Potterfic
JKR managed to take it right up to the wire and resisted the urge to write half a dozen superfluous endings.
I, on the other hand, didn't.
This is just one of the many reasons why she is a best-selling multi-millionaire author and I am not :o)
- CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN -
Moving On
Mr and Mrs Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you’d expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn’t hold with such nonsense.
However, at present, Mr and Mrs Dursley were a long way from Privet Drive. They were sat in the strangest, most mysterious house any of them had ever been in. Mr and Mrs Dursley were in a cosy round room covered with broomstick-patterned wallpaper, squashed together on a violet sofa with their son Dudley sat between them. A small, excitable man in a mauve top hat sat opposite them, chattering away. The Dursleys weren’t listening. They were doing their level best to ignore both the man and his strange, mysterious living room.
This was rather difficult, as there were so many highly unusual things surrounding them. A cauldron bubbled over an open fire. The photos that were hanging on the walls moved, their inhabitants waving cheerfully at the Dursleys, who declined to wave back. Owls flew all around the high oak-beamed ceiling, causing Dudley to flinch every time one went near him. Every surface was covered with battered spellbooks, strange gadgets that whistled constantly, and the occasional owl dropping. Petunia Dursley turned her nose up at the mess and seemed to be doing her best not to touch anything. It was, in short, the most unDursleyish house they could have imagined.
To make matters worse, the infuriatingly cheerful Dedalus Diggle kept offering them a bizarre range of drinks and food that seemed to be alive, and that they would rather die than eat. The Dursleys all knew they had to endure this nightmare for their own protection. This fact only made Vernon Dursley even more infuriated.
His beefy black moustache quivering, he interrupted Dedalus’s ramble about the Muddy-Born Register Committee or some such rubbish. ‘I don’t ruddy care about any of this gibberish! Isn’t that what caused this mess? If it wasn’t for you lot meddling with nonsense that doesn’t need meddling with, none of us would have to be sat here in this ridiculous house in the first place!’ he fumed for the umpteenth time.
‘Dad,’ murmured Dudley Dursley nervously. ‘It’s not his fault. Can’t we just ignore him until we can go home?’
Ignoring was exactly what Dedalus Diggle was doing. He showed no sign of recognition that either Dursley had spoken, and happily chattered on obliviously.
‘Of course it’s an absolute disgrace. Everyone says not to blame Thicknesse, that he can’t help it, what with being under the Imperius Curse and all, but if you ask me...’
Dedalus broke off, not because the Dursleys had asked him anything, but because of a quiet tapping at the window. It was a moment before the Dursleys realised that another owl had just arrived; there were so many of them flying around already. Dedalus’s casual manner dropped immediately. He opened the window and untied a scrap of parchment from the owl’s leg. He unrolled it with a deadly seriousness and began to read. Suddenly his mouth broke out into a wide grin.
‘HA!’ he yelled without warning, so loud that all three Dursleys jumped. ‘HE’S DONE IT! HE’S ONLY GONE AND BALLY WELL DONE IT!’
‘Who’s done what?’ asked Petunia Dursley, as she tried to fight off Dedalus Diggle from giving her an enormous hug.
‘WHAT? Your nephew, of course! Who else? Harry Potter has defeated You-Know-Who! He’s dead at last!’
The Dursleys looked at one another in shock. None of them, it seemed, were pleased with the idea that their nephew had just killed someone, even if it was another wizard.
Vernon Dursley was the first to speak. ‘Well, that’s that then,’ he said, hauling his enormous bulk up from the sofa and trying to feign a casual air. ‘Time you let us go home, and back to some semblance of normality.’
‘WHAT?’ yelled Dedalus again. He hauled Petunia and Dudley to their feet. ‘You can’t want to go home yet! First you’ll want to see Harry, to celebrate his great victory!’
The Dursleys looked as if nothing would please them less than to celebrate Harry’s great victory, but Dedalus was already pulling them into the middle of the room.
‘Hold tight. We can’t go all the way there, but we’ll Apparate just outside the grounds.’
‘Operate? Operate what?’ Vernon Dursley asked, bewildered. Why wouldn’t this damn fool talk sense? Then he realised with a sinking feeling what was about to happen. ‘Oh no, you bloody don’t. We’re not ruddy well going through that again!’
But it was too late. Dedalus had one hand clamped around Mr Dursley’s wrist, and the other around Mrs Dursley’s. Dudley clutched Mrs Dursley’s other hand tightly as they all felt the air squeezed from their lungs. They felt themselves being crushed by an invisible force from all directions as everything went black.
*
Harry couldn’t believe his eyes as he descended the marble stairs into the Entrance Hall, Ron and Hermione close behind him. Of all the people he might’ve expected to see making their way through the great oak front doors of the castle, the Dursleys would’ve been last on the list, but there they were. Dedalus Diggle was marching them inside, chattering casually away as if he were their tour guide.
‘...Of course, Muggles such as yourselves can’t normally see Hogwarts at all. To them it just looks like an abandoned ruin. Rowena Ravenclaw’s own variant on the Fidelius Charm, you know, only with more than one Secret-Keeper. Any witch or wizard of age, in fact, provided they were once educated at Hogwarts. I myself was in Gryffindor, just like... There he is! Harry!’
Harry was torn halfway between amazement and amusement. The Dursleys were cowering just inside the doorway, trying to make themselves as small as possible (which was no mean feat for Dudley and Uncle Vernon). Aunt Petunia seemed to be torn between retreating unnoticed into the shadows where the flaming torchlight did not penetrate, and staying where she could at least see the dirt and debris scattered over the stone floor from the battle.
‘Fancy seeing you here!’ Harry laughed. Uncle Vernon muttered something under his breath that Harry didn’t quite catch, though he thought he heard the words ‘kidnapped’, ‘police’ and ‘lawyer’.
Before Harry could say anything else, Hagrid burst out of the Great Hall towards them. The Dursleys, especially Dudley, cowered at the sight of the half-giant striding in their direction. They had only encountered Hagrid once before, and on that occasion Dudley had ended up sporting a pig’s tail for a month, before Uncle Vernon had had it surgically removed.
‘Got a bone ter pick with yeh, Harry,’ Hagrid boomed, though his tone sounded anything but annoyed, ‘givin’ me a fright like that! I though’ yeh was dead!’ He gripped Harry in such a tight bear hug that for a second Harry thought he really would be killed.
‘Let go of him, will you, Hagrid,’ said another familiar voice. ‘I think I’ve got more of a claim to him than you do.’
Harry had barely been set back on his feet and taken a breath when a burst of sweet-smelling, flaming red hair filled his vision. Ginny was hugging him tighter even than Hagrid had, but this didn’t matter in the slightest. Breathing suddenly seemed completely unimportant. Harry was happy for this moment to go on forever, he and Ginny in each other’s arms. He kissed her passionately, until eventually they broke apart.
