#SHRIEKING i hadn't seen the finished painting yet!

[happytroopers]

Toeing a line // Fox x Reader

TW: typical club stuff, alcohol drinking, arson mention, a random guy being a douche

Ahh, yes enemies to lovers but Fox has the emotional intelligence of a raisin

The music was pounding in 79's, a rhythmic bass line thumping so loudly that it created a ring like ripple with every beat in the cheap Nubian whiskey. Fox wrapped his hand around the low ball glass to absorb the vibrations before quickly retracting it- didn't want his drink to get too hot. After all, the cheap booze was probably the highlight of Fox's night and it was barely tolerable when chilled. He allowed himself a deep sigh, but at least tried to mask his scowl. No one else seemed to mind the colorful flashing lights or the shrieking Sullustese singing that accompanied the bone shaking bass. So instead of dampening the mood for the other party goers, Fox ordered another drink.

If you asked him how he ended up at 79's on one of his very, very rare days off? Fox would tell you that his brother's promised to pay his tab.

Well, that's not entirely accurate. You wouldn't have asked, hell, you probably would've avoided interaction all together. You had been exceptionally angry the last time you'd seen him.

After all, he was in charge of the Coruscant Guard. Which meant it was his job to inform you, one of the Coruscant Security Force's lead field detectives, when one of your cases fell under Guard jurisdiction. And during wartime, that was exceedingly frequent. So frequent in fact, the two of you were on a first name basis- that is, when you weren't calling him an ass.

Like, two days prior when he'd swiped up an arson case after you'd already almost solved it. Fox couldn't help that the arsonist burned a senator's sidepiece's apartment, and therefore it became a political issue which technically made it terrorism. You hadn't felt that way, and weren't afraid to let him know it.

Fox told you it was Coruscant Guard jurisdiction. You told him to go fuck himself. He asked if you had a problem with how he did his job. You asked if there was room under that helmet for the boot he was licking.

Fox shook his head as he sipped his drink, you had quite the mouth. You were feisty, a trait that was almost admirable when it wasn't infuriating. He finished his first drink as he thought about the last time he saw you, chest heaving as you tried to control your temper, eyes glinting maliciously as you glared at him, and fists clenched at your sides like you were going to punch him. Yeah, feisty was one word for it. Force of nature was another. Fox took another sip as he corrected his line of thought. Yes, objectively you were attractive, exceedingly clever, witty, and good at your job- but above all you were a pain in the ass. Especially, when you got angry at him for doing his job.

From his stool at the corner of the bar, he had a decent view of the entire club. Instinctively, his eyes did a sweep of the building. Nothing out of the normal- dancing women, drunk soldiers, server droids. He took a longer gulp as he finished his habitual sweep, almost choking when his eyes landed on something shocking.

You. You- in a hem line much shorter than anything you wore in the office. You- with a fruity, glowing drink in your hand as you leaned forward laughing as something the heavy artillery trooper said. You- with an easy grin and no tension in your shoulder.

Apparently, you weren't that angry, was Fox's first thought. Or at least you didn't look so angry when the heavy gunner kept an arm around your waist to keep you close- bordering the line between chivalrous and 'copping a feel', but you didn't seem to mind.

Fox narrowed his eyes in on the kid's face- obviously young, cropped hair, scar over through one eyebrow, and a fresh tattoo over the bridge of his nose-, wondering if he knew this trooper. He didn't know why it mattered, but it did. Mattered so much, in fact, that he didn't know he was staring until suddenly he was making eye contact with the soldier who was whispering something in your ear. Even though Fox pointedly looked away, he could've sworn he heard you giggle before you excused yourself.

When he looked back up, you were sauntering towards him with a light step, flushed face, and easy grin. Obviously, you hadn't seen him yet, so Fox tried angling himself away from you. When you got to the bar, you signaled to the bartender.

"Two shots, whatever's most popular tonight, please." You announced, running a hand through your hair. Even your voice sounded different, there wasn't an edge to it. Fox fully planned on staying silent, letting you go about your night with out him bothering you. But when a wave of your perfume hit him or maybe it was the double of his Nubian whiskey, he couldn't help it.

"I didn't picture you as the club type, Detective (Y/L/N)." Fell out of his lips before he even realized he was speaking. You tensed for a moment, you'd recognize that sarcasm anywhere. Fortunately, two drink in or not, you were never without a witty response for your favorite least favorite case stealer as lazily turned his way, hip cocking to one side and head to the other.

"Is that your way of asking if I come here often, Commander?" His title rolled of your tongue in an irritatingly, enticingly ironic way. He was pretty sure it was more respectful when you called him an ass. But at least this time you were smiling at him.

"What you do in your personal time is completely up to you." Fox answered formally, but the raised eye brows and raised eye brows told you otherwise. Like him, you couldn't help your next snarky comment.

"Well, since you took my case, I have plenty of personal time this weekend." You shot back, turning towards him. The commander was sans helmet, but still donned his red painted armor, "Besides, I could say the same thing about you."

