(A/N: NOT a good few months for me, sorry.
I'm only now starting to recover - but that said, I'm back now. I want to thank all those who worried about my welfare… it was not misplaced, and I appreciate it. I've a couple of chapters left in which to wrap up the story, tying up various loose threads (or else giving enough hints to let the readers tie them up as they prefer… which I don't mind in the least). Many thanks to my best of betas, MirielleGrey, who, had she known what she was signing up for, might not have answered that e-mail two years ago.)
(Disclaimer: (Jeez, two disclaimers.) Disney inspired the title of this chapter; I own nothing of Disney's. J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers inspired this entire story; I own nothing of Rowling's or the Warners'. I'm not making money from this work, and more to the point, none of them are losing money from this work, so let's let everyone get back to their fair-use pastimes, 'k?)
*
"Coming Back Late"
by Paracelsus
*
XXXIV: A Very Merry Rebirthday To You, Yes You
*
It felt wrong. And it was confusing, which made it doubly wrong.
This new place was… inviting. One normally associates "inviting" with "warm". Only this was cold… so dark, and so very, very cold. She could tell she was being welcomed in this new place, but in the same way the sea welcomes a sinking ship. It's not as though the ship has a choice.
Neither, for that matter, does the sea.
She did her best to look forward to this next great adventure, but she couldn't shake an icy pang of regret. Very sharp regret, piercing her heart… if only she could remember what it was.
And suddenly, there was warmth. Not the distant, aloof light that beckoned her onward, but a much more personal warmth: two gentle hands surrounding her, sheltering her, sustaining her. They drew her from this chilling, inviting darkness and bore her back whence she'd come. She didn't object, for her thoughts grew clearer with every step of the journey back. It was as though the warmth of the hands brought their own light, brought clarity. The warmth of those hands meant she had no further use for hoary regret. For she knew those hands.
Harry's hands.
Hermione slowly opened her eyes. Pre-dawn light was filtering through the window, giving a rosy tinge to Harry's skin. She was spooned up against his back, with her arms around his torso. Odd, when she'd been dreaming of his arms around her. Not that it mattered a whit, she realized: it was infinitely comforting either way.
"And you're so better than my old pillow," she murmured.
"Mmmm?" Harry mumbled.
Never mind, she told him, silently and indulgently, and gave the back of his neck a kiss before she snuggled in closer.
"Mmmmph," he mumbled again, more strongly. "Whuh time zit?"
"Far too early. Go back to sleep."
For a moment, she thought he had indeed gone back to sleep. Then he began to rouse from bed, carefully disengaging her arms from around him. "'s your party," he said, only slightly better than mumbling. "Got t' get ready…"
"At this hour?" Hermione was puzzled - they had several hours before the party began.
"Your present," he explained, growing more coherent. "Thin's to do…" Standing, he swayed for a moment before picking up his new wand from the nightstand.
Puzzlement had been replaced by dismay - she'd have much preferred him to stay in bed with her. She'd been hoping that he'd prefer it, too. "You're going out? Now? But I'd thought… well, that is, I thought we'd go to the Three Broomsticks together…"
A Summoning Charm and a Switching Spell had brought Harry's clothes from the sofa (where they'd been discarded the night before) and arrayed them on his body. He stretched, was rewarded with a popping sound from his shoulder, and turned back to smile at Hermione. "If I'm back in time, yeah, we definitely should go together… but no matter what, I'll meet you there." His smile grew tender. "I'll be there, love," he said very earnestly.
And with an almost inaudible puff of air, he Disapparated. Presumably back to Clayman's flat, for shower and clothes… a daily ritual which grew more irksome every day. Hermione almost changed her mind about Harry not yet moving into Enthalpy House; she had to remind herself with some force that Rose would need time to accept the new developments in their lives.
"You'd better be there, mister," was all she could find to say.
*
Waiting at the massive front doors of Hogwarts, Ted Lupin fingered again the two scrolls in his pocket - the scrolls he'd received just the evening before. One was from his godfather, revealing in detail the secrets he'd had to keep from Ted for so many years - secrets Ted only knew in vague outlines. Given all that's happened, Harry had written, I thought you deserved to have the facts. The scroll confirmed Ted's belief that some of those secrets, at least, would be shared at Hermione's Rebirthday Party today.
