Father's Day

Title: Father’s Day

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Co. are owned by people richer than I. If I ever become that rich, you can be sure I’ll retire and write full-time.

Warnings: This contains a character death (Ron’s), as well as some major angst. It’s rated PG-13, and will most likely stay that way, so stop the begging in advance. Also, this is an AU story, mainly because I sincerely doubt Rowling would end the series like this. At any rate, enjoy.

Chapter 1: Cruel Homecoming

“Sons are put on this earth to trouble their fathers” – Road to Perdition.

A long time had passed since Harry Potter stepped foot inside Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Years had passed since he’d even been in England. Such was the life of an Auror. It was the life he chose, and for the most part he had no complaints.

For the most part.

It was bittersweet occasion that would bring the 28-year-old to his former alma mater. A sour taste rose in his throat as he scanned his surroundings. Witches and wizards – some formerly friends; others, unknown – were gathered about in small groups, chatting quietly amongst themselves. There was no sign of any of the Weasleys, though Harry had not expected it. Most likely they were in seclusion until the ceremony begun. It was an event Harry did not want to attend, no matter how much duty called for his presence.

He had returned for the funeral of his best friend, Ronald Weasley.

Harry tugged the hood of his dark cloak over his head, carefully shielding his features. His presence here would not go unnoticed – he was still too famous for his defeat of Voldemort the last time he’d been at Hogwarts – more than a decade ago. Still, he hoped to stave off the attention until after the ceremony. He was here for his friend, nothing more.

His right hand squeezed into a fist as he fought back the tears that had threatened to erupt since he received the news a week ago. He had been deep under cover in South Africa at the time, chasing the remnants of Voldemort’s Deatheaters, but Kingsley had ordered him home.

“What is it, Kingsley? I’ve almost finished here. You’re breaking my cover.”

“Sorry, Harry, I just needed to tell you to come home.”

“Home? Why now? I’m almost finished here. I can’t just leave.”

“Harry, this is not a request. It’s an order. Come home. You have business to attend to.”

“What business?”

“Harry, your friend Ron has just died.”

And so Harry had begun the long journey home. Since he’d received the news a sort of numbness had settled in on his stomach. He’d yet to cry, mourn, or show any other emotion. The news seemed so surreal.

Harry’s mind flickered back to the memories he had of him, Ron, and Hermione laughing in the Gryffindor common room over this joke or that story. It was a memory he kept close to his heart – closer than all others. Well, there was another one he kept closer – but he tried not to think about that one.

And now Ron was dead. Harry shook his head. It seemed less than a year ago that Ron’s wife, the late Luna Lovegood Weasley, had died after a Deatheater attack flattened the headquarters of The Quibbler, which she was the president of. She had left behind Ron, who at the time had been playing for the Chudley Cannon’s as keeper, and their son, Arthur Ronald Weasley II, or Artie, as they liked to call him.

Harry stepped inside the Great Hall. Replacing the long columns of tables were rows of chairs. An ornate wooden casket rested at the front of the room, flanked by maroon flowers. A few people were seated already, but most of the guests had yet to arrive. Harry stepped to the side, shoving his hands deep in his pockets as he swallowed a lump in his throat. He could feel the pain resonating off the stone walls of the Great Hall, and if he wasn’t careful, he’d lose his composure before the ceremony even began.

“Harry?”

At the familiar voice Harry’s head jerked around, his eyes leveling on the silver-haired figure of his former professor. Remus Lupin stepped towards him, favoring his left leg as he wrapped his arms around Harry and drew the younger man into a hug. Harry gladly returned the comforting gesture, relieved at the sight of the familiar face.

“It’s good to see you, Harry,” Lupin said. “Work keeps you far too busy.”

Harry nodded, casting a longing gaze towards the front of the room. “I couldn’t keep away from this one,” he said, his voice catching in his throat at the last word. Blinking back tears he turned his gaze to Lupin’s. “It’s hard to believe he’s gone.”

Lupin nodded, not bothering to conceal the tears in his eyes as he reached up with his right hand and clasped Harry’s shoulder. “He was a good man, and a fine friend. I’ll be giving the eulogy.”

The younger man nodded, grimacing. Presenting the eulogy should have been his job. Not for the first time Harry cursed himself for the life he had chosen. If he’d known what he was going to be giving up as an Auror, he would have never become one.

No, that’s not true, Harry thought to himself as he shook his head miserably. He had taken care of Voldemort, but he would never rest easy until every last one of his Deatheaters was rotting in Azkaban. He owed it to his friends. And he owed it to her.

As if sensing the train of his thoughts, Remus gave his shoulder a light squeeze, gesturing to the front of the room. “Would you like to sit with the Weasleys? I’m sure they’d be grateful for your support.”

Harry grimaced, contemplating the suggestion for a moment before shaking his head. “I’ll just draw a crowd if I’m up there. People should be here for Ron, not me. I’ll see them at the burial.”

The burial was scheduled to take place at 2 o’clock, in a cemetery on a hill overlooking Ottery St. Catchpole. That ceremony was restricted to friends and family.

Remus nodded, squeezing Harry’s shoulder one more time before dropping his hand. “I’ll leave you to find your seat then. I will see you later.”

Harry nodded and watched as Lupin disappeared into the crowd. He focused his attention on finding a seat and was able to secure a place on the outskirts of the Great Hall in middle. It afforded him a clear view of the stage, but also gave him enough leeway to escape in case someone from the press recognized him. The crowds began to fill the Great Hall, and Harry allowed himself to be momentarily amazed by the number of people who had turned out for Ron’s funeral. Off in the distance he could see the members of the Chudley Cannons. He recognized several people from the ministry present, including all of the members of the Order of the Phoenix. He could also pick out a few familiar faces from Hogwarts, including Parvati and Neville. He couldn’t see anyone from Slytherin present, save for Professor Snape, who had a muted scowl on his face.

A hush fell over the crowd and Harry’s chin tilted up, his gaze flickering over the front of the room as the Weasleys began to come in. First was Molly, escorted by Bill and Percy. Harry felt his heart breaking at the side of her ruffled hair, her puffy eyes, and the handkerchief in her hand. She looked as if she’d lost quite a bit of weight, and it did not look healthy. Bill and Percy had solemn expressions on their faces, and were dressed in matching black robes. Following those three were Arthur, Fred, and George. Fred and George looked uncharacteristically glum, and Mr. Weasley’s shoulders seemed to hunch over a bit. He looked as if he were leaning on Fred and George for support – as though he could not hold up his own shoulders.

Harry felt his breath catch in his throat as Remus brought up the rear, with Fleur, Bill’s wife, and Hermione in tow. Trailing behind her was a small, red-headed little boy. But Harry paid him no heed at the moment. His attention was focused on her.

Hermione.

Harry’s attention perked up as Hermione came in, and he allowed his gaze to drift over her diminutive features. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy from crying, and she was wringing a set of tissues in her hands as she walked quickly across the room. Her frizzy brown hair, so unruly that Harry had joked nothing short of axle grease could tame it, was pulled behind her head in a ponytail. Harry watched as they filed in, taking their seats on the front row. He quickly noted that Ginny wasn’t there, though that didn’t surprise him. Ginny had not been on good terms with any of her family since she’d married Draco Malfoy.

Shoving that thought out of his mind, Harry focused his attention on the ceremony. A hush fell over the crowd. Remus made his way up to a marble podium behind Ron’s casket. After the silence hovered for a few moments, he began to speak.

“I’m glad to see so many familiar faces gathered here today to celebrate the life of one of Hogwart’s finest.” Remus said, his voice cracking on the last note. He glanced down, regaining his composure, before continuing.

“Ronald Weasley was not a punctual wizard. From the time he was born, and stretched poor Molly Weasley to ten months, he was always running late. He ran late to his first class at Hogwarts and held the school record for number of detentions received due to tardies.”

There was a muffled laughter rolling through the crowd, and even Harry couldn’t help but crack a smile at the title Ron had been presented with at their graduation. Remus cracked a faint smile, before continuing.

“In fact, I often told him that the only reason he ever turned in any of his assignments on time was because Ms. Granger did it for him while he and Harry were out on the Quidditch Pitch.”

At this there was a muffled sobbing from the front row. It sounded like Hermione. Harry tilted his head, straining to see his friend, but his attempt was futile. Instead, he turned his attention to Remus, who had tears strolling freely down his cheeks.

“Today, Ron was the first one here,” he continued, his gaze flickering to the casket. “That’s how I know he is truly gone.”

Harry brushed a tear out of his eye, gritting his teeth as Remus’ words faded into the distance. He focused his attention on the small, red-headed boy that sat on the front row, his gaze cast to the floor. Several years had passed since he’d seen Artie, but he looked like he was the spitting image of Ron at that age. His face was dotted with freckles and he wore a suit that appeared three sizes too small at the leg. His sneakered feet kicked back and forth over the ground. But what really caught Harry’s eye was how miserable the child appeared. This was to be expected, Harry realized. But not one tear was visible in young Artie’s eyes. It was as if he’d turned himself off from the world and disappeared into a place where only he existed.

The raven-haired wizard continued to watch him, trying to remember himself at that age, trying to remember what it was like to be eleven and to have no parents. It was a feeling he recalled all too well.

Time seemed to fly by and pretty soon Harry found himself shuffling out the door, making his way to off the Hogwarts grounds to an apparation point that led to the car that would take them to the cemetery. He walked alone, allowing himself to mull over his thoughts as he walked along. A few times he choked back angry tears, siphoning off that wasted energy into anger instead. By the time he arrived at the graveyard, his eyes were dry.

A small crowd, no more than twenty people, had gathered under a makeshift tent that covered a small number of chairs. Ron’s casket had been transported to its burial site and closed – something for which Harry was grateful. Seeing Ron at the funeral had threatened to undo all the careful work of concealing his emotions. Ron had appeared peaceful, but it didn’t look like Ron … at least not the Ron that Harry remembered. This Ron’s hair had darkened somewhat, settling into a deeper shade of red. Although the freckles had not faded, Ron had apparently taken the time to grow a moustache and goatee. While Harry occasionally donned facial hair for an undercover assignment, he wasn’t sure he liked the change on Ron. It made it harder to remember him as he was.

Everyone had arrived by the time Harry’s car – a loaner from the Ministry of Magic – had arrived. Harry quietly stepped out of the car, glancing over the crowd. He recognized the Weasleys, of course, and other members from the Order. Hermione was also there, along with Lupin and a few of the other Hogwarts teachers. And Ginny was standing in the corner.

Ginny Malfoy.

Harry arched an eyebrow at the youngest Weasley. He had not seen her in many years, and was surprised at how much she appeared to have grown in his absence. Her body was no longer the thin, freckly specter that he remembered. Ginny now had curves in all the right places and Harry couldn’t see a freckle in sight. She still sported her hair in a shoulder-length cut, and she was still a bit on the short side, but she appeared to have grown up overnight. Her eyes were rimmed from what appeared to be crying, and she appeared thoroughly miserable.

Inhaling deeply, Harry slowly pulled back the hood of his cloak and began walking towards the group. Absently he ran a hand through his hair, trying to tame the wild locks that had plagued him since his youth. He had scarcely made it three steps when a woman’s shrill voice called to him across the lawn.

“Harry!”

The raven-headed wizard forced a smile to his mouth, embracing the shorter Molly Weasley in a hug. The older woman squeezed Harry in a death grip, as if she were scared he’d disappear if she let go for even a moment.

“It’s good to see you, Harry,” Mr. Weasley said, stepping up beside Harry and giving him a pat on the back. Harry nodded, allowing Mrs. Weasley to hang onto him as he kissed her on the forehead. She was the closest thing he had to a mother, and he felt bad that he hadn’t visited more often on his time off.

“Harry, welcome back,” Fred, or was it George, said. It was impossible to tell since the twins were dressed in identical, and expensive, black suits. Apparently Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes was doing well. Bill and Charlie smiled at Harry and Percy gave him a dignified, unperturbed, nod.

“I just wish it could have been under better circumstances,” Molly said, her eyes brightening with tears. Harry nodded, fighting back his own emotions as she pulled out her handkerchief began dabbing at her eyes. Harry looked away uncomfortably, unsure of what to say, when his gaze came upon a familiar mahogany one. Hermione was staring at him, her lips drawn into a tight line, as if she were making a noticeable effort to hide her anger. Her fists were bunched up tightly at her sides and she stood deathly still. If Harry had not met her before he would have sworn she was a statue.

At Molly’s insistent tug on his arm Harry shifted his focus to the shorter woman, forcing a weak smile across his features.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around much. Work has been hectic,” Harry said apologetically. If Molly seemed to harbor any grudge, she didn’t show it. Mr. Weasley nodded.

“Do you have a place to stay Harry?” he asked. At Harry’s shaking head, he continued, “Well then, you shall have to stay with us.”

“Oh,” Harry said, blushing furiously. “I was thinking about getting a room on Diagon Alley.”

“I won’t have that. You must stay with us, Harry. We’ve so much to talk about.” Mrs. Weasley was rambling, but Harry nodded in understanding. For too long she’d been used to having children under her roof, and now with Ginny estranged and Ron dead, she was facing the grim reality of an empty nest.

“Of course he will, mum,” Fred piped up. Harry nodded and Molly’s eyes immediately brightened with tears again. Artie, who was standing behind Fred and George, said nothing, pawing the toe of one of his sneakers into the dirt.

When Harry glanced back up, Hermione was nowhere to be seen. He sat down next to Molly Weasley, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as Albus Dumbledore, now retired from Hogwarts but still very much alive, began the graveside ceremony.

“Ronald Weasley was a devoted father. After his wife died, he gave up Quidditch to pursue a career as a business partner in his brother’s enterprise, so he could spend more time with his son. He even accepted a position at Hogwarts so he could play an active role in his son’s first year. He was a loyal friend, often paying special visits to Hogwarts to visit his former classmates. He will be sorely missed,” Dumbledore paused, looking up to the sky. “We will miss you, Ron Weasley. For us, it seems like the end, but you have just begun your next great adventure.” All too soon it seemed like they were filing past the closed casket, paying their last respects to the youngest Weasley boy.

Harry’s turn arrived; and he hesitated only briefly by the side of his friend’s final resting place. He leaned down and began to whisper softly. “Hey mate. I’m sorry I wasn’t here more often,” he paused, frowning as his mind struggled to wrap around the words that seemed to elude him. “I’ve made some real progress against those Deatheaters,” he frowned, looking down. It all seemed so trite now.

“Look, I know I wasn’t around much, but I thought about you and Hermione every day. I promise to come around more and I’ll take good care of your mum and dad – Artie too, if you want me to. That’s a promise.”

He slowly rose to his feet, having said all he needed to say, and filed past the casket. Harry wandered aimlessly among the chairs, ignoring quiet sobs. He searched desperately for Hermione but could not see her anywhere. She must have apparated home, he thought. Tucking back the nagging idea that she didn’t want to be around him, Harry slowly made his way to a tearful Ginny, who was standing against one of the tent posts.

The younger woman flung herself into his arms, sobbing against Harry’s shoulder. Harry felt flustered, not prepared to deal with such an open display of emotions from the one who had chosen Draco Malfoy over her own family; but he held here nonetheless, trying to comfort her as best as possible. After what seemed like hours her sobs finally subsided, and she drew back, sniffling noisily.

“Sorry, Harry, it’s just …” Ginny allowed her voice to trail back. “It’s hard to believe he’s gone. And murdered, no less. It’s … just …” her voice broke off as her eyes began to water again.

Ron had been found a week ago on the floor of his brother’s store, his body frozen in a state of shock that made it all too clear what had happened. Harry had screamed bloody murder for two solid hours after he’d received the news of the Avada Kedavra curse. He would find the person who did that to Ron. And he would make them pay.

Harry gritted his teeth, his eyes narrowing. “I will find the person who did that to him. They will pay for their crimes.”

“I’d start with that bloody husband of hers,” George’s voice piped up behind them. Ginny froze and Harry glanced over his shoulder to the remaining Weasleys, who were quickly approaching. For a moment there was a tense silence, and then Ginny whispered a hurried goodbye before disappearing with a pop.

“Come on Harry,” Fred muttered. “Let’s go home.”

Title: Father's Day

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: You know the Drill

Author's Notes: First off, to the idiot who decided to complain that I stole someone else's plot -- Learn to read. Not only did I NOT steal their plot, but I intend to take this story in a different direction. Yes, this is inspired by Jakia's challenge. But it is NOT in answer to her challenge. You want to know why? First off, because I'm not using all of her elements, because a couple of them don't fit in my story. Alright, now that I've got that rant over with, thank you for your kind remarks, everyone who is intelligent enough to read. This story is inspired by Jakia's challenge, but I intend to take it in a different direction and a different angle. I encourage you to read Family Ties by Rhiannon, posted in response to Jakia's challenge. I'm hoping to average an update a week, but we'll see how flexible that is. Thanks to the person who pointed out an inconsistency in my story. I've taken care of it. Just as an afterthought, part of Remus speech was actually inspired by a eulogy I read in a Steven White novel. Now, on to chapter 2.

Chapter 2: Last Requests

Harry Potter glanced over the lopsided but strangely comfortable building that was the Burrow. He had spent so many summers here during his younger years, and yet it never changed. The familiarity was a source of comfort to him.

Pulling the shorter Molly Weasley to his side, Harry made his way with the older woman to the front door of the Burrow, which swung open automatically to allow them entrance. The second they stepped foot in the kitchen, Molly squirmed out of Harry's grip and immediately made her way to a cupboard, open and closing doors.

“Can I get you some tea, Harry? Or perhaps a biscuit or some cake? You must be hungry. I know; I’ll make that special stew you always liked. Now where did I put that cabbage?”

All of this was said very quickly, and was directed more to the air than Harry himself.

“Molly, Harry knows his way around our kitchen. He’s practically family.” Arthur Weasley piped up as he made his way into the kitchen. He looked exhausted, Harry thought.

“Nonsense, Arthur,” Molly said, paying only scant attention to her husband while she pulled down pots and pans. Mr. Weasley sighed, crossing the room and resting his left hand on hers. His wife tensed for a moment, her body frozen under the gentle gesture. Then she jerked her hand away and continued making preparations to cook. Harry simply watched the exchange, afraid to interject. It was pretty clear that Mrs. Weasley was trying to keep herself occupied with something else besides Ron’s death. Harry also knew that such actions were probably not healthy, either.

Arthur sighed, stepping up behind his wife, who was now hovering over the sink, attacking the soapy dishes without magic. Gently, he wrapped his arms around hers, his hands closing around her wrists. Molly tried to jerk out of his grasp, but Arthur stood firm.

“Let go of me!” Mrs. Weasley said tensely, trying to twist away from him. Harry caught sight of her wand poking out from a pocket on her badly faded dress. Mr. Weasley seemed to catch sight of it too, because the next instant he released his grip on her to snatch the wand out of her pocket. While Mrs. Weasley was turning around, he tossed the wand to Harry, who caught it in his left hand with an arched eyebrow.

“Arthur! You … You …” Molly stammered, pounding on her husband’s chest with her closed fists. Harry’s eyebrows widened as a word he never thought he’d hear Mrs. Weasley utter escaped her mouth. In a second Arthur had his arms wrapped tightly around his wife, pinning her arms to his chest as he pressed his mouth in her graying hair.

“He’s not coming back,” Mr. Weasley choked out, the tears streaming down his cheeks. “No housework will change that.”

Mrs. Weasley burst into tears, and the couple slowly slid to the floor, sobbing. Harry watched the exchange, feeling his own sorrow well in his throat. He quietly slid Mrs. Weasley’s wand onto the kitchen table and made his way to the living room.

The living room was immaculate. Obviously Molly had been doing a lot of cleaning to try to cope with Ron’s death. Harry spotted a half finished maroon sweater with a large R in the corner, obviously untouched for some time. Harry felt the tears begin to boil behind his eyes, but he forced himself to keep them at bay.

He heard the door opening behind him and turned, watching as Artie stormed into the room, seemingly oblivious to everything.

“Hi Artie,” Harry said quietly, thinking about how he could best help alleviate some of the child’s grief. But if Artie heard him, he gave no indication. Instead, he marched past Harry and quickly stomped his way up the staircase to the bedrooms upstairs.

Harry frowned, waiting until Artie had disappeared up the stairs. He began to follow him when he heard his name being called again.

“Harry!”

“There you are!”

Fred and George entered the living room simultaneously with a loud pop. The twins took Harry by the arms and ushered him to a large, comfortable chair. With a flourish of his wand Fred managed to conjure two wooden stools. Each twin took one, settling across from Harry. Harry stared at the twins, wide-eyed, his glasses slightly askew on his nose.

“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do,” said Fred.

“About why you hardly ever wrote,” George interrupted.

“Or visited,” Fred added.

“Mum’s really missed you,” George continued.

“And so did Ron,” Fred piped up. “And Hermione.”

“It’s been almost ten years since we’ve seen you,” George said.

“You owe us an explanation,” Fred concluded.

The two sat across from Harry, their arms crossed over their chests. Harry sighed, adjusting his glasses slightly. His mind fluttered over various excuses, but they all seemed hollow and empty. Deciding that honesty would be the best response, he shifted in the chair and nodded to Fred and George.

“I know it’s been awhile,” Harry said, sincerely. “I’m sorry. Training took up two years of my life, and I wasn’t able to contact anyone during that time. Then, as soon as I finished, it seemed as if I was being shuffled from one assignment to another.”

Fred and George gave each other a look, but before they could speak up, Harry continued. “I know I should have written more, but I …,” Harry frowned, fumbling for words. “I was so caught up in trying to stop the Deatheaters that I lost track of time. I kept telling myself I’d write after the next assignment, but time seemed to slip away.”

“Not good enough,” Fred said.

“It’s been ten years, Harry,” George added.

Harry sighed. “I know. Like I said, I don’t really have a good excuse. I convinced myself that I was doing it for you all.”

“For us?” George asked, his expression clouded.

“I think you better explain,” Fred added.

Harry nodded, his emerald gaze slipping to the ground. “As long as Deatheaters are out, no one is really safe. Your family … as well as Hermione … least of all. Because you all helped me defeat Voldemort.”

Fred and George flinched noticeably as Harry said his name.

“I know it doesn’t excuse what I did, and I know it will take a long time to forgive, but believe me when I say I thought about you all every day. Every time I donned a disguise or masked my presence or drank that stinking polyjuice potion, I thought of you and how I was doing this for all of you guys,” Harry said apologetically.

The twins remained silent for a moment, then they gave each other guarded looks. George gave Fred an imperceptible nod.

“It doesn’t excuse what you did, but we’re willing to look past it, for now,” Fred said.

“That just means we won’t force-feed you any of our new products tonight, while you haven’t had a good night’s sleep,” George added.

“It doesn’t protect you from making it up to us tomorrow,” Fred said, a grin crossing his freckled features. A smile spread across Harry’s face and he nodded, relief flooding his body. It felt good to be home.

Fred and George escorted him up the steps, chattering all the way. Charlie was staying in his old room, and Bill and Fleur were staying in Percy’s old room.

“Percy wouldn’t stay here with his wife,” George said as they trudged up the steps. Harry nodded. Percy had married Penelope during Harry’s seventh year at Hogwarts. “Said it would be too crowded. He’s staying at the Leaky Cauldron.”

“Of course, we’re staying in our old room,” Fred said. “And Artie is staying in G… in the guest bedroom,” he said with a scowl.

“You can stay with us, if you’d like. We promise not to do anything too terrible to you while you sleep,” George said.

Without realizing it, Harry found himself standing in front of the door to Ron’s old bedroom. The three grew silent, and Harry stared at the door with a sense of foreboding. Part of him wanted to go inside, if only to reassure himself that Ron would not be there, sitting on the bed and rambling on about the Chudley Cannons.

“I think I’ll stay in there,” Harry said quietly. Fred and George gave each other an indiscernible look, and then returned their focus to Harry.

“Are you sure, mate?” Fred asked. At Harry’s nod, he looked back at George, and gave his twin a nod.

“Good night then,” they said in unison, before trudging down the hallway to their room. Harry stood outside the door to Ron’s room, trying to work up the courage to enter. As an afterthought, he instead turned down the hallway, heading towards Ginny’s old room.

“Artie?” Harry said quietly, knocking on the door. When he didn’t receive a response, Harry cracked open the door a bit, sending a long sliver of light into the room. Artie was lying on top of the blanket, turned towards the wall. Harry squinted against the darkness, slowly making his way into the room. Artie was asleep, or at least he was pretending to be. Harry was about to turn and leave when he noticed that the boy hadn’t removed any of the clothing he’d worn from the funeral. A twinge of compassion passed over him, and Harry quietly snuck his way to the boy’s side, carefully slipping off his shoes.

Artie stirred, but turned over onto his back. At that moment Harry was struck by just how innocent the redheaded child looked. Was I ever that young, Harry asked himself. He slowly loosened the tie from around the boy’s neck and slipped it over his head, taking great care not to wake him. Then he deftly began unbuttoning the boy’s shirt. He was contemplating the best way to remove it when he heard the door creak open behind him. Harry looked over his right shoulder, watching as Mrs. Weasley entered the room. She smiled gratefully at Harry through puffy eyes, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder. In a manner of moments she’d taken care to remove Artie’s shirt and had tucked the eleven-year-old under the blankets.

Harry watched Mrs. Weasley work, amazed at how naturally parenting came to her. Will I ever be that good of a parent? Harry wondered. Then, with a slight shake of his head he immediately dismissed the idea. He’d given up the idea of having a family when he became an Auror. The best he would manage, if he was lucky, was to be a doting godfather of one of the Weasleys.

“Poor dear,” Mrs. Weasley said, kissing Artie lightly on his forehead. “He barely had gotten over the loss of his mother when Ron left.”

She rose to her feet, turning to face Harry. “He is such a good boy. He really deserves a good home.”

Harry nodded, walking over to Mrs. Weasley and drawing the woman into a hug. “He’ll get one,” Harry said quietly, looking over her shoulder to the sleeping child. “I’m sure of it.”

Mrs. Weasley nodded, and together the two of them walked out of the room. After bidding him goodbye, Harry started down the hallway and stepped inside Ron’s room.

“Lumos,” Harry muttered, holding his wand out to illuminate the room. To his surprise, Ron’s room looked as if it hadn’t changed since his seventh year. Pictures of the Chudley Cannons dotted the room, along with stacks of Which Broomstick and his old Hogwarts books. Harry knew Ron had moved out just after graduation, when he and Luna had gotten married. Artie had been born nine months later. But Mrs. Weasley kept his room as if Ron had never left. Harry briefly worried about her sanity, but the yawn that escaped his mouth made him realize that he was extremely tired. And Ron’s bed looked very inviting.

Harry pulled off his robes, slipping beneath the cool sheets. His eyes flickered to the bedside stand, where a picture of him, Ron, and Hermione sat. Harry reached out, taking the picture, staring at it. It was a picture taken shortly after they’d begun their seventh year. He remembered the moment well. Neville had just been snuck a Canary Crème in a piece of chocolate and had turned into a giant yellow bird. Hermione had erupted into a flurry of giggles, and the three of them had had a good laugh as Neville began to molt.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he thought about Ron and a deep longing filled his stomach as he wished for the old days to return. A ragged sob escaped his throat as the picture slipped from his grip, the frame shattering on the ground. Harry slowly scooped up the aging photograph, rolling onto his stomach as he slipped the photograph beneath his pillow. He closed his eyes, slowing down his breathing until he’d regained control over his emotions and fell into a restless sleep.

* * *

Sunlight was streaming into the room when Harry finally opened his eyes. It felt as if a pair of two ton blocks had fastened themselves to his eyelids. Groaning, he turned over onto his stomach, wishing he could go back to sleep for another century. But then the smell of bacon wafted underneath the door, and Harry, clad only in his sleep pants, decided it was time to wake up.

He plodded into the kitchen, where Artie, Fred, George, and Mr. Weasley were already seated. Mrs. Weasley stood over the stove, her wand in her hand as she sent spells sailing towards various pots and pans.

“Good morning Harry,” Fred said, some pancake syrup dripping out of his mouth. “Pancakes?”

Harry nodded, sliding into a seat beside Artie. The younger boy was poking at his sausages, but his food remained untouched.

“Here you go, Harry,” said Mrs. Weasley, setting down a plate of a dozen pancakes in front of Harry. The messy-haired wizard suddenly realized just how famished he was, and grabbed his utensils, beginning to dig into the plate of food.

“Artie dear, finish your sausages, at least. You didn’t eat supper last night.” Mrs. Weasley coddled. Artie shrugged, poking one of his sausages.

“Your letter from Hogwarts came today, dear. Maybe on Saturday we could go to Diagon Alley?” Molly asked. Harry’s eyes widened at the expression of raw fury on the boy’s face.

Artie slammed his fork down. “I’m not hungry and I don’t want to go to Hogwarts. Just leave me alone!” Then he stormed out of the room.

They sat in stunned silence for a moment, before Mrs. Weasley let out a deep sigh. They ate in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes.

“Fred, George, will you be sure to return by two o’clock?”

“Sure mum,” Fred said.

“Where are you going?” Harry asked.

Fred and George looked at each other, then at him. “We’re headed to Ron’s old flat to get some of his things. Mum wants us to bring them back before the reading.”

“Reading?”

George nodded. “This afternoon we have to go to the ministry and listen to Remus read Ron’s will.”

Harry nodded, a deep pit settling in his stomach. He stared at his half-finished stack of pancakes and then pushed them away. After thinking for a moment he looked at Fred and George.

“Can I come with you?”

“Are you sure, dear?” Mrs. Weasley asked, piling some sausages onto Harry’s plate.

Harry nodded, looking up at Mrs. Weasley. “I’d like to see where Ron lived.”

“You can come,” George said. “It’ll be good to have another hand in moving his things.”

* * *

The second Harry stepped foot inside Ron’s flat, he immediately regretted his offer to help. It looked worse than some of the bachelor pads he stayed at. Pizza boxes were strewn around the floor, and it looked as if a duster hadn’t seen this place in ages. Ron had never been one to clean up after himself, but this was bordering on ridiculous.

“Erm, are we going to clean all of this?” Harry asked, turning over a moldy sandwich with his sneakered foot.

Fred shook his head. “We’ll let mum do the hard work. We’re just here to move whatever we can.”

Harry nodded, tossing some clothes into a box. They worked in silence, occasionally apparating back to the Burrow with a box and back with a loud pop. Pretty soon it was 1 o’clock, and they were sweaty, exhausted, and dirty from the hard work.

“Remind me to have a few cross words with Ron once I get to the other side,” George muttered, collapsing onto a chair. Harry nodded, plopping down on a nearby coffee table. He stared at the mess, grateful he wasn’t going to be the one to have to clean it. After a few moments of silence, Harry finally looked up.

“What happened?” he asked quietly. “You know … when you found out?” Fred and George looked at each other. Eventually Fred broke the silence.

“We’ll show you,” he said slowly, after great deliberation. “To the shop.”

And he and George vanished with a pop. Harry shrugged, but followed them. He found himself in a dark store, lined with rows of novelties that would have put Zonko’s to shame.

“We found him over here,” Fred said, pointing to a spot on the ground behind the cash register. Harry nodded, making his way over to where Fred and George were standing. He knelt on the ground and brushed his fingers across the wooden floor, as if touching the fine lines of the wood would provide him some insight into Ron’s murder.

“He had stayed up at the shop to close. He’d been helping us for the past year,” Fred said.

George nodded, then added, “He didn’t close often, but he offered.”

“We had dates,” Fred piped up.

“What happened then?” Harry said, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice. He didn’t care who Fred and George had been seeing that night. All he cared about was getting revenge on Ron’s murderer.

“Well, when we got home we had an owl from mum,” Fred said. “Ron hadn’t returned home and Artie was worried. So we came back to the shop.”

“He was lying on the ground. It was pretty obvious someone had used the killing curse on him,” George said.

Harry nodded, tracing his finger along the ground. Ron, what happened to you?

“Fred took Ron to St. Mungo’s, but I went to see Mum and Dad…,” George said, his voice trailing off.

Harry nodded, the implications clear. Letting out a small sigh, he stood to his feet, the investigator in him taking over. “Was he supposed to meet anyone that night?”

Fred shook his head. “Not that we know of. He usually went straight home to be with Artie.”

“Anyways, that’s all we know,” George said, running a hand through his hair. He glanced at his watch, his eyes widening. “It’s almost two o’clock! We’ll have to apparate straight to the Ministry.”

* * *

Moments later, Harry found himself in a wooden chair, around a long wooden table. The other Weasleys were gathered around, except for Percy, who had to return home, and Ginny, for obvious reasons. Harry glanced at Artie, who had a sour expression on his face.

Remus came inside, holding a piece of parchment in his hand. He made his way to the head of the table, taking a seat and giving them a slight nod.

“I’ll try to make this brief,” he said. “I know you are all eager to go home.” Mr. Weasley gave Lupin a weak smile and wrapped an arm around his wife.

“Okay, then,” Remus said, clearing his throat. “I, Ronald Weasley, being of sound mind, et cetera, hereby bequeath all of my Gringott’s gold, my books, my Quidditch equipment, and other magazines and/or books to my son, Arthur Ronald Weasley II. The gold shall be held in trust until he is of age.”

Harry nodded. That much he had expected. Ron had made a tidy sum of Galleons while playing keeper for the Cannons, and Fred and George had always done really well in their joke shop.

“My furniture, flat, and other physical possessions not bequeathed to my son shall go to my parents, Molly and Arthur Weasley, to be dealt with accordingly.

Molly started crying softly into Mr. Weasley’s shoulder. Harry took the opportunity to look at Artie, but the younger Weasley made no movement. His eyes were leveled on a coffee stain on the table in front of them.

“Now to the matter of custody of Artie.”

Harry’s eyes jerked up, and all around him he could see attention shifting towards Lupin. Even Artie’s head perked up with interest.

“Custody of my son, Arthur Ronald Weasley II shall be awarded to my best friend, Harry James Potter.”

Harry felt his stomach drop.

Title: Father’s Day

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Blah Blah Blah, you know I don’t own it.

Author’s Notes: Thank you all for your reviews. I’m a bit floored to have so many when all I’ve done are two chapters. A few notes to a couple of my readers. First, Excalibur, thanks for pointing out the discrepancy. I have fixed it. Hopefully it should read better. To Kyp, no, you weren’t the one I was berating. Rest assured if it were you, it would have been much harsher. To Heaven, of course I should have expected it, but I also reserve the right to rip that person’s stomach out and feed it to my tarantula. That being said, if anyone else needs to comment on a discrepancy or error, please feel free to do so. I don’t bite. Not hard, at least. And only on request.

Chapter 3: Razor’s Edge

“Custody of my son, Arthur Ronald Weasley II shall be awarded to my best friend, Harry James Potter.”

The phrase echoed in his mind, not really registering. A father – what did he know about raising children? Why did Ron do this to him? Surely there were people better suited to the task. And how could he raise a child with the job he had? He couldn’t be seen dragging Artie around while he bounced around from one mission to another. There was too much danger. How could Ron ask this of him? Yet how could he refuse? He had given his word to Ron that he would take care of his family.

It was a thin line he was balancing on. If he refused to do this for Ron, he’d cheapen the friendship they shared. But if he did accept, he’d risk alienating Mrs. Weasley. Neither option was a good one.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered the sound of light footsteps and the slamming of a door. Dumbfounded, he glanced at Artie’s empty chair. Fred and George were staring at him, their eyes wide in awe. Mrs. Weasley looked furious enough to spit fire, and Mr. Weasley was rubbing his temples as if nursing a bad migraine. Charlie had taken a sudden interest in his shoes and Bill and Fleur had given each other guarded looks. Remus stared directly at him, as if asking him to challenge the contents of Ron’s will. It turned out Harry didn’t have to – Mrs. Weasley beat him to it.

“Are you sure you read that right, Remus?” Molly asked testily. “Why on earth would Ron give custody of Artie to Harry?”

Lupin gave Molly an apologetic nod. “I know it seems unusual, but that’s indeed what it says.” As if to prove his point, he handed the parchment over to Mrs. Weasley, who promptly grabbed it and began reading furiously. Mr. Weasley read over his wife’s shoulder, the expression on his face indiscernible. Molly’s eyes widened as they reached the part in question, casting a furtive glance towards Harry and then shaking her head noticeably.

“But Harry … Harry doesn’t know anything about raising children! Artie needs to be with his family!” she exclaimed, her face reddening. “He needs a mother who will take care of him and … and who won’t run away for years at a time and leave him alone!”

“Hey!” Harry shouted, his green gaze narrowing a bit. But as instantly as he’d voiced his protest, he immediately silenced. Wasn’t that, in effect, what he had done? How could Ron have possibly overlooked that? Surely he knew leaving Artie with Harry would be detrimental to his son. Mrs. Weasley gave him a gaze that could have melted steel and threw the will back on the table.

“How could Ron have done this?” she wailed, shoving back from the table so forcefully her chair almost tipped over. In a fury of sobs she ran from the room. Harry stared at the table, unsure of what to say.

“I think I’m going to check on mum,” Bill Weasley muttered under his breath. Fleur nodded and the two left the room.

“I think I’ll join them,” Charlie said, quickly giving Harry a doleful smile and rushing after his brother.

“We’ll go find Artie,” Fred and George said in unison before they disappeared.

Mr. Weasley let out a deep sigh, rubbing his temples with one hand and running other hand through his rapidly receding hairline.

“I guess that’s that,” he said quietly, slowly rising to his feet. He began to make his way towards the door, pausing momentarily beside Harry’s chair. Harry glanced up at the older man, his eyes widened with shock.

“Please don’t be upset with Molly, Harry,” Mr. Weasley said quietly. “She doesn’t really blame you. She’s just been through a lot.” He paused, and then almost as an afterthought, added, “I think Ron made the right choice.”

And with that, he left the room.

Harry stared at the table, shock still flooding his body. He knew he should be concerned about Artie’s reaction to the news, but all he could think about for the moment was what this meant for him.

“Harry,” Remus said quietly, snapping the younger wizard out of his reverie. “Ron left an additional letter for you. Would you like to have it now?”

Harry nodded numbly. He could only assume Ron had left instructions on Artie’s care, as well as an explanation as to why he’d made this decision. Remus held out an envelope to him, which he took. Slowly, he ripped it open, his eyes briefly scanning the messy text before he settled down to read.

Dear Harry,

If you’ve gotten this letter, then this means I’m dead. I’m sorry, mate. I wish I could have seen more of you. To tell you the truth, I resented the fact that you were gone so often, but after Artie was born I realized that you had done what you had to do to keep us safe. So no hard feelings, okay?

By now you’ve probably realized I asked you to take care of Artie. This wasn’t an easy decision. Mum must be furious. Don’t worry, she’ll get over it. In truth, I’ve been a bit worried about her. Ever since Ginny moved out she’s been a bit weepy. Started fixing up all of our rooms as if she was expecting us to come home any moment. It wasn’t right. I think she’s gotten so used to having children under her roof for so long she doesn’t feel like she knows how to do anything else. I’m hoping this will change, not just for her sake, but for dad’s too.

I know you’ve been really busy as an Auror, but there’s no one else I trust more than you to do what’s best for Artie – except maybe Hermione, of course. I know you have no idea what it’s like to be a parent – that’s okay. Neither did I, at first. It’s the kind of thing you learn as you go along.

There’s another reason why I chose you. Out of all of us, you are the only one who has truly missed out on the experience of having a family. Now that I’m gone, Artie is in the same boat. I think you’ll be able to understand him better than anyone else – even Hermione.

Take care of my son, Harry. Help him become the kind of man I’d be proud of.

Your best friend,

Ronald Weasley

Harry closed the letter, his eyes drifting shut as he inhaled deeply. How was he supposed to say no to that? He couldn’t – more importantly, he wouldn’t. He had no idea what Ron was thinking appointing him the guardian of his son, but he owed it to Ron to not let him down.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, focusing his gaze on Lupin. Remus was staring at him with a small smile, his eyes glistening.

“Well, Harry, what’s your answer?” he asked.

“I’ll do it,” Harry replied quietly, nervous chills running through his veins. Remus gave him a small smile, nodding.

“Good,” he said, breathing a sigh of relief. “I was hoping you’d accept.” Remus picked up the will and marked a notation on it with a long, feathery quill. After he had finished. The parchment spun around and disappeared out of sight.

“The will is now binding,” he said. “I don’t think the Weasleys will be able to protest it in court, but my hunch is that Arthur won’t let Molly do that, even if she wanted to. Now, let’s talk about your future.”

“My … future?” Harry stuttered, his eyes widening.

“Of course,” Lupin said matter-of-factly. “You’re a father now. You have responsibilities now.”

What had he gotten himself into?

“Now, I understand Minerva has been looking for a Defense against the Dark Arts teacher. Ron was going to take that class, so he could be closer to Artie, but I’m sure she’ll have no qualms with offering you the job.

“Wait a minute!” Harry shouted, his eyes widening. “I’m an Auror. Not a teacher!”

“I know,” Lupin said. “Kingsley has agreed to grant you an extended leave of absence, with possibility of it being permanent.”

“I’m an Auror,” Harry protested, feeling the despair start to flood his body. “That’s all I’ve known the past 11 years. You can’t do this to me. There are still Deatheaters out there.”

“I am not doing anything to you, Harry,” Lupin said testily. “This is a direct order handed down from your superior. There are other people who can take care of the Deatheaters. You’re not the only Auror out there. And you can’t be expected to take care of Artie while you’re risking life and limb in another country.”

“But…” Harry started to protest, but his voice trailed off. Remus was right, and he knew it. Maybe some time off would do some good – he could make up his long absence to Hermione and the rest.

“It’s only a year, Harry. If you decide you can’t stay away, then we’ll get custody transfer forms drafted. But I want you to give this a fair shot. This will not be easy. I’m sure you’ll find that out.”

Harry nodded weakly, staring at the table. He wondered once more what he had gotten himself into.

“Now, classes are set to begin in two weeks. No doubt you’ll want to take Artie shopping for school supplies before then, and you’ll need to decide where you’re going to want to live.”

“I thought professors lived at Hogwarts?” Harry said, a bit confused.

“Some of them do, but not all. I believe Ms. Granger does. But Ginny floos in from her manor…”

“Wait a minute,” Harry interrupted. “Hermione teaches there? And Ginny?”

Lupin frowned. “I’m sorry Harry. I’d forgotten you’d been gone for so long. Yes, after Dumbledore retired Minerva took over as Headmistress. Hermione was hired to replace her. After Madame Hooch’s untimely demise, Ginny was hired as a flight instructor.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Just how many of my old classmates are teaching at Hogwarts.”

“Well, Snape is still potions master. I expect he’ll be a bit disgruntled you got the DADA job, but that’s nothing you’re not used to, right? Then Neville has taken over for Professor Sprout – she retired two years ago. Trelawney is still there – frankly I think it’s because Dumbledore requested Minerva keep her installed until the old bat dies. Filch is there, so you’ll want to watch out for him. Hagrid, as you know, left after his marriage to Madame Maxime. I believe he still teaches the Care of Magical Creatures class, although he no longer is Keeper of the Grounds at Hogwarts. I think he floos using one of the larger fireplaces in the Great Hall. I think Grawp has taken over tending the grounds.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Grawp?”

Remus smiled. “Yes, well he’s considerably more behaved than he used to be. Still loses his temper every once in awhile, but I think Hagrid proved that it was possible for him to learn how to live with wizards peacefully – though it was done on a much slower scale. No students have been harmed since he took over as groundskeeper, though quite a few I imagine have been scared straight after running into him.”

The younger wizard shook his head incredulously, recalling Grawp from his fifth year. He had been gone a long time.

“You, of course, will be expected to arrive at Hogwarts on the train. Minerva will probably brief you once you arrive. Do you have any questions?”

Harry frowned, trying to think of anything that had not yet been addressed. One issue did weigh heavily on the back of his mind.

