I don't have anything to do with publishing the Harry Potter books and I am not J.K. Rowling. I haven't even met the woman nor have I been to England since she became famous, so there's no way that she's me or that I could take credit (or cash) for what she's done (unfortunately for both me and my bank account).
I don't want to do much of an intro here, as I feel the story description says it all, but just to give you fair warning: although this is a Harry/Hermione story, original characters will be prominently featured. This chapter should give everyone a good indication of what that balance will be like. Also, this chapter is set a month or so after the events of Chapter Thirty-Six of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows", but before the epilogue. The rest of the story, as the story summary suggests, is set after the epilogue. Now without further ado, please do enjoy!
Chapter 1: The Return of the Doggerels
As the sun began its descent over the Atlantic Ocean, the village of Tinworth in Cornwall was transformed into the perfect image of peace and tranquility. The fading sunlight painted the sky in brilliant shades of red and gold. The moon's ghostly pale outline was visible just beyond the few, lazy clouds that wandered across the horizon, ushering away the sun as though it were a guest overstaying its welcome. In the distance, the soft roar of the ocean could be heard as its waves lapped along the coastline, crashing against the shore in a rhythm that seemed as old as time itself.
In an open meadow stood a ruined cottage, its thatched roof partially caved in and one of its walls missing entirely, as if it were part of a Muggle movie set. With the roof mostly gone, the house's tall, sturdy stone chimney now seemed terribly out of place. Pieces of broken furniture were strewn about the floor haphazardly, but most of the house, with its full-sized kitchen and two bedrooms, remained in reasonably good condition. In short, it made for an ideal place for young children to hide.
"Neuf, huit, sept," a French girl's voice called out from one corner of the house, her eyes hidden beneath her forearm. "Six, cinq, quatre, trois, deux, un…ou etes vous?" The sound of little boys giggling filled the old cottage and echoed throughout the meadow, making it perfectly obvious that they were hiding inside an old cabinet in what used to be the kitchen. Still, the girl made a show of looking for the boys, often in ridiculous places, causing them to laugh even harder. At last, with a devilish smirk, she opened wide the cabinet door, causing it to bang loudly against the wall. "Vous etes ici!"
Two young boys emerged, their blond hair mussed and their clothes rumpled from their stay inside the small cabinet. They began to applaud the girl enthusiastically. "Tres bien, cousine Gabrielle! Tres, tres bien! Maintenant vous…"
But before the boys could suggest that their cousin Gabrielle hide while they searched for her, the fireplace was illuminated by a jet of green flame, startling all three children. As a large figure emerged from the Floo, Gabrielle Delacour withdrew her wand from the front pocket of her sun dress. Although she was strictly forbidden from using magic away from Beauxbatons, Gabrielle did not want to face a potential adversary without being prepared.
The three children viewed the strange new figure with suspicion. He was a wizard of medium height but stocky build, with a bulbous paunch that hung far over his waist. He was balding, but what hair he had left was curly and fiery red, framing his scalp like a diadem made from autumn leaves. For a moment, Gabrielle wondered if this might be a relative of her older sister's husband, as fiery red hair was their trademark. His dark eyes stared bemusedly at the three of them from behind a thin set of spectacles that had come to rest on the end of his nose. "I am so terribly sorry," the man began, a chagrined expression on his face. "I didn't mean to frighten you. Do you children live here?"
Gabrielle was the only one of the three children who could speak any English, but her mouth did not seem to be able to form the words properly now. She could only shake her head 'no.' As the large man looked around the cottage, he winced. "Well, I would certainly hope not. This is no place for young children to be staying. Ordinarily, I wouldn't have to come through here myself, but I'm afraid my home has not yet been reconnected to the Floo network and…well, I'm sure you find all of that perfectly dull. It's getting quite late. Would you children like me to escort you home?"
The boys looked back at him blankly. Gabrielle's face bore an apologetic expression as she said in a very quiet voice, "I speak English…un peu," using the French phrase for 'a little' because she could not think of its equivalent in English.
The man's eyes contained a sudden glint of recognition. "Vous etes francaise, non?" He began to address the children in flawless French. "You are relatives of Fleur Weasley, aren't you?"
"Oui," Gabrielle Delacour replied with a relieved nod. "Je m'appelle Gabrielle." She then introduced her cousins, Michel and Pierre.
The man exchanged pleasantries with the children and then introduced himself. "I am Erasmus Doggerel, member of the Wizengamot and a neighbor of Bill and Fleur Weasley. I am delighted to meet you." Doggerel began to rub his chin thoughtfully. "You know, I have a son very close to your age. He has a somewhat frail constitution, but perhaps someday when he is feeling well he could come out and play with you."
The boys seemed hesitant to agree to this, but Gabrielle did so instantly. "We would like that very much."
"Splendid," Doggerel replied, his expression brightening noticeably. As he stepped down from the fireplace, the floorboards creaked beneath him. "You should really run along now. This house doesn't seem very structurally sound."
