The Aftermath
Chapter 1: The Aftermath
Harry tiredly rubbed at his eyes, pushing his dirty hands up under the fractured lenses of his glasses. He felt the warm wetness of a tear start to trickle down, and his finger moved more fervently to keep anyone from seeing. He had already lost so much, and to lose her—his best friend—in the final hour of a war that had lasted so long…too long.
If he had just done it all a little quicker… He hadn’t known one hour would make a difference. Did she? She always knew. She was like Dumbledore in that way, always a step ahead of the rest of them—three steps ahead if he was being honest. And now she was gone.
The Battle of Hogwarts had raged around them, but he hadn’t looked back once. Harry knew she could hold her own, she was the ‘Brightest Witch of Her Age’ or whatever rot The Daily Prophet had printed mere minutes after the war was won. It had only ended a few hours ago…
The adrenaline was still coursing through his veins, pumping his heart up like a balloon, and he knew once it burst, there would be no holding back the storm of anger and sorrow that would crash over him; the devastation.
A gentle hand, just as gritty and grimy as his own rested on his shoulder, the body attached to it dropping onto the step next to his own. There was a shock of red hair, but Harry couldn’t really see the fine distinction in the shade from his view of the cold stone floor below to determine if it was Ron or Ginny. The hand felt heavier than Ginny’s might have and he found he was grateful it was Ron who had joined him in his grief.
He couldn’t find it in himself to rage and avenge her like he had when Sirius died. He would’ve moved the Earth if he thought it would bring her back, but Harry had seen the lifelessness in her eyes for himself. She was gone. So still she could’ve been asleep.
Gone .
The tears flowed freely then, his hands covering his face. While the cleanup had begun around them, he knew his part in the war would forever draw the attention of others. The stares. Their looks of pity. He’d never escape them now, not that he knew how to live a normal, quiet life anyhow.
Normal. That’s what his aunt and uncle had wanted from the start. He hadn’t minded that, except that he hadn’t been able to be a part of that normal. He was a circle being shoved in their perfectly square-shaped hole. He didn’t fit. She had made him feel like he fit.
Hermione Granger. She was the Queen of their little gang of misfits, though she’d have hated that title. She hadn’t wanted to be Queen of anything, she just wanted to be his friend. Not in the way Malfoy had on the train in first year—to increase his reputation and notoriety. Not in the way Ron did to escape his brothers’ shadows and feel like a somebody. She just thought he was nice and wanted to be friends.
He’d treated her like shite back then, they both had. They’d called her a know-it-all, a nightmare—now that was all Ron. He wished he could take it back. He’d never actually apologized for any of it. Not for when he’d called her names. Not after she had his Firebolt examined and he gave her the silent treatment for weeks. He hadn’t even said it once. She had though. Even when she wasn’t in the wrong, she’d apologize just to have him back in her life.
Harry James Potter was a shit friend.
“Harry,” the boy next to him sounded as exhausted as he felt.
Harry James Potter was a shit friend. His other best friend, who was still very much alive, was sitting next to him in just as much anguish. He was probably thinking the same things… He lost a brother and a best friend. Hermione was like his sister, but it didn’t compare to Ron’s collective losses.
They had fought about that…in the tent…that’s why he left wasn’t it? It all seemed so clouded, his thoughts shrouded in a fog that kept leading him back to her. She had always been there—every stupid move he had made, every awful plan he had plotted. By his side, and three steps ahead. How had she not seen it coming?
He hadn’t even seen it happen. There was no jet of green light. He was sure he’d have pushed her out of the way and taken it himself. There were no silver daggers, or hostages taken. She had been there…and then she wasn’t.
“Harry,” Ron said more firmly, pulling him from the depths of his guilt. “We should go back to the Great Hall.”
Harry just nodded. His friend pulled him to his feet. When had they gotten so tall? When they’d first arrived they all barely could see over the railings of the staircases. Now they towered over them, or what was left of them.
There were large chunks of stone missing from the stairs, the walls…doors blown off their hinges, hanging askew in their frames. Portraits were singed, with holes burned into them from wayward spells, their occupants long evacuated from the frames.
Ron led him into the Great Hall.
There were so many white sheets. It had become a makeshift hospital, and a place to line up the dead for identification by friends or family members present. He didn’t want to see their faces. They were already ingrained in his brain—images of the faces he’d seen earlier that night during the cease fire.