Fox was about to shoot something back but suddenly, two armored arms wrapped around your waist pulling you back, “Sweet cheeks, what's the hold up with our drinks?"

Your demeanor changed immediately as an over exaggerated giggle bubbled out of your throat. A sugar sweet smile plastered to your face as you leaned back into that same trooper's chest, and your voice raised two octaves, "Bartender's busy, but they're coming!"

Whoever this was, it wasn't you. Snarky and 'irritating' as you were, he liked the real you much better. Fox had to look away as the heavy gunner in brownish-orange armor pressed kisses down your neck as you tried to flag the bartender again. Like Fox, the bartender assessed you and the trooper with an air of disgust and an over exaggerated eyeball- at least Fox managed to hide his.

“Get a room.” The bartender gruffed, sliding two shots of a glowing pink liquid towards you before following the statement in a string of angry curses in Neimoidian. You paid the insult no mind as you scooped up one of the shot glasses, and you escort of the night did the same with a grin.

Out of the corner of his eye, the commander saw you throw back your shot, even noticing how a stray streak escaped down the corner of you mouth, leaving a subtly glowing trail before your tongue darted to remedy it. Fox was so preoccupied in watching you that he hadn’t even noticed the gunner was staring at him.

You bounced slightly on your feet, enjoying the rush that the unidentified libation gave you and giving Fox a devilish wink before grinning back at your beau.

“Do you know him, baby?” The tattooed soldier asked with a slight slur, nodding his head towards the commander, voiced bordering between indulging for your sake and territorial to ward Fox off. He had adjusted his grip, now one of his arms was tight around shoulder with his gloved middle finger rubbing small circled on the exposed, tender skin exposed by the rather daring neckline of your outfit- but Fox was more distracted by the body glitter he’d just noticed. The commander cleared his throat and averted his eyes as he took a long sip of his drink, preparing himself for whatever description you’d cook up after your appraising stare (was your little smirk appreciative or malicious, Fox couldn’t decide).

“Oh, yeah, we work together sometimes.” You told him, before shrugging his arm off your frame. That was not the scathing review Fox had been expecting, and work together was a very generous way of putting things. You gave the commander another smirk, this time with a challenging raised eyebrow before laughing to yourself as you shook your head. Your drinking partner watched this micro interaction with the same level of confusion that Fox had, barely smoothing out his jealous sneer in time for you to turn back to him, “Order another round, I’m going to go freshen up, mmkay?”

You didn’t wait for confirmation as you left the two confused soldiers in your wake, hips swaying as you disappeared in the crowd.

Clearly not used to taking orders from pretty little things like you- Fox shook that line of thought out of his head and started over. Clearly not used to taking orders in his time off, it took the trooper a moment to catch up, before flagging down the bartender, “Another two shots, something to make her a little… frisky.”

Fox’s emotions went from annoyed at his presence, to a quick decision he hated this soldier. Similarly, the bartender gave him an actual disgusted reaction but got to work while Fox gave the gunner a nasty side eye.

“Got a staring problem, brother?” He huffed at the commander, with the intent to sound intimidating. But after seeing the kid down a neon pink drink, it missed by a long shot. Fox turned face towards him with an unimpressed stare, but the gunner kept going, “Yeah, I’ve noticed you staring.”

“Believe me, I wasn’t looking at you.” Fox informed him, voiced dripping with sarcasm as he shook his head as he went back to his drink, wishing you’d show back up and whisk the orange painted trooper away. He pictured it mentally and then decided you could take as much time as you pleased, because- for some reason he couldn’t place- the image made him aggravated. The barkeep placed two shots in front of them, both a dangerous deep black, before dropping a heart shaped fizzy tablet in both, turning them bubbly an a dark, transparent red. The sight would have made Fox wary had he not seen women order them for themselves before, but seeing as it was you- the commander still didn’t like it.

“Yeah, well, that hot piece of ass is with me, so keep your eyes to yourself.”

Fox snapped his head up, sending a glare to the younger soldier. Did he not have the decency to use your actual name? Did he even know your name?  The gunner smirked thinking he had struck a nerve- he had, but not the one he had intended to strike- so he continued, “Or, you can keep watching from here, I guess it doesn’t matter. We'll be too preoccupied to care.”

That was enough.

Fox stood to his feet, not that it mattered seeing that all clones were the same height for the most part. He gave the soldier a once over before coming back to his eyes which were bordering on glassy as the gunner slightly swayed on his feet.

“What’s your name and rank, soldier?” There was an edge to Fox’s voice, that even he couldn’t quite place, but nevertheless he continued to glare at the trooper.

“Are you trying to pull rank on me, man? Who do you think you are?” The disbelieving soldier shook his head as he shoved Fox’s shoulder. He had a point. It was considered a dick move to pull rank when off duty, and Fox made it a point to offend doing so. But here he was doing it anyway, over a girl who probably hated him.

“Clone Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard.” Fox answered, letting the hostility flavor his words. The difference was immediate, like he instantly sobered up as his face went white. The orange painted soldier straightened his posture and dropped the challenging glare in favor of an apologetic stare.