Michel and Pierre, still half-afraid of this mysterious apparition who had popped up unexpectedly in their favorite place to play, dashed off without a word. Gabrielle turned back to face Erasmus Doggerel before departing and rolled her eyes. "Boys," she said disdainfully, as though this summed up the entire situation perfectly, which perhaps it did. "It was nice to meet you, Monsieur Doggerel."
"And you as well, child," Doggerel replied with a warm smile. Once the little French children had departed, Erasmus Doggerel trudged through the meadow until he reached the dirt path that would lead him to his home. 'Home at last,' he thought fondly. As much as he enjoyed traveling abroad, there was simply no substitute for returning to his ancestral home in Tinworth, with its lovely green pastures and breathtaking ocean views. Although he and his family had only been in Italy a few months, a far shorter time than when Doggerel had served as Cornelius Fudge's attaché there, it felt as though he had been away for ages. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he could not return home that made his time away from it seem so very long.
'Who would have wanted to come home?' Doggerel asked himself rhetorically. 'With that madman running the country through his puppet, it's a wonder I even have a country to come back to.' There was no sense in dwelling much on that thought, however. The dark wizard known as Lord Voldemort was dead, his reign of terror over and the Pius Thicknesse government thankfully gone with it. The new Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, seemed a decent enough fellow, if a smidgeon inexperienced.
There was a sudden spring in Doggerel's step as he thought of his recent meeting with Minister Shacklebolt. Unlike Cornelius Fudge, who often took his talents for granted, or Rufus Scrimgeour, who had consigned him to sitting in a dust-laden, half-forgotten office in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, Kingsley Shacklebolt had promised him a position of prominence within the new government. The Minister of Magic had said nothing of it directly, but Doggerel had it on good authority that it was between himself and a wizard named Horatio Harefoot for the office of Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot.
'Of course it could go either way,' Doggerel mused. 'Harefoot's an accomplished wizard in his own right, although he is half-blood.' No half-blood or Muggleborn wizard had ever held the position of Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, or if they ever had done so they had concealed their true parentage from everyone else, a scenario that Doggerel felt was far more likely. Shacklebolt was bound to do away with all of the laws and edicts favoring purebloods that had come about during the brief tenure of the Thicknesse government, but still…tradition was tradition.
In the distance, Erasmus Doggerel could just make out the shadowy form of his palatial estate, Tindalwood. Unhappily, his home had been ransacked by Death Eaters after his family's flight to the continent and many of the belongings they had left behind were either stolen or ruined. Repairs were only now being made to the house and they were taking much longer than he had anticipated. 'Well,' thought Doggerel with a measure of delight, 'perhaps the news I bear will help to speed things along a bit.'
As he drew closer to home, the aging wizard could smell something wonderful wafting out of his windows. 'Concetta must be cooking something.' Although he was not a man of prejudice by any means, he had had doubts about marrying a Muggleborn witch. Concetta had erased them all, however, by proving herself to be a dutiful and charming wife. She was also an excellent cook, which was very fortunate indeed, as the Doggerel family had embarrassingly few house elves. It had been Concetta's parents with whom they had stayed while abroad, on the pretext of spending the winter months in a warmer climate to improve the health of Erasmus' son, Varian.
Erasmus Doggerel could not help the frown that furrowed his brow as he thought of his only child, a sickly and weak boy of seven. Varian's health actually did improve while they were in Naples, but his unpleasant disposition did not. He made it perfectly clear that he did not care for his stepmother and would not address her parents as his grandparents, no matter how many times Erasmus had coaxed him to do so. He was quite humiliated on Concetta's behalf, of course, but what could he do? The boy clearly took after his mother Desdemona, who was Erasmus' first wife. She was a strong-willed, stubborn and shrewish young witch who was also, unfortunately for the male population of wizarding England, quite beautiful. Tragically, she had died while in childbirth with Varian.
Doggerel gave Tindalwood a cursory glance as he approached it, the familiar sea green brick exterior already looking polished and new once more. Ivy vines climbed up to the chimney top and down again to cover a canopy protecting a small vegetable garden, which likely still needed a good degnoming. 'Perhaps the Delacour children would like to make a few sickles…'
"Good evening, Master Doggerel," a small squeaky voice called out to him as he opened the door. It was his old gray house elf, Bentback, who was scrubbing the wall enthusiastically with a washrag. "We house elves is working as hard as we can, sir. Bentback is sorry that everything isn't like Master wants it already…"
Erasmus Doggerel gave his house elf a patronizing smile. "I'm quite certain that you're doing the best you can, Bentback. Tell me, do you think you could have the house ready to entertain visitors in a week's time?"
Bentback's already wide eyes grew larger. "A week? Master is not giving Bentback much time…" The house elf seemed to forget his place momentarily, but quickly came to his senses, cowering as he added, "But of course Bentback will do everything he can to make certain the house is ready."
