CHAPTER 9: A HEAVY FAREWELL

Flashback…

The morning air at the Burrow was thick with the bittersweet scent of departure. Two days had passed since Fleur had tearfully bid farewell and left for France, and now it was time for Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny to return to Hogwarts. The house, usually bustling with noise, felt quieter than usual, an undercurrent of melancholy hanging in the air.

Headmistress McGonagall had graciously allowed the headmaster's fireplace at Hogwarts to be connected to the one at the Burrow, sparing them the usual journey. It was a small mercy, but one that made the impending return feel more like a duty than an adventure.

Charlie and George had left the night before after a subdued dinner. The laughter that usually accompanied George's visits was noticeably absent, replaced by a hollow silence that none dared to break. Percy had left early in the morning, his face set in that familiar, stern expression, already focused on his work at the Ministry. There was no room for pleasantries; the weight of recent losses was still too fresh.

Now, gathered around the fireplace after a quiet breakfast, the four prepared themselves for their journey. Mrs. Weasley, as was her tradition, enveloped each of them in her famous rib-crunching hugs. Her embrace was warm, but there was an unmistakable desperation in the way she clung to them, as if willing them to stay safe through sheer force of love.

"Now all of you be good and please stay out of trouble," she admonished, her voice wavering slightly. Her eyes lingered on Harry, Ron, and Hermione, the trio who had always found themselves in the thick of danger. "The three of you should well remember that this year is the most important. I expect no less than excellence in your NEWTs."

Her words were firm, but her eyes betrayed the worry she tried so hard to conceal. The losses of Fred and Bill had aged her, and Harry could see the lines of grief etched deeply into her face. They each nodded, giving fervent promises to study hard and avoid trouble, though the sincerity of their vows was underscored by a shared understanding—they had seen and done too much to make promises of safety lightly.

As Mrs. Weasley pulled Harry into another bone-crushing hug, he felt a surge of determination swell within him. He had silently vowed not to give her any more reasons to worry. She had been nothing but kind to him, treating him like her own son, especially after the death of her own. He owed her that much.

One by one, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione stepped into the roaring green flames and vanished, leaving only Harry behind. Just as he was about to follow, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Startled, he turned to see Mr. Weasley standing there, his face a mixture of concern and something else—an unspoken plea.

"Harry," Mr. Weasley began, his voice soft but weighted with meaning. "Remember what we talked about last night."

Harry nodded, the memory of their late-night conversation surfacing in his mind. Mr. Weasley had taken him aside after everyone else had gone to bed, speaking to him not just as a father figure, but as someone who understood the burdens Harry carried. They had talked about the future, about choices, and about the importance of living—not just surviving.

"I will," Harry replied, his voice steady. "I won't forget."

Mr. Weasley's hand gave a reassuring squeeze before releasing him. There was nothing more to say, so with one last look at the man who had become like a father to him, Harry turned and stepped into the flames. The world blurred into green light, and the Burrow vanished from sight.

Flashback to Last Night…

Dinner that night was a subdued affair, a stark contrast to the lively meals Harry had once enjoyed at the Burrow. The table was set with simple yet comforting dishes—roasted chicken alongside mashed potatoes smothered in gravy, and a hearty steak and kidney pudding. The food was still delicious, though Harry couldn't help but notice that Mrs. Weasley's cooking had lost some of its usual flair. The portions were smaller, the flavors less vibrant, as if the joy that once infused her meals had been sapped away. He had a good idea why.

After dinner, Harry lingered at the table, helping Mrs. Weasley and Ginny clear the dishes. He gathered the dirty plates, intending to carry them to the kitchen sink, but Ginny caught his eye and waved him off. "Go on, Harry. Take a rest," she insisted, her tone gentle but firm. Knowing better than to argue with her, Harry nodded and made his way toward the living room.

As he reached the doorway, he paused and glanced back. Mrs. Weasley was standing by the sink, her hands methodically scrubbing a plate, though her eyes were distant, lost in thought. Ginny stood beside her, drying the dishes with a towel, her movements precise and mechanical. The silence between them was heavy, filled with unspoken grief.

Harry sighed, his heart aching at the sight. This once-jovial family, who had welcomed him with open arms, seemed a shadow of its former self. He remembered the days when Mrs. Weasley's voice was a constant presence, fussing over every detail with boundless energy. It was a trait Ginny had inherited, though tempered with her own fiery spirit. Even Fleur, with her cool and collected demeanor, had learned to fuss in her own way after joining the family. But Fred's death had changed everything, and Bill's death had only deepened the wound. The happiness that once radiated from this home had eroded, leaving behind an unsettling quiet.

With a heavy heart, Harry turned and walked into the living room. The surviving members of the Weasley family were already there, sitting on various chairs and sofas, each lost in their own thoughts. Arthur Weasley sat in his usual armchair, his face lined with exhaustion and sorrow. Beside him, Percy and Charlie occupied two old couches, listening intently to whatever Mr. Weasley was saying. Ron and Hermione were on the long sofa, their hands intertwined, seeking comfort in each other's presence.

