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Chapter Forty-Three—I Have Made My Choices
Harry lays the paper in front of him and considers what he's going to do about it. The table bobs a little as his small house drifts to anchor on the roof of yet another building. It looks like an office building this time.
The Ministry has got a bit smarter, maybe because they had to release the Harry Potter lookalike from custody and following Ron and Hermione around has borne no fruit. Now there's a front-page article in the Prophet announcing that they're going to level the old cottage in Godric's Hollow.
Harry delicately nibbles a bite of fruit. Honestly, he doesn't care that much about the cottage. It's a place where his parents died, where Voldemort attacked him. Nothing more.
But…
Harry grins. There is something he can do that will frustrate the Ministry and not overplay his hand, and it will also make the solicitors that he pays far too much through a series of proxies earn their keep. He goes to dash off a letter.
"It is very strange. Do they always allow their children to run around all the time and shout like that?"
Harry laughs as he shows Fleur around the small flat that Clavier found for her and Bill. "Not all Muggles, not all children. It's mostly the younger ones who don't have parents that are as strict."
"Still. It would not be allowed by my mother." Fleur gives an uneasy glance at the photographs on the walls, blandly smiling shots of the Muggles who currently live in the flat. "Why are they trapped in the pictures?"
"They're not," Harry reassures her, watching as Fleur slowly pivots on her heels to study the sky-blue color of the walls. "Muggles in pictures are entirely non-magical. They can't move or have any sort of consciousness."
"Oh." Fleur spends a moment toying with her skirt, Transfigured from a robe for today. She blows out her breath through her nose as if she's trying to brace herself. "What do you think of this flat? Is it—a good choice?"
"Only you and Bill can really answer that," Harry says gently. Honestly, he thinks the flat is overpriced and too big, but then, Fleur and Bill have children, and he doesn't. Nor am I ever likely to have them. "But it's close to Diagon Alley, and that's amazing. There aren't a lot of Muggle flats around here that are available."
"That is true." Fleur manages to look into the faces of the people in the photographs without flinching. "I will give Bill my good opinion."
Harry smiles at her, and they go to tell Bill and Clavier and, through him, the Muggle renting out this particular flat.
MINISTRY CONTENDS WITH SPURIOUS LAWSUITS!
Harry chuckles into his hand as he eats toast for dinner—because he wants to—and reads the article that's on the front page now. His solicitors have indeed filed a lot of paperwork, challenging everything from the Ministry's right to tear down the cottage in Godric's Hollow to their ability to do so safely and without alerting the Muggles of what is going on. But he wouldn't say those lawsuits are spurious, exactly.
Not when they afford him so much entertainment.
A light in the corner of his eye flashes red. Harry puts down the paper and goes over to look into the basket attached to the floating house with a long ribbon. That's where the wards send all the Howlers that people try to aim at Harry. After they've been transformed into ordinary letters with their words transcribed on the parchment, of course.
Right now, there's only one there. Harry lifts it with a charm and floats it through the window, curious if it's related to the Ministry's plans.
It turns out to be from Ginny. Harry frowns a little. Honestly, it would be more interesting if it was from someone else. He's pretty sure they've said all they have to say to each other.
But just in case, he goes back and reads through the transcript of her Howler, chuckling again a little as he imagines what it would have sounded like being shouted at him.
Harry Potter, how DARE you file these lawsuits against the Ministry! You know that they're trying to get you back into the wizarding world, and you said you were LEAVING! But instead, you file these lawsuits, which of course lets them know that you're somewhere close enough to read the paper. Why would you do that? I think it's probably the stupidest thing I've seen you do in a while…
At that point, Harry gets bored and skims through to the end, although he stops when he sees Percy's name.
And somehow you've even corrupted my most pompous brother who's always been loyal to the Ministry, and I don't even know how! All of a sudden he's talking about how the Ministry needs someone to root out bribery and corruption, and he wants to be that person. He's talking to Shacklebolt, and I don't think he'll get anywhere, but he might just get hold of someone outside who wants to work with him. Harry Potter, what did you DO?
"Just provided an opportunity for people to be themselves," Harry murmurs, and incinerates the Howler with a flick of his wand. There's an ordinary owl waiting for him outside the wards, and Harry feeds it a bit of bacon before dismissing it and opening the letter.
It's from Percy, asking if Harry needs help with his lawsuits.
It's a good thing there's no one else there, or they would probably decide Harry is insane—again—from the way he laughs.
"After examination of the evidence, the Wizengamot pronounces Mr. Gascon cleared of all charges."