The other scroll was from the rebirthday girl herself, keeping her promise to tell Ted all she could about the Lovinett caper he'd helped her with, earlier that week. Not that she could yet tell him all that much, but it was her willingness to keep her word that impressed him.
There may be hope for the overbearing control freak yet, he told himself in charity.
Voices from down the corridor caused him to straighten expectantly. He caught a glimpse of straight silvery blonde hair, and behind it a bird's-nest of fiery red, as Tori and Rose turned the corner. Professor Longbottom was with them, talking with them as they approached. "Because by rights, Miss Weasley-Minor, you wouldn't be allowed into Hogsmeade until your third year," the Professor was explaining. "Even under these special circumstances, you can't go to town unless your Head of House accompanies you. Besides," he added more cheerfully, "I was invited, too. Oh, good morning, Mr. Lupin."
"Morning, sir. Are we waiting for anyone else?" Ted thought it prudent to ask… though he was fairly sure of the answer.
"No, we're the lot. The Headmistress was invited, but had to decline," Professor Longbottom replied, as the doors automatically opened before them. "The press of Hogwarts business, I'm afraid. I promised to tell her if anything interesting happened." His tone made clear that he fully expected that eventuality. With an expansive gesture, he motioned the three students to walk ahead of him. They set out down the path to the school's gates, Ted taking the lead, the girls falling into place on either side of him.
"Pity this isn't really a Hogsmeade weekend," he commented. "Rose, we could show you all the best spots in town…Honeydukes, the Shrieking Shack, the important places… I mean, yeah, the Three Broomsticks is great and all, but there's a lot more to Hogsmeade than that."
"Until then," added Tori, "Ted and I will have to visit those places alone. For the next two years. At least."
If Rose caught the subtext of Tori's last remark, she gave no sign. Well, she did give a quick, cheeky grin, but she'd been doing that a lot since she'd caught Ted impersonating Lovinett. Not quite as awestruck as she was at the start of term, no indeed.
"You think I'll be able to get a butterbeer today?" she asked them eagerly. "I've heard of that…"
Ted couldn't help but smile. It had become something of a rite of passage at Hogwarts: the First Butterbeer. Ordered by every third-year on their very first Hogsmeade visit. Even the kids who grew up in Hogsmeade looked forward to it, having been too young before then to be allowed in a pub. Leave it to Rose to want a two year head-start on her classmates. "I dunno," he drawled. "I imagine your mum will say you're still not old enough. Although," he added thoughtfully, "if they let you have a butterbeer, maybe they'll let me have some wine…"
"Wine?" inquired Tori, arching an eyebrow.
He twisted his mouth ruefully. "Our date at the Idée Fixe showed up kind of a gap in my education, don't you think?"
"Oh, you do that every time you open your mouth," Tori assured him smugly. "But yes, your ignorance of wines is, beyond doubt, simply appalling. I told you to visit Shell Cottage more often last summer - we'd have served you wine every night with dinner. Maman thinks everyone should have at least a minimal appreciation of fine wine - even the English."
"Prime. Can she vouch for me today?" Ted put on his most innocent expression. "One glass?"
Tori eyed him speculatively. "Mm, maybe I should be the one vouching for you… after all, I'm the one who's got to walk you back to Hogwarts." She gave his arm a reassuring pat. "Don't worry, I'll try to make your first time an enjoyable experience."
Ted returned a slight smile of acknowledgement, while hiding his surprise. Yeah, he and Tori had been semi-flirting since before the start of term… but until now, they'd been careful not to do it in front of Rose.
"A Chenin Blanc, I think," Tori continued, warming to her subject. "It's a good choice for a novice: sweet and uncomplicated. Later I'll let you try something with a bit more subtlety: a Vouvray, maybe, or eventually a Pouilly-Fuissé, that one's very nice…"
Unexpectedly, Rose broke in. "Sounds like a good plan. White wines are a good introduction, 'specially if you don't limit yourself to French stuff…"
"And how would you know anything about wine?" Tori demanded.
Rose shrugged. "I do read." She looked back at Ted, who was maintaining an uncharacteristically discreet silence. "'Course, once you've tried the whites, you can move on to red wines. Reds are supposed to have a lot more character than whites."
"Well, yes, traditionally," allowed Tori, "although there are exceptions both ways. The problem with reds, of course, is that you have to wait years until they're properly matured, if you want to enjoy the more interesting nuances." She sniffed dismissively. "Young reds are hardly worth drinking."