‘Harry James Potter,’ Ginny said, suddenly sounding very stern. Her hands were on her hips and her tone was startlingly like Mrs Weasley, ‘I just want to warn you now. You ever break up with me again, and I’ll hex you from here into next century.’
Harry gulped. Fortunately, the exodus from the Great Hall seemed to be continuing, and at that moment he was rescued by Kreacher, who presented Harry with a large tankard of foaming hot Butterbeer, sloshing half of it over the floor as he did so.
‘Marshter Harry! *hic* Champion of the down-trodden! Kreacher and house-elvshe everywhere is *hic* in your debt, shirr!’ he drawled. Clearly Kreacher had himself been on something rather stronger than Butterbeer for a while. Aunt Petunia took one look at the house-elf and his torn, blood-stained towel, and wrinkled her nose in utmost disgust. Harry looked at Kreacher’s battle-marked garb too and came to a decision.
‘Kreacher, you fought like a champion yourself,’ he said warmly, taking the Butterbeer from Kreacher’s hand before he could spill any more. ‘How about I offer you some new clothes, and set you free?’
Kreacher sobered up at once at this remark. ‘Oh no, Master Harry! Kreacher does not want to be set free! Kreacher has no purpose but to serve. He wants to serve Master Harry. Master Harry will please let him?’ he asked pleadingly.
Harry thought he heard Hermione scowl quietly behind him. Dudley peered out nervously from behind Uncle Vernon, looking more and more impressed by Harry with each passing moment. ‘You’ve... you’ve got your own servant, Harry?’ he asked. ‘Gosh, and to think all the times me and Piers...’
‘Get back, boy!’ Uncle Vernon bellowed, not daring to take his eyes off either Harry or Kreacher. ‘We don’t know what that thing might do!’
Harry pretended he hadn’t heard Uncle Vernon. He nodded once to Dudley before replying to Kreacher. ‘Well, if you’re really sure that’s what you want. But at least let me find you a new, clean sheet or something.’
‘Kreacher is honoured to belong to Master Harry.’ The house-elf bowed appreciatively. ‘He apologises a thousand times for ever insulting Master Harry and saying he was ashamed of him and calling him a filthy friend of blood traitors and Mudbloods. Is there any service Master Harry would like of Kreacher now?’ His round eyes looked up eagerly.
‘Um, no, you’re all right, Kreacher,’ Harry said. Then he thought. ‘Actually, there is one favour you could do for me right now.’
‘Anything Master Harry wishes, it shall be done.’
‘Er, okay. I don’t suppose you’d mind taking my, er, relatives upstairs and finding them a room to stay in for the night, could you?’
Kreacher nodded. ‘Kreacher has just the place, Master Harry, somewhere nice and secure where the nasty, filthy Muggles won’t bother Master Harry at all.’
‘No Kreacher,’ Harry said firmly, trying desperately hard not to look at his aunt and uncle’s faces, or to laugh. ‘Can you find them somewhere nice, please?’
‘If that is what Master Harry wishes.’ Kreacher looked vaguely disappointed. ‘Though heaven knows the nasty Muggles don’t deserve it. Kreacher heard all about how they treated Master Harry. Much like Kreacher’s old master treated Kreacher, he shouldn’t wonder.’ He bounded halfway up the marble staircase, then turned round and beckoned the Dursleys to follow.
None of them had moved a muscle. ‘You can’t seriously expect us to go with that revolting animal?’ Aunt Petunia asked Harry. But at that moment the doors to the Great Hall swung open again, and a large throng of witches, wizards and other unDursleyish peoples swept out, all of them anxious, it seemed, to find Harry.
That was more than enough for the Dursleys. As one, Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley scurried up the marble staircase after Kreacher as fast as their legs could carry them, which in Dudley and Uncle Vernon’s case was not very fast at all. They were clearly nervous as to what may be waiting for them at the top, but the panic on their faces showed they were desperate to escape their present company.
Harry laughed as he watched the Dursleys disappear up the stairs. That was the last time he ever saw them.
*
A week later, Harry sat leaning against a willow tree by the lake, watching the giant squid basking in the sun. Idly, he threw a few slices of cake to it. There was a lot of cake around Hogwarts these days. The house-elves in the kitchens had really pulled out all the stops and seemed to be baking day in, day out. Hermione had offered to help repeatedly and kept trying to persuade them to take a break, but they had shooed her out of the kitchens.
Of the house-elves, only Kreacher had left the castle. He stood six feet away from Harry, dressed in an immaculate new white sheet that he wore draped around himself like a Roman toga. He had appointed himself Harry’s personal bodyguard, and glared warningly at any passing first years who hoped for a chance to get to meet the famous Harry Potter.
‘Master needs to rest! Master is not to be disturbed!’ shrieked Kreacher.
Harry looked over to the source of the latest disturbance and saw Kreacher waving his arms at Professor McGonagall.
‘It’s okay, Kreacher,’ he shouted, getting to his feet.
‘Thank you, Potter,’ said Professor McGonagall, sighing. She strode over, carrying something large and round by a fine golden handle. A cloth was draped over it and Harry couldn’t see what it was. She set it down on the grass and traced a pair of deck chairs in the air with her wand before motioning Harry to sit down.
‘Potter, I wanted to have a word before you left. I know it’s soon, but have you given any thought to what you might do next, as a career?’
Harry’s head spun. He hadn’t given any thought at all. He had been so focussed on defeating Voldemort these past months he had given no thought to anything beyond that. He had even been taking these past few days of celebrations in half a daze. He shook his head. ‘No Professor.’
‘Well Potter, I ask because once again Hogwarts finds itself in the position of needing to find itself a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher for next year. Needless to say, I shall not be inviting Amycus Carrow back next term. What would you say to the job?’
Harry was stunned. ‘Me? A teacher at Hogwarts?’
‘Why not, Potter? You’ve taught the subject before, after all, albeit somewhat unofficially. Of course, I can’t hide the fact that it’s not a position with very good job security...’
Harry laughed. ‘Oh, I have a feeling the next Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher might last a bit longer than the last few.’
Professor McGonagall flashed a rare smile at him. ‘Then you’ll take the job?’
‘I... I don’t know, Professor. I’ll have to think about it.’
Professor McGonagall nodded. ‘Of course. I didn’t expect an answer right away. You’ll be leaving with everyone else for the end of term tomorrow, I expect, but you can send me a message by owl once you have made your decision.’
A message by owl. Harry felt a deep pang of longing for Hedwig. It must have shown on his face, because he saw Professor McGonagall looking at him slightly awkwardly.
‘Which reminds me,’ she went on, her voice slightly higher. ‘Whatever you do decide, Potter, the staff would like me to present you with this, as a gift.’ She whipped the cloth off the object next to her. Inside a golden cage was a magnificent Eagle Owl. It ruffled its feathers idly and tilted its head to peer at Harry.