Harry, under a Disillusionment Charm in the back of the courtroom again, wants to applaud as he watches the Muggleborn wizard collapse in his chair, tears flowing down his face. But he doesn't, since so many people are sitting still and there's no way his noise could get lost in the crowd. Gascon sniffles and wipes his face, and Hermione hands him a handkerchief.
"I can't believe it's real," the man is whispering, his hands trembling as he clings to the handkerchief. "I'm really free."
"Yes, and more than that." Hermione has the most bracing smile as she turns to face the Wizengamot. It's one of the few things Harry wishes he could have stayed in the wizarding world for. "There is the matter of compensation."
Harry has to hold his hand over his mouth as he watches the pale faces turn suddenly paler. They thought they were done when they proclaimed Gascon innocent. Now they know they have more to do.
And if Hermione wants any help from him, then Harry is going to give it as best he can.
"The Ministry really has no basis to stand on in trying to level the cottage at Godric's Hollow." Percy's voice is as precise and fussy as always, and he takes off the glasses he lately wears all the time to clean them. "If you think about it, it's your property, and the only reason you didn't claim it before age seventeen is that you were in the Muggle world and then in school and in hiding. They should give it to you."
"Can I force them to when I'm a fugitive?"
Percy almost drops his glasses on Harry's table. "You mean you don't know?"
"No. Know what?"
Harry likes the repetition of sounds, but Percy gives him a mild glare before he answers. "There were laws passed centuries ago that said fugitives could still own property and access their vaults. I assumed you knew that because that's how your—godfather was able to get hold of his money and set up a will so you inherited the Black vaults and properties." He pauses as if he expects Harry to burst into tears at the mention of Sirius, but Harry only nods. Percy goes on, reassured. "There was a Minister back then who became a fugitive when he made too many enemies, but he gathered the evidence that he was innocent. The first thing he did when he was restored to power was agitate for those laws."
Harry fakes an angelic expression, the sort of thing he used to put on for Honeywell. "So the Ministry is persecuting me and trying to take away something I own, unfairly, and the Ministry is going to give me justice."
"Of course it is," says Percy. Harry thinks that anyone who used to know him at Hogwarts wouldn't believe the shark-like grin spreading across his face. "Well, that or be embarrassed in the papers."
"How unfortunate for them."
"I didn't know you were leaving Britain." Hermione's voice is more muffled than it should be just coming through the fireplace. "I mean, you have all those lawsuits going against the Ministry, and there's the help that you gave Bill and Fleur in moving, and…"
"The lawsuits can manage themselves well enough," Harry says. He looks at one of the artifacts he brought from the Black Hole, then shrugs and dumps it into the trunk. Maybe he'll find a use for it in his new life. "And Bill and Fleur will be just a Portkey or Floo-call away from me. You know. Like you and Ron."
"There's some good news. The majority of the Muggleborns the Wizengamot has retried have been acquitted."
"I know. I watched some of the trials."
Hermione splutters about that for a minute, then gives in and laughs. "I suppose the Ministry's security doesn't matter that much to you."
"No," Harry says, and smiles over his shoulder at her. "Even with the Invisibility Cloak gone." He shuts the lid of that particular trunk and moves over to focus on the next one, which at the moment is half-full of clothes.
"Did you know they're holding elections for the Wizengamot?" Hermione sounds wistful, as if she wants the sound of her voice to make him stay but knows it won't. "Free and full ones, for the first time. Too many of the people who make it up now were elected because they were pure-bloods, and, well, no one can quite remember the reasons anymore that they thought people were better just because they were pure-bloods."
"I know," Harry says. "I'll visit, Hermione, believe me." He summons some more robes from the nearest cupboard, as well as Muggle clothes that he bought a while ago. "And I think wizarding Britain will be completely transformed in a few years."
"We will be." Hermione's voice is low and happy. "I just wish there's a way that you could have been included in this."
"I get to know that I have my freedom, because everyone is cursing my name," Harry says, and then winks at her and stops her before she can protest. "All the idiots, I mean. I know the ones who know better aren't."
"Why are you so set on going into the Muggle world, Harry?"
"Because no one there knows my name."
"And—I think I understand this, so can I say it and you'll just tell me if I'm right?" Harry nods. Hermione goes on. "You never wanted your fame, so you used it to make things as right as you could, and then you got rid of it. Am I right?"
"You are," Harry says patiently. Truth be told, it's what he's been saying all along, what he said to her in all but those exact words a few weeks ago. But he and Hermione see his fame in two entirely different ways. Hermione would have used it like he did, but then gone on using it, because she would think of it as a gift from the wizarding world and something that could correct all the mistakes that they would make in the future.