"Excellent!" Doggerel replied as he clapped his hands together cheerfully. "I've already informed the Minister of Magic that we will be hosting a Victory Ball here in a week's time." Bentback let out a small cry of dismay, but Doggerel did not seem to notice. "Tindalwood used to be abuzz with social events; a veritable hub of polite wizarding society. Do you remember those days, Bentback?"
The gray house elf's head turned slowly in Doggerel's direction. "Yes, sir. Bentback remembers."
"Ah, but do not sound so sad, my little friend," Erasmus Doggerel replied encouragingly. "Those days will be here again soon. Tindalwood will return to its former glory, I will be named Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and perhaps one day I shall even become the Minister of…" A loud crash from upstairs silenced Doggerel momentarily. Bentback winced. "What was that?" Doggerel asked his house elf in a panicky voice. "Was that something breaking?"
"It came from young Master Doggerel's room, sir," Bentback remarked, his voice weary. "The young master is very upset. He…he found his mother's portrait and…and…oh, I'm afraid you're not going to like this, Master Doggerel, but they blasted a hole clean through it. Mistress just sits there in the frame, still and lifeless…"
"Oh dear," Doggerel replied with a sheepish expression. "I suppose I should have a word with the boy." Bentback said nothing else as Erasmus Doggerel ascended the staircase to the second floor, finding his way to Varian's room with ease.
A scrawny, silver-haired boy of seven sat on the edge of his bed, looking hopelessly glum. He stared transfixed at his mother's portrait, not bothering to look up at his father as he entered the room. The broken remains of a vase Concetta had given Varian on his last birthday were scattered below his dangling feet. "We never should have left Tinworth," he declared in a mournful whisper.
"I understand how you feel," Erasmus told him in a voice that was at once compassionate and stern. "It's quite difficult to see so many of the things that were so precious to us in ruins. But, of course, you know why we had to go."
"Other people stayed," Varian pointed out, crossing his arms in a pout. "Harry Potter didn't leave, did he? He stayed and fought Lord Voldemort."
Erasmus scowled. "Harry Potter had a lot of help from others, including the wizard who's now the Minister of Magic." Erasmus waved his wand and a wooden chair scooted closer to Varian's bed. The elder Doggerel sat down in it and placed his hand on his son's shoulder. "I met with him today, you know."
Varian's pale blue eyes now possessed a gleam of excitement. "You met Harry Potter?!"
Erasmus playfully ruffled his son's hair. "I don't mean Harry Potter, you silly duckling. I mean the Minister of Magic. Really now, Varian, I'm a very important man. Why ever would I meet with Harry Potter?"
Varian plopped his chin down into the palms of his hands in a gesture of resignation. "If you were really important, you could meet Harry Potter." Varian's thick silver eyebrows furrowed together in a frown. "The Minister of Magic isn't sending us back to Italy, is he?"
"I should say not," Erasmus replied with a warm smile. "In point of fact, he's invited me to take our family's rightful place among the Wizengamot. There's talk that I may even be named Chief Warlock."
Varian looked dubious. "Is that good?"
Erasmus Doggerel nearly did a double take. "What do you mean 'Is that good'? Of course it's good. It's marvelous! Why, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot is one of the most ancient and cherished offices in the wizarding world!"
"If you say so," Varian muttered under his breath. His eyes returned sorrowfully to the now ruined portrait of his mother. "Do you think it will ever be like it was again?"
His father nodded slowly. "Things will get better for us, I think. We Doggerels are made of stern stuff. Why, just look at you. I've been talking to you for two minutes now and I haven't heard you cough, not even once." There was a twinkle in Erasmus Doggerel's eye as he looked down at his son. "I have also informed the Minister of Magic that there will be a Victory Ball here in a week's time. Do you happen to know who frequents those?"
"Harry Potter!" Varian Doggerel exclaimed ecstatically. "And his best friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger! Oh Dad, d'you really think they'll come? D'you think I could meet them?!"
Erasmus couldn't help but chuckle softly at his son's excitement. "I'll make sure of it." His hands smoothed the blankets of Varian's bed. "Now perhaps you should get some rest before dinner. You look a little peaked to me." With no more than a mutter of feeble protest, Varian consented. The mattress quickly adjusted itself to his frail frame as he stretched across the bed.
"Dad," Varian called after his father as he began to depart. "Read me a story."
With a knowing smile, Erasmus Doggerel plucked a very old and worn copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard from the bookshelf and sat back down in the wooden chair. "Which one would you like to hear?" he asked his son.
Varian thought it over for a moment and then cried out, "The one that starts, 'Once upon a time, a heroic wizard and his lady love…'"
"Very well." His father cleared his throat and lit his wand as he began to read. "Once upon a time, a heroic wizard and his lady love were walking through the forest, searching for a place to rest their heads, when they came upon a beautiful bubbling brook…" By the time he'd read the word 'bubbling', however, Varian was fast asleep. "Lumos finite." As the light disappeared from his wand, Erasmus closed the book, returned it to the shelf and quietly left the room. That story would simply have to wait for another time.