"On the other hand," Rose pointed out, "the whites reach their peak so quickly - a year? Two years? And then, just as quickly, they go sour. While a good red continues to improve as it ages, until it reaches its full body and flavor."
Tori smiled sweetly. Ted was all too painfully familiar with that sweet smile; the better part of valor told him to fall back a pace or two, letting the two girls continue their discussion without him being right there in the middle. "Mm, that can be the case with the reds," she said, "but in those cases, the varietal in question was a quality vintage to begin with."
"Oh, I don't think that's something Ted needs to worry about," Rose replied, just as sweetly. She met Tori's gaze unabashedly
Ted continued to retreat until he found himself by Professor Longbottom's side. "They're, uh, they're not really talking about wine any more, are they?" he softly asked the Defense Professor, who was looking far, far too amused.
Longbottom paused to consider his words. "If I were you, my boy," he said confidentially, "I'd stick to butterbeer."
*
They arrived at the Three Broomsticks to catch Madam Roswitha, the proprietress, bustling out from the private parlor. "The rest of your party's already here," she told them with a smile. "I've just brought in your lunch, and put a Warming Charm on - eat whenever you're hungry." A hint of slyness crept into her smile as she added, "Bon appétit."
Hermione was standing at the door when they entered the parlor. She greeted Neville warmly, Rose with a big hug, a bright smile for Tori and a somewhat more tentative smile for Ted. He nodded affably and let the others receive the brunt of her attention. Watching her, it seemed to Ted that she kept half an eye on the room outside the door, as though she were expecting more guests to arrive.
Ted had only a moment to reflect on this before he was caught up by his grandmother. "Stand straight and let me look at you," Andromeda declared. "Staying out of mischief this term, I trust?"
"As I always do, Gran," he grinned.
"Hrmph." Andromeda's mouth pursed skeptically. "Well, if it were anything serious I'm sure I would have received an owl by now." She glanced over Ted's shoulder, saw Ron moving to the center of the room, and lowered her voice to add, "We'll catch up on news later. Right now, I think the party's about to begin."
"Ahem," announced Ron loudly. "Thanks, everyone, for coming today - I appreciate it, and I know Hermione does, too. We, er, we don't have any real festivities planned… except lunch, of course…" That got a laugh from the guests, all of whom were familiar with Ron's love of food. "But this is the day to celebrate our Hermione's birth, and more importantly, her recent re-birth." He beamed at Hermione as the other guests applauded.
"Of the two, I have to say the latter ranks more highly with me at the moment," Hermione responded wryly as the guests chuckled. "But yes, thank you all for coming. May I suggest we eat first, and save… er, talking for later?" She motioned to her guests to queue at the sideboard. Hermione held back, making sure she was last in the queue… always with one eye to the door. It wasn't obvious unless one were watching her closely - and Ted, who was watching Hermione closely, thought he saw disappointment flash in her expression, before it was covered with a social smile.
Ron and Bill were first to the sideboard, chatting and trading recent family moments. Fleur followed her husband, with Tori and Rose next in queue. "Huh," Ron remarked as he began to fill his plate, "S'funny… I don't recall the Broomsticks ever doing fancier than bangers or shepherd's pie." He hesitated over some of the dishes, looking doubtful.
Fleur, always the gastronome, came to his rescue. "Well, that is shepherd's pie, in that pot," she told him, pointing. "This is poached salmon, with…" She touched the tip of her little finger to the dish and brought it to her tongue. "With dill sauce," she continued. "Not at all bad."
"A bit beyond the Broomsticks' touch, in my day," put in Bill. "Maybe the new owner - what's her name, Ron? Roswitha? - maybe she's trying for something a bit more adventurous."
"If so, she has good tastes," Fleur replied. "As well as an understanding of her customers. None of this is haute cuisine, to be sure, but…" She studied a meat pie for a second before taking a knife and slicing into it. "Strasbourg pie. The filling is pâté de fois gras, do you see? All the dishes are like this: country fare, but well prepared."
"Sounds good to me," said Ron, and helped himself to the shepherd's pie. Fleur continued to inspect the offerings on the sideboard, until her gaze paused at a casserole dish with a baked crust of bread crumbs. "Surely that is not… It is! Cassoulet. Did she use local game, I wonder…?" She ladled a sample onto her plate and took a delicate taste.
Momentarily, her face went blank, as though she were searching inward. Then without warning, Fleur thrust her plate at her startled husband and marched out of the parlor.
