War Is Over

by Pitry

In the morning after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry felt tired. In the morning after the morning after, he was downright exhausted. The war may be over, but there are still battles to be fought.

12. Visitors

War Is Over: Chapter 12/17 - Visitors

The holidays were drawing to an end, and for the first time for seven years, Harry regretted the end of the holiday. Hermione and Ginny were to go back to Hogwarts; Ron was heading back to his Auror training, which, he claimed, was "no fun without you" as he tried to get Harry to come back. And Harry would stay on his own, for the first time since the beginning of the holidays. It felt weird, and despite spending the past couple of months on his own, Harry couldn't quite wrap his head around the idea of separating again from them. He'd known for a while how much he needed them, but he didn't realise how much he would miss them, and how bad he would feel leaving them again, how unnatural, and how weird. And it didn't help that at the very last evening of the holiday, things got weirder.

It started with a knock on the door. They were all sitting in the living room, just being together, not expecting anyone else. Andromeda and Teddy had come and gone earlier that day, Bill and Fleur had already left, and everyone else who could think of visiting the Weasleys on Christmas was present, even Hermione's parents.

And yet, there was a knock on the door.

"Who could that be?" Arthur asked, furrowing his brow.

"Who could who be?" Molly asked from the kitchen.

"Isn't anyone knocking?"

"Knocking? Who's knocking at this hour?" Molly said, not hearing half of Arthur's words.

"There's someone at the door," Arthur replied.

"Pardon?"

"There's someone at the door!"

The water coming out of the kitchen tap masked any possibility of comprehension. "I couldn't hear you, Arthur, you'll have to speak louder!"

Their surprise visitor kept on knocking.

"There's someone at the - oh, nevermind!" Arthur, defeated, got up to open the door.

From his seat next to the fireplace, Harry could see Arthur - but just barely. He saw him walking to the entrance, he saw him fumbling with the bolts and opening the door - and he saw him freezing in place.

Out of instinct, without any thought, Harry got up as well, drawing his wand. Arthur Weasley wasn't a man who tensed easily, and whoever it was at the door, it couldn't have been a regular social call.

He heard the voice before he saw the face. "... So I thought he's probably here," said the familiar voice of Draco Malfoy, strangely devoid of the arrogance that Harry usually associated with it.

"What is it to you?" Arthur said defiantly.

"I just wanted to talk to him, that's all," a shadow of the arrogance returned to Malfoy's voice with these words, as a response to the unexpected challenge.

"It's okay, Arthur," Harry said from behind him, making sure his wand was tucked back in his trousers. It turned out not to be quite a good idea - Malfoy's eyes darted from Arthur to Harry, and for a moment, he looked as if he was regretting showing up in the first place.

His months in Azkaban had changed Draco Malfoy. Harry remembered interviewing him there, only a few days after his arrest. He had already been paler than usual then. Now, he was as white as a ghost. It wasn't just his lack of colour, though. There were dark bags under his eyes, which themselves looked dull and lifeless, and he was thinner than ever Harry remembered him - in short, Draco Malfoy looked ill.

"Potter," Malfoy half-greeted, half-accused Harry.

"Malfoy," Harry responded in kind.

The three of them stood there awkwardly for a moment, and then became six, as Ron, Hermione and Ginny joined them, all glaring at Malfoy. If a moment ago Harry wondered whether Malfoy was regretting showing up at the Burrow, he was now sure of it.

"Erm," he said, because he had nothing better to say. Malfoy's eyes didn't leave his face. "D'you want a cup of tea? Or something?"

"Sure," Malfoy answered and stepped inside the house. Ron scowled at him, but said nothing to contradict Harry. He made to follow Harry, as did Hermione and Ginny, but Harry stopped them at the entrance to the kitchen.

"Guys, would it be alright if I talked to him alone for a moment? I think it'd be better that way."

"What if he - "

"I doubt he's going to try and curse me or anything. He's just out of Azkaban, remember?"

Hermione nodded, but Ron stayed planted to his place, glaring at Malfoy. "C'mon, Ron," she said, and nudged him back towards the living room. Harry gestured towards the kitchen and opened the door - just as Molly got out, her hands full with a huge cake.

"Oh, Harry, dear, so nice of you to open the door for me!" she beamed at him and started navigating towards the living room, but then stopped, when she saw who he was accompanied by.

"Aren't you the Malfoy boy?" she snapped at him.

"It's okay, Molly, really. We won't interrupt you guys," Harry said in his most reassuring voice, and held the door wide open, hoping Malfoy would take the hint and go inside. He did - or, perhaps, he did not want to keep on standing there and be stared at by Molly Weasley. Harry was about to follow him, when Molly's voice stopped him.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Harry," she said.

"I hope so, too," he smiled and walked in.

Malfoy was standing by the door nervously. He didn't sit down near Molly's great oak table. He looked too nervous to do so uninvited. If anything else, Azkaban had taught Draco Malfoy humility.

"Milk? Sugar?" Harry went to the pot to fix both of them tea.

"Just milk. Thanks."

Harry fetched two cups and poured the tea. Malfoy was still standing when he brought the cups back to the table.

"You can sit down, you know," he said and sat down himself. Malfoy hesitated for a moment, then did the same.