“C-Commander?,” He sputtered at first, before  shaking his head to center himself, “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t recognize you.”

The kid sputtered for another second, settling on the excuse, “I’ve had too much to drink.”

Fox took a little too much pleasure in the anxiety on the gunner’s features, and since he’d dug this hole, he might as well finish it, “Then maybe you should be done for the night.” Fox ’suggested’ sternly, pushing the two red shots out of reach without looking away, “Before you get yourself into trouble.”

The younger trooper nodded frantically, even throwing in a salute and a ’thank you, sir’, before quickly brushing past the Commander.

Fox caught his arm as he passed, pulling him in close enough to add on menacingly, “And stay away from (Y/N).”

The Gunner nodded again before scuttling out of the club, in an alarming hurry. Fox shook his head, already feeling a little bad for scaring the kid- the young trooper would probably wait for weeks in fear of a formal reprimand or demotion that would never come. Fox was mean, but he wasn’t going to hurt the kids career, just because he tried picking up the wrong girl. But then again, maybe a healthy dose of fear would do the kid some good, maybe he’d even stop using phrases like ‘hot piece of ass’- anyone who said that seriously maybe did deserve a demotion.

Shaking his head, Fox already felt a little embarrassed about his little display as he slid back onto his stool and finished his second drink.  The bartender saw the empty glass and came to top it off, but Fox waved him off- maybe he should take his own advice.

All that fuss, over the lead deceive who called him an ass like it was his name. Sighing, he ran a face over his head and reminded himself of all the reasons you weren’t worth the trouble.

Number one, you most definitely hated him and he (probably) hated you too, because you both found each other infuriating enough to ignore any redeeming qualities.

Number two, you could handle yourself and would at least attempt to kick Fox ass if you found out he intervened. He remembered watching you take down a suspected murderer- hell you might actually kick his ass if you were angry enough.

Number three, you didn’t seem to have minded the attention at all. It was Fox the interaction had bothered.

Fox was having trouble with a number four, and was growing agitated at the rather short list. A moment later, you sauntered back up, hair a little more in place and lip coloring touched up. Upon only finding one soldier, you looked around in confusion but found nothing.

“Where’d Blast go?” You asked over the music which had turned to a electro tech song with no words. One side of your painted lips tugging downward as you gave the club another once over. Fox just then realized he’d never even learned his name, no matter, to put himself back on track he let sarcasm roll off his tongue.

“You’re Coruscant’s lead field detective, you tell me.” Fox shrugged. Instantly, you sent him that annoyed glance he’d been waiting for all night. There you were, the real you. No more over exaggerated pouts or fake giggles.

“Well, I’d start the investigation but then you’d swoop it out from under me after I basically solved it for you, so why don’t you go ahead and tell me.” You sneered back, sharp eyes waiting expectantly. Fox was most definitely not going to tell you about his a tad bit over aggressive piss contest, you’d either punch him or never let him live it down- and the commander wasn’t sure which was the worst option. Instead, he nodded towards the mens bathroom as he twirled the ice in his empty glass.

“Kid said he was gonna hurl, apparently he hasn’t learned to hold his liquor yet.” He couldn’t help the subtle dig as he smirked, that wasn’t even true.

“Gross,” You muttered under your breath before you eyed the two shots on the bar. You plucked them both up, thinking about offering one to Fox before deciding against it, “Well if they’re already paid for.”

With that, you downed both shots without even checking what they were. The confidence in that action almost impressed Fox, but he told himself it was obnoxious. With no escort and no more booze, you sighed rolling your neck from side to side as the alcohol settled, “Well, probably for the best. I have work tomorrow.”

Fox quirked an eyebrow, “I thought I “stole" your case.”

He put extra emphasis on the air quotes just to annoy you- it worked. You threw him another withering look, but Fox- who was used to your scathing glares- didn’t flinch.

“Yeah, for every case you steal from me, I get three more.” You defended hotly, but eased into a laugh as you theatrically added, “Because criminals never sleep.”

Yep, that would definitely be those last two shots kicking in. You waited patiently for another sassy remark, quite frankly this conversation was much more riveting than anything Blast had said to you all night. Fox rose both eyebrows at your rather lame joke, but huffed a laugh anyways (at your humor or your lackadaisical demeanor, you weren’t sure).

“If that’s the case, why are you always so mad at me for- rightfully- taking cases that fall under my jurisdiction?” He pressed, flagging down the bartender for a glass of water that wasn’t for him. When he turned back to you, you annoyed glare had softened ever so slightly and your smirk had faded into a softer smile he’d never seen before.

“Just cause it’s you, Fox, just cause it’s you.” You told him, and Fox detected a lick of honesty behind your teasing grin. Hold his gaze for a second before shaking your head, you looked to the barkeep before he could set down the water, “His drinks are on me.”

Fox didn’t have a chance to protest before you winked at him again over your shoulder, already walking away, “See ya around, Commander.”

Yeah, Fox was definitely toeing a dangerous line. A very, very dangerous line.