"Ooookay," said Ted in a low voice. He glanced at Tori, who shrugged. "My mum," she whispered to him, "what can one do?" It was Tori's usual comment whenever Fleur got a bee in her bonnet; the only thing to do was to stay out of her way.
Half the guests had served themselves from the sideboard, and taken seats at the table, when everyone heard a commotion outside the door - noise growing louder by the moment. Noise which eventually resolved into words: "Ow! OW! C'mon, ten minutes, I only need ten, five, oh dammit Fleur, stop!"
And into the parlor strode Fleur, with her finger and thumb leading Harry by the ear.
The party gawked in amazement: only Ted had the presence of mind to observe the others' reactions. Hermione's face had lit up brightly upon seeing Harry; Rose's jaw dropped, and she almost seemed to forget how to breathe. Ron and Neville looked as though they would have rushed to Harry, to poke and prod him and make sure he was the genuine article. But no one moved: Fleur's dramatic entrance left them stunned and immobile.
In the gobsmacked silence, Harry freed his ear from Fleur's grip with a swat of one hand and an angry jerk of his head. "I wasn't finished," he told her through clenched teeth.
"Pas de ça, Harry," responded Fleur. "The meal is served; what is left to do?"
"The cake," Harry snapped. "I wasn't finished icing the cake. You know, the birthday cake!?"
"Er," came a hesitant voice from the doorway. Rosewitha stood there, having followed Fleur and Harry from the kitchen. "Er, I could do that for you, Mr. Potter. I wouldn't mind, honest! And it would give you a chance to be with your friends…" Her words faltered in the face of Harry's glower.
After a moment, the glower softened into resignation, as Harry gave a despondent sigh. "Et tu, Roswitha?" He regarded the landlady a moment longer, trying to gauge her culinary skills, before gesturing with his hands. "You do the top first, and then work down the sides," he instructed. "Light, circular strokes…"
"Mlle. Roswitha does not need to be told how to ice a cake," Fleur interrupted sternly. "Sit down, Harry. No, don't bother getting food, I will bring you your plate. Sit." And she all but forced him into an empty seat at the table - providentially, the empty seat Hermione had been saving.
Harry sighed again, glanced back at the door where Roswitha was still shyly waiting, and flapped his hand at her, as though to say, Go ahead and do it. Roswitha beamed and left quickly. Harry gave Hermione a quick sidelong look, and shook his head sheepishly. "Well, you did say you wanted to sample my cooking. Happy Birthday, Hermione."
Hermione said nothing in words, but her hand found Harry's beneath the table - and the squeeze she gave made clear she would never let him go.
"It's true, then?" Bill leaned forward and fixed a sharp gaze at Harry. "Victoire's story - about finding you working as a chef in a Muggle restaurant - that was true?" Tori preened smugly, but had the sense to say nothing… though her expression spoke volumes.
"Alors, Bill, of course it's true," Fleur said, sliding a filled plate in front of Harry before taking her seat next to her husband. "How else would I know he was here today? The mysterious M. Clayman had quite the distinctive style. Adding wild muskseed to the cassoulet - I will have to remember that one."
"Right, right, whatever," said Ron, leaning forward and starting to scowl. "So - all this time, when we'd thought You-Know-Who had killed you…"
Harry jumped in. "He did kill me, Ron. Let's have no confusion about that. I went into the Forest that night expecting to die, and I died. That part of the official history is true. And last Thursday, at the Ministry - when I came through the Veil out of Death's domain - that part's true, too. It's, uh, everything that happened in between that's not what most people think." He looked around the table. "But before I can tell you exactly what happened, I need you all to agree to keep it secret. Seriously secret. I mean it - trust me, once you hear, you'll understand why."
The guests looked at one another. Neville broke the pause. "I told Hermione a few days ago that I'd be willing to take a wizarding oath, Harry. I think we're all still willing."
"I don't need anything that formal…" Harry started to say.
"Actually, Harry, maybe you do," Ron interrupted. "Since the last time we all got together and promised to keep mum, the word got out anyway." He met Hermione's eye unwaveringly. "It was me. I told the story - told it to someone I thought wouldn't blab, but that's not the point. I was wrong. So I can't speak for anyone else, but I think I need to have some kind of binding put on me."
"Ron, it's not that easy to…" protested Neville.