"How long have you been out of Azkaban?" Harry asked.

Malfoy shuddered at the name - just as, not long ago, he did at the name of Lord Voldemort. Fear was a constant thing, even if its subject had changed with time.

"About a week," he answered, and took a sip of the tea, clearly savouring the taste. Tea was probably not served at Azkaban, Harry thought darkly - and then his brow furrowed when he thought of Malfoy's answer.

"They didn't release you for Christmas?"

Malfoy shrugged. "The sentence was for five and a half months from the day of the trial. That included Christmas."

"But it was only a couple of days! It's ridiculous."

Malfoy looked into his tea. "It really doesn't matter. There's no one home anyway. And actually, the Ministry sealed the house. They didn't let me go back there."

Harry had forgotten - Narcissa Malfoy was also in Azkaban, and still had two years to serve of her sentence. And Lucius - well. He was going to stay in Azkaban for a long, long time. The awkward silence engulfed the room once again.

"Where have you been staying?" Harry asked, just to break the silence.

"Daphne Greengrass. She lives in Diagon Alley."

Harry barely knew Daphne - she was in their year, but one he had never really talked to - and it was probably for the best, he thought.

"I - uh - was going to stay with Pansy, but then we had a fight," Malfoy said, mainly to break the silence as well. He didn't look as if he expected Harry Potter to care about his friends, girlfriends, or who he had fought with at any given time. But Harry found himself surprisingly curious.

"What did you fight about?" he asked, with genuine curiosity and honest lack of tact.

Malfoy looked at him for a moment with a calculating look - probably coming up with the most accurate way to tell Harry where to stuff it, Harry thought as he realised how inappropriate his question must have been. But then, to his surprise, Malfoy just shrugged again.

"You, actually."

"Me?"

"She believes the Daily Prophet - you know, all that stuff about you going mad with all the curses you were hit with. That's basically what she said when she told me how you quit over the... you know. Disbanding Slytherin House. Kicking out people."

"It wasn't just about that," Harry said uncomfortably. It was bad enough that everyone kept on saying he had become the champion of Slytherin House. He didn't need Malfoy to think that too.

"Don't worry, Potter. I don't think you're my best friend all of a sudden. Or that you've embraced your inner Slytherin."

"Don't take it the wrong way, Malfoy, but I'm sort of hoping I don't have an inner Slytherin."

Malfoy was taken aback, but only for a second. Then, the first real smile he had seen on his face appeared.

"Good," he said decidedly. "I don't think we'd want you, anyway."

"Yeah, I kinda figured that out," Harry said without thinking, and the awkward silence descended on them again.

They sat like that, drinking their tea in silence, for long minutes that seemed like forever, and Harry kept on thinking what could he possibly say - not to offend Malfoy, because for the first time since they met, all those years ago at Diagon Alley, he didn't want to; not to bring up Malfoy's family, because it was obvious from his expression earlier that it was a sensitive subject; not to bring up Azkaban, or ask about Pansy, or talk about - anything, really. There was nothing Harry could think of that the two had in common, except, perhaps, Quidditch. Quidditch and a lot of bad memories.

"Did you see the game against Scotland?" he asked at last, fishing for any conversation subject to break the silence.

"No," was Malfoy's short reply. Harry went back to his tea.

"You asked me - do you remember? Why I didn't turn you in."

Harry lifted his head in surprise, staring at Malfoy. He never really expected an answer to that question.

"You weren't a coward," he said gently.

"But I was afraid," Malfoy said into his tea. "I don't know what I was afraid of more. You escaping, or you not escaping."

Harry said nothing, not daring to interrupt.

"When I was a kid, Father always talked about how great it could have been had the Dark Lord succeeded. For us, you know. How the Malfoy family had a place in the wizarding society. But even he didn't, I mean, he didn't think, when he was in our house, all that time, it was like..." Malfoy's voice trailed. "Well, it really was a new world order," he finished dryly.

"Winning wasn't what you'd thought it'd be," Harry said gently.

Malfoy looked at Harry defiantly, as if angry at the tone of his voice, at the understanding. "From the sound of it, it isn't what you'd thought it'd be, either."

"No," Harry agreed, "it isn't." Who'd have thought? Maybe they had more in common than he realised.

"I can't stop thinking about it," Malfoy confessed suddenly, quietly. "It was the Dementors, y'know, in... there. I kept on going back to when we thought he'll kill us all, and when he killed that teacher, and when he heard..." he became silent.

"Dementors tend to do that," Harry said, gently still. He hadn't forgotten all the grief Malfoy had given him in the past, because of his sensitivity to Dementors. But he didn't feel like gloating, didn't feel any joy that now pampered, spoilt Draco Malfoy had seen enough horrors to feel the Dementors' real sting.

It seemed the same thought had crossed Malfoy's mind. For just the shortest of moments, something like regret passed through his eyes, as he looked at Harry. He probably was thinking about it, too, about teasing Harry and laughing at him after he had fainted.

He opened his mouth - perhaps to utter an apology - but closed it down again. Harry didn't mind. He never expected an apology from Draco Malfoy for seven years of mutual hatred, and would have probably dropped out of his chair in surprise had he received one, even from this new Draco Malfoy, the one who knew fear and pain and humility. And he didn't want an apology. Not from Malfoy.

