Chapter Text
George and Angelina’s house is full to bursting with Weasleys, and in the middle of that tornado of chaos are Teddy and Harry, the odd men out.
Harry had let Teddy unwrap his present before they came to George and Angelina’s, and the moment of weakness had nearly derailed the whole evening -- once Teddy had seen his toy broom, he had been nearly impossible to coax into the fireplace. Teddy had acquiesced only after Harry had promised he could practice flying in George and Angelina’s yard, and even then, he had been mighty reluctant, running out of the fireplace still sooty and sneezing with his broom in his hand to beg George to take him out.
Angelina is throwing a Quaffle at Teddy now, as he hovers a foot above the ground, his knees pinched tight around the broom handle while he fumbles for the ball. At two, Teddy’s hand-eye coordination isn’t quite as good as he thinks it is, but Angelina seems content to toss the Quaffle to him over and over again while he cheers and giggles. Judging by the longing looks Ginny has been shooting them, Harry’s sure she’ll join them before long.
How many little boys can say they played catch with professional Chasers as children? Even without considering the circumstances of his birth and his parentage, Teddy is one special boy.
“Can I join?” Fleur kisses Bill’s cheek before joining Angelina, catching the Quaffle with ease as Angelina passes it to her.
Harry’s best guess is that Ginny was waiting for Fleur to give in, because she sprints off after them, the three of them chattering to each other as they toss the ball back and forth, and occasionally to Teddy. Teddy flies in shaky, tight circles around Fleur, who pinches his cheeks and calls him sweet nothings in French, while Ginny plaits blades of grass together into a bracelet. Angelina holds court among them like a queen, directing the conversation with ease as she had once in the Gryffindor locker room.
It’s funny to think that years ago, Ginny and Fleur getting along would’ve been an answer to prayer. Now, it feels as if their disagreements have been forgotten, water under yet another one of the bridges that have been built since the war. They laugh with each other like Harry imagines siblings might, sharing secrets and jokes alike like currency.
He’d wanted a sibling once. He hadn’t made the mistake of asking anyone how one went about acquiring one. He can imagine the trouble it would’ve gotten him even now.
Bill bounces Victoire in his arms as she spits bubbles, meaty fists pressing into his skin hard enough to leave red marks behind. It’s been only weeks since Harry saw her last, and in that time, it feels like she’s nearly doubled both her length and neck control. She’s smiling at everyone now, shy and sweet, and suddenly, she feels like a person rather than a little, loving sack of bones.
“She feels like a real baby now.”
Harry doesn’t realize he’s spoken the words aloud until Bill laughs.
“She does, doesn’t she?” Bill grins. “Now that she’s past the boring bit where she lies in one place and doesn’t do much. She’s got personality now.”
“Personality?” Harry asks curiously.
“Plenty of personality, like her mother, this one.” Bill snorts. “Taking after her Aunt Ginny already. Ginny was the most mischievous little thing, from the second she learned to crawl. Fleur and I are already charming everything shut just in case.”
Harry rarely has to reckon with the age difference between Bill and Ginny, but now it feels stupidly obvious to him. Bill would’ve been a year shy of Hogwarts when Ginny was born. Harry tries to remember himself at ten and quickly reroutes his thoughts. He’s spent enough time dwelling on his time with the Dursleys lately, about being the odd boy out everywhere he went.
He can see Bill at ten with ease, lanky like Ron but elfish in the face like Percy, carrying his little sister around so he could show off his pride and joy. It is easy, watching Bill hold Victoire and imagining a past and a future for him. He looks whole, looks at peace. He looks like he belongs in this picture, a father with a daughter, a husband with a wife who he respects, a man who loves and is loved back.
“D’you want to hold her?” Bill asks. “You’ve been a bit hesitant about it, and I thought I might ask when it was just us, in case it’s just people watching that’s the problem. If it’s the baby that’s the problem, no pressure there. Charlie was always afraid of babies, after the twins nearly bit one of his fingers off. Of course, he gave as good as he got, but he never seems to remember that properly.”
“Yeah.” Harry says, surprising himself. “I’d like to. If you’re alright with that.”
Bill passes Victoire over, his instructions on how Harry should hold her filtering in and out through the thick buzz of anxiety in his ears, and he lets Bill adjust his arms and hands until it’s perfect. He can hear her let out soft little whimpers, probably dissatisfied at having been moved, and he gets exponentially more nervous for it.
