Day Sixteen
“Hello Harry,”
“Hi, Luna,” he grins up at the blonde, squinting his eyes against the sun.
“Can I join you?”
“Of course,”
She settles into the grass next to him, wiggling her toes into the dirt and giving a happy little sigh. “It’s good to see you outside,”
“It’s nice to be here,” he laughs.
“You should add a garden to your list,” she hums.
“Hmm?”
“A garden? To your list of things you want in a home,”
“What- how did you know about that, Luna?” he asks quietly, not wanting a passing Molly to overhear.
“Oh, I just figured you were looking,” she shrugs. “Seems like a sensible step,”
He studies her for a moment. “One you might be taking?”
“And this is why you’re my best friend, Harry Potter,” she grins, her blue eyes twinkling. “We understand each other,”
“I’m happy for you, you know, Ginny told me,”
“Thank you. I hoped you would be,”
“Of course,” he grins. “You two mean the world to me. And it made sense once she told me. You fit together,”
“I’m happy for you too,” she smiles softly. “I wondered if you three would work it out,”
“Oh? Since when?”
“The D.A. meetings. The Patronus lesson. You helped Hermione conjure hers, and the way Ron looked at the both of you, it made sense,”
“Hmm,” he hums, contemplating. “I suppose it does,”
“Have they told you yet?”
“Told me what?”
“Kingsley’s coming over for dinner,”
He grimaces. “So it’s time then,”
“I’m afraid so,”
“I don’t want to, Luna. I don’t want to be their poster boy. I just want to live my life with the people I love. Haven’t I earned that?”
She thinks for a moment. That’s what he loves about Luna. He knows she’ll give it to him straight.
“You have,” she agrees. “And you could go into hiding and ignore the letters and the visits, but it won’t make it go away, Harry. You’re a novelty, and the more you hide, the more they want to know,”
He sighs. “You’re right,”
“In a few months, it will be less. In a few years, it will be barely at all. You’ll be like this celebrity relic that everyone knows about but doesn’t quite understand,”
“A few years? You think people will forget all this in a few years?”
“No, but the novelty will have worn off. People will move on. You’ll be a myth, a legend, until a first-year walks into your Hogwarts classroom and sees that you're real. And then they’ll write to their mum, who won’t believe them until the tenth letter,”
“Hogwarts classroom?” he laughs. “Where’d you get that idea?”
“Seems like a sensible step,”
He raises an eyebrow at her repeated words. “One you’ll be taking?”
She wiggles her toes deeper into the dirt. “And that, Harry Potter, is why you’re my best friend. We understand each other,”
✦✦✦✦✦
“I don’t want to do this,” he mutters as Hermione fusses with his hair.
“It’s just dinner,” she tries to assure him. “Just Kingsley,”
“Hermione, you know it’s not just Kingsley. He’s going to want something. They want me to appear,”
“And we’ll be with you every step of the way,” Ron says, wrapping his arms around him from behind.
“I know but- oh stop Hermione, it’s pointless,” he huffs, shoving off her hand. He squirms in Ron’s hold, feeling nervous. He’s put on a pair of jeans, though he still wears one of Ron’s jumpers. He knows he has to get this over with, but he just wants to crawl away and hide.
Pop!
“Molly Wheezy says that Mister Kingsley is here, Master Harry,”
“Thanks, Dizzy,” he says with as much of a smile as he can muster. “Remember what we talked about?”
“Dizzy is to stay up here until Mister Kingsley is gone,” she nods solemnly. “Because Master Harry does not want the ministry to know he’s sorting his affairs,”
“Good. Thank you, Dizzy,”
The little elf nods before ushering them out of the room. Harry follows Ron down the stairs, feeling like he’s about to face some great battle.
“Harry!” Kingsley’s booming voice calls when he enters the living room. “It is good to see you,”
“Hello, Kingsley,” he mumbles, letting the man hug him.
“And you two, of course,” he says, hugging Ron and Hermione. “Tell me, how are you? Are you feeling better?”
Harry shrugs. “A bit,”
“Good, good,” he nods.
“Dinner’s ready!” Molly calls. Harry relaxes a little. Surely, whatever Kinglsey wants will wait until after dinner, right?
