Author's Notes: Once more I would like to thank my beta reader, MikkiSteel. Without them, you all would see far more typos than you might otherwise.
Harry Potter and the world around him belong to JK Rowling, and not to me. The clearest proof of this is the fact that I drive a beat up Honda Civic.
Chapter Two
When Heather drew aside the thick curtains, she had the briefest glimpse of the familiar Hospital Wing before her senses were completely overwhelmed. Noise flooded in from all sides and her eyes screwed themselves shut to try and block out the pain. Acting purely on instinct, Heather shoved her hand into her jacket pocket, grasping for her wand. Once her fingers had gripped the wooden handle, she raised it, still unsure where to aim.
"Potter!" a rough man's voice broke through the din, "Stand down!" Heather wrenched her eyes open and spun to face the voice. She saw a grizzled man moving quickly towards her from the door to the corridor, a long brown trench coat concealing most of his body. His matted greying hair and rough appearance made her pause. "No, it can't be him. He's dead." She thought, her wand stopping short of aiming for the center of his chest. In her moment of confused indecision, he struck.
"Expeliarmus!" he roared.
Heather's wand wrenched itself from her grip, flying high into the air. Reaching out, the unknown wizard caught it deftly. Heather didn't wait for the next spell to hit her. She threw herself to the side. Her intention had been to roll behind one of the nearby beds for cover, but halfway to the ground a burst of intense pain sprouted in her chest and instead she slammed into the hard stone floor. She slid several feet, coming to a hard stop against the metal bed frame.
"What in the heavens-!" screamed Madam Pomfrey as she burst from her office back into the ward. Winded and dazed, Heather felt a pair of strong arms grab hold of her and lift her gently to her feet. Blinking through the tears, she saw it was the man who had disarmed her. This close, she could see that the resemblance to Mad-Eye Moody was only superficial. He was taller than Moody had been, his hair was more blonde than grey, and his nose was still completely intact. The whizzing blue eye that had been Moody's trademark was also, thankfully, missing.
"Sorry about that, Potter." He grunted as he brushed dust off her shoulders with a heavy hand. She staggered slightly but kept her feet. "Didn't need you hexing your well-wishers." He handed over her wand, which she took back quickly. Finally able to look around the ward properly, Heather saw that the noise had been the cheers and applause of the other bed's occupants. Adults and students met her gaze, some looking concerned, others barely hiding smirks and grins. They must have been injured in the battle, but not have been so badly hurt that they needed St. Mungo's. She nodded towards the two or three students she knew on sight and tried to put on a polite smile.
"Right," she said, drawing herself up to her full height and trying her best to ignore the heat flooding into her cheeks. "Err, thanks," she said to the wizard. Madam Pomfrey had begun rechecking her for further injuries, but Heather brushed her off. The last thing she wanted right now was to be returned to bed after such a public…spectacle. Stuffing her wand back into her jacket, she strode purposefully towards the doors, trying to ignore the continued stares and renewed cheering. She pushed the heavy doors aside, looking around intently for Hermione and Ron. They were nowhere to be seen. The little hairs on the back of her neck pricked up. Hadn't Ron said they'd be waiting for her? Could something have happened to them?
These thoughts were interrupted as the presence of the unknown wizard followed her out into the corridor. She only became aware of him when he closed the hospital door with a loud clunk.
"Can I help you?" she asked, turning to look back at him.
"Right," he said, moving towards her while keeping both his eyes fixed over her shoulder at the corridor beyond. "Didn't introduce myself. The name's Proudfoot, Mister Potter. I was assigned by Minister Shacklebolt to ensure your safety for the time being." From his coat he pulled out a tightly rolled piece of parchment bound in twine. Taking it dubiously, Heather read the short letter.
Heather,
This is Auror Jack Proudfoot. He's protecting you on my orders.
Kingsley
P.S. The last words spoken to myself and Remus Lupin by Albus Dumbledore were 'Harry is the best hope we have. Trust him.'
The note was certainly genuine. The post script confirmed it. She vividly remembered standing outside the Burrow on that dark night so long ago, watching as Kingsley and Lupin had stood there, wands aimed at each other's faces, both suspecting the other of being a traitor.