“Hermione,” he said quietly, his gaze flickering back to Remus’s. “Has she been alright?”

Remus sighed, his shoulders slumping forward a bit. “It’s a bit difficult to say, Harry. She was definitely heartbroken after you left so quickly. I wasn’t about to ask why, though I dare say she’ll expect a good explanation. After awhile she finally pulled herself together and threw herself into her work.”

“Has she … I mean … is she seeing anyone?”

Lupin gave him an odd look. “As far as I know, no. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Harry said, shaking his head quickly. He tucked the answer back in the corner of his mind to analyze at a later date.

“If that’s it then, I believe you have some business to attend to, as do I,” Lupin said. Harry nodded weakly. In truth he was dreading returning to the Weasleys, but he realized that it was inevitable. The sooner he faced them, and Artie, the sooner he’d get the bad part over with.

Harry followed Lupin out the door and into the hallway. Remus took off in one direction, and Harry left in the other, heading for Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, who were talking quietly at the end of the hallway. He hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether or not he should interrupt their conversation. But then Mrs. Weasley beckoned him over. Harry inhaled deeply, and then walked slowly over to the two, bracing himself for the yelling that was sure to come.

Arthur gave his wife a warning look, but Mrs. Weasley shook it off. “Harry dear, I’m sorry I lost my temper in there. Ron’s … announcement came as a shock, that’s all.” She frowned, a pained expression coming across her face. “I’m sure you’ll make a fine guardian for Artie.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, giving a light nod to Mrs. Weasley. His eyes scanned the hallway, but there was no sign of the others, or of Artie. Harry frowned.

“Where is …”

“I believe he ran off,” Arthur said. “Took the floo network to the Burrow. You should be able to find him there. We were just getting ready to apparate there ourselves. Will you be joining us?”

Harry nodded. “I need to speak with him, I guess.” Molly gave a slight nod, and together the three of them apparated back to the Burrow.

“Harry, glad you’re back,” Fred said the second he appeared in the Weasley’s living room.

“We were afraid you had run off to Timbuktu,” George added. “We were figuring out how we were going to jinx you.”

Harry snorted, glancing up the long staircase that led to the upper bedrooms. He turned back to Fred and George. “Is Artie…?”

“He’s up there, all right,” Fred snorted. “Slammed the door in my face.”

“Mine too,” added George. “We thought we’d give him a chance to cool down.”

The former Auror nodded. “Maybe. I think I’ll go have a word with him.”

“So you’re going to do it, then?” Fred asked, his blue eyes twinkling with curiosity. Harry nodded. The twins grinned broadly.

“Wicked,” George said. “Now we’re going to have to supply him with enough dung bombs to last him ‘til he’s eighteen.”

Harry’s eyes widened; and the twins burst out in a fit of laughter. Shaking his head, Harry made his way up the staircase, trying to formulate what he’d say to Artie. Soon he was at the closed doorway. Hesitating for only a moment, Harry knocked on the door.

“Go away,” called a muffled voice from inside.

At least he’s talking to me, Harry thought. He hesitated for a moment, and then opened the door. Something came flying towards his head and Harry ducked as magazine smacked the wall over his head.

“I said go away!” Artie screamed, his face red with anger. He reached up to throw another magazine at Harry, but Harry sidestepped that one too, and the one after it. Finally, in a huff, Artie turned towards the wall, putting his back towards Harry.

Harry stood there at a loss. What was he supposed to say to the boy? Obviously Artie didn’t like him. His heart fell somewhat when he realized that maybe Artie didn’t want to stay with him. Maybe he’d been counting on his grandparents to take him in. Frowning, Harry crossed the room and took a seat on the end of the bed. Artie turned away, facing in the opposite direction from Harry.

“Um, I wanted to talk to you,” Harry stammered. Artie didn’t move a muscle. Sighing, the older wizard looked to the ground. “Look, if you want to stay with your grandparents, I’m sure we can …”

“I don’t want to stay here,” Artie interrupted, his voice terse. Harry’s eyes widened a bit.

“You … don’t want to stay with your relatives?”

“I don’t want to stay anywhere. I hate grandpa and grandma. I hate Uncle Fred and Uncle George. And I hate stupid Uncle Percy. And I hate you too!”

Harry frowned, confused. He shook his head, wishing he could ask Hermione for advice. But Hermione wasn’t speaking to him, and if he started asking Mrs. Weasley for help, it’d just reaffirm her belief that Harry was incompetent. He had to handle this himself.

“Well, I don’t hate you,” Harry said softly. “And your dad wanted me to take care of you if anything happened to him. So that’s what I plan on doing.”

More silence.

“I’ll be teaching at Hogwarts this fall. Maybe we can get to know each other there,” Harry frowned, trying to think of a way to get through to the eleven-year-old. “I could show you my broom.”

“I don’t want to see your broom,” Artie grumbled. “I hate flying.” Harry’s eyes widened. Ron’s son hated flying? What on earth was that about?

“Oh,” Harry said, blushing brightly. “Well, um, maybe something else, then.”

Artie sighed, his shoulders slumping forward as he shook his head. “Why are you teaching at Hogwarts? Why do I have to go?”

“I, uh ...,” Harry frowned. “Well, I’m taking a break from my job at the Ministry. I was an Auror, you know. Professor McG… I mean Headmaster … Headmistress McGonagall thought I might enjoy teaching for a year.” Harry frowned, deep in thought. “Is that why you’re mad at me? Because I’m taking the job your father was supposed to do?”

“I don’t hate you,” Artie said loudly. “Now will you go away and leave me alone?”

Harry frowned. Just five minutes ago Artie had said he hated him. Now he didn’t? What had he gotten himself into? Shaking his head, Harry sighed, rising to his feet.

“Well, look, if you need anything, let me know. Okay?” He said, fighting the feeling that this conversation had not gone at all how he planned. Artie just shrugged.

Stifling a sigh, Harry headed out of the room.

* * *

The next week seemed to pass by in a blur. Harry found himself pouring over the texts of his old DADA books, trying to formulate lesson plans. When he wasn’t busy preparing, Mrs. Weasley constantly badgered him, offering him advice about parenting, or giving him books to read, or adding tidbits of wisdom she accumulated over the years. Two days before the term was scheduled to begin at Hogwarts, Harry found himself relieved to be going back to the school. It would be a welcome break.

Of course, Artie still avoided him whenever possible, and only spoke to Harry when he had to. Mrs. Weasley seemed to take some comfort in this, hinting several times that if Harry thought he couldn’t handle it, she’d gladly take over.

But Ron had appointed him as Artie’s guardian; and Harry wasn’t about to back down from that. Besides, how hard could it be to raise an eleven-year-old? He’d already battled Voldemort. Nothing could be that bad.

Later on, Harry would come to realize just how wrong he was.

* * *

Two days before they were scheduled to leave for Hogwarts, Harry made his way to Artie’s room. He knocked on the door reluctantly, and when he didn’t receive a response, went on in. Artie gave Harry a sour glance and went back to reading his magazine, Which Broomstick.

So he hates flying, but he likes brooms? Harry shook his head, confused.

“Do you have to barge in like that?” Artie said sarcastically. Harry sighed.

“I came to tell you that tomorrow we need to go to Diagon Alley and get your school supplies. Mrs. Wea … your grandmother offered to get them, but I told her I’d rather take you.”

“Why do I have to go?”

Harry sighed. “Because, they’re going to be your school supplies. You need a wand, and I can’t get that for you. And I thought we might stop by the pet shop and see about getting you an owl.”

Artie’s eyes widened and he looked away from his magazine and to Harry. “A real owl? Not one I have to borrow from you?”

The older man stifled a smile. He missed Hedwig, who had died two years ago of old age. He’d refrained from getting another one out of respect for his friend, but he knew just how important a boy’s first owl could be.

“Yes, one of your own. I’ll use one of the school owls if I need one,” he said. Hesitating for a brief moment, he added. “We can see what brooms are out too, if you want.”

Artie smiled at Harry for the first time.

“Of course,” Harry said, relieved this conversation was going so well. “If you don’t like flying, I suppose we could just visit Madame Maulkin’s instead.”

“No, it’s okay, we can look at brooms,” Artie said quickly. Harry arched an eyebrow as the younger boy realized his mistake. Frowning, he shrugged and said. “I have to learn how to fly one of those stupid things, anyways.”

And here it had been going so well, Harry thought. Shrugging, he turned to the doorway and headed back downstairs.

* * *

The next day, after eating a hearty breakfast, Harry and Artie flooed to Diagon Alley. Harry offered to show the boy around, but Artie seemed nonplussed. It was hard for Harry to remember that Artie had been raised a wizard, so such things were of no great interest. Harry remembered his first trip to Diagon Alley in great detail. It was just another thing that he didn’t seem to have in common with Ron’s son.

The pair visited Madame Maulkin’s and got Artie fitted with some fresh school robes, made a visit to Flourish and Blott’s and several other stores, picking up Artie’s various school supplies. Artie was less than thrilled when Harry made him go with him to Gringott’s to visit his vault, and in protest the younger boy didn’t speak to his guardian for a half hour.

After leaving Ollivander’s with a fresh wand for Artie (Unicorn Hair, 10 inches), the two made their way to the pet store. Artie looked around in amazement as he wandered the aisles of cats, owls, rats, and various other animals. Harry followed, deciding that he’d remain silent and make Artie make up his mind.

Artie seemed to pay his godfather no mind as he poked and prodded at the various owls, searching for something Harry couldn’t pick out. Suddenly, he stopped in front of a large cage that held a huge, black owl. Harry’s jaw about dropped when he saw the price tag.

“Um, Artie, that one is 200 galleons,” Harry stuttered, his mind racing.

The boy nodded, his red hair bobbing up and down. “I know. This is the one I want.”

“And a fine choice it is, young man,” the shopkeeper said, stepping up beside Harry. “That one is our rarest bird yet. She can go all night and never misses a delivery, she does.”

Harry narrowed his gaze. “How is that different from your other owls?” But the shopkeeper seemed unable to answer this question.

“This is the one I want,” Artie said insistently, looking up at Harry. “My father would have gotten it for me.”

Harry closed his eyes. Somehow, he highly doubted Ron would have spent 200 galleons on an owl for his son, but he had no real way of knowing. He sighed, glancing into his drawstring bag. He had just over 200 galleons. He’d have to make another trip back to Gringott’s.

Giving in, he nodded, handing the bag to the shopkeeper, whose eyes lit up at making such a hefty sale. Artie grinned as he grabbed the cage. When he looked away, Harry shook his head once more. What had he gotten himself into?

After leaving the Emporium, the two of them made their way to the Leaky Cauldron for lunch. Artie asked for ice cream, and Harry, tired from arguing with the boy, granted him the request. He ordered a sandwich and watched the wizards and witches pass.

“So what are you going to name him?” Harry asked, pointing to the black bird that was pecking at a crust of bread on the bottom of the cage. Artie shrugged.

“I dunno,” he said. “How about scarface?”

Harry spit his sandwich out, his eyes widening. He glanced at the younger boy quickly, who grinned.

“I was just joking. I think I’ll call him Arnold.”

“Arnold?” Harry asked, frowning. He’d never heard of an owl with such an ordinary name.

“Yeah, Arnold,” Artie said, poking his finger through the bars of the cage. “I like it.”

“Um, Arnold it is, then,” Harry said hurriedly. He was just about to take another bite of his sandwich when he saw a glint of brown hair flashing in the distance. It was Hermione.

Harry jumped to his feet, muttering for Artie to stay put while he ran his way through the crowds, nearly bumping a few people over as he made his way in the direction of his friend. Artie followed behind him, seemingly ignoring Harry’s request, but Harry didn’t notice. The older wizard skidded to a stop a few feet from Hermione.

“Hermione, there you are,” Harry panted between breaths. “We need to talk.”

Hermione stiffened, the muscles at the corner of her jaw tensing as she set down the cauldron she’d been studying. Slowly she turned to face Harry, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“So you want to talk now, is it?” she said quietly, her eyes flashing with fury. “Nearly eleven years pass without so much as an owl, and suddenly the great Harry Potter reappears and he expects everything to be okay?”

“Hermione, I …” Harry stuttered, trying to interrupt, but the witch cut him off brusquely.

“No, you listen,” she said, her voice growing louder. Harry winced. They were starting to attract a crowd. She continued, “I waited for you Harry. I waited every day for nearly five years, hoping that your letter would be in the post. I read the Daily Prophet every day, scared to find your obituary. And now you return, seven years later, with a ‘Hey, Hermione’ and you expect me to roll over and thank Merlin that you’re back unharmed?” Her brown eyes welled with angry tears, but they remained unshed.

“I’m done waiting for you, Harry Potter. I have a life of my own now, and you’re not a part of it. Now go away and leave me alone.”

Harry felt his heart breaking, but he grabbed at her shoulder desperately as she began to turn away from him. A second later he realized his mistake.

Hermione spun around, her fist closed into a tight fist. The punch caught Harry right above his left eye, shattering his glasses and sending him reeling towards the ground. Stars flashed before his eyes. Somewhere in the background he could hear Artie laughing.

His former best friend stood over his body, angry tears streaming down her cheeks as she whispered her next words.

“Goodbye, Harry Potter.”

Title: Father’s Day

Rating: R (This chapter)

Disclaimer: Is this even necessary anymore?

Author’s Notes: I know it seems confusing that Harry wouldn’t have contacted her for nearly eleven years. Keep in mind that it’s not wholly his fault. His job required he sever a lot of his ties. More explanation will come up, but you have to be patient. Also, I don’t believe it was at all out of character for Hermione to punch Harry. I would have too. *Blushes*. Don’t fear, this is a H/Hr story. But you have to be patient. I’m an evil one. I like to drag out suspense. Because of the adult content, I decided to bump up the rating. I tried to avoid going into detail, so it was a tradeoff, contemplating whether or not to leave the rating in place or bump it up. I decided to err on the side of caution.

Chapter 4: Nostalgic Moments

Eleven Years Ago, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

It was the final day of school, but it was not a happy occasion. Tomorrow, Harry would graduate, and at the end of the week he’d begin his Auror training. There was a large party in the Gryffindor common room, but Harry didn’t feel much like celebrating. He glanced at his half-empty mug of butterbeer and then looked around the common room. Dean, Seamus, and Ron were chatting about something in the corner. Neville seemed to be asking Ginny a question and Parvati and Lavender were giggling like usual. Hermione was nowhere to be found.

That was odd, considering tests had ended. Harry would have thought Hermione would want to spend the last day of her education with her friends. He frowned, slipping quietly away and grabbing his invisibility cloak. Maybe some time outside would help clear his head. He could also look for Hermione, assuming she wasn’t in the girl’s dormitories.

He made his way down the sloping hills to the Quidditch pitch, a smile crossing his face as he recalled how Gryffindor had managed to beat Slytherin for the cup this year. The look on Malfoy’s face was something he’d never forget.

The thought brought the sadness back to the forefront. Hogwarts was his home. It was here that he’d first rode a broom, caught his first snitch, even had his first kiss. Now it was all coming to an end.

A cool breeze nipped at his shoulders and Harry rubbed his hands protectively together. His invisibility cloak afforded him some protection, and he drew it around his shoulders. It felt strangely eerie to be wandering around the Hogwarts grounds after dark. It shouldn’t have, considering the sheer number of times he had done it over the years. But the irony was not lost on him that this would be his last night of rule breaking. The thought made him sad.

The faint sound of crying broke through the stillness of the night, and Harry frowned, squinting against the darkness. About seven meters away he could make out the dim outline of someone crouched along the edge of the lake. It was Hermione.

Throwing away all pretenses, Harry pulled off his invisibility cloak and raced the distance between him and Hermione, skidding to a stop beside her and dropping to his knees.

“Hermione, what’s wrong?” Harry asked, his pulse racing. Hermione’s tearful gaze met his, and Harry felt his heart breaking at the distress on her face. He quickly threw his arms around her and drew her into a tight hug.

“What is it? Did you get hurt? Are you scared? What’s wrong?” Harry said quickly. Hermione shook her head, sniffing loudly and pushing him away just a bit.

“I’m okay, Harry,” she said finally, the control on her voice tentative. Harry frowned at her.

“If you’re okay, why are you crying?” He asked insistently. Hermione shook her head again, and began to turn away as if she were to head back to Hogwarts, but Harry grabbed her arm, shaking his head.

“No, you’re not getting away that easily. Tell me what’s wrong or I’ll try Ginny’s bat bogey hex on you.”

Hermione sighed softly. “Okay, but can you let go of my arm? You’re starting to hurt me.” Harry quickly released her, unaware of the grip he’d been maintaining on her, blushing furiously.

“Sorry about that,” he said ruefully. He took a seat on the grass and motioned to his side. Hermione sat down next to him, drawing her knees up to her chest. As an afterthought, Harry wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and she rested her head on his left shoulder.

“Now, tell me what’s wrong.”

Hermione sighed, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. When she opened her eyes again, there were no tears, only a deep sadness.

“Today is our last day at Hogwarts,” she said quietly. Harry frowned. Surely Hermione had realized this before today.

“You just realized that?” Harry asked, confused.

Hermione shook her head, her messy mahogany hair billowing in the breeze. “No, it’s just that … well, Hogwarts is my home. You and Ron are like family. What am I going to do when it’s all gone?”

Harry frowned. “What do you mean what are you going to do? Don’t you have that position with St. Mungo’s?”

Hermione sighed and nodded briefly. “Yes, and I start training in a month, but that’s not the point.” She sighed deeply. “Harry, it feels like all I’ve ever known has happened on these grounds. But everyone is celebrating as if they’re glad to be finished. I … I’m not…” Her eyes began clouding with tears. Suddenly, Harry understood exactly where she’s coming from. He hugged her closer, pressing his nose into her hair and inhaling deeply. It smelled faintly of citrus, and Harry briefly wondered if it had always smelled that way.

“Hermione, I understand,” he whispered softly. She pulled away, confusion evident on her features. Harry continued, “Hogwarts is my home too. It’s going to be hard to say goodbye. I’m going to miss the classes and the Quidditch and the Hogsmeade trips. I’ll even miss old Filch.” Hermione snorted, and Harry gave her a lopsided grin.

“But you’re going away,” Hermione said, a tear rolling down her cheek. “For two years. And Ron is going to be gone all the time for Quidditch training. I’m the one who’s going to be left here all alone.”

“But you won’t be alone. You’ll still have your friends from school. Wasn’t Lavender accepted into the healer trainee program?”

“Yes, but she’s not Ron,” Hermione whispered softly. “She’s not you.”

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. She’s not you. What did Hermione mean by that? When he opened his eyes again, he slowly reached up, brushing the tears from Hermione’s cheeks. “I won’t be gone forever. I know they won’t let me keep in touch at first, but I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”

Hermione let out a muffled sob, and Harry pulled Hermione closer, allowing her to cry on his shoulder. He lowered his mouth to her ear, whispering in a soothing voice, “You won’t be alone. I promise. I’ll come back for you.”

His best friend slowly drew her face off his shoulder. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy from the tears, but Harry could see she was at least making the effort to try to smile.

“You promise?” she whispered quietly.

Harry’s breath caught in his throat. At that moment, with the moonlight streaming down and hitting at just the right angle off her cheeks, the tears that dotted Hermione’s face glistened like little crystals on her face. Had she always been that pretty?

“Harry?”

Hermione’s tentative whisper shook him out of his reverie. He felt his breath catch in his throat as his emerald gaze met her mahogany one.

“I promise,” Harry whispered. And then, just as suddenly, he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her.

Electricity coursed through his body as he felt her lips brush his. Merlin, they were so soft. He felt Hermione stiffen a bit – he could feel her registering her shock – but he didn’t draw back. If he was going to be on the receiving end of one of her hexes, he at least wanted to get his money’s worth.

What he didn’t expect was that she would return the kiss. But she did. Now it was his turn to be shocked as her arms slid around his body and her lips parted beneath his. Harry let out a small gasp as he felt her tongue trail across his bottom lip. Harry hurriedly pulled back, his eyes wide. Hermione stared at him, a confused expression on her face.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked tentatively. Harry could see her cheeks darkening in the moonlight.

“No … you were great … I mean it … I mean …” Harry stuttered, feeling the heat rush to his face. Hermione gave him a small smile, pressing a forefinger to his lips.

“Then kiss me again, Harry.”

Harry felt a stirring in his stomach at her request and promptly acquiesced, his lips crashing to hers. He felt her body pull to his and to his amazement he could feel her heart racing. Her hands slid around his waist, lazily tracing his spine, sending tiny darts of pleasure throughout his body. Harry’s breath caught in his throat and he shifted his weight, forcing Hermione to lean back as he assaulted her neck with kisses. It was madness, he knew, to be doing this on the lawn with his best friend. But it felt incredible, and the painful feelings inside his groin quickly shoved all thoughts of propriety out of his mind.

He wanted her, not just as a lover, but as a partner. What would his life be like without Hermione? Harry found himself strangely despondent at the thought. Why on earth had he not realized this sooner?

“Harry?”

Her gentle whisper pulled him out of his train of thought. He lifted his chin so his gaze met hers. Her eyes hinted of confusion.

“You stopped,” she said quietly.

“I’m … I’m sorry.” Harry said, blushing furiously as he pulled himself away from Hermione. He sat up, staring at the ground, avoiding her inquisitive gaze. “I was just thinking that … I mean why now? Why does this happen tonight, of all nights?”

Hermione’s shoulders slumped forward, the expression on her face falling. “You mean, with us? With me?”

Harry’s eyes widened and he shook his head furiously. “No, not you Hermione. You … you’re amazing. You …”

“I’m not pretty,” she said quietly, her gaze flickering to the ground. Harry’s insides screamed at this proclamation. How could she think that?

“Hermione, you are beautiful,” Harry said, honestly. Her gaze jerked up to meet his, unasked questions hovering behind her eyes. “You are. Both inside and out.”

Her face lit up brighter than the day she found out she was going to be Head Girl. Harry loved that smile. He loved the tiny wrinkles that bunched at the corners of her eyes when she became truly happy.

Too quickly, that smile disappeared and was placed by a by a frown. “Then you … you don’t want to …”

Again Harry felt his eyes widening. He shook his head furiously. Did she think he was some kind of monk? “No, Hermione. I do. I want to …,” he felt his cheeks reddening. “I mean I want to, with you. But …,” he paused, his mind searching for the flimsiest of excuses. “What about the rules? I mean, if we’re caught…”

“If we’re caught, Harry,” Hermione interrupted, rolling her eyes. “What’s going to happen – detention? Harry, this is our last night at Hogwarts. Besides, isn’t that your invisibility cloak?”

He couldn’t believe he was having this conversation with his best friend – and Hogwarts Head Girl, no less. Hermione’s gaze met his seriously.

“I mean … if that’s what you’re worried about … I mean we could stop. It is getting late, and …”

“No!” Harry said a little too loudly. Hermione jumped at the sudden forcefulness of his voice, causing him to cringe sheepishly. He closed his eyes, calming down the nervous jitters that erupted in his stomach, before returning his gaze to his best friend. Merlin, she looked beautiful. Slowly, he reached out, his fingers intertwining with hers as he slowly pulled her hand to the source of his discomfort. Hermione’s eyes widened in shock at Harry’s bold action.

“Does this feel like I want you to stop?” he asked quietly. Hermione’s mouth opened and closed, as if she was trying to formulate an answer, but shock seemed to prevent her from speaking actual words.

Emboldened by his actions, and deciding that he’d rather risk his life than spend an eternity in ignorance, he slowly pushed back on her shoulders, closing the distance between their mouths as he lowered his weight on top of her. After a moment, he broke the kiss, his eyes meeting hers.

“I love you,” he whispered quietly. Tears seemed to well in her eyes at this simple revelation.

“Oh Harry, I love you too,” she whispered hoarsely, her fingertips entwining around his collar to draw his mouth back to hers. This time, they kissed without reserve, their bodies pressing together heatedly as they made up for lost time. Inexperienced hands fumbled. Clothes got discarded, and pretty soon Harry found himself in a compromising position, propped up on his elbows as he stared at the face of his best friend.

“Are you sure, Hermione?” he asked, his throat dry at the prospect of stopping now.

“More than anything.”

Harry felt his heart skip a beat as he lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her gently. After a moment, he broke the kiss, meeting her gaze.

“We have a long way to go if we’re going to break Fred and George’s record of Hogwarts violations.”

Hermione giggled, wrapping her arms around Harry.

“Then I guess we better get started.”

* * *

Present Day…

They broke more than a few Hogwarts rules that evening, and they had crossed a line in their friendship that they could never uncross. Still, Harry remembered the moment in vivid detail. He remembered how she smelled; how she felt, even the tiny shudder she gave as they joined in the most intimate of ways. He remembered the shivers that ran up his spine and the stars that had exploded behind his eyes. He remembered laying beside her, the invisibility cloak pulled across their naked bodies; and his heavy panting as she rested against his chest, their hearts beating in perfect rhythm.

All gone.

Reality began to buzz behind his eyelids, and groaning, Harry woke up. He absently passed a hand over his cheek, wincing at the tenderness. Mrs. Weasley had been quick to patch him up when he’d finally returned from Diagon Alley, and Harry had endured all of her comments about the inappropriate example he had set because he wanted to feel miserable. He deserved worse. A lot worse. He had already lost one friend, and now the woman he loved was gone forever.

Harry winced, shifting to his elbows as he glanced around the room. It was still reasonably dark, hinting that sunrise had just begun. Today he would board the train for Hogwarts. He would return to the one place he knew as home. But his heart remained heavy. How could he be happy when he had lost his best friend?

He kicked his feet over the edge of the bed, enduring the pain that shot up through his spine in silence. Shakily, Harry rose to his feet, running a hand over the stubble that had formed on his lower lip and chin. Making a mental note to shave before he boarded the Hogwarts Express, Harry slowly began gathering his things, tossing them into a large trunk. He would live at Hogwarts during the upcoming year. He wondered if that was a wise idea, being so close to her. But he had no other place to stay, and he really needed to be around for Artie.

He reached for a towel, wrapping it around his shoulders as he headed for the showers. He’d have to take a cold one before he felt comfortable enough to enter into the presence of the Weasleys.

Thirty minutes later, Harry plodded down the steps, buttoning the front of his dress shirt as he made his way to the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley was hurriedly bustling around the kitchen, giving last-minute instructions to Artie, who seemed to be cheerfully ignoring her, focused instead on the magazine he was reading. Harry smiled, helping himself to a few pancakes and several pieces of bacon. Artie didn’t acknowledge his presence at the table.

“Excited, Artie?” Harry asked, pouring warm maple syrup over his stack of pancakes. Artie shrugged his shoulders, and Harry felt the frustration at the boy’s indifference. For the thousandth time, he asked himself what Ron had been thinking appointing him guardian. Pretty soon they’d loaded up the car (a loaner from the Ministry) and were standing in front of the entrance to Platform 9 ¾.

“Arthur, dear, why don’t you go in with Artie,” Molly said, not-so-helpfully. “It’s his first time.”

“Molly, I’m sure Harry is more than capable of helping Artie,” Mr. Weasley said, flinching a bit as his wife’s stern gaze leveled on him. Seeing Mr. Weasley’s discomfort, Harry decided to save him further embarrassment.

“Really, it’s okay, Mrs. Weasley. I can do it,” Harry said, kneeling down beside Artie, who had been watching the exchange with a bemused expression on his face.

“Now Artie,” Harry said quietly. “Take it at a bit of a run, right into the middle of the pillar. Okay?”

Artie shrugged, not bothering to look at Harry as he began to speed up, taking his cart straight to the center of the barrier. Harry held his breath, forcing himself to watch. He breathed a sigh of relief as Artie disappeared through the barrier. Turning, Harry gave Mr. and Mrs. Weasley a cursory nod. Mrs. Weasley stepped up and gave him a hug.

“Now Harry, if you have any problems, any at all, don’t be afraid to owl,” Molly admonished, trying to flatten down the top of his unruly hair. Harry blushed, but thankfully, Mr. Weasley came to his rescue.

“He’ll be fine, Molly,” he said, stepping up and embracing Harry. To Harry, he whispered, “Send me an owl at the Ministry if you have problems.” He stepped back, giving Harry a wink. Harry smiled, and turned towards the barrier, taking the entrance at a run.

He made it in short order, but Artie was nowhere to be found. Harry frowned, his eyes searching the crowd of wizards and witches for any sign of the bright red hair, but all he could see were parents waving off their children. He frowned, dragging his trunk to the luggage compartment, relief flooding his body when he saw Artie’s things. Harry quickly stowed his trunk away and made his way up the steps. Originally, he’d intended to offer to sit with Artie, thinking that it might help if the two of them got a chance to talk. But he came to an abrupt halt outside of one of the compartments, his eyes widening.

Artie was chatting animatedly with another boy with thick, messy brown hair. Beside them, a girl with darker hair listened to the exchange, occasionally interjecting bits of wisdom here and there.

Harry felt his eyes begin to cloud up, and was about to turn away when the brown-headed boy spotted him and called out.

“You … you’re Harry Potter!”

Harry turned, looking inside the compartment and gave him a slight nod. Artie’s face fell as he caught sight of Harry, slumping into his seat dejectedly.

“Are you going to be teaching at Hogwarts?” The raven-haired girl asked, her eyes as round as saucers. At Harry’s nod, she smiled broadly. “That’s great. Will you be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts?”

“Yes,” Harry said, a bit surprised she’d guessed accurately on her first try.

“Hey, how did you know that?” The brown-headed boy scoffed.

“He’s an Auror. It’s in the book Famous Wizards of the Twentieth Century. It only makes sense the Headmistress would have hired him for that job. He’s obviously the most qualified.”

The two boys stared at the girl, amazed. Harry forced back a smirk.

“Could you just go away?” Artie mumbled, immediately dampening Harry’s spirits. The other two students looked at him in amazement.

“Are you mad? That’s Harry Potter!” The other boy exclaimed.

“I know who he is,” Artie mumbled.

“I’m his guardian,” Harry said, watching as Artie blushed a deep crimson.

“Guardian?” The boy exclaimed. “You live with Harry Potter? Wicked.” He said, a grin spreading across his face.

Artie just slumped further into his seat.

Harry, sensing that this might be a good time to leave, bid the other two farewell, and quickly took off down the train. When he finally reached an empty compartment, he slid inside, closing the door behind him as he slumped into a seat. He couldn’t seem to do anything right where Artie was concerned. The frustration was starting to grow.

“Hey, stranger. Mind if I join you?”

The frustrated man looked up at the familiar voice, his eyes widening as Ginny Weasley strolled into the compartment, closing the door behind her.

“I thought you didn’t live at Hogwarts,” Harry asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“I don’t,” Ginny said, nonplussed. “But I find that I do enjoy the train ride. It brings back a lot of memories. Harry nodded, understanding what she was talking about. It seemed too easy to recall all of the times he’d ridden the train to Hogwarts.

“I saw what happened back there,” Ginny said. Harry looked at her in surprise. Ginny shrugged, “Well, I was patrolling the corridors. You mustn’t take it too hard. Artie misses his father terribly. He needs time to heal.”

Harry sighed, leaning his head against the back of the chair he was sitting on. “I know. But it seems like I can’t do anything right. All I do is say the wrong things or do the wrong things. It’s frustrating.”

Ginny touched his arm. For some reason, the gesture felt reassuring to Harry, and he forced himself to meet her small smile.

“He will come around, Harry. Trust me on this. You’ve done a great job with him, save perhaps the embarrassing fight with Hermione in Diagon Alley.”

“You heard about that?” Harry asked with a grimace.

Ginny smiled. “Harry, everyone heard about that. It was practically front page news the next day.” She paused, then added, “Don’t worry about Hermione either. She’ll come around. Just give her time.”

Harry sighed. “I’m supposed to give Artie time. I’m supposed to give Hermione time. Great, anyone else who needs time to accept that I’ve been the world’s greatest prat?”

“I might need some time.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “You?!? What did I do to you?”

“It’s not what you did, Harry,” Ginny said softly. “It’s what you didn’t do. No, don’t give me that look. I’ve had some time to think about it. I know that you tried to act in our best interests, but it hurt when you went away so suddenly, without as much as a goodbye. Now you’re back, and that hurts too. I’m not going to ask why you stayed away so long, because I think Hermione deserves to hear that explanation first. Just understand that it’s going to be difficult trying to fit back in. You left a lot of trampled hearts in your wake.”

The former Auror stared at her, jaw gaping, as Ginny rose to her feet and left the compartment. He sat in stunned silence before collapsing against the back of his chair.

Great year, indeed.

Title: Father’s Day

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: JKR owns this

Author’s Notes: First I’d like to clarify just a couple of things. The raven-haired girl is not Harry’s and Hermione’s. I just threw that in there because I thought it would be ironically funny that Artie would hook up with two people who reminded Harry of the trio. I can not honestly say how many chapters I have left. This story is somewhat still in development, though I can place a tentative count of at least 8 more chapters. This number could change depending on how the next few chapters proceed. I won’t really know until they’re written. As soon as I get a better estimate, I’ll tell you. Thank you for all the reviews. Enjoy.

Chapter 5: Mistakes and Consequences

Harry Potter rubbed his temples, fighting the beginnings of a migraine that threatened to ruin his already terrible day. Wearily, he looked at the redheaded boy standing across from him, behind the desk, and tried to find his calm center.

“This is the fifth time in as many weeks that you have failed to turn in your homework assignment, Artie,” Harry said cautiously. “What is your excuse this time?”

The younger boy shrugged, shoving his hands deep in his pockets as he rocked back and forth on his heels. “Professor Snape gave us loads of homework because Todd messed up his potions assignment,” Artie said, looking at Harry seriously. Harry could not determine whether the innocent expression on his face meant that Artie was telling the truth, or if he was an extremely gifted liar. Instead, it was his brain that had to make that decision.

“Third time you’ve used that excuse,” Harry said, trying to keep the anger in his voice under control. He’d been teaching at Hogwarts for a little over a month. In that time Artie had managed to consistently arrive at class five minutes late, made a habit of missing his assignments, and had been caught reading magazines at least twice. At first, Harry had tried to be understanding. His father, after all, had just died, and he knew Artie had been receiving a hard time about being a student at the same school his guardian taught at. But he was quickly running out of patience. Even worse, a few other Gryffindor boys had picked up on Harry’s reluctance to take points from his former House, and had started following Artie’s lead.

“Try again.” Harry said, fighting his urge to throttle the freckles off the boy’s face.

Artie sighed, turning his head from Harry’s scrutiny. His lower lip began to quiver and when he returned his eyes to Harry, they were a bit brighter.

“I’m sorry, Harry, I really am. I just … I’ve had such a hard time sleeping after my dad died and I just fell asleep after Snape’s assignment,” he said, his voice trembling a bit. Harry closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. Guilt washed over him, intertwined with anger. He couldn’t very well punish Artie for having a difficult time at school after Ron died. At the same time Harry sorely resented the feeling that he was being manipulated.

“Okay, Artie,” he said, a deflated feeling rushing over his body. “But this is the last time, okay?” Artie had already had three such last time’s to work with, and Harry had the strangest feeling this would not be the end of this topic.

Artie nodded, a smile crossing his face. “Thanks, Harry.” Harry let out a sigh.

“That’s Professor Potter when we’re talking about school business, okay?” he said wearily as Artie was running out the door. He never got a response.

Harry slumped back in his chair, closing his eyes. Professor Potter, indeed. He was becoming the biggest joke at Hogwarts since Gilderoy Lockhart, and he felt absolutely helpless to prevent it.

He hadn’t expected to have an easy time making the transition from an Auror to a teacher. For one thing, being an Auror was often a solitary job. These days he was surrounded by people – children mainly – all wanting to know about his scar or his days as a seeker or Lord Voldemort. The older ones were a bit better – with them he was at least able to get some work done. But he felt powerless over the first year Gryffindors.

It might have been just a bit better if he felt like he had someone to talk to, but Hermione was still being cold towards him, and Ginny hadn’t been around to give flying lessons because of the poor weather. He didn’t even think about asking Snape for advice.

“Harry?”

Harry looked up, relief flooding his body as Ginny Weasley walked in, a broom tucked under her right arm. Her red-gold hair had been pulled back into a ponytail and her light blue eyes twinkled with mirth.

“Another rough day?” she asked with a smile.

“You have no idea.”

“I’ve got something that I think you might enjoy.”

The former Auror allowed his head to perk up at that pronouncement. Anything would be better than staying cooped up in the classroom.

“Today I finally get to teach the first years to fly. Would you like to come down and watch. You can even bring your broom, if you want.”

Harry’s eyes lit up. It had been so long since he’d been on a broom, he wondered if he’d even be able to handle it. But Ginny’s offer was too good to refuse. And he wouldn’t mind seeing Artie in action. He was pretty sure Ron would have put him on a broom as soon as he could walk, even if he claimed he didn’t like flying.

“Sounds great,” Harry said, finally feeling a bit of happiness surge through his body.

“Good then, I’ll see you there,” Ginny said, giving him a wink. “Two o’clock by the Quidditch Pitch. Don’t be late.”

At exactly 1:45 p.m., Harry Potter began making his way out to the Quidditch pitch, his Firebolt tucked under his right arm. Excitement bubbled through his veins as he thought about the wind whipping around his face as he soared in the sky. The good mood didn’t last long.

“So it’s true then, is it?” an all-too-familiar voice piped up, drawing Harry out of his joyful reverie. “The famous Harry Potter has come back to Hogwarts.”

The raven-haired wizard turned, his gaze settling on the steely, grey-eyed figure that sauntered towards him.

“Draco Malfoy,” Harry said, not bothering to hide the contempt in his voice. “What are you doing at Hogwarts?”

“I’m on the Board of Governors, scarface,” Draco said with a sneer. His shoulder-length blonde-hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and in his right hand he held his broom. Harry could see that it was at least two models newer than his, but he refused to let the irritation show on his face. “And my wife works here. The only reason you’re here is because everyone qualified to take your position was busy.”

Harry felt the anger bubbling in his body, but he suppressed the urge to draw his wand and hex his former classmate. Instead, he asked, “Does Ginny know you’re here?”

“Thought I’d surprise her,” Draco said, sniffing as he looked over Harry’s broom. “A Firebolt? I thought the last of those had been sold to a museum.”

“Antique or not, Malfoy, I can still outride you.” Harry said hotly.

Draco’s eyes twinkled. “Is that so, Potter? Want to have a bit of a run at it, then? You and me?”

Harry frowned. He wasn’t how good it would look for a Hogwarts teacher to be going head to head with an old enemy. Ginny would not like it at all. He glanced over his shoulder. So far, none of the first years had come out. If he hurried, he could be back on the ground before anyone knew what happened. Harry looked at Draco, his emerald gaze narrowed, and nodded.

“Excellent,” Draco said, his steely eyes glinting. “Then where shall we start?” He looked off into the distance, squinting against the sun. “Alright, to the end of the Quidditch pitch, in between the goalposts, then loop twice around the Whomping willow, straight up the astronomy tower, and straight down again and back here,” he said, turning to see Harry’s expression. “Unless you think that relic you’re flying can’t handle that.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed, shoving the thoughts of circling the Whomping willow out of his mind. “You’re on, Malfoy.”

“Alright then,” Malfoy said, settling onto his broom and angling its nose towards the other end of the Quidditch Pitch. Harry followed suit. “On the count of three. One … Two …”

Before Malfoy could say three, he took off. Harry muttered a curse and quickly shot into the air, angling the nose of his broom towards Malfoy’s tail. I should have expected the smarmy git to cheat, Harry thought to himself as he flattened his torso against the handle of his broom, trying to cut down on his wind resistance as they moved into the turn. He was still a good three meters behind Malfoy when the former Slytherin began taking his broom wide in a nice, looping turn so as to approach the goalposts in a straight line. Harry’s eyes narrowed as he cut to Malfoy’s inside. He wouldn’t be completely straight as he wound his way through the hoops that marked one end of the pitch, but he’d shave a few seconds off his time and close the gap on Draco.

Malfoy deftly swing his broom around the first post, cutting each turn with pinpoint precision as he wove his way through the three posts. If Harry hadn’t been so focused on keeping his life, he might have allowed himself a chance to envy the broom Malfoy was riding. As it was, he forced himself to concentrate as he wound his way through the first two goalposts, wincing when the tail of his broom about nicked the post. Throwing all his weight into the next turn, Harry cut sharply to the right, weaving between the second and third posts at such a tight turn that he felt himself grow light headed. Soon enough he had passed the first obstacle and had closed the gap on the tail of Malfoy’s broom to two meters.

Harry’s inhaled sharply as he set his sights on their next target – the ever-deadly Whomping Willow. He’d had one too many close encounters with that tree, from his second year, when he and Ron had driven his father’s flying car into its branches, to his third year, when his Nimbus 2000 had been rendered to a pile of splinters.

Draco looked over his left shoulder, grinning gleefully as he arched his broomstick down towards the branches of the dangerous tree. “Had enough yet, Potter?”

With that, Draco took his broom through a deadly loop of two of its longest branches, ducking as a third sailed over his head. Harry felt the anger surge through his body as he quickly moved turned on his side, bringing the nose of his Firebolt through a gap in the branches so small Harry felt his hair hitting the bark as he passed it. A smaller branch smacked against his cheek, opening a fresh gash, but Harry forced himself to think beyond the stinging as he wound his way underneath the last moving branch. When he finally cleared the second obstacle, he was only a meter behind Malfoy.

Encouraged, Harry flattened himself against the broom as he and Malfoy began approaching the Astronomy tower. Slowly, Harry began to inch closer on Draco’s tail, jerking the nose of his broom straight up as the two shot towards the sky at lightning speed. Harry was pleased to hear Draco’s heavy breathing as the two pulled neck and neck. Then, less than a second later they reached the top of the tower and Harry inverted his broom so sharply he actually thought he would fall off. Draco fell behind by a foot. Grinning maliciously, Harry snapped the nose of his Firebolt towards the starting point by the Quidditch pitch, everything fading away as he focused on the circular hoops that marked the finishing line.

Draco pulled even, and giving Harry a foul look he promptly jerked his broom to the side, trying to bump Harry off course. Harry hissed in anger, trying to shove Draco off his broom as the two wizards raced towards the finish line, neck in neck.

It was impossible to tell who had crossed first, for at exactly the same time they reached the goalposts, Harry caught sight of the first years, including Artie, staring up at him and Draco in awe. Ginny’s lips were pressed into a thin line, and her eyes were brimming with angry tears.

Harry quickly pulled back on his Firebolt, slowly lowering to the ground, his face reddening in shame as he realized what kind of display he had put on for the young students. He quickly glanced at Ginny apologetically, but she looked away, focusing her gaze on Draco, who had a triumphant smirk on his face as he walked towards the group.

His heart sank even further when he noticed McGonagall was hurriedly approaching the Quidditch Pitch, the expression on her face one of severity and disappointment.

“Mr. Potter, I would like to see you in my office,” she said quickly, drawing a group of ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ from the first years. Swallowing a lump in his throat, Harry nodded and followed the angry Headmistress back towards Hogwarts.

* * *

“What on earth were you thinking, Mr. Potter?” Minerva McGonagall’s shrill voice cut through the serenity of her office. Harry wished he could sink into the chair he was sitting and disappear from sight.

“I wasn’t, Professor,” Harry said glumly, his gaze leveled on the floor.

“You most certainly were not,” McGonagall said sharply. “We’re trying to teach the younger children the etiquette and proper broom safety, and you undermined your coworker by engaging in a barbaric display of egotism with one of the school governors!”

Harry sank lower into his chair. His mind flickered back to the look of awe on Artie’s face. What kind of example had he set for the younger boy, agreeing to race Draco like that?

“You’re right, it was wrong of me, and I take full responsibility for what happened,” Harry said, forcing himself to meet the Headmistress’s steely gaze. If she was surprised, she didn’t give any sign. Harry continued, “I am ashamed that I acted that way, and I fully understand if you choose to relieve me of my position.”