Ron snorted mirthlessly and pointed a finger at Hermione, who had remained silent throughout. "Nev, old bean, I'll bet you Galleons to gobstones that our Hermione has already thought of this, and has a bit of parchment in her bag - with jinxes on it just like the ones she put on our old D.A. membership list. Hopefully not as nasty, though?"
Hermione blinked in surprise. Lifting her purse into her lap, she opened it and brought out a parchment sheet. "Not as nasty," she agreed, "but more effective. The D.A. jinx only told us after Marietta snitched on us. This one will actively prevent it if anyone should try."
"Yeah? What does it do?"
Her only reply was that quiet, confident half-smile that caused everyone in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to tread warily. Ron closed his mouth with a gulp.
"Ah. Well, perhaps you'll allow me to hold off on signing my name," said Neville, calmly enough. "I did promise Minerva that I'd tell her about today's events, after all. I trust no one would have any objection to my doing so?"
Harry glanced quickly at Hermione, raised an eyebrow in inquiry; she gave the slightest of nods in reply. "Of course not, Neville," Harry said, with scarcely a hesitation. "All right, Ron, you sign Hermione's scroll. Anyone else who thinks they might need help keeping this secret, should sign their names too. But I know for a fact," and here he turned his gaze on Ted, "that a promise is all that's needed to keep a secret - if you mean it."
*
Once everyone present had promised, one way or another, Harry settled into his chair and started eating. He wasn't particularly hungry - tasting while cooking was a chef's traditional prerogative. Rather, eating was a calculated move on his part: he hoped, by example, to get the others eating as well. Listeners with mouths full of food weren't likely to interrupt, he felt, and well-sated eaters might be less combative in their questions. Not that questions would dismay Harry much: he'd already decided to stick to the truth where he could. An abridged edition of the truth, but the truth nonetheless.
"Since Thursday, I've had a chance to hear the official version of what happened, the night I died," he began. "That bit's all true: I was one of Voldemort's Horcruxes. I did go to Voldemort in the Forest that night, and he did hit me with the Killing Curse… and I died. But I didn't stay dead. I came back… minus the Horcrux. Mind you, I came back too late to help with your final fight against Voldemort and his Death Eaters - but from what I understand, you all did just fine without me."
"I saw your dead body," Neville said quietly. "You didn't… stay dead?"
Andromeda Tonks spoke up. "You actually rose from the dead? How?"
Harry couldn't help grinning. "Except for me and Hermione, everyone at this table was born and raised in the wizarding world, am I right? How many of you remember the Tales of Beedle the Bard?"
Only Fleur and Tori didn't raise their hands. The others looked puzzled, wondering what possible connection Harry's death and resurrection could have to a set of children's stories. It was Ron (who, after all, had been with Harry and Hermione when Lovegood had explained the Tale of the Three Brothers) who saw it first. "It was the Hallows, wasn't it, Harry? You're saying you got all the Deathly Hallows? You're… Master of Death!?"
"When I walked into the Forest that night, I was Master of all three Hallows," Harry said, sobering. "The Cloak, well, I'd had that since my first year at Hogwarts. The Stone, it turned out, was inside the Snitch that Dumbledore'd left me in his will…"
"Rendering it utterly useless until it was too late," grumbled Hermione. It was obviously a sore point with her.
"And the Elder Wand… well, it turns out that when Draco Malfoy disarmed Dumbledore, that night on the tower, he became Master of the Elder Wand - even though he never knew it. So when I disarmed Malfoy, at Malfoy Manor, I became the Master of the Wand - even though I didn't know it. But yeah, that night in the Forest, I was Master of all three Hallows."
(Harry chose not to bring up the idea Dumbledore had suggested, when they'd met for the last time at "King's Cross": that Harry's blood in Voldemort's body had somehow anchored Harry to life. It sounded too much like having his own Horcrux for Harry's comfort… and frankly, given Harry's first-hand experience with Horcruxes, it just didn't feel right to him. Survival through being Master of the Hallows, even without knowing it, at least sounded plausible… at any rate, Harry hoped his friends would accept it, because otherwise he had no explanation.)
"So, as the Master of Death," Ron concluded, "you could decide to come back to life. How did you…?"
"Wait a moment, Harry," Neville interrupted. "You say Voldemort killed you? Honestly killed you?"
"I was honestly dead," Harry affirmed. "My spirit went to the land of the dead and everything. Hey, I had to die - it was the only way to destroy the Horcrux inside me."
