Chapter 40: Remembrance
"The Dead" by Rupert Brooke
I
Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead!
There's none of these so lonely and poor of old,
But, dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold.
These laid the world away; poured out the red
Sweet wine of youth; gave up the years to be
Of work and joy, and that unhoped serenity
That men call age; and those who would have been,
Their sons, they gave, their immortality.
Blow, bugles, blow! They brought us, for our dearth,
Holiness, lacked so long, and Love, and Pain.
Honour has come back, as a king, to earth,
And paid his subjects with a royal wage;
And Nobleness walks in our ways again;
And we have come into our heritage.
II
These hearts were woven of human joys and cares,
Washed marvellously with sorrow, swift to mirth.
The years had given them kindness. Dawn was theirs,
And sunset, and the colours of the earth.
These had seen movement and heard music; known
Slumber and waking; loved; gone proudly friended;
Felt the quick stir of wonder; sat alone;
Touched flowers and furs and cheeks. All this is ended.
There are waters blown by changing winds to laughter
And lit by the rich skies, all day. And after,
Frost with a gesture, stays the waves that dance
And wandering loveliness. He leaves a white
Unbroken glory, a gathered radiance,
A width, a shining peace, under the night.
The memorial for all those who died in battle fell on a day so jewel bright and warm that Harry could almost imagine Dumbledore himself was controlling it from above, perhaps chuckling to himself at how purposefully inappropriate he'd made it. For Harry, it was strange, to say the least, that only day before yesterday he was standing near the cabin where he had grown up, facing his mother's grave for the first time and watching his father get his body back, and now he was on his way to a collective funeral and memorial to honour those who had died in the war fought only a week earlier in the Forest of Kavan... the war that had finally resulted in the real defeat of Voldemort. Media coverage of the events of the war and what had happened since had been, and continued to be, endless and abundant, though Harry had not expected anything less. Even now, as he, Hermione and Ron rolled slowly toward the cemetery in one of the many Muggle cars leading the procession, the wizarding media were either hot on their trail or already there, readying themselves for the ceremony. Once they were spotted amidst the crowd, he feared they would be besieged by reporters, all vying for personal, up-close angles on the story, and felt a pang of envy that his father and Sirius did not have to endure the intrusion as well. They were, of course, much desired to attend, especially by the media, but because Sirius had just been newly acquitted, and because even though the media now knew that Harry's father was still alive and that he had been hiding as Remus Lupin for years, they still did not know he had recently gotten his body back, the two had felt that to show up at the memorial would cause an even greater frenzy and would take away from the real purpose of it, and had regretfully decided not to attend. Though he knew it seemed rather selfish to think it, Harry rather felt they had got the better part of the deal.
The three were riding in one of the vehicles rented from 'Magicars' in Hogsmeade to take those students who would be attending the ceremony to the site. The black car they had been riding in pulled to a slow stop and parked, just one of many in a line of what appeared to be hundreds of cars, carriages, brooms stowed in broom racks, and strangely, the Knight Bus, magically expanded to six levels rather than three, already parked at the cemetery. Peering past Hermione's shoulder and out the tinted window, Harry could already make out a massive crowd of well-dressed witches and wizards forming a crude circle around, and effectively hiding, what he could only imagine was the area they were headed toward for the memorial.
The driver of their car, a fidgety old wizard with thinning grey hair by the name of Morton, who had been fighting to restrain himself from talking to them on the trip over, finally peered over his shoulder at them and spoke.
"You three'd bes' be ready. Momen' you're spotted it'll be complete 'avoc, you mark my words. I was listenin' to the WWN right before I picked you up... you're the ones they're looking forward to interviewin' most."
On Harry's left side, Ron leaned forward with his mouth open. "Interviewing!? What the... this is a memorial service we're going to, or haven't the press been notified!?"
"Oh, they've kep' no'ified of every last detail since the war," the driver answered him, with a note of excitement in his voice. "Ain' never 'eard nor seen the likes of it, though, what could you expect, aye? Everyone wants an exclusive wiv the ones direc'ly responsible for You-Know-'oo's final demise, an' the media ain' seen 'ide nor 'air of you as you've been able to 'ide out at 'Ogwarts. No' tha' I blame you, mind you-"
"We haven't been hiding," Harry growled in reply.
Hermione laid a restraining hand on his arm and quickly addressed the driver. "Normally we'd have already been let out for summer, but because we got... sidetracked... well... we've still got end of the year exams to finish. We'd still be at school anyway, even if we weren't 'hiding out', which we aren't-"
"Didn' mean to imply otherwise, it's jus' the way they're paintin' it," said the driver quickly, now downright excited to be talking to them. "Oh, an' they've jus' been cursin' Minerva McGonagoll to wiv'in an inch of 'er life for not allowin' them access to the school, but I s'pose it's bin for the best, ain' it? All of 'em vyin' wiv each other for the chance to corner you three -'specially you, Potter... well... I s'ppose we all wanna know 'ow you did it."
Harry narrowed his eyes. "Did what, exactly..."
"Defeated 'im, o'course!" said the driver, now turning fully in his seat to stare in wonderment at Harry. In his excitement he didn't seem to notice Harry's expression, which was turning blacker by the second. "Everyone's 'eard you three were the ones 'oo faced 'im at the last, but no one 'oo was there 'as given much detail past the shield Albus Dumbledore made to stop you from facing 'im... all seem to clam up after that... 'cept we've all 'eard you did 'ave to face 'im alone for a good while-"
"Him..." said Harry, now positively fuming.