Harry was gobsmacked. The owl was beautiful. ‘Thank... Thank you, Professor.’ It was a good job he wasn’t going back to Privet Drive any more. He couldn’t imagine the Dursleys would take kindly to another owl living under their roof, one that was even bigger than Hedwig.
Then a thought struck Harry. The Dursleys! ‘Er, Professor? There’s just one thing. What’s happened to my aunt and uncle, and Dudley?’
Professor McGonagall gave him a look that bordered on a more familiar scowl. ‘Your family are staying in a room in the Astronomy Tower. They have so far declined the hospitality of the Great Hall and haven’t ventured out of their room since they got there. I’ve had Winky take food up to them three times a day.’
Harry chuckled at the thought of the Dursleys imprisoned in their bedroom. It seemed like poetic justice. ‘Do I need to take them back home, Professor?’
‘Not to worry. Hagrid has organised a private compartment for them on the Hogwarts Express. They’ll be at the end of the train, one compartment down from the Weasleys, who will make sure they aren’t disturbed.’
Harry grinned wryly, not entirely convinced. Knowing the opinion Hagrid and the Weasley family all held of the Dursleys, he felt their journey back might not be quite as peaceful as Professor McGonagall had said it would be.
She stood up to go. ‘Thank you again, Professor,’ said Harry. ‘For everything.’ Professor McGonagall smiled at him again. ‘No, thank you. Whatever your career might be, Harry, good luck.’
*
Harry spent the summer months at The Burrow. He didn’t have much time to think about his future. The days seemed to be passing by in a blur. The Ministry of Magic had gone to town over finally having some good news to celebrate, and seemed to be determined to monopolise Harry’s time. There were seemingly endless interviews he had to give, celebrations he was expected to attend, and gifts from grateful admirers to receive. Harry’s heart wasn’t in much of it. He had always reluctantly accepted his fame, and would have avoided it given the choice.
Far more important to him were the funerals of those who had fallen in the war against Voldemort. Harry made sure to attend every single one.
Lupin and Tonks’s funeral was hard. Harry remembered looking over at little Teddy Lupin as the short, tufty-haired wizard that had presided over Dumbledore’s funeral and Bill and Fleur’s wedding spoke. Andromeda Tonks held her grandson tightly as he lay in her arms.
The baby sneezed once and his hair turned from purple to electric blue, then he went back to sleep. Harry thought he looked so peaceful, completely unaware that he, like Harry, was an orphan. Harry vowed that Teddy’s childhood would be much happier and more full of love than his own had been. He made a promise to visit his godson as often as he possibly could. Bill and Fleur Weasley had just announced that they were expecting a baby too, a future playmate for Teddy.
Harder still than Lupin and Tonks’s was Fred Weasley’s funeral. The Weasley family had cheated death so many times that Harry had begun to feel that they were indestructible. Harry held Ginny’s hand tightly until the solemn ceremony was rudely and unexpectedly interrupted by dozens of Decoy Detonators, squealing Pigmy Puffs, Dungbomb fumes and Wildfire Whiz-bangs exploding all over the place.
It was pandemonium. Friends and family screamed and run for cover. Mrs Weasley looked around furiously for the culprit, apoplectic with rage. She didn’t need to look far. George was stood in plain sight with a massive grin spread from ear to earhole.
‘WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING!’ Mrs Weasley had yelled. ‘I WOULD HAVE THOUGHT YOU OF ALL PEOPLE WOULD HAVE SHOWN MORE RESPECT TO YOUR BROTHER’S MEMORY!’
George simply shrugged and said, ‘I’m sending him off in style, Mum. He’d have done the same for me.’
To Harry’s great surprise, and (from his face) George’s even greater surprise, Mrs Weasley flung her arms around George at once and started sobbing into his shoulder. ‘You’re right. Bless you, George, you’re absolutely right. It is what Fred would’ve wanted.’
Hardest of all was Snape’s funeral. Harry had spent week after week fighting to clear Snape’s name, as he had once fought to clear Sirius’s. He had explained everything he had seen in the Pensieve, but Snape was so loathed by so many people that it seemed no one wanted to listen.
Harry had tried explaining to the Daily Prophet, to set the public record straight. Looking back, he should really have guessed that Rita Skeeter’s article, ‘Severus Snape: Scoundrel or Saint?’ would end up twisting the story. She had suggested that Harry had been mentally damaged by his brush with death, or perhaps that Snape had been jealous of Voldemort and Harry had only defeated him because Snape had secretly been teaching Harry forbidden Dark Arts.
After that Harry had ignored the Prophet, except for one interview which Ron had sniggered at before insisting Harry read it. ‘A disgruntled ex-Gringotts employee’ was swearing revenge against the young wizards and witch who had (he claimed) stolen a rare and valuable goblin sword, which had vanished from right under his nose. Griphook glared menacingly at Harry from the photo, jumping up and down madly and pointing accusingly at him.
Luna had suggested that Harry should give another interview to The Quibbler instead, but Xenophilius Lovegood had put paid to that idea. He said he needed to search for his missing Snorkack horn. He was convinced that the one that exploded should have reformed itself almost instantly, and that the Death Eaters must have recognised what a valuable treasure it was and made off with it.
Harry reckoned Xenophilius’s reluctance to talk to him had very little to do with Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and rather more to do with the fact that they had blown up his house the last time they were there.
In the end, there were just five attendees at Snape’s funeral - Harry, Ginny, Ron, Hermione and Luna. Even Neville, who was among those few who understood the truth of Snape’s past, had refused. Snape had bullied and terrorised Neville throughout his time at Hogwarts, and Neville had no desire whatsoever to remember him.
Harry had tried to say a few words, but he didn’t know what to say. Snape had never stopped hating Harry, but he had loved Harry’s mum to the last. Six years of torment were hard to forgive, but Snape had been far braver than Harry had ever been. He had marched into the serpent’s den and sacrificed himself willingly, knowing that his actions would make him reviled by witches and wizards everywhere. None of the thanks and glory that fell easily upon Harry would ever be given to Snape.
After the funeral, Harry stood with Ron and Hermione in the graveyard in Godric’s Hollow. A monument had been erected next to his parents’ grave:
To the memory of those who gave their lives in the second war against Lord Voldemort, that the lives those who remain, witch, wizard and Muggle alike, would be free:
There followed a long list of names, too long. Cedric Diggory’s was at the top of the list. The very last line read Severus Snape.
‘So, what do we do now?’ Hermione asked, breaking the silence.
It was a question that had been nagging at Harry for some time. The unreality of the past few weeks could not continue. Sooner or later the three of them were going to have to start leading normal lives, and look towards their careers.