***
Harry Potter stood alone in the twilight, his dress robes fluttering slightly in the cool evening breeze. Reverently, he ran his fingertips over the words he had once etched in stone. 'Here lies Dobby, a free elf.' Now that the war was over, there had been many funerals held for those who were murdered by Voldemort and his Death Eaters, many more than Harry could personally attend. Alastor Moody had been given a proper wizard's funeral, as had Remus Lupin and Fred Weasley. But the only ceremony that had been held for Dobby was the informal one that had taken place only moments after the house elf had been buried. 'He deserves better,' Harry thought. 'He was as brave as any of them.'
"Harry!" the heavily accented voice of Fleur Weasley called out from inside Shell Cottage. She held the front door open with one arm and baby Victoire in the other. "Harry, what are you still doing out zere?"
"Saying goodbye," Harry answered her with a wan smile, "to an old friend."
Fleur did not seem terribly impressed by the reason he gave. "You are going to be late for ze ball if you do not go now."
Harry's enthusiasm for attending yet another victory ball was limited, to say the least. The 'Victory Ball' had started out as a way for the wizarding world to reassure itself that Lord Voldemort was gone forever and to honor those who had given their lives so that this could be so. What they had become was a way for politicians to curry favor with each other, a turn of events that Harry openly detested. "Couldn't I go with you and Bill instead?"
Fleur screwed up her nose in disgust, as though she had just encountered an unpleasant odor. "You want to go with us to his Aunt Muriel's funeral?" Harry nodded. "You did meet Aunt Muriel, yes?"
"Yes," Harry admitted, thinking back to their informative (if painfully awkward) conversation at Bill and Fleur's wedding. "It's not as though I knew her well, I just wanted to show the Weasley family that I care."
"We already know that you do," Bill said as he stepped into the doorway, replacing his wife as she took Victoire inside the cottage. "We wouldn't even mind so much if you came along, except that Aunt Muriel stipulated in her will that her funeral was to be for immediate family only. I believe her exact words were 'I don't want half of England standing around gawking at my corpse.'" Harry couldn't help the downcast look that came over his face. "You will be able to see Ginny afterward, you know. She's staying with Fleur and me for the rest of the summer to help out with the baby."
Harry smiled bashfully. Was his attempt to spend some quality time with his girlfriend really so transparent? "The way I see it, Harry, you have two choices. You can either go to the ball and dance and smile and shake hands and pretend as though you're having a good time or you can stay here and baby-sit Victoire with Gabrielle, who, as you might recall, still has quite the crush on you."
Harry thought the matter over for about two seconds. "How do I get to Tindalwood from here?"
***
The Tindalwood Estate was located less than a kilometer from Shell Cottage as the hippogriff flies. The old castle was perched on a hill overlooking the ocean and most of its windows were arranged so that those inside would be able to take in the magnificent view. The beach below looked particularly inviting, as though its elegant white sands had never before been explored by man or wizard. "I'm sorry, miss," a singularly pompous voice called out loudly, interrupting Hermione Granger's awed appreciation of her surroundings. "Your name isn't on the list."
"Look again," Hermione insisted with a smile, although her tone was somewhat less than polite. "The name is Granger, with a 'g'."
With a sigh of boredom, the man's eyes returned to the lengthy piece of parchment in his hands. "I am sorry, miss. Your name simply isn't here."
"Why don't you try looking under the name 'Harry Potter'?" a voice from behind him suggested. It belonged to a stocky, balding red haired man with glasses. "I believe I listed her name alongside his."
"Ah," the young wizard manning the door cried out. "Yes, here it is. You may enter."
As Hermione made her way inside the castle, the red-haired man followed her. "Why didn't you just tell the man that you were here with Harry Potter?"
"Because I'm not," Hermione retorted sharply. "For all I know, Harry's not even coming to this ball." As a matter of fact, Hermione hadn't heard from Harry in over a month. She suspected that he had wanted some time alone and had gone somewhere overseas to get away from the hustle and bustle of postwar England. Still, it was rather annoying that she hadn't heard anything from him. Her irritation with Harry over being ignored in this way was difficult to conceal at times and this was fast becoming one of those times. "Besides, I'm not exactly in the habit of name-dropping."
The large wizard looked suddenly taken aback. "But…Harry Potter will be here, won't he? I promised my son that he would be." Realizing how desperate that must have sounded, the man, who Hermione now assumed to be the host of this ball, gave her what might pass for a charming smile. "Surely Mr. Potter would not allow such a lovely young woman to attend a Victory Ball unescorted."
Hermione gave him a very wide, yet clearly fake, smile. "I'm afraid Mr. Potter wouldn't be my escort even if he were here. Ron Weasley is my boyfriend."
One of the stocky wizard's red eyebrows rose. "Really?"
"Yes, really," Hermione huffed in irritation. "Now, if you'll excuse me…"
"I appear to have offended you," the balding man interrupted her as he gently took hold of her arm to keep her from escaping. "That was certainly not my intention. In my excitement at the prospect of Mr. Potter's arrival I seem to have forgotten my manners. I am Erasmus Doggerel."
