Chapter Text
Monday, 12 June 2017
Hermione stood and surveyed the building she was standing in with grim satisfaction. The Ministry building, which she had so thoroughly trashed in battle with Voldemort a year ago, was still not fully fixed, with tacky Dark Mark banners being used to cover up the worst of the structural damage. Minister Bones beside her was less pleased, but admitted that having to occupy a barely-functioning building had likely been a significant drain on Voldemort’s resources. Besides, the former Auror turned leader of Wizarding Britain had approved of every aspect of the Fall of the Ministry. The fact that the Spear of Destiny had made things worse was hardly Hermione’s fault, now, was it?
“There’s a lot to rebuild,” Minister Bones said as she retook the Minister’s chair (after both she had Hermione had given it a thorough check for curses. She turned her eyes toward Hermione. “I expect you and your friends to help with that.”
Hermione nodded in agreement. “Winning the war is only half the battle,” she said. “We know that. And, well, if you really want to have a bunch of barely adults responsible for the seat of the British magical government…”
Minister Bones chuckled as she shook her head lightly, her hair which had greyed rapidly over the past two years of wartime leadership bouncing in mirth. “You don’t get to play the ‘children’ card any more, Miss Granger, and you know it. And remember that I, and everybody else in the Ministry, saw what you did with the Chamber of Secrets during the evacuations.”
Hermione conjured herself a comfortable chair opposite the Minister’s desk and sprawled herself out on it. “Don’t worry, Minister. We’ll help. It will be good to build for once, instead of fighting.”
“And that shows you have a lot of wisdom,” Minister Bones said, “and will reassure a lot of people. Because when you’re used to fighting, it’s so easy to see everything as a fight, to see violence as the first and best solution to any problem. And when it came to Voldemort, it was. But now – we’re past fighting.”
“Mostly,” Hermione interjected.
“Mostly,” Bones agreed, “and we’ll stay on guard, but that you’re willing to come help the society you fought for work toward peace shows a lot of maturity. Shows that you won’t become warlords of the Light as bad as the lords of the Dark you just stopped.”
Hermione knew that she didn’t want to rule, that she didn’t want anything but to live in peace, free of the threat that Voldemort posed. That others might see her as a potential successor to the man whom she had fought so many times – well, she promised herself there and then that she would not bring fear and terror to the people she had fought to protect.
“Ron will come around in a few days,” Hermione promised for her boyfriend. “He was the one who did the heavy lifting on the second Chamber redesign. And when he’s done, Harry or I will come and around and help rebuild the ward scheme – from the ground up, since we have the chance, and we’ll make sure to do it right.”
Suddenly, Minister Bones glanced at her watch, causing Hermione to realize that it was just one minute to eleven o’clock.
“I have a meeting come up,” the Minister said, “my first one back in this office, actually.”
Hermione got up and was about to vanish her chair when the Minister signaled for her to sit back down. “You should stay, Miss Granger, since he’ll probably want to see you as well.”
“Oh?”
“Croaker,” Bones clarified. “Head of the Unspeakables.”
“Minister,” the hooded man greeted. “It’s good to see you back in this office.”
“Tell me about the Department, Croaker,” Bones ordered, skipping any pleasantries.
“Well, it’s as pristine as it was the day we left it,” Croaker said with what Hermione thought might have been a smile beneath his bespelled hood. “Thanks to the girl’s Rite of Eternal Separation. Though how she managed to tie it to He-Who, I don’t know. Have some suspicions, though.”
Hermione and the Unspeakable stared at each other. The Unspeakable had probably figured out Voldemort had made horcruxes – the only reasonable conclusion given the evidence, really.
“I won’t say it here, and I won’t share it, and I won’t try to confirm it,” the Unspeakable assured her, “but – they’re all gone, right?”
Hermione nodded.
“And I won’t ask how he managed so many, either.”
“Don’t,” Hermione agreed flatly. Meanwhile, the Minister was looking between the two of them in confusion. “And don’t ask, Minister. Some forms of magic – they’re best eradicated from the face of the Earth.”
“Agreed,” said Croaker emphatically.
“I won’t ask, then,” the Minister said, realizing that neither of the stubborn and knowledgeable people in front of her would spill.