There was McGonagall’s offer of teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts, but Harry had also once harboured ambitions to become an Auror. He thought he would enjoy working for the Ministry, now that the old and corrupt regime had been swept away.
Two weeks ago, Kingsley Shacklebolt had been invited to permanently become the new Minister for Magic. To Harry’s great delight, Kingsley had appointed Arthur Weasley as his Chief Undersecretary. Kingsley and Mr Weasley had promised big changes. The first thing they planned to do was undo all the damage caused by the Muggle-Born Registration Commission. The second thing would be, as Mr Weasley had said, to ‘sack that toad-faced Umbridge cow and pack her off to Azkaban’.
Yes, Harry thought, working for a Ministry led by Kingsley and Mr Weasley would be good. He felt a sense of purpose and, for the first time, he saw the future opening up before him. It was time to live.
*
A chill wintry gale swept though King’s Cross. The sky overhead was grey and the only light to penetrate the station was a murky gloom.
The platforms were deserted. The only sound echoing through the empty station was a quiet whimpering, which came from a small creature that lay shuddering under one of the seats. It resembled a naked child, only somehow withered and deformed. The wind bit cruelly at its raw and flayed looking skin, and its eyes were lifeless but for a tiny glimmer of red which looked like it might be snuffed out at any instant.
Suddenly there was a loud whistle and a burst of steam. The child looked up in terror. A steam engine had appeared out of nowhere on the nearest platform. A single carriage was attached. Both engine and carriage were midnight black and appeared to carry no markings. The child could not even see any light from the carriage windows, which were equally black and lifeless.
The door to the carriage opened. From its hiding place, the child saw a pair of boots descending to the platform. The man wearing those boots seemed to know instantly where the child was and began walking over straight towards the seat where it lay. The child pushed itself back as far as it could towards the wall and curled itself up as tight as possible. Something about the train and this man filled it with fear.
The man bent down to peer under the seat. He was tall and thin, wearing a train guard’s uniform. He had extremely long silvery hair and a beard that came down to his waist. His nose was crooked, as if it had been broken at least twice. Bright blue eyes sparkled behind half-moon spectacles. The guard reached out a hand and looked kindly at the child.
‘It’s all right, Tom. It’s all over. You can come out now. It’s time to go.’
The words only half made sense to the child. It was so hard to think clearly. All it knew was that the man was trying to take it somewhere, somewhere it didn’t want to go. It wanted to scream out to the man to leave it alone, but it couldn’t put its thoughts into words.
The guard took hold of the child’s hand and pulled it from under the seat, firmly but gently. He set it on its feet and steered it towards the waiting carriage.
The child fought back, dragging its feet and desperately pulling away from the direction of the carriage. Why was it so hard to remember anything? It didn’t know why it was fighting. All it knew was that it must not get on the train. It had forgotten something, left something behind that was vitally important. Not clothes, for it had only the dimmest perception of what clothes were. No, there was something that belonged to it and it was of the utmost importance that it did not get on the train without it.
The guard paused and looked at the child with something like pity in his eyes. ‘Tom, I know what you want, but I’m afraid it’s too late for that’, he said. ‘It’s long gone. There’s nothing I can do for you any more.’ He pulled what looked like a strange stick out of his pocket. Silver sparks flickered at its end as the child looked at it with fascination and envy. It didn’t know what the stick was, but it realised instinctively that it wanted it. For a brief instant its eyes grew brighter, a hungry red gleam that quickly died away again.
The guard waved his wand and robes of black appeared from nowhere and draped themselves over the child. They rubbed and irritated its raw skin. It squirmed uncomfortably as the guard helped it onto the train. An unquenchable sense of panic was growing in its stomach.
The inside of the carriage was as black as it was outside. The guard helped the child into a compartment. He sat it down gently in a black seat then turned and left. Almost immediately, the train lurched and began to pull away from the station.
The red glimmer in the child’s eyes finally flickered and died. It began to scream in earnest.
*
A warm late summer breeze swept though King’s Cross. The sky overhead was clearest blue as sunlight streamed into the station, bathing the bustling platforms below with gold.
Harry Potter paused, stopping his trolley in front of the metal barrier between platforms nine and ten. He took a deep breath and smiled. He was going to become an Auror, he had decided, but that could wait for now. There was only one thing he wanted to do for the next year.
‘Alright, Harry?’ said Ron, patting him on the back. Harry broke out of his daze and turned to see Ron and Hermione grinning back at him. They had discussed this at length over the summer and were all agreed. Having missed their seventh and final year at Hogwarts while they were on the run, they all wanted to make up for lost time now.
Hermione desperately wanted to return to her studies. She had a familiar look of determination in her eyes whenever they had discussed it; a look which said that nothing would stop her going back and achieving an ‘Outstanding’ in every subject. And even though the Ministry of Magic had written to Harry, offering him any job he wanted, Hermione had pointed out that, if he were to become a proper Auror, he really ought to finish his N.E.W.T.s.
Ron was rather more reluctant. George had invited him to be a partner in Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, which he said sounded like much more fun to him than Potions lessons and more exams. But talk of the Quidditch pitch and trips to Hogsmeade had soon swayed his mind, though Harry privately suspected that Mrs Weasley had had more to do with Ron’s returning to school than any other factor.
Harry felt like he was returning home. All his happiest memories had been at Hogwarts and it felt like no place else to him. He was looking forward to feasts in the Great Hall, soaring around the Quidditch pitch in search of the Golden Snitch, visiting Hagrid’s hut at weekends, and late nights spent playing games in the Gryffindor common room, all without the interruption of having to fight against one of Voldemort’s plans at any moment.
Best of all, Harry thought, was that he would be sharing classes with Ginny this year. Much to Ron and George’s disgust, and Mr and Mrs Weasley’s delight, Ginny had been made Head Girl. She stepped out from behind Ron and beamed at Harry. Was it his imagination, Harry thought, or had the wording on the silver Head Girl badge she was wearing been altered to read Hard Gaffer? If it had, Ginny didn’t seemed to have noticed.
Side-by-side, hand-in-hand, Harry and Ginny walked through the barrier and disappeared. They stepped out of a wrought iron archway onto platform nine and three-quarters, where a loud whistle and a burst of steam came from the gleaming scarlet Hogwarts Express. Ron and Hermione emerged right behind them.
They clambered into a carriage and found a compartment to themselves. Five minutes later, the train lurched and began to pull away from the station. All along the train came the animated chatter of other students, many of them eagerly heading towards Hogwarts for the very first time.
A familiar old witch pushed a tea trolley overloaded with sweets down the train. As Ron opened the door to buy a small mountain of Chocolate Frogs for them all, sounds filled the compartment. Harry caught snatches of conversations, the hooting of owls and, so it seemed, more than a few Filibuster Fireworks going off. A tangible buzz of excitement filled the air.
