The Second War Begins
The following morning dawned bright and peaceful, exactly the day Albus Dumbledore would have wished for his funeral.
For a majority of the morning following Harry gazing out at the window high up in the Gryffindor Tower, refusing to go down to breakfast and instead requesting his roomates to just let him be, he watched as various people came walking down the bridge to Hogwarts castle, some he recognized, some he didn’t, all here to mourn a great loss.
Prongs whimpered occasionally as Harry sat on that windowsill and pet him, and he knew his smart crup must sense his grief, but he wouldn’t let himself show it in front of the young puppy. It was bad enough that the younger students had to experience all of the darkness of the world in the loss of a Headmaster they’d known for a devastatingly short amount of time so he wasn’t going to allow it to spread to the poor animals.
Thankfully, he could see down below some first years pointing at the sky and sea with wonder as a brilliant blue carriage the size of a large house came swooping out of the clouds, pulled by massive winged horses, as the same time a massive ship rose out of the sea and began to make its way towards the school.
As soon as the Beauxbatons carriage had landed on the ground, Harry could make out the figure of an olive-skinned woman even taller than Hagrid step out of the carriage and throw herself into said Half-Giant’s arms, while her students piled out of the carriage in familiar uniforms of pale blue. Among the crowd, Harry swore he spotted the familiar head of blonde hair of Fernando Escarra but was distracted by a Ministry delegation making their way across the bridge, causing the first-years, still gawking at the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students, to disperse quickly when the group of officials swept through the gates.
Fudge and Percy were already in the school, so this was no doubt their entourage of Auror’s and Heads of Office who thought themselves important enough to be present at Albus Dumbledore’s funeral. Harry was too exhausted to have that much disgust for their presence, but with a glance down at the thin words forever scarred onto the back of his hand… It wasn’t hard to feel the sour taste of bile on his tongue.
They still had until midday for the funeral to begin, so, before his friends could return from breakfast to get changed into black robes and admonish Harry for his distance from them, he dug through his bag for the dog leash Hermione had bought from Hogsmeade for him (he’s paid her back, of course) and decided his best plan of escape would be to take Prongs for a walk. Besides, the fresh air might clear his head a bit.
Harry, despite losing his parents so young and Viktor last year, had never been to a funeral. He wasn’t close enough with the Quidditch star to travel to Bulgaria - though he knew Anya, Hugo and even Hermione all were there - and of course, he had been just a baby trapped with the walls of Privet Drive during the funeral of James and Lily, not that he’d remember that if he had been present.
Naturally, Harry hadn’t a clue what to expect from the funeral, which might have been why he avoided being around people this morning, weaving actively out of the way of the reunited and rapidly chatting Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students, heading for Hagrid’s hut but at the sight of a abnormally tall couple already walking towards it detouring instead for the hills beyond the castle. Hills he’s never explored before. Never thought of any need to, being so empty and devoid of life.
But someplace devoid of life may just be what he needs.
He walks and walks up a path he’s never walked before, through rocks and honking yellow flowers and patches of brush he swear sparkles with something magical, stopping only when Prongs begins to sniff around, clearly looking for a place to relieve himself. Giving him his privacy, Harry turned to look out at the school and see how far he’d traveled.
The students below are specks, the castle still massive but now he’s looking at it from a different angle, and he’s never noticed how gorgeous those stained glass windows are. He can hardly see the lake, however, hidden behind its towers, which is probably a good thing; that’ll be the first place his friends would look for him, so the chances of them ever finding him up here are slim.
Prongs trots back over to his owner but Harry sits down in the grass, petting his crup contently. This is a very peaceful spot, and he'd be happy to stay up here to watch the funeral from a distance.
He knew he had to go down, though. Knew that he couldn't, for however much he may wish to, ignore the inevitable truth of just how dead Dumbledore really is. He may have had the luxury, for the first time in his life, of not being there when all the bad things happened, but they still happened, and he still had to go and see his mentor's body, confirming, rather symbolically, that he was really gone. How would he feel? He hadn’t, upon reflection, even allowed the true fact of his mentor’s death to sink into him yet, but now, gazing out across the grounds…
He thought of those memories which had first rushed at him within the Manor, really, truly, and thoroughly breaking them apart. From Dumbledore’s soft smile as he exclaimed, “Alas, earwax.” to the way he had called him the bravest boy he knew with twinkling eyes at the end of Fourth Year. It made any animosity that he had created within his own mind vanish within a second from the man’s distance throughout the year, as he thought of how close he’d been before. The comfort he’d brought. The way his eyes always twinkled like stars over a pair of crescent moons for glasses.
What had Draco said?
“He cared for you very, very much.”
And, entirely unprompted, Harry felt hot tears run down his cheeks once again. He felt for a moment, a hand gripping his heart, squeezing the grief wrapped up in those tears before finally releasing, and Harry breathed out in time with it. He gasped, raising his sleeve to wipe the salty water from his eyes, and when he lowered his hand, he found it was soon met with Prongs’s head, snuggling up to him for pets and comfort. He smiled down at his dog, and gladly gave him pets and permission to curl up on his lap, and comfort him.