Ron glanced sideways at Harry and then back at the driver, a feeling of foreboding beginning to twist in his stomach. Anyone who knew Harry would have known he was about to explode.
"You-know-'oo, o'course!" the driver replied eagerly. "Ain' no one yet let it slip what 'appened afterward! Well, we all know You-know-'oo killed Dumbledore -real tragedy, that- but we don' know exac'ly what 'appened or 'ow he finally came to 'is end, or 'ow you got through that shield to face the dark lord! ...Daily Prophet's callin' you a hero... say they 'eard tell from several reliable witnesses tha' you faced 'im alone for a good while... wouldn't let your friends 'ere in to 'elp;... faced 'im off wiv a sword an' you're bare 'ands-"
" 'Him' being Voldemort again, right?" Said Harry aloud, taking sadistic pleasure in the sudden convulsive movement the driver made upon mention of the dark lord's name. He felt Hermione put her hand on his arm again but shook it off.
"Yeah," said the driver, somewhat breathlessly now, but still not taking the hint. "Y..yeah, 'im... Can't imagine wha' it must've been like, you an' yours facing 'im and 'is whole army down. 'Eard from reliable sources you came righ' close to losin' it for a few. Must've.. been.. somefing... fightin' the evil wizard 'oo's wanted to do you in you're 'ole bloody life. Finally 'aving an end-for-all. It's no small wonder everyone wants the details, myself included," he finished, giving Harry what he apparently thought was an ingratiating grin.
He stared expectantly at Harry for a moment, but after a few moments of stony silence, the smile began to slide from his lips.
"W..well... but... but I don' suppose you want to be talkin' about all that, aye? Not after all you three've been thr-"
"So you want to know how Albus Dumbledore died, is that it?" said Harry finally, his voice hard and cold. "Or maybe you want to know how Voldemort had me on the ground trying hard as he could to run me through, telling me the whole time he was going to kill everyone I cared about?"
Hermione moaned quietly. "Harry, don't-"
"Wha'? N..no... No, I didn't..." The driver looked horrified, his jaw moving up and down. "Look, I'm sorry, I jus' wanted... everyone wants to know 'ow.. 'ow you done it, not jus' me-"
"C'mon Harry, let's just go," Ron mumbled, beginning to open the door on his side of the car.
"No, wait Ron. Let's let him on in what he missed," said Harry more loudly through gritted teeth, leaning forward in his seat.
"Harry, please," intoned Hermione, opening her door as well and grabbing his arm. He ignored her.
"So you want to know what a field of dead bodies looks like, aye? Or what it's like to watch people you've known for years die right in front of you? Or what it's like to actually kill someone?"
"N..no! No, I jus' meant-"
"How about what it's like to find out someone you've trusted for years has kept it secret from you he's related to you, only to lose him a couple of days later!?"
"Harry-"
"Let's get out, mate-"
"Or how it feels to know you're only a second from dying and from letting everyone in the whole world down because of some piece-of-shit prophecy you're crackpot teacher made about you sixteen years ago!? Or how the only people who've ever cared for you are about to lose their lives because of you!? Hey, maybe you want to ask Ron what it's like to lose a brother! Or find Draco Malfoy and ask him what it's like to have to kill you're own father! Though you might not get much detail from him as he's not been much for talking since he did it-"
"I'm sorry," said the driver at once. "I'm sorry, Potter, you're absolutely righ'. G..go on now. Easy, there. Forget I ever said anyfing, awright? I was jus' curious... we all are. Go on, there's a good lad."
Harry finally gave in to Hermione's desperate tugging on his arm and shrugged himself out of the car after her, slamming the door so hard behind him that all four panes of glass rattled in their settings. The driver promptly pulled away from the curb and flew back down the road again.
Clenching his fists in fury, Harry whipped around and began taking long strides down the manicured lawn toward the growing circle of solemnly-dressed witches and wizards in the near distance. Ron and Hermione hurried along after him.
"I reckon we'll be finding other means of transportation back to school then," said Ron from behind Harry, sounding slightly irritated.
Harry came to an abrupt stop and wheeled around. "So you would have rather I sat there and let him grill me with a bunch of dumb-arsed questions!?"
" 'Course not mate, but what else were we supposed to do?" said Ron. "Rip him a new one?"
"I was coming to that next," Harry replied coldly.
Hermione sighed. "We were going to have to face it sooner or later, Harry... we couldn't hide at Hogwarts forever. No one except those who were there really know what it was like. They don't understand. They're simply going to be asking inappropriate things of us, and all we can do is-"
"Sit there and take it like we haven't got better things to do than get on with our lives, right?" said Harry. "Or maybe we should answer their questions honestly and watch them look horrified over what we had to do, aye?"
"You've got a point," said Ron. "Still, we can't want to beat up everyone who asks us about it. There's going to be a fair few."
"We can't?" said Harry, sarcastically.
"No we can't," said Hermione, trying to sound patient. "We'll just have to try.. politely.. to make them understand that it's a painful subject, and not something we want brought up every time we're approached."