What if she doesn’t like him? What if she misses her father too much? Was it right to have taken Victoire from him?
“Oh, look at that.” Bill smiles. “She loves you.”
“Harry’s quite good with babies.” Harry hadn’t noticed that Andromeda had snuck up on them until she’d spoken. “He won’t believe it if you tell him, but Teddy doesn’t settle for just anyone and when he sees Harry, he’d follow him to the end of the earth.”
“I’m no good.” Harry says, and chances kissing the top of Victoire’s chubby little head. She mewls happily, or at least he assumes she’s happy. It doesn’t matter -- he hasn’t got the courage to try again, so if she didn’t like it, she won’t have to suffer it again. “And Teddy’s not that difficult to please. He’s a good listener and follows rules well. A credit to your parenting, Andromeda.”
The words feel sour in his mouth. He had listened well and followed rules as best as he could as a child, and what had that gotten him? His survival to this moment had depended on him saying no, on him running headlong toward danger with his heart beating in his mouth. Some unspoken covenant requires that parents are told their children are good for being obedient, but obedience has never done Harry any good.
“He’s got his mother’s temperament.” Andromeda smiles at Teddy, who’s rolled off his broom, tired from playing “Quidditch” and is using it to sweep the grass. “He’ll play the part of an angel for anyone he likes. When he’s getting stroppy, we’re all at risk.”
“He’s hardly ever stroppy.” Harry corrects, and Andromeda shakes her head. “It’s just luck, the fact that they like me.”
“I’d like your luck.” Bill laughs. “You’ve been saying everything that’s happened in the last nine years is luck, and if luck’s that powerful… I might get a few hours of sleep at night, with that on board.”
“Take it, please.” Harry chuckles. “I’m sick of all the trouble it’s brought me.”
Victoire snuffles, adjusting how her head lays on his shoulder.
“You’re a natural.” Andromeda says softly. “She loves you.”
He rubs Victoire’s back in circles and hopes no one’s noticed how his smile has grown just a touch fainter.
It’s hard not to superimpose pigtails onto Hannah Abbott’s head. She was never seen without them at Hogwarts. Her blonde hair is twisted into an elaborate knot at the back of her head, one he knows, from Neville’s letters, that she does by herself, without any magic, as part of her self-care routine. They’ve all left their childhood selves behind, but something about Hannah is still familiar, like she didn’t quite grow out of her face.
“Neville said I could find you here.” Harry says, afraid to shatter her silence, but Hannah sets down her pen with a smile. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”
“No, I was just doing the books by hand for some practice.” Hannah says, smiling tiredly. “And I welcome any distractions from that. The only reason I’m able to do enough maths to wrap my head around the accounts is because my mother taught me.”
Harry smiles back, because he knows loss, knows the way it hollows you out and remakes you in its own image. He knows the way loss can turn even the most beautiful things sour and bitter, how every moment of uncomplicated joy starts leaving a repulsive aftertaste. How the ghosts left behind in memories magnify a person’s absence beyond all compare.
“I wanted to talk to you about that, actually. Not exactly, but…” Harry runs a hand through his hair. “I want to talk about growing up. What it was like, for us. How we can do something to make it easier. For the next group of kids.”
Hannah nods thoughtfully. “How so?”
“Hagrid said my name had been down for Hogwarts before I was born, which, I don’t know how that works, but it’d imply the existence of some kind of list.” Harry says. “And the list’s definitely got up to date addresses on it, because Hermione moved a few times as a kid and her letter still came to the right place. Hopefully someone’s reading that list before the letters are sent out but I’m not encouraged, given the state of affairs.”
He knows for a fact no one is reading the list. Then, someone might have realized he was living in a cupboard. Then, someone might have had to act. Then, someone might have taken him from the Dursleys and had to actually raise him, not keep him just alive enough for convenient slaughter. It is easier to believe no one is reading the list than to entertain the alternative: that someone was reading the list and simply didn’t care.
“I doubt anyone’s keeping track.” Hannah sighs. “No one even asked why I left school, sixth year. They just put me in with the next year group, when I came back. I don’t think they would’ve blinked an eye if I asked to be with the seventh years without passing the exams.”
“I hope someone is.” Harry says. “But maybe that’s only because I’m afraid no one is.”