Up, far up and above his head, Harry heard a familiar phoenix song. Raising his eyes, they landed on Fawkes circling above him, and realized why he’d so often heard that song wafting through the halls of the school and calling to students as they ate the past week; it was Fawkes’s last song and last flight, before departing to whatever place Dumbledore had gone too.
Harry smiled up at the bird warmly, accepting of his fate as well. Everything had an end, it seemed, even a seemingly immortal phoenix.
“Goodbye, old friend,” Harry whispered. It can’t be made clear if he was speaking to Dumbledore, to Fawkes, or maybe the innocent, boyish part of him he’d seemed to lose in Malfoy Manor while viewing the prophecy, but nevertheless, he whispered those three simple words, Fawkes flapped his wings a final time, and dived off into a great flight off into the horizon, his song growing fainter as his small bird form did as well against the blue sky.
With that Harry rose to his feet, sniffed and wiped his face a final time, then began to walk back down the mountainside to the castle, whistling to Prongs to follow.
-*-*-*-
Fitting for a man loved by all of Wizarding Britain and beyond, it seemed, Albus Dumbledore’s funeral was packed with people dressed in black, all here to mourn the loss of a hero, friend, or mentor.
Rows and rows of chairs were set up beside the lake and before a marble table at the end of a long aisle. One might easily mistake this for the setting of a wedding, before the chairs were filled with grief stricken faces. The Weasley’s all sat down one row, Arthur and Molly at the edge, followed by Bill and - to Harry’s great surprise - Fleur Delacour, Charlie, and Tess at Percy’s side with the triplets nowhere in sight (afraid they might cry and ruin the mourning, they were currently being baby-sat by Tess’s parents in the Netherlands). Each row fit seven, so following them were the twins in fine dragon-hide jackets (Weasley Wizard Wheezes must’ve already been a success), Ron with Hermione at his side and Ginny and Draco at the end.
Harry felt very awkward being far from them, as he was seated in the front row at the farthest edge, right beside a line-up of the Order of the Phoenix. Sirius was right next to him (disguised with polyjuice potions as Mundungus Fletcher), followed by Remus, Tonks, Mad-Eye, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Professor Snape. It almost felt like being a part of the Order.
In the second front row were multiple elderly people Harry did not recognize at all, including a tufty-haired man, two ancient looking women, an elderly man he vaguely recognized from his portrait at the back of a book, though he couldn’t name what, and three people he did know: the barman at the Hog’s Head, Cornelius Fudge, and Professor McGonagall.
Right behind Harry, were all of the Ministry that had come, including Dolores Umbridge, which none of the students seated at the back had been any too pleased about when they’d seen her, but what was anyone to do? The last thing Dumbledore would have ever wanted at his funeral, surely, would be any sort of fighting. So instead the students filed in in silence, and Harry, craning his neck around to get a good look at the attendees, chose to ignore the Ministry’s presence entirely. So far, Fudge was the only member he liked even faintly, but that had taken a lot of work in itself.
Among the crowd, Harry recognized different faces from different very specific places, such as Madam Malkin or Mr. Ollivander. Faces he’d seen a lot of around the Leaky Cauldron during his stay there before Third Year, and even the barman, Tom, himself. Madame Maxime of course was seated with the Beauxbatons kids as well, and the Durmstrang students accompanied by a severe looking man Harry did not know, but assumed to be Karkaroff’s successor. One face stood out to him as quite odd, however; the cat-loving neighbor to the Dursleys, Arabella Figg. He had know clue why a Muggle would be at the funeral, but upon remembering Hermione telling him there were spies on Privet Drive, the pieces began to fall into place, and his gut began to churn.
All those days sipping tea with her after running to her safety when Uncle Vernon got a little too angry, and she was just another pair of eyes on the Boy Who Lived the whole time?
Suddenly, a light song began to fill the air, and for a moment, Harry thought as if Fawkes had returned, but this was no bird song. More of an ethereal chanting, bringing him back, with a rush of deja vu, to the dark depths of the Black Lake, scared of what monsters lurked within every patch of seaweed. He didn’t need to turn his head and find the blurry figures of over a dozen merfolk swimming just below the surface of the water to know they had been the ones singing, nor was he surprised. As they rose up, and he got a good look at the familiar merchieftan, he recalled the way Dumbledore had knelt before him last year and spoke perfect mermish.
Where had Dumbledore learned such a language? Had he truly cared that much for the lives of races other than himself? Truly wanted to see a world where they would no longer discriminate against each other. Wizards, Centaurs, House-Elves, Giants, Merfolk… It was like the statue in the Ministry. That was the society Dumbledore would have dreamed of, and one Harry knew he and his friends had to build towards in his name.
People were turning in their seats again, and Harry followed their gazes to see the large, Half-Giant form of Hagrid moving up along the center aisle, carrying in his arms, wrapped in purple velvet dotted with golden stars, the body of Albus Dumbledore.