It was magical.
- THE END -
I, on the other hand, didn't.
This is just one of the many reasons why she is a best-selling multi-millionaire author and I am not :o)
- CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN -
Moving On
Mr and Mrs Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you’d expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn’t hold with such nonsense.
However, at present, Mr and Mrs Dursley were a long way from Privet Drive. They were sat in the strangest, most mysterious house any of them had ever been in. Mr and Mrs Dursley were in a cosy round room covered with broomstick-patterned wallpaper, squashed together on a violet sofa with their son Dudley sat between them. A small, excitable man in a mauve top hat sat opposite them, chattering away. The Dursleys weren’t listening. They were doing their level best to ignore both the man and his strange, mysterious living room.
This was rather difficult, as there were so many highly unusual things surrounding them. A cauldron bubbled over an open fire. The photos that were hanging on the walls moved, their inhabitants waving cheerfully at the Dursleys, who declined to wave back. Owls flew all around the high oak-beamed ceiling, causing Dudley to flinch every time one went near him. Every surface was covered with battered spellbooks, strange gadgets that whistled constantly, and the occasional owl dropping. Petunia Dursley turned her nose up at the mess and seemed to be doing her best not to touch anything. It was, in short, the most unDursleyish house they could have imagined.
To make matters worse, the infuriatingly cheerful Dedalus Diggle kept offering them a bizarre range of drinks and food that seemed to be alive, and that they would rather die than eat. The Dursleys all knew they had to endure this nightmare for their own protection. This fact only made Vernon Dursley even more infuriated.
His beefy black moustache quivering, he interrupted Dedalus’s ramble about the Muddy-Born Register Committee or some such rubbish. ‘I don’t ruddy care about any of this gibberish! Isn’t that what caused this mess? If it wasn’t for you lot meddling with nonsense that doesn’t need meddling with, none of us would have to be sat here in this ridiculous house in the first place!’ he fumed for the umpteenth time.
‘Dad,’ murmured Dudley Dursley nervously. ‘It’s not his fault. Can’t we just ignore him until we can go home?’
Ignoring was exactly what Dedalus Diggle was doing. He showed no sign of recognition that either Dursley had spoken, and happily chattered on obliviously.
‘Of course it’s an absolute disgrace. Everyone says not to blame Thicknesse, that he can’t help it, what with being under the Imperius Curse and all, but if you ask me...’
Dedalus broke off, not because the Dursleys had asked him anything, but because of a quiet tapping at the window. It was a moment before the Dursleys realised that another owl had just arrived; there were so many of them flying around already. Dedalus’s casual manner dropped immediately. He opened the window and untied a scrap of parchment from the owl’s leg. He unrolled it with a deadly seriousness and began to read. Suddenly his mouth broke out into a wide grin.
‘HA!’ he yelled without warning, so loud that all three Dursleys jumped. ‘HE’S DONE IT! HE’S ONLY GONE AND BALLY WELL DONE IT!’
‘Who’s done what?’ asked Petunia Dursley, as she tried to fight off Dedalus Diggle from giving her an enormous hug.
‘WHAT? Your nephew, of course! Who else? Harry Potter has defeated You-Know-Who! He’s dead at last!’
The Dursleys looked at one another in shock. None of them, it seemed, were pleased with the idea that their nephew had just killed someone, even if it was another wizard.
Vernon Dursley was the first to speak. ‘Well, that’s that then,’ he said, hauling his enormous bulk up from the sofa and trying to feign a casual air. ‘Time you let us go home, and back to some semblance of normality.’
‘WHAT?’ yelled Dedalus again. He hauled Petunia and Dudley to their feet. ‘You can’t want to go home yet! First you’ll want to see Harry, to celebrate his great victory!’
The Dursleys looked as if nothing would please them less than to celebrate Harry’s great victory, but Dedalus was already pulling them into the middle of the room.
‘Hold tight. We can’t go all the way there, but we’ll Apparate just outside the grounds.’
‘Operate? Operate what?’ Vernon Dursley asked, bewildered. Why wouldn’t this damn fool talk sense? Then he realised with a sinking feeling what was about to happen. ‘Oh no, you bloody don’t. We’re not ruddy well going through that again!’
But it was too late. Dedalus had one hand clamped around Mr Dursley’s wrist, and the other around Mrs Dursley’s. Dudley clutched Mrs Dursley’s other hand tightly as they all felt the air squeezed from their lungs. They felt themselves being crushed by an invisible force from all directions as everything went black.
*
Harry couldn’t believe his eyes as he descended the marble stairs into the Entrance Hall, Ron and Hermione close behind him. Of all the people he might’ve expected to see making their way through the great oak front doors of the castle, the Dursleys would’ve been last on the list, but there they were. Dedalus Diggle was marching them inside, chattering casually away as if he were their tour guide.
‘...Of course, Muggles such as yourselves can’t normally see Hogwarts at all. To them it just looks like an abandoned ruin. Rowena Ravenclaw’s own variant on the Fidelius Charm, you know, only with more than one Secret-Keeper. Any witch or wizard of age, in fact, provided they were once educated at Hogwarts. I myself was in Gryffindor, just like... There he is! Harry!’
Harry was torn halfway between amazement and amusement. The Dursleys were cowering just inside the doorway, trying to make themselves as small as possible (which was no mean feat for Dudley and Uncle Vernon). Aunt Petunia seemed to be torn between retreating unnoticed into the shadows where the flaming torchlight did not penetrate, and staying where she could at least see the dirt and debris scattered over the stone floor from the battle.
‘Fancy seeing you here!’ Harry laughed. Uncle Vernon muttered something under his breath that Harry didn’t quite catch, though he thought he heard the words ‘kidnapped’, ‘police’ and ‘lawyer’.
Before Harry could say anything else, Hagrid burst out of the Great Hall towards them. The Dursleys, especially Dudley, cowered at the sight of the half-giant striding in their direction. They had only encountered Hagrid once before, and on that occasion Dudley had ended up sporting a pig’s tail for a month, before Uncle Vernon had had it surgically removed.
‘Got a bone ter pick with yeh, Harry,’ Hagrid boomed, though his tone sounded anything but annoyed, ‘givin’ me a fright like that! I though’ yeh was dead!’ He gripped Harry in such a tight bear hug that for a second Harry thought he really would be killed.
‘Let go of him, will you, Hagrid,’ said another familiar voice. ‘I think I’ve got more of a claim to him than you do.’
Harry had barely been set back on his feet and taken a breath when a burst of sweet-smelling, flaming red hair filled his vision. Ginny was hugging him tighter even than Hagrid had, but this didn’t matter in the slightest. Breathing suddenly seemed completely unimportant. Harry was happy for this moment to go on forever, he and Ginny in each other’s arms. He kissed her passionately, until eventually they broke apart.