"Well, sorry if I'm not feeling full of tact at the moment," Harry replied angrily, turning again to march toward the huge circle of people ahead. Some had now recognised that he, Ron and Hermione were walking toward them and had begun whispering to one another. Harry did his best to ignore them. "I don't understand why people would think we want to relive it all the time, as if we aren't already reliving it every five minutes in our heads-"
"It's just as hard for me to understand," said Hermione, catching him up and grabbing onto his hand. "But at least you've got Ron and I who understand exactly what you're feeling, Harry... We're feeling it too, or have you forgotten?"
Harry stopped dead in his tracks and stared ahead for a moment before slowly turning to them. "You're right. Look... I'm sorry... I just sort of lost it with all the stupid things he said..." he paused. "I'm sorry, Hermione. Sorry I lost our ride, Ron."
"No worries," said Ron, peering past him at the crowd, most of whom were now staring their way, interspersed with reporters who were now fidgeting excitedly with their equipment. "Better get used to it fast, though. I've got a feeling it's going to get worse before it gets better."
Harry looked over his shoulder at the crowd and turned back to Ron and Hermione. He took Hermione's hand in his own, nodded to Ron, and the three began making their ways forward together.
Upon reaching the back-most part of the throng, they found as of yet that they recognised almost no one. Countless relatives, friends, and admirers of the dead had shown to pay their respects, and though most either watched silently or whispered to neighbours as the three passed by, Harry felt almost as if he were on display. Reporters standing nearby seemed to be barely containing their desire to corner those who had been in the battle, and who were now out of 'hiding', and although they did not approach anyone, Harry was sure their self- control would begin to ebb away toward the end of the memorial.
The closer the three edged to the front of the crowd, where they were supposed to be for the ceremony, the more sombre faces they began recognising. Members of the Order and the Ministry, teachers and students who had gotten there before them, those they had barely met but who had fought along side them in battle, those parents and relatives of recently deceased schoolmates they had seen before at various school functions, and most distinctively, Hagrid, who was mopping his eyes, and who had settled himself near what appeared to be a giant polished, concrete memorial etched with dozens upon dozens of names, Albus Dumbledore's atop them all. Lavender Brown stood near him, holding on to one very large hand and squeezing it in consolation. She saw the three and waved them over.
Hagrid blew his nose into a handkerchief the size of a pillowcase, causing several of those standing nearby to step cautiously backward, and lowered it to see Harry, Ron and Hermione standing next to he and Lavender.
"Oh! Oh, it's you three," he said in a sorrow-roughened voice, apparently embarrassed that he had been caught crying. "How're you holdin' up, then? You alrigh'?"
"We're fine," said Hermione, looking up at him with some concern. "Are you alright? Has something happened?"
"Oh no.. well.. nothin' bad, tha' is," said Hagrid, giving them a bright smile through his tears. "Actually blubberin' over somethin' good along wi' all this. Early this mornin' Olympe woke from her coma. I spen' all day fillin' her in on wha' she missed after she wen' down."
"Oh Hagrid, that's wonderful!" cried Hermione.
Hagrid nodded. "She was sure glad ter see me. I was goin' ter stay wi' her all day bu' she told me she didn' wan' me missin' the memorial... insisted I go. She's somethin', Olympe..." he smiled reminiscently for a moment, and then continued. "She even talked Ginny and Sirius inter convincin' Draco Malfoy ter get outta bed and come too. Thought it migh' make 'im feel a bit better about what he done ter come to th' memorial and see all those he helped figh' alongside in th' war. Dunno s'much if it's helpin' but it got him outta bed, a' the very leas'."
"Malfoy's here?" asked Ron, quickly scanning the crowd. "Where?"
Hagrid pointed one very large finger almost directly across from their part of the circle, and Ron craned his neck around the speaker and podium directly in his line of vision to see Malfoy, standing silently toward the front of the crowd, his eyes trained to the ground and Ginny holding onto his arm for support.
Harry watched Ron warily. A red flush had begin creeping its way over his cheeks and ears.
"Ron-" began Hermione, who had apparently just seen the same warning signs that Harry had.
"I know. Don't say it, Hermione, I know-"
"You can't control who she loves. She's her own person and she doesn't need you trying to-"
"I said I know, didn't I!?"
Ron was saved her reply by the loud sound of the key speaker clearing his voice. Clearly he had used a voice projection charm.
"Hello everyone... Thank you all for coming to the memorial for those who so selflessly gave their lives in the battle against..." he swallowed, "against V..Vo..Voldem..mort... and.. and against those who stood with him."
Only a few people seemed to react upon hearing Voldemort's name mentioned. Inwardly, Harry smiled. There was something greatly satisfying in knowing that soon, there would be no one left who was afraid to say the bastard's name. It would be even more gratifying when he never heard it again.