Harry felt a pain reach his heart, but had to thank Merlin the body was wrapped - he could only imagine the pain it would be to see Dumbledore’s still and unmoving face, as too many students already had, if the stories of the attack on Hogwarts were to be believed. But there was also the sudden, painful realization that Dumbledore looked so small in Hagrid’s arms. He had always, in Harry’s mind, been a larger-than-life, unstoppable force. Yet here he was, being cradled to his coffin in a Half-Giant’s arms.
It was one thing to come to terms with the loss of a mentor and a friend but to realize where that left the rest of the Wizarding World, without their strong force of light to lead them into this upcoming war…
Slowly, with trembling dust-bin sized hands and tears falling down his cheeks like a waterfall of grief, Hagrid placed Dumbledore down on the white tomb, stepping back and blowing his nose hard to make room for the short, tufty-haired man seated in the row beside the Order to rise and stand before them all, hands folded neatly behind him. Clearly, he was about to give an obituary, something Harry had only heard of happen at funerals, but never seen, of course.
The merpeople stopped the singing, and the occasional sniff or sob was silenced as well as the crowd turned their full attention to the man at the front.
But quickly Harry realized he didn’t care much for what this man had to say. This wasn't a tribute to a man he had known dearly, not with words like, ‘nobility of spirit’ or ‘pureness of heart’, this was just how the whole world saw Dumbledore. He didn’t mention his love for Muggle candy, or the time he’d eaten Harry’s box of Bertie Botts and gotten earwax, or the twinkle in his eyes he always had when looking upon his students, or how he always remembered, without fail, to forget making a speech before the hungry students could eat and instead frankly telling them to, “Tuck in!” Or even his belief in every living being’s right for redemption and fair rights from a wronged Half-Giant like Hagrid to a greasy former Death Eater like Snape. But, more importantly, a boy who had no choice until Dumbledore gave him one, which led to him opening Harry’s heart and mind to the ambiguity of Slytherins, Death Eater’s, and evil itself. He didn’t say a word of Dumbledore’s dedication to making sure Draco Malfoy didn’t get forced down a dark path, in the middle of chaos and impending war when he no doubt had bigger things on his mind.
He may have been a great wizard to the world, but to Hogwarts school, he was their Headmaster, and that meant more than anything.
Sirius stiffened beside Harry, snapping him out of his daze, and Harry looked over towards the woods his godfather was staring at to sea what was the problem, stiffening as well at the sight of a line of Centaur’s slowly trotting out of the woods.
They were armed, so maybe that was the reason why Harry’s hands crept to his pocket where his wand was safely kept, or at least that would be a good defense if Rita Skeeter - who was present, of course, because nothing could be perfect, not even a funeral - ever chose to make an article accounting the events of this afternoon, but he realized, suddenly, they were not here to fight.
There was nothing in their faces calling back to the animosity they’d shown when pointed arrows down at he, Hermione, and Umbridge. No disgust or anger, but peaceful solace. They had come to pay their respects, and while, maybe later, Harry might see this as hypocritical and quite a mockery of all they’d done this year (he had an assumption some of the finer, neater cuts along Hagrid’s skin were from their handiwork), for now he felt the same way he had about seeing the merfolk. They had come because Dumbledore would have wanted them to be here, as when had he of all people ever shown them anything less than polite fair treatment?
The tufty-haired man sat down, and nobody rose up for another speech. People waited in silence, anticipating someone to stand, and maybe Harry was too. Surely it was customary for families to speak at funerals, but Dumbledore had been so old… Did he even have any family left?
After a long minute of no one rising, and instead staring at the coffin in silence, something did happen, though, and gasps spread across the chairs as the white table erupted in bright white flames. Immediately, Harry felt every hair on the back of his neck stand up straight. He clenched his fists at his sides, but refused to turn away from looking at the flames. This was clearly just a part of the ritual - there was no way that fire was going to get to him and burn him. It wasn’t the golden flames from his wand (his wand was safe in his pocket, he could feel it, plain wood and not burning with heat at all) and he wasn’t still in the Manor. He was safe, at Dumbledore’s funeral, and the table was just -
Encasing Dumbledore’s body in a clean white tomb, the flames and smoke dissipating into the air, taking the strange shapes they had begun to form with them.
Harry looked back over at the Centaurs as Sirius bumped his shoulder, and saw that they were beginning to raise their bows. He felt no apprehension, nor fear, however. He knew they weren’t going to hurt anyone, so wasn’t surprised, as the crowd was, when a shower of arrows suddenly soared towards them, but fell short, disappearing into thin air as if by some peaceful magic. He knew that this was their tribute to Dumbledore.
The merpeople sank back into the lake’s dark depths, and Harry thought, maybe this meant the funeral was over. That the crowd was going to start to leave. But instead, Professor McGonagall slowly rose from her seat, and stepped forwards, still leaning heavily on her cane. Raising her wand, she tapped on the top of the white stone slab encasing Dumbledore, bowed her head, and muttered a few words, then stepped back. Then, the old man that had been the barman at the Hog’s Head stood. He kept his head bowed, moving slowly, like an injured veteran, as if each step caused him physical and emotional pain, before tapping his wand on the stone as well.