"Hm, all right, but… but then, why didn't Voldemort become the new Master of the Elder Wand? From what I recall of Beedle's stories, isn't that how the Wand went from Master to Master?"
Harry smiled wryly. "Believe me, Neville, I've had plenty of time to wonder that myself." He turned to Hermione. "You were there in the Shack when Voldemort killed Snape. Remember that?"
"I do, yes," she frowned. "He killed Snape because he thought Snape was the Wand's Master. He knew the Wand wasn't performing properly for him, so he took what he thought were the necessary steps."
"And that, in itself, should have been a clue," Harry pointed out. "After all, if Grindelwald could steal the Wand from Gregorovitch, and become its Master, then Voldemort should have been able to steal the Wand from Dumbledore's tomb to become its Master as well - regardless of who its prior Master was."
"So the fact that he wasn't…" Hermione said slowly, thinking hard. Her brown eyes seemed to focus on far infinity as her brain processed everything she knew about the Hallows, about Lord Voldemort, about Death…
Sharply her gaze snapped back to Harry's face. "Voldemort had made Horcruxes! And by doing so, he'd isolated himself from Death's influence!"
"He'd cheated Death," Harry nodded. "Heck, by making one of the Hallows into a Horcrux, he insulted Death. And Death didn't like it, not one little bit."
"Harry, you're speaking of Death as though it were a man," Fleur admonished. Her attitude seemed a touch patronizing to Harry, and he had to swallow his flash of irritation.
"Girl," he corrected her, causing her to frown in return.
Hermione waved the issue aside. "Whatever the case, it's always problematic to mix Death magics together. I think it's safe to say that, when Voldemort altered the influence of Death on him, the artifacts associated with Death would no longer work properly for him. Voldemort could never have been Master of the Elder Wand, no matter who he killed to get it."
"Fascinating though all this may be," interjected Andromeda, sounding very businesslike, "I'm more interested in hearing what you did after you returned to life, Harry - and when exactly this took place. You were Master of the Wand - may I assume you're the one who summoned the Wand from Voldemort's hand during the last battle?"
Reluctantly, Harry nodded. Given a choice, he would have glossed over the details; Andromeda's question was a little too specific for his liking. "From the sounds of things, the battle ended almost immediately after that. And that… that was the point at which I decided the Hallows had to be destroyed. And I've spent the last fifteen years working on that."
"So you just… up and left," said Bill, half-asking and half-concluding. "Because if you stayed and told everyone you were alive…"
"He'd have to explain that he was the Master of Death after all," finished Hermione. "Can you imagine what a mess his life would have been after that? The number of people who would have wanted favors? The Ministry's reaction?"
"I wasn't thinking of any of that," Harry corrected. "It was more like… the only way to destroy the power of the Wand, and I guess all of the Hallows, was to die undefeated. That's what Dumbledore intended to do, when he had the Wand… but it only took one slip on his part for Draco-I'm-So-Inbred-It's-A-Miracle-I-Have-Opposable-Thumbs Malfoy to become Master of the Wand. I couldn't risk that. And the only way to avoid it… was to leave." He sighed. "Looking back on it, I think the Hallows themselves were helping me make the decision… keeping me from feeling regret. Being the so-called Master of the Hallows didn't mean they weren't affecting me."
"So you lived as a Muggle," Tori burst out, "and took a job as a chef. Where I found you."
"Where you detected me, petite. It was Hermione who found me - and figured out a way to destroy the Hallows without me waiting to die undefeated. Or committing suicide, if I didn't care to wait."
"Not funny," Hermione growled.
"No, it wasn't." Harry sipped his butterbeer. "Ahh. Merlin, I've missed this. Right, so Hermione deduced that binning the Hallows through the Arch in the Department of Mysteries - returning them to Death - would get rid of them permanently. I went to the Department of Mysteries to do that, on Thursday… and I was there when Hermione died. So I, uh, I went through the Arch after her…"
"You what!?" exploded from Ron and Neville together, while Ted managed to keep his own remarks to a strangled "guh". This part of the story he hadn't heard.
"I went through the Arch," Harry repeated, "and negotiated with Death, as you might say… and left the Hallows behind in exchange for bringing Hermione back." He smiled warmly at her. "And the rest, you know."
"Damn," muttered Ted in awe, "damn, damn, damn. Just when I thought I've heard it all…" Harry shrugged modestly and returned to his food. He pretended not to notice Andromeda chastising her grandson for language.