"But it doesn't stop. I thought it would stop. I thought I would be out of there and wouldn't have to think about it anymore. That's the only thing that kept me going through all that time months, you know? Knowing that it will be over. But it isn't." He looked at Harry, his eyes almost begging him an answer, and Harry lowered his own eyes, he couldn't bare to see that expression, not even on Malfoy's face. "Does it ever go away?" he whispered his plea.

Harry considered for a moment. It would be a lie to say 'yes', even though he wanted to lie, if only to see Malfoy regaining his normal haughty demeanour. Seeing Malfoy pleading with him left him unsettled, more than he ever thought he'd be. But he couldn't say yes. Not when the forest still haunted him in his nightmares.

"It gets better," he said at last.

Draco nodded. "I guess that's the best I can hope for," he said, disappointment in his voice - and perhaps also fear. He got up, and Harry did the same. And then, as if the evening hadn't offered enough surprises until then, he did something Harry had never thought would happen. He offered Harry his hand.

Harry hesitated. Draco Malfoy had obviously changed, not just in his tenure in Azkaban, but during the two previous years, when he learned the reality of Lord Voldemort. But Harry couldn't forget the bullying, the lies, the names - everything that Draco Malfoy had done in the five years before. Testifying on that change was one thing. Accepting Malfoy was another.

Malfoy noticed his hesitation. His face grew darker, then resigned, and he pulled his hand back. There was silence between them for a moment, as Harry kept on looking at the empty space where Malfoy's hand had been a moment ago.

So it was then, of course, that the door opened to reveal Kingsley Shacklebolt and Rita Skeeter.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Minister," Rita said in her sweetest voice, "but aren't secret business meetings with convicted Death Eaters an imprisonable offence these days? Or is this pleasure?" she flashed a smile at Harry, who didn't respond in kind.

"What I do in my free time is my own business, Rita," Harry said, trying to remain as civil as possible. Inside, he was reeling. What was Rita Skeeter even doing there?

"Not if it's against the law, Potter, it isn't. You wouldn't want it published that the Ministry is turning a blind eye when Harry Potter breaks the law, now, would you?"

"I was merely catching up with a classmate," Harry snapped.

"Yes," she said, all hint of pleasantness gone from her voice as well. "I remember the two of you have always been such good friends."

"Excuse me, but what are you doing in our house, exactly?" Ginny showed up behind them, together with Molly and Arthur. Her eyes were narrowed at Rita Skeeter, her voice cold and angry.

"Oh, young Ms Weasley!" Rita said in her sweetest voice. "I've been wanting to ask you to do an interview for just ages now! My readers are just fascinated by you. Did you know it's rumoured you led the rebellion at Hogwarts last year? And of course," she laughed, "your relationship with young Mr Potter here is the subject of interest for so many people. Are you afraid of him? Has he had any angry outbursts? Do you think he's dangerous?"

"Why is she here?" Ginny turned to Kingsley, ignoring Rita and her words.

It was one of those moments that made Harry appreciate Ginny all the more. As much as he told himself he didn't care what Rita was writing or what people were thinking, her cold words stung him. How dare she - ? he wanted to scream. But Ginny took it without batting an eyelid, just writing Rita off completely. I love you, he wanted to tell her at that moment - but of course, he couldn't, not in the present company.

"She's writing a piece about me," Kingsley said apologetically. "We gave her clearance to follow me around for a bit."

"Well, I don't think Mum and Dad gave her clearance to come here, did they?"

"We most certainly didn't," said Molly Weasley coldly, looking just as angry as her daughter.

"Well," Rita gave them all another smile, "I can tell you wish to have this meeting along. No matter. I think I've got some interesting news for tomorrow's newspaper. Minister, Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy," she said, emphasising Malfoy's name, and completely ignoring Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys, she walked out.

"I think I should leave, too," Malfoy muttered.

"Yes, I think you've done enough damage," Arthur snapped at him.

Harry wasn't quite sure what surprised him more - those words, coming out of Arthur Weasley's mouth, who was always so kind and pleasant and quiet - and who had backed Harry up often enough on these matters. Or, perhaps, at the way Malfoy visibly shrunk at the words.

"I'll talk to you later," he told Malfoy shortly, trying to soften the blow.

"It won't be necessary, Potter," Malfoy said, sounding like his old self once again, and showed himself out.

"Good riddance," Arthur muttered.

"Kingsley, would you like some cake?" Molly offered, trying to diffuse the tension that spread in the room.

"No, I'm sorry, Molly, I'm on a somewhat official business here. Harry - could I have a word?"

Harry tensed. "Forgive me, Minister - " he said, perhaps putting too much emphasis on Kingsley's title - "but what is this about?"

"Let's talk, Harry."

"They can stay," Harry said quickly, noticing the Weasleys starting to edge towards the door, and Arthur, in particular, looking at him gravely. "We're all friends here, aren't we?"

Kingsley visibly tensed. "Actually, I'd rather it'd be just the two of us, Harry." He looked around at the Weasleys. "Well, Arthur should stay, but let's not have too much of that, Harry."