“Did anyone get into the Department?” Hermione asked, expressing one worry she’d had. “Between Voldemort’s… death and when we reclaimed the building?”
The Unspeakable shook his head. “They were too busy running around in a panic to notice that the floor that had been inaccessible for the past year was suddenly accessible again. Our protections detected no incursions.”
“Good,” she said.
“Indeed. And if you would like to come explore some of what we have down there, now that the war is over…”
“Are you recruiting me to the Unspeakables?” she asked.
The man shook his head. “Too much of a public figure, and the good you can do elsewhere would preclude me from making the offer. But… a consultant position, maybe? For when you have the time.”
Minister Bones was boggled by witnessing such an unprecedented offer being handed out so casually.
“I’ll take you up on it,” Hermione agreed. “I’d love to examine the Veil, for one, with what I know. But –”
“You have a lot to do, girl,” he said, his words most certainly ringing true, “and not enough time to do it all in.”
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Wednesday, 14 June 2017
The grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were still pockmarked with battle scars, but that didn’t stop them from hosting a massive gathering of wizards, witches, and other magical races. They were gathered for a single, somber purpose – to memorialize those who had been lost in the Battle of Hogwarts and, in particular, the man who had sacrificed his life to give Harry Potter a fighting chance to defeat Voldemort and end the war.
This was the funeral of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.
In the center first row sat those who were closest to the long-time Headmaster of Hogwarts – his estranged brother Aberforth, his best friend Elphias Doge, his deputy and confidante Minerva McGonagall, and his protégé and (many said) successor as Leader of the Light, Harry Potter himself. A few key dignitaries and the remaining professors of Hogwarts took up the rest of the first and part of the second row, with the Order of the Phoenix filling out the second row and all of the third. Back and back the seating went, every seat filled with a former student or colleague of Dumbledore’s who wished to come and pay their respects.
In the far back sat Rubeus Hagrid and his full-giant half-brother Grawp, one of the last of that once-noble race now that most of the giants had been killed after fighting for Voldemort. Even further back, the centaurs of the Forbidden Forest stood in respectful watch over the event, while the choppy surface of the Black Lake revealed the presence of merfolk watchers just beneath its surface. Off to the side, a group of reporters (Rita Skeeter quite unfortunately among them) sat as they documented the historic event, broadcasting it live to every Wizarding Wireless station across the world.
The ceremony began with a song – the song of a chorus of merfolk, led by Merchieftainess Murcus herself, echoing out over the waters. After that, the first of the eulogizers stood up – Elphias Doge, who spoke of his long friendship with Albus Dumbledore in the years they had spent as best friends, from their Hogwarts days onward. Professor McGonagall then took up the podium, speaking of Dumbledore’s dedication as a teacher and then as the Head of Hogwarts, guiding and protecting the castle’s students. And finally, as the cat animagus retook her seat, Harry stood up to face the crowd. How young he felt at the moment – far too young to be feeling such grief, but it was grief he felt, for despite their tumultuous relationship, which went from childlike trust to disdain and secrecy to standing side-by-side on the fields of war, Harry did grieve for Albus Dumbledore.
“Seventy-two years ago,” he began, the words flowing freely even as he tried to recall the outline he’d prepared of what he wanted to say, “an old man by the name of Jean-Baptiste Olorin stood with Albus Dumbledore and a few other allies against Gellert Grindelwald and his servants to fight the battle that would bring an end to the Global Wizarding War that had raged for years. Long and hard did the warriors of the Light fight, but in the end, Olorin threw himself in front of a curse meant for Dumbledore, allowing the man we grieve today to strike down Grindelwald and end the war.
“On that day, Albus Dumbledore became a hero of the Wizarding World, a Leader of the Light. On that day, he learned that, in the end, there is no victory without sacrifice. And that day, perhaps, prepared him for the day when he, too, would be forced to act as Olorin had, to give his life for the greater good.
“Albus Dumbledore was a man of exceeding power. He was the defeater of Grindelwald and the Only One Voldemort Ever Feared in the First War. He faced the wielder of the Spear of Destiny as an equal with only his wand. He held Hogwarts alone for hours against Morgoth and the Silmarils. All of these acts of might did he perform in the wars he fought, and many more in times of peace – but let us not remember him for this.
