to be regarded as very dangerous following an incident in Upper Flagley only a few hours before. Two masked Death Eaters had attacked a large gathering at a funeral. Effectively they had committed suicide, but it was due only to the quick response of several witches and wizards on the edge of the crowd that no one else had been killed.
The mood grew somber at that. Once word got out, and the press release was for that afternoon's Prophet, some other distraught follower of Voldemort might well decide to go out in a blaze of glory, and Harry's presence in a crowded Diagon Alley was surely a great temptation. He raised no objection when the others decided to go back to the Burrow. It had begun to rain again, and he thought he might get started on the story everyone wanted of him.
He did not have to face a blank roll of parchment alone, as it happened. As soon as they were back, Ron suggested they commandeer the sitting room while Hermione ran upstairs to collect ink and more quills. It was much easier to sit with them, remembering what happened and making notes, then letting Hermione manage the dictation; it was, to Harry's relief, nothing like having a Quick- Quotes Quill mangling their words. They started with the flight from Privet Drive. After a few hours both Ginny and Molly gave up pretending to be busy elsewhere and brought plates of warmed- over casserole into the sitting room for all of them. George, Percy and Arthur came in afterwards, likewise provided, sat down to eat and stayed to listen. They did not stop until nearly eleven o'clock, when the quill began to write down their yawns; by then they were well into spring, having glossed over the many weeks in which they had done little but move camp. Hermione flopped back, eyes closed, stretching; she had kept a quill writing for nearly eight hours. She gave her opinion that another such session should be sufficient. Then she organized the sheets, tapping each with her wand and saying "Gemino," and handing Arthur a copy to take to Kingsley the next day, "to get him started."
Harry thought the next morning that sorting out his memories might have helped, because the only dream he remembered had something to do with a problem for which he had the answer.
He remembered to write Mrs. Figg, borrowing the new owl to send the letter after lunch, and likewise borrowing Pigwidgeon to deliver a note to Mrs. Tonks. Pig returned first with her scribbled response, and Harry Disapparated from the Burrow.
He had barely had time to look at the Tonks household on his previous visit, but he was not surprised to see that things were a little disorganized. Although Andromeda Tonks had only raised one child, she obviously remembered how. Harry was amused to see a howling Teddy on a blanket placed on the living room carpet, but his screams were silent.
"His bottle's coming," said Andromeda. "Never try to raise a baby without a Muffliato charm. Ted was so tickled to find that one."
They talked as Teddy ate, Harry pulling out the things he had found in Diagon Alley-- a colorful mobile with Quidditch balls and players in bright yellow robes, and self- cleaning diapers. Harry felt bound to ask what Andromeda's situation was, so recently widowed and now raising a baby; he was glad to learn that they were not without family-- Ted's sister and nieces were close and were helping regularly, despite adjusting to a magical household-- and she indicated that the money would stretch until Teddy was old enough that she could go back to work. They talked for a while longer, about Tonks and Lupin, and about what he and Ron and Hermione had heard on the riverbank all those months ago.
Harry was thoughtful at dinner. There were two months of summer break at least, if he had to re- take any subjects next year, and he would be spending time in Australia and probably at Grimmauld Place as well as the Burrow, but he must spend time with Teddy as well. If nothing else Mrs. Tonks would need help around her house; perhaps he could bring Ron and the others now and again.
The next evening ended with a rough outline of the events at Malfoy Manor, at Gringott's and the battle at Hogwarts, none of which was set in a final form. Saturday would be busy, for they had to pack and help around the house, as well as finish writing. All of them agreed that it had to be done before boarding the train, or Kingsley would have to wait another month and more until the end of the term.
To their surprise, enough was completed by midafternoon Saturday that Hermione made copies for all of them and the Minister, and said that anything else they remembered could be added later. They all turned to packing; Harry's rucksack was done quickly, as was Ginny's bag, and they turned to helping Ron and Hermione. By teatime, they were done and Molly had sent them outside to try to bring some order to the weed-choked garden, a task nowhere near done by the time Mr. Weasley and Percy came up the walk, followed by George, and Molly called them in to dinner.
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