She gazed back up at the wizard, who was still sweeping the visible corridor with his gaze, his right hand in his coat pocket, doing its best to look casual but was almost certainly wrapped around the handle of his wand. The name Proudfoot was familiar to her, but at the moment she wasn't able to remember why. She was certain she'd never seen this man before, but if Kingsley had sent him, that meant he was trustworthy, didn't it? The experiences of the last year made her wonder. Many of the Aurors had fallen into line with Voldemort's regime, some only to stay out of Azkaban, willingly transporting innocent people to prison on trumped up charges.
"Alright then. First things first," she said coolly, "My name is not Harry Potter, it's Heather. Got it? Call me 'mister' again and the first person you'll have to defend yourself from is me."
She hadn't expected a face as grizzled as Proudfoot's to be able to grin, certainly not in a way that didn't send shivers down her spine, but she was wrong. "Right you are, Miss Potter. Shacklebolt, excuse me, the Minister did make mention of that, but I wasn't rightly sure. Won't happen again." He finished this statement with a slight bow.
Heather ran another eye over him. While he was taller than she was, she thought that he was still a few inches shorter than Ron. The trench coat hid most of his body, but his movements implied a well built form underneath, and somehow made her think that he was actually younger than his scars made him look. His eyes were keen, never ceasing their scanning of their surroundings as they stood there. She wasn't going to trust him completely, not yet at any rate, but all the evidence pointed at his claims being genuine.
"Good," she said finally, " So, you're my new bodyguard?"
"Yes, ma'am" he answered. He took the lead as they started down the corridor, his wand now plainly in his hand, held low by his leg.
"Any idea where my friends are?" she asked.
Proudfoot answered with a shrug. "No idea. Left a little while ago once they were done talking to you. My orders are to watch you, not them."
The fourth-floor corridor still showed signs of the recent battle. Almost all of the windows has been blasted apart, with the glass laying everywhere. The path to the Hospital Wing had most been cleared by the large amount of foot traffic to and from the ward, but the further away they got the more they had to watch their where they stepped. Every now and then they would come across a large chunk of stone or a crumpled suit of armor. Heather spent most of the walk pondering where Hermione and Ron had gone. Maybe there had been some news that they couldn't wait for her to deal with? But what could that be? Could someone else have died?
"How'd you draw this detail?" She asked to try and distract herself from that thought as they climbed the stairs to the fifth floor.
"What you're really asking is how did I get tasked to protect the most dangerous witch in the county who is perfectly capable of defending herself?" he countered, briefly throwing another wry grin over his shoulder.
"Something like that" Heather replied.
"The Minister asked me himself. Said he would consider it a personal favor. I figured it's good to score points with the new boss-" In an instant his entire posture changed. He stiffened and flung out an arm to press Heather into the wall behind him. Pain once more erupted across her chest as she slammed into the stone. She saw Proudfoot's wand take careful aim. After a moment, it lowered again.
"Oh, it's just a kid. Sorry" he muttered, gently helping her extricate herself from the nook and checking to make sure he hadn't hurt her any further.
"It's ok." Heather grunted. "Is Hogwarts still being threatened?" They set off again, but it had become clear to her by now that while he may know where they were going, he had either been gone from Hogwarts long enough to have forgotten about the lesser known and secret passages or had never discovered them himself as a student. At her recommendation, he made the next left and held aside a tapestry that hid a steep staircase.
"Not currently, but we aren't taking any chances. It's actually one of the few really secure places we have right now. The Ministry and the Order are doing their best to root out leftovers. Still, can't ever be too careful."
Under her breath Heather muttered, "Constant vigilance."
"I see you knew Moody, then. Taught me everything I know" Proudfoot chuckled.
"Were you part of the Order?" Heather asked. Perhaps that was where she had heard the name before.
"Not until a few months ago. I tried to keep my head down when the Ministry fell, do what I could to help people, you know? But after a while…" his voice trailed off into a regretful silence.
"I understand," Heather said into the muffled quiet. She too had been forced to keep her head down while horrible things happened in front of her. She was still haunted by the screams of Dennis Creevey being dragged away in that courtroom. She needed to find out what happened to him.