Ron leaned forward again, a sure sign he was coming to his point. "Let me get this straight," he demanded, his voice rougher. "Your trip to the Ministry on Thursday… that was when you returned to the wizarding world? No other visits before then?"
Ah, of course, thought Harry, Ron's "nightmare" of me, warning him to treat Hermione right. Harry hadn't given specifics of the timing of his return: he wanted everyone to accept the unspoken assumption that there'd been a gap between Hermione tracking him down and his trip to the Department of Mysteries. The last thing he wanted was for Ron to suspect where he'd been spending his nights, this last week.
Not because he had any reason to be ashamed - but because it was nobody's business. This part of the tale, Harry wasn't willing to share.
So Harry put on a puzzled expression. "Not as such," he replied. "Well, I was in contact with Ted for years, as you all know now. I had obligations to fulfill, godfather obligations… luckily, he turned out to be a decent bloke to be around, which was an added bonus." He grinned at Ted, and Ted grinned back. "But we kept all that in the Muggle world."
Ron wasn't satisfied. "You never came to, uh, to Diagon Alley…?"
Harry looked convincingly surprised. "Why would I come to Diagon Alley? I was trying to stay hidden from the wizarding world!" His gaze was level, his eyes wide, and he didn't flinch from Ron's stare. Harry at seventeen couldn't lie worth a damn, and certainly not to Ron. Harry at thirty-three-but-looking-seventeen had well-honed talents of deception… and asking a rhetorical question wasn't even lying, technically.
And, patently, Ron was buying it. He sat back in his chair, looking momentarily bemused, before obviously dismissing the matter, smiling warmly again, and returning to his food.
Under the table he felt Hermione's hand squeeze his thigh, and looked up to see her watching him with an almost neutral expression. Only the slight tightening of her lips told Harry how put out she was… probably because he was still hiding bits of the full truth. Or more likely, because I didn't warn her in advance I was going to do it - or tell her what my story was going to be.
He ducked his head toward her and gave a quick, pleading glance. Follow my lead, he wanted to mouth silently, but didn't - he could only hope she got the message.
"I suppose I can see why you wouldn't want a great deal of this made public," Andromeda said thoughtfully. "It would reflect badly on you, should the idea spread that you'd abandoned our world - oh, I understand why you thought you had to leave," she smoothly forestalled Harry's protest, "but that's how many would see it. And while we wouldn't go out of our way to publicize your story, I don't see that it would do any real harm if it got out, either."
Harry blinked - now Andromeda was sounding like she was lecturing him. What was up with everyone today?
He took another sip of his butterbeer to give himself a moment to gather his thoughts. "If it were only my… well, call it my convenience," he said at last, "I'd ask you not to talk about it, but I wouldn't bind you to silence with oaths or the like. My reasons are more important." He sighed. "Voldemort nearly took over the Ministry, but he did it from behind the scenes. Don't you remember the point when he himself took the offensive, when he personally led his armies? It was only after he'd got the Elder Wand."
He waited under he saw nods of understanding around the table, then continued. "Now think back to Grindelwald…"
"I'm not that old, Mr. Potter," Andromeda put it dryly.
"Duly noted," Harry smiled. "Think back to what we've been taught about Grindelwald, then. He'd been working for power behind the scenes, too, only it was with Hitler's Zauberstaffel. And he didn't act publicly until he'd got the Elder Wand… when was that, Hermione?"
"Early in 1942," supplied Hermione, "coinciding with the completion of Birkenau. No one's ever been able to prove that at least some of the deaths there were used as human sacrifices in magical rituals, but personally, I'm convinced of it." She raised a hand as Harry looked about to continue. "Your point, I think, Harry, is that the last few Dark Lords all sought the Elder Wand, and became most dangerous only after they'd acquired it. I find myself agreeing."
"Um, actually, Harry… wouldn't that be a reason," Ted ventured, "a good reason to tell people the Elder Wand was gone, then?"
"Oh, but that wouldn't prevent future Dark Lords from rising," Harry explained. "It'd only cause them to skip a traditional step along the way. No, I think it's better for future Dark Lords to keep looking for the Wand - and not finding it."