“Believe me, Mr. Potter, if that were an option, your job would be in jeopardy,” Minerva said, leaning back into her chair. “But Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers are hard to come by, and I do not have the luxury of finding a replacement at this time.” She lifted a finger towards Harry and pointed coldly, “Consider yourself on probation, Mr. Potter. Another infraction like that and you will no longer be teaching at Hogwarts.”

Harry nodded, rising to his feet and excusing himself from her chambers. He made his way towards the spiraling phoenix staircase, fighting the anger and despair that seemed to overwhelm his body.

“There you are,” a curt voice called out to him the second he reached the main floor. Harry’s gaze snapped up to meet Hermione’s. She was standing about a meter away, her arms crossed in front of her body and with a decidedly stern expression on his face. Harry closed his eyes, thinking that he’d rather face Aragog in the Forbidden Forest than listen to another lecture on his irresponsible behavior.

“Look, Hermione,” Harry said crossly. “I’ve already gotten it from McGonagall. I don’t need to hear it from you too. I’m a terrible teacher, a terrible guardian, and a terrible friend, and the only reason I’m not scraping gillyweed off the floor of the Forbidden Forest is because McGonagall doesn’t have anyone else to teach my class,” he snapped, his eyes brimming with angry tears. “Now does that about cover it or do you want to add further insult to injury? I’m sure there’s still a few names I’ve yet to be called.”

Hermione stared at him for a moment, her eyes flashing with some undeterminable emotion, then she sighed and shook her head lightly. Beckoning Harry to follow her, she led the raven-haired wizard down the corridor, past crowds of staring students, and into her private office.

“Sit down, Harry,” Hermione said, her voice weary as she made her way behind her desk. Harry slumped down into the chair dejectedly, wondering how long it would take Remus to draft the custody transfer forms so he could return to being an Auror.

“What’s going on, Harry?”

Harry looked up in surprise, his gaze falling on Hermione’s. She was studying him, concern evident in her mahogany gaze. For a second Harry was tempted to snap out that it should have been obvious what was wrong, but he caught himself and exhaled slowly. Sighing, he began explaining to Hermione the events of the past five weeks – how Artie had consistently been late to class and how the other Gryffindors had started to follow suit; how Draco had egged him on about the broom and how badly he felt about disappointing Ginny; about how inadequate he felt as Artie’s guardian and how Ron had made a big mistake; and about bad it had felt to lose Ron and how much worse it hurt to lose her when he knew he deserved what he got and hated himself for it.

Hermione listened to this without interjecting a single word, and when Harry had finished his rambling she leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes and rubbing the bridge of her nose tiredly.

“Well, as far as your troubles with the Gryffindors, you need to remember that you’re their teacher, Harry,” she said softly. “Not their friend. If they fail to turn in an assignment, you need to discipline them. Otherwise they’ll never learn responsible behavior.”

Harry nodded wearily, exhaustion creeping in behind his eyes.

“As far as Artie is concerned, I’m surprised you haven’t seen it before.”

“Seen what?”

“Harry, he’s been taking advantage of you,” Hermione said, exasperated. “He’s been playing on the guilt you feel about Ron’s death to manipulate yourself into feeling sorry for him.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Artie was plenty upset at Ron’s death.”

Hermione sighed, shaking her head. “Of course he was Harry, but he’s been taking his anger at Ron out on you. And you’ve been letting him.”

“Anger … Ron … Me?” Harry shook his head furiously. “What on earth are you talking about?”

The mahogany-haired witch leaned back in her seat, shaking her head slowly. “Oh Harry, isn’t it obvious? Artie is angry at his father for leaving him. You are now the closest thing he has to a father-figure, so he’s taking his anger out on you. And you, seeing how much Artie reminds you of Ron, have been walking on eggshells around him because you feel guilty about not visiting Ron.”

Harry sighed, slumping back into his chair. Somehow, Hermione had seemed to cut to the heart of the situation in a matter of moments. The former Auror closed his eyes, shaking his head. “I should have never agreed to be his guardian.”

“Nonsense, Harry,” Hermione said forcefully, drawing a surprised stare from Harry. “Ron chose you because he thought you’d make the best guardian for his son. I didn’t understand it fully at first, but I think I do now. You just have to start believing that you can do this.”

Harry nodded weakly, and the two sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment. Eventually, Hermione broke the quiet.

“As far as Ginny is concerned, I don’t deny she’s furious. But I think she’s angrier with Draco than she is with you. That is something you will have to work out with her.”

He nodded, making a mental note to apologize to Ginny as soon as possible. He allowed his stare to fall on Hermione for a brief moment.

“And what about us?” Harry asked quietly. Hermione closed her eyes, sighing deeply as she leaned back in her chair.

“I … I still need time, Harry,” she said softly, her words chosen with great deliberation. “What you did … it hurt, Harry. And … I still can’t forgive you for it. Not yet.”

Harry nodded, forcing back the tears that seemed to build behind his eyes as he slowly pushed to his feet. He gave his former friend a slight nod, heading out the door alone. The door closed behind him and Harry Potter leaned his back against the outside wall, trying to stifle his tears.

Inside the room, there was the faintest sound of sobbing.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Harry made his way reluctantly to Ginny’s office. He owed the youngest Weasley an apology for his behavior, and while he wasn’t looking forward to facing the consequences of his actions, he knew that he’d rather get it done sooner than later.

He came to a stop outside Ginny’s door, halting at the sound of raised voices that were arguing inside.

“…undermining everything I’ve been trying to work for! All for a stupid grudge of yours that’s ten years old!”

“Gin, I already said I’m sorry. What more do you want from me?”

“How about to act like you’re really sorry? Don’t you realize what I gave up for you?”

“Not this again. I gave up just as much as you did, maybe more. If you miss your family so much maybe you should just go back to them and forget about me – obviously it’s what you want!”

The sound of a slap, followed by a yelp that could have only been Draco’s, caused Harry to jump.

“How dare you?” Ginny said, between sobs. “I’ve given you everything I’ve had for the past five years. I defended you when all they did wanted was to put you away. How dare you cheapen that!”

There were a few muffled sounds behind the door, but Harry couldn’t determine what was being said. Suddenly Draco’s voice cut through the sound of Ginny’s sobs.

“Shh,” his hoarse whisper was faintly audible to Harry’s ears. “I’m sorry, Gin. Please don’t cry.”

Ginny mumbled something unintelligible. Harry strained his ear towards the door, trying to hear what was being said.

“Shh… it’s okay, Gin. We’ll make it. We’ve made it this far, haven’t we? Someday they’ll have to listen.”

Harry drew back, feeling guilty for listening in on a quarrel between the young lovers. He shook his head. Old habits die hard in Aurors, he thought to himself. Just then, the sound of approaching footsteps caused Harry’s eyes to widen and he jumped away from the door, looking around hurriedly before ducking around a corner and trying to hide behind a suit of armor.

Draco Malfoy stepped out of the room, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear and straightening his otherwise ruffled cloak. Inhaling deeply, he set off down the hall. Harry forced himself to remain against the wall until Draco disappeared from sight, then slowly he stepped from behind the suit of armor. For a moment he wondered if he should return later, but curiosity seemed to take precedence and slowly Harry made his way to Ginny’s office door. Hesitating for only a brief moment outside, he gave three slight raps on the wooden barrier.

“Come in.”

Harry slowly stepped inside the office, his gaze falling upon Ginny’s. Her eyes were reddened and puffy from tears, and she was hurriedly pulling her red-gold hair back into a ponytail. She flinched when she saw Harry walk in.

Before she could speak, Harry lifted a hand and hurriedly interrupted, “Ginny, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. You were trying to do me a favor by inviting me to your Flying class, and I allowed myself to behave like an ape. You have every right to be angry at me and I accept responsibility for what happened. I just hope you’ll be able to forgive me, someday.”

Ginny remained silent, staring at Harry with an emotionless face. Harry didn’t realize he was holding his breath until Ginny gave a slight nod.

“Do it again, Harry, and I’ll hex you so badly you’ll be eating through your trousers for a week.”

Harry grimaced, then forced a smile, slowly approaching the desk and resting a hand lightly on Ginny’s shoulder. The younger woman flinched momentarily, but eventually a small smile came to her face and she rested a hand on Harry’s.

“Are you alright, Ginny?” Harry asked softly, his emerald gaze filled with concern. Ginny stared at him, confusedly, before nodding.

“What do you mean?”

“I just … he didn’t hurt you … I mean, … did he?”

Ginny’s eyes widened and she jerked back from Harry’s hand as if it were a live snake. “No!” She said quickly, causing Harry to jump back, startled. Harry felt a flush cross his face.

“Okay, I … I just wanted to make sure.”

Ginny sighed, leaning back in her seat. “No, Harry, Draco has never hurt me. He may be a bit rough around the edges, but he’s always treated me well.”

Harry nodded, not quite comprehending how he and Ginny could be talking about the same Draco Malfoy. He shook it off, forcing himself to focus on the younger woman who had been like his sister, and spoke quietly.

“Why Draco, Ginny? Why him?”

A small, sad smile came to Ginny’s face and she shook her head lightly. “You wouldn’t understand even if I told you. And I know you’re not ready to hear it yet. So right now I don’t want to talk about it.”

Harry frowned, confused, but nodded. Just then Hermione burst into the room, dragging a struggling Artie by his left wrist.

“Arthur has just attacked one of the school governors,” Hermione said sternly, her gaze leveled on Harry. Harry’s eyes widened as he glanced at Artie. Draco? Artie had attacked Draco Malfoy?

Ginny gasped, and Hermione quickly added, “Draco’s okay, of course, though he’s sprouting a horn in between his eyes that will need to be looked at.” The transfiguration professor turned and looked at Harry, her expression severe. “Attacking a governor is a serious offense. Artie could very well be expelled.”

Both Harry and Artie’s eyes widened, and the younger boy quit struggling, an expression of fear crossing his face. Harry felt a flicker of anger course through his body, wondering what Hermione expected him to do about this, when it hit him. She wanted him to discipline Artie. Harry closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, hoping he was adopting a serious enough expression as he turned his focus to Hermione and Artie, who was staring at him, wide-eyed.

“Thank you, Professor Granger. I would like to deal with this, if possible,” Harry said calmly. Hermione gave him a slight nod, releasing her grip on Artie’s arm. Artie rubbed his shoulder and Harry waited until she and Ginny had left the room before turning his complete focus to the younger boy.

“Harry, I’m sorry I was just …” Artie began to stammer.

“Sit,” Harry barked out. Artie’s eyes widened and the younger boy quickly scrambled for a chair.

“It’s just that my dad…”

“Artie, you are going to be quiet,” Harry said, stifling the anger he felt boiling up inside. “Because if you don’t, I am going to ship you back to the Weasley’s and you can spend the rest of your life tending the pumpkin patches while your classmates finish Hogwarts.”

Artie fell silent.

“This has gone far enough,” Harry said, working hard to remain calm. “Now I will lay down some ground rules, which you will follow, or you will face the consequences.”

Artie stared at Harry, his face paling. His blue eyes were wide in shock.

“First, you will write a letter of apology to both Draco and Ginny Malfoy, and send it out immediately,” Harry said, gritting his teeth together as he spoke.

“But…”

Harry held up his hand, and Artie fell silent again. “Furthermore, you shall write a letter of apology to the board of governors for your deplorable behavior, as well as one to the Headmistress and to Professor Granger.” Artie’s jaw dropped.

“You will serve two weeks of detention with Gin… Professor Malfoy, and you will not complain about it,” Harry said, feeling the excitement beginning to grow in his stomach. This was not as hard as he thought it would be.

“But Harry…”

“You will not call me Harry when we are in class, and I want every one of your missed assignments on my desk by the end of the week, or you’ll serve a week’s detention for each of them.”

Artie’s eyes grew as big as saucers.

“You will treat me with the same respect you show other Hogwarts teachers; and if you come in late to my class again, I’ll take fifty points from Gryffindor.”

The young wizard’s eyes widened and his face started reddening. “You can’t do this to me! You’re not my father.” He yelled, jumping to his feet.

“You’re right,” Harry yelled back, the dam containing his anger finally bursting. “I’m not. Your father would be ashamed that his son was about to be expelled from Hogwarts!”

Artie stepped back as if he’d been hit, and instantly Harry regretted his mistake. Before he could open his mouth to apologize, Ron’s son had fled the room.

Harry felt his heart turning painfully in his chest as he slowly slumped to the ground. His body was shaking from the adrenaline coursing through his veins, but the assignment was squelched by the unmistakable feelings of despair that flooded his body.

What had he done now?

Title: Father’s Day

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: J.K.R does. I don’t. Any questions?

Author’s Notes: Thank you all for the reviews. I’m thrilled you liked the confrontation between Harry and Artie! This story is somewhat still being edited in my mind … I’ve changed the ending at least three times. I’m hoping that stops … my muse only talks when I’m about to go to bed and I’m extremely tired. I wish I had the time to reply to each of you, but time is something I have relatively little of. Glad you like my work so far. This chapter will probably run a bit slow. Got a lot of little things I’ve got to get them through so I can get to some more of the good stuff. Hope you enjoy it anyways.

Chapter 6: Invitations and Insinuations

Harry Potter leaned back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly as he set aside the last stack of papers. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to grading essays, but at least he didn’t spend hours anymore trying to decipher the writing. He glanced at the clock, which read 10 p.m. He usually stayed up for an hour or two more, but there was nothing to do this evening.

Instead, he allowed his thoughts to drift over Artie. Sure enough, Harry’s threats had seemed to work. Ron’s son had yet to be tardy to a class, and every one of his assignments had been turned in promptly. But he hadn’t spoken a word to Harry since. At first, Harry had been content with the new arrangement, anything felt better than being manipulated by the 11-year-old. But Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that time was running out for them to make a breakthrough in their relationship. After all, this summer he would have to go back to his job as an Auror, and he couldn’t very well do that with him and Artie on bad terms.

He sighed. He wished he could talk to someone about his fears regarding Artie, but Ginny never stayed past the evening meal, and while Harry had spent some time with Neville and some of his other former classmates, it just didn’t have the same feel. What he really needed was Hermione.

Frowning, Harry pulled out his old Marauder’s map, muttering the incantation and watching as the Hogwarts map came to life. Severus Snape was pacing back and forth in his office. Neville appeared to be sleeping, though that hardly surprised Harry, and McGonagall appeared to be in her office. His gaze flickered over the map, coming to the familiar name and tracing the outline with his finger.

Hermione Granger.

She was in her room, which of course did Harry no good. Each Hogwarts teacher had a private room, sealed by password. Still, Harry wondered if he might be able to crack hers. What would he say to her if he managed to get there?

I guess I can always figure it out if I make it, Harry thought to himself. He grabbed his invisibility cloak off the nightstand, a silent smirk of amusement coming to his face as he thought about all of the times he’d patrolled the corridors at night, scaring students who had broken curfew. Rumors of a hidden poltergeist had floated around, and Harry was more than happy to indulge them. He tucked the map into the pocket of his trousers and made his way out the door, the cloak pulled over his head to shield him from prying eyes.

He wound his way through the staircases, past the third floor corridor where he, Ron, and Hermione had found themselves trapped by Fluffy their first year, and down a long hallway where the suits of armor turned in the direction of his footsteps and scratched their helmets in puzzlement. He came the wall where a large statue of Godric Gryffindor sat squarely in the middle. Harry frowned, looking down at his map. Behind this wall was the corridor that supposedly led to Hermione’s room, but how on earth was he supposed to get there?

Slowly he pulled of his cloak, scratching his head as he tried to think of a password that Hermione would choose.

“Gryffindor.”

No response.

“Arithmancy.”

Ditto.

“Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, McGonagall, Snape, Snape in dress,” he said quickly.

The wall remained shut.

“Never going to figure it out,” the statue of Godric Gryffindor said. “Might as well give it up.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at the statue’s announcement. “Fizzing Whizbee, Chocolate Frog, Quidditch Pitch, Lemon Drop, Hippogriff, Alohomora.”

Still no response.

“World Cup, Dentist, Crookshanks, Hedwig, Transfiguration, Fluffy, Sorcerer’s Stone, Chamber of Secrets, Basilisk, Voldemort,” Harry said, beginning to grow desperate.

And the wall remained as solid as ever.

“Ravenclaw, Firebolt, Victor Krum, Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, Shrieking Shack, the Great Lake …”

Harry’s eyes widened as the statue grumbled a quick “rats” and began turning. The stones in the wall began separating.

Great Lake? Hermione set her password as the place they … Harry felt his throat grow dry as he peered into the long stone corridor. Candles illuminated the hallway and Harry felt his nerves building as he tentatively walked down the hallway, coming to a halt beside a large, intimidating oak door. Harry hesitated only for a moment before lifting his hand and tapping three times on the heavy wood.

“Who is it?” Hermione’s voice called out. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but only a high pitched squeak came out. The door opened, and soon Harry found himself standing across from a very surprised Hermione dressed in a uncomfortably short nightgown.

“Harry? What on earth are you doing here?” Hermione exclaimed, peering over his shoulder as if she expected McGonagall to be standing right behind him.

“I uh … I … uh … I mean I guessed your password … and I … I’m I just wanted to talk.”

Hermione blushed a deep crimson when Harry admitted he cracked her password, but she hurriedly beckoned him in and retreated to her study. When she returned she was wearing a long, fluffy maroon bathrobe over her nightgown. Harry wasn’t sure if that made it any better.

“What on earth are you doing out at this time of night? Don’t you have classes to prepare for?”

“I finished,” Harry said quickly, and then at Hermione’s arched eyebrow, added, “I usually get that done in the afternoon.”

“Since when do you do your work ahead of time?” she asked, settling onto an old chair and grabbing a steaming mug of what appeared to be hot tea.

“I had to learn when I became an Auror,” Harry admitted ruefully. “They tend to get on your case if your paperwork isn’t turned in by noon.”

Hermione arched an eyebrow, clearly impressed. The two sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment before she spoke again. “You never answered my question. What are you doing here?”

Harry frowned, the original reason for his visiting Hermione having fled his mind. In truth, he’d never expected to make it this far, and now that he had, he was beginning to feel like a big idiot.

“Um, I uh, well the Halloween feast is tomorrow night, and um … the students have their first Hogsmeade trip and I have to run some errands to the ministry and um Diagon Alley do you wanna go with me?”

Both of Hermione’s eyebrows raised so high Harry thought they might disappear off her forehead. Blushing furiously, he shook his head, quickly speaking again before she refused. “I mean, I just have to pick up some supplies and I thought if you had something maybe we could just pick them up together.”

Hermione’s shoulders seemed to relax just a bit and she took a deep sip of her tea, closing her eyes as she drank. After a moment she opened her eyes and met Harry’s gaze.

“I think I’ll go,” she said quietly. “I have a book I’d like to pick up from Flourish and Blott’s, and I need to replenish a few of my potion supplies.”

Harry released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“Great,” he said, standing quickly to his feet. “Um, then, see you at … noon?”

At Hermione’s nod, Harry gave her a rare grin, quickly bidding her goodnight before she could change her mind. Then he practically ran back down the corridor.

* * *

The next morning, Harry stood in front of the mirror of his private bathroom, staring at his reflection. He’d already spent fifteen minutes trying to get his unruly hair to behave – to no avail. Sighing, he traced his tongue over his teeth, trying to feel out any last grit from his toothpaste, and passed a hand over his recently-shaven chin.

It isn’t a date, Harry thought to himself. Even still, he found himself more than just a little nervous. This was the first time he would be alone with Hermione since the night before their graduation.

Pulling one of his maroon sweaters over his forehead, and donning a pair of jeans and his favorite sneakers, Harry quickly tucked his wand in his coat and made his way to the front of the grand entrance. Nervous butterflies were bouncing in his stomach, lending itself to a feeling of nausea, but he tried to shake it off.

He’d been waiting for fewer than five minutes when he saw Hermione making her way towards him. Her image sent his heart skipping a beat and his pulse racing, and he found he had to remind himself to breath.

She didn’t look much different than she normally did, except that she’d donned a light blue sweater, and her hair, normally unruly, had been partially tamed and pulled back into a large clip. A few tresses had been left loose, framing her face.

“Hello, Harry,” she said quietly, giving him an odd look. Harry let out a breath and nodded lightly to her.

“Shall we get started?”

Hermione nodded, and together the two of them headed towards the nearest fireplace. Harry carefully opened his bag of floo powder, handed a bit to Hermione, and then stepped inside the fireplace and shouted “The Ministry of Magic!”

He felt the familiar tug on his body as he began falling, the various levels and fireplaces indecipherable. Soon, he felt his feet hit solid ground and Harry stepped out of the fireplace, brushing off the ever-familiar soot as he moved away from the entrance. A second later, Hermione appeared, and together the two of them made their way to Auror Headquarters and Kingsley’s office.

Kingsley was busy at work, up to his elbows in stacks of parchment when the two arrived. So busy was he that he didn’t notice their presence until Harry cleared his throat. The older wizard’s eyes lit up warmly as he rose to his feet in greeting.

“Harry, Hermione, It’s good to see you, come in,” he said, beckoning to two chairs that had folders stacked at least three feet high. Harry and Hermione gave each other a quick glance, and Harry immediately stepped to one of the chairs and moved the folders in it to the ground. A second later the two of them were seated, albeit uncomfortably, on the hard wooden chairs.

“I’m glad you could come, Harry,” Kingsley said, not quite looking at him as he shuffled through mounds of paper. “And I’m glad you brought Hermione. We might need her help on this one.”

“On what?” Harry asked, feeling more confused than ever. For the first few weeks he’d been teaching at Hogwarts, he’d sent daily owls to the Ministry, trying to stay abreast of the comings and goings of the Aurors. Only after Kingsley sent him a fairly nasty Howler did Harry accept the fact that he was not going to be privy to any news on the Deatheaters.

“We captured Notts last week,” Kingsley said, wincing as he knocked over a stack of paperwork and sent parchment flying across the room.

Harry’s eyes widened. “Rupeus Notts?”

“Who’s Rupeus Notts?” Hermione said, her forehead furrowed in confusion.

“A highly placed Deatheater,” Kingsley said, not bothering to look at her as he shuffled through the drawers of his desk. “In fact, we think he’s the second-in-command of all of the lot.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “So that’s good then.”

“Yes, and no,” Kingsley said, clutching a piece of parchment in his hand as he closed his desk drawers. He focused his gaze on Hermione. “Good, because that’s one less Deatheater we have to worry about. Bad because he’s not talking, and we’ve spent the past two years trying to track down the hidden source of their funding.”

Harry nodded, well remembering the countless hours he’d spent trying to break the financial backbone of Voldemort’s lackeys. Every time he thought he stumbled on a lead, he took three steps back. It had been one of the most aggravating parts of his work.

“We got this shortly after we captured him,” Kingsley said, handing a piece of parchment to Harry. Harry took it, frowning as he studied the parchment. Strange markings were scribbled on the paper – it appeared to be some type of code, but he could make neither rhyme nor reason of it.

“We think that’s the key we’ve been looking for,” Kingsley said. “If we can crack this, we think we’ll be able to stop their funding at the source.”

“What is it, exactly?” Harry said, frowning as he turned the paper upside down, trying to make sense of it.

“That’s what we need you to figure out,” the older wizard responded. “Or Hermione rather.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Why me?”

Kingsley gave her a weak smile. “The best minds in the Ministry have been pouring over this parchment for a week, and not one of them has been able to crack it. I’ve been given permission to use whatever methods are necessary to break that code. You have a NEWT in Ancient Runes. That might come in handy.”

The younger witch nodded, taking the paper from Harry and studying it for a few minutes. “It doesn’t look like anything I’ve seen before,” Hermione said, a frown crossing her face.

“I know,” Kingsley said with a sigh. “But we need that code. It’s quite possible that if we find their financial backbone, we might stumble across their records too. That could lead us to even more important things – like finding out who killed Ron.”

Harry’s head snapped up at this revelation. Hermione froze for the briefest moment, then gave a slight nod, folding the paper and slipping it discreetly into the pocket of her jeans.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she said quietly. Kingsley nodded, and after a few minutes of idle chatter, he escorted the two to the front of the Ministry.

A half hour later, the pair found themselves walking in Diagon Alley. Neither spoke – Kingsley’s words weighed heavily on their mind. Harry felt his heart racing – he wanted to avenge Ron as badly as Hermione did, he was sure. This parchment may be the only chance they had of getting revenge on the person who had killed him.

“I’m still not sure what they expect me to find,” Hermione said, unexpectedly. Harry slowed in his walking, casting a glance at his brown-haired friend.

“Why do you say that?”

“Well,” Hermione said with a frown. “Even if I do discover what it means, it’s likely to be in code.”

“But Kingsley’s right,” Harry said quickly. “You did get a NEWT on Ancient Runes. If anyone will be able to figure out what it says, it’s you.”

Hermione shrugged, and soon they were talking about nothing in particular, visiting shop after shop. Their bags began to steadily grow, and pretty soon it was time for lunch.

“Let’s take a break, Harry,” Hermione said, dragging her bags to a small table outside the Leaky Cauldron. Harry nodded, wiping the sweat off his forehead as he slumped into a seat. Hermione took the seat across from him, with their bags filling the last two chairs. Tom appeared, greeting both of them warmly and taking their orders, promising quick service before he disappeared into the kitchen. Harry turned his focus to Hermione, who, to his surprise, was staring directly at him.

“Hermione, can I ask you a question?” the raven-haired wizard asked. At her nod, he continued, “When I left, you were getting ready to start a job at St. Mungo’s. But you came to Hogwarts, why?”

Hermione settled back in her chair, inhaling deeply as she met Harry’s inquisitive gaze. “I did go on and finish my training at the hospital. I spent a few years there, in fact, as a Healer-in-Training under Augustus Pye.”

Harry nodded, remembering how excited she had been when she’d first received notification of her acceptance into the program.

“Why did you leave?” he said, feeling just a bit more confused than before.

“It’s … complicated,” Hermione said quietly. “I liked being a healer, I really did. And my parents were thrilled I’d chosen to enter the medical profession. But … I just wasn’t happy.”

“But you were so excited when you got your letter of acceptance,” Harry pointed out.

“Yes, I know,” she acknowledged with a nod. “But … after awhile it quit being fun. Something was missing, I guess.”

Harry felt a gnawing at his insides. Somehow, he wondered if Hermione’s sudden change from healer to professor had anything to do with him.

“When Professor McGonagall owled me and told me there was going to be a position opening at Hogwarts, my first inclination was to turn it down,” Hermione continued. “But after giving it some thought, I realized that maybe a change of environment was exactly what I needed. Once I stepped foot inside Hogwarts again…” her voice trailed off.

“What happened?” Harry asked, curiosity etched in his features. A small smile crossed Hermione’s face as she looked back up at Harry. He instantly became mesmerized with her gaze.

“I realized I had come home,” she said softly.

At that moment, Tom returned with their food and the two began talking about more mundane issues. Harry gradually began to lose his nervous edge and Hermione eventually relaxed enough to even laugh at a few jokes. Harry could almost imagine it being as if he had never left – almost.

After Tom brought their ticket, which Harry paid, much to Hermione’s chagrin (he’d pointed out she’d done him a favor by joining him, as it’s not much fun to do all your shopping alone), the two gathered their bags and were about to leave when Harry caught sight of a familiar head of blonde-hair making its way to Knockturn Alley.

“Draco,” Harry said in a low hiss. Hermione stepped up beside him, her eyes squinting in confusion until she made the identification.

“Yes, but what’s he doing in Knockturn Alley?”

Harry frowned, “I don’t know, but I think I better find out.”

“Harry,” Hermione said, a hint of warning in her voice, “Ginny isn’t going to like you following him around like a Deatheater.”

Harry looked back at Hermione. “I just want to see where he’s going. I won’t follow him into any stores. But what business could he possibly have in an alley that’s the shopping center for most dark wizards in these parts.”

Hermione could not offer an answer. Together, the two of them carefully wound their way into the darker alleyway, taking caution to remain a safe distance behind Draco. Hermione looked more than a little nervous to be in the presence of so many unsavory people, but Harry moved quickly, at ease among the darker elements of society. After awhile Draco turned into a store, which Harry recognized instantly. It had been the store he and his father had almost caught Harry in his second year.

With a hurried whisper to Hermione, he ducked into an adjoining alleyway, coming to a stop a few feet from a window as he pressed his back against the wall. Hermione stared at him, questions in her eyes, but before she could speak Harry quickly pressed a forefinger to his lips and arched his neck towards the window. The woman nodded, ducking underneath the window and going to the other side.

Inside, Harry could hear low voices, but it was impossible to determine who was talking. Suddenly, a very distinct voice caught his ear.

“I’m warning you, if you’re responsible for this you’re dead.”

Hermione’s eyes widened at Draco’s threat. Harry shook his head, craning his head towards the room.

“I’m not, I swear. I’m just the messenger. He knows you were there.”

“Who does?” came Draco’s sharp reply.

“I … I don’t know …” the other, sicklier sounding voice whimpered.

“You’re lying!”

“I’m not, I swear. I’ve never seen him. I just overheard this!”

There was a thump, and Harry’s hand instinctively arched for his wand. Then, just as sudden, all went silent.

His eyes widening in realization, Harry sharply grabbed Hermione’s hand, and before she could protest, he drug her behind a trash can and had summoned their bags. Moments later Draco Malfoy passed the entrance of the alleyway. Harry’s breath caught in his throat as the grey-eyed wizard cast a look in their direction before walking away.

Hermione closed her eyes, inhaling deeply as she pulled her hand from Harry’s grip. She gave him a weak smile as they quickly gathered their bags and made their way quickly back to Hogwarts.

* * *

“Harry! Hermione! There you two are!”

They had just made their way into the Great Hall after returning their bags when Ginny’s voice called to them. The younger witch came up to them, giving both of them a hug and a light peck on the cheek to Harry before sitting down next to them. Harry and Hermione had not yet talked about what they’d seen in Knockturn Alley, but Harry had a bad feeling about telling Ginny what he’d seen. The fiery redhead would not like it if she knew Harry had been spying on her husband.

“They just passed around the list for the Christmas Holidays. Will you be signing up to stay?”

Hermione nodded, but Harry gave Ginny a slight frown.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I mean, your mum will probably want to see Artie.”

Ginny’s face took on a thoughtful expression. “That wouldn’t be good, would it? You really need some time alone with him.”

Harry looked at the table glumly. “Don’t know why. He’s still not speaking to me.”

“That’s why you need to spend some time alone with him,” Ginny stated, matter-of-factly. “Get to know him.”

“But how,” Harry said, hating the fact that his voice sounded a bit whiney. “We have nothing in common – he doesn’t even like flying!”

“Then find something you two do have in common, Harry,” Hermione said. Harry glanced at her and she returned his stare unflinchingly.

“Like what?” he demanded. She shrugged.

“That’s up to the two of you,” she replied, unperturbed.

Harry sighed, slumping back in his chair. “Doesn’t matter anyways, I suppose. I don’t have a place to stay anyways.”

“What about Grimmauld Place?” Ginny asked.

“Grimmauld Place? I haven’t been there in years. It’s probably got cobwebs up to the ceiling.” Harry said.

“Well, then maybe you should start cleaning,” Hermione said. “Or hire someone to do it.”

Harry frowned. “Maybe …” he allowed his voice to trail off, unsure. What would he do with Artie during the whole winter break?

Ginny gave him a sympathetic look. “Look, Harry, I’ll send an owl to Fleur. I’m sure she can talk Bill into having my parents over for Christmas. It will do them a lot of good to get out of the country for awhile.”

“Fleur?” Harry asked, confusion building. Ginny sighed, exasperated.

“Yes Fleur. Not everyone in my family hates me, Harry.” Ginny responded as if Harry were a two-year-old.

“How is Draco anyways?” Hermione interrupted suddenly. Harry’s eyes widened and Ginny’s face took on a suspicious look as her blue eyes leveled on her friend.

“He’s fine,” she said suspiciously. “Why do you ask?”

Hermione immediately paled, and Harry could instantly tell she hadn’t counted on Ginny questioning her on this. Harry grimaced inwardly, knowing he’d face Ginny’s wrath; but his desire to spare Hermione from further discomfort overruled his senses.

“I saw him today in Knockturn Alley,” Harry said, drawing a sharp gaze from Ginny. “I was just telling Hermione about it.”

“Knockturn Alley?” Ginny asked, her face confused. Then, understanding dawned on her and she narrowed her eyes angrily. “You were spying on my husband?!?”

Harry winced, bracing for the screams that were sure to come. But none did. Instead, Ginny rose angrily to her feet, pushing forcefully away from the table, angry tears welling in her eyes.

“I can’t believe you,” Ginny whispered, her voice trembling with barely restrained rage. “You’re just as bad as my family.”

And with that, she left.

Title: Father’s Day

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything HP.

Author’s Notes: I’m not really satisfied with the way this chapter turned out, but I’m going to post it anyways. I may do edits on it later, but I think for now I’m going to move on and get to some of the good stuff. It’s a bit longer than the others, and runs a bit slower (at least in my opinion). I do think I get some good Harry/Artie interaction though.

Chapter 7: Preparation and Anticipation

“Honestly Harry, they did such a good job that I can’t even tell it’s the same place.”

Harry nodded, glancing around the living room of Grimmauld Place. Nearly a month had passed since he’d secured McGonagall’s permission to “hire” two of the Hogwarts House Elves to help clean up the dark house. Dobby and Winky had been ecstatic, Winky in particular, about the change of pace. Though Winky had refused payment, Dobby had graciously accepted the twenty-five galleons Harry had offered, even scoffing when Harry had offered more.

“Harry Potter sir has done so much for Dobby,” the house elf had said. “Now its Dobby’s turn to do something for Harry Potter and his young Wheezy.”

He glanced around the room. The dark artifacts had been removed – Harry had taken them to Kingsley and he had offered his prompt assurances that they’d be disposed of. Without Kreacher around to hide things away (he’d died sometime during Harry’s seventh year, for which Harry had been extremely grateful), it’d made it a lot easier to tackle the old house. Somehow, and Harry wasn’t sure exactly – Dobby and Winky wouldn’t discuss it in any great deal – they had managed to remove the picture of Sirius’s mother. Harry had a strange suspicion that from the fresh coat of paint that they might have had to tear out that portion of the wall. At any rate, he was relieved.

“Still dark though,” Harry muttered, glancing around the room. Cobwebs had been swept up, layers of dust removed, and the floors shined until Harry was sure he could see his reflection. Still, there was not much light in this place.

“That can be taken care of with a few candles,” Hermione said, glancing around the room with an expression of surprise on her face. Harry had asked her to come along – to see if she could spot anything that he might have missed – but in truth he just wanted an excuse to spend a few moments alone with her before school dismissed for the winter holidays.

“I’ll have to pick some up on my next trip to Diagon Alley,” Harry muttered, feeling the nervous butterflies dart around in his stomach. Hermione turned to look at him, giving him an extremely odd look.

“What is it, Harry?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“What is what?”

“I know that tone of voice,” she said matter-of-factly. “What do you want to ask me?”

Harry blushed, his emerald gaze darting to the ground as he tried to gather his courage. He’d battled more dementors than he cared to count, faced loads of dark wizards, and even defeated the darkest one of them all. But he still got nervous jitters when trying to ask his best friend for a date.

Well, okay, not a date really, but that’s what it feels like.

“I was just wondering, Hermione,” Harry stuttered, surprised at how small his voice sounded. He clamped his lips together, inhaling deeply before gathering his voice to speak again. “I know you’re staying at Hogwarts over the holidays, but I was wondering if you might want to join me and Artie for Christmas dinner.”

Hermione arched an eyebrow, and Harry felt his cheeks redden. Why had he bothered to ask her this? Hogwarts always had such elaborate feasts – certainly Hermione would enjoy her time among her fellow teachers than with a moody 11-year-old and a best friend who’d abandoned her ten years ago.

“I think I will.”

“That’s alright,” Harry said quickly, not quite comprehending that Hermione had just accepted his offer. “I know that Hog…” his voice trailed off, his eyes widening in surprise as he looked at Hermione’s bemused expression. “You will?” he said, his voice rising a bit.

“Of course I will, Harry,” she said with a grin. “I’ve had dinner at Hogwarts every day for the past ten years – I don’t think missing one is going to matter too much.”

“Great!” Harry said quickly, stifling the urge to jump up and give a whoop of delight. Instead he glanced around sheepishly, realizing that now he’d have to try to prepare an extravagant dinner, and then glanced at the mahogany-haired witch standing across from him.

“Does seven o’clock sound good?” he asked.

“Sounds excellent,” Hermione said, glancing at her watch. “But we’re going to have to get back to Hogwarts soon. Headmistress McGonagall told me she had a few end-of-term announcements.”

Harry nodded, and he found himself fighting a strong urge to skip the distance back to Hogwarts.

* * *

The end of term came far too slowly for Harry’s tastes, and soon the Hogwarts professor found himself bidding farewell to his fellow teachers and students. His nerves began to spike – Artie had only stared at him with a confused expression on his face when Harry had informed him they would not be spending Christmas with the Weasleys – no thanks in any small part to Ginny, who, despite her anger, had kept her word and persuaded Bill and Fleur to invite Arthur and Molly over on a vacation. Molly, of course, had protested, but after several convincing talks with her husband had satisfied herself by writing Harry and Artie at frequent intervals in the month prior to Christmas break.

Harry walked around Hogwarts, bidding farewell to his friends. To his great relief, Ginny threw her arms around him in a hug and gave him a kiss on his cheek. Apparently, the Christmas spirit overwhelmed whatever lingering anger she may have had for him. Then Harry started towards Hermione’s quarters, mentally rehearsing what he was going to say to her as he walked along.

Standing outside her door, Harry took a deep breath and ran a hand through his unruly hair. He gulped nervously and quickly knocked on her door.

“Come in,” a voice called from the inside. The door opened and Harry stepped inside.

Hermione was sitting at her desk next to piles of books stacked five feet tall. Parchment was overflowing from the trash can. It was very uncharacteristically Hermione.

“Um, Hermione?” Harry asked, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

The brown-haired witch cast a glance over her shoulder, smiling at her friend.

“Oh, Harry, I forgot you were leaving today,” she said apologetically, rising to her feet and crossing the room. Harry wrapped his arms around the smaller woman, hugging her to his chest and pressing his nose in her hair. It was just like he remembered – like a mixture of citrus and fresh flowers.

“Busy preparing lessons?” Harry chided lightly, feeling his heart fall just a bit as she stepped away. Hermione shook her head.

“No, I’ve been trying to decipher that code Kingsley gave us,” she said, beckoning Harry to her disheveled desk. Harry saw that Hermione had some kind of text on Ancient Runes open. Little scribbles of her handwriting were visible in the margins. It was a daunting sight.

“Wow Hermione,” Harry said, gazing over the stacks of books with wide eyes. “This is all you’re going to do over your Christmas break?”

Hermione shrugged. “Well, I’m going to eat Christmas dinner with you and Artie.”

“It doesn’t sound like much fun,” Harry commented dryly.

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll do some other things,” she said quickly. “Ginny has invited me to go shopping with her, and McGonagall has given me permission to throw a Christmas party for the house elves.”

Harry wasn’t sure that the Christmas party would go anything like what she had planned, but he wasn’t about to tell her that.

“How about you,” Hermione asked, snapping Harry out of his train of thought. “Looking forward to your holidays with Artie?”

Just like Hermione to hit on the crux of the matter. Harry shrugged glumly.

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with him for these weeks,” he muttered. “He barely tolerates me as it is.”

Hermione rested a hand on his shoulder. “Just find something you both have in common. Take him shopping too – Molly would be upset if you two didn’t send her anything.”

“Find something in common, take him shopping,” Harry muttered, ticking off the tasks in his finger. “Is there anything else I should know?”

Hermione smiled, stepping closer to Harry and rising on her tiptoes, giving him a light peck on the cheek. “Yes,” she whispered quietly. “Have fun.”

* * *

The ride home on the Hogwarts Express proved uneventful. Harry had decided it’d be best if Artie had some time alone with his friends before they left for the holidays. Harry had peeked in on the boy a few times, stifling a smile as he watched him, Todd, another Gryffindor, and Amelia – the dark-headed girl from the trip to Hogwarts, laugh over some indiscernible joke. It was good to see Artie had made some friends – Harry had been worried Ron’s son would build up a wall around himself after what happened to his father.

No, Harry, you’re the only one who does that.

Soon the Hogwarts Express pulled up to station, and Harry straightened his disheveled robes. He rose to his feet, both excited and dreading his upcoming time with Artie. He made his way down the packed corridor and down the steps, leaning against the chair and waiting for Artie. Pretty soon the red-headed boy appeared with Amelia by his side.

“Hey, Artie,” Harry called out. The boy stiffened and turned, fastening his gaze on his guardian. Amelia gave Harry a small smile. Harry smiled back at her, and then focused his gaze on Artie. “Would you like to get your trunk?”

“I guess,” Artie mumbled, tugging on Amelia’s hand and jogging off towards the luggage compartment. Harry watched the two take off, and spent the next few seconds waving goodbye to Todd. The brown-haired boy was tugging on his mother’s hand, whispering and pointing at Harry’s scar.

“They grow up so quickly, don’t they?” a voice called out to Harry.

Harry looked over his shoulder, giving a slight nod to the dark-haired man approaching him. The man extended a hand towards Harry.

“I guess,” Harry said, responding towards not really sure of what the older man was talking about. He’d scarcely been Artie’s guardian for more than four months. These past months had seemed to last forever, and his love-hate relationship with Artie seemed to be going around in circles.

“Bartholomew Chambers. I’m Amelia’s father,” the man said. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Potter.”

“Harry,” Harry replied, shaking the man’s hand.

“It’s not easy raising children alone,” Bartholomew continued.

“That’s for sure,” Harry said, watching as Artie and Amelia began dragging their trunks towards them. The man smiled, resting a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“Amelia’s mother died during childbirth. It’s been me and her ever since,” Bartholomew continued. At Harry’s raised eyebrow, he continued, “Forgive me. Amelia told me Artie was having some hard times adjusting.”

“Great,” Harry grumbled, looking away from the other man. Did everyone know about his problems with Artie?

“Don’t feel badly,” Bartholomew said. “I had problems too, at first. It does get easier.”

“I hope so,” Harry muttered as the two children approached. “I hope so.”

* * *

It does get easier.

Those words reverberated in Harry’s mind over and over the next week, mostly through clenched teeth as he tried in vain to find some common ground between him and Artie. So far, he’d been through Quidditch, school, dragons, and every band on the Wireless Wizard Network. Desperation began flooding his body. Twice he had picked up a quill to compose a letter to Mrs. Weasley, asking her to take over. Once he’d even managed to compose the letter, though he’d never sent it out. It was now carefully hidden in his sock drawer.

It was a typical night a week before Christmas. Harry had settled in his easy chair and was flipping through the Daily Prophet, and Artie was sprawled on the carpet, flipping through a magazine. Several times Harry peeked over the upper edge of the paper, watching the red-headed boy. He looked so much like Ron had it was almost frightening. The thought sent a jerk of painful sadness towards his heart.

Why did you have to leave, Ron? A voice in Harry’s mind called out quietly. Why did you have to choose me as Artie’s guardian?

Letting out a small sigh, Harry folded the paper and stared at the younger boy. His mind desperately searched for something … anything to say to Artie. There had to be some way to strike up a conversation.

“Um, so Artie, do you want to go Christmas shopping tomorrow?” the raven-haired wizard asked tentatively. Artie glanced over his shoulder and shrugged.

Frustration boiled up in Harry and he tossed his paper to the ground. Quickly he stepped across the room, snatching the magazine from Artie and throwing it into the corner.

“Hey!” Artie shouted, scrambling angrily to his feet, his fists balled at his sides.

“I’m tired of talking to a wall, Artie,” Harry said, testily. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

“You never want to talk anything about what I want to talk about,” Artie retorted, sarcasm dripping from his voice. Harry’s eyes narrowed and for a moment he was tempted to smack Artie so hard the freckles would come off his face.