#commander fox x reader #commander fox x you #fox x reader #Clone Wars x reader #ok yes he's committed a few atrocities but he was FOLLOWING ORDERS

[codenomesailorv]

FANFICTION:

"Harry Potter and the DeadlyHallows - Final Chapter"

◇ (This fanfiction is an alternative version of the last chapter of the book "Deadly Hallows", after the last chapter and before the prologe, and It's whitout relationship with "Cursed Child" or the Harry Potter movies).

● Original History by JK Rowling

● Fanfiction by Anikenkai/A. A Otrop

FINAL CHAPTER

The four paintings at Grimmaud Place

 

 

 The first rays of sunlight passed through the transparent stained-glass windows in the calm morning air, touching Harry's face as the boy shifted on the bed. After a few brief seconds he opened his eyes and felt around on the desk, taking his glasses and putting them weakly on his face, still completely exhausted as if he hadn't slept for a whole month.

He got up slightly from the bed, and still a little dizzy, focused only on a small figure moving around nearby pulling something heavy, shrieking and letting out an exclamation of relief afterwards. Soon, Harry saw who it was.

"What are you doing, Neville?" Harry asked, rising a little further from the bed, watching his friend rummage in his trunk.

"Ah" Neville turned and smiled at him. "Good morning, Harry. Sorry, did I wake you up with the noise? You know my trunk is absurdly heavy, I was barely able to pull him to bed." 

The plump boy with scarred face smiled slightly at Harry, feeling his fingers in the huge suitcase he founded on the bed next to him. 

"It doesn't even seem like I had the strength just a few days ago to face Death Eaters. Compared to my trunk now, they were very light." 

And saying that Neville laughed, and bent down again to open the wooden lid in front of him.

Yes, it was true. For a brief moment, a flash of memories rushed through Harry's mind, recalling everything that had happened in just under two days. The Battle at Hogwarts. The deaths. The meeting with Dumbledore in his head. And Voldemort's defeat at his hands, everything quickly passing by in a glance at his still sleepy eyes. But then he felt suddenly awake, as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water down his spine, and then his body relaxed.

"You can sleep later today. You will not have an exact time for the Expresso departure. He will pick up the remaining students at different times until after lunch." Neville added, tossing a few pieces of clothing in his trunk.

Harry rolled his eyes, shaking his head and trying to find Ron on the bed next to his, but he didn't find him immediately.

"Ew, Neville... has Ron got up yet?"

"Oh, yes. For the breakfast, I saw him come down the stairs to Hermione when I came up just now. It looks like they were called earlier to speak to McGonagall."

"Right." Harry nodded, trying not to be intrigued by the reason for his friends' haste, and again lay down on the bed, struggling to get the faces out of his head and everything else that had happened so many hours ago.

After several minutes, Neville spoke again.

"Hey, when you get up, could you move the gifts out of the way in the bedroom? You know, I don't know if I'm going to be able to lift my trunk to bed again if I want not to crush one of them, you know."

"Gifts?"

And then Harry stood up again, looking sideways and at the dormitory floor and gaping. Scattered on the floor, and in everything that his field of vision could see next to his bed and beyond Seamus's and Ron's to the walls, boxes and more boxes lay there, some lined up and others in piles, forming piles on one another, with multicolored packages and some with sparkling ribbons, some large and small, huddled up to Harry's knee. The boy got up from the bed, looking around the room, amazement on his face. It was as if he were in the Room of Requirement, among the numerous objects lined up on top of each other.

"They're for you." Neville added, without taking his eyes off what he was doing in his trunk, laughing. "I think the news of what you did with You-Know-Who has already spread everywhere. They brought you these gifts at night. It seems that many people wanted to thank you, you know."

Harry was stunned, looking at each gift spread out in front of him, boxes and more boxes piled up, and finally he stood up, totally amazed. It was as if it were Christmas, but as if all the gifts from each student were crammed there, as if Harry's room and the boys were some kind of storage. He quickly took some packages out of the way and reached for his own trunk, taking his clothes and carefully spreading some on the way to the door so that it would be free.

"Phew, thanks." Neville said getting up and closing his trunk ready. The boy was now wearing his muggle clothes, very dark jeans with a cool multicolored knit shirt and numbers on the back, a sort of Hockey team T-shirt.

Harry turned to the bed and was about to lie down again, when he heard the crash of his friend's trunk again turning to the floor and unable to control the voice that had been stuck in his throat for many days, he turned and said to Neville:

"You deserved those gifts much more than I did, if it weren't for you cutting off that snake's head, I…"

"Harry, stop. I've won too many things from my grandmother and the Gryffindor guys, man. Relax. I don't care about that, and you deserved so much more."

 "Neville listen, I …" Harry started as soon as he sat on the bed, staring at his bare feet but it was the colleague who interrupted him before he could even finish the sentence.

"No, Harry. It's all right. You don't have to say anything."

Neville said in one breath and even though she was loud and clear, she sounded gently in the room. Harry looked up to face his friend and just managed to smirk at him.

"I didn't have the opportunity to thank you and the others. For everything."