Harry had no problem reading Kingsley's expression - whatever it was that he came here to do, he was unhappy about it. This was going to be an unpleasant conversation no matter who was going to be present, Harry realised, and despite his disagreement with the Ministry, his affection to Kingsley did not allow him to say no. It didn't take long before everyone left, but when the room was clear of all but Harry, Arthur, and Kingsley, he just sat there and sat nothing.

Probably thinking how to begin, Harry thought, and spared Kingsley from further uncertainty.

"What's this all about, Kingsley? Whenever the Minister for Magic has come to look for me in person in the past, it was bad news. So don't take it the wrong way, but... what is it this time?"

"I came to ask whether you will rejoin the Auror Office."

"No." He didn't even think about it, didn't make a pretence of surprise or consideration. He didn't have to.

"Look, Harry. This is more complicated than you realise. As long as you're a part of the Auror Office and under my jurisdiction, I can protect you."

Harry smiled, a smile without mirth. "Come on, Kingsley, I defeated Voldemort barely six months ago. I think that's going to protect me for a while now." But something in Kingsley's expression alarmed even him. "No?"

"They're passing new legislation in the Ministry when we're back from the holidays. I tried to block it, but it doesn't look like I'm going to have much of a success. It's got a lot to do with that interview you gave to Rita Skeeter. Just like I warned you."

"I take it the committee isn't at the top of the Ministry's priorities anymore?" Harry said, and was unsurprised to hear from Kingsley that its first meeting had been set - to July. "So killing Death Eaters isn't the problem anymore, only pointing out that this has happened? I wonder what would have happened if I also told Rita about Seamus's medal."

"You heard about that?" Kingsley asked, dismayed.

"Of course I did. And I'm having a bit of a hard time figuring out why you want me to re-join the Ministry when things are just becoming worse and worse. Why did you decorate him for killing Death Eaters he didn't even want to kill?"

"Because the Auror Office can't afford admitting mistakes now," it was Arthur who answered.

"People are scared, Harry," Kingsley said. "The only thing they still trust is the Auror Office. If they knew how many near misses we've had, how many accidents we've had... there would be chaos. You think the Ministry will hold if people knew the truth?"

"I'm sorry, Kingsley, but that just sounds a bit too much like what Fudge and Scrimgeour did to Stan Shunpike to my liking."

Kingsley looked at Harry for a long moment. "This isn't about the Ministry anymore, Harry. This is about you." He spoke slowly now, carefully measuring his words. "Will Jones already wanted to do it after the first one, after you've given Rita Skeeter the information about how... we tortured Carrow, even before his murder was published," Kingsley continued. "I managed to block him then, but that last interview gave him just the support he needed for this law. Information about Ministry operations and tactics has now been reclassified. To give it to the press without authorisation can get you tried in front of a select group from within the Wizengamot, chosen by the Ministry, and they can get you imprisoned."

"But I haven't even given her the whole truth the last time!" Harry protested. "All she heard from me is that there was a lie involved - no one even mentioned Savage or Robards yet!"

"That was all that was needed. And don't think they'll repeat the mistakes Fudge made with your hearing a couple of years ago. The kind of trial they're planning won't be public, won't be full of people who support you, and they won't need to prove you know anything before putting you there, either."

"Or give too much proof, I take it," Harry said darkly and took Kingsley's silence as confirmation. He considered this for a moment. "How is rejoining the Ministry going to protect me?"

Kingsley looked uncomfortable. "To be quite honest with you, the idea is that you'll be too busy with Auror training to do anything else."

"Like being unavailable to comment about things?" Harry asked in disbelief.

"That's the only acceptable compromise I've managed to get out of Will Jones. They're not going to suffer your criticism for long, Harry. You're not just a random wizard who doesn't like a random new policy. You're Harry Potter. Your word means too much for the Ministry to allow you to speak against it. And you're criticising the one thing the Ministry managed to get wide-spread support for.

"The bottom line, Harry, is that they practically gave me an ultimatum. Either I put a stop to this, or they will. And trust me, this is a threat Will Jones intends to keep."

Harry went over Kingsley's words. He had no doubt Will Jones really wanted him to remain silent - especially considering their latest incidents, incidents such as Seamus's mistake. The Death Eater at the centre of that incident had been the same one who was responsible for the death of Jones's wife - of course he would not let go of it.

"How d'you mean, 'the only acceptable compromise'?" he asked distracted, mainly trying to buy some more time, or some more options. "What was the unacceptable compromise?"

"The hospital."

"No."

"That's what I told him. I knew you'd feel this way. Even though he might not be completely wrong - don't get me wrong, Harry," Kingsley said without pausing for breath, drowning any noise Harry started making in protest of this last sentence, "I find these leaks of the research being done despicable, just as much as you. But the research is genuine. There really is a reason to be worried about the effect of Unforgivable Curses."

"And you have a lot of subjects to test that hypothesis on, do you?" Harry asked sarcastically.

"No, it isn't done on the victims. You know as well as I do that this path is useless, as do the wizards who are in charge of the research. The research is done on the origin of the curses. The Department of Mysteries is quite busy these days. And it doesn't look encouraging."

"How far are they?"