“Harry…” Hannah fixes him with a searching look. “If no one looked for you, why would you think anyone was looking for us? If they let you sit all those years until you were old enough for Hogwarts, what do you think happened to the rest of us?” He must look some kind of scared, because she reaches across the table to pat him on the shoulder. “It’s no fault of yours. It’s this society, it’s everything about the way this world works. But you were more valuable to them than all of us combined. And if you slipped through the cracks, the rest of us didn’t even have a chance.”
Dear Susan,
I know it’s been awhile since we’ve spoken, but I’m trying to get a project off the ground and I’d like to know if you’re interested. It’s related to what I said at the Ministry, about keeping kids safe. Hannah says you might be interested, and have time, now that you’ve finished your Healer training (though I hear your trainee hours are going to be brutal). We’ll be meeting in a few weeks if you’re interested. Hannah’s setting up a time and a place.
Thanks,
Harry
“Cleared out the Cauldron for us. I didn’t know if we’d have to worry about being overheard.” Hannah stretches her arms out as Harry comes through the door to the Leaky, the bell jingling as he shuts it softly. “Tom’s about somewhere, but I don’t think he’ll say anything if we ask him not to.”
“It’s no problem.” Harry mumbles. He rubs at his arms, trying to feel a little more grounded. He shuffles his feet until they’re exactly shoulder width apart, some ancient whispers of Uncle Vernon describing professionalism to Dudley while Harry hid under the stairs creeping through time to sink their hooked hands into him. “Clearing out the space is a lot.” Hannah stares at him quizzically, so he tries to speak a little louder. His voice still shakes, betraying how nervous he is about this meeting, how desperately he wants this to go well. “Aren’t you afraid of losing profits? If you close down for a meeting? You didn’t have to-- Or, if I could leave Tom something, or you even--”
“Harry.” Hannah laughs. “You don’t have to solve every problem. Besides, Tom’s getting older. He needs a night off every so often.” She gestures to a table by the fireplace. “Susan’s running late. Her partner’s trying to change their light bulbs with magic.” She pauses, as if expecting Harry to laugh, then forges ahead. “Of course, it’s not going well, so Susan’s cleaning up the glass.”
The bell jingles in the doorway again and Dennis Creevey waves hesitantly at Harry from the doorway. His mousy brown hair falls haphazardly over one of his eyes and his shirt is buttoned wrong, every buttonhole matched with the button below it. He hasn’t seemed to notice, the shirttails partially tucked into the front of his jeans, his collar hanging open crookedly over his collarbones. His eyes are green, but other than that, he resembles Colin fiercely, from the way his lips twitch to the thickness of his eyebrows.
Harry’s heart aches for him as he waves back, as Dennis slowly integrates himself into their orbit. “Nice to see you, Dennis.”
“Nice to see you as well, Harry.” Dennis, for lack of a better word, looks quite harried, as if he’s seconds from rushing off to something new. Harry is reminded quite violently of a squirrel fussing over the state of its nest. “You too, Hannah. I haven’t seen you in a while.”
Hannah and Dennis chatter happily about the state of the weather, about the prices of Potions ingredients, and the exchange rate between pounds to Galleons. It’s fairly obvious that they know each other well -- he’s seen them talk at DA reunions -- but he hadn’t realized quite how well. He sees Dennis’ joy return, in little, cautious leaps and bounds, the ebullience he remembers from their years at Hogwarts bleeding into his words and actions, into the way he becomes a little more animated with every word that leaves his lips.
He hears a loud string of curses from the fireplace and turns to see Susan Bones stumbling out of the fire, shaking soot off in every direction before Vanishing it with a swing of her wand.
If anyone’s changed since their school years, it’s Susan, who was perpetually surrounded by a cloud of messy hair and nicked trousers from Ernie Macmillan’s trunk to wear instead of the uniform skirt. Now, she’s buzzed her hair off, leaving what can generously be called fuzz on her head, and seems to always be wearing the same jean jacket with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, regardless of the weather. Everyone’s being quite mysterious about who Susan’s dating, always using partner instead of anything that would give away their gender, but it’s none of Harry’s business, so he hasn’t asked.
“Hey Harry.” Susan smiles. Her voice is sandpaper rough, her brown eyes kind. “Shall we get started then?” She rubs her hands together. “What’s on the agenda?”