They didn't' speak again until they had emerged from behind an ugly statue in the seventh-floor corridor, just around the corner from the Headmistress's office. The stone gargoyle had been set back on its feet and had recovered its wits somewhat. "Tartan" said Proudfoot loudly, and the gargoyle sprang to the side, revealing the spiraling stone staircase. I'll wait here," he told Heather, taking up a position next to the statue.
Heather climbed the stairs she had so many times before, until she came to the door with the large, brass knocker. Instead of Dumbledore's gentle "come in," Heather's knock was greeted by a curt, "Enter!." Professor McGonagall, wearing robes of a deep black, was seated behind the desk, pouring over rolls of parchment. "Potter!" she breathed, rising quickly and crossing the office to meet her. Before Heather could process what was happening, the older witch had grasped her in a tight hug. Fighting down a sense of embarrassment at this veritable outburst of emotion from the normally reserved witch, Heather hugged the headmistress back. Her eyes drifted upwards, taking in each of the portraits who were all clapping loudly. At last, her gaze met Dumbledore's which was clouded by tears.
Professor McGonagall released her and led her to one of the two chairs facing the desk. "I can't begin to say," Professor McGonagall began as she took her own seat, "to tell you how glad I am to see you, well, alive, Potter" Heather recalled the cry of pain the Headmistress had emitted at the sight of her apparently dead body on the lawn. "Words cannot express how much we all owe you. Dumbledore always said he had faith that you would be able to do it, but I cannot say I held much hope during this last year."
"Believe me, Professor, I felt the same way."
"Miss Granger has given me many details of your adventures over the last year already, but I was hoping you would be able to tell me more." McGonagall continued, fixing Heather with a piercing stare over her glasses.
"Err," Heather temporized. "What has she already told you?" she said hesitantly.
"Quite a bit, but less than you might fear. Some of it the Order already knew, such as that you had a mission Dumbledore gave you to complete, and some that had already been guess at. For instance, we were certain it had to do with bringing down Voldemort, and that you had taken your friends with you when you vanished, but it wasn't until you arrived here that we knew you were seeking certain objects and destroying them. Miss Granger was unwilling to go into further details on that matter." She didn't implicitly say that she hoped Heather would elaborate, but her eyes said it for her.
Heather considered for a moment. The knowledge of Riddle's horcruxes was dangerous to leak out to just anybody. As far as she knew the art had been lost on the whole, especially since Dumbledore had removed any books referencing them from the library when he had become Headmaster. The last thing the wizarding world needed was for them to become common knowledge again. Her eyes again met Dumbledore's, silently asking for his input.
"I think, Heather" the painting said, "It would be wise to trust Professor McGonagall with this information, as well as the new Minister. Beyond that, it would be best to let the true depths of Tom's descent into evil die with him."
"And…the Hallows?" she asked.
"That my dear girl is up to you. You are their master now, and their fate is yours to determine."
Nodding, Heather dropped her eyes to see a completely nonplussed Professor McGonagall staring back at her. Haltingly, weighing each word before she spoke, Heather began to speak. She started with the night of Voldemort's return in the graveyard at Little Hangleton, then jumped back to explain how a young Tom Riddle had begun constructing his horcruxes. As she spoke, the color in Professor McGonagall's cheeks paled until she was as white as a sheet. She didn't interrupt the entire time. Heather made no mention of the Deathly Hallows, and McGonagall didn't press, the scope of the last year driving any thought of those from her memory.
"Potter…" she breathed quietly when Heather finished. Her voice was hardly louder than a whisper. Her throat swallowed visibly, and Heather could see her hands gripping the arms of her chair tightly to stop them from shaking. After regaining her composure, her usual, brisk tone returned. "I believe Dumbledore is correct. This should go no further than the Minister." Her control faltered again, and she said as though to herself, "By all that's….I never suspected"
"No one did, Professor. It took Dumbledore years to put all these pieces together."
Professor McGonagall shook her head and looked back up at Heather. "Har-Heather, I hope you won't think me rude for changing the subject, but I do have to ask. What's happened to you?" To emphasize this point, she waved a hand towards Heather's body.
Bracing herself and knowing that this would probably be a conversation she would be having often in the coming days and weeks, Heather said plainly, "You mean why do I look like a girl."