 Harry continued, taking hold of everything that had happened in the last days in his memory, remembering what Neville had done at Hogwarts with his friends while he, Ron and Hermione did while traveling across the continent in search of the Horcruxes. The way Neville had led Dumbledore's Army, how he had brought everyone together in the Room of Requirement and fought alongside him. As he did not even hesitate when the Death Eaters marked his skin with scrapes and bruises, as he did in the first bruise, he carried out Harry's request and without blinking, killed Nagini in front of Voldemort himself.

"Don't worry." Neville stepped forward, approaching Harry and patting his friend on the shoulder, as if they were talking about some Quidditch match, as his voice was as calm as any that Harry had heard a long time ago. "It was all thanks to you. I had faith in you. But now we are talking by owls, ok?"

Harry looked up again and saw Neville's plump hand stretched out in front of him, his palm open and inviting.

"I have to leave, my grandmother is waiting in the common room. Let's take the next train and go home."

"Does that mean ..." Harry was momentarily surprised and Neville nodded.

"Yes Yes. We finish the school year. I'm a graduate of Hogwarts."

And he held out his own hand, shaking his friend's. He wanted to get up and hug him, thank him for his courage and not have doubted him, wanted to hug each one, but Harry still didn't have the strength to do either. Instead he smiled and Neville took it out of his hand, raised his wand, and his trunk began to levitate, heading straight for the slowly opening door.

"See you next time, Harry. I'll wait for your owl, huh!"

"Shure!" And Harry smiled more gratefully and waved his hand, watching Neville walk through the portal and disappear into the stairway to the Gryffindor Common Room.

(...)

Harry didn't know how many hours he had been standing there, inert but already fully dressed, staring at the dormitory ceiling without even moving, the only noise he dared to make was his breathing. He was not hungry, although there were still remnants of a deep sleep that was caused by the hours of confinement in bed weighing his eyes, as if he could not get enough sleep, as if the tiredness did not leave his back, but not any real sleep, forcing him to stand there, disabled and thinking about everything that had happened to him until then. He hadn't seen anyone for three days, not even Teacher McGonagall, not Teacher Flitwick, not Luna, Ginny, Mr. and Mr. Weasley, not even George or Percy or any of his friends. 

Harry had locked himself in the dorm hours after he left Headmaster Dumbledore's office, when McGonagall finally released him to rest and heal his wounds, stunned and impressed by everything Harry, Ron and Hermione had told her what they had done, before they returned to Hogwarts. Harry had told her everything, to the teachers and the new Minister of Magic, who met there shortly after Voldemort's inert body had been thrown away from the castle boundaries, when he learned in detail about Dumbledore's plan for the Horcruxes, about the months in the forests, about how he had found Griffindor's sword and how Harry had apparently risen from the dead. The boy told them, but hid about the Deathly Hallows. 

He did not want anyone else, other than friends and those who had already talked about objects, to know about them, their existence and formidable powers, and surprisingly no one asked them about it, they only looked at Harry when at last he finished his account of Snape, and his Patron charm  - hidden over his mother, leading him towards the Ice Water Pit that kept Griffindor's ruby-studded sword.

"But ... but ..." Professor Slugorn stammered when Harry finally finished, almost immediately and in a shaky voice. "We were sure that Snape definitely turned to the Death Eaters. You, yourself told us how he killed Dumbledore in cold blood with an unforgivable curse, and your term as Headmaster proved it, the terror of the students, the way his followers of You-Know-Who acted freely in the school, and... and…"

"I know," Harry began, still as dirty from head to toe as the others present around the director's table, with blood that had been dry for a long time on his forehead, which at that point was starting to bother him a little. "But I saw it all through Snape's last memories when he handed it to me before he died. When I got back to the castle, I just thought of going back here, right here, and dumping the memory in Pensieve."

And then he lifted the tiny shards from the small bottle that Snape had given him, which had broken from his pocket when he received the Avada Kedavra curse on his body and fell to the floor. The teachers stared at the pieces, as if they couldn't believe it.

"Don't trust me, do you? You can use a tracking spell on the flask to discover its previous content, if you want. If that's still possible…" Added Harry, now a little irritated.

"Amazing. Very amazing!" From above, Flineus Fletcher, the former director of Hogwarts and a proud member of Slytherin shouted from his painting, screamed, looking around and trying to share the astonishment in the eyes of the other directors and directors, who were watching everything very quietly.

"There's no need, Potter." Professor McGonagall replied first, raising a hand to Harry, still very stunned. "We have no reason to doubt you and everything you did today. I'm sure everyone here will agree with me."

And almost immediately the teachers nodded, Flitwick, Sprout, Firenze, the centaur and even Hagrid, and the other teachers and present together with the Minister of Magic. Even Sibila Trewloney was there, curled up in a corner, but she nodded firmly. Finally, everyone looked at each other and McGonagall turned to Shacklebolt.

"Well, that's enough for now. Now, we need to discuss what to do about the School, since it was very destroyed. Prepare funerals and alert family members who have not yet been notified, bring them as soon as possible. Potter, you can go wash up and go to the infirmary with the others." And then the teacher turned again and looked kindly at him. "You, most of all, deserve to rest."