After him Harry heard a creak behind him, and turned to see, feeling his jaw drop slightly, that Fudge had risen as well, and was slowly walking towards the tomb, doing just the same as McGonagall and the bartender had. When he’d sat, the lakebed was left in silence, and Harry to his thoughts.
Somehow, and without really meaning to, he rose up from his chair, and let his legs guide him towards the tomb. His jaw dropped again at the sight of the words written on it now, but didn’t hesitate even a moment to place his wand upon the stone and write his own. He didn’t flinch when he felt a hand on his shoulder, either, instead smiling slightly, and leaning his head against Draco’s as he too pressed his wand to the white slab of stone.
The pair of boys turned away, hand in hand, and stepped off the dais the tomb sat on, down the aisle between the chairs, and away from the funeral, far, far away, their peace made.
Here lies Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
1881 - 1996
~
Beloved Friend,
Devoted Brother,
Righteous Mentor,
Brilliant wizard to the very end,
And Light in a world full of darkness.
~
“Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.”
-*-*-*-
“Well, I guess this is it.” Everyone turned to look towards Hermione, still crouched at the entrance of the Thestral-drawn carriage with her luggage in one hand, Crookshanks in the other, but only one foot on the steps, frowning at the train before them. “The end of another year.”
Harry forced a smile, stepping towards her and placing down Hedwig’s cage so he could lay a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. “Yeah,” He said, nodding and lowering his hand to scratch Crookshanks behind the ear, but quickly returning to eye contact with eyes just as pained as his own, and exhausted - so exhausted. “I guess it is.”
Following a deep inhale through her nose, Hermione sighed, and gave Harry a smile and nod back, stepping down and out of the carriage with Crookshanks safely tucked under her arm, and stepping up to Ron to kiss him on the cheek before continuing towards the train, now leading the group on the walk towards it.
That group being, of course, everyone who went to the Department of Mysteries plus Draco, each now carrying small bags of coins. Seven hundred doesn’t divide evenly among eight people, but give seven people eight-seven galleons and the eighth nighty-one and everyone’s happy - especially if the eighth is Ron Weasley. In another life he might have denied the charity, but these people were his closest friends - even Pansy, who had took the time to make a splint for his sister and help Neville with his girlfriend’s body when she was knocked out - so he knew they were doing it only out of the pureness of their hearts.
Hermione stepped into the train first, giving Hogwarts one last look and a small smile before disappearing from its sights, into a cloud of white smoke. Harry steps up after her, twisting his nose up at the smell of the substance at his nose which he knows has its source at burning hot coals somewhere deep within this train. It takes him a moment to ground his feet to reality again and realize those coals are far from him before he turns to the castle as well. His eyes find the tiny speck that is Dumbledore’s grave, and he gives it a final nod, stepping straight through the smoke and keeping his eyes open as he does it, facing the world and that pesky fear of fire he had begun to grow instead of hiding from it.
What good had hiding ever done anybody, especially with a war on the horizon?
The group continued down the already crowded aisle of the train in silence, arriving at two empty compartments and for a moment, Harry looked back, and thought over how they might split between the two, then almost laughed aloud at the idea, as he remembered he was, in fact, a wizard, and set down Hedwig’s cage once more to retrieve his wand, tapping the door to the compartment and muttering a quick enlargement spell, so that when he pulled the door open, it revealed a much bigger compartment than what it appeared on the outside, much like Mr. Weasley’s tent at the Quidditch World Cup.
Hermione gawked at his clever wand work while Ron stepped in after her and gave a whoop of delight, jumping onto the bottom bunk of the beds he’d made out of cushioned seats. Luna ducking in after him and smiling faintly at the room. “It’s marvelous,” She said, as dazed as always, sitting down on a round plush at the foot of the second bunk. Pansy strode across the space to the baywindow Harry had constructed, relaxing across it and nodding approvingly. “I must say Potter this is quite nice,” She adjusted herself against the cushions beneath her, raising a neatly penciled brow. “But then again you always were an overachiever, right?”
They all settled themselves down, and Harry found himself sitting beside Draco, on a cushioned bench that still remained, nailed to the wall. The two looked at each other awkwardly, forcing a smile, then both spinning around in surprise when someone in front of them suddenly cleared her throat. It was Luna, holding out a copy of The Quibbler with a wide lipped smile on her face.
“I was very impressed with your newspaper, Draco, and sent it to my father who loved it as well. I think you’d enjoy his paper, and if you like it, he’d love to have you as a Junior Editor.” Harry raised an eyebrow to Draco, pressing him to say something in response, ever the boy's guide to polite social cues, and Draco nodded, slowly mumbling out, “Thank you” and taking the magazine from Luna’s hand. She beamed, and skipped off to climb to the top bunk over Hermione where GInny was already waiting, pulling out a third magazine (Ginny held a second, filling out a quiz) and hanging upside down off the end of the bed to read it.
Draco shook his head in wonder at the girl, then opened up the magazine, smirking to Harry. “Well, you wanna try this?” He asked but Harry had already stood and was heading for the wizard’s chess game Ron was setting up. “No, I think you have it covered.” He said with a wink and Draco rolled his eyes, muttering, “Prat.” but blushing slightly just the same.
