The days following final exams always had a strange, unnatural quality to them. With no classes to hurry to (or to be late for), the students moved through the halls at a leisurely pace, chatting merrily on subjects ranging from plans for the Summer holidays to (for the graduating seventh-years) career goals and aspirations for the future.
As Harry entered the dining hall, he jumped back suddenly as a barn owl the size of a cocker spaniel swooped across his path with an excited hoot and a furious flapping of wings. A small parcel swung gondola-like underneath the owl, its taut binding twine held fast in the grip of two sets of strong, sharp talons.
Harry smiled as he re-centered his glasses, his expression a mirror of dozens of faces sitting at the four house tables. Morning mail was always a favorite time at Hogwarts, especially at the end of term when a student was much less likely to receive a Howler among his parcels from home. (Fred and George Weasley had been notable exceptions to that rule. Life at Hogwarts had become markedly less dangerous since their graduation two years ago. It had also become considerably less exciting. But, as Ron so often said, you couldn't have everything in life.)
Harry enjoyed watching his fellow students opening and reading their letters from home. Most bore congratulations for good exam marks, some accompanied by boxes of sweets or a bit of pocket money to spend on the last Hogsmeade weekend. Such addenda might constitute a reward for a successful school year completed, or they might simply be another way of saying, "We miss you. Hurry home. We love you."
Harry seldom received mail of any sort, but he had long since made peace with this state of affairs. Most everyone in his life who might wish to convey a message to him, whether for good or ill, was near enough to do so personally. And that number, much to Harry's delight, had recently increased by one.
Harry's godfather and guardian, Sirius Black, had just returned from a two-year trek to sate his wanderlust before settling down to a respectable home life, which now included his bride of less than a year, Michelle. Michelle LeGrande Black taught Charms at Beauxbatons Academy in France, where she and Sirius had met nearly two years ago and, ultimately, fallen in love. Michelle's grandmother had left her a small chateau in the Loire valley, to which Sirius Apparated on weekends to enjoy the pleasures -- and, occasionally, the sorrows -- of married life with his fiery bride (Michelle occupied quarters within the school during weekdays, even as the teachers at Hogwarts). But it was a rare weekend when the two of them did not pop into Hogsmeade to spend a few hours with Harry in this, his last year at Hogwarts.
His vagabond days now behind him (and Harry, having come of age, no longer requiring his guardianship), Sirius had made the chateau his permanent residence following his return. Harry knew this full well, having spent the Christmas holidays there (with Hermione, of course), courtesy of the Floo Network and the fireplace at the Three Broomsticks. But, in true Marauder fashion, Sirius had surprised Harry two days ago by turning up at dinner and announcing that he had taken a room at the Hogsmeade Inn; thus, with Dumbledore's blessing, Sirius could share first-hand nearly every moment of his godson's final week of school.
Harry had come to savor every moment spent with his new family, nor had time diminished this. Indeed, seeing Sirius and Michelle so happily married had greatly influenced Harry in regard to his own future union with Hermione. Sirius never missed an opportunity to extoll the virtues of wedded bliss, and Harry could not deny that the once sullen and moody ex-prisoner of Azkaban had never looked happier in the too-brief time Harry had known him than in the year following his marriage.
"A good wife is worth more than all the gold in the vaults under Gringotts," Sirius had told Harry on more than one occasion. "Hermione is a treasure. Don't lose her, Harry. Do whatever you have to do, up to and including swimming naked through a lake of bubotuber pus -- but DON'T LOSE HER!"
Those words echoed in Harry's brain as he entered the dining hall now. But, rather than reassuring him, they left him only more confused. His decision had been well considered. But was it the right one?
As Harry appoached the Gryffindor table, he had no trouble spotting Hermione. She was sitting with Ginny Weasley, Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, the four of them laughing and joking as they opened their mail excitedly. Harry was just in time to see five gold Galleons spill out of Ginny's envelope and ring musically on the polished wood of the table. Ginny continued to stare in disbelief, but the other girls seemed to take it all in stride.