Remus. Tonks. Fred. Colin. Lavender. Snape. Even Draco’s face would taunt him—his pallor finally monochromatic as his skin turned as hauntingly pale as his hair. Lucius and Narcissa hovering over their son, not yet arrested, allowed to grieve. Harry felt surprised by his lack of anger over those facts. He would revisit it later.
Hermione.
Hermione Jean Granger.
They had moved her body to lay between Tonks and Fred. She was with family, with friends. It was an odd sense of rightness that the four of them would go into the afterlife together and not alone.
It did not comfort him.
Ron silently rejoined the remaining Weasleys as they wept over their fallen son and brother. Ginny spared him a weepy glance, but Harry turned from her, his eyes roving the Hall full of mourners and injured. He felt so incredibly responsible for all of it in that moment.
From Cedric and Sirius to…to Hermione. It was his doing. His inaction. His time wasted. If he had done it quicker—if Dumbledore had just given him some of the information earlier. He could’ve stopped it. He could’ve prevented all of… this . How long had he sat in the Forest of Dean, doing nothing. She did nothing.
She was supposed to know. She was supposed to figure it all out. She was so brilliant, wasn’t she? Why didn’t she work it all out ages ago? Did she know and she just wasted more time? Let more people die? For what? She brought about her own ending! Couldn’t she have solved it? Found a way?
He was grasping for anything to lighten the load he felt hanging on his shoulders. His yolk, this burden, was too heavy—too much for one person to bear. She wouldn’t mind. She was always doing that…taking things off his hands so he could get even the smallest respite.
Even in death, he couldn’t let her be in peace. He had to pile his grievances on top of her, burying her deeper with his own problems—his pain. She never deserved that. Never.
“Mr. Potter,” a woman’s voice caught his attention, and he turned toward the sound.
“Yes?” He answered before he saw the speaker, but when his once vibrant green eyes met her dull, pale blue, he wished he hadn’t.
“Thank you. For ending this eternal war. I’m sorry for the part I played—my family played. Just know…” Narcissa paused, choosing her words carefully. “Just know that my son—that Draco—would be grateful to you too.” The grieving woman winced at the use of her son’s name, but her prim posture never wavered. She turned to take her leave, but spoke over her shoulder, “She was beautiful, and I’m so sorry for your loss. It is a loss for all of Wizarding kind.”
Before Harry could respond, Narcissa Malfoy had faded into the crowd of moving students, staff, alumni, and Order members. Aurors were arriving, and he was certain she would be detained, if not sent to Azkaban for, as she had said, ‘her part and her family’s part’ in this war.
A deep, booming voice was calling out orders over the loud bustle in the castle. Kingsley Shacklebolt had taken the lead in the roundup of the remaining Death Eaters, assigning Order members and trusted Aurors to chase after the ones that had fled.
Harry spotted two heads of pale, blonde hair being escorted out, both with their heads held high. Despite the side they had fought on, Harry had to admire their willingness to face the consequences of their actions head on while grieving the death of their only son.
Lucius was clearly only following his wife’s lead, but Narcissa…she was different. She had lied to Voldemort to help him. She apologized. That was more than Harry had been able to do for Hermione.
“Harry, a word?” Kingsley had stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the Malfoys as they exited the Hall and were taken into custody.
“Erm, yeah, okay.”
“I’m so sorry about Hermione and Remus. She was brilliant the few times I met her, and I know you and Remus were close.”
Harry bobbed his head up and down, the movement felt foreign and he tasted copper. He must’ve bit his tongue—lip?—at some point.
“I’d like to offer you and Mr. Weasley positions as Aurors for the newly reformed Ministry. I have been appointed temporary acting Minister for Magic, and I’d like to use my powers for good while I still have them.” The large man gestured for Ron to join them as his ears had perked at the use of his surname.
“We haven’t actually taken our N.E.W.T.s,” Harry blurted out, as though Hermione had put the words in his mouth for him. It almost brought a smile to his face. Almost.
Kingsley showed appreciation for his modest answer with an appraising look. “I am aware. The offer will still stand if you choose to return to Hogwarts to complete your education, but I believe the part you played in this war has better prepared you for being out in the field more than any textbook will.”
“Really?” Ron questioned earnestly.
“Definitely. You’ll have to go through the standard Auror training program, but you can let me know what you decide by the end of summer. Training starts in August.” Kingsley was called away by a pair of wizards in scarlet robes dragging an unconscious Death Eater toward the entrance hall.
“So what d’you think?” Ron asked timidly, the tips of his ears turning red.