In a moment all too similar to one from months prior, the door to the compartment slid open after about ten minutes to reveal Hogwarts’s (still) most handsome couple in its wake; Cedric standing slightly hunched over on a pair of shiny new crutches with Cho gripping his arm and semi-supporting him. Besides that glaring change from the beginning of the year, when they had presented themselves beaming and glowing with love for each other, there was also the fact that there were no smiles or blushes to be found. It was just… awkward.
“Hey, Ced, hey Cho,” Harry said, looking up from his game to smile at them, and Cedric tipped his chin with a wink while Cho detached herself from him, forcing a tight lipped smile in his direction before going serious again when looking at Harry. “Can we talk?” She said, but it wasn’t needed, as the eyes and posture said it all. Maybe that’s what dating and kissing someone did to you, even when it was all over; you recognized every movement and motion they made to mean a million words. If only he’d been that good at reading her when they actually were dating.
“Yeah, sure,” He hopped off the bed, tapping Neville’s leg dangling above him from the top bunk as a means of telling him he could play for him while he was gone, and jogged out to meet Cho. Cedric was already limping off down to his compartment, so it was just them in the now mostly vacant train aisle - everyone was seated, and the Trolley Witch hadn’t begun to make her rounds yet.
“What’s up?” Harry began and Cho sighed, pushing her hair back behind her ears awkwardly, clearly flustered. “I… I just wanted to say sorry, first. The way we broke up… I was out of line.”
“No,” Harry immediately grabbed her shoulder, shaking his head and pressing a hand to his chest, “No I was out of line. You’re right, really. I was so jealous over Draco and Anthony… Something happened along the way and this,” He gestured between the two of them before dropping his hand to his side sadly. She frowned, seemingly feeling the same. “Just vanished.” She finished for him, rubbing her arms as if suddenly rushed with a cold.
“But,” He pointed back where Cedric had vanished into his compartment. “You got Cedric back! That’s gotta be nice, right? You always were a lot more meant for each other than you and I.” Cho nodded, shrugging her shoulders. “I suppose, but it’s strange, still. Knowing it wasn’t him months ago? Knowing I tried to kiss a Death Eater? Merlin, was I writing to a Death Eater?” She pinched her temples, rubbing them as if a headache had suddenly overtaken her mind, then jerking her eyes back up to Harry’s to say, “Sorry, I’m venting, aren’t I?”
It took Harry a moment to understand why that would be a bad thing, but then memories of coffee shops and cherubs and yelling about her ‘girl drama’ flooded back and he instantly understood how she must think he hates any shows of emotion in people. “No, no, no, you’re fine! I really was a jerk, then, wasn’t I?” He asked and, thankfully, got her to laugh.
“Yeah, you were!” She exclaimed, slapping his arm. “A real jerk. On our first date! In front of Roger Davies!” Harry rolled his eyes, muttering, “I still don’t get what the big deal is with that guy…” She giggled.
“So,” She bumped her shoulder against his. “Friends?” Harry nodded, smiling, and punched her lightly back. “Friends.” He said, then waved a hand down the aisle, “Now go back to Cedric McHotty. And make sure he doesn’t get kidnapped by Death Eater’s again! I’m not burning Draco’s house down a second time just to save him.” He waved and she waved back as she laughed and laughed all the way down to her compartment, where Marietta was already peeking her head around.
Harry waited until she stepped out of sight to open his door, but caught Marietta still staring and gave a small wave. Her frown faded, she hesitated, then waved back and vanished. See? Inter-House Unity was really something magical.
He stepped inside and was immediately tackled by Prongs, and gladly picked the puppy up for pets and sat down with Draco, helping him along with the quiz he had just reached in The Quibbler. The rest of the train ride was mostly just as mundane and boring as that, but once in a while Harry glanced around at his friends to smile at how far they had come.
Pansy, once a jerk to all of them, now poking at Neville’s Mimbulus mimbletonia and listening intently as he explained the details of his fine plant, and Neville, once cowering at just the sight of a Slytherin such as her, beaming as he did it, proud of his love of plants even in the face of a bully - though she wasn’t at all a bully anymore. Then there was Ginny, once so shy she ran at the sight of Harry, red in the face, now brought out of her shell by the confident girl beside her. Luna didn’t care what anyone had to say, which was probably why Harry was so taken aback by her. Luna was happy doing what made her happy, no matter what anyone else thought, and it was clear to anyone with eyes Ginny had used that to inspire her.
And beside him, Ron Weasley, his first friend which he made on this very train so many years ago, no longer the only one in a compartment, but now surrounded by people who cared about him just as Harry did, and recognized him as independent from his family of redheads. As just Ron. And now he was dating Hermione, their second friend who used to not be able to stand him. Or maybe she always liked him? It was hard to tell, but he did no back in first year, when the three had first met, there was no way Hermione would be playing wizard’s chess with Ron as she was now, especially with Crookshanks curled up in her lap, Altais perched upright and regally as close as she could get.
Altais… Which brought Harry to the blonde beside him, casually shifting on the cushions to lay his platinum head against Harry’s lap, still holding up the magazine and reading it intently. Harry smiled naturally, unconsciously touching the locks in his lap lightly.