"Hermione Granger," Hermione introduced herself with the barest of curtsies. "But then you knew that already."
"Indeed," Doggerel replied with a polite chuckle. "Nevertheless, it is a pleasure to meet you in person." Erasmus Doggerel glanced over his shoulder and motioned with his hand to someone across the room. "Come with me. There's someone I would like to introduce you to." With mild hesitation, Hermione did so.
"Miss Granger," Doggerel said with a wily smile, "this is the Senior Undersecretary to Minister Shacklebolt, Ursula Maladie. Undersecretary Maladie, this is Hermione Granger." Maladie was a middle-aged witch with dark curly hair that was graying at the temples. Her gloved hand reached out and shook Hermione's.
"I simply had to meet you, dear," she enthused with a knowing smile. "I have an aide who attended Hogwarts a few years ahead of you. She says you're the brightest in your class." Hermione blushed slightly at the compliment. "Of course she often does so using terminology that is quite unflattering."
"Really?" Hermione replied with a raised eyebrow. "And just who is your aide?"
"Miss Marietta Edgecombe," Maladie informed her, her smile now becoming a sly smirk. "I suspect you may be the reason she feels the need to use so many glamour charms on her face."
Now it was Hermione's turn to smile knowingly. "Perhaps."
Undersecretary Maladie waved her hand dismissively. "In any event, the girl has a bright future ahead of her. As do you, Miss Granger. Tell me, have you given any thought to taking a position within the Ministry?"
"I've had offers from several different departments," Hermione answered her indirectly. "But I still haven't found one that seems right for me."
"Drop by my office sometime, dear," Maladie offered. "I would be delighted to help you consider your options."
Feeling a sudden boldness in the presence of this high-ranking Ministry official who had apparently taken a shine to her, Hermione said, "Actually, I was hoping to find a job which would allow me to help underprivileged magical creatures. House elves, in particular."
Erasmus Doggerel, who up until this time had been silent in the presence of the two women, guffawed loudly. "What sort of help could you possibly offer a house elf? They already have the only things they care about: a home, a family and the sense of satisfaction that comes from hard work. What more could you give them?"
"Their freedom," Hermione answered him quickly, as her eyes flashed with anger. "House elves deserve to be paid wages for their work."
"There is nothing a house elf hates more than being set free and they will refuse all attempts at remuneration," Doggerel countered. "Believe me, Miss Granger, you will achieve nothing by meddling in the affairs of house elves."
"Oh hush, Erasmus," Ursula Maladie chided him with a gentle slap of his forearm. "Miss Granger comes from a generation of young wizards and witches who have recently vanquished Lord Voldemort. They are entitled to their dreams, no matter how impossible they may seem to us." As Maladie continued speaking, Hermione caught sight of something odd through the window. On a balcony overlooking Tindalwood Estate, there sat a single tennis shoe with a sock and part of a leg sticking out of it. Clearly, someone did not want to be seen. "I foresee great changes ahead for wizarding England."
"As do I," Hermione responded with a smile. "It's been wonderful meeting you, Undersecretary Maladie, but if you would please excuse me, I believe I need some fresh air."
***
After successfully maneuvering herself past a hundred other Victory Ball guests, Hermione Granger decided to investigate the mysterious shoe, although she thought she had a pretty good idea who it belonged to. 'Harry.' But why was he avoiding everyone? And, perhaps more to the point, 'Why is he avoiding me?'
As she stepped into the open air of one of Tindalwood's more spacious balconies, Hermione waited for Harry to say something, anything, to reveal his presence to her. When he did not, a rather mischievous idea came to mind. Leaning over the balcony with an anguished expression on her face, she heaved a dramatic sigh. "Oh dear," she began. "Whatever am I to do? Ron's asked me to marry him, but I'm terribly in love with Harry." The sound of a gasp coming from the direction of the mysterious tennis shoe was all the confirmation Hermione needed. With a mocking swoon, she continued, "If only I weren't carrying his child…"
Hermione could hear the soft swoop of a cloak falling away from the figure behind her. As a small smile of victory began to slowly form on her lips, she heard the familiar voice of Harry Potter. "If you knew I was there all along, you could have just said so."
Without turning around, Hermione replied, "What I said worked well enough, don't you think?"
Harry managed an embarrassed chuckle. "I guess it did." There was a moment of silence between them and then Harry asked, "What was it that gave me away?"
As she turned to answer Harry's question, Hermione took the opportunity to look him over. His cheeks were beet red, his hair looked as though it had been tussled by a rough broom ride and there was a smudge of dirt on his forehead. "You neglected to cover your foot with the invisibility cloak. A rather dangerous mistake for someone who wants to become an Auror, wouldn't you say?" Before he could reply, she gave him another once over. "I don't know if it's your fault, though. You look as though you've grown several centimeters since I last saw you."