“I dunno,” Harry shrugged. “It doesn’t seem right to be thinking about any of that now.” He looked back to where Hermione’s body lay beneath a pristine white sheet.
Ron caught his gaze, and his shoulders slumped with the reminder. “I was gonna kiss her, ya know?” He grimaced at the admission. “When this was all over. I had it set in my head. You’d be with Ginny and I’d be with Hermione.”
“She’d have hated that,” Harry said plainly.
Ron’s lips twitched up. “Yeah, I know she would’ve. Can you imagine? Us as a couple? She’d have murdered me before the honeymoon was over.”
Harry smiled at the image that formed in his mind. He could still hear her voice—the one she reserved for their full names when she was really angry.
Ronald Weasley! You selfish, pigheaded, foul git! I can’t believe I trusted you to move all my books, look at them! The spines are all fractured and half of them are upside down! They’re ruined!
Ron must have been picturing something along the same line, as they both chuckled simultaneously before catching themselves.
“I think it’d be okay to be happy about her memories…” Ron whispered. “I think Fred would like it too, and Remus and—“
“Stop it, Ron.” Harry squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t need another reminder of the people he just lost. They were lined up on the floor at his feet for fucks sake. “I need some air.”
Harry marched out of the Great Hall, looking for anywhere to be but there. It was too crowded, too full of death, too full of life. He wasn’t quite sure which one bothered him more. He felt too raw to be with the living, and too pained to be with the dead.
He hadn’t known where his feet were taking him, but he stopped walking when he was about twenty yards from where Hagrid’s hut once stood. The frame was still smoldering. He watched as little plumes of smoke curled against the satin dawning sky. This was exactly what he’d done after Sirius had died.
“Strange isn’t it?” Neville’s voice broke the spell Harry had been temporarily existing under. “Seeing this place—our home—burn and break, but not really feeling the loss?”
Harry finally noticed his childhood friend laying flat on the dewed grass at his feet. He was watching the clouds part on what had the promise of being a beautiful day. “Neville, what are you—?”
Neville rolled his forearm toward Harry without saying a word.
“Are you—? Is that—?” Harry tried to articulate the questions, but the fog in his brain had started to roll back in, compromising his clarity.
“Greyback. Bill found me earlier, says I’ll be fine, but everything’s a bit more uncertain now, isn’t it?” Neville said grimly. “I haven’t told Gran yet. She’ll be devastated. At least I’m alive though…oh, Harry, I’m so sorry!” The once bumbling boy got up off the ground with an agility so unlike him, Harry had to reform the characteristics that made up Neville Longbottom in his head.
A strong, powerful, and brave man stood before him in place of the stuttering, fearful, shy boy he knew so long ago. Pride surged in his chest at his friend’s growth, and Harry only wished he could have an arc like that too. He was still the same scrawny, orphan he’d always been—the archetypal hero with a tragic backstory and no discernible future.
“It’s alright, Nev. I think she’ll be more understanding than you think. She’s proud of you and who you’ve become. Don’t underestimate that.”
“Thanks, Harry.”
Harry walked with Neville back to the castle, where Augusta Longbottom did, indeed, welcome her new werewolf grandson with open arms and a promise to take down the Ministry with her own bare hands if they didn’t repeal every single piece of ridiculous, bigoted legislature Delores Umbridge had placed on werewolves in the last two decades or so help her.
Kingsley took her threat seriously, and made a promise that the first item on the Wizengamot’s docket for their next emergency session would be to repeal and rewrite all werewolf legislation.
Leaving them to their politics, Harry kicked at the rubble around his feet as he took to wandering the halls. Walls and doors were being mended, however, the castle’s once sentient magic was still lacking. He ran his palm along a stone wall of the corridor he happened to be in.
This was where he’d first heard Parseltongue. Blood dripping from the walls to spell out horrific messages. It seemed like another lifetime ago. In some ways, it was.
He continued walking, unphased by the stares of those helping with the repairs—some he recognized as Hogwarts students or teachers, and some he didn’t know at all.
He was following the familiar path to the library. He knew it well—Hermione had made sure of that. She lived in the library. She loved it. He ducked under the broken door frame, not seeing the books scattered across the vast room, their pages ripped and shredded, bindings burned.
Instead, he saw a head of bushy brunette curls leaning over a large book— Hogwarts A History if he had to guess. Her legs were tucked up underneath her, and she had a sugar quill sticking out of her mouth, her favorite. She turned at his intrusion, beaming up at him with excitement that he’d finally willingly decided to join her in their studying.