Wrong.
“So, Kingsley, how are things?” Bill asks casually from down the table. “Been so wrapped up in the Gringotts' recovery, haven’t been keeping up.”
“It’s been going well, mostly. Things were all running smoothly until about two days ago. It’s why I’ve come, actually,” Kingsley explains, eyeing Harry from his seat across from him.
Harry tries not to roll his eyes. “Called it,” he mutters to Hermione. She swats him on the leg.
“Oh?” Molly asks. “What’s gone wrong?”
“People are anxious. No one outside the battle has seen Harry since, for good reason, but now they’re starting to say he… well, it would be good for you to appear,”
“I knew it,” he sighs. He sets his fork down with a little too much force. “Alright, out with it. What do you want?”
“Harry!” Molly chides.
“It’s alright, Molly,” Kingsley chuckles. “I had similar sentiments myself. It’s why I’m here personally,”
“Sure,” Harry snorts. “And not because you know I’d hex any other person who showed up here,”
“I tried to give you time,” Kingsley says insistently. “I got you over two weeks,”
“And we’re very grateful for that,” Molly chimes in.
“We?” Ron laughs, disbelieving. “We- you-”
“Just tell me what you need, Kinglsey,” Harry sighs. “I hate the circles people try to dance around me,”
“I’m giving a speech tomorrow in front of the re-opened Gringotts. I’d like you to say a few words to assure people it’s over, et cetera,”
“Tomorrow?” Hermione asks, surprised.
“Things move fast around here, Miss Granger,”
“I assume what you want me to say is already written?”
“Yes, even though I told them you’d chuck it in the bin,” Kingsley smirks, passing him a piece of parchment.
He takes it and scans it over. He laughs, it’s so ridiculous. “Who wrote this bullshit, Rita Skeeter?”
Silence.
“Oh, come on, Kingsley, you can’t be serious,” Harry groans.
“Let me see it,” Hermione mutters, snatching the card from him. “This is just an endorsement of you as Minister of Magic, nothing about what Harry did. You’re as bad as Scringemour was,”
“Who would you suggest then?” Kingsley scoffs. “Someone has to step up, and most people agree it’s to be me,”
“Wait, is that why you want me to take my Wizgemont seat?” Harry scoffs. “To skew the vote in your favor?”
“Who else would you have, Harry? I’m all ears,”
“The Kingsley that doesn’t try to manipulate me for his own gain,”
“Harry!”
“It’s alright, Molly,” Kingsley sighs. “I’m sorry, Harry, I didn’t mean to come across that way,”
“Then be honest,” he retorts. “Tell me the truth. How bad is it?”
Kingsley stares at him for a moment and then wilts. “It’s bad. There’s chaos. I’m doing my best, but I fear we will never recover if we don’t get some structure back. As a wizarding society in England, I mean, not the ministry as an entity,”
“And you really think this will do it?” he gestures to the card. “Me standing there, endorsing you,”
“I do,”
“And you’re sure you’re the best one for the job. Do you think someone else could do it better?”
Kingsley stares at Hermione.
“Me?” she gasps.
“Indeed,” he sighs. “You’ve always been bright, Miss Granger, passionate about how our world works. But you’re also very young, and I would never dream of resting that weight on your shoulders. Not until you’re able and willing,”
He studies Kingsley for a moment, thinking. “I’ll do it,”
“Really?”
“You’re humble enough to admit an 18-year-old could probably do a better job, one I know could,” Harry shrugs. “But I want a favor,”
“Name it,”
“Hermione gets whatever she wants. A ministry job or a spot in a training program. Whatever it is, whenever she’s ready,”
“Harry!”
“I already planned on it. There’s several things I thought-”
“No. Not a job you think she will be good at. Whatever she wants, whenever that may be,”
“You’ll take the Wizgemont seat?”
“Now that’s two favors you’re asking,”
“And there are two friends,”
“Good,”
“Harry!”
“You’ll read the card?”
“Of course not,” he scoffs. “Percy?”
“Secretary on the job, Harry!”
Kingsley sighs in defeat. “And what about after Harry? We will need more from you,”
“Well then,” he grins in triumph. “You’ll just owe me,”