“Just getting to know each other again. Talking about what we’re good at. Seeing how we want to get this project off the ground.” Harry shrugs. “Nothing much.”
“Nothing much, he says.” Susan grins, shaking her head. “Nice to see you haven’t changed since the DA.”
“Should I change the plan?” Harry asks. “Did I say too much? Was that a lot? Should I have narrowed our focus?”
“You really haven’t changed one bit.” Hannah giggles. “No, that’s exactly enough.”
“Next he’ll say we’ve gotten to know each other enough and that we should get to the business at hand.” Dennis pipes up and Harry looks around, horrified. Ron and Hermione would usually defend him at this stage, but for the first time in years, he’s on his own. “Oh, he’s thinking it right now, look at him.”
“I wasn’t.” Harry lies. “I’m not that much of a taskmaster.”
“Then I’ll be the taskmaster.” Susan says. “I’m here because I’ve got connections in Magical Law Enforcement. As of two weeks ago, I’m a trainee Healer. Hold the applause, I know, a Hufflepuff going into Healing, it’s a revolutionary career move.” She rolls her eyes. “I know I’m a stereotype. But I can say it. You can’t.”
“Congratulations.” Dennis says meekly. “That’s… incredible dedication.”
“You’re alright, Creevey.” Susan sounds rather impressed, leaning back in her chair. “Potter’s got a good nose for teammates.”
“Thanks.” Dennis stammers. “I’m, uh, Dennis. If anyone doesn’t know me. I work for the Improper Use of Magic Office. They flag accidental magic events and regulate underage magic usage. I’m working on tweaking the detection spells so they can tell us who did the magic, not just that magic has been used. It’s unfair to Muggleborn and Muggle raised kids that we’re more likely to be caught and punished for something beyond our control. They may have our names from birth, but we don’t learn control from birth, we don’t have the ability to hide our mistakes behind parents or adult siblings.” He pauses for a few seconds, looking like he’d like nothing more than to melt into the floor. “Was that enough?”
“More than enough, Dennis.” Hannah says comfortingly. “I’m Hannah, but you all know me. Tom’s training me here, but I’m ready for something new. I’ve always wondered about Healer training, but after hearing Susan whinge about it for the past two years, it’s definitely quite far in my future.” She laughs. “I want to help. Harry gave a good speech and… well, most of us were displaced by the war, in one way or another. Most of us lost someone. I left school for a year because of what happened to my mother, and I came back to… well, we all know what I came back to. Except Harry, I suppose, since he had better things to do.”
A hesitant round of laughter breaks out between Dennis, Susan, and Hannah, all three of them glancing toward Harry like he’ll somehow feel insulted by the truth.
“I wasn’t there.” Harry shrugs. “And no matter how much I hear from Ginny or anyone else who stayed, I won’t know what it was like to be there.” He tugs at the collar of his shirt. “And that’s why you’ve all got valuable perspectives. That’s why I want you working on this. You know children can’t raise each other, let alone themselves.”
Susan shakes her head. “Always the dramatics, Potter. No wonder those hacks at the Ministry opened their pockets as wide as they did.”
“I wasn’t-- I didn’t--” Harry’s head spins.
It is a sick thing, that he has to parade himself around like a show pony for others to put their money where their mouth is. It is terrifying that they need to see what trauma has made him, the insidious, disgusting ways his past have shaped him, to give from their abundance. He has been a figurehead his whole life, a rallying cry, a monument to the past, but this part of it hurts the most. He has proven himself, has saved the world, and now he is useless to them beyond his performances of pain. He is the line between what was and what will be, and every day, the Wizarding World seeks to put more distance between what he is and what he stands for.
“I’m only kidding.” Susan says calmly, throwing an arm around his shoulders. It’s abrupt, but he suppresses the flinch neatly. From the dark look in her eyes, he wonders if he caught himself well enough. “Don’t worry about it.”
“If they opened their pockets, if they gave money, we need to make sure we know where it’s going.” Harry says. He has always been a good hand at planning when it mattered. “Use our contacts, our networks, whatever we have at our disposal. Find out where the money’s going and then see what’s being done with it. We’ll only establish ourselves well if we have something different about us. Defense and duelling clubs existed before Dumbledore’s Army, but Dumbledore’s Army had a cause. These charities exist, but we’re not a charity. We’re something different.”