The speaker continued, clearing his throat. "Most of us were unaware the battle even took place until afterwards. The events that have plagued our world over the past few months, I think it fair to say, have been dark, indeed. We have endured the upheaval of our society, the separation of whole families and communities, the threat of You-Know-Who's return to power, and the loss of many of our friends and relatives. We are here today to honour those who stood up, and fought against a powerful threat to our very existence. They were regular men and women, soldiers and Ministry workers, creatures, and yes, even children... "
All at once, Harry felt the eyes of many around them settle on various classmates standing nearby, and then, inevitably, on himself, Hermione and Ron, and the feeling of being on display settled back on him once again. He kept his own gaze fixed doggedly on the speaker and felt Hermione and Ron do the same. He knew they felt the same as he did. He did not want to see anyone's grateful expressions or looks of pity. He had only done what had to be done, just as those who had not made it out alive had done. He was no one extraordinary. He had not asked for fame, nor had he acted a hero, as if he had "volunteered" to be the one to kill Voldemort. The job had been thrust on him, and he had done what he had to do. He was no more special than any of the others who had died in battle to keep Voldemort from gaining power.
He glanced from the corner of his eye at those standing round him; taking in their looks of admiration, the whispers to neighbours... He wondered how they would feel about him if they knew how often he had wished the job on someone else... anyone else... how he had wished, upon going to face Voldemort, that it was anyone else but Hermione that Voldemort had fixated on to lure Harry to him... how he had wished someone else but Dumbledore had taken that sword... some unknown person... someone he would not have to mourn... how he had often wished some other boy had lost his parents to a dark wizard and gained a scar from it, or that he could be one of the many unknowns walking round him at school, living out their lives in peaceful anonymity, with not much care in the world save passing the next test...
Hermione seemed to know what he was thinking. Without looking at him, she grabbed his hand and laced her fingers with his own. Harry glanced gratefully down at her.
"These who stand here before you today, and those who died in battle- whose names will be forever etched here, and on our hearts- were willing to give their very lives so that we might live ours in peace," the speaker continued with a wobbly voice, mopping his eyes with a handkerchief. "They were willing to die, so that we might not have to live in fear... We will never forget their sacrifice. We will never forget Albus Dumbledore, the wizard who so bravely led them... and we will never forget those witches and wizards, young and old, who put aside their fears and faced such an evil, so that we all might be free. So I thank you on behalf of all of us here, and the entire wizarding race."
The crowd clapped as one. Those who had fought in battle alongside Harry, Hermione and Ron, looked politely embarrassed and kept their eyes trained to the ground. Past the speaker, Harry saw Ginny holding tightly to Malfoy's arm, speaking words of encouragement to him. Malfoy leaned down and planted a kiss on the top of her head. For a moment, Harry was struck at this tender showing of affection from the boy he had once thought as evil as they came... At a glance, he could see that Ron had been watching and was none too happy with it, but was somehow restraining himself from waltzing across the lawn and ripping Malfoy's head off. Perhaps it had something to do with the iron-like grip Lavender had on his arm, or whatever it was that she was whispering in his ear. In any case, it looked as if Malfoy was going to live to see another day... or at least that he wasn't going to get it at the memorial. As for tomorrow or any other day thereafter, all bets were still on.
The rest of the service progressed slowly. More people stood up to speak for the dead and those who were not there to speak for themselves due to injury. Hagrid went forward and delivered a moving speech about Dumbledore; one which brought most of the very large crowd to tears, and which confirmed to Harry just how much Hagrid had thought of the Headmaster, as if Dumbledore had been a sort of surrogate father for him after his own father died.
Directly after the memorial was announced over, as if to ruin the solemn, heartfelt atmosphere of the place, the reporters standing nearby whispered excitedly to their colleagues and began to make their ways forward to catch those who had been hidden away at Hogwarts and who, as of yet, had not been approached to give their stories. Apparently the same courtesy that had been shown during the service, was considered null and void the moment the last word was spoken. Harry and Hermione turned together and watched as teachers and students tried unsuccessfully to worm their ways unnoticed through the crowd, only to be cornered by a determined reporter and his or her entourage.
"I think we should get going you know," said Hermione, glancing nervously around. "It won't be long before we're-"
Something poked Harry hard in the ribs. Annoyed he turned and saw Ron staring past him, a look of disbelief, mingled with the strong desire to run away on his face. Harry whipped about and strained to see what he was seeing. Soon enough, a dumpy woman in her late forties with curly dyed-blonde hair, bejewelled spectacles, shocking long, pink fingernails and a tight garish business suit made her way through the crowd and began striding towards them, a lavish smile plastered on her face. One hand was buried suspiciously deep in her crocodile handbag, and the other was out in front of her, as if ready to seize any unsuspecting person who got in her way.
Harry's face fell. "Ah hell."
"HARRY!" Rita Skeeter beamed, grabbing his hand with her own and pulling him forward to stand on tiptoe as high as she could and kiss him on the cheek. "You've certainly grown tall and strapping, haven't you? So nice to see you! It's been ages!"
At the sound of the familiar voice, Hermione whipped around, an instant scowl on her face. "Not long enough," she muttered angrily.
Rita's smile faltered a bit at seeing Hermione, but she hitched it back into place almost instantaneously.
"Hermione Granger," said Rita, her large, false grin doing very little to hide the disdain in her voice. "Still right by his side, are you?"
Harry grabbed Hermione's hand and stared pointedly down at Rita.
She looked down at their clasped hands and back up again.. "Ah... ah I see. Well I always have had the knack of knowing which way the wind was blowing. Called this one right, didn't I? Before even you two knew it..." She turned to Ron, who was scowling. "And... you are?"
"Ron Weasley," said Ron flatly.