"Yes. After his encounter with you at Grimmauld Place last August, Remus had reported to the Order that you were disguising yourself as a girl and that we should be on the lookout for you as such. With everything going on here, and sure in the knowledge that Hogwarts would be the last place you would come, I must admit that I put the information out of my mind. It wasn't until I saw you the other night that it occurred to me that you had looked much like this during your last year here before you left school. Can you, would you, please explain why?"
"Yes, Professor. It's because I am a girl. This is who I am now. And I have been for almost two years now." She said all this matter-of-factly, hoping that only she heard the tremor in her voice.
"Two years?"
"Yes, but I've been dressing as one for almost five when I could."
Heather could tell that Professor McGonagall had finally recovered from the story of the horcruxes. The stern gaze that she always adopted when dealing with rule breakers had returned. Heather tried not to grin. What was she going to do, take house points away from Gryffindor?
"I don't suppose I want to know exactly how you were able to do that while at school?" asked the headmistress.
"I used Moaning Myrtle's bathroom on the second floor with the help of very supportive friends." Heather said simply. Feeling emboldened, she added "If you'd like, you're more than welcome to give me detention for being out of bounds and breaking school rules." She wasn't sure, but she thought she saw the corners of Professor McGonagall's lip twitch.
"Potter, I supposed I should say, Miss Potter, I wish you had told me about this sooner. Did anyone else at Hogwarts know about that, other than your friends?"
"Just Professor Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey. Dumbledore put the pieces together after Sirius left me a letter using my real name after his death. Madam Pomfrey noticed that my body was changing because of the potion I'm taking."
"What potion?" asked Professor McGonagall sharply.
"The one that's helping my body turn into a girl."
"I see" the headmistress said.
"It was Dumbledore who told me to keep it a secret once he found out. He thought it would be helpful in case anything happened. He must have known I'd be going on the run soon." Heather said slowly, marveling still at how much, and at times how little, foresight the old headmaster had possessed.
"He was right it would seem," Professor McGonagall said. "The reason I ask-"
"Everyone's going to be asking me. I know, Hermione and Madam Pomfrey have already talked about this with me." Heather cut her off.
"Yes" replied Professor McGonagall, pursing her lips at being interrupted. "I want you to know that I, and by extension the entire staff here, are behind you in this change in your life. I assure you that we will make accommodations for your new identity when you return to Hogwarts next year."
"R-return?" replied Heather, taken aback. She hadn't even thought about where she would be sleeping tonight, let alone her future plans.
"Yes, Potter. Hogwarts will reopen next year. The Minister and I agreed on that before he left yesterday." She raised her eyebrow. "You are planning on returning to school again next year and completing your education, correct?"
Heather wasn't sure. Did she need to come back to Hogwarts? After all, hadn't she already proved that she had what it took to be an auror? Besides, did she really want to come back and deal with being "The Chosen One" or whatever else they would be calling her soon, as well as Heather in the confined atmosphere of the castle?
"Err, I'm not really sure, Professor. I hadn't given it much thought" she said truthfully.
The headmistress's look softened. "Of course, completely understandable, Potter. I want you to know that you will be welcome back here if you choose to return. Now, one last question. May I ask where you plan on going from here?"
Again, Heather was caught flat footed. "I can leave the castle?"
"Of course you can, Potter. Didn't Madam Pomfrey release you? As you are not currently a student and of age, you are perfectly free to go wherever you would wish. I only ask on behalf of the Minister. He intends to ensure that you are safe at all times until the crisis comes to an end.
"Is there something I need to do? Does Kingsley want me at the Ministry?" Heather asked.
"No." Professor McGonagall said firmly. "For now, the Minister has asked that you rest. He'll be in touch soon enough, I am sure."
"But-" Heather stammered, thinking about everything Ron had told her about the Death Eaters still at large.
"Rest, Potter. You have done more than enough for the present. You need to recover before you are of use to anyone. Now, do you know where you are going to go from here?" she pressed.
"I just sort of assumed I would be going to the Weasley's." Heather said.
Professor McGonagall nodded and rose, prompting Heather to do the same. "The Minister had assumed as much. He has already given the Burrow every ounce of protection he can."