"Have I?" Harry asked self-consciously as he looked down at his feet. "I hadn't noticed."
"I suppose I should be cross with you," Hermione declared as she folded her arms over her chest slowly. A gleam of happiness in her eye gave her away, however, and Harry wasn't fooled for a minute. "Flying and apparating all over the globe, without even taking the time to send an owl to your friends."
"I wanted to be by myself, Hermione," Harry explained, his eyes darting away from Hermione's, "and besides, there was something I had to do. Alone."
It didn't take long for Hermione to figure out what he was talking about. "You hid the Elder Wand, didn't you?" A smile lit up her face. "Oh Harry, that was the very best thing you could have done with it. If you had held onto it, every power hungry wizard in the world would have been coming after you and…" Her voice softened abruptly. "And I'd imagine that's the last thing you would want right now." Harry nodded silently. After a group of necromancers had broken into Dumbledore's tomb, he had decided it wasn't safe to keep the Elder Wand there. Part of what he had been hoping to accomplish by leaving England was to find the perfect place to hide it. "There aren't many wizards who would have given up the Elder Wand willingly, you know. Even Dumbledore didn't." When Harry didn't respond to that, Hermione decided to pry a little. "Did you hide it someplace clever?"
Harry smiled with genuine amusement. "Oh yes. Very clever. Nobody would ever think to look for it there." Harry's smile grew larger as Hermione stared at him expectantly. "I'm not telling you where it is, Hermione."
"Well, of course not," Hermione replied with a dismissive chuckle. "It would be far too dangerous for you to tell me where you hid it." She continued to look at him hopefully. "But I don't think one little hint would hurt anything…"
Harry decided to indulge her. "Fine. One hint." Hermione's eyes widened in anticipation. "I hid the Elder Wand where nobody who would ever want to find it would want to look."
Hermione's eager expression turned into a frown of disappointment. "That's a terrible clue. It could mean anything!" She let out a groan of frustration as Harry laughed at her predicament. "Is it on top of Mount Everest? At the bottom of the ocean? In the belly of a dragon? Wherever Dolores Umbridge stores her knickers?" Harry laughed even harder at that one as Hermione punched him in the arm. "Tell me!"
"My lips are sealed," Harry said solemnly. But before Hermione could pout over it, he added, "But if anyone ever does figure out where it is, it will be you, Hermione."
"Thanks," Hermione replied shyly. As Harry turned to face the stars, she asked him, "What was it like out there? Out on your own, away from England?"
"Exotic," Harry answered, his voice flat. "Exciting, at times. Lonely." Hermione inched closer to him as he began to speak very softly. "I found myself looking up at the stars a lot. I kept thinking about all of the people that I cared about who were looking up at the same night sky here in England. And about all of the stars that were around years ago when my parents were still alive." Hermione looked over at him with a winsome half-smile. "I know I sound like that cartoon mouse from An American Tail…"
"Fievel," Hermione supplied helpfully.
"But it's true," Harry continued insistently. "The stars can be comforting." He pointed to a particularly bright star. "You see that one? That's Sirius. It's also called the Dog Star, which is rather fitting, if you think about it."
"D'you think about him a lot?" Hermione asked earnestly, her eyes temporarily leaving Harry's to look at the star. "Sirius Black, I mean."
"I've actually spent a lot of time thinking about him lately," Harry said, his eyes never wavering from the stars above them. "Not just him, but Dumbledore and Remus and…well, everyone that I've lost. And, after I thought about that for a while, I decided that I don't want to lose anybody else that I care about. Not for a long, long time anyway."
"Does that include me?" Hermione asked playfully as one of her eyebrows rose. "Because you didn't write me even one letter while you were away and…"
"Here." Harry removed a piece of parchment from inside his robes and handed it to Hermione. "I wrote it a week ago but I never could bring myself to actually send it." Despite the fact that Harry was standing right in front of her, Hermione opened the letter and proceeded to read its contents. Harry, meanwhile, returned to stargazing. "Do you believe in fate, Hermione?"
Hermione's eyes traveled from Harry to the letter and back again, her eyes blinking rapidly. "Harry, this letter says that everything you own is to be distributed evenly between the Weasley family…and me…in the event of your death."
"Centaurs can look at the stars and see the future, or at least see how it might go," Harry went on as though he had not heard her. "Our entire future could be written up there for the centaurs to read, only we'd never know it."
"Harry, I can't accept this," Hermione said somberly as she closed the distance between herself and Harry. "Besides, you're not going to die…"
"I could have been wrong about the Elder Wand, Hermione," Harry interrupted her softly, "or Voldemort might have really killed me instead of just the Horcrux inside of me when he used the killing curse on me. There are a thousand different ways that I could have died over the last seven years."
"But you didn't!" Hermione reminded him. She was blinking back tears now and her expression was pained.
"I didn't," Harry confirmed grimly, "but I could have, had things gone differently. If fate hadn't been on my side."