"You did get the highest marks in Sixth Year," Lavender reasoned, flashing her brightest smile.
"Wouldn't surprise me a bit," Hermione said confidently, "if you made Head Girl next year."
"And speaking as this year's Head Girl," Parvati affirmed, "Hermi should know."
"Don't call me Hermi," Hermione squeaked in annoyance, her brown eyes flashing even as her pert nose crinkled mischievously. "You know how much I hate that!"
"Of course we do, Hermi," Lavender said playfully. "Why do you think we do it?"
"Circe help me," Hermione said, the corners of her mouth twitching as her eyes narrowed dangerously, "the next person to call me 'Hermi' gets the Bald-Head Curse!"
Harry couldn't resist.
"Hi, Hermi!"
The three girls immediately levelled challenging stares at Hermione, eager to see her fulfill her threat. Instead, as Harry sat down beside her, she reached out a hand and threaded her fingers through his thick, black hair before pulling his face toward hers with a pantherish growl. She kissed him for a full minute, displaying an ardor intended as much for her friends' benefit as for Harry's. When she finally withdrew her lips from Harry's, leaving him gasping like a merperson out of water, she continued to tease the back of his head with a look of dreamy amusement in her eyes.
"Sorry, girls," she murmured as she continued to ruffle Harry's raven locks. "It just wouldn't be the same."
"Am I missing something here?" Harry said innocently, his eyes bouncing from one smiling face to another. A round of giggles was the only reply he received.
It was only now that Harry took notice of the many letters spread out in front of Hermione, numbering more than the other three girls' combined.
"More job offers," Hermione said delightedly, reading Harry's questioning expression. "Some of them are very tempting. This one," she tapped a bright purple envelope with a neatly manicured finger, "is from Gringotts. They want me to join the security branch, beef up the protective spells guarding the vaults. They don't want another Vault 713 incident like they had seven years ago."
This news brought a smile to Harry's face, a pleasure born partly of selfishness. He had received an offer from Gringotts as well, to join Bill Weasley as an apprentice Curse-Breaker. If he and Hermione both shared the same employer, maybe --
"And this one," Hermione continued, interrupting Harry's reverie, "is from St. Mungo's. Madam Pomfrey told them about my work during the Insurrection last Summer."
Harry felt his pulse rate quicken. The Death Eater Insurrection; The last, desperate attempt by Voldemort's remaining supporters to avenge their master's defeat and inspire others of like mind to join their dwindling ranks, culminating in an attack on Azkaban to free the one-time Dark Lord and restore him to full power. The revolt was doomed almost before it was initiated. Lacking a powerful, charismatic personality of Voldemort's stripe to lead it, the Insurrection had failed miserably. Those Death Eaters who survived were summarily reunited with their imprisoned master, thus freeing the magical world from the last vestiges of Voldemort's tyranny.
But victory came not without a price. There were many casualties during the month-long conflict. Neither Harry nor Hermione had been permitted to serve in the front lines, as they were both underage. A disgruntled Harry had been stationed, with Ron and a few other student volunteers, at Hogwarts, forming a skirmish line against an attack that all knew would never come. Hermione, however, had distinguished herself by volunteering to work at one of the various aid stations established along the primary defense perimeter. These facilities, patterned after Muggle M*A*S*H units, provided emergency medical assistance on the very edge of the battle lines. Displaying coolness and bravery under conditions of indescribable pressure, Hermione had saved countless lives by the swift application of potions and healing spells, which sustained her patients until they could be evacuated to proper hospitals like St. Mungo's. She had received the Order of Merlin, Third Class, for her service, the youngest recipient in half a century.
"And this one," Hermione said now with great emphasis, indicating a bright green envelope with a gold seal in the left-hand corner, "is from the Ministry!"
"The Ministry?" Harry said, his wandering mind snapping back to the present. "Don't tell me they want you to stand for Minister?"