Arthur looked sharply at Harry to the sound of that question, but Kingsley didn't flinch.

"Far from any conclusive results," he answered truthfully.

"And would they be able to recognise this damage in a living person?"

"No."

"Or treat a person they suspect is affected?"

"No."

"In other words, there's a theoretical possibility something is wrong with me, but no one can know for sure whether this possibility is only theoretical or if it's actually happening, how to recognise it, or how to treat it," Harry said, trying to maintain as calm a voice as possible.

"That sounds about right," Kingsley agreed.

"And still they want me to hospitalised myself."

"Which is why this is the unacceptable compromise. I feel the same way about this."

"Thank you," Harry said quietly.

"Don't be so quick to thank me, Harry. Calling you the Great Hero of Hogwarts and declaring you as suffering from war-related damage would have been the easy solution. The Ministry loves this solution. They find it... elegant. If the Ministry's research were anywhere close to practical, I would have insisted on that. You would have been given a nice pension by the Ministry and left alone. Whatever you said, they'd just talk about your great sacrifice and leave it to people like Rita Skeeter to fill in the blanks. But since this is not an option... You won't return to the Auror Office?"

"Will the Auror Office change its policy? Are you going to stop going after innocent people? Are you going to make sure criminals are incarcerated and interrogated legally, rather than tortured and killed?"

"We do our best not to go after innocent people already, Harry." Kingsley had ignored the second half of his question.

Harry looked at him sharply and said nothing. Eventually, Kingsley sighed. "No, Harry, there's little chance the policies of the Ministry and the Auror Office will change any time soon."

"Then I'm sorry, but the answer is still no."

Kingsley got up then from his chair. "Well," he said, "I tried."

"And I appreciate it."

"I guess I better be going now. But Harry - be careful, please."

Harry said his goodbyes as pleasantly as possible, but didn't join Arthur as he went to show the Minister to the door. Instead, he remained seated in his chair, in front of the table, staring at nothing in particular. For the first time in a very long time, he wasn't only unsure about what he had to do, but unsure about what he wanted to do, too.

He lifted his head when the door opened again, not a minute after Kingsley left the room. It was Ron. He could see from his expression that Ron had heard all of the conversation that had transpired in the kitchen - just as he could see that Ron wanted to hide that fact. He knew Ron long enough to recognise the expression - and not to mind it at all.

"Extendable ears?" he asked in a pleasant tone.

"What?" Ron looked guilty as he tried to sit as casually as possible next to Harry.

"Did you listen with the extendable ears? Or just stood beyond the door? I hope it was the ears, I'll be honest. Much more comfortable."

"Oh, um," the tips of Ron's ears turned bright red, "yeah, extendable ears. There were too many of us to listen through the door."

Harry chuckled.

"We didn't mean to listen in - well, we did," Ron amended hurriedly. "But - I mean - it's not like, if we knew what he was going to say, you know, we wouldn't."

"Yeah, you would," Harry chuckled again, and Ron breathed in relief, seeing that Harry wasn't angry. "I don't mind," Harry added, just in case it wasn't obvious. "I wouldn't have minded if you'd have been here."

"Thanks," Ron mumbled.

"It was easier in the war," Harry said aloud what he hadn't even dared thinking to himself, not in words. "We knew what we had to do."

"Yeah, but we didn't have any clue how to do it," Ron pointed out wisely.

"I know. But there was a purpose, even when we weren't sure how to get there."

"Maybe you should go back to the Ministry. Maybe that's the right thing to do."

"No, I don't think it is."

"But you don't know," Ron pointed out.

"No," Harry agreed. "I don't." He thought about it for a moment, and the memory of his first conversation of the evening came back to his mind with the vivid image of Draco Malfoy's pale face. "You think maybe that's how Malfoy felt last year? Stuck between two really bad options and not knowing which one to choose?" he mused.

"Harry, to be honest with you, I don't give a damn what Malfoy was feeling, or thinking, or wanting. I don't give a damn about Malfoy, period."

"I know," Harry said quietly.

"We're out of school, we don't have to suffer him anymore, we don't have to deal with him anymore. There were the days you'd have jumped on the opportunity to be rid of Malfoy."

"I know. I did. I do. Just not like this."

"Well, that's the only way there is to it. Now come on, I have to go back to Manchester tomorrow. Let's have some fun before that, shall we?"

But Harry couldn't forget his conversation with Malfoy, just like he couldn't forget the one he had with Kingsley. He couldn't sleep at all through that night. Whenever he dozed off, Kingsley's words came back to him. Deep inside, he didn't believe he would ever be in danger. There was some arrogance in it, he knew - after all, he didn't believe he would ever be in danger because he was the Famous Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the Hero of Hogwarts - etc etc etc. All those names they called him those first days of summer, when they all sat in ceremonies and funerals and listened to people going on and on about the war. But when tiredness overtook him, and he almost fell asleep, doubt came to him and kept him awake. What if Kingsley was right? And when it was so late it was almost morning, and the chill and darkness engulfed him but he tried hard to wrap himself in the blanket and fall asleep, he started asking himself what if they were all right and all he believed only showed that something was terribly wrong with him.