He still didn’t quite understand how any of this had happened. Had it all begun with a handshake Fourth Year? Earlier than that? Did they really have Barty Crouch Jr to thank for bringing them all together? For adding the name, “Draco Malfoy” to the Goblet of Fire? He didn’t know, but he did know that he didn’t care what other realities lay out in the universe. If he had Draco here, beside him, in this universe, then he had all he needed.
So when the train began to slow in its approach to King’s Cross, Harry felt his heart shatter and attempt to rebuild itself again at the sight of matching regret written on Draco’s face. Couldn’t he stay here? Couldn’t they all stay here, for that matter, in this comfy enlarged compartment instead of separating to their families and pretending this year had never happened. That they hadn’t experienced extensive trauma and pain alongside each other?
The train stopped, and everyone jumped to the feet, Harry finding himself do the same reluctantly, digging around for Prongs’s leed. Guess not.
The seven kids (Pansy said her parents would ground her if they knew of her friendship with this mismatched group) made their way towards the barrier as a group and went through it by twos, Harry and Draco the last out, and finding, to their great surprise, a large mass of people waiting for them.
There was the usual - Mr and Mrs. Weasley, Mr and Mrs. Granger, and, of course, the Dursley’s - but also an old woman with terrible fashion taste Harry recognized as Neville’s grandmother from St. Mungo’s, a tall man with hair the color of straw Harry immediately knew to be Luna’s dad, Mad-Eye Moody, Tonks, Lupin, Sirius, Fred and George (dressed in dragon skin jackets very similar to what they’d worn at the funeral, but green), and - to Harry’s surprise but also indifference as they all had gotten quite used to him popping up everywhere - the Minister. No Malfoy’s in sight.
“Ron, Ginny!” Mrs. Weasley hurried forwards to hug her kids tightly and kiss their cheeks and foreheads while Ron grumbled, “Mom you saw us this morning…” She ignored him, instead moving on to hug Harry who watched the rest of the group curiously as Sirius nodded his head in greeting, Tonks exclaiming, “Wotcher Harry!” Beside him.
“What are they supposed to be?” Ron pointed a disgusted finger between Fred and George’s jackets, which they proudly straightened, grinning. “Finest dragonskin, little bro,” Fred proclaimed. “Business is booming and we thought we’d treat ourselves.” Harry, finally let go by Mrs. Weasley, decided to step away from this family business and towards the Order and the Minister.
“Hello, Harry,” said Lupin with a smile and Harry nodded in his direction but focused upon Fudge. “Hi… What exactly are you doing here?”
“I’m here to pick you kids up and take you to the Ministry. Unfortunately I couldn’t have my announcement scheduled for any other day so now it’s tonight. The rest of the Hogwarts Order of Defense is already waiting in the Knight Bus. I bought out seats just for this occasion.” Harry nodded his understanding while Hermione practically skipped over with glee, her parents trailing behind, “So we’re doing it then? Telling the world about V-Voldemort?” Half the group flinched at the name, but only half. A good improvement in Harry’s opinion.
“Yes…” Fudge said, shaking his head and Harry could tell, buried into the many wrinkles creasing his eyes was bewilderment at how he could have possibly gotten himself in this situation. It was gone in seconds however, replaced with a kind smile when he turned to face Hermione’s parents, holding out his hand to shake.
“And you must be Mr. and Mrs. Granger! I’ll tell you a Miss Granger here is probably the brightest teenage witch I’ve ever met. You must be very proud.”
“Of course,” Mr. Granger said, shaking his hand and Hermione’s mother wrapped an arm around her daughter’s shoulders, pulling her close. “It can get a bit much at times - we know not to go anywhere near her room when she’s doing ‘Potions’ homework, but we love our little girl.”
“It’s really encouraging to see how many friends she’s been able to make,” Mrs. Granger said, gazing around at them all. “Even a boyfriend, I hear,” Hermione went red in the face and turned away, mumbling, “Mom,” while Ron did his best to avoid eye contact with the Muggle pair. They merely laughed. “Whoever it is, we don't mind, as long as our girl is happy,” Mr. Granger said. “She spent so long alone… I can't tell you how good it feels to see her happy.”
“Even if one of your friends happens to be the ruler of a country…” Mrs. Granger muttered under her breath and Harry couldn’t help but grin as Fudge raised his hands, shaking his head quickly. “Oh I’m no ruler. That’s quite an archaic term, don’t you think?”
Harry turned back towards his Godfather, nodding towards the Dursley’s, standing off to the side a good six feet away, curiously quiet. “So, I assume you weren’t just here to say ‘hi?’” Sirius grinned. “You know me too well. No, we weren’t, but it may surprise you that Moody was the one who finally got Mustache over there to shut up.” He nodded to Uncle Vernon, who had always resembled an angry walrus a bit too much, and Harry laughed.
It died in his throat fast when he caught sight of Draco also standing off to the side, however, and stepped closer to him, opening his mouth to ask why he looked so upset, but stopping when Fudge suddenly clapped his hands together and announced, “Well, let’s get going then! Before the ol’ Ern decides I’m not paying him enough for this ride.”