‘Harry James Potter,’ Ginny said, suddenly sounding very stern. Her hands were on her hips and her tone was startlingly like Mrs Weasley, ‘I just want to warn you now. You ever break up with me again, and I’ll hex you from here into next century.’
Harry gulped. Fortunately, the exodus from the Great Hall seemed to be continuing, and at that moment he was rescued by Kreacher, who presented Harry with a large tankard of foaming hot Butterbeer, sloshing half of it over the floor as he did so.
‘Marshter Harry! *hic* Champion of the down-trodden! Kreacher and house-elvshe everywhere is *hic* in your debt, shirr!’ he drawled. Clearly Kreacher had himself been on something rather stronger than Butterbeer for a while. Aunt Petunia took one look at the house-elf and his torn, blood-stained towel, and wrinkled her nose in utmost disgust. Harry looked at Kreacher’s battle-marked garb too and came to a decision.
‘Kreacher, you fought like a champion yourself,’ he said warmly, taking the Butterbeer from Kreacher’s hand before he could spill any more. ‘How about I offer you some new clothes, and set you free?’
Kreacher sobered up at once at this remark. ‘Oh no, Master Harry! Kreacher does not want to be set free! Kreacher has no purpose but to serve. He wants to serve Master Harry. Master Harry will please let him?’ he asked pleadingly.
Harry thought he heard Hermione scowl quietly behind him. Dudley peered out nervously from behind Uncle Vernon, looking more and more impressed by Harry with each passing moment. ‘You’ve... you’ve got your own servant, Harry?’ he asked. ‘Gosh, and to think all the times me and Piers...’
‘Get back, boy!’ Uncle Vernon bellowed, not daring to take his eyes off either Harry or Kreacher. ‘We don’t know what that thing might do!’
Harry pretended he hadn’t heard Uncle Vernon. He nodded once to Dudley before replying to Kreacher. ‘Well, if you’re really sure that’s what you want. But at least let me find you a new, clean sheet or something.’
‘Kreacher is honoured to belong to Master Harry.’ The house-elf bowed appreciatively. ‘He apologises a thousand times for ever insulting Master Harry and saying he was ashamed of him and calling him a filthy friend of blood traitors and Mudbloods. Is there any service Master Harry would like of Kreacher now?’ His round eyes looked up eagerly.
‘Um, no, you’re all right, Kreacher,’ Harry said. Then he thought. ‘Actually, there is one favour you could do for me right now.’
‘Anything Master Harry wishes, it shall be done.’
‘Er, okay. I don’t suppose you’d mind taking my, er, relatives upstairs and finding them a room to stay in for the night, could you?’
Kreacher nodded. ‘Kreacher has just the place, Master Harry, somewhere nice and secure where the nasty, filthy Muggles won’t bother Master Harry at all.’
‘No Kreacher,’ Harry said firmly, trying desperately hard not to look at his aunt and uncle’s faces, or to laugh. ‘Can you find them somewhere nice, please?’
‘If that is what Master Harry wishes.’ Kreacher looked vaguely disappointed. ‘Though heaven knows the nasty Muggles don’t deserve it. Kreacher heard all about how they treated Master Harry. Much like Kreacher’s old master treated Kreacher, he shouldn’t wonder.’ He bounded halfway up the marble staircase, then turned round and beckoned the Dursleys to follow.
None of them had moved a muscle. ‘You can’t seriously expect us to go with that revolting animal?’ Aunt Petunia asked Harry. But at that moment the doors to the Great Hall swung open again, and a large throng of witches, wizards and other unDursleyish peoples swept out, all of them anxious, it seemed, to find Harry.
That was more than enough for the Dursleys. As one, Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley scurried up the marble staircase after Kreacher as fast as their legs could carry them, which in Dudley and Uncle Vernon’s case was not very fast at all. They were clearly nervous as to what may be waiting for them at the top, but the panic on their faces showed they were desperate to escape their present company.
Harry laughed as he watched the Dursleys disappear up the stairs. That was the last time he ever saw them.
*
A week later, Harry sat leaning against a willow tree by the lake, watching the giant squid basking in the sun. Idly, he threw a few slices of cake to it. There was a lot of cake around Hogwarts these days. The house-elves in the kitchens had really pulled out all the stops and seemed to be baking day in, day out. Hermione had offered to help repeatedly and kept trying to persuade them to take a break, but they had shooed her out of the kitchens.
Of the house-elves, only Kreacher had left the castle. He stood six feet away from Harry, dressed in an immaculate new white sheet that he wore draped around himself like a Roman toga. He had appointed himself Harry’s personal bodyguard, and glared warningly at any passing first years who hoped for a chance to get to meet the famous Harry Potter.
‘Master needs to rest! Master is not to be disturbed!’ shrieked Kreacher.
Harry looked over to the source of the latest disturbance and saw Kreacher waving his arms at Professor McGonagall.
‘It’s okay, Kreacher,’ he shouted, getting to his feet.
‘Thank you, Potter,’ said Professor McGonagall, sighing. She strode over, carrying something large and round by a fine golden handle. A cloth was draped over it and Harry couldn’t see what it was. She set it down on the grass and traced a pair of deck chairs in the air with her wand before motioning Harry to sit down.
‘Potter, I wanted to have a word before you left. I know it’s soon, but have you given any thought to what you might do next, as a career?’
Harry’s head spun. He hadn’t given any thought at all. He had been so focussed on defeating Voldemort these past months he had given no thought to anything beyond that. He had even been taking these past few days of celebrations in half a daze. He shook his head. ‘No Professor.’
‘Well Potter, I ask because once again Hogwarts finds itself in the position of needing to find itself a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher for next year. Needless to say, I shall not be inviting Amycus Carrow back next term. What would you say to the job?’
Harry was stunned. ‘Me? A teacher at Hogwarts?’
‘Why not, Potter? You’ve taught the subject before, after all, albeit somewhat unofficially. Of course, I can’t hide the fact that it’s not a position with very good job security...’
Harry laughed. ‘Oh, I have a feeling the next Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher might last a bit longer than the last few.’
Professor McGonagall flashed a rare smile at him. ‘Then you’ll take the job?’
‘I... I don’t know, Professor. I’ll have to think about it.’
Professor McGonagall nodded. ‘Of course. I didn’t expect an answer right away. You’ll be leaving with everyone else for the end of term tomorrow, I expect, but you can send me a message by owl once you have made your decision.’
A message by owl. Harry felt a deep pang of longing for Hedwig. It must have shown on his face, because he saw Professor McGonagall looking at him slightly awkwardly.
‘Which reminds me,’ she went on, her voice slightly higher. ‘Whatever you do decide, Potter, the staff would like me to present you with this, as a gift.’ She whipped the cloth off the object next to her. Inside a golden cage was a magnificent Eagle Owl. It ruffled its feathers idly and tilted its head to peer at Harry.