It seemed like forever before Molly woke them up, and then they were in a flurry of goodbyes - Ron going back to his training, Hermione and Ginny back to Hogwarts. Harry felt strangely empty, and much more alone than he felt before.

He didn't feel any better when he came to open the shop together with George. The holidays were over, and although George didn't expect too many people - or any, if he were to believe George's stories of the complete boredom he and Fred had suffered through the year before. The story still cheered him up - it wasn't full of the awkward silences and pained expressions that had become a part of the routine whenever Fred's name came up. When George spoke of Fred, it was as if his twin was still alive - he talked about him with so much enthusiasm. And so they spent the morning just the two of them, sitting with cups of coffee Harry brought from a Muggle café next to Diagon Alley, and George talked about the days after Christmas the year before.

"Well, obviously, no one even dreamt of coming here last year at this time, you know? We had to ask the staff not to come that week, it was that empty. Fred ended up inventing those stupid self-digging shovels. We kept talking all through Christmas last year how we needed a quick way out, in case Voldemort or his buddies came visiting, right? 'Cause you couldn't Apparate in and our of Diagon Alley, obviously. And I don't even remember how the idea of escape tunnels came up - must have been Dad with the Muggle stuff he reads. We all laughed at him, but the idea kinda stuck. So when we were sitting here, Fred inventing the self-digging shovels."

"And what did you do with them?" Harry asked eagerly.

"Set them loose, of course!" George burst out laughing. "Well, not exactly. We tested them by setting them in the direction of Ollivander, seeing as it was empty and all, so there was no risk of us scaring off some innocent shopkeeper - or worse, finding ourselves in a Death Eater shop. So they dig, and everything's alright, and we follow in the tunnel, and we get to Ollivander's and it's all great - and then we realise we have no idea where the shovels were. They just kept on digging."

"Digging where?"

"No clue! We never found out!"

"I think we should go to Ollivander's and find out," Harry joined in with George's laughter. But he could see from the eagerness in George's eyes that he was not kidding - George really wanted to see those tunnels. Why not, really? It's not like they had any costumers. And Harry knew he could use the distraction.

"Do you know where the entry is?" Harry asked George, who pointed at the back room. There, behind shelves and shelves of boxes, there was a big round hole, just big enough for a person.

"Lumos," Harry muttered, and George did the same next to him. They entered the tunnel. It had an odd smell - sweet, almost of something rotting.

"Lovely smell," Harry commented, and George said, almost apologetically, "It's a byproduct of the shovels. Can't be helped. We tried."

It wasn't far to Ollivander's, whose shop was just next door to the Weasleys'. Within five minutes, they could hear the radio on the other side of the wall - and Percy singing to himself along with Celestina Warback! They looked at each other in amusement mixed with just a little bit of glee.

"So," Harry whispered, trying to keep his tone as casual as possible, "do you think we could go to Ollivander's through here?"

"You know, Harry," George whispered back, his voice just as casual, "I think we could!"

The self-digging shovels had done a wonderful job, despite the unfortunate smell. The whole wall of Ollivander's was missing, and old dusty boxes were stacked one upon the other in front of them. All they had to do was remove them, one box at a time, or all together using magic. George waved his wand - the boxes cleared, and gave them a clear passage into Ollivander's.

Right in front of them, Percy was sitting, drinking his morning coffee and occasionally joining Celestina. "The Hippogriff who loved - argh!" he yelped, as he caught the faces of his brother and Harry peering at him from between the boxes. A second shout followed closely - he had spilled most of his coffee on his robes.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded of the two.

"Percy! What's wrong?" Ollivander rushed into the room, leaning on a small walking stick, his face white with fear and lined with age. Harry felt a pang of guilt - he had heard from Percy that Mr Ollivander had never quite recovered from his imprisonment at Malfoy Manor. He hadn't seen the old wandmaker for a while - and now that he did, he could see that he did not look at all better than on that day Harry had rescued him from that cellar. They nearly caused the old man a heart attack, he thought guiltily, even if he never quite liked him.

"Mr Potter! Mr Weasley!" Ollivander was now clutching his heart, and sitting down. "What on Earth are you doing here? Where did you come from?"

"I'm sorry, Mr Ollivander, we weren't quite thinking - there's this tunnel you see - " they started to awkwardly explain what they were doing there.

It was clear after a while that Ollivander was not listening. He settled for saying 'please don't do that again', but didn't even bother scolding them properly before going back to the front room.

"That was completely irresponsible, George," Percy said sternly. "I thought you have out-grown such nonsense. And Harry! You, after everything, I thought would have more common sense."

"You know, Percy," Harry said, slightly annoyed, "after everything, I'm quite happy to have some fun every once in a while."

"That - " Percy said indignantly - "is not fun!"

"Oh, I don't know, Perce. It was quite fun to see you spill your coffee all over your robes," George smirked. Percy huffed at him, which only served to make his smile bigger. Harry looked at the two of them, smiling.

His smiled was wiped from his face when he registered the words coming from the radio. They were discussing this morning's Daily Prophet - specifically, Rita Skeeter's story about him.

"'... We've known for a while that Potter's been a bit odd when it comes to Death Eaters, but if Rita's report is correct, this brings it to a whole new level. Meeting with a convicted Death Eater - that kinda makes you wonder what's going on in his head, doesn't it, Mike?'