It feels like something is being born, like something is blooming out of the blood rich soil of the war. Like all the words of change and justice they have been sowing have finally taken root among the bones of their peers, like all the tears they have cried have watered them enough for a carpet of flowers to cover the carnage.
“You’re right.” Susan says. “We’re going to be better.”
“Harry! Harry!” Harry turns around to see Dennis jogging up to him, looking rather worried. “Harry, thanks for stopping.” Dennis puts his hands on his knees, his hair flopping awkwardly over his forehead as he catches his breath. Once he’s straightened up again, Harry’s struck by how painfully young he looks. “I had a question for you. I wanted to ask it face to face. You know. Man to man.”
“Man to man.” Harry nods slowly. “Ask away, then.”
“Why me?” Dennis asks, looking like he’s fresh out of courage but his mind’s gone off leash. “Susan’s got connections in the Ministry. She says her aunt’s name and anyone in Magical Law Enforcement listens. Hannah’s work in the Leaky means that she knows everyone and everyone knows her. They trust her. She’s a good lookout and she’s got access to the Muggleborns that are coming to Diagon Alley for the first time. There's a strategy to those choices. Why me?”
“I remember Colin.” The word sneak their way out of Harry’s brain, muscling their way to the front of his tongue and jumping out into the summer air. “I remember you and Colin. My fourth year, with the tournament… You were charming the badges. The two of you, little as you were, trying to fix the badges so I’d feel better. You understood what it felt like, with everyone turned against you like that. And you wanted to fix it, both of you.”
“You remember us?” Dennis asks, looking rather embarrassed for it. The tips of his ears are blush pink. “You, Harry Potter.”
“A lot of people have asked me if I remember them. From Hogwarts, or from any number of other places.” Harry says. “Sometimes I lie to make them happy. But this is the truth.”
“You still haven’t answered my question.”
“I called in two Hufflepuffs other than the two of us. Because they know this is going to be hard work and humbling work. Because if it isn’t both of those things, we’re not doing it right. We’re not thinking enough about the ways things could go wrong, the support that people need, the resources we need to get these children if it’s easy. That’s no accident.”
“I was a Gryffindor.” Dennis interjects. “And so were you. What do Houses have to do with anything? We’re adults now. Hopefully we’ve grown beyond the need for those labels.” He grins crookedly, perhaps trying to set Harry at ease. “Hopefully we’ve all got more to us than that, now.”
“Of all the Gryffindors, of all the DA members, you disappeared the fastest after the war. No one could find you unless you wanted to be found.” Harry says. “I don’t want people who want recognition. I don’t want people who have any delusions about this being a nine to five job that they can leave in the office. Because if we’re not willing to work ourselves to the bone for these kids, we’re not doing enough. And I knew you’d understand that.”
“Yeah.” Dennis says hoarsely. “I do understand that.”
“All of us, all four of us, we lost at least one person we loved. In the war, around the war, because of the war.” Harry says. “I lost my parents. My godfather. Teddy’s father. Susan lost her whole family. Hannah lost her mother. We all lost too many friends. You lost Colin.” He takes a deep breath in through his nose. “We know what it feels like, to want something you can’t have with everything in you. To know you can’t have it. You can’t know what those kids are missing out on, the power of what stability and love and trust can do for you, unless you’ve lost it before. And we’re the ones that’ll appreciate giving it to them the most.”
“I can see why Colin liked you.” Dennis says. “I don’t think you ever talked this much at school, but he always said you had an inspiring aura.”
“I have no idea what an aura is.” Harry grimaces. “I trust Colin on that one, though.”
Dennis’ smile is fragile and flickers at the edges like a dying lightbulb, but he looks like someone who’s been grasping at straws for something to believe in and has finally found it.
“You’re in a good mood these days.” Hermione easily dodges the spatula thrown out of the tangle of limbs that is RonAndGinny cooking dinner, if what’s currently burning on the stove can be called that. “Try harder if you’re going to hit me.”
A series of muffled “I’m sorry”s make no difference, as Ron and Ginny are at each other’s throats again seconds later.
“After all of this, whatever they’re going to make won’t even be seasoned.” Hermione says, as if Harry didn’t grow up with the Dursleys. She regularly forgets that, despite the color of his skin, Harry hasn’t had the luxury of being exposed to his father’s culture beyond takeout menus and quick trips to stores crammed full of people who seemed to think he spoke their language. “Should we tell them to stop yet?”