The delusion was ripped away. A gust of wind blew through the gaping hole in the side of the library, her precious pages and notes tumbling out onto the grounds below, permanently ruined.
His chest fractured.
Those stupid green eyes of his were leaking again. Flooding his vision, blurring everything. At last, the exhaustion he had pushed aside for the last forty-eight hours crept in. He found himself curling up in her favorite corner, which had somehow survived the aftermath. He cried and he slept.
…
And slept
…
And slept
…
And dreamt of her smile. Her laugh. Her annoyance. Her frustrated huffs. Her shrill reprimands. Her academic corrections. Her severe respect for the rules. Her severe lack of following the rules.
Every memory they ever shared over the last seven years played on a cinema screen in his dreams.
…
Then he woke up.
A pair of electric blue eyes were staring at him intently.
“Luna?” He stretched, his bones cracking into place with loud pops and snaps.
Luna’s face pulled away and he got a better look. She was fully intact, only a few cuts and scrapes, a black eye, and busted lip from what he could see.
“Hello, Harry.” She smiled at him so brightly she could’ve been the sun. “We have to go help now.”
“Luna, I’m not in the mood to do anymore helping just now,” he snapped at her a bit more harshly than he intended. “I’ve done plenty today.”
“Oh, that’s nice, but it’s not today anymore, you see it’s tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Harry looked outside to find that it was dark again. How long had he slept?
She tugged on his arm, and he let her in all his confusion at the passage of time.
“They’ve been trapped for much too long,” she dragged him out into the corridor and down the staircase that had been newly repaired.
“Who’s trapped?” Panic set in once he registered what she had actually said to him. “How do you know where they are?”
She was taking him down to the dungeons. Had the Slytherins taken hostages down here? Was someone trapped under the debris?
“Quiet your questions, Harry. I’m sure they’ll be quite angry with us for not getting to them sooner, but it seems everyone else has forgotten about them.”
He was sure he hadn’t asked any of those aloud…but it was Luna Lovegood, who was he to question her?
“Someone’s coming!” A voice cried out from deeper into the darkness ahead.
Harry lit his wand, the lumos shining off the walls and bars of the dungeons. “Who’s there?” He called out.
“Help! It’s filthy in here and I can’t take another second with these awful people!” A male voice echoed in the next cell over.
Harry turned the light of his want toward the sounds, illuminating a familiar, but unexpected face. Theodore Nott.
“Luna? Oh, Luna, my beloved! She’s come to rescue me, the damsel in such distress!” The Slytherin called out to Harry’s rescue partner.
“Luna? What—?” Harry began.
“Theodore Nott, you ridiculous man-child. If you don’t like keeping company with your friends then why are you friends with them at all?” She chided cheerily.
Nott chuckled, “You try spending over twenty-four hours locked in a cage with Pansy and Blaise for company, then!”
Harry’s blood ran cold. Luna wanted to free the Slytherins? Not just any Slytherins, but Pansy Parkinson who wanted to turn him over to Voldemort just yesterday? Those Slytherins?!
“Luna, you don’t need my help for any of this,” Harry stated blankly, turning on his heels and stomping off.
“Potter, wait!” Theo called after him. Harry heard the click of the cell’s lock followed by long-strided footsteps as Nott closed in on him. Winded, he caught up to Harry, “Slow down, Chosen One!”
“Go away, Nott. I will punch you in the face.”
“No, listen…we didn’t have anything to do with it. Any of it!” Theo gasped for air. “I’m so…out of shape…ugh Pansy’s gonna start making me exercise… ” He shuddered at the word. “She didn’t mean it, I swear. She was just scared. We wanted the war over just as much as anyone else—we’re even glad you won, okay?”
Theo held his hands up in a sign of surrender, and Harry felt himself soften just the slightest bit.
“Your parents are all Death Eaters.” Harry wasn’t sure why he felt the need to state that. Everyone present was fully aware of the fact, and it made no effort on his part to clear up any of the strange situation he now found himself in.
“Bravo, Potter,” Pansy clapped sardonically. “Did you need Granger to set you up for that, or were you able to put that together on your own?”
“Keep her name out of your fucking mouth!” Harry shouted, the hidden rage he’d expected earlier had finally appeared, and it seemed it had chosen Pansy Parkinson as its target. Fitting.
“Or what, you’ll have me arrested? Old news, Potter, I fully expect we’ll all be thrown in Azkaban if we even make it to a trial,” she snarled back.