Harry chose an empty chair and sank into it, taking in the scene around him. The air in the room was thick with unspoken words, the weight of shared loss pressing down on them all. Hermione's head rested gently on Ron's shoulder, her fingers tracing patterns on the back of his hand as if seeking reassurance in the simple touch. Ron, for his part, looked more somber than Harry had ever seen him, his usual lightheartedness dampened by the grief they all carried.

Percy and Charlie leaned forward slightly, their expressions serious as they listened to their father. Harry couldn't catch the beginning of the conversation, but as he leaned in, he picked up on Mr. Weasley's words, his voice low and measured.

"...It's important that we stick together through this," Mr. Weasley was saying, his tone filled with quiet resolve. "I know things have been difficult, and they'll likely get harder before they get easier. But we've faced dark times before, and we've come through them by holding on to each other. That's what will see us through now."

There was a murmur of agreement from Percy, his usual pompous demeanor replaced by a somber nod. "You're right, Dad," Percy said, his voice soft. "We have to stay strong, for each other, and for those we've lost."

Charlie, ever the pragmatic one, added, "We can't let what's happened tear us apart. We owe it to Fred and Bill to keep going, to live the lives they no longer can."

The room fell into a contemplative silence, the truth of Charlie's words hanging in the air. Harry glanced around, seeing the weariness etched into each of their faces. The burden of their losses was heavy, but in that moment, there was also a sense of unity, a shared determination to carry on, no matter how difficult it might be.

As Harry sat there, absorbing the gravity of the conversation, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Startled, he looked up to find Mr. Weasley standing beside him, his expression gentle but firm.

"Harry," Mr. Weasley said quietly, "I need you to remember something. What we talked about last night… It's important."

Harry nodded, understanding the weight behind those words. The conversation from the previous night replayed in his mind—Mr. Weasley had spoken to him about choices, about the importance of finding a path forward that honored the sacrifices made by those they had lost. It was a conversation that had left a deep impression on Harry, and he knew it was something he couldn't afford to forget.

"I will," Harry replied, his voice steady with conviction. "I won't forget."

Mr. Weasley gave Harry a reassuring squeeze before releasing him. In that brief moment, there was a profound shared understanding between them, an unspoken bond forged through their collective losses and mutual respect. Harry felt a deep connection to this man who had come to represent the father figure he had always needed. With a final glance at Mr. Weasley, Harry turned his attention back to the room, to the conversation, and to the family that, despite the darkness that had touched them all, had taken him in as one of their own.

"We've got a few leads on the whereabouts of the Elder Wand," Mr. Weasley said, his voice lowering as the conversation took a more serious turn. "Kingsley's been working tirelessly on it ever since the attack at Gringotts. But there's only so much he can do right now. The war took a heavy toll on the Ministry. He managed to get the Department of Magical Law Enforcement back up and running after the Battle of Hogwarts, but the resources are stretched thin. Yaxley did quite a bit of damage. And then there's the purging…"

"Purging?" Harry asked, leaning in closer, his interest piqued.

"The Ministry is still crawling with Voldemort's sympathizers, Harry," Percy explained, his voice sharp with disdain. "Take Umbridge, for instance. She's one of the primary suspects. You remember how powerful she was back then, holding positions like Undersecretary to the Minister and eventually leading the Muggle-born Registration Commission. But she got lucky."

"Lucky?" Harry repeated, his eyes wide with surprise.

Percy nodded, taking a sip from his glass of firewhisky before continuing. "Lucky that she's still alive. She made a lot of enemies during her reign—wizards, Muggle-borns, werewolves, centaurs. Plenty of people would have no qualms about seeing her dead."

"She didn't try to worm her way out of it?" Hermione asked, speaking up for the first time. Her expression was intense, her mind flashing back to the horrors Umbridge had inflicted during her time at Hogwarts. "You know, like last time, when Voldemort fell the first time around. So many claimed they were Imperiused."

"Actually, Hermione," Mr. Weasley responded, his tone grave, "it's happening exactly like it did fifteen years ago. It's almost as if we're reliving those days. Thicknesse, Yaxley, and a whole lot of others—they're all claiming they were under the Imperius Curse. Kingsley isn't buying any of it, though."

"Well, that's the challenge, isn't it?" Charlie chimed in, his voice carrying a tone of pragmatism. "It's all about separating the truth from the lies, and figuring out who was really under the curse and who acted of their own free will."

"Exactly," Mr. Weasley agreed. "There's no easy way to know if someone was truly under the Imperius Curse or not. But we do have records, and for many, those records don't work in their favor. Yaxley, for instance, was a known Death Eater, with a history that's hard to dispute. Pius Thicknesse, on the other hand, falls into more of a grey area. He never showed any signs of allegiance to the dark side before the war, so his case is more complicated. The investigation is still ongoing. As for Umbridge, she's definitely not a Death Eater, but her actions speak for themselves. She was one of the first to be convicted and sent to Azkaban after the war. She resisted fiercely, of course, still clinging to her claim of being pure-blooded."