'Well, Godfrey, some might argue that Rita Skeeter's piece from two months ago was all the indication of what's going on in Potter's mind - or, at least, his soul. Now, don't get me wrong, I appreciate Harry Potter just like the next wizard - '

' - Of course you do, we all do - '

'Exactly, but we can't allow that soft spot for Harry to turn us blind to some worrying tendencies he's been exhibiting. Anyway, for the next news, what do you think about the new legislation by the Ministry?'

'Well, Mike, I think it's about time! In order for our Ministry to work properly, its members should be allowed to make their own decisions without fear of backlash from the public! If - '

At that point, Percy turned off the radio angrily.

"Gits," George said to Harry. "Don't pay attention to them and what they're saying about you. I mean, Death Eaters is one thing, but going after you like that, that's completely uncalled for."

"Well, Rita Skeeter needs to sell some papers," Harry said, trying to feign light-heartedness. He had hoped there would be no further mentions of Rita Skeeter's little scoop about his scar and the fragment of Voldemort's soul, but of course, this was not the case. And of course, he thought bitterly, this would be brought up whenever someone objected to his actions, which seemed to be all the time now. All of a sudden, he didn't feel like remaining at the back room at Ollivander's any longer.

"I guess we better go back," he told George briefly, and started to go back through the tunnel.

"Oh, no, you don't," Percy said sternly. "Don't make it a habit to go through this tunnel. You'll be going through the front door, like normal people!"

"You're no fun at all, Perce," George complained, but he flicked his wand, returning the boxes back to their original place, and left the room.

"Harry," Percy called after Harry. Harry stopped and waited. "Be careful," he repeated Kingsley's advice from the night before. Harry left the room without another word.

He tried to be careful - he really did. Arthur had warned him as well at dinner the next day. It was harder than he thought. He didn't read the papers at work anymore - which wasn't a problem, as George was happy not to let another copy of the Daily Prophet into the shop, ever again. But he read them every night at Grimmauld Place, growing angrier and angrier with the quotes from Ministry officials who agreed to be mentioned by name, from Ministry 'sources' who refused to be identified, and with stories about new laws, passed by the Ministry all the time.

They passed laws dictating the curriculum of Hogwarts, demanding the war would already be taught at History of Magic classes, even though everyone knew about it. Harry had a moment's smile at the thought of Professor Binns teaching something that had happened after his death, but that was quickly gone. He had less to smile about when a law was passed that gave the Aurors much more authority and options while interrogating prisoners; and the Ministry gave itself much more legal tools to track down "people suspected of suspicious activities", he felt he had had enough.

He didn't quite mean to give an interview to the Prophet, slamming more or less anything Kingsley's regime had done in the past several months. In fact, his intention was to visit Kingsley again, rather than go to the paper about it. He had little love to the Prophet, even when its correspondent was not Rita Skeeter, and despite the fact he himself had found her useful from time to time; and unlike Fudge or Scrimgeour, he knew Kingsley would listen. In fact, he left work a little early that day, with the full purpose of getting to the Ministry before Kingsley left.

And then the attack occurred.

It wasn't goblins this time. It wasn't a random attack. There had been various Death Eater attacks in the past couple of weeks - perfectly timed with the Ministry's new legislation, giving the Ministry all the fuel it needed to silence any criticism that might have arisen otherwise. Those Death Eater attacks seemed random: a small village there, an incident in a lonely field here, it looked as if the Death Eaters still at large were mainly trying to make a point, show to the wizarding world that they were still around, still deadly. Ron's owl had mentioned Selwyn again - that was the Ministry's best guess, Selwyn goading Kingsley, and particularly Will Jones, taunting them with as much chaos and death as he could muster without being caught.

But the attack in Diagon Alley was not random. They were three Death Eaters - he didn't recognise them, not at first, although later he felt they looked familiar. They walked with determined faces towards Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, so determined that one of them brushed Harry as he left, not registering who he was. He wasn't quite sure what made him stop for a moment - perhaps he did recognise them, after all. The three of them turned around at the same time, just at the moment he, too, realised something was wrong. Their moment of hesitation saved his life - he had just enough time to jump into Ollivander's, as the green flashes of light shook the shop.

"Stupify!" he shouted at the top of his voice, taking cover behind Ollivander's door and aiming his wand at their general direction, not daring to look any further at their location for fear they would find him first. "Expelliarmus!"

More green flashes shattered next to him, the last one missing him by inches.

It created a commotion, of course. Diagon Alley was full of people at that moment, and at the next shop George and Angelina were already running outside, sending their own curses at the Death Eaters. They weren't alone - half of Diagon Alley came to fight the Death Eaters, the other half hiding behind the stone walls. One was down - two down - and then the third, still up, grabbed his friends and turned on the spot.

Harry could hear the shouts outside. "Where are they? Where did they go? Did they Disapparate? Where are they?" and only then allowed himself to leave the cover of Ollivander's door. His heart was pounding at what felt like 300,000 pulses a second, his head was dizzy, and he was breathing heavily. The Death Eater attacks had worried him, of course, just as they worried any other wizard. And in his short time in Auror training, he had faced some of them - but they were never personal. They were never after him, specifically.