Harry didn't agree with that. It was obvious from his countenance that he felt deeply exhausted and hurt, however, he was not in a position to lie down and sleep for a long time, have his wounds taken care of and close his eyes and pretend that nothing had happened, but he just turned around, looking to friends and simply obeyed.

Before they leave, he can see the teacher looking back, her hair loose and streaked, her clothes sooty and dark blood somewhere on her arm with a completely exhausted expression, sitting with some discomfort in the chair that had once belonged Albus Dumbledore, before the three of them crossed the room. Harry, however, went directly to the Fat Lady painting towards the Gryffindor Common Room, still devastated by the battle, where many students crowded dragging suitcases and hugging friends, but did not see them, since Harry, once again, covered up and Ron and Hermione with the Invisibility Cloak, crouched through and stepping on the rocks and dirt on the floor, crossing smashed busts to the railing of the stairs. 

Even with protests from Hermione insisting that Harry go directly to the Infirmary - or even then, the Castle Entrance, where several combatants were still lying on makeshift stretchers and being cared for by healers who had just arrived from St Mungos - Harry ignored her, stating that he didn’t want to be in the middle of everyone and being ovulated or even cursed. She didn't understand his train of thought. In any case, he did not want to receive any kind of treatment different from the others, whether it was pleasant or bad.

"Take the Invisibility Cloak if you want, bring me tomorrow. I will not be leaving the room until everyone, or almost everyone, leaves Hogwarts." Harry had said in a low voice, while Hermione pulled from his beaded purse one of the last healing potion that she still had miraculously, into the boy's hands.

"B-but ... Harry…"

"Leave him, Mione. Harry needs to be alone." Ron said, patting his friend on the shoulder. "See you tomorrow morning."

"Okay." Harry had replied and even though she was upset, Hermione followed Ron back to the Common Room, while the boy locked himself in the dorm.

Harry then suddenly returned to the present.

He blinked his eyes and realized that he had dozed off again, as his belly finally snored, and looking at the golden watch on his wrist that still worked, it indicated that it was just after two in the afternoon. He once again lifted the body from the bed, feeling his sedentary muscles protest with the sudden act, and tried to see with his crooked glasses the empty, dark and silent room, still crammed with innumerable packages and gifts up to the walls. Don't feeling no one was there. On the other side of the window, he heard the sound of almost nothing at all, just a faint patter of drops hitting his pane. The light rain then cooled the room, making Harry decided to get out of bed for good and then leave the dorm for the first time in almost two weeks since the Battle was over.

(...)

He was now on the edges of one of the parapets on one of the upper floors of the castle, along with Ron and Hermione, the three of them with pale faces and bandages spread across their arms and legs, especially Harry, who had a large bandage on his forehead where there was been hit by the stone debris that fell on him the moment Fred was attacked. Now they sat on the parapet, watching the sky painted orange and gray, shortly after the improvised dinner at the Castle, which Harry had obviously avoided as well as the other meetings with the residents of Hogwarts. So Ron snatched a small basket of caramel pies and breads with fried sausages, and inside was a bottle partially filled with pumpkin juice and brought it to his friend when they found them. 

They spent a long time silent, watching the sun go down, while Harry's mind wandered far away, when it was Hermione who finally broke the silence.

"Everyone's been asking about you, you know, Harry. Everyone wants to hug you, thank you, kiss you, shake your hand and everything. They want to talk to you, but as they have avoided leaving the dormitory, I feel an air of disappointment in the air." She said, giving a light chuckle at the end of the sentence. "I don't think they would ever understand, you know."

"Uh, I understand." Ron replied, making a face as he turned to Hermione on Harry's other side. "Like, come on. Even I would like to thank Harry, but the air is very heavy. I hope they all leave soon, then we can also take the train back home in peace."

"So, have all the students left Hogwarts yet?" Harry asked his friend, a little exasperated.

"Almost all." Hermione who answered. "I was still left, Ron, Luna, some students of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw and a few wounded from the battle, too hurt to stupor to St Mungos, but I think they all fit in the Hospital Wing and released the Hall. he ordered Goblins and some building wizards to come until the day after tomorrow to begin repairs on the Castle. I think practically, everyone in Gryffindor has already left."

Hermione turned her head to the side and looked at the large missing piece of wall that followed the castle to the towers on the west side, where its parts lay inert, destroyed on the charred grass of the countryside around below, even towards of the lake.

"Looks like they're going to have a long job, poor people." Ron sighed deeply as he poured a glass of pumpkin juice into his mouth next.

"Yeah. I only hope they finish by the beginning of the school year. I don't want to go back with everything still destroyed, you know. It would make me sad just to think."