“I’m trying, Artie,” Harry said carefully, barely restraining himself from exploding in anger – barely. “If everything I want to talk about is so boring, then tell me, what do you what to talk about? Give me something I can go on, at least.”

Artie pressed his lips together in a thin line, staring at Harry with an unascertainable gaze for a few moments. For a second he looked like he might storm off to his room.

He can’t ignore you forever, Hermione’s voice piped up in his head. Harry closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. His mind flickered to the letter that was carefully concealed under mounds of his socks.

“Well?” Harry asked, finally opening his eyes to find the younger boy staring at him. Artie mumbled something under his breath and Harry arched an eyebrow. Had he heard Artie right?

“What was that?” Harry asked, a grin spreading across his face. Artie muttered a response again, and Harry finally felt his body relax.

“I think I can manage that.”

* * *

“Knight to E5.”

Harry grimaced, watching as Artie’s knight moved forward on the board and to the right. The small rider lifted his sword, smashing it across Harry’s pawn, sending the piece across the board into broken halves. The green-eyed wizard grimaced, but couldn’t help a smile from crossing his face as he looked at Artie, who was grinning in triumph.

“My turn,” Artie said. Harry nodded. Hermione would be so proud of him if she could see him and Artie now, sprawled out on a rug with mugs of hot chocolate, playing a round of wizard’s chess. Of course, they had made tiny adjustments to the rules – at Harry’s suggestion. Now, each time a piece was taken, the victorious wizard got to ask the loser one question, which had to be answered truthfully. Harry had charmed a piece of parchment to inform either of them if the other had cheated, and the offending wizard would have to eat a random piece of candy from Fred and George’s shop.

“Did you and my dad really steal grandpa’s car and drive it into the Whomping Willow your second year?”

“Erm,” Harry blushed, glancing at the ground. So far, Artie had found out about Harry’s invisibility cloak and the Marauder’s map, which Harry had learned Ron had discussed frequently. Artie had been sworn to secrecy, though Harry wasn’t sure how long that would last.

Artie crossed his arms in front of his chest and Harry nodded. Artie thrust his fists into the air triumphantly. “So you DID almost get expelled from Hogwarts your second year.”

“Yes I did,” Harry admitted, sheepishly. He tried not to mention that he’d also been close to expulsion his fifth, sixth, and seventh years too.

“So why did you yell at me?” Artie asked, his eyes narrowing. Harry sighed.

“I shouldn’t have yelled, but you weren’t making it easy for me. Why did you hex Draco?”

Artie frowned, and pointed to the chess board. Harry immediately got the message. If you want to ask, you’ve got to play. Harry sighed, turning his focus to the pieces in front of him, trying to determine the best move. His bishop was in a good position to take Artie’s rook, but doing so would leave a gap in his defenses that Artie might be able to exploit.

Of course, Artie was just an 11-year-old kid.

Harry smiled, calling out his move and watching his bishop knock Artie’s pawn across the board. “My turn,” he said, smiling at Artie, who gave a snort.

“Why are you scared of flying?”

Artie sighed, rolling onto his back and resting his hands on his stomach while he stared at the ceiling.

“Last time my dad took me flying, I fell off the broom at thirty feet,” Artie said sheepishly. “Broke every bone in my right leg, and both arms. Mum was furious.”

Harry glanced at the parchment, which hastily showed the word “True”. Harry glanced back at the younger boy.

“But Artie, you do realize you have to pass Ginny’s classes with at least a ‘satisfactory’? How are you going to do that if you won’t get up on a broom?”

Artie shrugged, and Harry felt a twinge of sympathy pass through his body. The boy was genuinely frightened of flying. It reminded him of Hermione during their third year, when they had ridden a hippogriff together.

“How about if I teach you?” Harry offered. Artie craned his neck to what looked like an uncomfortable position. An expression of fear passed through his eyes.

“I won’t let you fall,” Harry said quickly. The younger boy glanced towards the parchment, which scribbled out “True”. He closed his eyes and sighed softly.

“I guess,” Artie mumbled. Harry smiled briefly, frowning immediately as Artie muttered another command to the chess board, sending his own bishop into the gap opened by Harry’s last move. Harry was now forced to choose between sacrificing his rook or his knight.

An eleven-year-old who inherited his father’s talent at chess.

Harry sighed. “Rook to A3,” he grumbled. Artie smiled triumphantly as his bishop put a hole through the center of his knight. Artie glanced up at Harry expectantly.

“Do you like Professor Granger?”

Harry, who had been taking a drink of hot chocolate at that exact moment, about spit it across the room.

“Wha… How… Who told you that?” Harry asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve and glaring at the younger boy. Artie shrugged.

”Why do you want to know?” Harry asked, his eyes narrowing. Artie shrugged again.

“She seems nice,” the boy replied, pointing at the piece of parchment and giving Harry an expectant look. Harry sighed.

“Yes, I do like Her… er … Professor Granger,” he said hurriedly, feeling the heat rise to his face. Artie gave Harry a cheesy grin, rolling onto his left elbow and staring at the older wizard.

“So why don’t you tell her?”

Harry’s blush deepened, and he made a mental note to never play this game with Artie again.

“Hermione and I have a … complicated relationship,” Harry admitted, looking at the younger boy with a hint of sadness in his eyes.

“Because you left?”

This kid didn’t miss a beat, Harry thought to himself. Had to come from his mother’s side of the family.

“Yes, partially because of that, and partially because of other things you don’t need to know about,” Harry responded. Artie grinned, looking at the board.

“Your move.”

Harry studied his chess pieces intently, looking for the best position. A smile crossed his face as he realized that one of Artie’s knights was unprotected.

“Bishop to J6.”

Artie’s eyes widened as Harry’s piece crossed the board, knocking his piece over and dragging it towards the side of the board. Harry grinned in triumph, looking at the younger boy.

“Why don’t you like your Aunt Ginny?” Harry asked.

Artie frowned, quickly rolling to a seated position and crossed his legs in front of his body. “Because she married Draco,” Artie said, his voice carrying a hint of some hidden knowledge with it. Harry frowned. Obviously, being raised as a Weasley, Artie had picked up on the rest of the family’s dislike for the Malfoys, but it didn’t explain everything.

“Why do you hate Draco?” Harry asked, pressing the matter.

“I just do, okay?” Artie snapped, his hand reaching for a candy peppermint from the bowl. Internally, Harry sighed. Artie was going to eat the candy without ever giving Harry a hint as to why he hated his aunt and uncle. Harry’s eyes watched as bright red dots began forming across Artie’s face as Fred and George’s latest invention began to work. The boy’s hair turned a gleaming white. A few seconds later the dots fell off, turning into gumdrops at his sneakers

Harry glanced at Artie, wondering if he should push the issue, then deciding that Artie would probably talk about it in his own time. He shrugged, settling back on his elbows as Artie called out his next move.

“Queen to D1.”

Artie’s queen crossed the board, taking out one of Harry’s pawns with a great flourish. Ron’s son looked at Harry expectantly.

“Are you going to leave me like you left my dad?”

Harry’s jaw dropped as he stared at the younger boy in amazement. “Why … why would you say that?” he asked.

Artie shrugged. “Dad used to talk about how you had to go away, but someday you’d come back. You never did.”

Shame rose to his face as Harry glanced to the ground sadly. “I did what I thought was best to try to protect him. Looking back, maybe I made the wrong decision.” Harry felt his cheeks redden as he looked to Artie seriously. “I won’t leave like that again. I promise.”

And that much was true. Even if Harry went back to the Ministry, he’d find a way to get holidays off so that Artie would have a real home to come to. The boy’s shoulders relaxed a bit. Harry noted this, an idea beginning to formulate in his mind. Hermione’s words echoed in his brain as he called out his next move, intercepting one of Artie’s pawns. He looked at Artie.

“Is that what you think your father did? Are you mad at me because he left you like I left him and Hermione?”

Artie’s face reddened, and he began reaching out for the candy dish with his right hand. Harry clamped his hand on the smaller boy’s wrist, halting his progress.

“Answer me, Artie,” Harry said, mentally wincing at how sharp his voice sounded. Artie’s eyes narrowed.

“I don’t want to.”

“You have to.”

“No I don’t. It’s the rules.”

“Yes you do. I said.”

“No I DON’T,” Artie shouted, jerking his hand out of Harry’s grip and jumping to his feet. Before Harry could speak, Artie had fled up the steps to his room, slamming the door behind him with enough force the walls rattled. Harry stared at the chess board sadly before pushing to his feet. He felt like lead as he trudged up the steps towards Artie’s room.

“Go away,” Artie yelled as Harry knocked on the door. Harry shook his head and opened the doorknob, unwilling to let their conversation end for the evening.

Artie was sprawled on his stomach, his head tucked in his pillow. His feet kicked angrily against the top of the mattress. Harry felt his stomach give a slight jerk as he crossed the room and sat by the boy’s side.

“Artie?” Harry asked softly.

“Go away!” Artie screamed, causing Harry to wince. Harry reached out to put a hand on Artie’s shoulder, but the younger boy jerked around, his fists trying to pound against Harry’s chest. Harry caught the boy’s wrists in his hands and turned him around, pinning Artie’s back against his chest until the boy couldn’t move. Furious, Artie gave Harry a kick in his shin. Harry grimaced, but he didn’t let Artie go.

“Are you mad at your father, Artie?” Harry asked, his throat feeling bone dry as the younger boy screamed loudly. Harry tightened his grip on Artie’s wrist, trying to keep from being hit as Artie struggled.

“Let me go!” Artie screamed.

“Do you think Ron left you on purpose?” Harry asked, his voice deadly quiet against Artie’s loud protests. Artie quit twisting, just a bit.

“I don’t care,” Artie screamed, kicking Harry in his shin again. This time Harry couldn’t conceal his yelp of pain and he released Artie’s hands. Artie made a beeline for the exit.

Squinting through the pain, Harry pointed his wand at the door and muttered the locking charm. The door swung closed moments before Artie reached it. Angrily the boy turned looked at Harry, staring venomously at him.

“Leave me alone!” Artie yelled, tossing a magazine towards Harry. Harry rolled onto his side, scrambling to his feet and crossing the room. Anger coursed through his body, and he ground his teeth together to keep from hexing the younger wizard. But he didn’t lose control this time. Instead, he crossed the room and scooped Artie up so quickly that it rattled both of them. Two seconds later he dropped the kicking child onto the bed. Artie promptly turned his back towards Harry – he promptly sat up and faced the wall, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

Harry sighed. This was not working out at all like he expected it too. Heaving another sigh he plopped onto the bed beside Artie, looking at the younger boy quietly. Artie’s face was almost as red as his hair, and he appeared on the verge of tears.

The older wizard closed his eyes, deep in thought. Hermione’s words echoed in his mind.

He’s angry at his father for leaving him and he’s angry at you for not being his father.

Slowly Harry opened his eyes, resting his left hand on Artie’s left shoulder. Artie flinched as Harry touched him, but he didn’t jerk away from him.

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat, his voice coming out shaky as he spoke in a low voice. “I miss him too, Artie.” Harry said quietly. Artie’s shoulder began to shake underneath his hand, and for a moment Harry wondered if Artie was going to start hitting him again.

He didn’t. To his surprise, Artie flung his arms around Harry, a ragged sob escaping from his throat. Harry felt the corners of his eyes begin to blur with tears as he hugged the boy closer to his chest. After a moment he gave up trying to stifle the tears and instead cried along with the younger boy until all emotion seemed spent and he was left with a strangely numb feeling inside his stomach.

“Why did he have to leave?” Artie whispered, sniffling, dropping his arms from Harry’s middle. Harry released his hold on the younger boy, looking at Artie seriously.

“I’m not sure, Artie,” Harry whispered truthfully. “But I’m sure we’ll see him again someday.” His mind flickered to the Department of Mysteries and that mysterious curtain he’d seen Sirius disappear into. Yes, there had to be something to that, Harry thought.

“You think so?” Artie asked, his red-rimmed eyes twinkling hopefully.

Harry nodded, running a hand through the boy’s hair. “Yes, I do.”

Artie nodded, and the two wizards sat in silence for a long time. It wasn’t until Artie’s eyelids began to droop that Harry quietly helped the boy out of his shirt and into his sleep pants. He lifted the blankets on Artie’s bed and the child slid without protest underneath them, trying vainly to keep his heavy-lidded eyes open.

The older wizard gave Artie a weak smile, tousling his hair slightly and whispering a quiet “goodnight” before rising to his feet and crossing the room. As he reached the door, he heard his name called and cast a glance over his shoulder.

“Yes?” he asked softly. Artie slowly turned his head towards Harry.

“Thanks,” Artie whispered. Harry felt a wave of peace rush over his body as he canted his head towards the boy.

“You’re welcome.” Harry said, relieved to find that he actually meant it.

* * *

The next morning Harry woke up first, and feeling in a considerably better mood than any other mornings, made his way down to the kitchen and began preparing breakfast. The routine hadn’t changed – this is the same thing he’d done every morning since the start of winter break – but his feelings on the matter had changed.

No longer did he think of it as an obligation – he actually wanted to cook for Artie. Well, if it could truly be called cooking. Oatmeal was hardly the breakfast of champions, but it was quick and easy and impossibly hard to burn.

He’d just managed to finish when Artie plodded into the kitchen. The boy’s reddish-gold hair stood straight up and at least half his face bore what looked like the imprint of a pillow. Harry gave the younger wizard a smile and beckoned to the bowl of hot oatmeal at one of the places at the table.

“Sleep well, Artie?” he asked.

Artie frowned, staring at Harry without saying a word. The older wizard felt his heart skip a beat, and for a second he wondered if last night had been a fluke.

“Yes,” Artie finally said, settling down into the chair and promptly reaching for the bowl of sugar. Harry watched with mild amusement as Artie dumped what seemed like half the bowl on his oatmeal before beginning to shove the sugary mess into his mouth. He definitely inherited his father’s appetite, Harry thought.

Harry took his own bowl to the table, sitting down into a chair across from Artie and taking his first tentative bites of oatmeal.

“I thought we might go Christmas shopping today,” Harry said cautiously, gauging Artie’s reaction. Artie’s eyes lit up and his face took on an excited expression as he looked at Harry.

“Diagon Alley?” he asked. “Or Hogsmeade?”

“I figured we could go to Diagon Alley today, maybe Hogsmeade, and maybe around a muggle shopping center, if you wanted to,” Harry replied.

Artie’s eyes widened. “Shopping with the muggles?” he asked suspiciously. “Why?”

“I think Mr. Weasley would enjoy some of the muggle stuff more than he’d enjoy anything you could get him in Diagon Alley,” Harry said. Then as an afterthought, he added, “Plus I want to see what I can get for Hermione.”

Artie grinned mischievously, but said nothing else and they finished their breakfast in relative silence.

Later that day, the two wizards made their way to Diagon Alley, where Artie picked up a book for his friend Amelia, some owl treats for Arnold, and a picture book for Mrs. Weasley. Harry picked up a new book on charms and something called “The New Revised Guide for Household Pests” for Mrs. Weasley, as well as some chocolate for Artie.From there the two made their way to Hogsmeade, where Artie picked up a box of chocolate frogs for Todd. Harry picked up an empty photo album, thinking that he could dig up some old photos of Ron to put in them. He still hadn’t found a gift for Hermione when they headed to the muggle shopping center.

Artie, of course, became immediately enamored by a muggle toy called a Game Boy; and although it was fairly expensive – almost 75 pounds – Harry did acquiesce and let Artie get it. As an afterthought, he picked up a model plane kit for Mr. Weasley as well as a battery operated remote controlled car (to replace the one that had broken down some years before).

Five o’clock rolled around and the two tired wizards made their way back to Grimmauld Place. Frustration gnawed at Harry’s insides.

Less than a week was left, and still he had not found anything for Hermione.

Title: Father’s Day

Rating: PG-13 (For this chapter)

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is property of other people. Aren’t you jealous?

Author’s Notes: Special thanks to spaz for pointing out the glitch. It should be fixed now. I’m glad you all liked the last chapter. I thought it was far too boring, but I guess that’s because I had this chapter to look forward to. This is where all your patience starts to pay off. Note I said starts, not completely. ;) At any rate, thanks for the reviews. This should be a fairly long chapter – I apologize in advance. There’s a lot I have to get done in it. A quick note – one of the reasons this chapter took so long is I had to think about how I wanted the battle with Voldie to go. I don’t claim that this will be anything close to how it can or should be, but for my purposes, and since this story is AU, my prerogative.

Chapter 8: Recollections and Restoration

“I don’t want to do this.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you making me?”

“Because you need to learn.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes you can.”

“I’ll fall.”

“Haven’t we been over this already? I won’t let go of you. I promise.”

Harry Potter beckoned to the front of his Firebolt, which was hovering a few feet above the ground. He had already gotten on, and was sitting towards the back of the broom. Artie stood a few feet away; his face paler than normal as Harry motioned to the spot of the broom in front of him. It was Christmas Eve, and he and Artie had traveled to Hogsmeade for flying lessons. So far, though, Harry had spent the past fifteen minutes trying to convince Artie to get within a meter of the broom.

The older wizard clapped his gloved hands together, trying to generate some heat in the frigid air. He sighed tiredly, tugging the flaps of his cap over his ears and motioning to the front of the broom.

“We won’t go very fast,” Harry tried to reassure Artie. “Just up a bit and back down.”

Artie frowned, glancing at the broom warily. “Okay, but you’ve got to steer.”

Harry sighed. The point of these flying lessons was to get Artie comfortable guiding a broom, but he supposed anything would be better than sitting around here, arguing with the boy.

Artie took a few tentative steps towards the broom, cautiously swinging a leg over the handle behind Harry. The young wizard wrapped both of his gloved hands around Harry’s middle, and with a slight sigh Harry pushed off into the air.

The younger boy gasped, his eyes squeezing tightly shut as his arms tightened around Harry’s middle. Harry winced at the pressure on his ribcage, but he kept the broom sturdy at about five feet off the ground.

“Artie, open your eyes.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal.”

Harry sighed again. “Artie, just trust me. Open your eyes.”

From the way Artie’s arms tightened around Harry’s middle, the dark-haired wizard could tell Artie had done just that.

“Keep your eyes open, I’m going to move forward a bit,” Harry said quietly. Artie let out a squeak.

Harry leaned forward, guiding the broom forward a few feet. Artie let out a whimper, and Harry rolled his eyes. This boy ended up in Gryffindor?

“Take it down,” Artie said quickly.

“Artie, we’ve just gotten up here.”

“I don’t care, take it down.”

“Not yet, let’s go up another five feet.”

Artie’s protests were lost as Harry angled the nose of the broom upward, quickly moving the Firebolt to about 20 feet above the ground. Artie let out a yelp of terror, and his grip on Harry tightened so much Harry actually found himself struggling to breath.

“Open your eyes, Artie,” Harry whispered hoarsely.

“Take us down first.”

“Not until you open your eyes,” Harry said; then, as an afterthought, added, “and keep them open.”

“Okay, they’re opened,” Artie replied so quickly later that Harry knew there was no way he was telling the truth.

“No they’re not, Artie.”

“How can you tell?”

“Teacher’s privilege. Eyes in the back of my head.”

“Now you’re lying,” Artie said accusingly.

“Yes, and you just admitted you had too. Now open your eyes.”

From behind him Harry could hear a muffled sigh of resignation, and he cast a quick glance under his left arm. Artie’s eyes had opened, but the boy was staring at the ground in stark terror.

Slowly, Harry guided the nose of the broom towards the ground. Artie remained as still as a statue, hopping off the broom the second Harry’s feet touched the ground. Harry stifled a grin – it wasn’t as good as what he’d hoped for, but more than he’d expected at this point. He’d have to spend more time working with Artie later.

“That wasn’t funny,” Artie said, frowning as Harry gathered his Firebolt under his arm.

“No, but you kept your eyes open. That’s progress,” Harry said nonchalantly as the two began walking towards Hogsmeade.

Artie sighed, kicking his right sneaker in the snow. “Why can’t I just use Floo powder to get everywhere?”

“Because there might be a time when you don’t have any, and then what would you do?”

“I’ll apparate,” Artie said immediately.

“Apparation takes practice,” Harry replied. “Your uncle Charlie splinched himself the first time he tried.” Artie winced at Harry’s description of what happens when a wizard is only half-successful at apparating.

“I guess,” Artie grumbled. Harry smiled and tousled the boy’s hair. Artie ducked underneath his hand, running forward a few steps and scooping up a bit of snow into a snowball. Harry saw the sphere launch towards his face and tried to dodge to the side, but Artie’s aim was very accurate. The snowball impacted on the bridge of his glasses, spreading little white crystals across Harry’s field of vision and sending the older wizard staggering back.

“With your arm, you could be a chaser,” Harry grumbled, removing his glasses and trying to wipe them off with his scarf. Artie grinned, starting to prepare a second snowball. Harry’s hand shot to his wand and he sent a wave of snow sailing towards the younger boy. Artie yelled and dropped, trying to cover his face as a foot of snow dropped on his head.

“Not fair!” He yelled. “I can’t use magic!”

“Then I guess you’ll have to aim very, very well,” Harry said with a grin. Artie gave him a look of mock indignation before rolling to his feet. He gave Harry a wry grin as he began preparing his next round of ammunition.

* * *

Their snowball fight lasted most of the afternoon; and much to Harry’s embarrassment, Artie somehow managed to win. The two retreated to Grimmauld Place to mugs of steaming hot chocolate and played wizard’s chess late into the night. Later, after Artie had gone to bed Harry lay wide awake, staring at the darkened ceiling of his bedroom. He allowed his thoughts to drift over to Hermione, silently wondering what she was up to. His gaze flickered to the small box wrapped for her underneath their tree – after three days of searching to no avail, Harry had begged and cajoled Ginny into giving him some gift giving advice. Nerves wracked his body – what if she didn’t like it? What if she thought he was being too forward? It was these thoughts that eventually accompanied Harry to his restless sleep.

The next day did not go much better. Harry found himself rushing back and forth across the house, trying to allocate his time between cleaning and cooking. He mentally cursed himself for failing to ask Dobby’s help in this – he was not a bad cook, but he’d never tried a Christmas dinner before. His Aunt Petunia had never trusted him that much.

Now he was standing there, his head in the oven as he prodded the turkey with a long fork. From the pale appearance of the exterior, Harry had a sneaking suspicion that he had forgotten to do something. He glanced at his watch and grimaced. Hermione was due in a half hour.

“Can we open our presents now?” Artie’s voice chimed behind him. Harry closed his eyes, gritting his teeth together as he turned to look at the younger boy. Artie had not liked the fact that Harry wouldn’t let him open his presents until Hermione arrived, and now seemed intent on annoying him by asking the same question every three minutes.

“In an hour,” Harry said through gritted teeth, pulling the oven mitt off his left hand and touching the turkey. It was still cold to the touch.

“I don’t understand this,” Harry muttered, backing out of the oven door. “I followed the directions exactly,” he grumbled, slamming the door shut.

“Did you turn it on?” Artie asked, hopping from leg to leg. Harry leveled an icy gaze at the younger boy.

“Of course I turned it …,” Harry glanced over at the dial for the oven. It was set to off.

“Da…” Harry started to swear, clenching his teeth at the last minute when he remembered Artie was present. Instead, he threw his oven mitt across the kitchen. How stupid could I be?

“Harry?”

Harry spun around, his eyes widening in panic as Hermione stepped into the kitchen, holding an oven mitt in her left hand, a bemused expression on her face. Artie clasped a hand over his mouth, stifling a giggle and Harry gave him a dirty look, sending the younger wizard scrambling for the exit.

“Lose something?” Hermione asked, smiling as she brushed Harry aside. Harry simply stared at her, jaw agape as she peeked inside the oven. “I thought I’d come over a bit early and see if you needed some help,” she added, arching an eyebrow as she caught sight of the barely thawed turkey. “I see I should have come sooner.”

“I had it under control,” Harry grumbled, grabbing the potholder from Hermione’s hand and storming across the kitchen. He began opening the cupboards, searching for anything that he could try to turn into an edible meal.

Hermione stifled a smile, crossing the kitchen and resting a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Maybe you should let me take over,” she said, earning an icy gaze from her friend.

* * *

“I have to admit, this is the most unusual Christmas dinner I’ve had in a long time,” Harry said.

The three of them had gathered on the rug in front of the fireplace. Two boxes of half-finished pizzas – one turkey, the other ham – were stationed a meter away from the group.

“I like it,” Artie said, peeling off a gooey piece of cheese and dangling it above his mouth.

“Great,” Harry muttered, “I’ll remember to screw up dinner more often.”

“Come on, Harry,” Hermione said, taking a delicate bite of a ham-topped pizza. “This isn’t that bad.”

“No, it’s not,” Harry admitted. “We’re just lucky we found that one place open.”

Artie seemed to inhale his last piece of pizza, looking expectantly at Harry. “Now can we open presents?”

Harry rolled his eyes, giving Hermione a knowing look. She stifled a smirk and nodded her head a fraction of an inch. Then Harry gave Artie a slight nod. The boy let out a whoop and immediately ran for the Christmas tree.

Fifteen minutes later, the three of them sat surrounded by mounds of wrapping paper. So far, Harry had opened up a pair of thick, woolen socks (courtesy of Dobby), a maroon sweater and a book on childrearing from Mrs. Weasley, a broom service kit from Artie, a package of gags and jokes from Fred and George’s shop, and some books on Quidditch and fighting the dark arts from Hermione. Artie had a small mound of gifts, including enough gags and jokes from Fred and George to last a lifetime (Harry grimaced on that one), some magazines and chocolates from his Gryffindor friends Amelia and Todd, a sweater and assortment of baked goods from Mrs. Weasley, and a brand new wizards chess set from Hermione.

“Hey, what’s this?” Artie asked, pulling out one of the last remaining gifts from under the tree. Harry’s eyes widened and his throat ran dry as the younger boy grabbed the final present under the tree – Harry’s gift. Hermione gave Harry a questioning look, but his attention was focused on Artie as he nodded to the gift.

“Open it,” Harry said, his throat dry. Artie gave him a curious look, but nodded and began unwrapping the gift.

Harry had spent the past few weeks collecting all the pictures he could find from friends and family of Ron and Luna. Thinking that Artie might like something to remember his parents by, he’d send out owls to practically all of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. They hadn’t disappointed. As a result, Harry had been able to compile a photo album full of pictures of his family.

Artie’s eyes widened as he began to comprehend what his gift was. He stared at Harry in amazement for a moment, and then a smile broke out across his face. He scrambled to his knees and hurriedly crossed the floor. Harry felt his breath catch when Artie’s arms wrapped around his middle and the boy delivered a fierce hug. For a moment he sat in stunned silence; then, hesitantly he wrapped his arms around Artie. He glanced at Hermione, who had a hand clasped over her mouth. Her eyes seemed unusually bright.

Finally Artie pulled away, looking at Harry with an inquisitive gaze. “Tell me what the pictures are?”

Harry nodded, and the raven-haired wizard stood to his feet while Artie raced for the couch. He extended a hand towards Hermione, giving her a weak smile. She was positively beaming. Together, the two adults made their way to the couch, taking a seat on either side of Artie. The younger boy promptly pushed the photo album into Harry’s lap, and Harry allowed his hand to brush over the picture of Ron and Luna he’d gotten from Seamus Finnegan.

Oh Ron, Harry thought to himself. I wish you could be here for this.

Inhaling deeply, Harry slowly opened the album to the first page, a smile crossing his face as his gaze fell upon the first picture.

“Well now, this was taken during our fifth year, shortly after your father had become keeper…”

* * *

Hours later, long after Artie’s eyelids had begun to droop and Harry had carried the sleeping child to his bedroom; two adults sat on the couch, enjoying the late hours of the evening.

“That gift was perfect, Harry,” Hermione mumbled as she leaned against him, staring at the flickering tendrils of fire that danced in the fireplace. Harry smiled, resting his chin on her forehead.

“I remember when Hagrid got me a photo album with pictures of my mum and dad,” Harry said quietly. “I thought Artie might enjoy the same.”

Hermione nodded but said nothing in response. They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, staring at the embers of a dying fire. Suddenly, Harry realized that he’d not yet given Hermione her gift.

“Ooph, Hermione,” Harry muttered, shifting his weight as his hand reached inside his pocket. He hadn’t put her gift under the tree – though why he wasn’t quite certain. What had seemed like a perfectly rational fear at the time now seemed completely illogical.

“I … um … I meant to give you this but I forgot and well I hope you like it and ...” Harry said quickly, his face turning bright red, “… and stuff.”

He quickly pulled out the chain from his pocket, dangling it in front of Hermione. Ginny had helped him pick it out from a jewelry store in Hogsmeade. A tiny diamond-studded locket, intricately carved in the shape of a snitch, hung from the gold chain.

Hermione gasped, and for a second Harry contemplated apologizing profusely. She doesn’t like it, a sinister voice in his mind chided him. She doesn’t even really like Quidditch. His throat went dry and his face began to redden from embarrassment.

“I love it,” Hermione whispered, reaching out with her right hand to brush the tiny gem.

“I mean you … you can take it back to the store and stuff and I …” Harry let his voice trail off as his mind finally processed his best friend’s statement. “You … you like it?”

Hermione smacked him playfully, taking the locket and opening it. Inside Harry had put a picture of him, Hermione, and Ron taken back during their first year. Hermione’s eyes began to water, as she brushed a finger over the picture.

“It’s perfect,” she whispered, closing the locket tenderly. Her fingers deftly made their way to the clasp of the necklace and she quickly unhooked it and fastened the jewelry around her neck. The light from the fireplace glinted off the tiny diamonds, sending beams of rainbow light bouncing in every direction.

Relief flooded his body as Hermione threw her arms around Harry in a hug, and quickly Harry wrapped his hands around her, resting his chin on the top of her head.

“Thank you,” Hermione whispered quietly. Harry felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth as he kissed the top of her hair gently.

“It’s the least I could do,” Harry mumbled, his heart thudding with relief. She liked it. She really liked it. “After all I’ve been such a prat…”

Hermione stiffened in the hug. Immediately Harry began cursing himself. You just had to remind her of that, didn’t you, the voice chided again. Harry felt his heart fall as Hermione slowly pulled away from him, her chocolate-colored eyes meeting his as her face searched his for answers.

“Why did you leave, Harry,” Hermione whispered quietly. Harry felt his breath catch in his throat as he met his friend’s solemn gaze.

You’ll never be able to protect her, Potter. As long as my followers live, they will never stop hunting you…

Harry’s right hand squeezed into a fist as the words replayed over and over in his mind. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the memory – the memory that had haunted him for the past decade…

* * *

Hogwarts, Graduation Day, 10 years earlier…

The darkness was suffocating.

Harry Potter squinted against the towering columns of black smoke, trying in vain to pick out a few familiar voices among the screaming and wailing of the crowds. No one had believed that Voldemort would have picked today, of all days to attack. No one except Harry, and perhaps Dumbledore.

A dark cloud had passed over the sun, casting a dark shadow over the podium where Hermione was giving her final speech as Head Girl. Naturally, everyone’s eyes had gone to the sun, wondering if a sudden rainstorm would disrupt the otherwise peaceful proceedings.

Harry had immediately recognized that the shadow had not been cast by a cloud. Rather, the shadow was a swarm of Deatheaters – hundreds, maybe thousands, perhaps. A few screams erupted from the crowd as people began to flee from the Quidditch Pitch. That was until fire seemed to spring out of nowhere, encircling the captive audience and barring any possibility of escape.

Now the sky was thick with dark smoke, and Harry found himself on his hands and knees, trying to stay beneath the rancid air. He’d long since lost track of Ron and Hermione, though he never stopped looking for either of them. Out in the distance he could see flashes of light – spells whizzing overhead between the teachers and the Deatheaters. Once or twice Harry had thought he’d caught a glimpse of Dumbledore, moving with inhuman speed as he sent spells swirling in all directions.

“Ginny! Where are you?” Mrs. Weasley’s voice called through the darkness. Harry’s head immediately snapped up and he began moving in the general path of the voice. Thoughts of Voldemort immediately fled his mind – he hadn’t been seen anywhere. If he had, he had obviously taken to ignoring Harry, which seemed impossible in Harry’s mind. It was easier to believe that this attack was a mere ruse. Not much easier, but easier.

Then a chilling scream exploded from the darkness about 10 meters to Harry’s left.

Hermione…

Harry scrambled to his feet, tears burning his face where the smoke stung his eyes. He pushed chairs and people aside, not bothering to come to the aid of any one of the hundreds of dead or dying people scattered on his path. His mind was completely focused on the cries of the one person who mattered more than anyone else.

Lunging through the fiery fence that blackened the edge of the pitch, Harry burst into sunlight and fell to his knees, coughing and choking on the fresh oxygen as he searched for the woman he loved.

In the distance, Harry could make out Draco Malfoy, sprinting at top speed to the Forbidden Forest. Instantly Harry decided that Draco was the one who had harmed Hermione, and a second later he was on his feet, sprinting towards the tree line.

Sprinting, that was, until someone tackled him from behind, pinning him to the ground.

“Find Granger, Potter,” Snape hissed, rolling off Harry and scrambling to his feet. “Let me deal with Draco.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed to slits as he watched Snape sprint towards the woods. Scrambling to his feet, and ensuring his wand remained intact, Harry began running to the woods when a familiar piece of fabric caught the corner of his eyes. He immediately slowed, jogging in a loop towards the fabric. His heart fell as he skidded to a stop beside the fabric, dropping to his knees. Angry tears welled in his eyes.

It was Hermione’s Head Girl patch.

“No…” Harry whispered, punching his fist into the ground beside the patch. There was no doubt in his mind as to who had taken her.

“Voldemort!” Harry screamed into the air. He reached for the patch with his left hand, curling his fingers around the fabric. Almost instantly he felt a tug behind his navel as he tumbled into darkness.

He landed rather painfully on his left knee on a hard wood floor, lurching forward and landing on the left side of his face. He heard the snap as his glasses shattered, splinters scraping into the side of his face.

Wincing, Harry slowly pushed against the ground, scrambling to his knees as he fumbled for his wand. Relief flooded his body as he felt the familiar handle settle into his hand, and after muttering a quick spell to mend his glasses, he wiped the grime off his face and glanced around.

The place he was in was dark – and from the makeup of the furniture it looked like a house – one that had long been abandoned. For a second Harry allowed himself to think he might have been transported to the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade; but instantly he dismissed that idea. This place felt different.

Harry scrambled to his feet, glancing over the plastic-covered furniture as he made his way through the house. He held his wand in front of body, trying to move silently across the squeaky, dust-covered floor. He was met with limited success. Then he rounded a corner and all color left his face.

There was Hermione – lying unconscious on a couch.

In two steps Harry had crossed the ten or so feet separating them, dropping to his knees by Hermione’s side. Tentatively, Harry lifted a hand and brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face. Angry tears burned his eyes as his fingertips brushed her cold skin.

“Sad, isn’t it?”

Fury coursed through his veins as Harry gripped the handle of his wand so tightly his knuckles turned white. He pushed himself to his feet, narrowing his eyes as he turned to face the hooded figure that had intruded upon them.

“Voldemort,” Harry hissed in a low voice, leveling his wand at the dark wizard.

A cruel smile slithered across the dark man’s snake-like visage, his slit-like eyes narrowing in contempt for the younger wizard who stood between him and the unconscious witch on the couch.

“It’s always the innocent ones that get hurt, isn’t it, Harry. First your parents – your mother died on that very spot you stood – did you know that?”

Harry swallowed a lump in his throat as the anger billowed in his body. “You brought me here? To the place where you murdered my parents?”

Voldemort smiled. “Indeed. This is where it began, young Harry. And this is where it will end.”

“You better believe it,” Harry hissed, raising his wand to Voldemort’s chest. “Avada Kedavra,” Harry screamed. A jet of green light sailed out of his wand, but much to Harry’s chagrin it dissipated inches away from Voldemort.

“You’re a foolish boy, Harry Potter, if you think that I would once more allow myself to be defeated by the likes of you.”

“Expelliarmus!” Harry screamed, and again a jet of light sailed out of his wand. This time Voldemort did not dodge, taking the blast of magic to his chest. Harry’s eyes widened in surprise as the Dark Lord flew back across the room, hitting the wall with a loud thump.

Behind him, Hermione groaned. Harry’s head snapped around, his wide eyes leveling on her unconscious form. A small trickle of blood trailed from the corner of her mouth.

“Ah,” Voldemort rasped. “So now Mr. Potter realizes the truth. You may be able to kill me, Mr. Potter. But you will also kill her in the process.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do?”

Voldemort smirked. “An ancient and most effective spell,” he said, his voice carrying a sinister air. “In essence, I have bound the mudblood’s fate with mine. Every spell you cast on me will also affect her,” he continued, his smile widening at Harry’s horror-struck look. “A most effective trap, if I say so myself.”

Harry took a step back. It’s over, he thought to himself. I can’t kill him, or I’ll kill her. And if I don’t kill him, he will kill me and everyone will die. He inhaled sharply and snapped his wand towards Voldemort’s chest, his hand shaking so badly it was hard to keep it pointed in the dark wizard’s direction.

Voldemort arched an eyebrow. “You’ll do it, then?” he asked. “Do it, but be sure to say goodbye to your friend before you try. It will be the last time you see her alive.”

No! Harry’s mind screamed, the angry energy radiating from his body. Indecision crept through his heart, and for a second Harry’s mind faltered.

It’s over…

Everyone had put their hopes on him. In his mind’s eye he could see the horrified expression on the faces of his friends when they received word of his death and Voldemort’s rise to power. But they’d been wrong. Dumbledore had been wrong.

Harry couldn’t kill Voldemort.

Slowly, Harry lowered his wand, the wand slipping from his fingertips and bouncing once against the hardwood floor before rolling to a stop by the Dark Lord’s feet. A cruel smile crossed Voldemort’s features, but Harry didn’t notice it. The young wizard dropped to his knees beside Hermione’s side, drawing the unconscious woman in his arms as he rocked back and forth.

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” Harry whispered, tears stinging his cheeks and rolling into her mahogany hair. A sob shook his shoulder as he pulled her body tight against his chest. “I can’t do it. I’m sorry. I can’t kill him if it means killing you too.”

If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love…

Dumbledore’s words echoed in Harry’s mind as the agony spread across his body. He lowered his lips to Hermione’s forehead, brushing her warm skin with his tear-soaked lips.

Warm skin…

“An interesting choice,” Voldemort’s harsh voice interrupted the private moment. “Dumbledore would be so disappointed. A shame you won’t live to see it.” Voldemort leaned down, picking up Harry’s wand in his right hand. With a cruel smirk, he pressed his thumb against the thin rod, increasing the amount of pressure exerted until Harry’s wand snapped in two.

…cannot understand, it is love…

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered quietly to Hermione, the sound of Voldemort’s evil voice fading into the distance until the only people Harry could sense were himself and Hermione.

There is a room in the Department of Mysteries that is kept locked at all times. It contains a force at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than forces of nature. It is also, perhaps, the most mysterious of the many subjects for study that reside there. It is the power held within this room that you possess in such quantities and Voldemort has not at all. That power took you to save Sirius tonight. That power saved you from possession by Voldemort, because he could not bear to reside in a body so full of the force he detests…

“Now, Harry Potter, it is time for you to die.”

…love…

“Don’t leave me, Hermione,” Harry whispered quietly.

“Avada Kedavra!”

Green light shot out of the end of Voldemort’s wand, shooting across the room to where Harry sat, cradling the woman he loved. The spell came within millimeters of hitting Harry, before crashing into a barrier of light so brilliant it nearly blinded both of the wizards in the room. Harry’s eyes squeezed shut as he leaned over Hermione’s body, shielding her from the scorching heat of the light. In the corner of his mind, Harry registered the sound of Voldemort’s shill shriek as the light swallowed up his spell, separating the distance until it encompassed the whole of the dark lord’s body.

That’s it Harry, Sirius’s voice whispered in his mind. Hang in there.

Harry’s scar burned in agony.

It’s almost over Harry, his mother’s voice whispered against his ear. Be strong.

“I love you, Hermione,” Harry whispered, tightening his grip around the younger witch as the pain shot through his body. Harry clenched his teeth together as his insides churned, fighting the feeling that he was being boiled alive.

You did it, Harry, his father’s voice whispered in the back of his mind. We’re so proud of you.

The pain finally released Harry, and he slumped forward, his forehead hitting the ground as his body went limp. Slowly the nerve cells in his body began to release him from the throes of agony, but his muscles felt heavy – as if they’d exerted all the force they could muster, and now had nothing left to give.

His grip on Hermione slackened, and Harry rolled onto his side, staring numbly at the fallen figure of Voldemort, who was breathing through heavy gasps. His face had been horribly disfigured beyond recognition, burned so badly in places his skin was actually black. Still, his hateful eyes glared daggers at Harry.

“This is not over, Harry,” Voldemort rasped, a trickle of blood snaking out of the corner of his mouth. “You may have beaten me, but you’ll never be able to protect her, Potter. As long as my followers live, they will never stop hunting you.”

With a ragged gasp Voldemort took his final breath. Harry felt the darkness clouding his vision until all went black.

* * *

Present day…

“I always wondered how you finally beat him,” Hermione whispered from her position on the couch. Her body was half turned on the comfortable seat, her head resting against the back as Harry told his story.

Harry nodded, looking down at the ground, “Dumbledore was right, in a way. There was one thing that I had that Voldemort could not understand – something he did not possess. Something that he could not touch.”

“That still doesn’t explain how I managed to live,” Hermione said, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“It didn’t make sense to me either. Not until Dumbledore came to talk to me.”

* * *

St. Mungo’s, one week after the end of the Dark War.

Harry heard the footsteps echo in the back of his mind, struggling to open his eyes to see who was coming. It felt like someone had attached bags of sand to each of his eyelids.

“I was told I might be able to find you here,” Dumbledore’s warm voice echoed through Harry’s mind. Groggily, sat up, blinking a few times as he tried to orient himself. He was in Hermione’s hospital room. He glanced down at the mahogany-haired witch. She was still sleeping.

“Where are Mr. and Mrs. Granger?” Harry muttered, slowly releasing his grip on Hermione’s hand and rubbing his eyes tiredly.

“I believe they left to get something to eat,” Dumbledore said, pulling a chair beside Harry and looking down at Hermione with concern. The aged wizard rested a hand on the unconscious woman’s forehead, as if to reassure himself of something; then gave a satisfied nod.

“She will be fine, Harry,” Dumbledore said quietly. Harry shook his head incredulously.

“Voldemort said he bound his fate to hers. If he died she was supposed to die,” Harry protested, feeling the all-too-familiar ache in his heart.

“Not quite, Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore said with a small grin. “While it is true that Voldemort cast a spell on Ms. Granger to keep you from casting the killing curse on him; I’m afraid his plans backfired.”

“But I saw him die!” Harry protested, anger welling up in his body.

“Think carefully,” Dumbledore said, nonplussed. “How did he die?”

Harry frowned. “Well, there was a bright light and I heard some voices and then it looked like he got swallowed by it and …”

Dumbledore raised a hand. “Precisely,” he said. “Voldemort did not die of any of his own dark powers, but because he finally touched something that was so powerful he could not possibly exist in its presence. It was this power that eventually consumed him.”

Harry felt his throat dry as he looked at Hermione. “But she’s just laying there.”

“I suspect that once Ms. Granger has gotten an appropriate amount of sleep, she will wake up on her own accord,” Dumbledore said, rising to his feet. He clamped a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I am very proud of you, Harry. You have saved us all.”

Harry nodded, numbly looking at Hermione. “It doesn’t feel any different,” he remarked.

“I suspect the shock has not yet sunk in,” Dumbledore said. “Give it some time. I suspect by the time you leave for training, you will finally realize the great gift you have given us all.”