Harry was gobsmacked. The owl was beautiful. ‘Thank... Thank you, Professor.’ It was a good job he wasn’t going back to Privet Drive any more. He couldn’t imagine the Dursleys would take kindly to another owl living under their roof, one that was even bigger than Hedwig.
Then a thought struck Harry. The Dursleys! ‘Er, Professor? There’s just one thing. What’s happened to my aunt and uncle, and Dudley?’
Professor McGonagall gave him a look that bordered on a more familiar scowl. ‘Your family are staying in a room in the Astronomy Tower. They have so far declined the hospitality of the Great Hall and haven’t ventured out of their room since they got there. I’ve had Winky take food up to them three times a day.’
Harry chuckled at the thought of the Dursleys imprisoned in their bedroom. It seemed like poetic justice. ‘Do I need to take them back home, Professor?’
‘Not to worry. Hagrid has organised a private compartment for them on the Hogwarts Express. They’ll be at the end of the train, one compartment down from the Weasleys, who will make sure they aren’t disturbed.’
Harry grinned wryly, not entirely convinced. Knowing the opinion Hagrid and the Weasley family all held of the Dursleys, he felt their journey back might not be quite as peaceful as Professor McGonagall had said it would be.
She stood up to go. ‘Thank you again, Professor,’ said Harry. ‘For everything.’ Professor McGonagall smiled at him again. ‘No, thank you. Whatever your career might be, Harry, good luck.’
*
Harry spent the summer months at The Burrow. He didn’t have much time to think about his future. The days seemed to be passing by in a blur. The Ministry of Magic had gone to town over finally having some good news to celebrate, and seemed to be determined to monopolise Harry’s time. There were seemingly endless interviews he had to give, celebrations he was expected to attend, and gifts from grateful admirers to receive. Harry’s heart wasn’t in much of it. He had always reluctantly accepted his fame, and would have avoided it given the choice.
Far more important to him were the funerals of those who had fallen in the war against Voldemort. Harry made sure to attend every single one.
Lupin and Tonks’s funeral was hard. Harry remembered looking over at little Teddy Lupin as the short, tufty-haired wizard that had presided over Dumbledore’s funeral and Bill and Fleur’s wedding spoke. Andromeda Tonks held her grandson tightly as he lay in her arms.
The baby sneezed once and his hair turned from purple to electric blue, then he went back to sleep. Harry thought he looked so peaceful, completely unaware that he, like Harry, was an orphan. Harry vowed that Teddy’s childhood would be much happier and more full of love than his own had been. He made a promise to visit his godson as often as he possibly could. Bill and Fleur Weasley had just announced that they were expecting a baby too, a future playmate for Teddy.
Harder still than Lupin and Tonks’s was Fred Weasley’s funeral. The Weasley family had cheated death so many times that Harry had begun to feel that they were indestructible. Harry held Ginny’s hand tightly until the solemn ceremony was rudely and unexpectedly interrupted by dozens of Decoy Detonators, squealing Pigmy Puffs, Dungbomb fumes and Wildfire Whiz-bangs exploding all over the place.
It was pandemonium. Friends and family screamed and run for cover. Mrs Weasley looked around furiously for the culprit, apoplectic with rage. She didn’t need to look far. George was stood in plain sight with a massive grin spread from ear to earhole.
‘WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING!’ Mrs Weasley had yelled. ‘I WOULD HAVE THOUGHT YOU OF ALL PEOPLE WOULD HAVE SHOWN MORE RESPECT TO YOUR BROTHER’S MEMORY!’
George simply shrugged and said, ‘I’m sending him off in style, Mum. He’d have done the same for me.’
To Harry’s great surprise, and (from his face) George’s even greater surprise, Mrs Weasley flung her arms around George at once and started sobbing into his shoulder. ‘You’re right. Bless you, George, you’re absolutely right. It is what Fred would’ve wanted.’
Hardest of all was Snape’s funeral. Harry had spent week after week fighting to clear Snape’s name, as he had once fought to clear Sirius’s. He had explained everything he had seen in the Pensieve, but Snape was so loathed by so many people that it seemed no one wanted to listen.
Harry had tried explaining to the Daily Prophet, to set the public record straight. Looking back, he should really have guessed that Rita Skeeter’s article, ‘Severus Snape: Scoundrel or Saint?’ would end up twisting the story. She had suggested that Harry had been mentally damaged by his brush with death, or perhaps that Snape had been jealous of Voldemort and Harry had only defeated him because Snape had secretly been teaching Harry forbidden Dark Arts.
After that Harry had ignored the Prophet, except for one interview which Ron had sniggered at before insisting Harry read it. ‘A disgruntled ex-Gringotts employee’ was swearing revenge against the young wizards and witch who had (he claimed) stolen a rare and valuable goblin sword, which had vanished from right under his nose. Griphook glared menacingly at Harry from the photo, jumping up and down madly and pointing accusingly at him.
Luna had suggested that Harry should give another interview to The Quibbler instead, but Xenophilius Lovegood had put paid to that idea. He said he needed to search for his missing Snorkack horn. He was convinced that the one that exploded should have reformed itself almost instantly, and that the Death Eaters must have recognised what a valuable treasure it was and made off with it.
Harry reckoned Xenophilius’s reluctance to talk to him had very little to do with Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and rather more to do with the fact that they had blown up his house the last time they were there.
In the end, there were just five attendees at Snape’s funeral - Harry, Ginny, Ron, Hermione and Luna. Even Neville, who was among those few who understood the truth of Snape’s past, had refused. Snape had bullied and terrorised Neville throughout his time at Hogwarts, and Neville had no desire whatsoever to remember him.
Harry had tried to say a few words, but he didn’t know what to say. Snape had never stopped hating Harry, but he had loved Harry’s mum to the last. Six years of torment were hard to forgive, but Snape had been far braver than Harry had ever been. He had marched into the serpent’s den and sacrificed himself willingly, knowing that his actions would make him reviled by witches and wizards everywhere. None of the thanks and glory that fell easily upon Harry would ever be given to Snape.
After the funeral, Harry stood with Ron and Hermione in the graveyard in Godric’s Hollow. A monument had been erected next to his parents’ grave:
To the memory of those who gave their lives in the second war against Lord Voldemort, that the lives those who remain, witch, wizard and Muggle alike, would be free:
There followed a long list of names, too long. Cedric Diggory’s was at the top of the list. The very last line read Severus Snape.
‘So, what do we do now?’ Hermione asked, breaking the silence.
It was a question that had been nagging at Harry for some time. The unreality of the past few weeks could not continue. Sooner or later the three of them were going to have to start leading normal lives, and look towards their careers.