Hermione shook her head, unwilling to let Harry think this way. "I don't believe in fate," she said authoritatively. "Prophecies are just mystical guesswork. Stars are just balls of flaming gas millions of light years away. Tea leaves are just…well…tea leaves. It's all a bunch of nonsense." Hermione placed the now rumpled piece of parchment back into Harry's hand. "I don't want this."
"Hermione…" Harry began, but she was having none of it. With an air of urgency, Hermione grabbed Harry's shoulders and forced him to look her in the eye.
"Now you listen to me, Harry James Potter. You are going to live to a ripe old age, become an Auror, build the family you've always wanted and live happily ever after. You've gone through too much already for things to happen any other way."
"I thought you didn't believe in fate," Harry teased her, his voice now barely more than a whisper. Hermione's hands released their tight grip on his shoulders and they slid down his arms slowly. "How can you possibly know what's in store for me?"
"Because I know you, Harry Potter," Hermione replied earnestly. "And I…"
"Oy, you two," Ron Weasley called out from behind them. Harry's head turned quickly in his best mate's direction. Ron's expression was half-suspicious, half-amused. "What's going on out here?"
"Nothing," Harry answered quickly as Hermione's hands fell away from his arms. "We were just talking."
Ron frowned, although he no longer seemed suspicious. "I didn't even know you were back from…wherever it was you went." As Hermione moved to stand beside him, his expression turned openly friendly. "It's good to have you back, mate."
Harry smiled with genuine warmth. "It's good to see you again, too, Ron."
"I thought you were going to your Aunt Muriel's funeral," Hermione inquired of Ron. "Isn't that why you said you couldn't come?"
"I've been to too many funerals lately," Ron remarked glumly. "Besides, the food's better here. Have you seen the size of the buffet table?" Hermione rolled her eyes, but an indulging smile had spread over her face. She was clearly glad to see her boyfriend.
"Did Ginny come with you?" Harry asked Ron.
"'Fraid not," Ron answered him. "We talked it over and figured the older relatives wouldn't ask about one of the boys, but seeing as Ginny's the only girl, it might be a bit obvious if she skived off." At Harry's disappointed look, Ron slapped him on the shoulder encouragingly. "Cheer up, Harry. She's coming by Bill and Fleur's cottage after the funeral. You can see her then."
"Why don't we go inside?" Hermione suggested, seemingly eager to get Harry's mind off of the fact that Ginny wasn't here and that he had suddenly been thrust into the role of third wheel. "I know our host was eager to meet the three of us and now that we're all here…"
Harry shook his head. "You two go on. I'll be fine out here."
"Really, Harry, there's no point in coming to a party and then hiding from everyone under an invisibility cloak," Hermione reproved him mildly. "As long as you're here, you might as well have a good time."
"Blimey, Harry," Ron exclaimed. "Hermione's telling you to go have some fun, and you know how she usually is." Hermione turned to look at him crossly. "Seriously, mate, you have to see the buffet table. It's almost as long as a Quidditch pitch."
Harry stifled a laugh. "I appreciate the thought, but I think what I really need is some peace and quiet."
"Suit yourself," Ron said somewhat sadly, as he linked his arm with Hermione's and the two of them re-entered Tindalwood.
"So tell me, Ron Weasley," Hermione said pointedly, "just exactly how am I, usually?"
Harry did not get to hear Ron's reply to the question. It was just as well. His best friends' relationship was none of his business. He had more important things to think about. 'Like my life. Where exactly does it go from here, now that I don't have to worry about killing a dark wizard any more? Do I really want to spend my adult life hunting down more of them? And what kind of an Auror would I make, really?' Almost as soon as that thought occurred to him, he heard footsteps behind him. Harry spun around and leveled his wand at the intruder.
Luna Lovegood looked down at Harry's wand appraisingly. "Nice wand," she remarked, as she tilted her head slightly to one side. "Is it new?"
"No," Harry answered sheepishly before lowering his wand. "I did repair it recently, though."
"You can really tell," Luna informed him brightly. "I understand why you would want to show it off."
Harry grimaced. "Sorry about that." Luna walked past him and leaned over the balcony, pausing to admire the view. "What brings you out here?"
"The lure of solitude," Luna answered dreamily. "There are hundreds of people inside, talking as though if they stopped the world would come to an end. But out here there's only me, the wind, the stars and hundreds of thousands of miniature sand gnomes, ready to poison me with the venomous secretions of their gums." She spun around to face a bewildered Harry. "Luckily, I brought repellant. Would you like some?"
Luna presented Harry with a pink vial of steaming liquid that appeared rather venomous in its own right. "Thanks, but I think I'll take my chances."
Taking no offense whatsoever, Luna dabbed some of the concoction on her own skin, which briefly made parts of it turn bright pink. "And what about you, Harry? Do you still want to be alone?"
Harry thought back to that moment, right after Voldemort died, when Luna had been the only one who knew that he wanted privacy. "Honestly, no. There's someone I'd rather be with, but she's not here."