“No.” Harry smiles. “Let them fight. They’ll be happier for it.”
“You must really be in a good mood.” Hermione sounds pleasantly surprised. “What’s changed?”
“I’m working on something new.” Harry says. “Something that fulfills me.”
Hermione looks like she’s seen the sun after years underground. “I’m so glad to hear that, Harry.” She wraps him up in a hug. “I’ve wanted this for you for a long time.”
Harry welcomes the intrusion into his space, and hums a few bars from O Children instead of telling her to back off, knowing it’ll get her laughing too hard to stand up straight. Hermione can’t even look him in the eye after she recognizes the song. He hasn’t ever made jokes about their time on the run, honest to god, funny jokes that he wants people to laugh at, and it seems to have transformed Hermione.
“Yeah.” He says. “I think I’ve needed this for longer than I’d care to admit.”
Harry is cobbling together a list of things to track in their records when Ginny walks into the bedroom, windswept and ruddy cheeked. The calendar had said she was heading to the Burrow for dinner and a game of Quidditch with her brothers. Harry doesn’t think to ask anything more. He’s too absorbed in the task at hand, too busy with keeping track of every little detail.
“It’s been awhile since you’ve been up this late.” Ginny smiles. “Since you’ve looked this excited.”
“Working on something new.” Harry says, scribbling down another potential reporter on the list. It would make sense to give them numbers. It would make sense to start with as complex a form as possible, but magic would make it easy to update the forms as they add more information. “It’s a project, with a couple of other DA people. We’re trying to keep track of magical kids, especially the Muggle raised ones, but all of them. So we know how kids are doing before their Hogwarts letters come. So people can check on them, whether they need checking in on or not.”
He feels like he’s rambling, like he’s said too much, but Ginny is beaming at him like he’s just handed her the sun and stars, plucked from the sky with his own hands.
“That’s amazing.” She says. “Who’s working with you?”
“Susan’s investigating family trees for Pureblood kids and Muggleborns about to start Hogwarts in the next two years. Susan Bones, that is. She’s a trainee Healer too, so that’ll be useful if we have to talk to anyone face to face.” Harry says. “Hannah Abbott is going to help get Madam Rosmerta and Aberforth Dumbledore in with Tom to help us fill in the gaps with kids we might be missing and seeing who else might be interested, from the old guard in the DA. I’m making forms for Susan and Hannah to go over for what a report might look like, so we can talk over it together.”
“Forms, huh?” Ginny peeks over his shoulder. “Oh, things are getting serious then.”
“And we’ve got Dennis, Colin’s brother, working on the accidental magic angle. Dennis is working in the Improper Use of Magic department, so he’s helping pin down the magic that detects accidental magic outbursts. All we know now is that magic happened, but we need to know who did it, so we can work with the child and their family to make sure things are safe. We’re talking about what happened with Dobby and the pudding, before my second year, so he can tighten up the charms framework.”
“I always wondered why less of us got caught.” Ginny nods slowly. “Because we did plenty of magic at home. The twins did plenty of magic at home, really. Ron’s teddy bear, turning Percy’s hair blue…” Her smile weakens. She’s thinking of Fred. “When I was little, I always thought it was that Dad worked for the Ministry. I guess not. Especially since you were the only one that got caught doing underage magic that I knew. Twice.”
“If someone was actually checking in on us, someone would’ve noticed what was wrong with me. I mean, my letter said Cupboard Under The Stairs as my address! And if no one checked in on me, who’s checking in on kids like Hannah, who go missing from school? Or Neville, whose family treated him horribly until they were sure he had magic?”
“This is-- This is incredible for you, Harry.” Ginny says. She looks mournful, the way she always does when he reveals something about his childhood. He realizes that he hadn’t spoken about the address on the letter before. Oops. “If you’re looking for someone to help with the red tape, Percy’s looking for something new. He’d jump at the chance to work on a project like this. Something meaningful. Do you want me to talk to him?”
“I’ll talk to him.” Harry nods. “He’ll be useful here. He’ll know what we need to say to keep the Ministry off our backs, and honestly, I wasn’t sure how we were going to handle that. Dennis is our inside man, but you know Dennis.”
Ginny laughs. “He’s a lovely friend, but he’d crumble under any kind of interrogation.”
“Percy would be perfect.” Harry smiles. “Thank you. It means a lot that you’re being supportive.”