Ted smirked wickedly. "I like it! A prank on Dark Lords wannabes! If they waste enough time looking for the Elder Wand, maybe they can be stopped a little sooner." He raised a finger in deliberate imitation of one of his teachers. "Ah! But if we can't tell anyone Harry destroyed the Elder Wand…"
Tori joined in. "… then we can't tell anyone that Harry ever had the Wand…"
Rose piped up. "… which means we can't tell people he left the wizarding world to live with the Muggles, or they'd want to know why…" She blushed and fell silent.
Which left it for Ted to summarize. "… so we have to make sure they believe the official version, that he's been beyond the Veil for all these years!"
"In a nutshell," Harry affirmed, clapping his hands softly at their performance.
*
Once consensus had been reached that no one present would tell Harry's tale, the Rebirthday Party continued in a far more relaxed vein - certainly from Harry's point of view. No one insisted on interrogating him further, which helped immensely. He ate and drank, and listened attentively: as Neville told anecdotes from his Defense classes; as Bill described the globetrotting he'd done over the years, working for Gringotts; as Ron brought him up to date with the world of professional Quidditch. At Hermione's request, he showed off his new ironwood wand, passing it around the table (Hermione gave a brief lecture on ironwood's properties as she used it to refill Harry's glass), and letting everyone marvel at its density.
Everyone, in short, seemed to be relaxing a bit, and enjoying the conviviality of the party. Everyone, that is, but one person.
After her one outburst, when she'd been caught up in excitement thinking aloud with Ted and Tori, Rose Weasley had fallen silent again. She seemed to concentrate on her food - at any rate, her gaze never left her plate - and she resisted her parents' occasional efforts to include her in the conversation.
Well, she is the youngest person here, thought Harry, and that's got to be awkward. He waited until Ron's end of the table was laughing at some remark… then he leaned forward slightly, to bring his head closer to hers. "We haven't been formally introduced," he said, his voice low and confidential, "but I'm very glad to meet you. You're Rose, yes?" He smiled kindly. "Did you like the library index? Ted thought it would suit."
With a bright blush that betrayed her Weasley heritage, she nodded mutely. Harry's further attempts to draw her out were interrupted with a hail from Bill - and a reminder that, alas, the interrogation was not yet over. Far from it.
"So what are your plans, Harry, now that you're back?" asked Bill. "I mean, do you have a place to live? And what about work? I daresay any Quidditch team in the country would be eager to have you…"
Harry shook his head. "For my fame, maybe, Bill. Not for my skill. Remember, in real time, I haven't played Quidditch in years." He smiled wistfully. "I have to admit, though, I'm looking forward to getting back on a broom. As for where I'll live…" He glanced sidelong at Hermione, and gave a nervous cough. "I was sort of hoping I could impose on my heir and godson."
"Live at Grimmauld Place? Well, of course!" Ted exclaimed. "By rights it ought to be yours, anyway. And old Kreacher will go into heart palpitations when he sees you…"
Andromeda cleared her throat. "I do not think that's advisable, Harry. Not that I disagree with Teddy, but… well, Teddy, this is a bit of the news I wanted to share with you. My sister has written me, and has asked to live at Grimmauld Place for the foreseeable future. With certain conditions, I plan to permit it."
"Your sister… Narcissa Malfoy?" Ron asked incredulously. "When in Merlin's name did she get out of Azkaban!? And more important, how!?"
"Early next week. It was through a bargain she made with the Ministry - I don't know the specifics." She glanced at Harry as she added, "Her son Draco is also being released, and I plan to permit him to stay at Grimmauld Place as well, under the same conditions. You can see why you might not wish…"
"Right, got it." Harry didn't look at all pleased… but more to the point, Ted noted, neither did Hermione. In fact, she was eyeing Ted as though he were responsible for inviting the Malfoys into Grimmauld Place. After a moment, she nodded to herself, as though she'd reached some conclusion - and turned back to Harry, dismissing Ted from her thoughts. Ted couldn't contain a small sigh of relief… dodged another hex, he thought.
"I suppose, if there are no other options…" Hermione began.
"Actually, Harry…" Neville began at the same instant. They stopped talking simultaneously and flashed smiles at each other. Each gestured for the other to continue, until Hermione won the politeness match.
"Actually, Harry," Neville began again, "there's one place for you to stay that's obvious. More than obvious: people will expect it, I imagine. Certainly so, if you intend to maintain the public perception that you've spent all these years behind the Veil, and come back the same age as when you left." He smiled serenely and dropped his bombshell. "You'll have to return to Hogwarts and finish your seventh year."