"Ahh," was Heather's only response. The realization that she now had a future to make plans for was giving her a headache. "Umm, Professor," she asked as they moved towards the door, "Do you know where Hermione and Ron went? They said they'd be waiting for me outside the Hospital Wing but they were gone."
Professor McGonagall looked down at her sadly. "I believe Miss Granger had to escort Mister Weasley to the Burrow. She indicated to me that she would be returning for you shortly. I wouldn't be surprised if you were to encounter her on your way out of the castle."
"Ahh, thank you, Professor."
"Potter…Heather," Heather looked back, there was no doubt of the tears leaking from the Headmistresses' eyes now. "I really am so glad you're alive."
"Me too, Professor." Heather smiled back, reaching out to pull open the door. As it swung shut behind her, she heard Professor McGonagall said with a watery chuckle, "And ten points from Gryffindor sleeping in a boy's dormitory, Miss Potter.
Smiling to herself, Heather descended the staircase to find Proudfoot still on watch, being eyed by a wary Hermione. Her face broke out into a huge smile at the sight of her best friend. They hugged tightly. "Ready to go?" asked Hermione.
"Absolutely" Heather replied, doing her best not to wince in pain from the tightness of Hermione's hug.
Again using Heather's knowledge of the castle's secret passageways, Proudfoot escorted them towards the Entrance Hall. It had to be noon by now, but they met no one on their way down, not even during their brief trips through the more commonly used corridors. "What happened to all the students after the battle?" asked Heather.
"Most of them have been taken home by their parents. A handful, mostly the muggleborns who came to fight, are waiting on the Hogwarts Express to take them back home in a few days. Those of them who still have families to go back to," Hermione added darkly. What Hermione didn't add was that there were plenty of Slytherin students whose parents had either died in the battle, were now on the run, or were imprisoned in the dungeons below, not far from the Slytherin Common Room. "The castle is also being used to house anyone who's lost their home during the last year, so plenty of the classrooms have been converted into makeshift dormitories."
"So where is everybody?" asked Heather.
"It's lunchtime, so I'd assume the Great Hall," said Proudfoot over his shoulder. They were on the first floor now, approaching the top of the Marble Staircase. Sure enough, echoing out into the Entrance Hall and up the stairs were the voices of people sitting around the four house tables. Reaching the head of the stairs, Heather saw the damage that had been wrought there. There wasn't a foot of the wall that hadn't been scorched, blasted, or covered in what looked like blood. The two oak front doors were gone, and bright sunshine was streaming into the hall through the open archway and the many gaps in the walls. There were clear channels in and around the larger debris, with a large open area in the center of the hall. Heather could see Argus Filch determinately sweeping a pile of Slytherin emeralds out of the way using an old push broom.
Wordlessly, Heather pulled her Invisibility Cloak around her, not wanting to be seen by so many people, and followed Proudfoot and Hermione down. Filch ignored them completely, but Heather was sure he could hear him grumbling. That was alright, she would be worried if he wasn't grumbling about something. A pair of aurors flanked the open archway leading out into the grounds, wands out and on guard. As Proudfoot passed, they snapped to attention, bringing their wands up and then to their sides, like one would at the start of a duel. She might be invisible, but if Proudfoot was there, she had to be as well. Their salute warmed her heart a little.
The sunshine did much to warm the chill of the morning from her body. Feeling safe enough from prying eyes, Heather pealed off the cloak. It was a cloudless May afternoon, with a bright blue sky that seemed somehow limitless. Across the grounds were further remains of the battle. Heather could see the remains of the Quidditch hoops that had been used like clubs and dead Acromantula, their spindly legs curled around their hair torsos, interspersed with rubble and debris. Entire sections of the lawn were blackened after the fires that had raged, and in the distance only a smoky, charred oval marked where the stadium had stood. Tearing her eyes away from the destruction, Heather turned to give the castle a final look. "I wonder if I'll ever see it again" she muttered to herself.
In silence, the trio crossed the grounds, past Hagrid's destroyed cabin, heading for the gate flanked by the winged boars. With the anti-apparition wards back in place, they would need to cross the boundary before heading for the Burrow. When they had reached the apparition point, Proudfoot extended a hand towards Heather and Hermione, clearly intending on guiding him there himself. Both witches shared a look before extending their own.