"Of Selwyn?" Hermione asked suddenly, the memory of her impersonation as Mafalda Hopkirk during the infiltration of the Ministry flashing vividly in her mind.

Harry, Ron, and Mr. Weasley turned to stare at her, their expressions a mix of surprise and curiosity. "Well, yes," Mr. Weasley replied, clearly intrigued. "How did you know?"

Hermione hesitated for a moment, her eyes flicking between them. "When we infiltrated the Ministry, I—well, I used Polyjuice Potion to impersonate Mafalda Hopkirk. We were there to steal the locket from Umbridge. While I was disguised, I overheard her boasting about her connection to the Selwyn family. It was how she justified her authority over everyone else."

Mr. Weasley nodded thoughtfully, his expression darkening. "That sounds like her. Always eager to cling to power by any means necessary. Her connection to the Selwyns certainly helped her rise through the ranks, but it's also what made her a target once the tide turned against her."

"She really is vile," Ron muttered, his face twisted in disgust. "Makes you wonder how many others like her are still out there, hiding behind their so-called pure-blood status."

Harry, still grappling with the weight of the conversation, felt a cold anger simmering inside him. The war might have ended, but its scars ran deep, and the battle for justice was far from over. He looked around at the faces of those he considered family, each bearing their own wounds from the war, and silently vowed to continue the fight—to ensure that those who had caused so much pain would be held accountable.

Hermione, realizing that she had almost revealed too much about what the three of them had done during the war, quickly backpedaled. "Urm, well… It's, uh, a long story. I did some research on her when she was teaching at Hogwarts," she said sheepishly.

Harry knew it was a lie, but he decided to stay quiet, sensing that now wasn't the time to bring it up.

"Right," Mr. Weasley said, breaking the brief silence. "Yes, well, her claim of being pure-blood didn't do her any favors. For one thing, records show that she's actually a half-blood, descended from Oxford Umbridge and Ellen Cracknell. Her mother was a Muggle, so her claim was a lie. Kingsley used that against her in the Wizengamot, citing her lies as an act of contempt against the court. Another strike against her was her alliance with the Selwyn family, who were notorious for their loyalty to Voldemort. She really shot herself in the foot."

"Not to mention the damage done to the reputation of pure-blood families," Percy added with a scowl. "Thanks to Voldemort and people like Umbridge, the standing of pure-bloods is in the gutter. No one's going to trust or respect a pure-blood anymore. Lucius Malfoy, for instance, had all his business contracts canceled within minutes of the war's end. And that's not the worst of it—there's talk of victims planning to sue him for his allegiance with Voldemort and his actions as a Death Eater. He'll be broke and homeless by the time it's over."

"He reaps what he sows," Mr. Weasley said, stretching out his legs on the armchair. "But it's not over yet. The hunt for those responsible is still ongoing. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement is critically understaffed, which is why Kingsley has had to call in favors from the Order of the Phoenix from time to time. Once the Auror Academy is fully established, it should help alleviate some of the pressure. At least, that's the hope."

"Auror Academy?" Harry asked, intrigued.

"You didn't know?" Mr. Weasley replied, looking surprised. "Oh, right, I forgot. There hasn't been any formal announcement yet. Well, the Ministry is planning to establish an Auror Academy. Everything's been laid out, and some of the Hogwarts professors have agreed to become locum instructors for the academy. Flitwick is one of them. If everything goes according to plan, the academy will start in the second half of this year. And from what I've heard, the three of you—" he gestured to Harry, Hermione, and Ron, "—already have your names enrolled."

"Enrolled?" Hermione exclaimed, her voice rising in disbelief. "As in…?"

"As in, your place in the academy is fully guaranteed," Percy said, a small smile playing on his lips.

Hermione looked wildly at Harry and Ron. "But… But they never asked us! They never asked for our consent! How could they?"

Mr. Weasley leaned forward, his expression softening as he addressed Hermione. "I understand your frustration, Hermione, but Kingsley dearly wants the three of you—" he glanced at Harry, "—especially you, Harry, to be a part of it. He believes that you're all vital to the future of the Auror department. He thinks your experience, your leadership, could help shape a new generation of Aurors."

Harry remained silent, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts. The idea of being thrust into another position of responsibility so soon after the war was overwhelming. He had envisioned a quieter life, maybe even one where he could finally be just Harry, without the weight of the wizarding world's expectations on his shoulders. But he couldn't deny the importance of what Mr. Weasley was saying.

Ron, who had been unusually quiet, finally spoke up. "I reckon… I reckon it makes sense. We've been through more than most Aurors ever will. Maybe… maybe it's our turn to make sure something like this doesn't happen again."

Hermione frowned, clearly still upset but considering Ron's words. "But it feels like we're being pushed into it. Like we don't have a choice."

Harry finally found his voice. "We do have a choice, Hermione. But maybe this is one of those times where doing what's right is more important than doing what's easy."

Mr. Weasley nodded, his eyes filled with a mixture of pride and sorrow. "It's a lot to ask, I know. And if any of you decide it's not the path you want to take, I'm sure Kingsley will understand. But just know that your contributions could make all the difference in ensuring that our world remains safe."

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