“Hey, that’s what I’m here for. That’s what you’ve done for me.” Ginny shrugs. “It’s my turn to yell at you from the box seats, whatever that looks like.”
“We’ve got office space in Diagon Alley.” Hannah says gleefully. “The rent is reasonable and there’s more than enough space for desks for all of us.”
“I’ve talked to Headmistress McGonagall. Learned more about the list. I’ve got copies, actually.” Susan passes copies around the table. “These are all the kids expected to start this September and next at Hogwarts. I’ve been cross-referencing with family trees I was able to dig up and the list of the dead from the Battle of Hogwarts to see if anyone’s got relatives who fought on either side. From that, I got a third list, which is all the Muggleborns.”
“Susan got the list of Muggleborns to me earlier this week, and I’ve been checking through the records to see if any of them have earned a house call yet.” Dennis digs a grubby notepad out of his bookbag and tosses it on the table. “Only one of them has so far, a Morgan Edwards. The rest of these kids haven’t a single idea about magic.”
“I’ve got these ready. Drafts of records we could keep.” Harry drops three folders on the table with a thump. “Ideas about how often we could check in. What kinds of things we should be looking for.”
He leaves out the fact that these guidelines are crafted exactly to discover kids like himself, who were kept just well enough to fly under the system’s radar. He leaves out the fact that he’s been working through the impact of a maelstrom of memories as he writes these documents, and felt better about it than he ever had before.
“He’s gone and made folders.” Susan whispers, awestruck. “This is going to be so much fun.”
“Not that children suffering is in any way fun. Fixing it is fun.” Dennis cuts in. “Just, uh, clarifying, just in case.”
“You know perfectly well that’s what I meant.” Susan rolls her eyes.
“Folders.” Harry taps Susan’s. “We should look at the folders.”
“This is going to be amazing.” Hannah smiles. “I can’t wait.”
Ron is decked out in Cannons orange, clashing mightily with both his hair and Harry’s Harpies green, yelling at the players through the glass of the box seats like they can hear him. Harry smiles at Ron’s antics where, months ago, he might have cringed and quietly begged him to be a little less loud, a little less ready to draw attention to them. Now, he sits back in his chair, flipping through a little notebook of ideas to bring up at the next meeting, and enjoys the game. Cameras still flash and people are still trying to interrupt his thoughts, but he is fine with it, high on the sense of calm that he hasn’t felt before.
Maybe this is normalcy. Maybe this is security.
He hasn’t ever had it before, so he wouldn’t know.
“Haven’t seen you this fine in public in awhile.” Ron whispers to him, leaning into his space like they often did as children, as teenagers. “Proud of you, mate.”
“I’m pretty happy.” Harry says. “I’ve got a lot to be happy about. Life is pretty good.” He smiles. “I’ve realized what I want, I guess.”
He wants to be the best godfather in the world to Teddy. He wants to support Ginny in everything she does, to yell from the rooftops that she’s the best girlfriend in the world while reminding everyone that she’s her own person, with her own goals and her own desires. He wants to make sure his friends and family are safe, well, and comfortable in their skin. He wants to foster this fragile sense of self-love he’s latched onto, to feel this good about himself and his choices all the time.
“You and Hermione were right.” Harry admits. “I didn’t really know what I wanted. I was trying to be what I thought I should be. What I thought people needed. I wasn’t thinking about myself at all.”
“You can say that again.” Ron grins. “Hermione’s going to be so upset that she didn’t hear this in person.”
“I’ll say it again for her when I see her next, then.” Harry laughs. “Maybe I’ll even listen to her more often.”
Reporters turn their heads at the sound of Harry and Ron laughing at each other, assuming there’s breaking news to be had. And maybe there is a story in Harry’s heart opening up for business, his mind clear for the first time in his life, but for now, he’d like to keep it to himself.
“We’re both off to work.” Harry says cheerfully, wiping down the kitchen counters before tossing the washcloth in the sink.
He’ll do a load of laundry later, once he’s back in the evening. Once he’s back in the evening. The words are like a drug, the reminder that he has somewhere to go for a full day, somewhere to be, things to do almost intoxicating. He hasn’t had something to occupy his time so completely in so long (since Voldemort, if he’s being honest), and this is a lot healthier than chasing Voldemort around England.
“Yes we are.” Ginny agrees. “I’m excited for you. And for the rest. Tell them I said hello!”