"Ah... ah yes, the best friend. Well now I didn't get the pleasure of meeting you a few years ago but I dare say we'll have much to talk of now, won't we?" The hand that had been rooted in Rita's crocodile skin bag now whipped out a notepad and an acid-green quill, the same one Harry had seen her use some years ago. She placed the tip of the quill in her mouth and began to suck on it with relish, excitement etched on her face.
"You can put that straight away," said Hermione at once, sounding angry. "We came to honour those who died in battle, not to give interviews. If you can't understand that, you've no business being here."
Rita let the tip of the quill drop from her lips and regarded Hermione coldly. "And what exactly makes you think you're qualified to decide where I should and should not be? I suppose you're just dying to pull out the old 'I'll let everyone know you're an unregistered Animagus' bit, aren't you? Well I've got news for you, Miss Perfect. I've gone and registered myself with the Ministry of Magic. Did it last June... Sort of buggers up your continued plans to blackmail me, doesn't it?"
"And I'll bet they don't know how long you've been an Animagus, do they?" said Hermione, her eyes narrowed. "Odds are you left that bit out."
Rita's face coloured considerably. She opened her mouth to speak again but Harry's voice cut her off.
"None of that matters. This is a memorial. Everyone here has lost people close to them," he said very firmly. "They don't need a bunch of tactless reporters dragging information from them to sell papers."
Rita pretended to look affronted, and stared at them for a few moments before speaking again. "I assure you, my reasons for being here are a bit more honourable than you think."
"Honourable?" said Ron sarcastically. "Sorry, but based on your history, I've got my doubts on that one."
"I don't believe you know me well enough to begin slinging accusations young man," began Rita in a steely voice. "While it's true I might have embellished here and there on some of my more... acclaimed... pieces, I've always kept a standard of truth in my writing, which is why I'm here."
Harry eyed her. " 'Why you're here', aye? What... to get the 'truth' out of us? To tell the 'real' story? Since when have you ever been interested in telling the 'real' story?"
Rita sighed impatiently. "I said I liked to embellish... it's true. But I believe you'll find the Daily Prophet's version of events more palatable than what certain others may choose to report." She pointed one long, shockingly pink nail toward a cluster of reporters dressed in robes of black with twinkling stars and colourful planets revolving on them, worming their way through the crowd and catching unsuspecting people off-guard. "The ones dressed in solar systems are reporters from Astrology Monthly. If you think I add things to sell papers, it's nothing to what they like to do. They like to add astrological spins to everything. Prophecies, fortune telling... you know the type... if they find out five students died in the battle, they'll find some way to make it coincide with the comets of Atraides that flew past the five outer moons of the planet Plexus some one hundred years ago to the day of the battle, and so on..."
Ron looked horrified. "Comets of Atraides? Plexus? I've never heard of-"
"It's all rubbish," said Hermione scathingly. "There's no planet called Plexus, Ron, and even if there were it wouldn't have five moons orbiting-"
"Well, of course it's rubbish," said Rita casually, twirling the green quill between her fingers. "But suppose they get enough fodder to sell their papers, and the Daily Prophet gets virtually none... well it doesn't take a science-wizard to figure out which paper is going to sell out, and which one's version of events is going to be widely believed and spread about."
"As if there aren't going to be nutters out there who read that rot anyway," said Hermione again, scoffing. "Us giving you our version isn't going to make anyone who really wants to read rubbish want to read it any less."
"And there's where you're wrong," said Rita, smiling devilishly. "You three give the Daily Prophet your version of events, and I guarantee yours will be the ones most widely read and believed. After all, you, Harry, are the one who was foretold would kill V..Vold..demort in the end, and you were the one who finally did him in, weren't you? You were also very close to the great Albus Dumbledore, as we all know. He gave his life for you, I'm told. You're the one who'll be best be able to put a heroic spin on how he died... you're the one who can cast him in the best light, and not as some barmy, old crackpot who completely lost his marbles, and there are still those out there who'll want to read articles about how Dumbledore went nutters toward the end, believe you me. And you two," she said, now pinning Ron and Hermione with a hard stare. "You, along with Harry, were the ones most involved in all this, and it's your opinions the public is going to value over anyone else's, no matter whether they were on the front lines with you or not. Quite simply, Harry, your story sells papers... always has. So you have the opportunity to give the world an unskewered version of events, which I promise to jot down word for word as you give it to me, or..." She let the last word trail away and her eyes travelled over to the jumble of reporters who so resembled a cluster of galaxies, now surrounding a small crowd of witches and wizards who looked unmistakeably cornered. "Well, we might all be learning that Dumbledore's death was actually due to a fatal shift in his protective aura caused by a large meteor shower which passed too closely to the earth's atmosphere at precisely the same moment he was to have got out of the way of that sword-"
"We get the point," said Harry angrily, now watching two wizards and one witch suddenly become surrounded by a cluster of reporters from Astrology Monthly. They looked as if they had just been swallowed by the Milky Way. He turned back to Rita. "Give us a minute, will you?"
She grinned smugly and stepped back from them. "Of course."
Harry, Hermione, and Ron moved to one side and far enough away so that Rita's keen ears could not pick up any of their conversation.