Training…

Harry’s eyes jerked up, meeting Dumbledore’s gaze. “The other Deatheaters. Did they survive?”

Dumbledore gave Harry a sad smile. “Many died during Voldemort’s final attack – good and bad. Unfortunately, it will take some time to eliminate the remnants of Voldemort’s army.”

You will never be able to protect her…

Dumbledore gave Harry’s shoulder a light squeeze, silently leaving the room. Harry sat in silent contemplation, staring the sleeping witch, his mind racing.

They will never stop hunting you…

“I won’t let them hurt you, Hermione,” Harry whispered softly, brushing his lips against hers. “I promise.”

* * *

Present day…

Harry lifted his chin, tears clouding his vision as he met Hermione’s gaze. To his surprise, Hermione’s eyes were wet with tears too.

“I left at the end of the week for training,” Harry whispered quietly. “Kingsley offered to grant me an extended leave … but I couldn’t just sit there and give the Deatheaters time to regroup and kill you and Ron and everyone else. So I left. I thought about you, every day I did. I told myself that as soon as I had tracked down their leader, I would come home – that I would come back to you.”

A tear rolled down Harry’s cheek as he glanced at the ground. “I didn’t mean for it to be so long. I’m so sorry Hermione.” He closed his eyes, trying to stifle the wave of emotion that seemed to throw his body into turmoil.

A ragged sob escaped from Hermione’s mouth as she leaned against Harry, wrapping her arms around him and crying softly into his chest. Harry did not bother to stifle the pain anymore and felt it erupt in droves, pressing his tear-stained cheeks against her soft hair as they mourned for the time lost.

It seemed to last forever, but finally Harry gathered enough of his composure to draw the smaller woman against his body. Hermione sniffed, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder as they stared at the dying embers of the fire. Harry felt his throat go dry as he tried to clear his head and regain coherent thought, but all he could think about was the time he had wasted and how badly he wanted to make it up to Hermione.

“Will you stay tonight?” Harry whispered, his voice surprisingly hoarse. He felt Hermione stiffen; and his heart fell a bit as he looked on her dubious expression.

“Harry, I just don’t…” she allowed her voice to trail off. Harry closed his eyes quickly, fighting off the angry tears as he nodded.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,” Harry whispered quickly, kissing her gently on her forehead before fleeing the room quickly. Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered Hermione’s concerned call, but he quickly shoved it away as he fled to his room and crawled under his covers.

It didn’t matter … nothing he said could make a difference. He had left, and she was never going to forgive him for that.

A sob erupted from his lips and Harry buried his head in the pillow, silencing it immediately as he gripped the sheets in his knuckles – trying to smother the pain that threatened to envelope him.

The door opened, and for a second Harry was tempted to yell at Artie to leave. But somehow he knew that yelling at Artie wasn’t going to change anything – it wouldn’t change things between him and Hermione.

But before he could turn over onto his back to make sure everything was okay, Harry felt a cool breeze pass over his body as the covers were drawn back and a weight settle on the bed.

“Harry?”

The voice did not belong to Artie.

Harry pulled his head out of the pillow, glancing at the womanly figure that slid underneath the covers next to him. Harry’s mouth opened as his mind tried to process what was happening, but before he could utter coherent thought, Hermione’s forefinger pressed against his open mouth.

“Shh,” she whispered, closing the distance between them as she captured his lips in a tender kiss.

It was the last coherent thought Harry had that evening.

Title: Father’s Day

Rating: R

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and associated characters are owned by J.K.R.; Warner Bros.; Raincoast Books; and/or Scholastic books.

Author’s Notes: I’m glad I got such positive response from my last chapter. I estimate there are probably another 5 or 6 chapters left in this story. I’m still not 100 percent sure. Updates will probably come slower now – school is starting to pick up pace so my time is limited.

Chapter 10: Rough Departures

Harry Potter rolled on his stomach, a happy grin crossing his face as his arm came into contact with bare skin. He was tired – more tired than he’d been during all his years of chasing Dark Wizards – but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“What are you laughing about, Mr. Potter?”

Harry opened his eyes, his blurry vision settling on the petite form of the woman across from him. His left hand shifted uncomfortably towards the bed stand until his fingertips closed around the bridge of his glasses, and he pulled them on. His focus sharpened on the form of his best friend. Hermione was staring at him, a bemused expression on her face. The blankets covering her were slipping dangerously low, barely protecting her modesty – not that it mattered much, anymore. Harry smiled, slipping his fingertips beneath the blankets, slowly creeping their way across the mattress until they came to rest on the bare skin of her hip. His grin broadened as the brown-haired witch gave a slight shudder at his skin came into contact with hers.

“Honestly Harry, you are positively insatiable.”

“Me? What about you Miss Let’s-Sneak-To-Professor-Potter’s-Bedroom-On-A-Nightly-Basis-and-give-the-school-something-to-really-talk-about…” Harry winced as Hermione smacked him on the bicep. She drew the sheet across her chest as she began to move out of the bed, shaking her head lightly in mock indignation.

“Well, if you don’t enjoy it, I can always find better ways to occupy my evenings,” Hermione chastised. Harry snapped his wrist out with seeker-like reflexes and grabbed her right wrist in his hand.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he whined, rolling onto his back and giving her a light pout. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“I’m going to get dressed and return to my quarters. I do have lessons to prepare, you know.”

“It’s Saturday.”

“All the reason to prepare them now. I’ve fallen dangerously behind ever since we returned from break three weeks ago. You are a bad influence on me, Mr. Potter.”

Harry jerked on her wrist, pulling Hermione back onto the bed and onto his chest. She gave a slight “oomph” as she fell against him, and Harry fiercely captured her lips with his own.

“Now who’s complaining?” Harry whispered, his hand still clamped on her wrist as he wriggled his hips against hers. Hermione gritted her teeth, narrowing her gaze for a fraction of a moment as her hips came into contact with his. Then a sickly sweet smile crossed her face and she stared at Harry’s face mischievously.

“Why Mr. Potter, whatever would Headmistress McGonagall say if she could see you trying to seduce one of her instructors?”

Harry groaned, releasing Hermione’s wrist and rolling onto his side. His arms wrapped around his middle as he feigned sickness. “You really know how to kill a guy’s mood.”

The mahogany-haired witch smirked in triumph, gathering the covers around her body again. Harry leveled his emerald gaze on hers, his eyes narrowing as he jerked the covers forcefully out of her hands and lunged for her, pinning her beneath his body.

“Now you’re going to have to erase that mental image, Granger,” Harry whispered, giving her shoulder a light nip. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Honestly Harry, don’t you think that the Headmistress had her fair share of suitors during her younger years?”

Ouch, I deserved that, Harry winced inwardly. Groaning he rolled off Hermione and onto his stomach.

“Fine, go ahead and work – it’s only a Saturday. I’m sure I can find more entertaining things to do – like hold Artie’s hand while he tries to get on the broom.”

“I’m certain he’d enjoy spending some time with you,” Hermione said, pulling on her jeans. “He’s barely been able to look at us after that … incident the day after Christmas.”

Harry smiled. The incident referred to Artie’s impromptu walk-in on him and Hermione the morning after Christmas. Though nothing had been going on at the moment, he’d caught them in a fairly compromising position that had brought a blush to Hermione’s face only a few shades lighter than Artie’s – whose face strongly resembled a ripe tomato.”

“He never did come into the room without knocking again,” Harry pointed out, though he secretly felt badly for the boy – he didn’t want to think about what would have run through his mind if he’d stormed in on Mr. and Mrs. Weasley … Harry shuddered. Hermione rolled her eyes as she began buttoning up her white blouse.

“I still think you should spend some time with him. You don’t want him to get jealous of our relationship, do you?” Hermione asked as Harry rolled out of the bed, little goose bumps forming on his flesh from the chill air of his bedroom. In a couple of strides he closed the distance him and Hermione, his hands clasping over hers as he gave her a mischievous grin.

“Here, let me help you with that,” he said, his fingertips working deftly to finish buttoning up the remnants of her blouse. Hermione rolled her eyes, smiling at Harry as he finished help getting her dressed.

“Thank you, Harry, but I think I can get dressed on my own,” she chastised lightly. Harry’s grin broadened, being fully aware of Hermione’s capabilities but relishing the opportunity to fluster the younger woman. He dipped his head down, brushing his lips lightly against hers. His grin broadened as her breath caught in her throat, fully aware that she could feel his body pressed against her. Then, just as quickly, he ended the kiss, his eyes twinkling as he stared at her slightly parted lips and blush-tinged cheeks.

“I know, but I wanted to remind you that I have many talents, not all of which you have discovered,” Harry whispered, suppressing the urge to laugh as Hermione’s cheeks grew even redder at the insinuation.

The urge was short lived. In less than a second Hermione’s lips crashed to his, surprising Harry as she kissed him with renewed further. Waves of shock and pleasure rippled through his body as he felt Hermione push him back to the bed, climbing atop of him as she regarded him with a slight smile.

“Now you’ve got me curious as to what you’ve been holding back, Mr. Potter,” she said with a seductive grin, canting her hips just slightly and drawing a groan from Harry. He squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment, gathering his composure before his hands slid around the waist of her jeans.

“With a request like that, how can I refuse?” Harry said, pulling her mouth against his as he kissed her again…

…only to be interrupted by the sound of a knocking on his doorway.

“Oh bloody hell,” Harry muttered as Hermione rolled off of him, a furious blush crossing her features. She quickly began straightening her blouse as Harry fumbled for his bathrobe and hastily threw it on.

“Harry,” Hermione hissed warningly. “You cannot answer the door like that!”

“Why not?” Harry protested. “It’s just Artie,” he muttered, watching as Hermione snuck out of view of the doorway the moment he threw it open, revealing a wide-eyed and furiously blushing Amelia. Harry felt his face pale slightly. Oh for the love of…

“I – I’m I’m sorry to wake you up – I mean I just – I thought – you might want to remember you were supposed to meet with Artie – and – um…” she said this all very quickly, staring at the floor the entire time.

Harry’s initial shock faded as horror flooded his body. He was supposed to meet with Artie today! Hurriedly, Harry glanced at his watch – half hour late already. Harry bit back the string of curses that came to mind as he gave Amelia a slight nod.

“Thank you. Can you tell Artie I’ll be right there?” He asked. Amelia nodded, practically racing back down the hallway as if she could not get away fast enough. Harry closed the door, muttering a few curses under his breath as his green-eyed gaze fell on Hermione. She shook her head lightly.

“You’re going to ruin the relationship you have with him if you keep this up,” Hermione chastised.

“I know, I know,” Harry muttered as he scrambled throw on yesterday’s clothes.

* * *

Harry sprinted to the spot where he and Artie usually met. It was a small clearing on the northernmost edge of the Hogwarts grounds. Harry had chosen this place because it was far enough from prying eyes to give him and Artie a much needed bit of privacy, yet close enough to the school that they could both make it with a relatively short walk. Of course, now Harry was taking it at a dead run, he made it in a matter of five minutes – though he thought his lungs might explode from the exertion.

Artie was sitting on a fallen log, his back to Harry. Resting against the rotting log was the handle of Harry’s broom.

“You’re late again,” Artie said, not bothering to look at Harry.

“Sorry,” Harry gasped between ragged breaths. “Won’t happen again.”

“That’s what you said the last time,” Artie mumbled, though it was a bit of a strain for Harry to hear it. Pressing a hand to the jabbing pain in his side, Harry winced as he stood up. He opened his mouth to apologize again to Artie, but before he could say anything, Artie stood up and grabbed the Firebolt.

“Let’s get this over with,” he muttered, swinging a leg over the handle and looking at Harry. Harry arched an eyebrow at Artie’s sudden enthusiasm, but shrugged it off as nodded. A second later Artie had pushed off cautiously, circling the ground at around five feet. Harry nodded, impressed that Artie had made such strides.

“Why not try a little higher,” Harry asked. Artie gave him a quick glance, his face paling, and Harry frowned, reaching into his pocket, pulling out a Rememberall he’d purchased the last time he was at Diagon Alley. “Here, catch.”

Artie’s eyes widened as the sphere went sailing towards him. The young wizard twisted his body a bit, his left hand gripping the handle of his broom in a death grip as his right hand caught the Rememberall. A smile crossed Harry’s face as Artie caught the device.

“What was that for?” Artie said with a frown. Harry’s grin broadened.

“Look at your hands.”

Artie glanced down, his eyes widening as he saw he’d inadvertently moved up to catch the Rememberall. Harry watched as a smile crept its way across Artie’s face.

“I did it,” Artie whispered, his eyes filled with awe. Harry simply nodded and watched, partly in surprise, partly in wonder, as Artie tugged the nose of the broom up higher, his eyes widening as he rose another three feet. He was now hovering roughly a foot above Harry’s head level.

“Yes, you did,” Harry said with a grin. Artie grinned back, his anger at Harry apparently forgotten as he made slow circles with the broom, circling higher and higher until he was a good twenty feet off the ground. Harry leaned against the shade of a willow tree, watching the younger boy with a smile. Artie leaned forward, zooming towards Harry on the Firebolt. He pulled up just short of Harry.

“Enjoying yourself, Artie?” Harry asked with a grin. A huge grin spread across Artie’s face and the young redhead nodded his head lightly. Harry couldn’t help but smile, relieved that Artie finally had gotten over his fear of the broom. It just hadn’t felt natural – Ron’s son being scared of flying.

Then Harry remembered he owed the younger boy an apology, and his smile slowly faded. “Artie,” Harry said quietly, “I’m sorry I was late today.”

The grin faded off Artie’s face as the boy slowly touched the ground again.

“You were with her again, weren’t you?” Artie said, slowly hopping off the Firebolt. Harry frowned, pursing his lips. He could lie, he supposed, but somehow he didn’t think that would be right. The Dursleys had lied to him most of his life, and Harry remembered all-too-well the feelings of betrayal when he realized the truth.

So Harry looked Artie straight in the eye, giving the younger boy a slight nod. Artie’s frown deepened.

“I knew it,” he muttered, kicking his leg back over the Firebolt. Harry opened his mouth to try to explain, but then, realizing he really didn’t have a good explanation he closed it again. Artie took off on the Firebolt, heading back towards the castle. Harry watched him disappear into the distance, offering up a little sigh as he headed back towards the castle. It was a long walk back to Hogwarts.

When Harry got back to the castle, he thought for a moment of heading to Gryffindor House and trying to speak to Artie. But he reasoned that the best thing to do at the moment would be to leave him alone. After all, he already got teased for being the godson of the famous Harry Potter. How embarrassing would it be for Harry to show up in Gryffindor house?

Instead, he made his way to Hermione’s room, secretly wondering if he would be able to pull her away from her work. A niggling voice in the back of his mind chided him for allowing his own lesson preparation to fall by the wayside, but he brushed it off. He had the entire weekend to work.

Quickly muttering the password for the statue protecting Hermione’s quarters, Harry quickly made his way down the hallway, not bothering to knock on the door to Hermione’s room.

Hermione was hunched over her desk, scribbling furiously with her quill as Harry approached her. He’d closed the distance between them to one meter when Hermione finally spoke up.

“Harry, good, you’re here.”

Harry froze, shaking his head incredulously. “How did you…?”

“You’re the only one who knows my password.”

“Oh,” Harry said, his shoulders slumping a bit. “I guess you’re right.” He stepped up behind Hermione, dropping to a knee beside her chair. He glanced over what appeared to be pages of schedules of lesson plans, stretching until the middle of the next month. A grin spread across Harry’s face – that was Hermione – always over prepared.

“Did you have a good time with Artie?” she asked, still writing on her schedule.

“He’s not scared of flying anymore,” Harry said cautiously, not quite willing to let Hermione know how upset Artie had been.

“That’s good,” Hermione said absently, pressing the back of her quill against her mouth. She slid a piece of paper underneath Harry’s hand. Harry took it, frowning as his green eyes glanced over it. Two strings of numbers were scribbled across the middle of the parchment.

“What is this?” Harry asked, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. Only when he said this did Hermione finally stop writing, drawing her eyes away from her schedule. A sly grin spread across her face.

“This is your code,” she said. Harry’s eyes widened as he glanced from the paper back to Hermione and back to the paper again.

“The code! The one the Deatheater was carrying?”

At Hermione’s nod, Harry’s face broke into a broad smile and he swept her up, twirling her around in a hug.

“You’re absolutely brilliant … How did you … no, wait, I probably don’t want to know,” Harry said, thinking that any explanation from Hermione on how she cracked the code would take longer to explain than one of Professor Binn’s lectures, and probably would make less sense.

“It wasn’t easy,” Hermione said sheepishly. “The code was actually written backwards and upside down, so until I saw its reflection in a mirror I didn’t recognize that it was based on a Celtic rune pattern from the third century.”

Harry stared at Hermione, shaking his head. “How did you figure that out?”

Hermione blushed. “Well, it was a bit of luck, I guess.”

The raven-haired wizard shook his head. “Less luck than your brilliance, I imagine. Great, we can take this to Kingsley right away!”

The mahogany-haired witch stepped back. “What do you mean ‘we’? I can’t possibly go today Harry. I’m months behind on my lesson plans and I have to prepare for next Monday’s staff meeting.”

“But Hermione, that’s not until Monday!”

“Yes,” Hermione said, impatience etched in her voice. “And that’s why I have to start preparing now.”

“Kingsley will want to speak with you,” Harry protested, though he realized that most of Kingsley’s correspondence could take place via owls. “He’ll have questions about the code.”

“Harry, I don’t know anything more than what I’ve told you,” Hermione said testily, drawing back from Harry. Her chocolate gaze flickered over his. “I’m a teacher, not an Auror. My primary responsibility is to Hogwarts and my students.”

“But …”

“This is not up for discussion,” Hermione cut him off, her voice raised a bit. Harry’s mouth clamped shut, and he gripped the parchment tightly in his right hand, but he nodded.

“Fine,” Harry said curtly, inwardly wincing at how harsh his voice sounded. It’s not her fault, he told himself, trying to stifle anger he felt at her lack of enthusiasm for finding Ron’s killer. It was irrational, he knew. Hermione wanted to find the person as badly as Harry did. She’s just stressed, he thought. She’s been under a lot of pressure lately.

Still, he didn’t offer an apology and he didn’t say another word as he left the room.

* * *

Kingsley’s desk even messier than he remembered it, if that was at all possible. Harry could barely see the graying wizard over the stacks of wanted posters and parchments and letters of correspondence.

“Harry, am I glad to see you,” Kingsley said, his voice strangely muffled. A moment later Harry found out why. Kingsley had at least three quills stuck in his mouth as he rummaged through the drawer of his desk. A second later he emerged and handed Harry a piece of parchment.

Harry frowned, scanning over the parchment briefly. It appeared to be a correspondence between two Deatheaters, though Harry was not positive how it’d been intercepted. He glanced at Kingsley, who pulled the quills out of his mouth.

“We think these orders come from the source of the Deatheater’s funding,” Kingsley said. Harry’s eyes widened. These orders were not just from any Deatheater – they were from the head of the Deatheaters.

“This is fantastic,” Harry said, excitement bubbling through his veins. This was a huge breakthrough. A twinge of jealousy passed through his body when he realized that he would not be able to follow up on this lead – he’d give up anything to be the one who cracked the Deatheater’s main cell.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Harry piped up, handing the parchment to Kingsley. The older wizard studied the numbers with a frown.

“And this is…?”

“Hermione broke the code.”

A momentary look of confusion passed through Kingsley’s eyes; then recognition flashed. A huge grin spread across his features as he handed the parchment back to Harry.

“Good, then you can follow up on it,” Kingsley said with a grin. Harry’s eyes widened as he stared at his former supervisor.

“What did you say?” Harry asked. Had he heard Kingsley right?

“You heard me,” Kingsley said. “I’m reinstating you immediately. I need my best Auror on this case.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. “But what about Hogwarts and my teaching job? You put me on leave!”

“Yes, well that was before this breakthrough,” Kingsley said, quickly scribbling a note on a piece of parchment. A second later he folded the paper and handed it to Harry. “Give this to Minerva. I’m sure she’ll find someone else to replace you – maybe she can handle the class for the last few months.”

Harry’s mind began to swim. Excitement flooded his body at the prospects of returning to his job – the only one he’d ever wanted. This was what he had been born to do. At the same time, a guilty twinge passed through his body. Artie would not be happy about Harry leaving, but maybe he wouldn’t mind. After all, a lot of the kids teased him about having the great Harry Potter as a godfather. Maybe Artie would be better off without his guardian at Hogwarts. After all, Harry had done just fine without Sirius.

His mind flickered to Hermione. She’ll be excited, Harry thought. This will be a real chance for me to get out and find the people responsible for Ron’s death.

A warm glow spread through Harry’s body as he jumped to his feet, giving Kingsley a cursory nod before racing back to the fireplace so he could floo back to Hogwarts.

* * *

Harry’s first instinct was to run to Hermione’s room and share the good news, but first he thought that maybe he better speak to Artie. So Harry made his way to the Gryffindor common room, waving hello to the Fat Lady and hurriedly saying the password (“Chocolate Frogs”) to get inside.

Artie, Todd, and Amelia were crowded around a table, a pile of books stacked around them. Well, around Amelia mostly. Artie and Todd appeared to be tossing wads of parchment at each other.

Then Todd’s gaze flashed over to the common room entrance, and his face paled slightly. He quickly tugged on Amelia’s arm, and she gave him a sheepish, almost guilty grin. Harry made a quick mental note as she shoved a piece of parchment underneath a notebook. He ignored it for now, instead focusing his gaze at Artie, who had a strange mix of horror and embarrassment on his face at Harry’s presence.

“Can I speak to you for a moment, Artie?”

The young Gryffindor glanced at his friends, both of whom regarded him with wide-eyed stares and gave him a cursory nod. Artie grimaced, sliding off his chair and trudging his way over to Harry. Amelia quickly scooped up the books. She poked Todd, who appeared to be settling in to listen in on the conversation, and after giving her a sheepish grin, the two made their way to the dormitories.

“Artie, there’s something I want to talk to you about,” Harry said.

“I didn’t do it,” Artie said, rather quickly. Harry frowned, giving him a confused stare. What was Artie hiding?

“What do you mean, you didn’t do it?” Harry probed, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Artie’s eyes widened slightly.

“Oh, um, nothing. What did you need to talk to me about?”

Harry frowned, wondering for a moment if he should continue this line of inquiry, but then decided that could wait for another time.

“I managed to talk to my supervisor today,” Harry said quietly. “He would like me to come back to my job as an Auror.”

It was almost imperceptible, but Harry noted that Artie’s body stiffened just a bit at that revelation.

“That’s … great, Harry,” Artie said slowly; a small, forced smile coming to his face. “Will you be leaving at the end of term then?”

“Actually, he wanted me to start immediately,” Harry said slowly, a bit relieved at the smile on Artie’s face – seemingly oblivious to the negative connotation of his stance.

“But … you’re a teacher … what about your classes?” Artie stuttered, his eyes widening.

“That’s what I need to talk to Headmistress McGonagall about. It’s possible she may be able to take over for me while I work on this case.”

“So you’re leaving then,” Artie said, surprising Harry by the amount of bitterness in his voice. Harry frowned internally – why was Artie so upset? Harry knew he was bothered by the teasing from the other kids, though any time Harry offered to speak to the others, Artie blatantly refused.

“I think so,” Harry said cautiously, catching the tight squeeze of Artie’s fist in the corner of his eye. Quickly, he added, “Look at it this way – now you won’t be teased by the kids anymore about having me as a teacher.”

Artie straightened to his full height, his lips pressing together in a thin line. “Yeah, great. I’ve got to go,” he muttered. And before Harry could utter another word, Artie fled up the steps to the dormitories.

Harry let out a small sigh, shaking his head as he headed out the Gryffindor common room. Confusion flowed through his body as he tried to reason through Artie’s reaction in his mind. His reaction seemed completely foreign to Harry. Surely Artie knew Harry would have to return to his regular job sometime. Artie would be just like any other normal student – he’d spend holidays and summers with Harry, and return to Hogwarts for the school year.

Maybe Hermione will be able to shed some light on this, Harry thought to himself as he made his way to her quarters. He knocked cautiously on her door.

“Come in.”

Harry stepped inside. Hermione was still hunched over her desk, flipping through a copy of An Advanced Guide to Transfiguration.

“Hey Hermione,” Harry said, a smile crossing his features. “Do you have a minute?”

Hermione set the book down, turning in her chair and regarding Harry with a light smile. “Back so soon? You’ve scarcely been gone a few hours. So is Kingsley excited?”

Harry grinned. Somehow he knew Hermione would be excited over the news. “He’s more than excited,” Harry grinned, stepping up to Hermione and drawing her in a hug. “He’s asked me to come back to work.”

Hermione stiffened in his arms. Harry frowned, looking down at her with his green-eyed gaze. The expression on her face was completely indiscernible.

“Come back to work?” Hermione asked cautiously. “When?”

“As soon as possible,” Harry said, silently wondering if this was such a good idea after all. Hermione stepped back from his hug and Harry allowed his arms to fall loosely by his sides. “I thought I’d ask talk to McGonagall about finding a replacement.”

“Harry, you know how hard it is to find teachers to teach the DADA class,” Hermione said, shaking her head incredulously. The smile left Harry’s features. Hermione appeared – almost hurt.

“I’m sure McGonagall can teach it,” Harry said quietly. “I’ll make sure to finish my lesson plans for the year before I leave.” Hermione looked away, her gaze drifting to the ground as she pressed her lips together and closed her eyes. Then she looked back at Harry. The former Auror’s breath caught in his throat at the bright appearance of her eyes.

“What about Artie?” Hermione asked.

“What,” Harry asked, raising his hands, exasperated. “He’ll be just like all the other Hogwarts kids now,” he said. “Isn’t that what every eleven-year-old wants?”

Hermione closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. A frown deepened across Harry’s features as a feeling of dread began to build in his body. This was not going at all like he expected.

What does she want me to do? Quit my job? I’m not a teacher. I’m an Auror!

He gave a slight sigh of relief when Hermione opened her eyes again. Her eyes were dry.

“That’s great, Harry,” Hermione said quietly. “I really need to get ready for dinner. See you later in the Great Hall?”

Harry frowned, a niggling feeling tugging at the back of his mind. Maybe he should give her time to get used to the idea, he thought. He stepped towards the shorter woman, giving her a light kiss on the forehead.

“Don’t worry,” Harry said quietly. “And I’ll see you at dinner.”

* * *

But Harry didn’t see her at dinner; and when he went to her room later that evening, Hermione was nowhere to be found. A deep feeling of foreboding settled into his stomach as he made his way back to his quarters. His mind was swimming as Harry began to search through his room for his copy of the Marauder’s map, intent on locating Hermione and finding out what exactly was bothering her.

His map was nowhere to be found.

Frustration built up in his body as Harry threw items out of his trunk, trying to remember where he might have placed it. But it wasn’t in his trunk. Harry growled in frustration, tossing a sneaker over his shoulder.

“Ouch!”

Harry’s head jerked up, glancing over his shoulder to the place where the voice had come from. Hermione was standing there, rubbing her forehead with her right hand. Her left hand held Harry’s sneaker. A flush came across Harry’s features.

“Sorry, Hermione, can’t find my map anywhere,” Harry said quickly, rising to his feet and crossing the room towards her. He took the sneaker from her hand and tossed it to the side of the room, looking at the witch in front of him. Hermione’s hair was disheveled, and her clothes appeared a mess. Her eyes were red-rimmed, as if she’d been crying. A sinking feeling settled into the pit of his stomach.

“Hermione?” Harry whispered quietly. “What’s wrong?”

The younger woman’s eyes squeezed shut. Hermione bit her lower lip, taking a few deep breaths before she opened her eyes and met Harry’s gaze dead-on. Harry’s eyes widened and he reached out, brushing the back of his fingertips across her cheeks and sliding his right arm around her waist. He slowly drew Hermione to his chest, feeling her reluctance as she rested her head on his chest. A sob escaped her throat and Harry felt his heart break at the sound of her tears.

She doesn’t want me to go.

“Hermione, what is it?” Harry whispered, stroking her back with the fingertips of his right hand. The tearful woman sniffed, drawing back from Harry’s hold, and taking a few steps back. She drew her hands over her eyes, wiping away a few tears as she shook her head lightly. Harry stared at her helplessly, his sense of dread heightening at the expression in her eyes. Hermione appeared positively miserable.

“I …,” Hermione paused, inhaling sharply as she fought to regain control of her voice. She looked back at Harry, her eyes brimming with tears.

“I can’t do this, Harry.”

Harry’s throat ran dry. Somewhere a voice in the back of his head screamed, but it was immediately silenced as he stared blankly at the woman in front of him.

“Can’t do … Hermione, what are you talking about?” Harry asked, a hint of desperation in his voice. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.

“I … I can’t do this,” Hermione said, her voice nearly breaking on the last word. She beckoned between her body and Harry’s. “I can’t … I can’t be with you.” Harry felt his heart drop out of his chest.

“I… Hermione, what are you talking about?” Harry felt the desperation tug at his stomach as he reached out towards the brown-eyed witch, but Hermione stepped just out of his reach, not even bothering to stifle the tears that now poured freely down her face.

“Harry, please don’t make this any harder than it already is,” Hermione whispered, her voice tinged with pain. “This isn’t easy for me.”

“Not easy for you!” Harry yelled, his voice rising. “What about me?”

“I know, Harry, and I’m sorry,” she whispered, her eyes squinting shut. “I can’t do this though. I can’t just … wait here while you go away again and risk your life like that.”

“This is what I am Hermione,” Harry countered, his anger rising. “You knew that this job was only temporary!”

“Harry, I know this,” Hermione said, her voice a strained silence against Harry’s tirades. “But things have changed. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be with someone who may not be coming home in the evening. I can’t spend my days worrying about whether or not the next owl I get from the ministry will be announcing your death. I need you here.”

“I’m an Auror, Hermione,” Harry shouted, stifling the urge to reach out and throttle her. “This is what I’ve always wanted to be. Now you want me to give it all up?”

“No,” Hermione whispered quietly, her eyes drifting shut. Harry felt himself begin to calm down as he stared at the ground, angry tears beginning to cloud his vision. After a moment he looked back at Hermione, his breaths coming haphazardly.

“Then what do you want me to do,” Harry whispered hoarsely as a tear squeezed down his cheek.

A sob escaped Hermione’s throat as she stepped up to Harry, resting her head on his shoulder for a brief moment. Harry felt paralyzed, rooted to the ground as her lips brushed his cheek and then drifted towards his ear.

“Goodbye, Harry Potter.”

Title: Father’s Day

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I’d be a billionaire and I wouldn’t be taking out loans to pay for everyday expenses. Oh, and I wouldn’t be struggling through college. So, the gist of it is that I’m poor, I have no money, and if you try to sue me, you’ll get the lint out of my pockets and that’s about it. So I wouldn’t bother.

Author’s Notes: This chapter would have been out sooner. Yes, sooner. Except for my vacuum cleaner ate my USB key, which holds all of my stories. So 100 bucks later, and after hours of searching through various forums to get copies of my works (most of which carry none of the original formatting) I finally get to start AGAIN on this chapter. Suffice to say, this will probably not be a long chapter, as I’m in a terrible mood because of my dwindling summer savings account. That and this chapter was already going to be shorter. To compensate, there will not be any cliffhangers at the end of it. I must be going soft. Oh, and my best estimate is that there are three chapters remaining after this one, maybe four, but I doubt it. I probably will not do an epilogue for this one. It won’t need it. One more thing – for those of you who were looking for a bit more … substance on the H/Hr moments, keep in mind that I will stick to the rating on this story. I’m not moving it up. If any deleted scenes are posted (and probably there will be) and you are familiar with my other works, then you will know how to find it.

Chapter 10: Change of Pace

“Look, Warrick. These are the subpoenas for the bank records that you told me to bring in today. They’ve been signed by all of the members of the court, the Minister of Magic, the Head of the Goblin Liason office, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and three of the seventeen presidents of various branches of Gringotts. It has been submitted in triplicate, on ministry standard paper bearing black ink and measuring precisely 1 foot long and eight inches across, bearing a watermarked seal that verifies its authenticity. It is 3:47 … no … 3:48 p.m., which is still two minutes within the five minute window during which you accept such requests. Now, are you going to give me the bank records or am I going to have to get the Ministry more involved in this?”

Harry curled the edge of his fingertips along the fine grains of the wooden countertop, his emerald eyes flashing as he stared at the goblin behind the desk. It was his sixth such visit to Gringotts, and this time, Harry had taken all precautions to ensure they could not deny his request. Not that the goblins would listen, anyways – and Gringotts goblins were notoriously stingy when it came to releasing records that might infringe upon a client’s privacy. That was one of the reasons so many Dark Wizards used this bank to keep their gold.

The goblin, a short, stocky little creature who only came up to Harry’s kneecaps when standing, reached across the countertop and examined the parchment with a single, thick-lensed spectacle. Harry tapped his foot impatiently, trying to suppress the urge to whip out his wand and hex the stubborn Goblin into the next century. Goblins were protected by their own brand of magic, and Harry had no doubt that if he lifted as much as a finger to his wand, he’d find himself locked in one of the dark vaults for the remainder of his life. So instead he gave forced a grin to his face, watching as Warrick dwindled the last of the minutes available for his visit away.

“Sorry, it’s four o’clock. You’ll have to come back tomorrow,” Warrick said, and Harry felt a surge of anger flood his body. Squinting his eyes, he rested both of his palms on the countertop and leaned over, staring at the beady-eyed creature.

“No, I will not come back tomorrow,” Harry replied testily. “I am not leaving this building – I’m not even leaving this line until I have what I came here for.”

Warrick regarded Harry with an unyielding glare, and he began to raise his left arm as if to summon one of the security trolls. Before he could complete the motion, Harry had reached into his pocket and tossed a small sack of twenty galleons onto the countertop.

Goblins were notoriously greedy. And when Warrick saw the sack, his hand slowly lowered, and after peeking inside at its contents, he asked Harry to wait and jumped off his stool.

It would be nice if the Ministry would actually reimburse me for these expenses, Harry grumbled inwardly. Trying to recover the money he’d paid out in bribes to the goblins alone would probably bankrupt the ministry, not to mention land him in Azkaban for the next fifty years.

Warrick crawled back onto the stool, sliding a piece of parchment over to Harry. “Your deposit slip, sir.”

Harry quickly pocketed the papers, inclining his head slightly towards the goblin and muttering a quick “thanks” as he made his way out of the bank. As soon as he exited the door, he muttered a long stream of curses that he was sure would have made his mother roll over in her grave. Drawing the cloak over his shoulders (as it was February and still very cold), Harry made his way towards the Leaky Cauldron, stamping the snow off his feet and giving a hurried nod to Tom the bartender before slipping into a secluded corner booth to begin his work.

Nearly three weeks had passed since Kingsley had asked Harry to return to the ranks of the Aurors. He had yet to make the transition; primarily due to the fact that McGonagall asked him to stay until she could find a replacement but partially due to the fact he wanted to patch things up with Hermione and Artie before he left. So far, Artie had been tight-lipped about the matter, and Harry had backed off to see if Artie’s mind might change over time. But Hermione – he’d tried talking to her several times over the past few weeks, but she had refused to discuss the matter further. Instead, she’d changed the password protecting her quarters and purposely walked between her classes with at least two other professors to avoid being caught alone with Harry.

The raven-haired wizard sighed, settling back in his chair and staring numbly at the table.

“Tough day?” Tom asked as he slid a sandwich and bowl of chicken soup in front of Harry. Harry shook his head lightly and forced a smile towards the innkeeper.

“Thanks Tom,” Harry said, and Tom gave him a slight nod and shuffled back to finish his work behind the counter. Harry stared at the soup and sandwich, knowing he didn’t feel very hungry but aware that he should at least have one decent meal a day. Slowly he reached into his pocket and pulled out the bank records, setting them on a table and then pulling out a crinkly piece of parchment from the back pocket of his trousers. Scribbled across the face of the parchment was the code Hermione had worked so long to decipher, and slowly Harry placed the two documents side by side.

His eyes scrolled across the first line of the code. 34501123000. Then he looked back at the bank records, finding the line for vault 345. Sure enough, there was a deposit made on that day for 3000 Galleons. A match – the code worked.

Harry had long suspected that the code he’d received from Kingsley contained information to the source of the Deatheaters funding – he’d come across such codes before. This parchment only solidified the link in his mind. Unfortunately, what Harry lacked was the source behind the secret transfers, something he knew he wouldn’t get from the paperwork. The goblins had cooperated, but only to a minimal extent.

Gritting his teeth, Harry curled his right hand into a fist, stifling the urge to slam his hand on the table and spill his chicken soup. Every time he made progress, it seemed as if he took three gigantic steps back.

Calm down, Harry, he told himself. Think through this rationally. He gave a small snort. Rational was not something he’d been over the past few weeks. His concentration had flagged, sleep was harder to come by, and Harry found himself snappish in his classes.

In truth, the separation from Hermione and Artie had been harder than he thought. Harry loved being an Auror, but lately he’d been having increasingly niggling doubts that maybe it wasn’t worth it. He sighed, closing the pieces of parchment and sliding them into his pockets. The indecision had been driving him insane.

“Harry Potter?”

Harry glanced over his right shoulder, shock flooding his body as he saw Amelia’s father striding towards his table, a smile on his features. Bartholomew Chambers extended a hand and Harry shook it. The older man settled into the booth across from Harry.

“I’m surprised to see you here, Mr. Potter. Are you still at Hogwarts?” the man’s grey eyes flashed as he spoke. Harry gave a slight nod.

“I am, but I had ministry business today, I’m afraid. I came as soon as classes are over.”

“Ministry business?” Bartholomew said, rubbing his chin. “Interesting. Yes, I believe Amelia mentioned that you would be returning to the ranks of the Aurors soon. She was quite disappointed, but I tried to explain that bachelors have a hard time letting go of the freedom that comes from having no accountability.”

Was that an insult? Harry thought, keeping the smile on his face, though it was forced. He nodded slightly to the older man. “What brings you to Diagon Alley at this time of day?” he asked, hoping to change the subject to something other than his imminent departure from Hogwarts.

“Company business I’m afraid,” Bartholomew said, fishing around in his pocket and handing Harry a business card. Harry’s eyes flashed as he skimmed it over.

Bartholomew Chambers

Vice President for Finance, Malfoy Industries.

“Malfoy?” Harry muttered under his breath.

Bartholomew smiled. “Draco Malfoy is my boss. Started there as an accountant when I was fresh out of Hogwarts – twenty years ago, I believe.”

Harry nodded numbly. Malfoy Industries was one of the largest companies in the wizarding world, responsible for supplying the vast majority of shops across Europe and upper Africa. Malfoy was still a very respected name in the wizard world, despite what was seen as Lucius’ untimely death in the battle with Voldemort’s Deatheaters.

“I’m afraid I’ve overstayed my visit though. Time is money, as they say,” Bartholomew canted his head towards Harry and slid out of the booth. Harry gave him a weak nod as the older man turned to leave.

“Oh, one more thing, Mr. Potter,” Bartholomew said as he straightened the folds of his cloak. Harry glanced at the older man curiously.

“Sometimes those things which are most important in life are the things we let slip through our fingers,” Bartholomew said, tapping the side of his head with his finger as he made his way out the door.

Slip through my fingers…

Harry leaned back against the back of the booth, closing his eyes as he pondered the older wizard’s last words.

* * *

“No Harry, I don’t keep track of all my husband’s employees,” Ginny chided as she leafed through the pages of a Quidditch magazine. She and Harry were in her office, with Ginny behind the desk. Harry had come to her promptly after leaving Diagon Alley, primarily because his mind was swimming with more questions than answers.

“This isn’t about that Deatheater thing again,” Ginny asked, her blue eyes flashing with icy warmth, “is it?”

Harry shook his head quickly. In truth, Deatheaters had been the farthest thing from his mind. “I thought most Slytherins couldn’t stand Gryffindors. How did Amelia’s father get employed by Draco?”

Ginny shrugged. “I’m not 100 percent sure, but I don’t think Amelia’s father was a Gryffindor. I think he was a Slytherin.” At Harry’s ever-widening gaze, Ginny added quickly, “I heard some Slytherin students teasing her about it the other day.”

“But I thought … that’s not possible,” Harry stuttered, his mind swimming. “Is it?”

“Rare, yes, probably,” Ginny admitted, her red-gold hair glinting in the candlelight. “But not unheard of. I think Amelia’s mother was a Ravenclaw.”

“Then why isn’t she in Ravenclaw or Slytherin? Why Gryffindor?”

“I’m not 100 percent sure,” Ginny said quietly, setting down the magazine and looking at Harry quietly. “The Sorting Hat is the one who makes those decisions. Maybe it saw some traces of Gryffindor bravery lying inside of her.”

“But wouldn’t,” Harry frowned, pausing for a moment. “I mean, don’t parents shape the child’s character?”

Ginny pursed her lips. “Yes, and no, Harry. A person’s peers have a great deal to do with how they turn out too. You didn’t learn your hatred of Draco from the Dursleys, Harry. You learned it from Ron, and it was reinforced by my wonderful father,” Ginny said, a trace of bitterness in her voice.

Harry wanted to protest – wanted to open his mouth and say that his hatred of Draco was due to the fact that the Slytherin was one of the smarmiest gits ever to walk the face of the earth – but at the last moment he caught himself, remembering that he was speaking to Mrs. Ginny Malfoy. The word rolled over and over in his mind, conjuring up a sour taste in his mouth.

He was about to ask Ginny once again how she’d been conned into marrying the Slytherin, but before he could voice his question, Ginny cut him off.

“What’s this really about, Harry?”

Harry frowned, settling back into his chair and toeing the floor with the tip of his shoe. “Being a father is a lot more complicated than I thought it would be.”

“Is that why you’re running away?” Ginny asked, arching an eyebrow.

“I am not running away!” Harry protested, though deep in his heart he questioned whether that last statement was true. “This was my job, Ginny. The only career that I was really suited for.”

“You know that’s not true, Harry,” Ginny said, a hint of derision in her voice. “You taught a bunch of your classmates during your fifth year and you did a good job of it.” She leaned forward in her chair, her eyes flashing as she leveled her scrutinizing gaze on Harry. “You’re scared that Artie and Hermione are going to get hurt. You made a lot of enemies when you were an Auror, no doubt. You’re scared of putting them in danger. That’s why you’re running away.”

“Will you stop saying that? I’m not running …”

Ginny held up a hand. “Harry, shut up and listen to me. Do you love Hermione?”

What kind of stupid question was that, Harry asked himself as he gave Ginny a slight nod. “Of course I do.”

“Do you love Artie?”

“Yes.”

“Do you not think that part of your mind, your subconscious, registers that and automatically conjures up images of your parents and Sirius and Ron?”

“Why would it?” Harry asked curtly, his eyes narrowing.

“Because you still haven’t forgiven yourself for their deaths,” Ginny said quietly. “You still blame yourself for putting them in harm’s way.”

“That’s stupid,” Harry said angrily.

“Is it?”

Harry frowned, falling silent as his emerald gaze drifted over the floor. Did he hold himself responsible for the deaths of his parents? No, that was stupid. Voldemort was responsible for that. But Harry was the one who had been born to defeat Voldemort. The Dark Lord knew that – he knew about the prophecy. If I hadn’t been born, Harry thought, my parents would still be alive.

If I had practiced harder on my occlumency, Sirius would still be alive.

If I’d been here instead of away, I could have saved Ron.

If only…

“Harry?”

The former Auror lifted his head, his throat feeling parched as he gazed into the concerned blue gaze of his friend. Ginny gave Harry a weak smile.

“It’s not your fault, Harry,” she whispered quietly. Harry bit his bottom lip, trying to stave off the angry tears that threatened to erupt, and gave a slight nod. Ginny nodded weakly, stretching her hand across the desk and resting it on Harry’s own.