“Albus Dumbledore was a man of exceeding wisdom. He was one of the best teachers ever to teach in Hogwarts, and one of its best heads as well. He used his influence to guide Wizarding Britain into a better place. He did not seek power or leadership, refusing the role of Minister of Magic numerous times, despite the fact that he could have walked into the Ministry and taken over with nary a protest had he so wished. When all others fled in the face of Voldemort’s power, he stood fast and found a way to hold, a way to win – but let us not remember him for this.
“Instead, let us remember him as a man of courage, for without courage, nothing else he had would have mattered. It was his courage that let him stare into the face of a one-time friend and act for the good of the Wizarding World. It was his courage that let him lead the Order of the Phoenix against a foe whom all others saw as undefeatable. It was his courage that led him to take up arms in a global war at an age when he should have been enjoying a well-earned retirement. And it was his courage that saw him give his life, just to give me a fighting chance to end Voldemort once and for all.
“I do not eulogize just Albus Dumbledore today. I speak of everyone who fought bravely for the Light. Of everyone who gave life and limb and every ounce of strength they possessed for the sake of the world, for the hope of one day achieving peace. Let us remember them as we remember Albus Dumbledore – as the ones with whose courage this peace of ours was bought.
“If Albus Dumbledore were here, watching today, he would smile. Smile that he had touched so many people with his life that they would come to honor his death. Smile that so many people could sit here in peace, unafraid of the forces of evil assailing them. And smile, most of all, at each and every one of us who leaves this funeral and goes forth to honor his legacy by ensuring the world for which he died continues ever onward.
“He was not a man who feared death. ‘To the well-organized mind,’ he told me once, long ago, ‘death is but the next great adventure.’ Well, Professor Dumbledore – may whatever comes next for you be all the adventure you hoped it would be.”
As Harry stepped down, retaking his seat shakily as he recovered from the powerful but emotionally draining eulogy he had delivered, the phoenix Fawkes appeared above them, singing a haunting and beautiful lament. A burst of fire leapt out of Fawkes, landing on Dumbledore’s body, which was soon encased in powerful white flame. Fawkes continued to sing as the flame encircled the body, hiding it from sight. The phoenix flew among the crowd, brushing certain faces with his wing – Harry’s, Ron’s, McGonagall’s, and Neville’s among others. Neville in particular looked surprised by the gesture, though Harry did not know why. His friend most certainly deserved the phoenix’s respect and honor.
And then, as the last of the white flame extinguished, revealing a beautiful tomb of white marble encasing the fallen headmaster, Harry looked up to see the phoenix vanish into a burst of fire. He had a feeling that Fawkes would not be seen again for a long, long time.
A volley of centaur arrows launched into the air in respect, though they fell far short of the audience.
Harry was the first in line to pay his respects to the tomb, and so he was the first to see the phrase inscribed in the stone grave.
ALBUS PERCIVAL WULFRIC BRIAN DUMBLEDORE
“To the well-organized mind,
Death is but the next great Adventure.”
In the window of the capital A of Adventure, Harry saw the very subtle symbol of the Deathly Hallows, a nod to Dumbledore’s lifelong obsession and his hope for existence after death. It made him think of the Elder Wand, now his after defeating Voldemort who had defeated Dumbledore, currently sitting in a very hidden corner of a very hidden room of the Chamber of Secrets, and of the Cloak of Invisibility, soon to be returned to him once McGonagall and Ron ended the spell protecting Professor Snape’s loyalties, and of the Resurrection Stone, the container of the Soul Stone, and of the notes that Thor had given him…
He moved on, allowing others their time with the tomb, when suddenly, everyone stumbled for a moment. Harry felt as if something which had been subtly resonating within him his entire life had ceased. Turning to glance at Luna, he saw that her eyes were lightly glowing a prophetic green, and a single word echoed through his head.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Thursday, 15 June 2017
Tony Stark was long past being surprised by the appearance of owl automata in the Avengers Compound, so when one had popped into existence just above him the previous evening, he had just blinked and taken its proffered package – a written note wrapped around a small, polished stone.