The group then began to follow Fudge out the station, but instead of walking towards the nice looking limousine that must have dropped him off, they instead turned a corner into a dark alleyway where the purple triple-decker bus was waiting, and Harry could see, for the first time since he’d seen the bus in Third Year, that it was almost completely full, a group of kids standing at the top level and waving down at them.
They boarded as quickly as they could, hugging their parents or guardians goodbye - they’d be traveling in the limo - before all packing away their luggage and taking their seats on the bottom level. The beds had even been pushed up to make more room for the forty-three kids that had boarded.
“Are we all ready?” Fudge turned and asked when Draco had at last sat down beside Harry on a bench. He winced a little at the chaos he was observing, overage sixth years or seventh years who had just graduated whipping out their wands already to relish in their newly acquired ability to practice magic outside of school, kids pushing and shoving over who got to use the armrest, and pets skittering around the floor, free of their cages. Right before him, Harry gave a small thumbs up and a grin through gritted teeth, and he wiped a line of sweat from his brow, placing his bowler hat primly on top of his head then pointing out the windshield at the bustling London streets beyond. “Then we’re off!”
And with a BANG the bus was going, and well predicted chaos ensued.
-*-*-*-
"Don't you think the robes are a little… much?" Ron asked, eyeing himself in the mirror before him as he poked at the cloth of the sleeves he wore which were probably worth more than his entire wardrobe combined. "I mean, I know this is a big deal and all but, uniforms? Really?"
Everyone turned their heads to Fudge, in turn giving him a full view of the over forty kids dressed in matching black, red, yellow, blue, and green robes, complete with badges on the chest that read 'H.O.O.D' and the words, 'Hogwarts Order of Defense" written on the back. Quite plainly, they looked as ridiculous as the Inquisitorial Squad in their pink capes, but Fudge didn't seem to think so at all, only beaming.
“Trust me, you'll all look marvelous!” He exclaimed, giving a double thumbs up before disappearing through the black curtain behind him.
They were all gathered behind said curtain in something that reminded Harry of a Muggle film studio, some standing in front of mirrors and checking their new outfits while others awkwardly talked, a short witch with a clipboard that reminded them a bit too much of Umbridge pacing before them, listening intently to the speech Fudge had began to give.
The Quartet had gathered in a semi-circle around a mirror, and Harry was currently eyeing his reflection and feeling very out of place.
“When we made the Hogwarts Order of Defense,” He began, gaining his friends' attention from comparing Draco's Slytherin badge to the other Gryffindor ones, arguing over which was cooler. “We did it to teach, rebel, and defend. I don't remember anything about politics.”
They all glanced around at each other in sparkling, clean, and even scented uniforms and awkwardly looked down to their polished shoes. Hermione picked at her cuff sleeve and stepped closer to Harry, still eyeing his reflection. “You have to remember that we got the idea from Fudge's request, Harry. He wanted a way to unite Hogwarts. But that doesn't discredit what we did,” She placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly and smiling. “Think of it as fulfilling a debt. We still united the houses, we still beat Umbridge, we still -”
“Gave Voldemort the prophecy.” Harry sank down to a chair beneath him, lowering his head into his hands with a heavy sigh. “It's all our fault…”
Hermione, Ron, and Draco all glanced around at each other sadly. Slowly, Ron stepped forward to kneel beside his best mate and Draco knelt on his other side to slip his hand in his, giving it the very lightest of squeezes.
“C’mon mate don’t say that,” Ron mumbled but whipped his head up in an accusatory glare at his girlfriend when she asked bluntly, “What did it say?” Harry peered at her between his fingers. “The prophecy, I mean; you never told us.”
“Hermione -” Ron bit out while Draco sent her a glare as well but Harry was already standing, keeping a tight hold of Draco’s hand as he did and meeting Hermione’s eyes, “No, Ron, she’s right, I should have told you guys. See -”
The curtain opened and Percy stepped in. No doubt as a result of such an important and - supposedly - joyous event, his hair was cleanly combed as always and he’d lost a lot of the distant, empty look in his eyes. Some of that came with being a father, but the fatigue that also went hand-in-hand with that had vanished briefly as well. He was left grinning brightly in a way that brought Harry right back to the Yule Ball, and to a man who had just received a very handsome promotion.
“We’re ready,” He told the group and forty-three kids immediately moved forwards towards the curtain, lining up as Fudge had told them to, the short witch weaving in between the lines to make sure everyone was where they were supposed to be.
The Quartet made up their own line as the founders of the group, so it was easy for Harry to whisper to his longest friends, “Later,” then giving Draco a nod of reassurance as the blonde squeezed his hand lightly.
“Ready?” The Quartet exchanged looks between each other, making sure that everyone was indeed ready, before nodding to Percy in unison, who beamed, pulling on the rope beside the curtain and causing the black velvet to part and a crowd of thousands of witches and wizards to be revealed.