Harry was only half-joking. Having been seen as lax in his duties in allowing the Insurrection to occur at all, Cornelius Fudge had very nearly been ousted as Minister of Magic in the very midst of the subsequent Death Eater Hearings. Not a few witches and wizards of high standing had allowed as how Fudge should have been chucked into Azkaban as Lucius Malfoy's cellmate. Once his present term of office expired, he was not expected to be retained.
"Bloody near," Ginny said proudly. "Tell him, Hermione."
"Well," Hermione said slowly, her enthusiasm decidedly curbed now, "after last Summer's fiasco, some of the council think the Ministry needs a complete restructuring. One council member went on record as saying that the entire Ministry needs to be turned upside-down by its heels and have some sense shaken into it."
"And they want you to..." Harry stammered, looking gobsmacked.
"Not quite that," Hermione smiled. "But they want someone to act as a coordinator, to implement whatever changes the various committees deem necessary in the most expeditious manner. Organization is the key."
"And do you know anyone more organized than Hermione?" Lavender beamed.
"It was my dad who recommended her," Ginny said warmly. "They couldn't believe the upturn Ron's grades took after he started following that study schedule Hermione drew up for him."
"Ron worked hard for those marks," Hermione said defensively, growing embarrassed by so much praise.
"Organization," Ginny stressed, ignoring Hermione's modesty. "Without it, all the work in the world isn't worth a tinker's dam. If two people try to dig a ditch, and each one chucks his dirt into the other's hole, they can work their bums off until the Queen's Jubilee and not have a bloody thing to show for it. Organization!"
For a wonder, Hermione seemed to have lost the power of speech. She lowered her eyes as she fiddled self-consciously with the envelope, her finger idly tracing the embossed surface of the gold leaf Ministry of Magic emblem.
"That's -- that's incredible," Harry said weakly. "I don't know what to say. You're accepting, of course?"
"I suppose I'd be a fool not to," Hermione said with something less than the enthusiasm Harry expected. "It's immensely flattering. But...so much responsibility...I don't know..."
"Merlin's bum, Hermione!" Parvati exclaimed. "I think you're just what the Ministry needs! Sweep out all the whitebeards and start over from square one, I say! It's time the Ministry moved into the twenty-first century! Go in there and give 'em a goose right up the old arse!"
Overcoming his astonishment at hearing the normally ladylike Parvati sounding more like Tom the barman at the Leaky Cauldron, Harry said, "Right. Absolutely! Parvati's right, you're just what the wizarding world needs to straighten out all the bollocks. Remember the Sorcerer's Stone -- the chamber with the seven potions? You said it yourself, love -- most wizards haven't got an ounce of logic! A little Muggle common sense will soon set the Ministry to rights."
"Hear hear!" Ginny chanted as Lavender pumped the air with her fist and Parvati crossed her arms triumphantly.
Stirred to action by Hermione's continued silence, Harry slipped his arm around her waist and hugged her against him. He felt the gentle pressure of Hermione's arm tightening around his own waist.
"Do you really think I can do it, Harry?" she said, her head now pressed against his chest.
"You can do anything," Harry said quietly but emphatically as he nuzzled her bushy brown hair. "This is your moment, love. Don't let anyone or anything stand in your way."
And a voice in the shadowed recesses of his mind added, "Not even me."
Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who stuck around after The Joining folded its tent. I hope you find it worth your while.
The essence of Harry's conflict will be revealed next time. And those who believe they know the ending based on their reading of Patronus may be surprised when the sixth and last chapter is up.
Again, forgive the weekly posts for a story completed more than a year ago. I feel compelled to edit my earlier work, which seems to pale before my more recent efforts. Even now, this chapter feels like it's flying with a broken wing. Maybe all writers feel that way about their work. Ah, well. We can't all be as talented as Ryoko Blue; if I'd known she was in the running, I'd likely have withdrawn The Joining from the story contest before the first vote was cast. (I almost voted for her myself.) You go, girl!
Thanks for reading.