Tony, it had read in the familiar messy scrawl of Harry Potter. Would like to meet in-person tomorrow at noon GMT. Please let me know if you can’t make it. Stone attached is a portkey.
Tony had smiled after converting the time to Eastern Time, because he had a board meeting Pepper had talked him into attending at that time, a board meeting he could now get out of with a legitimate excuse!
Pepper had accepted his excuse – eventually – and so, at a minute to eight in the morning, Tony was grasping a polished stone, preparing himself for his first trip with the apparently very uncomfortable method of magical transportation. As the clocks struck the top of the hour, he felt a pull at his navel and he got whisked away on the wildest ride of his life.
He landed hard onto some grassy ground, and it took him a minute to reorient himself. When he did, he first saw a fortress that was looking quite renovated compared to how it had been when he’d hidden from Ultron there two years prior. The second thing he saw was a familiar and not entirely welcome face on a man who was looking to have handled his portkey trip far better – Steve Rogers.
Tony hadn’t seen the man since Siberia, with the exception of the single encounter against Ungoliant. He had managed to defer to him for the duration of that battle, but he still wasn’t happy to be near the Captain.
“Steve,” he said flatly.
“Tony,” the super soldier responded, equally monotone.
Suddenly, both of them heard approaching footsteps, the footsteps of the teenage boy who was a friend to both of them and had clearly used that fact and his magic to force this meeting.
“Harry,” they greeted in less than pleased unison.
“Steve, Tony,” he responded quite cheerily. “Glad to see you both here. There are some things I need to tell you. Please,” Harry waved his wand, causing three comfortable chairs to appear, “have a seat.”
Was Harry going to just ignore that he’d forced a meeting between two people who probably didn’t want to be near each other? Yes, it seemed that he was.
“I have some good news,” Harry said, “and some bad news.”
“Let’s start with the bad news, then,” Steve said, which – to be fair – was probably the better choice. Start with the bad, end on a high note. But he hadn’t even looked at Tony for his opinion.
“Bad news it is,” Harry said. “Odin Allfather is dead.”
What?
From the stories Thor had told of his father, Odin had seemed so powerful, so untouchable. Even his enemies bowed before him. And he was old, yes, and sometimes unreasonable, but never once did Tony think that the seemingly immortal Asgardian would suddenly croak.
Beside him, Steve swore rather viciously, causing Tony to mutter a reflexive, “Language.” That never got old.
“But that means…” the man out of time said.
“Yes,” Harry agreed gravely, the two long-time friends via time travel seemingly reading each other’s minds.
“Alright,” he said, “hold up. What am I missing here? Thor’s dad is dead – that’s sad, that’s tragic. Why does that make America’s Golden Boy swear worse than a drunken sailor?”
“Because,” Harry explained, “Odin’s reputation and power is half of what’s kept most aliens from invading the Nine Realms, from invading Earth. He’s dead now, and to make things worse, Asgard itself was destroyed yesterday.”
“Ragnarök,” Tony whispered, recalling what he’d read of Norse mythology after meeting Thor the first time. “The Norse apocalypse.”
“Thor visited me two weeks ago with some help, and Luna delivered the full Ragnarök prophecy to him. He set off immediately afterward, giving me some messages to deliver to you, and the entire magical world felt Odin’s death just over a week afterward. The fall of Asgard happened yesterday morning.”
“Is Thor—?” Steve asked.
“Alive?” Harry finished the sentence that Captain America wouldn’t. “I think so, or at least Luna says so which is good enough for me, but we’re out of contact. I haven’t gotten any word from Thor via our linked journals, despite sending a dozen messages, and something tells me that he managed to lose it at some point during Ragnarök.”
“Alright,” said Tony, “that’s bad news – very bad news. What’s good news, then?”
“Voldemort is dead,” Harry said with a brief smile before frowning.
“But it cost you some good people,” Steve intuited.
“It did,” the teen wizard. “All of my friends are okay, though. For you, though, it’s one less threat to the planet to worry about. Which is good, because I’m about to give you a new one.”
Harry produced two stacks of paper, handing one to each of Tony and Steve.
“This,” he said, “is everything Thor gave me about the Infinity Stones, along with some of my own information that he didn’t include, as well as what he knows about the person manipulating them over the past few years. A being named Thanos.”