Everyone held their breath. The cheers of the crowd were deafening and jarring, and while some students were beaming in response, glowing under the admiration, others went red with embarrassment, overwhelmed by the attention. Harry couldn’t even pinpoint the Order or ginger-headed Weasley’s in the crowd, only seeing a sea of pointed hats and robes, blurred by the flashing lights of magical cameras - the Prophet had been allowed back inside of the Ministry at last, if only for this occasion.
“And here they are!” Fudge was saying, clapping along with the rest of the crowd and beaming, his newly grown mustache gleaming with gel under the bright lights of the stage. “The Hogwarts Order of Defense, founded by Ms. Hermione Granger, co-founded by Mr. Draco Malfoy, with Mr. Ronald Weasley acting as secretary and lead and taught by the Boy Who Lived himself, Mr. Harry Potter!”
Again, the cheering was deafening, and this time Harry was the one to turn red. Did Fudge really have to be that dramatic? He’d certainly have words with him after this, and come to an agreement that although the H.O.O.D. would always be there to help and back him - they’d made that promise from day one, and there was no going back now - he did not in anyway enjoy or agree with being in the spotlight, as he literally was right now.
But then Fudge raised his hands to bring the crowd to silence, lowering them to grip his pedestal and continuing with his pre-written speech. Harry immediately focused on him, truly curious what he had to say.
“Made up of students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the H.O.O.D. has promised me they are here to back me with every word, and, in turn, I would hope that their parents support their children. For it is with a heavy heart that I must confirm every rumor, every whisper, every story you have heard in the recent weeks has been, in part, true. The Ministry, the very building you all stand in now, was attacked on June 20th, the same day Albus Dumbledore was murdered, by the same group of Death Eater’s who broke out of Azkaban months prior. This was no random event, or freak incident, it was a staged assault. I apologize for not acknowledging it sooner, but under the advice of Dumbledore himself I was sure if we caught him by surprise we’d gain an upper hand in the upcoming fight. So, with the grief of my whole Wizarding Country on my sleeve I tell you all that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back.”
As expected, uproar began in seconds, as the thousand wizards and witches present immediately screamed and shouted for answers. Their disbelief was saddening - they truly had no idea the damage Voldemort had already caused, and the reality of just how ‘back’ he was.
“It would appear,” Fudge attempted to call out above their shouting. “That it is because of him that Viktor Krum and Albus Dumbledore are dead, but I’m sure many more are to come. But there is still hope. Over the past year I have worked closely with the late Dumbledore to secure us a fighting chance against the ‘Dark Order.’ The Dementor’s have been removed from Azkaban, so that You-Know-Who has no hope of recruiting them. We have the full population of remaining Giants known to wizardkind on our side, and are currently working on healing relations with the Union for the Support and Wellbeing of Werewolves. We do have a chance, and I promise you all, with this Army behind me as a sign of what true unity can accomplish, that we will WIN!”
The shouting turned to cheering in mere seconds as Fudge raised a triumphant fist into the air, and Harry stared in wonder at the screaming faces of admiration and support. People who used to question his power inside the Prophet everyday, turned to his side in mere seconds. He couldn’t help but recall Dumbledore’s words from a year ago, which felt especially relevant today; "I tell you now - take the steps I suggest to you, and you will be remembered, in office or out, as one of the bravest and greatest Ministers of Magic we have ever known." Harry took one look at Fudge’s face of stern, resolute conviction, and thought that even he wouldn’t be able to think otherwise if he was taught about him years later in Binns’s class.
“I sign off now,” He lowered his hand, gripping the pedestal once more and bringing the audience to an immediate silence, showing how captivated they were in all he had to say. “With this, and only this; If you are out there - and I know you are - if you are listening - I’m certain of it - then the Ministry of Magic and I, Minister Cornelius Fudge, have officially declared war on you, Lord Voldemort.”
Harry, along with all of the Quartet alongside him, dropped his jaw to the floor but didn’t hesitate for a moment before clapping along with the others in the audience, if only out of stunned support. He’d done it, he’d really done it. The War had begun, there was no walking away from it now, and Harry had a feeling, after seeing that prophecy, that he already knew how it would have to end.
A hand grabbed his, stopping it from slapping against his palm, and he turned to smile at the boy beside him. Surely, with Draco by his side, it wouldn’t be all that bad, though, would it? No, they’d face this war together, so with the same resolute conviction Fudge had used in raising his own fist, Harry gripped Draco’s hand tight, grabbed Hermione’s beside him, and raised them in the air. In turn, Hermione and Ron linked hands and raised their own, and he could feel the lines of people behind him doing the same. Surely, somewhere out there, Voldemort had to be watching, but that was fine. If anything, Harry wanted him to see.
Maybe then he’d realize he really never had a chance against them, because he didn’t know love, or friendship. He didn’t have what Harry, the Hogwarts Order of Defense, the Order of the Phoenix, the Weasley’s, or any other group in the Wizarding World that truly loved each other did, and he never would.
“For Dumbledore,” Draco whispered into Harry’s ear, and he nodded, beaming with the strength of all of the people he’d ever loved as he repeated, a whisper no one but his closest friends would ever hear, “For Dumbledore.”
The Second War had begun.