“The password to her room is ‘Christmas Day’,” Ginny said quietly. “I’m not sure why she changed it, but I didn’t bother to ask the significance of that.”

“I …” Harry stuttered, his gaze drifting to the floor. “I’ve got to talk to Kingsley.”

Ginny nodded. “You might just be able to reach him if you hurry.”

Harry clenched his teeth and gave Ginny a resolute nod as he strode out of the office.

* * *

The nervous butterflies in Harry’s stomach only seemed to multiply as he made his way up the steps to Kingsley’s office. His throat felt like the Sahara as he knocked on the thick oak door to the office.

“Come in,” Kingsley’s muffled voice sounded busy.

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat and opened the door to the office. Like always, Kingsley was behind mounds of papers, a few quills tucked behind his hears and his wand in his mouth as he scanned over reports.

“Harry!” Kingsley said excitedly, his eyes lighting up. “Come, have a seat!” he said, beckoning to a chair laden with stacks of paper. As if responding to the sound of Kingsley’s voice, the papers promptly lifted and floated to the ground beside it. Harry gave a weak smile and sat in the chair. Guilt gnawed at his insides as he caught sight of Kingsley’s excited look.

“Did you get everything straightened out with McGonagall?” the older wizard asked hurriedly. Harry felt the lump in his throat swell.

“Sort of,” Harry admitted. It wasn’t a complete lie. He had gone to talk to McGonagall before he’d come here. Kingsley never went home before 8 o’clock.

“Great, it’s going to be good to have you back,” Kingsley said quickly. “You wouldn’t believe the mess we have brewing in London…”

“I’m not coming back,” Harry whispered quietly.

“…dark artifacts popping up in some muggle houses and … what?” Kingsley’s voice trailed off as his mind finally registered Harry’s words. “What did you say?”

“I came here to submit my resignation,” Harry repeated softly.

“Your … re… You can’t do that!” Kingsley exclaimed. “I need you here!”

“And I’m also needed elsewhere,” Harry said, a bit louder this time as confidence bolstered his voice. “I have people who need me here – not in Africa or Asia, but here.”

“But … you’re an Auror,” Kingsley said loudly, anger tinged in his voice.

“No,” Harry whispered softly, reaching into the folds of his robe and pulling out his Ministry badge. He remembered the feeling of pride that had flooded his body when he first received the badge at the end of his training. It seemed like so many years ago.

Slowly, with great care, Harry set the badge down on the desk in front of his supervisor. The older wizard stared at it, disbelief etched across his features as if he expected to wake up from a bad dream.

“I was an Auror,” Harry whispered quietly, swallowing the moisture that seemed to threaten to overflow his eyes. “Now I’m just Harry Potter.”

Before Kingsley could utter another word, Harry left.

* * *

It was nine o’clock when the door finally opened to his office. Immediately Harry’s head jerked up, relief flooding his features as the red-headed boy stepped into his office.

Artie regarded Harry with a silent stare, maintaining the silence he’d started when Harry had first mentioned his desire to return to the ministry. Harry motioned to the chair across from his desk. Ron’s son took it reluctantly and leveled his gaze on Harry’s desk.

Sighing deeply, Harry stepped out from behind his desk and pulled up a chair next to Artie. Leaning forward on his forearms, he silently regarded the boy for a few moments before he began to speak.

“How is school going?” Harry asked diplomatically, trying to think of a way to break the ice.

Artie merely shrugged.

“You’re doing well in my class you know. You almost have the highest grade in the class.”

Another shrug.

Harry sighed, leaning back. The young boy was not going to make this easy for him. “Artie, I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”

Slowly the younger wizard’s eyes swung from the desk over to Harry, his blue eyes meeting Harry’s green ones.

Artie gave a slight nod, as if to ask Harry to continue. Harry sighed inwardly, and nodded.

“I didn’t stop to think that maybe I wasn’t supposed to be going back to the Ministry,” Harry said cautiously, weighing each word with great deliberation. “I’ve had some time to think about that now, and I think that my place is here.” Artie’s blue eyes widened.

“You’re staying here?” he whispered quietly. At Harry’s nod, a bright smile erupted across Artie’s face.

“I’m here, for good, Artie,” Harry said with a smile. Artie’s face was positively beaming. “But there is something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

Artie’s smile immediately faded. “What?” he asked curiously.

“Hermione.”

Artie’s glum expression immediately returned.

“I know you’re upset because I’ve been spending so much time with her,” Harry said.

“No, it’s not that,” Artie mumbled in a voice so low Harry had to strain to hear. Surprise flooded Harry’s features.

“Then what is it?” he asked the younger boy. Artie shrugged, kicking his feet against the ground. He seemed reluctant to open up, so Harry leaned forward on his knees and nodded towards the boy.

Artie’s face reddened as his gaze trailed to the ground. “It’s just … you forget about me.”

Harry felt his heart sink a bit. It was true; he’d missed a few appointments with Artie. His mind racing, the former Auror settled back in his chair.

“What if …” Harry let his voice trail off. At Artie’s curious expression, he continued, “What if I were to set some time aside every week that we could spend some time together, no interruptions?”

Harry was quite positive that if Ginny or Hermione had heard him, they’d be beaming. Artie’s mouth contorted into a frown.

“Every week?”

A twinge of embarrassment flooded his features. Artie was soon going to be a teenage boy. Pretty soon he’d be too embarrassed to have Harry around. There was still so much he was going to have to get used to with being a surrogate father.

“Or every other week. I’ll leave that up to you,” Harry said diplomatically.

Artie gave Harry a broad grin. “That sounds good.” Harry smiled.

“Now that we’ve got that settled, there’s one more thing I want to talk to you about,” Harry said. Artie gave Harry a curious stare as he leaned in to hear of Harry’s conspiracy.

* * *

The nervous jitters were back in full swing as Harry made his way down the hallway. The fingers from his right hand jumbled in his pocket with the gift he’d purchased on his way back to Hogwarts. He came to a halt outside the statue of Godric Gryffindor.

“Christmas Day,” he said quickly. The statue arched an eyebrow.

“Is it really? I thought Christmas was a few months ago,” the statue replied, but it opened nonetheless. Harry made a quick mental note to thank Ginny for being so sneaky as he made his way down the hallway towards Hermione’s room.

Harry paused outside the door, resting his head against the thick wood as he tried to listen to what was going on inside her bedroom. The room was altogether silent, save for an occasional shuffle of papers every fifteen seconds. Harry closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as he tried to gather the vaunted Gryffindor courage he was supposed to possess. Then he knocked quietly on the door.

“Come in.”

His breath caught in his throat as he opened the door to his room, his gaze falling on the shorter brown-haired woman sitting at her desk. Hermione’s hair had been pulled loosely back into a ponytail and she was sporting a white nightgown that would have dropped Harry to his knees had he been paying closer attention.

“What do you need Ginny?” Hermione asked without looking around.

Harry opened his mouth, trying to find the appropriate words but his voice seemed to fail him. After a few seconds of silence Hermione glanced over her shoulder, her chocolate gaze going wide as she realized that it was not Ginny, but Harry who stood in the doorway to her bedroom.

“Harry,” Hermione hissed, a blush creeping across her features as she snatched her bathrobe from the back of her chair and hurriedly put it on. Harry wasn’t quite sure why she did that – it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen her in less before, but at that moment it seemed like such a small concern.

“What are you doing he…” she began to speak.

There was a much more serious matter at hand. Harry had almost allowed himself to forget how inviting Hermione’s lips appeared, and now that he was there, the allure was proving too great as he crossed the distance between them in a few short strides and placed his mouth over hers before she could utter a protest.

He felt Hermione stiffen momentarily as she registered the kiss, but after a moment he felt her relax as her arms slipped around him. Her lips parted beneath his and Harry felt a surge of elation as she reciprocated the tender advance. A few minutes later Harry pulled back, panting heavily as he rested his forehead against hers.

Hermione’s eyes were bright with unshed tears as her brown-eyed gaze met Harry’s. The normally collected witch seemed too flustered to speak for a moment. Harry felt his breath quicken as he fought the urge to kiss away each one of those salty tears.

“I…” Hermione began to speak.

“I…” Harry said at the same time. Immediately the two laughed uncomfortably. Hermione bit her bottom lip and slowly gave Harry a nod, indicating that she’d allow him to go first.

“I came here to apologize,” Harry whispered quietly. A lone tear slid down the corner of Hermione’s left cheek.

“I shouldn’t have asked you to give up your career,” Hermione whispered quietly. “I just couldn’t stand the thought of you being away for so long...” Harry shook his head furiously, bringing up his forefinger to her lips to silence her.

“Hermione, I’m not going back,” Harry whispered quietly, tears stinging his eyes as he made the announcement. Hermione’s eyes widened and she tried to pull away to speak, but Harry shook his head.

“I should have quit a long time ago, but I didn’t,” Harry said quietly. “I’m needed here, not just by you, but Artie needs me too. So does Ginny and the rest of our friends. I didn’t think about that before I accepted Kingsley’s offer.”

Hermione’s left hand covered her mouth as she stifled a sob. Harry brushed his lips across her forehead again, reveling in the sweet scent of her hair before he drew back, resting his forehead against hers once more.

“Hermione, I love you,” Harry whispered, a feeling of desperation flooding his body. How could he have considered leaving Hogwarts when all he ever wanted was standing there in front of him?

“I love you, Harry,” Hermione whispered, her arms slipping around Harry’s neck as she pressed her lips against his own. After a moment she drew back and whispered. “I tried to forget about you, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t before and I can’t now.”

“I almost lost you once before,” Harry whispered quietly, meeting Hermione’s gaze with an intensity he hadn’t felt for a long time. “And I refuse to lose you again,” he whispered, his hand fumbling in his pocket as he withdrew the small box and held it up in front of Hermione.

The younger witch’s eyes widened and her left hand clasped over her mouth as Harry clumsily fumbled to open the box, taking at least five tries before he could get it open. A lump rose in his throat as he showed Hermione the ring. Little rainbows danced in every direction as the light flickered across the solitary diamond. Hermione’s gaze immediately shot to Harry’s.

“Hermione,” Harry whispered quietly. “Will you marry me?”

Hermione stared back at the ring, her eyes wide. A wave of nervousness passed through Harry’s body, but he forced himself to keep her gaze as he waited for her to speak.

What if she says no? Harry felt his throat dry at the prospect. He had been operating under the assumption that Hermione would want this type of commitment – some proof that Harry wasn’t going to take off and leave the first second a new Dark Lord rose to power. Was it possible that he was wrong? What if she wasn’t ready for that type of commitment?

Fighting the heat that seemed to rise to his face, Harry opened his mouth and blathered on uselessly. “I mean, I know it’s sudden, but we’ve known each other for so long and we wouldn’t have to quit teaching at Hogwarts. I mean we could both teach here and you could even stay here if you wanted and I realize that I didn’t even know if you wanted kids and I have Artie but he’s really a good kid and I know he’s almost a teenager but I …”

Hermione pressed a finger across Harry’s lips.

“Shut up, Harry,” she whispered, a smile crossing her features. Harry fell silent, his eyes meeting hers. His heart gave a slight flutter as she reached towards the box, taking out the ring and slipping it on her hand.

“Of course I’ll marry you,” she whispered, bringing her lips back to Harry’s own, silencing Harry’s own inner doubts as the last of his coherent thoughts slipped out of his mind.

Title: Father’s Day

Rating: R (this chapter)

Disclaimer: I don’t own it.

Chapter 11: Truth or Consequences

The coming of spring brought the steady trickle of melting iciclesand the lighthearted singing of native birds. Teachers and student alike walked with a bit of a spring in their steps at the prospects of another long, harsh winter dwindling to a close. It was early on this particular Friday morning -- the sun had not yet cracked the horizon, though the faintest vestiges of light were beginning to mar the twilight sky. Harry blinked his eyes open, his mouth forming an oval in a sleepy yawn as he rolled onto his back, the warmth from the fireplace soaking into his skin. His right hand reached out towards his nightstand, fumbling for his wire-rimmed spectacles. He hurriedly put them on, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he glanced at the clock.

It was still early, 6 a.m. or so. Breakfast would not start for another hour, and classes not for another hour after that. Harry absently wondered why his body had woken so early as he leaned back against the thick down pillows. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he rolled onto his side, his emerald gaze trickling over the slumbering form of the woman beside him.

Merlin, Hermione was beautiful. Not that most people would think so -- her hair was still as bushy as ever and she rarely wore makeup. Still, Harry's heart skipped a beat every time his eyes fell on her sleeping figure.

On this particular morning, a white sheet had been pulled over her body, carefully protecting her modesty. Harry still wondered how she managed to do that -- every time he woke up before her it was always the same. Once he had asked, and Hermione had given him a wry smile.

Now, with the flickering light from the fireplace, she looked positively enticing.

Harry rolled onto his side, carefully trying to not disturb her as he slid his fingers underneath the blanket and brushed them along the smooth surface of her flesh. She stirred slightly; although she didn't give any sign of being awake.

A wry grin crossed his features and Harry slowly shifted his weight, dipping his head beneath the covers. He nibbled on the soft flesh of her upper thigh, drawing a slight moan from Hermione, who shifted restlessly under his ministrations.

So she was awake, but was feigning sleep. Harry's grin broadened. Well, if she wanted to play hard to get, he was game.

He dipped his head a bit lower in an action he knew would drive Hermione nuts. Sure enough, she responded as respected, her body thrashing under the covers under his careful ministrations. Harry stifled his grin as he brought her to the edge of her control, stopping at the last moment to inch his way up her body until he was nestled in between her thighs, joining with her in one quick stroke.

Their lovemaking was agonizingly slow, but Harry was determined to prolong their joining. He was determined to make up all those years he spent away from his soon-to-be wife. What seemed like hours later, after thrusts and counterthrusts and gasps and whispers, Harry lay entwined with Hermione, their limbs entangled so that it was difficult to tell where one ended and the other began.

Hermione’s chocolate gaze flickered over Harry, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “What was that for?”

“Because I love you,” Harry said, giving the younger woman a slight peck on the nose. Hermione giggled in a very un-Hermione-like fashion, slowly rolling out of the bed as she began to pull on her bathrobe.

“You are positively insatiable, Mr. Potter,” she said with a grin as she tied the belt around her middle. Harry grinned, rolling out of bed after her and crossing the room until he was behind her. He wrapped his arms around her middle and hugged her to his chest.

“Then I guess you can consider yourself a very lucky woman, Mrs. Potter,” Harry said with a grin, which quickly faded to a frown as he felt Hermione stiffen in his arms. “Hermione?” Harry asked, tentatively. “What’s wrong?”

Hermione shook her head, stepping out of Harry’s embrace and running a hand through her hair. “It’s nothing, Harry. You just caught me off guard, that’s all.”

Harry frowned. “If this is about you taking my name, I really don’t think it’s necessary,” Harry said with a flush, even though he knew very much he would love for Hermione to take his last name. But perhaps Hermione was one of those modern women, he thought to himself. He grimaced inwardly as his mind rolled over the idea of taking Hermione’s name. It didn’t sound right, and Harry hoped she wouldn’t ask that of him.

“It’s not that, Harry,” Hermione said with a blush. “It’s just so hard to believe that we’re actually going to get married. That’s all.”

“Are you double-guessing your decision?” Harry asked with a lump in his throat as he hurriedly threw on a bathrobe.

“Don’t be silly, Harry,” Hermione said, taking a tentative step towards him. Harry froze, his gaze meeting Hermione’s as she rose on her toes, brushing her lips over Harry’s. “It just feels surreal. I can’t believe it’s actually happening.”

Relief flooded his body as Harry brushed his lips across her forehead, resting his chin on the top of her head. “Everything will be alright,” Harry said quietly. “You’ll see.” Hermione nodded in agreement.

“Everything will turn out okay,” Hermione whispered, resting her head against his chest.

“One thing though, Hermione,” Harry said, a wry grin crossing his face. Hermione’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she leaned back, her gaze meeting Harry’s.

“You might want to hurry and get dressed. We’ve already missed breakfast and I don’t think McGonagall will be too happy if we miss our morning classes.”

Hermione’s eyes widened as she glanced at the clock, her eyes widening as she saw the time. Letting out a small squeak of surprise, Hermione began rushing to gather her things.

Harry let out a short chuckle as he watched Hermione dash about the room and out the door without another word.

* * *

The morning passed by far too slowly for Harry’s tastes, but for the first time that year, Harry actually had a hard time trying to keep the attention of the first-years. It was mid-April, and today was the day that they had their final scheduled flying lesson.

Harry occasional stole glances at the nervous first years as they studied from their books, but none seemed as nervous as Artie. A slight smile crossed Harry’s face as Artie chewed on the back of his quill until it was so raggedy it was impossible to tell that that’s what it was. The former Auror glanced at the clock. It was 10:30 a.m. The flying test was scheduled to take place at three o’clock.

Pretty soon the first years were streaming out of the room. Harry watched as the students left in pairs of twos or threes, waiting until the majority had left until he motioned for Artie to come to the desk. Artie swallowed a nervous lump in his throat and gave Harry a slight nod, his skin seeming to pale as he closed the distance between Harry and the desk.

“Ye – Yes, Harry,” Artie said, trying to disguise the slight tremble in his voice. Harry gave the boy a sympathetic smile.

“Big day today, isn’t it?” Harry remarked, hoping that he could quell some of the younger boy’s fears. Artie gave a little nod. Harry returned the nod, not missing the way Artie’s hands wound around his books as if he would fall over if he loosened his grip.

“You remember that it’s no different than how we practiced,” Harry tried to reassure the red-headed student. “Take it easy, relax, and remember to use soft hands.”

Artie gave a slight squeak that sounded like a mix between okay and no way, and Harry stifled a grin as he reached into the fold of his robes.

“I also thought you might like to see these,” Harry said, handing the two pieces of paper to Artie. The younger boy frowned, his forehead wrinkling as he glanced at Harry in confusion. Hesitantly, he reached out with his right hand, studying the gift for a brief moment before his eyes widened.

“Cannon tickets!” Artie exclaimed, his face lighting up as he ripped the tickets from Harry’s hands. Harry stifled a grin. “You got us Cannon tickets?”

“For their match against Puddlemere United at the end of the year,” Harry said with a grin, remembering the approving smile on Hermione’s face as he had told her of his plans.

“Wow,” Artie said, his blue eyes wide with excitement as he stared at the tickets.

“I even managed to talk to the team manager. He said you could come and watch them practice, and maybe even take a few shots at guarding the goals if you want,” Harry added, carefully, his green eyes scanning over Artie’s reaction. He wasn’t sure if the boy would be too thrilled at the prospect of hovering in the air and deflecting the quaffle, but he decided it’d be worth a try. It really would be a shame if Ron’s son never had a chance to play Quidditch.

That, and the match was scheduled for Father’s Day, and Harry thought it might be a good way for Artie to remember Ron.

Artie snapped his head back to Harry, a frightened expression crossing his face, and for a moment Harry thought Artie would refuse. Then the boy swallowed, closing his eyes for a brief moment as if to reassure himself, and then nodded.

“That’d be great, Harry,” Artie said, as Harry’s eyes widened in shock. Did Artie just say yes? A broad grin broke out across his face and Harry smiled at the younger boy. Maybe that Gryffindor courage was finally starting to peek through.

Harry held out his hand, and Artie gently returned the tickets to his outstretched palm.

“Thanks, Harry,” Artie said, a broad smile erupting on his face. Harry nodded, slowly sliding the tickets into the drawer of his desk and muttering a locking charm.

“Just remember to breathe,” Harry admonished Artie one last time. Artie inhaled deeply, giving Harry a resolute nod and heading out of the room. Harry leaned back in his chair and smiled.

At one o’clock, Harry walked his way over to Hermione’s classroom, where the third years would be getting out any moment. Sure enough, Harry arrived at the door just as a stream of students began to trickle out of the doorway. A few gave Harry sheepish grins as he stepped to the side, and a couple of Hufflepuff girls “ooohed” and “aaahed” – no doubt at the not-so-clandestine relationship he and Hermione shared. It was common news around the school now that the two were to wed. Even Headmistress McGonagall congratulated them – before offering her advice that they find a place to live outside of Hogwarts to maintain propriety. Hermione had blushed furiously at that.

Harry nodded to a few members of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, waiting until the last student streamed out of the room before stepping inside. Hermione was seated behind the desk, her hair pulled into a ponytail as she scribbled some notes on a piece of parchment. Harry cleared his throat and the chestnut-haired witch lifted her head, a broad smile crossing her face.

“Harry,” Hermione said warmly. “Did you give Artie the tickets?”

Harry nodded, a broad grin stretching across his face. “He loved them.”

Hermione’s smile broadened. “I knew he would. Harry, that was such a perfect gift idea. Ron would have loved it.”

The dark-headed wizard nodded, crossing the room and taking a seat in a chair next to Hermione’s desk. He peered over her arm, glancing at the notations she seemed to be making for today.

“Classes going alright?” Harry asked. Hermione nodded.

“They’re okay, but things are starting to pick up. Final exams are not that far away, and there’s still so much we need to cover.”

Harry grinned. “I’m sure you’ll get through it all Hermione. You have two months yet.”

“Only two months, Harry,” Hermione said with a hint of exasperation in her voice. “That’s not much time.”

He was about to protest, but decided that it would be a better idea to change the topic of conversation. “Are you going to come to the flying test today?”

Hermione nodded. “Is Artie nervous?”

“More than anything,” Harry acknowledged with a grin. “But he’ll be alright.”

His fiancé was about to open her mouth to respond when the door to the transfiguration room burst open, and in walked an extremely livid Professor Snape.

“Potter! You and I have to talk. Now!” He hissed, his dark eyes flashing with malevolent intent.

So often had Harry been on the receiving end of one of Professor Snape’s bad moods that he should have been accustomed to the occasional malevolence that his former professor usually afforded him. On this occasion though, Harry was completely off guard, and he cast a quick glance at Hermione.

“Professor Snape?” Harry said, momentarily forgetting the fact that the dark-haired man was no longer his professor. “What is the problem?”

“I’ll tell you what the problem is, Potter,” Snape hissed, his fingers curling around the edge of his wand as if he were fighting the urge to hex Harry into the next century. “You seem to have a problem keeping your hands off my potion supplies. This is the third time I’ve had ingredients disappear and the very last…” he hissed, lifting his wand and leveling it at Harry’s forehead.

In a flash Harry was on his feet, his wand ready in his right hand, anger flooding his body as he and Professor Snape stood less than a meter apart from each other, wands at the ready.

“Severus,” Hermione said in a low tone that belied more than a hint of warning. “When did you notice the missing ingredients?”

“This morning,” Snape hissed, his steely gaze leveled on the wizard who was his former student.

“Then it’s not possible that Harry could have taken the ingredients,” Hermione said lightly. Snape’s gaze flickered from Harry to Hermione and back to Harry again.

“The only way you would know that, Miss Granger, is if he were somewhere else,” Snape said in a low tone, and Harry inwardly winced at the predicament he and Hermione had gotten into. While fraternization among Hogwarts teachers was not expressly forbidden, it was generally considered poor taste and off limits to cross certain lines of courtship while on school grounds.

“He was, Severus,” Hermione said evenly. “And that is all you need to know at the moment.

Snape hesitated for a brief moment, and then (very reluctantly, Harry thought to himself) lowered his wand. None of the anger abated from his eyes, and the callous professor cast a vengeful glance between Harry and Hermione.

“I will be speaking to the Headmistress about this,” he said curtly, spinning on his heel and exiting the room. As soon as the door slammed behind him, Hermione slumped into her chair, exasperation etched on her face.

“What was that about, Harry?”

Harry frowned, shaking his head as he tried to contemplate the recent events. “I have no idea, Hermione. I haven’t even thought about taking ingredients since our second year.”

“I know that,” Hermione admonished. “But who would be foolish enough to break into a teacher’s office?”

“Besides you?” Harry asked, a wry grin crossing his features. A rose tinge spread across Hermione’s cheeks and she shook her unruly hair furiously.

“Harry, I’m being serious.”

“I know,” Harry said with a frown, sighing as he drummed his fingers on her desk. A vague suspicion gnawed at his stomach, but he couldn’t pinpoint it immediately.

“Didn’t you say your Marauder’s Map had gone missing earlier,” Hermione asked, her brown eyes thoughtful. Harry gave her a slight nod.

Marauders Map … Artie …

Artie was the only one besides Hermione, Fred, and George who knew about the Marauders Map.

Harry glanced at Hermione, both of their eyes flickering in realization at the same time.

“Artie,” they said in unison.

A surge of anger rushed through Harry’s veins, but he squelched it almost immediately and began walking towards the door, intent on making his way to the Gryffindor common room and confronting the boy. Hermione quickly fell in step with him, gripping his arm as they left her office and began to part ways.

“Harry, where are you going?” Hermione asked.

“To the Gryffindor common room,” Harry muttered. “To beat some sense into that boy.”

Hermione shook her head. “They’re not there,” she said, her voice low. “I know where they are. Follow me.”

Harry stared at her in confusion for a moment, but set off after her as she made her way down the hallway.

He followed her as she made her way down rows of staircases, sidestepping clusters of huddling students as Hermione led him to a place he had not been in years. The women’s restroom on the second floor – the very one where they had made the polyjuice potion their second year.

The two Hogwarts professors stopped outside the door, casting a wary glance at each other. Harry gave Hermione a slight nod and together they burst into the door simultaneously.

It probably would have frightened any student to have a Hogwarts professor walk in on them while they were in the middle of violating one of the rules. But Amelia, Todd, and Artie had looks of sheer terror spring across their faces as two of their professors barged into the room. They scrambled to their feet, and Artie quickly cast a glance over his shoulder, as if searching for another exit he could run from.

Harry suppressed his urge to throttle his charge, instead gripping his fingers around his wand and scanning the room. In the middle of the floor, ironically, very close to the spot where Hermione had set up shop those many years ago, was a simmering cauldron and less than a meter away was the Marauder’s Map; inactivated, of course.

The former Auror opened and closed his mouth, trying to find the words to express his outrage, but the tentative grip of Hermione’s hand on his shoulder calmed him somewhat, and he glanced at her for a brief moment. As head of Gryffindor House, any disciplinary actions would come from her, and no doubt this was possibly as serious as it got.

“Would you three care to explain yourselves?” Hermione asked quietly, disappointment evident on her face. Amelia looked close to tears and Todd looked positively terrified.

None of the three students spoke.

Hermione stepped forward, leaning down and examining the cauldron carefully. After a moment she nodded and rose to her feet. Her gaze bypassed Todd and Artie, coming to rest on the young girl.

“Amelia, why were you and the others creating the polyjuice potion?”

“I … um … I …” Amelia stammered, her eyes wide with tears.

“She … um … um …” Todd added, before falling silent under Hermione’s stern glare.

“They were helping me,” Artie spoke up; not flinching as all eyes fell on him. Harry’s mind raced as he tried to process this news.

“Helping you?” Harry repeated, not fully comprehending that Artie might have been the ringleader of this escapade. Artie nodded, and Harry closed his eyes, trying to will himself to calm.

Calm down, Harry, I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation, a voice in his head chided. Yes, like he was under the Imperius curse, or that he’s not really Artie, or …

“Artie, why were you three brewing the polyjuice potion,” Hermione asked, finally shaking Harry out of his reverie. The younger wizard squirmed artfully under Hermione’s inquisition, as if realizing he’d just called attention to himself that he really didn’t want.

“Well, I um, um…” Artie stammered.

“We were trying to find out his dad’s killer,” Todd interrupted, finally finding his voice again.

“Ron’s killer?” Hermione said flatly, her tone dubious.

What the … Harry thought.

“Yes,” Amelia finally piped up. “Artie heard…”

“Amelia…” Artie hissed, his eyes narrowing in anger. Amelia cast a dirty glance back at him.

“It’s too late, Artie,” Amelia said angrily. “They caught us, and now we’re going to be expelled, so we might as well tell them the truth.” She inhaled deeply, as if hiding her terror at the prospect of being kicked out of Hogwarts, and looked at Hermione. “We were going to use the polyjuice potion with some of Ginny’s hair and try to get Draco to confess to the murder.”

“Draco?” Hermione said, exasperation etched in her voice, her voice hinting that she was unable to believe the predicament she was in. Harry felt his eyes narrow at the mention of Draco’s name – he’d long suspected that Malfoy might have had something to do with Ron’s death, but without proof he knew his accusations would fall by the wayside.

“Amelia!” Artie hissed, angry tears welling in his eyes as he began to sprint for the door. Harry quickly intercepted him, his hand closing around the boy’s wrist in a death grip and wrenching the angry student around. Artie lashed out at Harry, but Harry grabbed Artie’s other wrist with his other hand and held onto the boy.

Hermione watched the exchange in silence, waiting until Artie’s struggles finally ceased before she turned her attention from the other two to Artie, her face passive.

“Artie, why do you think Draco Malfoy murdered your father?” she asked evenly.

Artie shuddered in Harry’s grasp for a brief moment, and for a second Harry thought he would run again. But then Artie’s shoulders slumped and he stifled a sob.

“Because I was there!” Artie yelled, his face reddening as the tears streamed down his cheeks. “I know what happened!”

Title: Father’s Day

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I don’t own it. J.K. Rowling does.

Author’s Notes: I know this chapter took a long time to get out. I actually needed to take a break and focus on school; take a break from writing; and focus on some other things for awhile. I’m hoping to wrap this one up soon so I can go work on some other stories (my count of which is up to 5 now).

Chapter 12: Revenge and Rebuttal

Somewhere in the back of Harry’s mind, Artie’s words repeated themselves over and over.

Draco … Draco killed Ron …

For a second, Harry slackened his grip on Artie, and the boy struggled out of his grasp, slumping to the ground on his knees and breaking into heart-wrenching sobs. Harry stared at the younger wizard, his focus strangely blurred as he tried to process Artie’s words.

Draco … Draco Malfoy…

Ginny’s husband…

A raw hatred boiled up in Harry’s body, his fingers curling around the folds of his robes as he fought the urge to run out and kill the man responsible for his friend’s death. One look at Hermione and Harry must have betrayed his intentions, because the stunned woman mouthed the word “No,” and slowly made her way to Artie’s side, dropping to her knees and wrapping an arm tentatively around Artie’s shoulders.

“Why don’t you tell us what you mean, Artie?” Hermione whispered quietly, her soft voice shaking Harry out of his barely controlled rage.

“I … saw … him …” Artie managed to get out between ragged sobs. Hermione cast a helpless glance to Harry. Snapping to his senses, Harry slowly knelt beside Artie, wrapping one arm around Artie and the second around Hermione. He leaned his forehead against Artie’s, as if physical contact would be able to will the boy to calm down.

“Tell us what you saw, Artie,” Hermione said softly, brushing some of the tears out of Artie’s eyes with a handkerchief. Artie sniffed, nodding and wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve. He inhaled deeply, and then began to tell his story.

* * *

The night of Ron’s death…

If there was one thing Artie could count on, it was that his father was always home by ten o’clock. On this particular evening, Ron was supposed to be back an hour ago.

Normally, Artie was not allowed to stay home alone while Ron was working. It was something he’d been arguing with his father about over the past few years, but his dad has always replied that he didn’t want to come home and find the house blown up. For the past week though, it had been different. Ron had let Artie stay home alone, provided he didn’t leave the house.

At first, Artie had not been sure what to do with his newfound freedom. But as the days wore on, it seemed less and less special. Tonight, something seemed wrong though. Artie thought about flooing to his grandmother’s house and seeing if Ron had stopped by there; but almost immediately he’d dismissed that idea.

If Grandma finds out I’m home alone, she’ll never let me do it again, Artie thought to himself.

No, he had to leave her out of this. So Artie couldn’t go to the Burrow. For about ten minutes he paced back and forth across the room.

It wasn’t until 11 o’clock that Artie really started getting worried. And that’s the time he made his decision. He wasn’t supposed to touch the floo powder – not without his dad there. It was expensive and Ron didn’t like using it more than necessary.

Now Artie stood on his tiptoes, on top of a shaky stool that was nestled next to the fireplace, reaching for the brass bowl that held the floo powder. The very tips of his fingers closed around the edge of the lip and he cautiously pulled the bowl off the shelf. A little bit of the floo powder spilled on his shirt, and the eleven-year-old couldn’t keep from cringing. His dad was not going to be very happy with him.

Taking a bit of the floo powder in his right hand, Artie brushed some of the dust off his shirt and stepped inside of the fireplace. Green flames shot up around him and Artie yelled “Fred and George’s Shop” before the sight of the flames unnerved him. Artie felt a tug behind his navel and for a moment he entered a dizzying spin, his body turning with mind-numbing speed until he fell onto his knees and fell forward.

“Ooph,” Artie grunted as he hit the ground hard and lurched forward onto his knees. Stars flashed between his eyes for a moment and he rubbed his head.

The sound of yelling snapped his focus on the pain and brought the younger boy scrambling to his knees. His eyes widened as the sound of two voices processed in his mind. His father was fighting … and the other voice sounded like Uncle Draco. Artie’s eyes narrowed. Uncle Draco had taken his aunt Ginny away from the family, and aunt Ginny had let him; his father had told him. That’s why none of them talked to aunt Ginny anymore.

Artie crept towards the side of the door, sneaking quietly across the wooden floorboards. When he was in hearing range, he pressed his back against the wall and arched his head towards the doorway. The screaming had tapered off – evidently the two wizards had realized their arguments could be heard down the street and had attempted to control the attention they received.

“Are you threatening me?” Ron’s harsh whisper sounded. Artie’s eyes widened and he frantically began to search around the room for something he could throw at Draco.

“…fool, Weasle. I’m … Ginny …” Draco’s voice was muffled.

Artie frowned, pressing his ear against the door. What were they saying about Aunt Ginny?

“Get out!” Ron suddenly shouted, causing Artie to stumble backwards and fall on the seat of his pants. For a terrified moment he hesitated, thinking that surely he would be found out now. He squinted his eyes closed and waited for the inevitable sound of his father’s yelling.

It never came.

Instead, Artie heard the slamming of a door that caused his eardrums to rattle. The eleven-year-old froze, fighting the urge to scramble to the fireplace again and disappear home. Before he could move though, his father’s voice sounded again.

“I thought I told you … what the …”

“Avada Kedavra!”

Artie’s eyes widened. He knew that curse – every wizard did. It was You-Know-Who’s favorite way to kill people.

A thud sounded behind the door, shortly followed by a slam. Artie scrambled to his feet and pushed open the door to the back room, his face paling. His father was laying on his back, his eyes wide in shock.

“Dad?” Artie said tentatively, tears boiling over as he kneeled beside his father. “Dad … wake up … we have to go home now.”

Shaking hands shoved against his father’s rigid form. No response. A choked sob erupted from the eleven-year-old’s throat as he buried his face in his father’s shirt. The silent joke shop exploded with the sound of agonizing sobs as the dam safeguarding Artie’s emotions broke and the boy erupted into frenzied sobs by his father’s lifeless form. The tormented cry could be heard clear at the other end of Diagon Alley.

“Dad!”

* * *

Present Day…

Harry listened to Artie’s story with a kind of numbness that besets one who has undergone a great trauma. A murderous rage fell over his body, threatening to stifle all rational thought. He was going to murder Draco Malfoy. While he fought his inner urges to immediately storm out of the room and commit the heinous act, Hermione drew the weeping Artie into a warm embrace, whispering something indistinguishable against his ear. She gave Harry a guarded look, subduing any thoughts of vengeance. A sigh escaped his throat as Harry slowly stood, crossing the room and ushering Todd and Amelia out of the room. Amelia frequently muttered apologies as Harry gently guided her out the door, silencing her only when he promised she wouldn’t face expulsion. As soon as the two Gryffindors had departed, Harry silently closed the doors and turned back towards Hermione, who was rocking Artie and murmuring some soothing song under her breath.

He watched the exchange numbly, his rage long dissipated. Harry watched in silence as Artie’s sobs slowly faded into a muffled whimpers, finally turning into sniffles.

“Artie,” Hermione whispered quietly, “did you actually see Draco murder your father?”

Her inquiry brought both men’s eyes on her. Harry gazed upon the mahogany-haired witch with confusion while Artie’s expression was one of utter horror.

“What?” Artie whispered, his voice scarcely a squeak.

“Did you actually see Draco murder your father?” Hermione asked again. Artie immediately drew back from her embrace, scrambling to his feet with lightning speed. Fury was etched across his features.

“What are you trying to say?” Artie’s voice was one notch lower than a yell. Harry at once wanted to reprimand Artie and congratulate him for the act. He could understand Artie’s anger. How could Hermione doubt Draco’s guilt after all Artie had just told them? All of the pieces of the puzzle finally made sense. Draco was the president of Malfoy Industries. He had the means and ability to supply the Deatheaters with a seemingly unlimited cash flow. Draco hated Ron, Harry, and Hermione with a passion. Draco had somehow coerced Ginny into turning her back on her family. Draco and Ron had argued the night of Ron’s death. Draco had threatened Ron, had left the shop, returned in a rage, and killed him.

Everything made perfect sense.

“Artie,” Hermione’s quiet voice snapped Harry out of his train of thought. “I’m not trying to say anything. I just want you to carefully think about this. Did you see Draco murder your father?”

“I know what I heard!” Artie said, his hands clenching so tightly his knuckles turned white. His face was darkening to a shade almost as red as his hair.

“Artie, I’m not doubting what you heard,” Hermione said cautiously, though Harry could detect a hint of exasperation in her voice. “I simply want to know if what you saw matched what you think happened.”

“You don’t believe me!” Artie shouted, his voice so loud that Harry cringed, stifling the urge to stuff his fingers in his ears. “You’re just like Aunt Ginny!” he cried, spinning on his heel and racing out the exit before Harry or Hermione could stop him.

Hermione let out a deep sigh, pushing to her feet and wiping the front of her hands on her genes. She glanced to Harry’s eyes, apparently searching for comfort, but his dark emerald gaze made her stop cold.

“Why are you looking at me like that, Harry?” Hermione said quietly, her chocolate gaze focused on the taller wizard.

“Why are you refusing to see reason, Hermione?” Harry said bitterly.

“I refuse to believe Ginny is that bad of a judge of character,” Hermione retorted, as Harry’s ire upped just a notch.

“She married Malfoy, didn’t she?” Harry responded, leaving Hermione in stunned silence as he spun on his heel and left the room.

* * *

A rampaging Hippogriff couldn’t have stood in Harry’s way as he made his way down Knockturn Alley to the shop he and Hermione had once spotted Draco going into. Without preamble Harry threw open the door, his eyes struggling to adjust to the dim lighting as he entered the shop.

Artemius Niggle was the shop’s owner, and Harry had long desired to stage a raid on his Knockturn Alley shop. Artemius’ father had often dealt with Lucius Malfoy and it was suspected Niggle had inherited his father’s affections for the dark arts.

The slouching, disheveled, grimy-haired wizard looked up with surprise as Harry stormed into his shop, his dark eyes widening as he realized who it was. Hurriedly, he shoved some papers underneath the counter, not having time to prepare for Harry’s visit. But Harry ignored this, instead focusing on leveling a surly gaze on the shorter, skinnier wizard. Dispensing with the pleasantries, Harry reached across the countertop and grabbed the man by the lapel.

“Mr … Har…Harry Potter,” Artemius stuttered, his face blanching as Harry pulled him across the counter.

“Draco Malfoy…” Harry said curtly. “Why was he here the other day?”

“I … I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Artemius whimpered. Harry’s eyes narrowed and despite the voice in his head telling him contrary, he slammed the shopkeeper’s head into the counter with a resounding crack before he pulled out his wand, leveling it square between his eyes. The shorter wizard gulped as he stared down the point of the wand into Harry’s angry emerald gaze.

“In about two seconds, you’re going to find out the meaning of pain,” Harry growled in a low, menacing voice. Surprisingly, he meant it. He might no longer be an Auror, but he felt no remorse about hexing the shopkeeper. And he was pretty certain Artemius realized it true.

“Please don’t h-hurt me … Mr. Potter,” Artemius whimpered, his body quaking.

“Tell me what Draco was doing here,” Harry said, waving the point of his wand slightly, causing the man on the other end to cower slightly.

“He … he … came to see me,” Artemius stuttered. Impatience gnawed at Harry’s stomach and he shoved the tip of the wand against the man’s skin.

“I know that,” Harry said angrily. “I saw him. What did he want?”

“I’m… I’m not supposed to tell…” Artemius whimpered. Harry’s green gaze narrowed and he pushed a bit more forcefully on his wand, intent on making the wizard spill the information.

“I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone,” Artemius whimpered. “I saw … I saw him go into the Weasley’s Diagon Alley shop that night … the night that Ronald Weasley was killed.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed as he processed this information. Elation surged through his body. This was the witness he needed to prove Malfoy’s guilt. The dark-haired wizard leaned in, trying to look as menacing as possible as he asked his next question, “How many times did you see him go in?”

Artemius whimpered, trying to pull away from Harry’s grip but Harry leveled his snapped his left arm out with lightning speed, as if he were grabbing the snitch in the Hogwarts Cup, and gripped the man’s arm in a death grip.

“Tell me, now!” Harry yelled, ignoring the sound of rattling windows and what he thought were nosy passersby peeking inside the dusty shop window.

“I…I saw him go in twice!” Artemius shouted. Satisfaction flooded Harry’s body as he slowly released the whimpering wizard, who quickly darted into the back room and slammed the door shut.

Harry took a few cautious steps back, a smile etched across his features as he watched the wizard flee. Somewhere inside his mind, a voice screamed in protest at his rough treatment of the witness, but he’d learned what he’d wanted to learn.

Now it was time to make Draco Malfoy pay.

* * *

“No, I told you it was three dozen gross of bat wings and a dozen orders of self-stirring cauldrons from the Netherland’s,” Draco Malfoy’s angry voice rang out from behind the closed door shortly before Harry stepped through it. The chief executive officer of Malfoy Industries was standing by the fireplace, talking to the head of another wizard (probably a supplier, Harry mused). At the sound of the interruption, Draco’s head snapped up, his grey eyes casting a deadly look on the figure who had entered through the door. At the sight of his former rival, Draco’s eyes grew ice cold and his hand immediately snapped towards his wand. Harry was quicker though, and he’d already had his wand in hand when he entered the door.

“Expelliarmus!” Harry screamed, sending a blast of red light towards Draco that sent the blond-headed wizard flying across the room.

“Oh my!” the voice in the fireplace shouted before quickly fading out of sight. Harry ignored it, racing across the room to level his wand on the crumpled Malfoy’s chest. Draco glared daggers at Harry, his hand reaching towards his wand until Harry waved his wand again under Draco’s nose. Draco’s hand stilled in response, casting a murderous glare at Harry Potter.

“Potter,” Draco hissed, his look positively venomous.

“You killed Ron,” Harry said coldly, his eyes flashing as he tried to suppress the rage he felt bubbling up inside him. It wasn’t easy, especially when Draco began to laugh.

“The Weasel?” Draco hissed with a hint of derision, only serving to inflame Harry’s volatile emotions. “I didn’t kill him. You can’t prove anything.”

“I have a witness who says he saw you in Ron’s shop that night,” Harry said grimly, unable to keep the smile of satisfaction from crossing his face. At this pronouncement Draco’s eyes immediately darkened. With an angry shove Draco pushed Harry’s wand out of the way, scrambling to his feet. In an instant Harry directed the tip of his wand at the Slytherin’s throat.

“Who?” Draco hissed, and in an instant his wand was in his right hand and directed at Harry’s own throat. At this moment he almost wished Draco would try to kill him. It would make this moment of victory all that much sweeter.

“That is none of your concern,” Harry said with a slight smile. At Draco’s frown the smile dissipated from his face as Harry pressed his lips together and issued a loud whistle. Instantly, Ministry Aurors began pouring into the room.