Harry knew why Hermione talked about returning to the castle, of course. Since the three of them had missed almost the entire school year while looking for the Horcruxes, there was still a year to complete their education at Hogwarts, and of course, if they wanted to continue looking for a job in the wizarding world, they needed to complete the last exams, just like the others. That remained. Harry hadn't thought about going back to school, hadn't even thought about leaving, yet he had a glimpse of a certain plan that would make it now that it was over and Voldemort wouldn't bother him again, now that he was free of his own destiny for the first time. Time since he was born. But for that, of course, they had to finish their studies. They could not go back to attending classes normally, they were too old, so learned that Hermione had asked Professor McGonagall, the next day that Harry had locked himself in the dormitory, to do some supplementary type to make up for the countless missed classes - and that, of course at the teacher's own suggestion, they enrolled to perform. So they would only have to return for a few days, take some tests of school summaries and finally Harry, Ron and Hermione would graduate and leave Hogwarts for good. 

He then found himself thinking about Fred, George and others Ron's brother, and all the Weasleys and especially - as many, many times - about Ginny, and the funeral that followed the day after the Battle, when those left behind prepared the seats ideals and preparations to bury all who had died on the castle grounds. Many had died. Bellatrix Lestrange, the other Death Eaters and the Dark Lord himself had been huddled together in a mass grave deep in the Forbidden Forest, burned and then buried, as they deserved to be. 

They should not be buried with honors, or tears or even a tombstone, because not one cried forthey. He remembered Ron knocking frantically on the bedroom door that afternoon, Harry hadn't wanted to get up since breakfast to watch the Heroes' Funeral, and everyone wondered where Harry Potter was. Why was he not there to pay his respects to those who had sacrificed for him? Why didn't you have the courage to look the family in the eye without being able to apologize for taking their lives? Harry's only thought of consolation was that they would have fought anyway, even if he hadn't been the cause, to defend the wizarding world had it been at the hands of the Death Eaters or anyone who hurt more innocents.

Ron was gone from the other side of the door after he shouted his name, and called for many minutes, but Harry remained in bed, silent, on his side and hiding his face from anyone who managed to open the lock and see him there, huddled and weeping for those he loved and had lost. Again he remembered that he was about to leave Hogwarts forever, to leave that place destroyed, but still in his heart, his eternal home. He chased away his thoughts and tried to change the subject.

"I forgot to ask Neville, you know. Before I left this morning." Harry said, watching now the last copper-colored sun rays lying down at the sunset and shy stars shine in the distance of the deep and increasingly dark sky. "Asking how he got the Griphook Griffindor's sword, since he stole it from us while we were at Gringotts.

"Ah," Hermione exclaimed and swung her legs over the balcony railing, still a little distracted by the sight of the wreckage beneath the three. "He told me, you know. When we went to the St Mungus. Neville said he took the sword when it appeared to him, it appears that it disappeared when Griphook was killed. He just didn't want to tell me where and when, he looked mysterious." And then Hermione turned to pour another glass of pumpkin juice and brought it to her lips.

"Well, Harry, you've been thinking about Ted, right? I mean…" And she turned to look Harry in the eye. "You have responsibilities for him, now that Professor Lupine and Tonks... well... you know."

Ron stared at the two of them with a half-rigid face, frightened by Hermione's unexpected change of subject, and turned his eyes to his own drink, muttering something inaudible. The sky was now dyed an indigo blue as it was covered with sparkling dots, and that sight distracted the boy for a millisecond before leaping back to the ground, leaving the parapet and picking up the food basket. Harry hadn't thought about Ted until then. His head was so full of thoughts and obsessions, afraid of what would come next, of what he would become when he graduated, of how he would live, in the guilt of the deaths he could have avoided that he had not even thought of Ted Lupine, son of Nymphadora Tonks and her father's old friend, and former professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, Remus Lupin. 

He was now the godfather of the baby they both left to save Harry, and then a new wave of guilt and pain washed over his head, piling up another stone on top of the others he felt carrying heavily on his back.

A horrible thought came to light. Ted had lost his parents to save Harry, leaving him with less than a year to live, just like himself. What if the little boy had to take shelter with distant relatives, with Muggles, who hated and mistreated him as the Dursleys did for so many years? No, he couldn't think of that. Harry shook his head when he stood up and felt that he was tightening the handle on the basket too hard. At least Ted was left with his grandmother, Andromeda - a wizard - who would certainly give all the necessary love and care that Ted deserved. And when, if he wanted to, and so he could, when he reached the age of attending Hogwarts, he would offer him the same house that now belonged to Harry, the same that his own godfather also offered him to live in, the same place that Sirius wished he had gone.

"Of course I will take care of him, I will be close to him. If he wants." Harry replied to his friend, after long seconds that seemed like an eternity of reflection. "I can't take the place of his parents, but... nor Sirius wanted him when mine died, but I can try to be a good godfather. I hope so."

"Brillant." Hermione stepped forward, to the two friends. "I guess I decided what I'm going to do when we officially graduate from Hogwarts. I mean, in future plans, you know."

Ron and Harry looked at her in surprise, as it seemed like centuries that they heard their friend say something like that, in the moments when they asked them what they would do with the notes O.W.Ls and N.E.W.Ts. At that time, Harry had said that he really wanted to be an Auror, but then at that moment, he wasn't so sure anymore. Harry’s entire focus in recent years was just the Dark Lord and Prophecy, who had barely thought about the possibility of it all ending so soon - and with his whole body to seriously think about what profession he would pursue.