“Or I’ll fucking kill you myself!” His wand was at her throat now, and they all could see the black that had taken over his eyes. He wasn’t Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World. In this moment, he would be the Angel of Death.
“Whoah, Potter, what’s—“ Blaise Zabini stepped in, placing a calm hand on his shoulder, easing him into lower his wand.
“She’s dead.” Harry’s wand clattered to the floor. The green returning to his eyes, he turned abruptly and stalked out of the dungeons.
He made it just past the kitchens before footsteps caught up with him again.
“Luna thought you might want this back,” Nott held the abandoned wand out toward him.
Harry hesitantly accepted the Elder Wand, tucking it back into his pocket. “Thanks.” He turned back toward the stairs.
“I’m sorry about Granger, Hermione. She was a lovely study partner.”
Nott descended back into the darkness of the dungeons, leaving Harry stunned. Hermione studied with a Slytherin? He supposed Nott had always been rather studious, and it would make sense since she spent so much time in the library. He just always assumed she was alone…
When he arrived back in the entrance hall, Kingsley was still going strong with directing the comings and goings of everyone around him.
“Harry!” The interim Minister greeted with renewed vigor at the sight of him. “Any thought about my offer?”
“Er—no, not yet,” Harry answered awkwardly.
“Would you care to help with the last of the rounding up?” Kingsley offered, hopeful.
“Actually,” Harry countered, a strange idea forming in his mind. His mouth spit it out before he could think it through, in typical Potter fashion. “I found some of the Slytherins that had been locked in cells downstairs. They had no part in the fighting and none of them are Marked. I’d like to vouch for them, if I could.”
“If anyone’s word is to be taken seriously, Harry, it’s yours. If you say they weren’t involved, then I believe you,” Kingsley patted his shoulder. “If you could, just escort them back to their homes for now.”
What had he just done. Shit. Fuck. Shit.
“Kings give you some marching orders?” Ron asked, as he sauntered over from one of the other halls.
“Er—yeah, want to help?” Harry asked, unsure how to even explain what had just happened.
“Sure,” Ron gave a lop-sided grin. It felt like old times, long passed. “What’re we doing?”
“I, uh, found the Slytherins still locked in the dungeons so we’re to escort them to their homes.” Harry waited for Ron to explode, but he didn’t.
“Oh, yeah, I bet the little ones are right scared…”
Harry had not expected that response. At. All.
“Well…it’s not the little ones we’ll be escorting, I think.” Harry said cautiously.
“You’re not seriously telling me they’re letting the trolls leave, are you?!” Ron growled.
That was what he expected.
“All I saw still down there was Nott, Zabini, and Parkinson. Luna’s down there with them now.” Harry offered.
Ron’s face turned a shade of scarlet he hadn’t seen in a long time. “PARKINSON?! They’re letting Pansy fucking Parkinson go home?” He roared. Luckily there wasn’t anyone around to hear them now that they were halfway back down to the dungeons.
“Is that the Weasel I hear?” Nott’s sing song voice echoed up the stairs. “Certainly not three war heroes coming to our aid in one single day!”
“Can it, Theo,” Pansy grumbled. “If he’s down here, Potter’s sent him to off us before anyone else can find us.”
“There, there, Pansy, I think you underestimate Harry and Ron. They’re both very wonderful in their own ways,” Luna admonished the other witch in a friendly way.
Ron looked utterly baffled at the scene laid out before him when they hit the bottom step.
The cell door was opened wide, Luna sitting on Blaise Zabini’s lap, his arms were tucked around her waist. The blonde Ravenclaw had her own hands combing through Pansy’s raven locks as she sat next to her, her knees tucked up to her chest, sobbing. Theo was laying in the middle of the floor, flat on his back, hands tucked under his head as a makeshift cushion.
“Ooh! Potter’s back too!” Nott cheered.
Pansy’s head popped up over her knees, eyes filled with both fear and sorrow.
“I’m sorry, really! I didn’t know that she—how could I have known! We’ve been down here the whole time, I swear!” Pansy cried, the tears streaming down her face nearly pulled the ones welling in Harry’s own eyes out from under the lock he’d dammed them up in.
“What—“ Ron was lost.
“It’s fine, Parkinson. I’m aware you couldn’t have known. I just spoke to Kingsley, you’re all cleared to leave. We just have to escort you back to your homes.” Harry rubbed at his forehead, a tension headache starting to throb right above his eyebrows.
“We?” Ron stuttered out. “No, no, no! I agreed to shuttle little kids—innocent kids back to their houses, not—not junior Death Eaters!”