"I don't like it," said Ron at once, in an undertone. "Let Astronomy Monthly write whatever they want to-"
"Astrology Monthly," corrected Hermione, "let's not get them confused with a real scientific-"
"They're going to do it anyway; it doesn't matter what we say," continued Ron, pretending he had not heard Hermione's correction. She frowned at him as he continued. "We shouldn't have to tell the Daily Prophet anything we don't want to. Why should we rehash everything? Just to give everyone the real story? Why should we? Why do they deserve to hear?"
"You know I don't want to go on reliving it," said Harry grimly, "but... I dunno... don't you think it's best they get the correct story, rather than a bunch of lies? I wouldn't want anyone believing Dumbledore died from some problem with his aura-"
"There are others who were there who will be perfectly willing to give interviews to the Daily Prophet as well," said Hermione reasonably. "It's not down to us to do it or no one will, you know. I'm not saying we shouldn't, I just don't want you thinking you have to do it or no one else will, Harry."
Harry stared at her for a moment, lost in thought, his fingers running through his hair and making it stick up worse than it already was. "Even so... why should they have to do it, either?" Ron opened his mouth to speak but Harry continued on. "No wait. Really though... is it fair if we leave it to them to do it? They shouldn't have to relive it either... and Rita's right on one count. We are the ones who were closest to everything. We can give the most accurate account-"
"And like Hermione said, there are others who were right there to give an accurate account too," said Ron, cutting in. "If that's what you're worried about I'm sure there are plenty of other people who want the facts down right as they happened too."
Harry sighed and jammed his hands into the pockets of the black pants he wore under his dress robes. Only minutes ago he had been thinking that nothing would be more pleasant than hiding away with Hermione in some dark hole for a few years until the story of the war became less enthralling to the media, or that the next nosy person who asked him what it had been like to kill Voldemort might well be stumbling away sporting a broken nose, but now... now something was telling him he needed to be the one to set everyone straight about what really happened. He knew it wasn't just about giving a correct account, it wasn't just about making certain no one put a strange, "otherworldly" spin on the story, nor was it only about feeling that he should not leave the job to someone else to deal with... somehow... somehow he knew the shift in his feelings about telling the story had to do with Dumbledore. He owed it to him. He wanted the public to know what a hero Dumbledore had been... how he had sacrificed himself not only in trying to save Harry, but for all those Voldemort might come to harm if he escaped. Many had gotten up during the memorial and said kind words about the old wizard, but no one quite understood what he had done or why, no one else really knew what he had sacrificed... and with the exception of Hagrid, he was quite sure no one else felt the old man's loss as deeply as he, Harry, did. Dumbledore had been more than a mentor to him... he had been like a grandfather. And now Harry knew exactly why his relationship with the old man had seemed so familial. That was it. Beyond everything else, Dumbledore was family.
Harry's eyes travelled to the gleaming slate of marble standing tall and engraved with the names of those who had died in the war; Dumbledore's own, overly-long name etched at the very top. He knew what he had to do. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he even could, Hermione spoke for him.
"You want to do it for him, don't you?" she said quietly. "For Professor Dumbledore."
Harry looked down at her. That Hermione knew him so well still never ceased to amaze him, no matter how many times she proved it to him. He grabbed her hand and held it close to him, his fingers stroking her palm.
"Yeah I do... I can't give him anything else now... At least I can give him his name."
Hermione smiled and squeezed his hand. "I knew you would say that. I'll be right there with you, Harry."
Ron nodded solemnly. "Yeah, me too... I... I'll do it for him."
**********************************
Predictably, the moment Rita heard, she was overjoyed.
"Brilliant! I knew I could count on you, Harry. Always been the noble one, haven't you? Well, it's served you well my boy, it certainly has. Now... let's find somewhere more secluded for us to talk; you don't want to get distracted and leave out something important!"
Clapping her hands together with glee, she whipped the acid-green quill and pad of paper from her bag once more and, sliding her horn-rimmed glasses to the edge of her nose, immediately began scanning the surrounding area for somewhere to conduct her interview.
"Wait..." said Ron, "you want to do it now? Right here? After the memorial?"
"Well of course now, you daft boy," said Rita, her eyes never leaving the surrounding landscape. A small crop of trees seemed to catch her eye and she began walking swiftly towards them, beckoning the three behind her with a wave of her hand. "Did you think we might wait for next weeks edition? Do you think Astrology Monthly plans on waiting to run their version? We have to get the story out as soon as possible if we want yours to be the first ones the public sees! You three give me the story today and I can guarantee it makes the Sunday paper."
"But... that's tomorrow!" said Hermione, panting from trying to keep up with Rita's fast paced walking. Even Harry and Ron, tall as they were, seemed surprised at how fast Skeeter was able to move. "You think you'll have everything ready to be printed tomorrow? What about editing and re-checking your facts, and-"
"News waits for no one!" said Rita, waggling a finger in the air as they neared the cluster of trees they had been heading toward. She stopped suddenly and whipped about, quill and pad at the ready. Ron nearly ran into her before he stopped himself. "I'll bet you ten galleons Astrology Monthly has their story published by early tomorrow morning. And I don't know when else I'm supposed to see you three to get the story from you, do you? From what I hear, Hogwarts only has a few more days of extended school left, and by that time twenty different versions of what happened during the war might already be out and circulating."
"That's exaggerating a bit, don't you think?" said Harry, blandly.