There was McGonagall’s offer of teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts, but Harry had also once harboured ambitions to become an Auror. He thought he would enjoy working for the Ministry, now that the old and corrupt regime had been swept away.
Two weeks ago, Kingsley Shacklebolt had been invited to permanently become the new Minister for Magic. To Harry’s great delight, Kingsley had appointed Arthur Weasley as his Chief Undersecretary. Kingsley and Mr Weasley had promised big changes. The first thing they planned to do was undo all the damage caused by the Muggle-Born Registration Commission. The second thing would be, as Mr Weasley had said, to ‘sack that toad-faced Umbridge cow and pack her off to Azkaban’.
Yes, Harry thought, working for a Ministry led by Kingsley and Mr Weasley would be good. He felt a sense of purpose and, for the first time, he saw the future opening up before him. It was time to live.
*
A chill wintry gale swept though King’s Cross. The sky overhead was grey and the only light to penetrate the station was a murky gloom.
The platforms were deserted. The only sound echoing through the empty station was a quiet whimpering, which came from a small creature that lay shuddering under one of the seats. It resembled a naked child, only somehow withered and deformed. The wind bit cruelly at its raw and flayed looking skin, and its eyes were lifeless but for a tiny glimmer of red which looked like it might be snuffed out at any instant.
Suddenly there was a loud whistle and a burst of steam. The child looked up in terror. A steam engine had appeared out of nowhere on the nearest platform. A single carriage was attached. Both engine and carriage were midnight black and appeared to carry no markings. The child could not even see any light from the carriage windows, which were equally black and lifeless.
The door to the carriage opened. From its hiding place, the child saw a pair of boots descending to the platform. The man wearing those boots seemed to know instantly where the child was and began walking over straight towards the seat where it lay. The child pushed itself back as far as it could towards the wall and curled itself up as tight as possible. Something about the train and this man filled it with fear.
The man bent down to peer under the seat. He was tall and thin, wearing a train guard’s uniform. He had extremely long silvery hair and a beard that came down to his waist. His nose was crooked, as if it had been broken at least twice. Bright blue eyes sparkled behind half-moon spectacles. The guard reached out a hand and looked kindly at the child.
‘It’s all right, Tom. It’s all over. You can come out now. It’s time to go.’
The words only half made sense to the child. It was so hard to think clearly. All it knew was that the man was trying to take it somewhere, somewhere it didn’t want to go. It wanted to scream out to the man to leave it alone, but it couldn’t put its thoughts into words.
The guard took hold of the child’s hand and pulled it from under the seat, firmly but gently. He set it on its feet and steered it towards the waiting carriage.
The child fought back, dragging its feet and desperately pulling away from the direction of the carriage. Why was it so hard to remember anything? It didn’t know why it was fighting. All it knew was that it must not get on the train. It had forgotten something, left something behind that was vitally important. Not clothes, for it had only the dimmest perception of what clothes were. No, there was something that belonged to it and it was of the utmost importance that it did not get on the train without it.
The guard paused and looked at the child with something like pity in his eyes. ‘Tom, I know what you want, but I’m afraid it’s too late for that’, he said. ‘It’s long gone. There’s nothing I can do for you any more.’ He pulled what looked like a strange stick out of his pocket. Silver sparks flickered at its end as the child looked at it with fascination and envy. It didn’t know what the stick was, but it realised instinctively that it wanted it. For a brief instant its eyes grew brighter, a hungry red gleam that quickly died away again.
The guard waved his wand and robes of black appeared from nowhere and draped themselves over the child. They rubbed and irritated its raw skin. It squirmed uncomfortably as the guard helped it onto the train. An unquenchable sense of panic was growing in its stomach.
The inside of the carriage was as black as it was outside. The guard helped the child into a compartment. He sat it down gently in a black seat then turned and left. Almost immediately, the train lurched and began to pull away from the station.
The red glimmer in the child’s eyes finally flickered and died. It began to scream in earnest.
*
A warm late summer breeze swept though King’s Cross. The sky overhead was clearest blue as sunlight streamed into the station, bathing the bustling platforms below with gold.
Harry Potter paused, stopping his trolley in front of the metal barrier between platforms nine and ten. He took a deep breath and smiled. He was going to become an Auror, he had decided, but that could wait for now. There was only one thing he wanted to do for the next year.
‘Alright, Harry?’ said Ron, patting him on the back. Harry broke out of his daze and turned to see Ron and Hermione grinning back at him. They had discussed this at length over the summer and were all agreed. Having missed their seventh and final year at Hogwarts while they were on the run, they all wanted to make up for lost time now.
Hermione desperately wanted to return to her studies. She had a familiar look of determination in her eyes whenever they had discussed it; a look which said that nothing would stop her going back and achieving an ‘Outstanding’ in every subject. And even though the Ministry of Magic had written to Harry, offering him any job he wanted, Hermione had pointed out that, if he were to become a proper Auror, he really ought to finish his N.E.W.T.s.
Ron was rather more reluctant. George had invited him to be a partner in Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, which he said sounded like much more fun to him than Potions lessons and more exams. But talk of the Quidditch pitch and trips to Hogsmeade had soon swayed his mind, though Harry privately suspected that Mrs Weasley had had more to do with Ron’s returning to school than any other factor.
Harry felt like he was returning home. All his happiest memories had been at Hogwarts and it felt like no place else to him. He was looking forward to feasts in the Great Hall, soaring around the Quidditch pitch in search of the Golden Snitch, visiting Hagrid’s hut at weekends, and late nights spent playing games in the Gryffindor common room, all without the interruption of having to fight against one of Voldemort’s plans at any moment.
Best of all, Harry thought, was that he would be sharing classes with Ginny this year. Much to Ron and George’s disgust, and Mr and Mrs Weasley’s delight, Ginny had been made Head Girl. She stepped out from behind Ron and beamed at Harry. Was it his imagination, Harry thought, or had the wording on the silver Head Girl badge she was wearing been altered to read Hard Gaffer? If it had, Ginny didn’t seemed to have noticed.
Side-by-side, hand-in-hand, Harry and Ginny walked through the barrier and disappeared. They stepped out of a wrought iron archway onto platform nine and three-quarters, where a loud whistle and a burst of steam came from the gleaming scarlet Hogwarts Express. Ron and Hermione emerged right behind them.
They clambered into a carriage and found a compartment to themselves. Five minutes later, the train lurched and began to pull away from the station. All along the train came the animated chatter of other students, many of them eagerly heading towards Hogwarts for the very first time.
A familiar old witch pushed a tea trolley overloaded with sweets down the train. As Ron opened the door to buy a small mountain of Chocolate Frogs for them all, sounds filled the compartment. Harry caught snatches of conversations, the hooting of owls and, so it seemed, more than a few Filibuster Fireworks going off. A tangible buzz of excitement filled the air.
It was magical.
- THE END -