“Will do.” Harry nods. “I’ll see you in the evening?”
“The calendar says six. Let me know if you’re running late.” She balances on the tips of her toes like a ballet dancer to steal a kiss. “I want this to be good for you. I want it to make you happy. Set limits for yourself as you need them, alright?”
“Yeah.” Harry says, and Ginny shakes her head, fully aware he’s just saying it for her comfort. “I promise! I’ll be good about it!”
“Sure.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s why I love you. You’ll never be able to stop thinking about the things that matter to you.”
“Oh.” Harry tries not to look too thrilled by the revelation that she loves him, but fails miserably, just as he has every time before. With everything feeling settled for the first time in years, it’s as if he has more time to trip over these everyday miracles, the little confessions of love sandwiched in between ordinary moments. It feels like sixth year all over again. “I love you too. Even when you’re smelly.”
“A romantic.” Ginny feigns swooning. “I’ve really hit the jackpot.”
“Go to work.” Harry sticks his tongue out and she sighs theatrically before stomping out of the room like a child banished to the timeout corner. “I love you!” He calls after her. “Have a great day!”
“I will!” She calls back, and then he hears her yell “The Nest”, and a rush of noise that must be the Floo Network sweeping her away.
He gathers up his things slowly, taking several circuits of the house to make sure his bag is properly packed, and then walks out into the world. The sound of busy people doesn’t grate on his ears, instead making him smile. He delights in it for a few minutes, letting the crowd push him along to some great unknown before slipping off into an alley to Apparate to the Leaky Cauldron.
He shakes hands on his path through the Leaky, lets the praise sink into his skin, and taps the right bricks to open the doorway into Diagon Alley, where there’s more people to contend with. He’s always hated crowds, the way other people’s presence sticks to your skin like sludge, but today, with a cause in mind, with a goal in mind, it feels manageable. His anxiety is on a low simmer in his chest, a slight burn right behind his heart, but he can block it out. He can banish it someplace cold and far away and trust that it will stay there.
It’s a bit of a walk from the mouth of the alley to the office, but he relishes the sights and sounds, reminded fondly of the first time Hagrid had led him through the Alley, just after he’d turned eleven. The day he’d gotten Hedwig. The day he’d gotten his wand. The day he’d found out who he was for the first time.
Being Harry Potter has been a weight on his shoulders since he can remember, but now it sounds like something worthwhile.
“To the right!” He hears Hannah yell, and watches Susan and Dennis yank a sign they’re levitating to the left, then sharply right, to try and hang it perfectly on the hook. The sign is blank, for now, a wooden board with a metal ring nailed to it, and it flies wildly about in the air, nearly decapitating a bird, before Dennis guides the ring onto its matching hook.
“There.” He says, with a heavy sigh. “Finally.” He notices Harry watching, and turns from morose to gleeful in a split second. “Hello Harry!”
“Hello Dennis! Susan, Hannah.” Harry suffers through Susan’s bear hug and hugs Hannah of his own volition before shaking Dennis’ hand. “Where’s Percy?”
“Indoors.” Susan scowls. “He wouldn’t help with the sign. He said he knew we’d spend far too much time on it.”
“Did you?” Harry teases.
“Well, yes, but--” Hannah cuts in. “It was fun. A bonding experience.”
“Have you decided what to put on it?” Dennis asks, before turning to Harry. “Oh, that’s been a debate all morning. We never decided what to put on the sign. All of our names would take up a lot of space, but if we have to pick some names, which names do we put on there? Do we have a name? Can we say Social Services without licensure?”
“Isn’t that what we called Percy in for?” Susan asks. “I feel like that’s what he should’ve been doing instead of organizing and labelling folders.”
“Doesn’t matter what we’ve got on the sign.” Harry runs a hand through his hair. “The work that we’re doing matters. Put our names on there for now, I guess. We can change it any time. It’s the work that we’re doing that matters.”
He waves his wand, and just as he’d carved Dobby’s epitaph into stone, their names appear on the wood -- Abbott, Bones, Creevey, Potter, and Weasley, in artfully crooked letters. He carves “Wizarding Social Services” on the next line, centered under their names, and everyone smiles at each other like they’re sharing a secret.
“Do we want to get started?” Harry asks.
Everyone shoves their way past each other through the door and Harry feels full to the brim with warmth.