To Harry, it's a burden and always has been. And there has to be an end. Sooner or later, the mistakes that people make are up to them.
"All right," Hermione whispers. "Just don't forget that you're welcome among those who know the truth, too."
"I don't deserve friends like you and Ron," Harry says, with a faint smile. And he waits until her face disappears from the flames to go on packing.
Perhaps he doesn't deserve them. But he has them, and he'll never give them up. He just doesn't want them to follow him right now, or spend all his time with them, or have them monitor his every move.
He wants the freedom that he fought so hard for.
Harry looks around with a faint smile. He chose this small Basque enclave for a reason. Even for the Muggle world, it's reclusive, and what people want is peace and shaded houses and only the occasional conversation with people they don't know. Harry has heard that some wizards from France and Spain come here to escape "unpleasantness" from the Aurors.
He does get a few looks as he walks down the cobbled village street because of the cut of his Muggle clothes. It doesn't matter. Nothing does, except the silence around him and the Translation Charm he's already cast that will let him speak and understand Basque.
And the sun above him, and the wind brushing past him, and the fact that he can move without feeling as if someone is looking at his back every few seconds.
He already reached out ahead of time to arrange lodging, with a woman who often rents them to some of those wizards who need to disappear amongst the Muggles. She nods to him and gives him the key without much conversation. Harry walks up the narrow stairs to the room.
It's dark and quiet and small, although he does have the room next to it as well. Harry wonders for a second if anyone would think to look for him here, and then shakes his head. His friends know that he doesn't crave opulence, but they're also used to thinking of him with a whole flat, or Grimmauld Place, or one of the other Black properties.
Something knocks softly at the window. Harry grins as he opens it. Post-owls make excellent time, even across the Channel. The big, fluffy eagle-owl settles on the sill and stares at him, not releasing the Prophet it clutches until Harry hands it payment in both Knuts and a mouse.
Harry unfolds it as he watches the owl fly away, and only then glances down at the front page. A sharp crack of laughter makes its way out of him.
MINISTRY APOLOGIZES FOR ATTEMPTED DESTRUCTION OF BELOVED HISTORICAL MONUMENT.
Amused, Harry skims through the article. Percy turned the Ministry's own laws against the Wizengamot exactly the way he promised he would. So there's nothing they can do now but apologize for their efforts to level the cottage in Godric's Hollow, and the Prophet, never one to pass up the chance for controversy, is switching sides with vindictive glee.
The Prophet has a smaller notice, too, one about how Percy Weasley is apparently going to live in the house at Godric's Hollow and keep it "safe" in case the notorious Dark Lord Harry Potter tries to come back to it. Harry snorts. Well, that's fitting enough, and he promised the house to Percy before he left, anyway. He just didn't know if the Ministry would accept it.
But they do, and the impassioned letter that the Prophet carried last week from Ginny, denouncing her "most pompous brother" as a traitor who served the Dark Lord Potter, has responses this week that amount to a united chorus of, "Percy Weasley?" Percy should be safe, and even if he's not, he's smart enough to defend himself.
Harry lays the paper aside and leans back against the wall, admiring the fall of sunlight through the window. There will be another day tomorrow, one that will rise on the scrambling pure-bloods and Muggleborns of Britain alike—pure-bloods who are still reeling with the sensation of something missing, Muggleborns who are beginning to feel their power.
And Harry doesn't have to be there.
He's not responsible for anybody anymore. He once regretted that he never got married and had children, but now he's glad. He wouldn't be able to leave a family behind like that, and he wouldn't be able to bring them with him.
He did what he could. He freed people from the ridiculous prejudices that caused wars like Voldemort's. That was another part of it, too. Even though twelve years passed without another Dark Lord, Harry thinks one would have risen eventually. Maybe a Muggleborn, but it honestly doesn't matter. It would have happened.
Now, at least, even if he can't prevent wars for all time, he's prevented another one for the same cause.
And he has the chance to do the things everyone else did after Hogwarts and took for granted. Sleep in if he wants to. Relegate the evils of the world to the papers and the telly—if he decides to stay in one place long enough to buy one—and shake his head and work on a small level to alleviate them. Take classes in things he wants to learn for the sheer fun of it. Learn and be happy.
Be normal, in a way that leaches out all the horror the Dursleys taught him to associate with that word.
Maybe there will be other friends. Maybe there will be other causes he joins and devotes himself to, and someone to fall in love with in the Muggle world, and even someone he has to save, the way Hermione is so sure there will be.
But for now, with the light outside his window falling over an unfamiliar street and the soft sounds of Muggles preparing for night coming up to him, Harry is simply looking forward to his chance to be common. At long last.
The End.