"Not exaggerating, no," said Rita, irritated. "Think about it. Dumbledore's death? V..Vold..dem..mort's defeat? Your 'destiny', finally fulfilled? I dare say every paper and magazine will be sold out by the time noon rolls round. This is the biggest story ever reported in the wizarding world, I assure you."
"Quite possibly the biggest story you've ever reported as well, right?" said Harry, keenly.
Rita narrowed her eyes, looking nettled. "I've not tried to hide that fact, have I? Yes, I want to be the one reporting it. But everything else I've said is true too. If you want everything reported accurately, you need to tell the story yourself. Now," she said bracingly, planting herself down on a flat tree stump and placing quill to pad. "Does anyone else want to blather on about ridiculous things or can we get on with the interview?"
The moment the last word left her lips, a loud crack sounded from somewhere right next to Hermione, and Minerva McGonagoll appeared in front of the four of them, clad in simple black dress robes, her hair pulled tight in a severe looking bun, and her lips set in an angry grimace. They had not seen her arrive at the service, nor had they seen her during it, but Harry was sure she had been there. Her eyes were red-rimmed from a bout of recent crying, and her nose swollen and chafed.
"Minerva!" said Skeeter, jumping up from her stump and trying to sound pleased, although her voice quailed just a bit. The quill and pad had completely disappeared from her hands. "How wonderful to see you! Such an awful day for a reunion though, isn't it? All those names... and Dumbledore! Who would've thought? I always liked him though, scrambled as he seemed, he always had it together, didn't he? Was always lovely to me-"
"There'll be no stories today, Rita," McGonagoll spat furiously, sounding a big congested. "How dare you steal my students away, and from the middle of a memorial service, no less! Have you no sense of propriety!? Have you no respect!?"
"Well, I would never have approached them during the service," said Rita, sounding wounded. "I only asked them to speak to me after it was done-"
"The very moment it was over, I'm certain!" McGonagoll hissed. "You've no right to ask them to relive what they went through, no right at all! I'm taking them back to the school straight away, and I WILL be reporting your inappropriate actions to the Daily Prophet. They won't be thanking you for upsetting me or my students after this, let me assure you."
McGonagoll turned her back on Rita, whose face was slowly draining of colour, and began marching back across the field toward the rapidly dispersing crowd not far away. It was quite apparent to everyone there that she meant Harry, Ron, and Hermione to follow her without question, and the tone in her voice brooked no argument.
Rita, obviously beginning to process the damage that an angry Headmistress of Hogwarts might inflict upon her career, began jogging after her, her words coming out choppy as she stumbled along breathlessly in her wake. "You can't.. stop the press, Minerva! After all that's happened some story is bound to.. to surface about what happened in those woods and I would think you, being in the middle of everything yourself, would want a straight version of events coming directly from the horses mouth... Certainly, one would think that those.. those who were there would be most invested in getting the truth to the public-"
"Oh, I'm certain that's what you're interested in," said McGonagoll in a hard, sarcastic tone, not bothering to turn around as she continued stomping back to the crowd. "Seeing as how you've always been such been a paragon of virtue when it comes to the 'truth'."
Rita began to splutter in earnest. "But... b..but... you wouldn't want some falsified version of events to be spread about for all to read, would you? If I can get the real story out for everyone to read before a lot of half-truths hit the shelves, just think of how much better it will be for all concerned! Wouldn't it make sense for the one who was closest to everything to let the true story out before someone else gets it all wrong? Why Potter here-"
"Asked Rita to interview us, Professor," Harry finished for her, stopping so that Hermione almost walked into him.
Rita's voice halted abruptly. Ron and Hermione were staring at Harry, Ron's mouth open slightly. McGonagoll stopped marching at once and turned on her heel, spearing Harry with a very surprised look.
"Wh... You, Potter?" said McGonagoll, looking completely nonplussed. "You asked this woman to... you, of all people, wanted HER, of all people to-"
"Yes," said Harry decisively, glancing at Hermione and Ron and widening his eyes just long enough for them to see that he wanted them to play along.
"Why!? Why would you..." the Headmistress spluttered, "after all she's..."
"Because she's right on one count," said Harry. "I want the truth out. It won't be fun... reliving it... but it needs to be done. I want to do this, Professor. Please."
Rita stayed completely silent, though Harry thought he could see her eyes dancing with victory. McGonagoll put a hand to her forehead, obviously torn between wanting to protect her students and giving them the right to speak their mind. Finally she relented, her hand dropping to her side as if in defeat.
"Fine. Fine, Potter. But you don't need them all to get the correct story," she finished, stabbing Rita again with a very hard stare. "I don't want them all going through it again, and Potter is more than qualified to set everything straight on is own."
Hermione stepped forward. "But Professor-"
"No, Hermione, I can do it," said Harry. "It's enough for one of us to."
"Yes," said Rita, trying very hard to drown her feeling of accomplishment in a look of acquiescence. "Yes, Potter's version will be quite enough. I don't want any of them going through it again if they don't have to."
McGonagoll narrowed her eyes at her and spoke next with a voice that held such a steely edge of scorn to it that any normal person would have been cut to the quick. "Of course you don't."
Rita, however, merely smiled cheerfully back at her.
Harry, Hermione and Ron looked at one another for a moment, unsure of what to do.