Draco’s eyes grew wide as he watched the wizards pour in. He immediately dropped his wand, reaching for a picture of him and Ginny on his desk, but Harry had prepared for that eventuality. He knew Draco’s office was likely to have apparition wards in place to prevent other people from stealing company secrets. Draco Malfoy would never stoop to using floo powder if he wanted to go directly to his office. That meant he had to have a portkey.

Harry’s right hand shot out, catching Draco on the temple and sending the former Slytherin seeker stumbling against the back wall. Moments later the two of them were surrounded by no fewer than twenty Aurors, each of whom had their wands leveled on Draco.

“You’re making a mistake, Potter,” Draco hissed as two of the Aurors scooped him up underneath his arms and began ushering out of the room. Draco continued to meet Harry’s gaze as he was ushered from the room. “You’re making a big mistake, Potter. You’ll pay for this,” Draco shouted before the door slammed shut behind him and at least ten other Aurors.

“No, Draco,” Harry whispered quietly as the wizard was ushered from the room. “You made the mistake.”

* * *

Harry strolled through the halls of Hogwarts, a haughty expression on his face as he walked with his chin held high. The warm feeling of satisfaction spread through his body as he sauntered towards Hermione’s office. He couldn’t wait to tell her what he’d just done.

“Harry?!? Where on earth have you been?” Hermione’s voice called from behind him. Harry spun around, his smile widening for a brief moment before fading surreptitiously off his face. Hermione’s eyes were red and swollen and tears were streaming down her cheeks. The warm feeling that had been so prominent just a few moments ago was quickly replaced by the cold tendrils of dread.

“Hermione, what’s wrong?” Harry asked, taking the smaller woman in his embrace. Hermione immediately broke into sobs, her arms wrapping around Harry’s shoulders. All thoughts of his wonderful afternoon quickly faded from his mind as he cradled his crying fiancé in his arms.

“He was so upset, Harry,” Hermione whispered, causing the older wizard’s face to pale as her words. Artie’s flying test. Harry had been so focused on confronting Draco Malfoy that the exam had completely slipped his mind.

“I tried to tell him you’d be there, but he was so upset. He just got on the broom and flew away.”

Harry felt his throat dry as he slowly drew back from Hermione’s embrace, fighting back the fear that was starting to build in his stomach. Hermione glanced at Harry through tear-filled eyes.

“Harry, he flew straight into the Whomping Willow.”

Harry’s eyes immediately snapped shut, pain and guilt lancing through his body. Artie had gotten hurt again, and it was all his fault. He had failed.

“How … bad?” Harry managed to get out through clenched teeth as tears began to well in his eyes.

“Harry, Madame Pomfrey … she …,” Hermione let out a sob as she struggled to regain her composure. “She doesn’t think he’s going to live.”

Title: Father’s Day

Rating: R (this chapter – for sensitive topics)

Disclaimer: I don’t own it.

Author’s Notes: This chapter contains material of a sensitive nature. You’ve been warned.

Chapter 13: Lies and Deceit

Harry felt as if he were walking through a haze as Hermione guided him up the steps and towards the clinic. His legs felt like led as he stumbled into the room, bypassing Madame Pomfrey, who seemed to be trying to get him to sign something. Suddenly, capturing Draco didn’t seem to matter all that much.

The former Auror stepped around the Amelia and Todd, both of whom looked disheveled and heartbroken, and around the curtain that shielded Artie’s bed from the rest of the ward. What Harry saw almost made him vomit.

A huge knot, almost the size of a snitch, jutted out of Artie’s forehead about an inch above his left eye. His right arm was bent backwards at the elbow and it appeared most of his teeth had been knocked out. Tears stung Harry’s eyes as he lifted up the sheets, grimacing at what appeared to be crushed ribs. Barely visible was the slight rise and fall of Artie’s chest – the only sign that the boy was still breathing.

Harry slumped to his knees beside the bed, running his fingertips through Artie’s dirty hair as the sobs erupted from his body. The Hogwarts professor found himself struggling to breathe as he crawled into the bed, cradling Artie’s limp form into his arms as he sobbed into the dingy red hair.

He had no concept of time. No concept of Hermione carefully ushering Amelia and Tom out of the room, of Madame Pomfrey dragging him away from Artie’s limp form so she could start trying to heal him, throwing her hands up in exasperation when Harry refused to leave. Harry remained by Artie’s side, his face pressed nervously into his hands as Madame Pomfrey began muttering spells and charms to repair Artie’s broken bones and punctured lungs. He held Artie’s hand as she rubbed a foul-looking puce-colored potion over his gums where the teeth had broken or been knocked out completely.

Hermione floated in and out of the room that evening, spending part of her time keeping the professors and students apprised of Artie’s condition and the other part by Harry’s side, consoling him and trying to reassure Harry that things would be alright. He didn’t want to hear it though. Terrible guilt tore at his insides, gnawing at his heart and reducing him to tears any time he thought about Artie’s condition. If only he had waited until later to confront Draco.

If only…

He didn’t even realized he had fallen asleep when he felt a hand gently press on his shoulder. Immediately Harry’s head snapped up, his hold on Artie’s hand slackening for a brief moment while he fumbled for his glasses, finally locating them on his lap and securing them on the bridge of his nose.

Ginny was standing by his side, her eyes bright with tears. Dark circles marred her normally beautiful face and her hair appeared bedraggled. A scowl passed over Harry’s features. If she was here to talk about what happened to Draco, she was in for a rude surprise. Harry was not in the mood to discuss his recent arrest.

But Ginny didn’t say a word to Harry. Instead she made her way to the other side of Artie’s bed. Delicate fingers raked through Artie’s disheveled hair as the Hogwarts flying instructor leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss on the top of the boy’s forehead.

“Is he going to be alright?” Ginny whispered, and immediately Harry felt his expression soften. Ginny may have been a Malfoy now, but she was still Artie’s aunt and she was still a Gryffindor. Harry settled back in his chair, his muddled mind trailing over Madame Pomfrey’s last words.

“He should be okay,” Harry whispered, though he knew it was foolish to do so. Artie was unconscious, not sleeping, and he wouldn’t wake up no matter how loudly Harry spoke. “Madame Pomfrey came in around 2 o’clock and told me that the swelling in his brain had gone down a bit and his punctured lung was beginning to mend. We still don’t know if he’ll be able to walk, but Madame Pomfrey seemed to think there was a good chance he’d make a full recovery.”

Ginny gave Harry a slight smile, leaning down to give the unconscious Gryffindor another peck on the forehead. Then she turned her tearful gaze to Harry.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to save him,” Ginny whispered, brushing a tendril of hair off of Artie’s grimy face. “It all happened so fast. One second he was on the course I’d set and the next he got blown off course and I tried to stop him but I was still too slow and I was riding one of those school brooms and…”

Harry reached out, resting a hand gently on her arm. Ginny stopped her rambling for a moment and gave Harry a grateful look.

“It’s not your fault, Ginny,” Harry said quietly, staring back at Artie as tears began to threaten his stoic demeanor. “It was mine. I shouldn’t have gone after Draco when I did. Artie wanted me to be there and I let him down.”

Ginny’s eyes squeezed tightly shut at the mention of her husband’s name, but she said nothing further as she slowly opened them and focused her attention on the boy that lay between them.

“I’m sure he’ll understand,” Ginny whispered. “You didn’t do it on purpose.”

Harry wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he remained quiet. Part of him hoped that Ginny was right – that Artie would be able to forgive him and that the guilt he felt over Artie’s injuries would go away. Another part of him wished to crawl into a bed beside the unconscious Gryffindor and sleep and never wake up.

Ginny released a slow sigh, slowly pushing to her feet and making her way to the door of the medical ward. Harry felt the sadness radiating from her as she trudged towards the exit, and he felt a bit guilty at being the one who helped lock her husband up.

“Ginny,” Harry said quietly, his voice resounding across the dark and silent hospital ward. Ginny paused in her steps, turning to glance at the former Auror over her shoulder.

“I’m sorry about Draco,” Harry said honestly. Ginny’s blue eyes squeezed tightly shut and she drew a sharp breath. After a moment she opened her eyes and stared at Harry with a sad, piercing blue gaze.

“He said he didn’t do it Harry,” Ginny said quietly. “I believe him.”

A surge of anger rose in Harry’s body and he fought the urge to cross the room and throttle the woman who was resolutely proclaiming Draco’s innocence.

“Ginny, I found a witness who saw Draco enter the shop that night,” Harry pointed out impatiently.

“Not a reputable one, Harry,” Ginny replied testily. “The Draco I know would never have killed Ron.”

“Maybe you don’t know your husband nearly as well as you’d like to think,” Harry snapped, pushing to his feet and crossing the room. In a second he had reached Ginny and grabbed her wrist tightly in his left hand. “Why did you marry him, anyway – gold, status, spite?”

A stricken look appeared across Ginny’s face, angry tears sliding down her cheeks. “How dare you?” she whispered hoarsely, trying to jerk her hand from Harry’s grip. “I am not a whore!” she said, a bit louder, her shrill voice causing Harry to cringe.

“Then tell me, Ginny,” Harry said heatedly. “Make me understand!”

“You wouldn’t listen even if I told you,” Ginny retorted. “No one would – not my mother, or my father, or any of my brothers. Why should you be any different?!?” She cried out.

Harry blinked a few times, Ginny’s words echoing in his mind. No one would listen. Just then, he wondered how lonely it must have been for Ginny, stuck all alone in a world where no one would listen.

The expression on his face softened and Harry slowly released his grip on Ginny’s hand. She quickly turned, apparently intent on fleeing the room but Harry gently rested a hand on her shoulder. Ginny stiffened as he touched her, but froze in her tracks and turned to face Harry.

“I’ll listen, Ginny,” Harry said quietly, reaching up and pushing a strand of hair from out of her line of sight. Ginny froze at this unexpected contact, and for a moment Harry wondered if she was going to run. He waited, a feeling of foreboding settling in his stomach as she engaged in this seemingly private war. Eventually, her senses must have prevailed, because Ginny’s shoulders slumped forward and she slowly nodded her head.

Harry wrapped an arm around her shoulder and ushered the younger woman to a chair at the other end of the room. He settled into a chair across from Ginny, leaning forward slightly – a technique they’d taught him at Auror training to make a victim comfortable during an interview.

Ginny took a few deep breaths, apparently to calm herself down, Harry thought to himself. After a few moments of terse silence, she began to tell her tale in a voice so quiet Harry had to strain to hear.

“I guess it began the day of your graduation…” Ginny started, ushering Harry into a realm of memory visited far too often in recent days.

* * *

11 years ago…

Ginny Weasley couldn’t feel her arms or her legs. She couldn’t lift her head – the stunner she’d received to her back had ensured that her body remained completely unresponsive to her commands.

So she waited with a sort of morbid dread as her body was dragged against her will across the smoke-filled grounds of Hogwarts. She had no idea who had cast the stunner at her … the smoke had been so thick and it’d been a long time since she’d seen a family member or a friend, but by the looks of the cloaks that were brushing the ground as she was carried over the shoulder of a wizard, the person had been a Deatheater.

Which meant, in all likelihood, that she was going to die.

This thought did not fill her with as much dread as it would have six years ago, when she was but a child. True, she was not of age yet, but Ginny had already been through far more than most adult wizards had to endure in a lifetime. Trailing behind her brother, Ron, Harry, and Hermione had ensured that.

Still, the thought of dying alone, away from family and friends, in possibly a brutal manner took its toll, and by the time the young Ginny Weasley was set down she was positively terrified.

The lead Deatheater waved his wand, sending long, thin ropes sailing out the end and wrapping around her hands, securing them tightly. Another Deatheater flung the end of the rope around the tree, and Ginny was hoisted from the ground until her feet dangled at least a foot above solid earth. Ginny began to gain some feeling in her neck and slowly lifted her head, her blue eyes widening in horror as the lead Deatheater dropped his ebony hood.

“Well, well, well,” Lucius Malfoy said with a faint smile. “What do we have here? A Weasley, caught off-guard?”

“Let me go,” Ginny hissed, her cheeks reddening as the three Deatheaters who had captured her burst out into laughter.

“Fool girl,” Lucius said, lifting the back of his fingertips and brushing them across Ginny’s cheek. His touch felt like fire and Ginny immediately snapped her head away, only to cry out a moment later when Lucius delivered a vicious slap to the left side of her face.

“Want me to kill her, boss?” one of the Deatheaters said gleefully before taking a menacing step towards the helpless Gryffindor. Ginny glanced around frantically, trying to figure out a way to call for help or to escape, but it was no use. No one would be thinking about the Forbidden Forest.

“Not yet, Crabbe,” Lucius said, reaching into the folds of his robes and pulling out a long, thin dagger. “First I think we will show Arthur Weasley what happens to his loved ones when they try to oppose the Dark Lord.”

With that, Lucius Malfoy closed the gap between him and Ginny. Ginny’s eyes widened in fright, but before she could scream Lucius’ left hand clamped over her mouth and she was pressed between his body and the tree.

“Now, now,” Lucius chastised her, flipping the dagger in his hand and slamming the blade into the tree an inch above Ginny’s head. “We can’t have you yelling for help, now can we?” he asked, holding his hand out towards one of the other Deatheaters, though Ginny was not sure which one. Immediately, the robed wizard began fumbling in his pockets before pulling out a dirty handkerchief and depositing it in Lucius’ hand. Lucius regarded the soiled cloth with a type of disdain before dangling it in front of Ginny’s terrified face. Ginny promptly clamped her mouth shut, giving up her screams in order to offer outright defiance at what would be Lucius’ next attempt to silence her.

But Lucius was not to be dissuaded, and with a sharp hiss he bit down on Ginny’s shoulder, causing the younger woman to cry out in pain before she realized what was happening. In a flash, her cry was stifled as the handkerchief was stuffed into her mouth, nearly causing her to gag. Breathing became a hundred times more difficult as she attempted to spit the cloth back out, only to have Lucius’ hand cover her mouth again.

“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” his sickly sweet breath caused Ginny’s eyes to water with tears as she struggled to keep the bile from rising in her throat. He lifted an index finger and brushed away an errant tear that trickled down Ginny’s cheek. “I wonder what dear old Arthur will say when I tell him I sampled the wares before ending his daughter’s miserable little life.”

Ginny’s eyes widened in horror at Lucius’ pronouncement, her struggling beginning anew as a scream erupted from her throat, catching in the handkerchief and being brutally silenced.

No…No…No…

Lucius traced the tip of the knife down Ginny’s cheek, not pressing hard enough to break the skin. Ginny whimpered as the point slid down her throat, pausing just above her neckline. Then, in one harsh movement Lucius cut downwards, tearing a long, ragged tear along the sleeve of her blouse. Ginny let out another cry and shivered, the mantra repeating over and over in her mind.

No … No … No…

“Father, what are you doing?”

Ginny’s head snapped up, her attention being drawn over the shoulder of the Deatheater. All eyes fell on the form of Draco Malfoy, who was busily brushing brush off his robes. He eyes widened in recognition when he saw Ginny, the grey orbs flickering with a sort of distaste as he eyed the tear in her blouse.

“What are you doing?” Draco said, his eyes widening in revulsion. “She’s a Weasley!”

“What are you doing here?” Lucius hissed, stepping back from Ginny. Ginny’s gaze flickered to Draco’s, silently begging for him to get help even as the cold tendrils of reality slid around her heart. Draco was a Malfoy. He would never help her.

“I came to find you,” Draco said, his eyes narrowing. “Then I saw you disappearing into the woods with … this … thing…,” Draco said, his upper lip curling in disgust.

“Go back to the castle and wait with your friends,” Lucius hissed as he turned his focus back to Ginny. Horror and revulsion spread across her body. Right now death didn’t seem quite so bad.

“But … she’s a Weasley,” Draco stuttered. “She’s … tainted. You can’t be serious about touching her.”

The other two Deatheaters who had accompanied Lucius burst out into snickers. Ginny watched as a flush spread from his neck to the tip of his ears. Ginny recognized the look of humiliation – she had seen it far too often when her brother had encounters with Draco and his friends. Draco’s grey eyes darkened when his father burst out into laughter. Ginny could almost see the humiliation burning Draco’s cheeks.

“Get back to the castle with the other children, Draco,” Lucius said, his voice carrying a hint of derision. “Let the adults get back to business.”

It wasn’t a really fair assessment, Ginny knew. Draco was at least as old as her brother, which meant he was of age. At that moment, Ginny saw just a hint of the bullied child she’d met in Flourish and Blotts.

At that moment, Severus Snape burst out of the forest behind Draco, his dark gaze leveling on Ginny for a fraction of a second before pointing his wand in the direction of one of the Deatheaters and shouting “Expelliarmus!”

The stunned Deatheater didn’t have time to respond before the light hit him in the center of his chest, sending him flying backwards. The overweight man hit the tree with a loud “Ooph” before falling to the ground. He stirred once before he quit moving.

Lucius’ eyes narrowed to tiny slits as Snape sent another disarming spell towards the second Deatheater, who ended up unconscious in much the same way as the first one.

“Accio,” Lucius shouted, leveling his wand at Draco. Draco’s eyes widened in horror as he flew in the air towards his father. In a flash Lucius had his wand arm around Draco’s neck and the knife pressed against his son’s throat.

“So the traitor finally shows his face,” Lucius said, his voice sinister. Snape’s eyes widened as the lead Deatheater pressed the edge of the knife against his son’s neck.

“Fa…Father?!?” Draco gasped, the alarm evident in his voice at the threat on his life. Ginny watched the exchange in horror. How could Lucius Malfoy threaten the life of his own son?

“Lower the knife, Lucius,” Snape said, his wand pointed at the older man’s forehead. “This is your son you are talking about.”

“Ah, yes,” Lucius hissed. “I’d forgotten how attached you’d grown to the boy while he’s been at Hogwarts. So attached that you were able to use him to spy on our Master.”

“He is no longer a master of mine, Lucius,” Snape said with a cold, calculating glare as he circled the clearing, never removing his wand from Lucius’s forehead. In a flash he lowered the point of his wand towards the knife at Draco’s throat and shouted, “Accio!”

The dagger went flying out of Lucius hands, flying hilt first towards Snape before the Hogwarts professor ducked and its hilt became embedded in a tree. Lucius shoved Draco forward, scarcely waiting until the younger man was out of the way before aiming his wand at Snape, who was momentarily distracted by the flying dagger.

“Expelliarmus!” Lucius shouted, and Ginny screamed as a red shot of light hit Professor Snape in the chest, flinging the man against the tree inches below where the knife had embedded. The dark, surly-mannered professor hit the tree with a grunt and fell on his hands and knees.

“Stop it!” Draco yelled, his wand out and pointed it between his father and Professor Snape.

“Don’t be stupid, boy,” Lucius hissed. “Put that wand down.”

“Draco, listen to me,” Snape said cautiously, holding both of his hands to try to reassure his protégé. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You lied to me,” Draco yelled, pointing his wand at Snape. “You were using me to get information on my father.

“Voldemort is not going to win this war, Draco,” Snape said cautiously. “Those who side with him are going to spend the rest of their lives in Azkaban. Is that where you want to be, Draco?”

“Don’t be a fool, Draco,” Lucius interrupted, drawing a glare from Snape. Lucius leveled his wand at Draco. “He’s lying to you – he’s been lying to you for seven years. He’s been helping Dumbledore and his pathetic Order all along. Now say the spell and finish him off.”

“Don’t say that spell, Draco,” Snape said in a low voice, taking a cautious step towards the younger Malfoy. Draco took a step back and raised the wand towards his former professor. “If you utter those words you will spend the rest of your life in Azkaban. That is what will happen if you listen to your father.”

“Do it Draco!” Lucius yelled. “Finish him off! You answer to me!”

“Everything I have done I have done in your best interests, Draco,” Snape said warningly. “If you do this you throw the rest of your future away.”

“I said kill…” Lucius began to shout, before his words trailed off into something halfway between a muffled cry and a scream. Both Lucius and Snape fell forward, clutching their forearms in agony.

Draco took a few steps back, his eyes widening in confusion as the two older wizards writhed on the ground for what seemed like forever. Ginny watched the exchange, her eyes tightly shut, silently urging Draco to do the right thing for what was probably the first time in his life.

Eventually the screaming stopped, and both men lay prostrate on the ground. It was Snape who finally rose first, crawling onto his hands and knees and jerking up his sleeve to view the dark mark.

“He did it,” Snape murmured incredulously. Ginny’s eyes widened as Snape’s words rushed over her. Harry had beaten Voldemort?

“Impossible,” Lucius hissed, dragging himself to his knees and glaring at Snape venomously. “He cannot be dead.”

“You felt it, Lucius,” Snape retorted, his dark eyes glowering. “The war is over. The Dark Lord lost.”

“No!” Lucius yelled, lunging for his wand. He leveled the tip at Snape’s heart and began to scream, “Avada…”

“Expelliarmus!” another voice yelled, and Ginny’s eyes widened as a jet of red light shot out of the tip of Draco’s wand, hitting Lucius squarely in the chest. Ginny watched in horror as Lucius flew up into the air, hitting the branch of a tree. He fell to the ground with a large crash, stirred once, and then was still.

Ginny’s gaze snapped to Draco, who was standing erect, his wand straight out, chest heaving as he stared at his father with barely restrained rage.

“I am not a boy anymore, father,” Draco whispered, his voice deadly low. “I answer to no one – not even you.”

With that he threw his wand at Snape and stormed off towards the castle.

* * *

Present day…

“I don’t get it,” Harry said, staring at Ginny in confusion. “All Draco did was join the side that already won. That’s what any Slytherin would do.”

“Not any Slytherin,” Ginny corrected. “Many of the Deatheaters remained loyal to Voldemort during the trials that followed.”

“Lucius tried to say he’d been under the Imperius curse,” Harry pointed out.

“But no one believed him, did they?” Ginny pointed out. “That’s not the point. The point is that Draco finally saw that if he had done what his father had wanted him to do; he’d have ended up in Azkaban just like all the rest of them. For the first time in his life he did the right thing.”

“And that made you fall in love with him?” Harry asked dubiously.

“No, of course not,” Ginny said. “That didn’t come until later. But it’s important you understand that something in Draco had changed that day – not necessarily for the better – but just a change.

Harry was starting to get a bit impatient. Ginny’s story still made absolutely no sense and didn’t to suggest Draco Malfoy was capable of doing anything other than acting in his own interest.

“So, when did this whole thing between you and Draco start?” Harry asked testily.

“I’m getting to that point,” Ginny said with a hiss. “It actually started a year later, just after I graduated.”

Ginny flipped through the Daily Prophet, heaving a big sigh at the lack of job openings. Nearly a week had passed since she’d left Hogwarts, and yet all of the resumes she’d sent to the major wizard corporations had gone unanswered. She had the highest scores in charms of any one in her class, and was desperately looking for a job creating advertisements for various wizard companies, where she could combine her love of writing with her creative charm work, but so far no one seemed to have any openings.

Then something caught the corner of her eye.

Advertising Director sought for Malfoy Industries Incorporated. Charms, Writing experience requested. Must have resume and references. Apply in person.

“You thought Malfoy would give you a job?” Harry asked incredulously. Did Ginny magically forget the feud that had divided their families for centuries?

“He did give me a job,” Ginny said proudly.

“What makes you think I would hire you, Weasel?” Draco said maliciously as he stared over the resume Ginny had given him.

“I can handle the job and you know it,” Ginny said. “I’m the best in my class at Charms and thanks to your father I have more than the necessary writing experience.”

“How dare you talk about my father?” Draco hissed angrily, throwing the parchment on the desktop. “You aren’t fit to shine his shoes.”

“You want another reason to hire me,” Ginny said with a grin, leaning over the desktop. “I’m not afraid to stand up to you. You’re surrounded by people who would wipe your bum if you asked for it but not me. I’m not afraid to tell you when an idea of yours isn’t going to work out or when you’re targeting the wrong group of Wizards. You aren’t going to find that in another Advertising director.”

“And he bought that?” Harry asked, his eyes widening. He had to give Ginny some credit – he didn’t know many wizards who would survive a hex from Malfoy after talking to him like that.

“I didn’t think so, at first,” Ginny admitted. “Shortly afterwards he told me to get out of his sight and I went home, thinking I’d blown my only shot of getting a job outside of my brothers’ shop. But later that night he owled me and told me to be there tomorrow bright and early … or else.”

“So you had a job, then?”

Ginny nodded. “I showed up the next morning and Draco showed me to my office. He said I had one month to come up with a winning idea or I could kiss my position goodbye.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “And?”

The redheaded witch gave him a curt laugh. “I had one finished in two weeks. Draco couldn’t believe it. After that he pretty much left me alone.”

“So what happened next?”

“Well, for a long time, nothing,” Ginny admitted. “I stayed out of his way and he stayed out of mine. Neither of us talked about what happened at his graduation. Then, about two years later, Draco asked me on our first date.”

“Draco Malfoy asked you on a date?” Harry asked incredulously.

“Well, it was a business date,” Ginny admitted sheepishly. “He wanted to discuss a new advertising campaign and suggested a restaurant in London where we could meet.”

Harry let out a derisive snort. “And?”

“He was a perfect gentleman,” Ginny responded, drawing another snort from Harry. He promptly silenced at her glare. “He was extraordinarily polite, and didn’t call me Weasel once that night. And yet he was so arrogant and so sure of himself that at times I wanted to throttle him.”

That sounds like the Draco I know, Harry thought to himself, though he wasn’t about to tell Ginny that.

“From that point forward we started working on campaigns together,” Ginny said wistfully. “One thing led to another and before long we started finding excuses to see each other outside of work. That’s when I started to realize that I was starting to like Draco Malfoy.”

“Draco, what are you doing here,” Ginny asked, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion, surprised to see her boss on her doorstep at 10 p.m.

“I came to discuss the Spitzer account,” he said, sweeping past her doorway and hanging his robe on the coat rack.

“This late at night?”

“You doing anything better?” Draco asked. “Writing love letters to Potter, perhaps?”

“Don’t be daft,” Ginny huffed, closing the door so as not to let in the drafty air. “I was actually reading a book.”

“Read later,” Draco said, sitting on her couch as if he owned the place. Ginny vaguely remembered feeling infuriated at that as he opened his briefcase and began pulling out files. Then she realized that she was wearing only a skimpy nightgown under her terry-cloth bathrobe, and a heated blush crossed her face.

Draco stared at her expectantly, and Ginny let out a sigh and slumped onto the couch beside him, scanning the paperwork Draco had brought over.

“What do they want?” she asked, scrolling the parchment.

“They’ve asked for the Irish National Quidditch team to sponsor their magical hair growth formula.”

“Why on earth would they want that? Not one person on that team actually needs it. I thought we’d agreed to go with Ludo Bagman for that. He’s actually lost his hair in that dragon incident.”

“I don’t know. They mentioned something about leprechauns and after that I quit listening.”

Ginny stared at Draco, scrutinizing his grey-eyed gaze carefully. “And you came over at 10 o’clock to tell me this? Couldn’t it have waited until tomorrow?”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “Why, eager to get back to writing love letters to your boyfriend?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” Ginny said huffily, throwing the papers back in his briefcase.

“Why not?”

Draco’s question caught her off guard, and Ginny looked at him with a curious expression on her face. As much as she wanted to tell him that she liked him, reason overruled her emotions. He was her boss … and he was a Malfoy. At one point in time, those reasons might have been reversed, she realized.

“I … I don’t know,” Ginny finally stuttered. Draco gave her a haughty smirk and leaned back against the couch, stretching his arms out as if he were at his own sofa.

“So, why not? Don’t you like someone?”

“I …” Ginny stuttered, her face flushing. “That’s none of your business!”

Draco arched an eyebrow, standing to his feet so rapidly Ginny was surprised he didn’t fall over with a case of vertigo. In two steps he had closed the distance between the two of them, putting so little space between them it left Ginny’s insides crawling with discomfort.

“Who is it, Ginny?” Draco asked, an arrogant smile crossing his face. Ginny hated that smile. It gave her butterflies in her stomach and at the same time made her want to slap him or kiss him.

Right now she wanted to do both.

“Who is it, Weasel?” Draco asked, his grin widening as his face began to close the distance between hers.

“Don’t call me that,” Ginny said, inwardly wincing at how breathy her voice sounded.

“Why not?” Draco asked, mere inches now separating his lips from hers.

“It makes me uncomfortable,” Ginny whispered, mesmerized by the look in his eyes. In the next second she had risen up on her toes, bringing her mouth to his for the first time.

Harry grimaced inwardly. He really didn’t want to know anything else about what happened that night. The thought of Ginny and Malfoy … doing anything sent his stomach crawling.

“And that’s how it happened?” Harry asked, desperately hoping this story had come to an end.

“No,” Ginny said. “We kept it a secret, at first. Both of us knew the risks of letting news of our relationship get public. Both our parents, well my parents and his mum, really, would be furious.”

“But you still did it,” Harry pointed out. “Knowing that your families would not approve. And you kept it a secret. You should have known how that would make them feel.”

“I didn’t expect them to understand how Draco had changed,” Ginny said quietly, the first sign of tears welling in her eyes. “I didn’t think they’d understand that I had changed. We both had. Ginny Weasley and Draco Malfoy were not the same people they used to be. That’s the only way I can explain it.”

Harry nodded, a glimmer of understanding arising in his mind. He wasn’t necessarily sure he liked the change in Ginny, but he understood it better now.

“We were able to keep it a secret for a year,” Ginny said. “Maybe I was wrong to keep such a thing a secret. It’s a little late to change the past now. Then one day I opened the Daily Prophet and saw our pictures on the front page.”

Harry nodded, remembering that day in great detail. He’d spit his coffee and doughnuts clear across the room when he saw the front page picture with Draco and Ginny holding hands and snogging.

“Dad was furious,” Ginny said quietly, a lone tear sliding down her cheek. “Mum wouldn’t stop crying. Fred and George kept calling me a traitor and Ron said he couldn’t believe that I’d lied to them for a year.”

“And what about Draco’s parents?” Harry asked, his curiosity piqued.

“His mum disowned him the second she found out,” Ginny said with a sad shake of her head. “His dad … well … they don’t let them send letters out of Azkaban, but I heard Lucius was so angry he tried to kill two other inmates. Draco and I were left to deal with the consequences on our own. All we had left was each other.”

“And so you got married,” Harry said, finishing Ginny’s unfinished sentence.

Ginny nodded. “About a week later. We didn’t invite anyone else to the wedding, we just eloped. I think that was the final straw for my mum. She might have forgiven me for marrying Draco, I think. But she would never forgive me for not inviting them.”

“She kind of had a right to be angry,” Harry said quietly, hoping to phrase his rebuke as tactfully as possible. “She was your mother. You know how she is. You were the only daughter she had. And your dad would have wanted to walk you down the aisle.”

“I know,” Ginny whispered, the tears falling freely down her cheeks. “It was a mistake, and I shouldn’t have done it, but I can’t change the past,” she whispered, a sob escaping her throat.

“Shh…” Harry whispered, drawing the younger woman into an embrace and planting a kiss on her forehead.

“If I could change it, I would,” Ginny whispered. “But all I have now is the future. That’s what I have to live for now.”

Harry felt guilt tug at his insides, realizing that Ginny’s future could be considerably lonelier now that he’d put her husband in prison for murder.

It took Ginny awhile to regain her composure, but when she did she drew back from his embrace, giving him a gracious smile as she wiped underneath her eyes.

“Harry, Draco took the same risk I did, and he lost just as much. But, Harry, never once did he complain. Not once did he tell me he would take it back,” Ginny said, her voice changing to a gentle plead that begged Harry to believe her. Harry wanted to, he really did. But the evidence implicating Draco was too strong. Harry wasn’t sure if it was his own stubbornness or just selfish pride that kept him from believing Ginny’s story. But he just couldn’t. Ginny may have genuinely believed in her husband’s innocence, but Harry could not.

“He loves me, Harry,” Ginny whispered. “He would have never killed Ron – no matter how much he hated him. Not when he knew what it would do to me.”

Harry watched in silence as Ginny stood to her feet and left the hospital room.

Title: Father’s Day

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and company is owned by J.K. Rowling, Scholastic, Raincoast, and Warner Bros.

Author’s Notes: Thanks for your reviews. This chapter is dedicated to Sarah, who pointed out a plot hole in my story that needed resolving. Also, for those of you who are a bit miffed about the D/G thing, I never think that would happen in canon. But this is an AU story, and I am allowed a bit of liberty. I did try to explain it as best as possible. And to Heaven, well, I threatened not to write anymore until you gave me a good scene between Harry and Hermione in Crossways guest house. I’m not completely satisfied (for obvious reasons) but you did give me a bit more, so this chapter is for you too.

Chapter 14: Heart of a Lion

It was the almost undetectable sound of rustling that brought Harry out of restless sleep and his gaze to rest on the eleven-year-old in the hospital bed. Artie’s eyes were opened, though they bore a dazed expression. The former Auror felt a rush of elation as he leaned over the bed, unable to keep himself from extending his left hand and brushing the hair out of Artie’s face.

Artie seemed surprised at the contact, his blue eyes shifting into focus. His head turned towards Harry, albeit slowly, his eyes widening when they fell upon the visage of his caretaker.

“Hey there, Artie,” Harry whispered softly, relief flooding his features. Artie seemed to be trying to gather his thoughts. Harry shook his head quietly. “Artie, you don’t have to speak. I’m really sorry I didn’t make it to your flying test yesterday. Can you forgive me?”

Artie frowned, his eyebrows furrowing as he seemed to mull over something before he spoke, his tiny voice dry and raspy. “Why?”

Harry pressed his lips together in a fine line. “I don’t really have a good excuse, Artie. I went to go see your uncle. I lost control of my temper and it was wrong of me. I’m really, really sorry I wasn’t there,” Harry said, swallowing a lump starting to rise in his throat.”

Artie gave Harry a slight nod, and Harry felt the knot in his stomach begin to untangle. No, things would not be perfect – he would have to make it up to Artie, but he could manage that.

“Do I have to get back on a broom again?” Artie managed to choke out, drawing a smile to Harry’s face and tears to his eyes.

“You’re not going to let a little thing like the Whomping Willow scare you off, are you?” Harry asked, the grin broadening on his face. Artie tried to laugh, his breath catching in his throat and instead managed a half snort, half wince.

“Guess not,” Artie muttered, and Harry gave him a sympathetic look.

“There are times you’re going to fall, Artie,” Harry said quietly, regarding the younger wizard seriously. “It’s up to you to get back on the broom and keep going.”

Artie pursed his lips, as if contemplating this bit of advice. Harry reached out with his right hand, musing Artie’s hair as he stood to his feet.

“Get some rest, okay?” Harry whispered, leaning down and brushing his lips across Artie’s forehead. Artie nodded, his eyes already beginning to droop as Harry began to walk out of the room. Just before he could leave, Madame Pomfrey grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Harry?”

Harry looked over his shoulder, regarding Madame Pomfrey’s solemn expression with a curious look.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, but I thought you should know that Arthur and Molly were here earlier, visiting Artie,” the school nurse said solemnly. Harry nodded, seeing nothing at all unusual about this. No doubt Headmistress McGonagall would have contacted Artie’s grandparents to let them know he’d be okay.

“I thought you should know, because Molly was furious that you weren’t here,” Madame Pomfrey said, finally drawing a frown across Harry’s face. “I put a silencing charm around Artie’s bed and was able to stifle most of the yelling, but she was talking about going to the Ministry and getting an order to regain custody of Artie.”

Harry felt his heart drop. Briefly he closed his eyes, wondering if this last mistake he made would be his last.

No, Harry’s mind screamed. I will not let them take Artie. Harry lifted his chin, his green eyes flashing defiance, and gave Madame Pomfrey a nod. “Thank you. I will deal with it.”

Madame Pomfrey gave Harry a weak smile, canting her head for a moment as if deciding something, and then nodded. Harry watched as she turned on her heel to attend to some other task. He took in a deep breath before leaving the hospital ward, intent on finding Hermione.

* * *

Two hours later, Harry had still not located his fiancé, and frustration was beginning to build in his body. He’d searched nearly every classroom, her bedroom, her office, his office, the owlery, the Gryffindor corridor, the dungeons, and as much of the Hogwarts grounds as he dared. Now he was tired and sweaty – his robes clung to his body as he moved through the hallway. As it was a weekend, few students were in the halls, but hushed whispers radiated from the various corridors as small groups of students bustled towards one place or the other.

“Malfoy … hospital …”

“Crying…”

Those words caught his ears, and Harry quickly spun around on his heel, stepping in front of a pair of Hufflepuff girls who looked to be on their way outside to enjoy the beginnings of the summer.

“What were you talking about?” Harry asked, trying to keep his voice as non-threatening as possible.

The two girls, one was short and had curly brown hair and blue eyes, and the other was taller with lighter hair and green eyes, stared at Harry in fear. Apparently they had not counted on a teacher listening to what they had to say.

“What do you mean Professor?” the smaller girl asked.

“What happened to Ginny?” Harry said slowly, inwardly cringing at how testy his voice sounded. But his patience had already worn thin from searching for Hermione.

“Um…you haven’t heard?” the taller one asked. Harry shook his head, stifling his exasperation. Would he be asking if he has heard?

“Madame Malfoy was taken to the hospital today by Professor Granger,” the smaller one said.

“She wouldn’t stop crying,” the taller one added.

Harry felt his heart freeze up and he quickly thanked the two girls before rushing off to his fireplace. A feeling of dread settled over his body as he threw the floo powder into the fireplace and asked to be taken to St. Mungo’s.

* * *

Harry stepped onto the fourth floor, his eyes darting up and down along the hallway. St. Mungo’s had relatively few private rooms, and Harry had seen none of them any of the times he’d been here. They were mainly for the wealthier wizard families who could afford to purchase the hospital if they so chose.

It was to one of these rooms that he was headed to now.

He stepped inside room 456, grimacing at the loud creak the door gave as he peered inside. Ginny appeared to be asleep – her hair had been pushed behind her ears and her hands were resting palm down by her sides. Hermione was sitting in a chair by Ginny’s side, reading what appeared to be a muggle book. She glanced up as Harry stepped inside the room, meeting his gaze silently. Whether or not she was happy to see him Harry couldn’t discern.

“How is she doing?” Harry asked, shoving the unwelcome thoughts out of his mind as he made his way to Ginny’s bedside and leaned down, brushing his lips across her forehead.

“Better, now,” Hermione said, her eyes flashing in concern as she appraised Ginny silently. After a second she gave a slight nod, apparently satisfied. “She’s taken a light sleeping draught and was out like a light.”

Harry nodded, brushing a hand over Ginny’s forehead, flinching at how cold her skin felt. Guilt tugged at his insides. Ginny had been like a little sister to him – and he was pretty certain he knew what this was all about.

Seeking affirmation, his stare moved to Hermione’s. “What happened?” he asked.

Hermione sighed, closing her book and setting it down on the counter. She met Harry’s curious gaze with slight rebuke. “Ginny was supposed to meet me this morning and I was going to accompany her to visit Draco. When she did not show up, I flooed to her place and found her curled up on top of her covers in fetal position. She kept repeating ‘He didn’t do it.’ When I tried to rouse her, she didn’t respond. That’s when I brought her here.”

The former Auror closed his eyes momentarily, wincing at the fresh stab at pain that lanced through his heart. Ginny was suffering from a nervous breakdown and it was his fault.

No, it’s Draco’s fault, a voice in Harry’s mind chided. Harry shook his head against the silent chastisement. My fault. All my fault. Not Draco’s. Mine.

Harry opened his eyes, his right fist clenching as he stared at the prone figure of his friend. Determination flooded him and he silently vowed that he would do all it took to help Ginny get through this.

“Harry?”

Hermione’s quiet voice called him out of the haze of his thoughts and he turned and glanced at the woman who would be his wife. A knot of fear arose in his stomach at the mournful expression on Hermione’s face.

“I think we need to talk,” she said quietly. Harry’s throat ran dry but he nodded, his mind pouring over a million different apologies he could offer. None of them seemed to work in his mind.

“Let’s go outside,” Hermione said, her right hand playing with the engagement ring on her left hand. Harry wasn’t sure he liked that, but he saw little choice as he followed Hermione out of the room.

It wasn’t until they stepped outside that all of Harry’s fears and concerns overloaded his mind. He was about to open his mouth to speak when Hermione slowly turned on her heel and stared at Harry straight in the eyes, her mahogany gaze bright with unshed tears.

“Harry, I can’t do this.”

All of the words he was going to say flooded out of his mind in one big whoosh as he stared at Hermione numbly, not quite processing what she was saying.

“What?”

“I…” Hermione closed her eyes, her voice trailing off as she pressed her lips together, clearly on the edge of losing her composure. Harry felt a sting behind his eyes and he closed them momentarily, inhaling sharply as Hermione’s smaller hands reached out and took his own. He felt the cool press of metal in the center of his palm and he choked back a sob. Slowly, Harry closed his fist around the ring and opened his eyes, meeting Hermione’s tearful gaze.

“I can’t marry you if you’re going to do this, Harry,” Hermione said quietly. “You’re supposed to be able to trust me, but you don’t…”

“But I do trust you, Hermione,” Harry protested.

“You didn’t trust my judgment when I was trying to clarify what Artie saw. You immediately jumped to your own conclusions and got angry with me. Ron used to do that when we were younger, remember? Then you went off on your own and confronted Draco without even asking me, Harry. You’re not an Auror anymore, Harry. You should have just turned over the information to the Ministry and let them make the decision. Or you should have at least told me where you were going. But you wanted to make the final decision, Harry.”

“I’m sorry.”

Hermione closed her eyes, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I don’t know if ‘I’m sorry’ is going to work this time Harry. I just don’t know.”

Harry closed his eyes, clamping down on his protest because everything Hermione had said so far was true, and he knew it.

Inhaling sharply, Harry finally opened his eyes, blinking through the tears as he reached out and gently took Hermione’s hand, returning the engagement ring to her palm. The tears were now flowing freely down Hermione’s cheeks as she stared at the small circle of gold in her palm. Harry closed the fingers of her hands over the ring, not bothering to stifle the tears that now trailed rivers down his face.

“Keep it,” Harry managed to choke out, much to his utter amazement. “It was a gift.”

And with that Harry slowly turned, walking down the hallway towards the elevator, leaving Hermione standing in the hallway, the engagement ring tucked securely into the palm of her hand.

* * *

It took Harry a few hours to regain his composure before he could think clearly again. He traveled to Grimmauld Place, not wanting to be around other people as he tried to regain control of his thoughts. The memories of Hermione’s tearful breakup tore at his senses, but Harry tried to shove them away. He loved Hermione, and he always would. He needed Hermione – she was as much a part of him as the air he breathed. And she needed him, he was sure of it.

But what he needed didn’t matter at the moment. His concern – his focus needed to rest on Ginny. It was with great tribulation that Harry managed to shove the thoughts of Hermione into a corner of his mind where it could be smothered until a later date. Lifting his chin slightly, Harry made a silent resolution to fix this mess he had made.

* * *

There were a few sources of constancy in Harry’s life. Voldemort was dead. Quidditch was always fun. And the Burrow would always be the Burrow. These were sources of comfort for Harry.

But today, as he stepped up to the doorway of the place he used to call home, a feeling of dread settled over him. Whatever happened today, he was not looking forward to confronting Mrs. Weasley.

Harry lifted his hand, giving the wooden doorway three short raps with his trembling knuckles. There was a shuffling sound of footsteps and he lowered his hand, heaving a deep sigh as the door was flung open and Molly Weasley appeared in the doorway.

“Harry!” Molly cried out, embracing the younger wizard in a stifling hug. “It’s so good to see you. Come in, please,” she said quickly, ushering Harry inside the kitchen where Arthur Weasley was sitting at the table, browsing over the headlines of the Daily Prophet.

“Arthur and I are so glad you decided to visit us,” Molly said. Mr. Weasley averted his gaze, making it clear to Harry that he was less than thrilled to be included in that statement.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you too,” Harry said finally, tearing his gaze away from the hardwood table and towards Molly’s slightly surprised features. A small smile settled across her face as she ushered Harry to a chair at the kitchen table across from Arthur. Molly took a seat by Mr. Weasley’s right side.