"Ginny Weasley," Luna said matter-of-factly. "She's the girl you fancy, isn't she?"
Harry nodded. "It doesn't seem like much of a celebration without her here."
Luna smirked as she dabbed sand gnome repellant on her cheeks, turning them temporarily bright pink. "Somehow, I think you'll have plenty of time to celebrate with her." She nodded in the direction of the party inside. "You should really go in there. Most of the rich and powerful wizards and witches in England are inside that room. I don't know if you're going to finish your Hogwarts education or not…"
"I'm not," Harry informed her. Hermione had decided to make up seventh year, but Harry and Ron had both chosen not to. Perhaps it wasn't the best decision for their respective love lives, but both of them had seen and done too much to go back there and sit through another year of school.
"…but you should give some thought to your future," Luna finished. Gesturing at the gathering of older witches and wizards inside, she added, "They certainly have."
Harry followed Luna's gaze to the chattering crowd, happily enjoying themselves inside Tindalwood. "When I choose what to do with the rest of my life, I want to do it on my own terms. I don't want to be just a name on a door or a famous face in an advert. I want to do something important. Something that has meaning to me." Harry once again draped his invisibility cloak around him, until only his head could be seen. "That's why I don't want to be seen right now. If some ambitious politician got their claws into me…"
"If you really don't want to be seen right now, Harry," Luna advised in an even tone, "you'd best cover your head. Someone's coming."
Harry quickly pulled the cloak up over his head, taking only a moment to make sure that he did not leave either shoe visible, and turned to face the person who had just stepped onto the balcony. Far from the socialite or up-and-coming Ministry official he had been expecting, it was a frail-looking boy of about seven or eight with silver gray hair that shone white in the light of the moon. "Hello," Luna greeted the lad with a serene smile.
"Hello," he replied with a hint of uncertainty in his voice. There was a moment of silence and then, in a rushed voice, he asked, "Have you seen Harry Potter?"
"I've seen Harry Potter many times," Luna answered slyly. "We were at Hogwarts together. I was often helping him do something that was against school rules, but they were usually very silly rules in the first place. Why do you ask?"
"You've met Harry Potter?" the young man asked incredulously, a star-struck look now set in his eyes. "Did you help him beat Lord Voldemort?"
"Lots of witches and wizards fought in the Battle of Hogwarts," Luna told him, "and I was one of them. But it was Harry who actually defeated Voldemort."
"Wow," the boy exclaimed. Once he had given himself enough time to digest this news, the boy stuck out his hand. "I'm Varian Doggerel."
Luna reached for his hand and shook it gently. "Luna Lovegood." Luna then stole a quick glance in Harry's general direction and added, "We should really get you inside. The wind has a bit of a chill to it tonight and those thin pyjamas you're wearing don't offer you any protection from sand gnome bites."
"Alright," Varian grudgingly agreed, although he seemed disappointed. "D'you think Harry Potter would know how to fix a portrait?"
"I don't know," Luna answered instantly. "I'd have to have a look at the portrait first to see."
"Come on then, I'll show you," Varian replied as he grabbed Luna by the hand and began pulling her inside the house. "It's in my room."
Once the Doggerel boy and Luna were gone, Harry shook his head wistfully. He remembered being just as awestruck when he had first entered the wizarding world and holding Dumbledore in almost as high a regard as Varian now held him. 'It's a funny thing about your idols. When you really get to know them, you often find out they're every bit as flawed as you are.' His thoughts lingering on Dumbledore for a moment, he added to himself, 'But you miss them when they're gone all the same.'
Harry could not escape the feeling that he needed someone like Dumbledore or Sirius or Remus to talk to about his life and where it was headed. The only person left whose advice he really took to heart was Hermione, and she had her own future to think about. But, as he looked at the assortment of witches and wizards enjoying themselves inside the palatial Cornwall estate, one piece of advice from Hermione was beginning to ring true. There was no point in standing outside unseen at a party, particularly one to which he had been invited. 'Besides, Ron knows I'm out here and he's rubbish at keeping secrets.'
After stashing his invisibility cloak inside his robes, Harry took one last look at his picturesque surroundings and then opened the balcony door, only pausing a moment to marvel at the fact that he was standing here now, alive and well, having survived the events of the last year. An entire world full of people had now earned the right to make their own choices, free from the spectre of an evil wizard controlling their lives. The destiny of every witch and wizard was now in their own hands.
A victorious grin appeared on his face. Whatever life had in store for him, Harry Potter knew that he could handle it. After seven years of fighting for his life and against seemingly impossible odds, he had finally defeated Voldemort. Compared with that, the problems of life that now loomed on the horizon seemed rather trivial. 'After all,' Harry thought to himself, 'what could possibly happen to me that would be any worse than what already has?'
Thanks for giving the first chapter of this story a read. If you'd like, you could leave a review and tell me what you thought. Chapter 2 will be out in three weeks. Hope you have a happy new year!
InsaneTrollLogic