He remembered where they were going before they noticed him. He had no doubt he was their intended target. There was nothing else they could look for in George's shop. Just him. His period of grace was over. Somehow, he never imagined this would be the case.

Hermione's words from all those months ago came back to him. It was supposed to be over. By all rights, it should already have been over. Will this war never end?

"Harry!" George shouted. "Blimey, you're white as a ghost! Are you alright? Did they get you?"

"No, no, I'm fine," he mumbled.

"Sit down, wait, I'll go get you some water, sit there," George guided him towards a bench somewhere in the street. "Just wait here!"

Harry sat, grateful. His legs were shaking. It wasn't the fear - he'd seen worse, he'd faced worse, what were three pathetic Death Eaters, who were never considered much even between their friends, and whose best achievement had been not being caught by the Ministry when their Master fell - what were they, comparing to Lord Voldemort himself? No, it wasn't the fear. It was the surprise.

"Harry," someone called him. He didn't recognise the wizard. "Brian Kirkpatrick, the Daily Prophet. I just saw this - how are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," he mumbled again, hoping this Brian Kirkpatrick, whoever he was, would leave him alone.

"I just wanted to ask you, do you have any comment on this event? It's pretty obvious they were going after you!"

"No, nothing. I'm fine, that's all really."

"Would you reconsider your position now on Death Eaters?"

Harry's eyes narrowed and he turned his head to the reporter. His breath, that had been slowly returning to normal, became heavy again.

"What?" he demanded.

"Well, you've been pretty critical in the past about the Ministry's policy towards Death Eaters, and I thought - "

"I haven't been critical about their policy towards Death Eaters. I've been critical about their policy towards Slytherins. And as long as you've mentioned their policies towards Death Eaters..." he started, and finished about fifteen minutes later.

It was a mistake, of course. He knew it even without seeing Kirkpatrick's smug expression. He wasn't even quite sure what he talked about. He had the vague impression he had blamed the Ministry for the current situation with the Death Eaters at large. He was positive he had claimed that their new measures were mostly a distraction from what was going on. And he knew that whatever he did say, he wouldn't have said if he had thought five more seconds about it.

He knew he should have probably tried to conduct some damage control now; that he probably needed to unsay some of the things he said. But he didn't, he just glared at the reporter, daring him to say anything more.

"Well," the reporter said, "thank you, Harry. I do believe I just have the next headline."

Harry just kept on glaring until he disappeared from view.

"That was stupid," someone said behind him - George, of course, still holding his forgotten glass of water. He was leaning on the wall of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, studying Harry.

"I know," Harry said shortly.

"I'm not saying I don't agree with some of the stuff you said. Like that bit about the Ministry focusing on Slytherins instead of Death Eaters, that was pretty spot on."

"Thanks."

"But on the whole, Harry, that had to be one of the stupidest things I've ever seen you do - and mind you, I think you and Ron and Hermione did some really stupid stuff at school."

Harry didn't answer. He knew George was right.

But then, surprisingly, George gave him a wide, approving smile. "What's life without some stupidity, eh? Just boring, really!"

Harry couldn't help but smile at that.

"Wait here," George said, "I'll grab my coat. We'll go get a drink, I don't reckon water will help you now."

Harry's smile widened. He knew there was a reason he always liked the Weasley twins.

-X-

It was nearing midnight. Harry had sat with George and Angelina in the Leaky Cauldron until Tom threatened to throw them out, and then they said their goodbyes, George and Angelina going back to the small flat above the shop, and Harry continuing back to Grimmauld Place. He had learned to like the place in an odd way in the past couple of months. It wasn't home - it could never be home, not when it still bore the signs of being occupied by the Black family, and never after Sirius's death. But it was comfortable, and at the moment, that was all Harry wanted.

He fumbled through the entrance and into the dark corridor. He was slightly too drunk, he knew, but after what he'd been through that day, he felt he had every right to be. Besides, he only had, what, three firewhiskeys? He knew what Ron would say - pathetic. His head should definitely not be as dizzy as it was. But there it was, another riddle solved.

"The great Harry Potter can't really drink," he announced to the dark corridor. The corridor failed to answer, so he continued upstairs, to the bathroom and bedroom. A short shower, and he was dressed in his pyjamas and brushing his teeth. "You missed a spot," the mirror said, as it often did, and he ignored it, as he often did. Sometimes he threw a sarcastic comment, or told it it was just a mirror, but right now all he wanted to do was go to sleep.

"Right there, on your upper teeth," the mirror commented again.

"Shut up," he told it.

And then - was it a noise downstairs? He stopped all movement, the brush tucked into his mouth.

"A little bit upper," the mirror chose the worst time to comment.

"Shut up!" he hissed urgently. There it was again - noise from below. Someone was in the house. He could hear them moving chairs, then climbing up the stairs, the ancient wood creaking under their footsteps - whoever they were. He spat the toothpaste and started tiptoeing outside of the bathroom to get a closer look - when a bright light appeared, turning into a familiar shape. A lynx. Kingsley's Patronus.

The lynx opened its mouth and said one word in Kingsley's deep voice before disappearing.

"Run."