“What did you want to tell us, dear?” Molly asked. “You know you can talk to us about anything.”

Harry briefly closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, trying to will away the tension he felt knot deep in his muscles. It didn’t help. Eventually, he opened his eyes and brought his gaze to rest on Molly’s.

“You can’t have him,” Harry said.

Arthur Weasley immediately closed his eyes, as if he had been expecting Harry to say just that. The look in Molly’s eyes got cold.

“Pardon, dear?” she said, her voice low.

“I know you want to get custody of Artie,” Harry said, not flinching from the hardened look in Molly’s eyes. He shook off his nervousness and regarded the woman who had been like a mother to him. “You can’t have him. I will not let you.”

“Harry, dear,” Molly started, “surely by now you realized this is foolishness? Raising children is a difficult task Harry.”

“More difficult than facing Voldemort,” Harry admitted. “But one I’d not trade for the world.”

Molly’s eyes hardened. “You left Artie to go on some foolish chase and he was injured!” she accused, her voice raising a bit.

“I made a mistake,” Harry said, his voice raising to match Molly’s. “No doubt you’ve made hundreds of them with your children.”

Arthur cringed at that last statement, as if bracing himself for the torrent that would be coming at that wizard who dared suggest Molly made a mistake in parenting.

“Excuse me?” Molly said, a sinister trace in her voice. Harry cringed inwardly.

“That came out wrong,” Harry said hurriedly, not wanting to risk being on the receiving end of one of Molly’s hexes. The creases in Molly’s face relaxed a bit, but still retained their hard edge.

“Mrs. Weasley, you’ve been the closest thing I’ve known to a mother. You’ve raised some wonderful children and given them everything they could ever want. But …” Harry closed his eyes, inhaling deeply before regarding Molly with a bright gaze that belied his emotional turmoil. “You will always be Artie’s grandparents, but I…” Harry closed his eyes, inhaling deeply before continuing. “I love Artie, Mrs. Weasley. He’s the closest thing to a son I’ll probably ever get. Please, don’t take him away from me.”

Harry opened his eyes, shock registering in his body at the tears that were streaming down Molly’s face. Even Mr. Weasley’s eyes were bright. But Harry wasn’t finished. There was still more he had to say.

“Your daughter Ginny is in St. Mungo’s now suffering a nervous breakdown because the only family she thinks she has is in prison for murder,” Harry said. At this Molly clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling a gasp. Clearly the Weasleys had not heard about this latest bit of news.

“She’s in the hospital … because of me,” Harry continued, a tear slipping past the dam in his eye and sliding down his cheek. “Because I put Draco there. Because I didn’t stop to listen to the voice of reason.”

“But did he do it?” Arthur pressed, his eyes bright with tears.

“I don’t know,” Harry said honestly. “Regardless, your daughter needs you. It’s time to end this feud.”

Arthur gave a slight nod, and Molly quickly rose to her feet and crossed to the other side of the table, embracing Harry in a fierce hug. Harry rested his chin on the smaller woman’s forehead

“Thank you, Harry,” Molly whispered, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. She disappeared with a pop, no doubt going to see Ginny.

“Thanks, Harry,” Arthur said, stepping around the side of the table and giving Harry a firm handshake. “Your parents would be proud.”

Then he too disappeared.

Harry closed his eyes, breathing a sigh of relief. That had gone much better than he hoped for. After a moment of processing this recent turn of events, he stood to his feet.

He had one more stop left.

* * *

The holding cells for prisoners awaiting transport to Azkaban were in the lowest levels of the Ministry. These were the levels Harry had seen most often during his years as an Auror, often escorting Deatheaters to them. Now he was here to see Draco Malfoy.

He found his old nemesis sitting on a cot in the corner of the dreary cell, his elbows resting on his knees. Harry stepped up to the bars of the cell, his hand resting on the bottom of the wand in his pocket. Draco looked up at the sound of footsteps and his eyes promptly narrowed, hatred brewing in his eyes as he met Harry’s gaze.

“Potter…” Draco hissed venomously.

“Malfoy,” Harry said quietly, unperturbed by the anger Draco showed. He was used to the taunts and threats that came with the job of being an Auror.

“What do you want?” Draco hissed, rising to his feet with such forcefulness that Harry’s grip on his wand tightened. In two strides Draco had crossed the tiny cell, gripping the bars of his prison with such forcefulness Harry wondered if they would actually break.

“We need to talk,” Harry said, stepping back to ensure he was out of Draco’s reach.

“I have nothing to say to you, Potter.”

“Why did you see Ron that night?” Harry asked, ignoring the fact that Draco’s hands could in any moment arch through the bars and attempt to grab him.

Draco let out a snort. “Why should I tell you?” he said, his grey eyes narrowing.

“Because right now your wife is in St. Mungo’s on the verge of losing her mind,” Harry whispered quietly. “Ginny needs you, but I’m not letting you out of here until I’m sure you didn’t kill Ron.”

The former Slytherin’s expression changed at the news of his wife. Draco’s expression softened a bit, flickering with worry and some other indiscernible emotion before hardening into the cold demeanor he wore so well.

“I didn’t kill the Weasel. Let me out now, Potter,” Draco said warningly.

“What were you doing at the shop that night?” Harry asked, fighting the urge to pull out his wand.

Draco lunged at the bars, his hands shooting through to grab Harry, but the raven haired wizard jumped back in an instant, out of reach of Draco’s grip. The former Gryffindor raised his wand, leveling it at Draco’s chest.

“Let me out!” Draco screamed.

“What did you say to Ron?” Harry yelled back, feeling his anger spike at his old enemy.

Draco stared at him for a moment, heavy breaths rocking his shoulders before his hands lowered to his sides. He gave Harry one last spiteful glare before his head turned to the ground and he mumbled something incoherent.

“What?” Harry said, not quite understanding what Draco had just said.

“Open your ears, Potter,” Draco retorted. “I said I went to try to talk Ron into ending this silly feud with his sister.”

“Why would you do that?” Harry asked, Draco’s answer not making any sense. Never in his life had he seen a Slytherin act in a selfless manner unless he was to receive some direct benefit.

“Because Ginny was hurting,” Draco hissed. “She was hurting and they were being so damn stubborn. You stupid Gryffindors are all the same. Don’t care about anything but your damn pride.”

Harry swallowed the anger at Draco’s brazen taunt, closing his eyes for a minute. If Draco hadn’t killed Ron, then who did?

That was, of course, assuming Draco was telling the truth.

Harry opened his eyes, letting his emerald-hued gaze settle on Draco. After a second he reached into his left pocket, pulling out a key and releasing the lock on Draco’s cell. Draco’s eyes widened at this, as if he could not believe that Harry Potter was releasing him from the cell.

“I’ll take you to Ginny,” Harry said quietly. “Let’s go.”

“Why?” Draco asked, his eyes narrowed. He glanced at the open cell door with suspicion, as if it were a trap waiting to ensnare him.

Harry paused in his step, glancing over his shoulder and regarding Draco with a cool look as he whispered quietly, “For Ginny.”

Title: Father’s Day

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I do not own anything except for my computer. I don’t even own my own connection to the internet. That is borrowed. So sue someone else.

Author’s Notes: This chapter came to me pretty late last night, but I thought I’d treat you guys by writing it. There is one more chapter, and a short epilogue I will be writing. This chapter does end on a cliffhanger. Deal with it. ;)

Chapter 15: Shocking Revelations

Harry squinted against the darkness, trying to push away the darkness that threatened to envelope him. Slowly, his vision began to return, illuminating the blurry form of Madame Pomfrey as she leaned over Artie, examining his injuries. Harry groaned, shifting his weight as his stiff muscles cried out in protest. As much as he wanted to remain with Ginny, his first responsibility was to Artie. And so he had returned to Hogwarts, spending yet another night sleeping in the chair beside Artie’s bed.

“His injuries are healing nicely,” Madame Pomfrey noted as she poked the side of Artie’s ribcage, eliciting a groan from the youngster.

“When will he be able to leave?” Harry asked, leaning forward on his chair as he adjusted the bridge of his glasses.

“In an hour or so,” Madame Pomfrey responded. “I’d like to keep him longer, but no doubt he’ll want to rejoin his friends as soon as possible.”

Artie nodded eagerly, now fully awake. “Can I go yet?”

“Artie!” Harry warned, but the young Gryffindor gave him a “Who me?” look. Harry sighed, shaking his head lightly.

“I want you to go back to Gryffindor House and rest,” Harry said warningly. Artie rolled his eyes. “I mean it, or I’ll bring you back here myself.”

“Okay, okay,” Artie grumbled. Harry reached out and tousled the boy’s hair, a grin spreading across his face.

“Maybe later I’ll take you to go see your Aunt Ginny,” Harry said. “She’s at St. Mungo’s.”

“What happened to Aunt Ginny?”

“She’s having some problems dealing with some things,” Harry said, his mind flickering back to Hermione and Ginny. A pang echoed through his stomach at that thought. Hermione … who had broken up with him.

“Harry?”

Harry snapped out of his train of thought, his emerald gaze flickering to Artie’s concerned expression.

“Does this have to do with Uncle Draco?” Artie scowled, his eyebrows furrowing at the mention of Draco’s name. Clearly, he was more than happy to believe that Draco had murdered his father.

“Partly,” Harry admitted, “but also partly because of what I did.”

“But … he killed my dad,” Artie protested.

“Sometimes, Artie, those things which seem the most obvious are actually the most confusing,” Harry said.

“But I heard him,” Artie argued.

“What if someone took the polyjuice potion, Artie?” Harry asked quietly. “Would you have been able to tell then?”

Artie frowned, crossing his arms in front of his chest, clearly not satisfied. But he didn’t answer Harry. Harry let out a sigh, rising to his feet. He reached out with his left hand, giving a gentle squeeze to Artie’s shoulder.

“Don’t overdo it,” Harry said quietly before turning to leave the medical ward.

* * *

Harry stepped inside Ginny’s room, eager to check on his friend’s condition. Draco was there, no big surprise, sitting in a chair by Ginny’s bed, perusing the Daily Prophet. Molly had her knitting needles in hand, and Arthur was trying to make polite conversation with Draco, who’d occasionally nod or grunt in response to one of Mr. Weasley’s inquiries. It would all have been very humorous, Harry mused, if one of their party wasn’t comatose.

Slowly, Harry made his way to Ginny’s bedside, giving Mrs. Weasley a weak grin as he leaned over the bed and gave Ginny a kiss on the forehead. Draco gave Harry a scowl, but a quick look at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and he decided to remain silent.

“Hello, Harry dear,” Mrs. Weasley said. “How is Artie doing?”

The Hogwarts professor gave Mrs. Weasley a warm smile. “He gets to go back to his dormitory today, but he’s promised me he’ll take it easy.”

“That’s good, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said warmly.

“Where is Hermione?” Harry asked.

“She went back to Hogwarts to take a shower,” Mrs. Weasley said. “She said she’d be back later.”

Harry nodded, his gaze finally shifting to Draco as he made his way over to wear the Slytherin was sitting.

“Catching up on the news?” Harry asked, leaning against the wall and staring at the blond-haired wizard.

Draco scowled and looked up at Harry. “Reading the financial reports for my company.” He threw the paper down on the small table beside Harry and muttered. “You’re welcome to read, but I doubt you’d understand them.”

Harry’s gaze narrowed, but he said nothing, instead snatching up the paper, intent on proving Draco wrong, even though it was a foolish notion. He had no experience in financial matters and there was no possible way he could hope to top Draco. His eyes scrolled down the parchment as he scanned the row for “Revenues”

It read 123,000 Galleons.

Harry’s eyes widened at the large figure, but quickly his eyes scanned the row for expenses.

34,501 Galleons.

Harry frowned. Something did not seem right about his numbers. In fact … they looked almost familiar.

He closed his eyes, thinking about the numbers as he briefly ran through various memories. It was an trick he had learned as an Auror to try to remember important details.

123,000 … 34,501 … No commas, he was positive.

123000 … 34501…nothing that short either.

12300034501…No, that wasn’t it.

10543000123… No…that wasn’t it either.

34501123000…

Suddenly, Harry’s eyes snapped open. His eyes widened as he stared at the parchment, and his throat grew as dry as the Sahara. He had seen those numbers before. They had been on the parchment Hermione had decoded. The parchment the Deatheater had been carrying.

Draco’s company was supplying the deatheaters with money.

Harry’s eyes narrowed as his gaze flickered over Draco. His right hand curled into a fist, crinkling the paper as he turned to face Draco, his hands lowering.

“Did you approve these numbers, Draco?” Harry asked, his voice low. He wasn’t sure how he managed to keep the rage out of his voice, but somehow he did. Hermione would have been proud.

Draco gave Harry a derisive snort. “You don’t know anything about business, Potter. I’ve seen the figures, but after they’ve already been approved. That’s handled by my vice president.”

Vice president…

Slowly, Harry reached into the pocket of his trousers, pulling out a folded card he’d gotten so many months ago.

Bartholomew Chambers, Vice President, Malfoy Industries, Inc…

Amelia’s father was the source of the Deatheater’s funding.

Harry opened his eyes to find Molly, Draco, and Arthur all regarding him with curious stares.

“Harry, dear, what’s wrong?” Molly asked. Harry found himself at a loss for words. Instead, he thrust the paper at Draco. Draco gave Harry a curious glare, staring at the rumpled paper and snatching it from Harry’s hand.

“What?” the young CEO spat out, scanning the parchment. Harry inhaled sharply as he tried to clear his mind.

“Your company … Your vice president has been channeling funds to the Deatheaters.”

“What?!?” Arthur and Molly said in unison.

“That’s not possible!” Draco shouted, his eyes scanning over the newspaper furitively, as if he was searching for something to absolve his employee.

“No, it’s true,” Harry said, his voice a bit stronger. “I tracked down the funds to Gringotts myself.”

“There is no way!” Draco shouted, standing to his feet abruptly.

“Vault 345, 3000 Galleons,” Harry said. “I tracked them myself.”

Draco gave Harry a dirty glare, muttering several curses under his breath before disappearing with a pop. Harry stood there for a moment, staring at the space where Draco had been before turning to look at Mrs. Weasley. The older witch was sitting in her chair, her book laid flat in her lap. Her lips were pursed so tightly Harry wondered if even a crowbar would pry them open.

“Harry, are you sure about this?” Mr. Weasley broke the tense silence. Harry looked at the older man, giving him a slight nod.

“I should go tell Kingsley,” Harry said quietly. “He may want to send some people to investigate this.”

Mr. Weasley nodded, and after muttering a quick goodbye Harry closed his eyes, disappearing with a pop. He squeezed his eyes shut at the momentary disorientation that always happened when he apparated somewhere, fighting the queasiness that always came until his feet hit the ground.

Then that moment came and Harry lurched forward, nearly stumbling into the door of Kingsley’s office. Harry straightened, brushing off his robe before opening the door to his former boss’s office.

As usual, it was a mess. It was nice to see some things never changed. Kingsley’s head snapped up and a brief scowl crossed his face as Harry entered. He had not been happy when Harry had asked him to release Draco. In fact, he’d almost gone through the roof. He’d adamantly refused Harry’s request until Harry mentioned that it would not be good press if the Boy-Who-Lived went to the Daily Prophet and professed his belief in Draco’s innocence. Reluctantly Kingsley had acceded, but he was less than thrilled about it.

“I have something that might make up for our argument yesterday,” Harry said. Kingsley scowled.

“I doubt that,” the Auror said, “but go ahead.”

“Bartholomew Chambers is the one funding the Deatheaters.”

Kingsley’s eyes widened, his jaw going slack as he stared at Harry dumbfounded. “How … how did you find.”

Harry unfolded a copy of the Daily Prophet off Kingsley’s desk, opening the paper to the financials section and pointing to the lines he’d picked out. “They’re matches, Kingsley. Identical to the code you gave me. Bartholomew approved these figures. He’s the one you’re after.”

Harry expected his former supervisor to be thrilled. Instead, he looked positively furious.

“Well, this is just great!” Kingsley shouted, throwing the paper on the desk. “A major case solved and I have no one to stick on it!”

Harry frowned. “What do you mean ‘no one?’”

“Exactly what I said!” Kingsley shouted, waving his arms in exasperation. “I just sent our last Aurors out on an undercover assignment. If I recall them now their cover will be blown,” he glowered, turning his gaze to Harry. “The department has been extremely backlogged since you quit on us.”

Harry closed his eyes, a feeling of dread and indecision passing over his body. He’d given it up his career for Hermione and for Artie. He couldn’t very well go back on that now.

But what about Amelia, a voice in Harry’s mind reasoned. She is going to be devastated by this news. If you can go in discreetly and get him, you might save her a lot of embarrassment.

The former Auror closed his eyes. This was not a decision he wanted to make. Every choice felt like a wrong one.

“Harry?”

Slowly the raven-haired wizard’s eyes opened and he stared at Kingsley with a solemn gaze.

“I will bring him in,” Harry said quietly. “This is the last time.”

Kingsley’s eyes widened. “You will! This is great. Let me get your badge.”

Harry shook his head. “No badge, Kingsley. I’m not rejoining your force. I’m doing this for one of my students.”

The head Auror frowned but settled down into his chair. “Okay, Harry. Be careful.”

“I will,” Harry said quietly as he turned and left the room.

* * *

Hermione had not bothered to change the code to her room, and so Harry walked in unhindered to find her drying her hair with a big fluffy towel. For a moment a pang shot through his chest as he looked upon his former fiancé, his eyes flickering down to the bare ring finger on her left hand. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, recollecting himself before he strode across the room and rested a hand on her shoulder.

“Hermione?” Harry whispered quietly. Hermione jumped, clearly lost in another world of thought. A look of surprise passed through her features as she saw Harry standing there, followed by what looked like (at least to Harry), a glimmer of pain before her normally stoic expression appeared.

“Harry, what is going on?” she asked, going straight to the point as always. Harry felt his throat dry, trying to formulate a way to tell her about this last job he wanted her to do with him.

“There’s … Kingsley needs me one last time,” Harry managed to get out. A frown immediately creased Hermione’s features, and Harry quickly added before she could protest, “To bring in Amelia’s father.”

A look of horror spread across Hermione’s features. “Amelia’s father? Why?”

“That code you broke,” Harry said softly, his emerald gaze flickering over Hermione’s mahogany one. “I saw it today in the Daily Prophet. Amelia’s father has been using his position at Draco’s company to channel funds to the Deatheaters.”

Hermione’s eyes closed and Harry could almost feel her heart breaking for Amelia. He knew how horrible it was – his heart was breaking too. After a moment, Hermione opened her eyes and stared at Harry.

“Are you sure, Harry?” she asked. Harry merely nodded in response. At this, Hermione slowly slumped into her chair, resting her forehead in her hands as she tried to sort through this news.

“Come with me, please?” Harry asked, and Hermione slowly brought her gaze up to meet his.

“I don’t know,” Hermione said, her eyes filled with pain. “I think I should go talk with Amelia first.”

“I’ll go with you,” Harry said quickly, drawing a surprised glance from Hermione. Feeling the need to explain himself, he continued, “I think I should talk to Amelia before I arrest her father, so she understands why I’m doing this.”

Hermione closed her mouth, her eyes darting to the ceiling as she quickly contemplated this idea. She gave a curt nod and Harry averted his gaze as she hurriedly threw on a shirt and a pair of pants, not bothering to protect her modesty from the man she’d made love to numerous times. Together, the two professors headed towards Gryffindor house, their grim footsteps echoing along the stone walls of Hogwarts.

The common room was empty, save for Todd, who had a set of books open on a big wooden table in the corner. His eyes widened as he saw his professors enter the room.

“Harry!” Todd shouted, his eyes widening in shock. “But you were hurt!”

Harry frowned, his eyebrows furrowing. “Hurt? Todd, what are you talking about?”

Todd frowned, “But Amelia’s father came in here and said that you’d been hurt. He took Artie and Amelia to go see you in St. Mungo’s.”

Harry and Hermione cast a guarded glance at each other before returning their gaze to Todd.

“How long ago did this happen, Todd?”

“Just a few minutes ago,” Todd said, still clearly very confused. His expression turned sour for a moment. “I wanted to go but Amelia’s father said there wasn’t time.” Todd scowled. “I don’t know why he let her go and not me, but why are you here? Does this mean you’re better? Or you weren’t hurt?”

Harry barely heard Todd’s questions as he grabbed Hermione’s arm and began dragging her out of the common room.

“Harry, where are we going?” Hermione said as soon as the portrait of the Fat Lady had closed behind them.

“There’s only one place he would have taken them,” Harry muttered under his breath, icy tendrils of fear gripping his heart. “He would have been ready for this to happen. He would have had Galleons stashed in his office in case he wanted to disappear. Draco must have surprised him, and so he immediately came here to collect Amelia.”

“But Artie…”

“He knows we’re coming,” Harry said, the anger coursing through his body. “He’s going to use Artie as bait.”

* * *

The trip to Malfoy industries was the longest Harry had ever taken in his life. Though it lasted only a few short seconds, his mind had time to race through a dozen different scenarios he’d encounter. None of the outcomes were good. But now adrenaline was surging through his body. Bartholomew had taken Artie, and it was up to Harry to save him.

He and Hermione rushed past the guard’s booth, ignoring the shouts and calls of the watchmen as they rushed into the office building and up what must have been a dozen flights of steps. Harry barely felt the ground beneath his feet as he flew up the stairs, his mind focused solely on Artie. He didn’t even register surprise as Hermione kept up with him, even though her legs were shorter and she couldn’t run as fast.

Together they arrived at the doorway to the executive floor and together they went through it, stumbling into a hallway. The pair rushed down the corridor, scarcely registering names carved onto the ornate doors until they came across a door that read “B. Chambers, CFO.” Hermione gave Harry a slight nod and together the two rushed into the office.

“But I don’t understand why we have to stop and get money, Dad,” Amelia’s voice ran out.

“I told you, honey, I had to make a stop before we go see Harry,” Bartholomew’s harried voice came out strained.

“I’m right here,” Harry said loudly, startling Artie, Amelia, and Bartholomew. Artie’s eyes widened in shock and relief when his gaze settled on Harry. Amelia simply stared at him in surprise. The three were next to what appeared to be a wall safe, which was opened and Bartholomew had quickly been scooping Galleons out of.

But Bartholomew was quick, and in an instant he had dropped into a crouch, dropping the sack and pulling Artie in front of him as a shield. Amelia barely had time to register the change in her father’s demeanor before he had his wand out and leveled on the back of Artie’s horrified head.

“Toss your wands over here or he dies!” Bartholomew shouted, jerking Artie back towards the wand to emphasize the point. Harry felt his heart drop to his toes. Amelia simply looked horrified.

“Daddy?” Amelia said, her expression one of horror.

“It’s over, Bartholomew,” Harry said, his voice shaking as his gaze remained on Artie’s terrified face. “Turn over your wand and we’ll take you in quietly.”

“You have until the count of three!” Bartholomew shouted. “One…”

Harry glanced quickly at Hermione, his eyes filled with fear. Hermione bit her bottom lip, as if trying to make a decision. Neither of them could cast a spell with Artie standing as a shield in front of Bartholomew.

“Two…”

Giving Harry an encouraging nod, Hermione slowly turned to face Bartholomew. Harry did likewise, and together the two tossed their wands in that direction. The wands rolled to a stop in front of Artie’s feet.

“Amelia,” Bartholomew barked sharply. “Bring me those wands. Hold them by the tips please.”

Shaking, Amelia slowly made her way to the wands, tears streaming down her face as she grabbed them as her father instructed and slowly laid them by his feet. A second later he pushed Artie forward, sending the boy flying towards Harry, who quickly scrambled forward, dropping to his knees and catching the young wizard. On cue, Hermione rushed towards Amelia, carefully drawing the crying girl into a hug while casting a dirty glare in Bartholomew’s direction.

The dark wizard didn’t seem to notice. Instead he focused his gaze on Harry, his wand leveled at him as he slowly turned to face the four across from him.

“You, mudblood,” Bartholomew barked. “By Harry and the boy now.”

Hermione cast Bartholomew a dirty look, but she reluctantly released Amelia, crossing the room and kneeling by Harry’s side, her arms wrapping protectively around Artie.

Bartholomew’s wand never left them but his gaze flickered towards his daughter. “Amelia, come here sweetie.”

But the tearful girl simply shook her head, taking a step back as the horror of the situation struck her. Bartholomew issued a scowl but said nothing as he focused his gaze on Harry, Hermione, and Artie.

“I should have known you’d never give up Potter,” he hissed. “You were always too persistent for your own good.”

“The Deatheaters are a dying breed, Bartholomew,” Harry said quietly, drawing Artie into a hug and wrapping his other arm around Hermione as he gazed spitefully at the man who now held them hostage.

“You are a fool, Potter,” Bartholomew hissed. “You just can’t leave things alone, can you? Not even after your friend’s death.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “What do you know about Ron’s death?” Artie’s back went rigid.

“You wouldn’t give it up, would you?” Bartholomew said. “Not even after I ordered his death. You wouldn’t give up the case, would you? Not Harry Potter the Hero – the Boy Who Lived.”

“You…” Harry hissed, the hatred boiling in his body. He could feel Hermione’s body stiffen at the revelation.

“No, Potter, you did,” Bartholomew said, a malicious grin crossing his features. “It’s your fault Ron is dead. You said the curse the moment you made the decision to pursue this case.”

Harry’s heart felt numb at the accusation, and even though his mind screamed in protest, guilt tore at his body. Had he caused Ron’s death by becoming an Auror? His mind was swimming with thoughts.

“Don’t you dare blame Harry for something you caused,” Hermione’s said, her normally calm demeanor hinting of barely restrained fury. “You’re the reason Ron is dead, not Harry.”

“Actually, that’s not quite true,” a sickeningly familiar voice piped up from the shadows behind Amelia. Dread gripped Harry’s heart as his gaze turned towards the shadows.

“You see,” the voice said. “I was actually the one who killed Ron.”

“I knew it!” Artie shouted.

“That can’t be,” Hermione murmured, disbelief etched across her features.

“Oh, but it is,” the voice said as the person belonging to it stepped out of the shadows right behind Amelia. The younger girl jumped at the sound of footsteps behind her, spinning around quickly as her head snapped up to stare at the wizard in horror. Harry’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the wizard, his mind racing as the form of his nemesis emerged from the shadows.

“You see,” Draco Malfoy said, his wand held tightly in his left hand and leveled towards. “I am the one who actually killed Ron Weasley.”

Title: Father’s Day

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling.

Author’s Notes: This is it folks. No more chapters, no epilogue. I took the liberty of combining everything into here. This is the last of my story. It’s been a wild ride, and I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you for all of your responses. I do enjoy getting the reviews.

Chapter 16: The Perfect Circle

Disbelief ran through Harry’s mind, and then his head snapped towards Bartholomew Chambers. The man seemed surprised to see Draco in the room, and for a second Harry’s eyes flashed. If Bartholomew and Draco were working together, then why was the former surprised to see the latter.

Because that’s not Draco… it’s the polyjuice potion.

Draco knew someone had pretended to be him and kill Ron, Harry thought to himself. But who did he suspect? Harry’s mind flashed back to a day earlier in the year. It had seemed so long ago … he and Hermione had followed Draco into Knockturn Alley.

Knockturn Alley … the shopkeeper … Draco’s threat.

Artemius Niggle had uttered the curse that killed Ron.

All of this passed through Harry’s mind in a matter of moments. His gaze quickly flickered to Hermione, surprised to see her staring back at him, her mahogany gazed etched with confusion.

“Polyjuice…” Harry whispered, and Hermione’s eyes widened in recognition. Obviously Artie was beyond the point of reason though; he was trying to struggle out of Harry’s grasp.

“Niggle,” Bartholomew rasped, his eyes narrowing.

“In the flesh,” Artemius replied. “Draco’s flesh, that is. Expelliarmus!”

Hermione let out a gasp and Harry felt his heart drop as the spell hit Amelia in the back, sending the younger witch flying into her father. Together, the two flew backwards, hitting the office wall and dropping to the floor. Bartholomew’s wand flew out of his hand at the impact, rolling to a stop at Niggle’s feet. Ron’s murderer stepped forward, placing his foot on the wand and snapping it in two. Harry watched in kind of a daze as Bartholomew scrambled to his knees, his left arm wrapping protectively around Amelia as he glared daggers at his attacker.

“I should have known better than to trust you,” Bartholomew said, trying to scramble to his feet. He gave up the attempt when Artemius waved his wand around.

“Don’t move, Chambers,” the man warned. “Unless you want your little girl to die.”

“Leave Amelia out of this,” Bartholomew hissed. “Your quarrel is with me.”

“I have no quarrel,” Artemius interrupted. “I’m simply a businessman who knows how to recognize a good opportunity when I see it.”

“You’re a monster,” Hermione hissed, drawing Niggle’s gaze, though not his wand. Mentally, Harry began computing the distance needed to intercept him. It was no good – even if he managed to make it in one leap, he still allowed at least two full seconds for the Deatheater to act. In that time he could easily get off the killing curse.

“The infamous Hermione Granger … and the even more infamous Harry Potter…,” Niggle began. “What a shame it will be when the wizarding world hears about your untimely deaths at the hands of a known Deatheater … and how I was too late to save you.”

His gaze flickered to Bartholomew. “But first, it’s time to finish you off and take my place as the leader of the Deatheaters,” Bartholomew let out a scowl. “But first,” Artemius said, his gaze maliciously settling on Amelia. “You will have the privilege of watching your daughter die.”

Amelia’s eyes widened in horror. Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth, and Harry felt himself instinctively rising to his toes, ready to strike.

“Avada Kedra!” Artemius shouted as a burst of green light erupted from his wand. Harry released his grip on Artie the second the spell burst from the wand, lunging towards Artemius. Dread filled his heart as he sprang – he would not be in time to save Amelia.

But as things turned out, he didn’t have to.

Bartholomew jerked Amelia back, spinning around in a half-circle so his back was presented to the curse. The green light hit him in the back, killing him instantly and sending him lurching forward onto Amelia, who let out a loud shriek when she realized what happened. A second later Harry crashed into Artemius, his arms wrapping around the body of Ron’s killer as the two went to the ground. Artemius wand flew out of his hand as he landed with a loud thump. Harry lashed out at the man, allowing his pain and anger to guide him as he began to pummel him, lashing out with his fists as he hit the dark wizard over and over, forgetting about everything except for making the man responsible for Ron’s death pay.

Then an image flashed into his mind – an image of Artie, and suddenly Harry’s arms dropped. He stared down at Artemius Niggle – battered and bloody, his hands pulled protectively over his face as he tried to protect himself from Harry’s onslaught. Harry watched him for a moment, his chest heaving, his thoughts racing through his head as he tried to regain control of his rage.

Slowly, Harry stood to his feet, brushing off his robes as he stared at the man on the ground. His left hand ran through his mussed up black hair before taking a step back and staring at the man below him with contempt.

“You’re not even worth it,” Harry whispered, his throat dry. “But you will pay for what you did.”

He turned to look at Hermione and Artie, who were crouched on the ground. Artie looked positively furious, and Hermione’s gaze was focused on Amelia, who was sobbing over her father’s lifeless body. Harry felt his heart reach out to the girl – he knew what it felt like to be an orphan, and could only imagine how much worse it had to be to witness your father’s death. He began to make his way towards the two witches when Artie gave a shrill yell.

“Harry!”

Harry spun around, white hot pain lancing through his shoulder as a slender knife embedded itself into Harry’s body. Stars flashed behind his eyes as his world grew out of focus. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered Hermione’s shrill scream. A wave of nausea passed over his body, his vision blackening for a bit before sliding into a sharp focus. As Harry fell backwards, he saw the satisfied smirk of Artemius Niggle. Niggle pulled the knife out of his shoulder, drawing a surge of blood from Harry.

“Stupefy!” Artie screamed, sending a blast of light towards Artemius. The older wizard flew into the wall, collapsing to the ground. Harry watched helplessly as Artie, his red hair blazing like a flame, stumbled over towards him, leaning down and scooping up the knife Niggle had used to stab him.

Artie … no …

The Gryffindor stumbled on the pool of blood, his blue eyes blazing as he gripped the hilt of the knife tightly in his right hand. Harry felt the blackness beginning to creep in around the corners of his eyes, but he valiantly struggled to throw it off, his right hand pressing against the gushing wound in his arm. Hermione was by his side, ripping a long strip off his robes to tie around the wound – Harry didn’t have a clue where his wand was.

“Artie, no!” Hermione shouted, her gaze snapping up as the boy stood over Niggle’s unconscious body. Harry tried to roll on his right shoulder, groaning in pain at the throbbing in his left shoulder.

“He killed my dad,” Artie shouted, and Harry could almost feel the hatred rolling off of him. Even Amelia’s sobs began to dim as the grim reality of the situation came crashing down on them.

“Put … the knife … down … Artie,” Harry grunted as he tried to pull himself towards Artie. Hermione pressed her arm against his shoulder, drawing an agonizing groan from Harry as she pushed him back to the ground.

“Harry, don’t move,” Hermione whispered, pressing her hand against his shoulder. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

“Artie’s … going … to …” Harry muttered as his vision began to blur.

Hermione leapt to her feet, going for Artie. A blur out of the corner of his vision was all he saw before the darkness took him.

* * *

He felt like he was falling for the longest time, falling head over heels in the darkness. Muddled voices tugged at the corner at the corner of his mind, but it was impossible to determine the direction that they came from or who they belonged to. A faded image of Artie holding a knife came to mind, and Harry instinctively stretched out, trying to snatch the weapon from the younger boy’s hand.

“Harry?”

Harry’s mind screamed in protest as Artie remained out of his grasp. No, he wanted to scream. Don’t do this. Don’t ruin your life like this…

“Harry!”

Harry Potter’s eyes snapped wide open, the bright light blinding him for what seemed like hours. Slowly his vision began to return to him, and it was the sight of Hermione’s beautiful face that greeted him.

“Artie,” Harry managed to bark out, wincing at the hoarseness in his voice. Hermione flashed Harry a sympathetic look, reaching for a glass of water and bringing it to Harry’s lips. Harry flashed her a grateful look, taking a sip of the refreshing liquid before collapsing back on the bed. His shoulder screamed in protest but he turned his gaze to Hermione’s mahogany one.

“Shh…” Hermione whispered, bringing a finger to Harry’s lips. “Artie is fine. He’s with the Weasleys right now.”

“Did he…”

Hermione shook her head, a look of relief passing over her face. “No, he didn’t Harry. Draco stopped him.”

Confusion flooded Harry’s features. Draco Malfoy stopped Artie from killing Artemius? He glanced at Hermione, not quite sure of what to make of this news. The expression on her face was one of utmost seriousness, and felt the shock flow through his body as he settled back on the pillow.

“How?”

* * *

For the second time that night, Hermione Granger felt her heart rip in two. First the heartbreak of her favorite student’s loss, and then the nearly fatal stabbing of the man she loved.

The tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she pushed Harry to the ground, drawing a brutal cry that caused fresh ripples of pain to echo through her heart.

“Harry, don’t move,” she whispered, pressing both hands against the pulsing wound as she glanced around frantically for her wand. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

“Artie’s … going … to …” Harry gasped out, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. Reluctantly Hermione ripped her eyes away from the geyser of blood, horror flooding her body when she realized that Artie really intended to go through with the murder of his father’s murderer.

She lunged from her spot beside Harry, dashing towards Artie at top speed. “Artie, no!” she screamed, trying to distract his attention from the unconscious man for as long as she could.

Artie glanced at Hermione, his eyes bright with unshed tears. His right hand was shaking from the adrenaline coursing through his body, but slowly he began to lower the weapon in his hand.

“Accio knife,” someone shouted, and the knife Artie had been holding was torn from his hand. Hermione dropped to her knees, surprise coursing through her body as she glanced over her left shoulder. Draco Malfoy was standing in the doorway of the office. His clothing was dishevled, his hair was ruffled, and he appeared to be favoring his left leg, but he stumbled into the room nonetheless, the knife securely in his right hand.

Hermione’s eyes widened for a moment, and briefly she wondered if Draco was going to finish the job Artie had started. But instead, he simply stared at the boy for a moment before grumbling, “Kill him and you’ll get life in Azkaban.”

The mahogany-haired witch cast a grateful smile at Draco, but he ignored her. Instead he threw her his wand and Hermione caught it, turning her attention back to Harry. She quickly muttered the charm to stop the bleeding.

She scarcely registered the vicious kick Draco delivered to the unconscious wizard’s side. Instead, she pressed her forehead against Harry’s, listening to the barely audible breaths emerging from his mouth.

“Please don’t die, Harry,” Hermione whispered, her tears falling freely onto the face of her former lover.

* * *

Harry fell back against his pillow, staring dazedly at the ceiling. He still couldn’t believe Draco would have stopped Artie from killing Niggle – or killed Niggle himself. He closed his eyes, trying to process this information, but he couldn’t keep the exhilaration out of his mind. Artie was okay – he didn’t kill anyone – it was going to be okay.

Amelia…

Harry’s head snapped up, his gaze falling uncertainly on Hermione. “What about Amelia?” he asked. Hermione’s gaze trailed to the side of the bed, a sad expression on her face.

“She’s in the next room over, sleeping,” Hermione said quietly. “They gave her a sleeping draught. Ginny’s watching her for the moment. I’m supposed to go over there once you wake up.”

The dark-haired wizard nodded, sadness creeping through his body. “What’s going to happen to her?”

“I’m not sure,” Hermione admitted. “Professor McGonagall is trying to find family, but so far she hasn’t had any luck. We think her father may have been her last surviving relative.

“Oh,” Harry said, closing his eyes as a wave of empathy washed over his body for the younger girl.

“She’ll be okay, Harry,” Hermione reassured him as she stood to her feet. “She’ll need time, but she’ll be okay.”

Harry nodded, opening his mouth to ask if Hermione would stay, but promptly shutting it. It would be selfish of him to ask her to stay when Amelia needed her around so much more. Then his eyes widened as brain finally processed Hermione’s words from earlier.

“Ginny’s awake?” he asked.

Hermione gave him a slight smile and a nod. “She woke up yesterday. Draco sat with her for awhile, but when he told her what happened she insisted on getting up and seeing Amelia.”

Relief flooded his body and Harry nodded, collapsing against the pillow.

“Harry?”

“Yes?”

“I …,” Hermione blushed, her gaze drifting to the ground. “I heard what you did for Ginny. I just wanted to let you know that I’m proud of you.”

Warmth filled his body – his love for Hermione radiating from every fiber of his being. He opened his mouth to speak, to apologize for his selfishness and to beg for her forgiveness, but Hermione simply lifted her left index finger to her mouth. Tears clouded Harry’s vision as a glint of gold flickered into his sight. Hermione was wearing the engagement ring he gave her.

“I love you Harry Potter,” Hermione whispered, leaning over the bed and brushing her lips briefly over his. The kiss lasted for just a short second before she withdrew, her eyes brimming with tears. “Now get some rest, my love.”

Harry nodded, the fuzziness already beginning to cloud his vision as sleep finally overcame him.

It was the first peaceful night of sleep he had in a long time.

* * *

When Harry awoke the next morning, his head was clear, his shoulder barely hurt, and he felt better than he had in a long time. His heart was practically singing. Hermione still loved him. He was going to marry Hermione. Artie was okay and Ginny was awake.

In his elation, he missed the sound of the door opening, but his smile widened even more when Ginny came into the room. Her eyes were bright and she happily crossed the gap between them, giving Harry a warm hug and a light peck on the cheek.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Ginny mumbled as Harry hugged the younger woman.

“Ginny, I am so sorry for accusing Draco,” Harry said honestly, drawing back and regarding the younger woman with an emerald gaze.

Ginny gave Harry a weak smile. “It’s okay, Harry,” she said. “I’m used to it by now.” She paused, an uncomfortable silence lapsing between the two old friends before she looked at Harry seriously. “My parents told me what you did. Thank you.”

Harry gave her a weak smile. “It was the least I could do.” The younger witch gave him a slight smile, rising to her feet.

“Gin, are you in here?” Draco’s voice sounded out from the hallway as he barged into the room, not bothering to knock. His gaze flashed over Harry before he completely ignored his old nemesis, focusing his gaze on his wife.

“You ready to go?”

Ginny gave Draco a slight nod, turning her back to Harry. As Draco ushered her out the door, she gave Harry one last glance before she leaves the room.

“Draco?” Harry called out. The blond-haired wizard stiffened for a moment, pausing briefly as he glanced over his shoulder to Harry, his grey eyes flashing with a sort of disdain.

“Why did you do it?” Harry asked. “Why did you stop Artie from killing him?”

Draco frowned, and for a moment it looked as though he’d leave the room without ever answering his question. But after a moment he lifted his chin, regarding Harry coolly.

“I did it for Ginny,” Draco said. And then he left the room.

* * *

Father’s Day…

Artie was practically bouncing off the walls as he and Harry made their way down the stands of the Cannon’s stadium. Secretly, Harry was quite pleased that Artie was so happy, and impressed with the effort that the Cannon’s made to make Artie feel welcome. Tucked under Artie’s left arm was an autographed quaffle, signed by each member of the team. Over his right shoulder was his father’s old Quidditch robes, which someone had dug up for him. Harry grinned, reaching out and mussing Artie’s hair as they made their way to the portkey point. Together they’d take a portkey back to London, where his wife Hermione, and Amelia, their newly adopted eleven-year-old, would be waiting for them to go to a Muggle restaurant Hermione insisted was “simply divine.”

Harry smiled sadly at the thought of Amelia, who was still a long way from recovering from her ordeal less than a month ago. He still remembered the day Hermione had come to him with the suggestion that they adopt her, and after consulting with Amelia and the Ministry, and endless mounds of paperwork, the young Gryffindor had finally come to live with him and Hermione, who were, by this point, married. Hermione had insisted she didn’t want to wait any longer, and so the two had hurriedly sought Dumbledore to perform the ceremony in the presence of family and friends. A formal ceremony was in the works, but most of those details were still being worked out by Hermione’s mum and dad.

Together, Harry and Artie reached the portkey point, where a line of wizards and witches were waiting to apparate to their homes. The two chatted, mostly about Quidditch as they moved up in the line until it was their turn to use a portkey.

Artie handed his quaffle back to Harry, who tucked it under his arm. An older wizard handed Artie a pair of broken glasses, and with his free hand Harry reached out and took a hold of the free end.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Artie said quickly, quickly reaching into his robes and pulling out a plain envelope and handing it to Harry. Harry stared at the envelope in confusion, but at Artie’s expectant stare he slowly shifted his hold on the portkey, taking the envelope in his right hand.

At that moment Harry felt a tug behind his navel, and he felt himself being pulled through time and space. It was disorienting, the way the portkey suddenly ripped them from one location, but soon enough it had ended and he and Artie found themselves in Diagon Alley, right outside the twin’s shop.

Harry handled the quaffle to Artie, adjusting his glasses, which were precariously skewed on the bridge of his nose. He tucked the broken glasses into his pocket, making a mental note to return the portkey to the Ministry the next Monday morning. When he looked up, he found Artie staring at him expectantly.

“Are you going to open it?” Artie asked, his voice carrying a tinge of nervousness in it. Harry nodded, turning the envelope over and slowly ripping it along the seam. He slowly reached in and pulled out a homemade card with a crude picture of a Gryffindor Lion on the front. Harry’s face broke out into a lopsided smile as he opened the card, reading Artie’s slightly messy scrawl on the inside.

Happy Father’s Day, Harry

Love,

Artie and Amelia

Harry felt the moisture begin to build in his eyes, and he quickly blinked to bring it under control. “It’s perfect,” Harry said, his body filled with pride and happiness at the realization that he finally had a real family. Artie’s face lit up with a smile as the two made their way back to the Leaky Cauldron.

Yes, things were indeed perfect.