"Well, no time like the present," said Rita, clapping her hands together again. The green quill and notepad had suddenly found their ways back into her heavily adorned fingers. "Shall we then, Potter?"
Harry quirked a half amused, half irritated eyebrow at her and nodded. "I'll be along in a minute. We can go back to the trees, if you like."
Rita nodded and began her way back toward the trees, humming slightly to herself. The moment she was out of earshot, McGonagoll rounded on him again.
"Are you certain, Potter? I don't want you doing this out of some false sense of obligation. It's not down to you to tell the story or no one else will, you know."
Harry smiled at her, struck anew at how often Hermione and Professor McGonagoll sounded alike. "Yes, I'm sure."
"Alright then. I can't stop you. Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger can ride back to Hogwarts with me. I'll have one of the cars stay put to bring you back to school as soon as you're done." She glanced back to where Rita was sitting on the old tree stump, already fiddling with her quill, and speaking test lines to make certain it was working properly. McGonagoll's lips thinned into a line of disapproval and dislike. "See to it that she doesn't keep you long. If you're not done by dinnertime in the Great Hall, you can tell her I'll be coming for you myself."
"I'm sure that'll keep her brief," said Harry.
The professor eyed him sharply for a moment, hiding a small smirk, and then turned to Ron and Hermione. "We'll be off, then."
She turned to go and began walking away, again secure in the fact that the other two would follow.
Ron began to follow her, but Hermione held back, waving him on without her.
Once he was out of earshot, she turned back to Harry. "Harry, why did you tell Professor McGonagoll it was you're idea to be interviewed? You didn't have to do that, you know."
"I don't want her trying to stop me," said Harry, grabbing onto her hand. "I want Professor Dumbledore's name cleared. And I might as well tell the story and get it on paper the way we want it. At least that way maybe everyone's questions will be answered and they'll leave us all alone."
Hermione stared up at him knowingly.
Harry sighed. "Well... maybe they won't-"
"No, they won't," said Hermione, sadly. "An article in the Daily Prophet isn't going to keep people from approaching us, Harry. We'll still have to deal with it."
"Maybe. But I still want the truth out. At least I can control what's said and what's not said, you know?" He smiled down at her and pulled her to him. "And we'll have each other. I can take questions and reliving it if I've got you with me."
Hermione hugged him hard, her answer muffled in his chest. "You'll always have me."
Harry stared over her head at Rita, who was tapping one foot impatiently and staring at them. He smiled down at Hermione again.
"And will I have you tonight in my bed?"
Hermione pulled back and hit him lightly on the arm. "What exactly do you mean by that?"
"You know what I mean," said Harry, smoothing her cheek with the back of his hand and then running two fingers over her lips. "I'll need some comforting."
"Oh will you?" said Hermione, one eyebrow raised. "Would a right hook comfort you?"
"I dunno... might be exciting though," said Harry.
"Cheeky," said Hermione, trying and failing to sound irritated. "I'll see you back at school."
She turned to walk back, and then on a whim, turned to glance at him over her shoulder. "We'll see about that comforting."
Harry grinned at her as she walked away, and then, jamming his hands in his pockets, walked back over to Rita and sat down on another tree stump near her.
She smirked at him. "You two seem right cosy, don't you? I'll say it again, I've got a nose for these things... saw you two coming from a mile off."
Harry looked at her warily.
"On that note," said Rita casually, her quill quivering with excitement, "I don't suppose you want to add in a bit on that, do you? How Granger has helped you through all this, or something to that effect? Might put a human spin to the story that readers will find easy to identify wi-"
"No," said Harry in a hard, clear voice. "I'm here to talk about the war, that's all."
Rita's casual look melted away. "Oh, alright."
She stared at him for a moment, curiosity lining her face.
"What..." said Harry, flatly.
"Why did you lie to Minerva for me?" said Rita with a scrutinizing gaze. "I know it wasn't borne out of your extreme fondness for me."
Harry smirked. "Well... now you owe me."
Rita eyed him judiciously. "Ah... now we come to it. You could've chosen any other Daily Prophet reporter to give your story to- there were dozens down there- and McGonagoll was giving you an out with me, wasn't she? I knew it had to be something. What is it, then? You want certain things changed? Left out?"
"Whatever I want left out, I can leave out, and you won't be any the wiser, will you?" said Harry, sharply. "And Hermione already hit on the fact that you probably didn't tell the Ministry of Magic you've been an Animagus for some time before registering, I think... didn't she say that? I can't remember."
Rita pursed her lips, looking extremely sour. "Grown up, haven't you? Learned the ways of the world." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Alright, you mean business, I can see that. What'd you want, Potter?"
Harry grinned.
******************************************************
(Author's note: So it's been a long, LONG time, readers. You want to murder me... yes, I know... if you even remember this story! (And I wouldn't blame you if you didn't.) Harry Potter and the Half-Baked Plot really put me off my writing for a long time, (I HATED it... I apologize to those who liked it) but I'm starting to get back into it, (thankfully), and I haven't forgotten that I told everyone I wouldn't abandon this story until it was done. So here's the next chapter, and I hope you all enjoy it! Please let me know what you think.... and I hope you're all still interested enough to wonder what Harry's got up his sleeve. Tee hee... I think you'll like it. I do. ;0)
Cheers, Bama)