“Um, excuse me, but I’m a little offended!” Theo raised his hand.
Luna ignored him in favor of watching the interaction between the two Gryffindors, while Blaise kicked his shin.
“I'm just saying! If I wanted to be a Death Eater, I could’ve been! There aren’t junior Death Eaters—“ Theo gabbed on.
Pansy kicked him harder. “Shut up!”
“And you—“ Ron turned to Luna, who seemed to have been waiting for him to acknowledge her part in all this, “—you’re friends with them? The snakes?”
“Actually, Blaise and I have been dating for the last year,” she smiled serenely as Blaise pressed a soft kiss to her cheek.
“How—?” Ron’s mouth gaped open like a fish.
Blaise started to rise, but Luna pushed him gently back to his seat. “The four of them have been helping Neville, Ginny, and I protect the younger students from the Carrows this year.”
“Four?” Ron counted over the bodies in the cell with his eyes, repeating the movement three times before feeling certain she miscounted, not him.
Pansy sniffled, “Draco helped too. I assume since we were left down here that he’s been taken to Azkaban.”
Ron looked at Harry uncomprehendingly. “I’m sorry, but—“ Harry corrected, “—Draco was killed in combat.”
Theo visibly crumpled on the floor beneath him, his goofy grin still sitting stupidly on his face as he tried to process the anguish Harry knew he felt. Pansy’s sobs returned with a vengeance, and Blaise pulled Luna back to him as though protecting her from a similar fate.
“Serves the ferret right,” Ron mumbled under his breath.
Five pairs of eyes glared daggers at him.
“What? He was a Death Eater! We know he had a Dark Mark. He watched Hermione get tortured on the floor of his own home!” Ron snarled, betrayal evident on his face.
Harry wasn’t sure why he felt the need to defend Draco Malfoy. Maybe it was Narcissa’s apology. Maybe it was Pansy’s apology. More likely, it was Luna’s willingness to trust them, and her announcement that they were secretly helping all year.
“They are part of Dumbledore’s Army.” Harry’s voice was firm and unwavering.
Ron’s face was nearly a shade of purple. “They’re the reason Fred died—the reason she died!”
Harry’s heart clenched at the words. He knew there was no way to know who’s spell killed Hermione. They could do an autopsy, but what good would it do? They’d never catch the person who did it, and for all they knew, it could’ve been friendly fire that ricocheted off some part of the castle.
“None of them killed her. Or Fred.” He wanted to blame them, he did, but childhood rivalries just couldn’t hold up to the hatred and real evil he’d witnessed over the last year. They were only children. All of them.
“She’s been gone less than a day and you’re already disgracing her memory!” Ron growled back, storming out of the dungeons, leaving Harry to fend for himself in the den of snakes.
“I—er—where can I take you?” Harry stuttered out, unsure of how to handle the Slytherins now that he’d so vehemently defended them while simultaneously wrecking their world.
“I’ll take Blaise home with me,” Luna piped up. “He’s been staying with me and daddy for a while now.”
Blaise clasped her hand in his and they quietly left the castle for a rook-shaped cottage and derigible plums.
“I can escort myself,” Pansy whimpered when Harry moved to offer his hand.
“Nonsense, you’re staying with me, Pans,” Theo tugged her up from her perch. His tone brokered no argument, and Harry followed the pair of them up to the front of the castle.
Not many people were left in the castle, the rebuilding effort as complete as it could be without specialists coming in or replacing the unrepairable pieces of furniture and educational materials. That would all come later, Harry supposed. He knew the Ministry wouldn’t have the funds to repair everything and most of what had already been donated was used up in just one night.
He wasn’t even sure if that problem was in his jurisdiction. He was still just a kid, right? Who could he even ask where he stood?
“Ahem,” Theo cleared his throat. They were at the gates. “You really don’t have to accompany us.”
“Erm—I probably should, just to corroborate your whereabouts in case anyone asks,” Harry said hesitantly. “Not that I think you’re criminals or anything…I’m just not sure how all this is going to go…like the trials or deciding who gets rounded up and who doesn’t…I don’t want you guys to—“
“Potter, you’re rambling,” Pansy sighed, less annoyed than she had ever been regarding him before.
Theo tilted his head to the side with a smirk, “It’s kind of cute…ouch!” He jumped away from Pansy as she pinched his side.
“Are you coming or not, then?” Pansy held her hand out to Harry, using her other to grip Theo’s forearm.
The second his palm made contact with hers, they were twisting and compressing in on themselves, apparating away.