"Wait" said Heather just as Proudfoot began to spin, a sudden desire taking hold of her.
"What?" Proudfoot asked perplexedly, managing to catch himself before he stumbled.
"I…I want to go to Godric's Hollow" said Heather quietly. She could feel the look Hermione was fixing her with without having to look. "Heather…" she began.
"Not a good idea," cut across Proudfoot. "My instructions were to keep you as safe as possible. I can't protect you in such an open place."
"What were you saying earlier about how I was perfectly capable of protecting myself?" Heather said, pulling her hand back from his and scowling.
"Doesn't mean I'm happy about you risking yourself needlessly like that." Proudfoot grumbled.
Heather's face tightened with irritation. Hadn't she just been told that she could go wherever she wanted? Hadn't she just spent a year being able to handle herself? It was difficult to accept being told no by someone she had just met.
"Will you come with me?" she asked Hermione, turning away from the auror. Her friend hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Of course I will. You want to see your parents."
Heather nodded, "I do. It didn't feel right last time, doing it as someone else. Besides, that's where all this started for me. I…I just want to tell them…" her voice caught in her chest suddenly as tears formed in her eyes.
Hermione pulled Heather into another hug. "You want to tell them it's over."
"Right" said Proudfoot after a moment, looking abashed. Perhaps he wasn't comfortable seeing a girl cry. "Let's go then. But we do this my way. Miss Potter, you stay between myself and Miss Granger at all times. Understood?" After both Heather and Hermione had nodded and drawn their wands, they took hold of his cloak and allowed themselves to be pulled into darkness
The arrived just off the village's high street in an alley, hidden by a large delivery truck. Hurried glances around showed they were alone, and Proudfoot led them towards the street with quick steps. Just before emerging, he suggested that Heather pull her cloak on again.
"No," she said firmly, "These are my parent's graves. I'm not going to see them hidden."
Proudfoot grunted but accepted her decision without argument. Out in the open, Heather felt sadness welling up inside her. She had spoken to her parents only the other night, through the Resurrection Stone, and they had both told her how much they still loved her for who she really was. A piece of her heart dropped at the thought she would never see them again. The stone had been lost when Voldemort's curse had struck her, and she doubted she'd be able to find it again if she tried. That was probably for the best, she knew, but it still hurt.
As they neared the village square, Heather saw a group of people standing around the old war memorial at its center. She knew that if they got close enough, it would transform into statue of her and her parents, a silent monument to their deaths. These people had to be witches and wizards, come once again to look at the place where 'Harry' Potter had survived. Upon closer inspection, she saw that few of them had even bothered trying to dress in the mix-match outfits that wizards usually adopted while trying to blend in with muggles.
No one paid them any attention as they skirted the edge of the group and headed for the small kissing gate into the graveyard. Here and there were people laying flowers on the graves, both muggle and magic alike. At a whispered word from Hermione, Proudfoot let her take lead, wending their way through the gravestones towards a far row. Fifty feet away, they stopped, spying a ring of robed figures around the spot where Heather's parents lay. "Are you sure you want to do this?" asked Hermione quietly. Heather nodded mutely, not entirely trusting herself to speak. They approached the ring, and Proudfoot took over, quietly shouldering people aside so they could get closer. Squawks of protest died at the sight of Heather, clutching tightly at the back of the auror's coat. Like a ripple, whispers spread through the assembled group. In the center, Heather stepped forward, stopped just short of the white stone.
"It's Potter!" cried an older witch to her left.
"Look! It's him!" said a small boy.
"Shh" said his mother, but the boy didn't listen. There were other cries of "Harry!" and "Potter!" but Heather ignored them, her whole attention focused on the gravestone.
Quiet fell as she stood there, reading again the names and dates engraved there. The flowers she and Hermione had left all those months ago were long gone but in their place were more than a dozen other offerings. Not sure what to do, she reached out a hand and rested it on the stone. "Thank you" she whispered. "It's over. It's really over."
This done, she turned, pointedly not meeting anyone's eyes, and retreated back to Proudfoot and Hermione. Once more safely ensconced between them, they moved towards the edge of the crowd. They didn't need to push through this time, instead the auror turned on the stop, pulling them into oblivion and counting on the assembled group to cover them from curious muggle eyes.