"In what?" Ron's voice echoed to the side, with a somewhat mocking tone and Hermione frowned at him, annoyed. She ran her hands through her thick hair and replied:

"Well, I was thinking... to join the Ministry of Magic for some position, or…"

She paused and took a breath. Again he continued: "Proceed with what Bathilda Bagshot worked on. I mean, continue with the book A History of Magic from the point that it ended. Writing, you know. Write about... about everything that happened to us. About Voldemort. About Harry."

Then there followed a few minimal seconds of silence, and Ron with Harry who had turned to his friend and stared at them completely surprised. That was certainly new, since they had no idea that Hermione might have shown any interest in pursuing a writing career. Harry - more than anyone, even Ron - believed faithfully that the friend with all that intelligence, would try to go as far as possible, as Dumbledore had done as a young, and had already caught himself once or twice imagining Hermione arriving at Minister of Magic a few years later. But, he also knew more than anyone, that all those experiences had abruptly sealed their reality with what they dreamed of being, and that would really hinder how they saw each other when it was over, and everything was fine. But even so, he felt a wave of disappointment and embarrassment go through his body to the back of his neck. She didn't understand how her friend had arrived at that decision.

"Don't look at me like that."  She said, looking at the two a little angry, as she clearly expected another reaction from both. "I believe I'm doing it right thing. I believe that people should know the truth, know what happened. Knowing what has been done so that Evil doesn't affect the wizarding world again than pretending that nothing has happened, and helping who knows in the near future, some Hogwarts students to defend themselves better, knowing the story, don't you agree?"

"Bloody Hell, Mione." Ron snorted, rolling his eyes up. "It sounds like Rita Skeeter talking, huh? After all that she did with Harry and Professor Dumbledore's phony biography, and even more what she did to you, I thought you were the last person to want to pursue a career in something like that."

Ron had said the wrong thing, it was evident from the scary face that Hermione threw at her friend, as if she was going to stun him right there on the parapet, without any pity. Harry exclaimed but she was quicker to respond.

"That's not it." Hermione hissed at Ron. "I don't want to do anything, absolutely nothing, like that little Skeeter bug. Do not."

"Then…?"

"Something totally different from her, Ron!" Hermione roared. "Rita Skeeter is a troll on a woman's body, she wanted to gossip, spread lies, everything to sell and guarantee more galleons. Of course, as much as it pains me to say, she got some points in her research right, but the way she did it is purely disgusting to me. Not! Me," And then he pointed at himself, with an air of satisfaction in his voice now. "I want to correct the lies that that toad made. I want to write about the history of the wizarding world since the beginning of the 20th century, how Hogwarts grew up, how Voldemo…"

Ron cringed when she spoke the name of the Dark Lord. 

"Oh, no Ron! He's gone, you don't have to be afraid of his name anymore. How Tom Riddle's Voldemort achieved so many atrocities, how Dumbledore formed the Order of the Phoenix, and how Harry and we found the Deathly Hallows and the Horcruxes. You know, I really think that everyone needs to know, keep all this and keep it from happening a second time."

"What? Second time? Write about the Death Hollows and the Horcruxes? You are crazy!? This is quite the opposite of what we want. I mean, if people know about them… bloody hell, we work so hard to avoid talking about it with the teachers as Dumbledore ordered, and you want…"

"No, Ron. I don't want to teach you how to make Horcruxes or where the Death Hallows were, don't you both understand?" Hermione waved her hand, somewhat patiently. "I don't want to explain how to get them, but how and for what they existed. I think that all students should have the right to remedy their curiosity about what we did during the months of escape, how Harry managed to come back to life, like... well, you know."

And then she looked over his shoulder and saw Harry standing there looking at her still. 

"Of course, I'm just telling you a plan. I won't do anything if you don't agree, of course. I haven't even started anything."

Harry knew what she meant when she said that wish. He knew that Tom Riddle had used extraordinary and cruel methods due to the lack of descriptions of the Horcruxes and had just been defeated for not knowing all the Death Hallows, which would benefit them in a point of view if someone al intentionally tried to follow the same paths as Voldemort in the future, the lack of responsible books on how to overcome the limits of Death. But he understood what Hermione meant. 

In a few years, everyone could forget what they had actually done, the hardships and trials they had spent in the forests camping, looking for and looking for invisible information for the next step in a larger plan, but without success. She remembered the frustrations she had with her friend, the fights with Ron, all because she didn't know where to go, how to do, what to do, while friends suffered. Not to mention that, he was already very famous and now after that battle, he could put more eyes on his scar and he would return to being a point of rumors and other lying things when curiosity for the lack of information started. Hermione didn't want to reveal Dumbledore's secrets, but to tell how they got there. As everything had actually walked, and reaching that conclusion, he put the basket on the floor and put a hand on Hermione's back, who was surprised by Harry's sudden unexpected hug from behind, and released her quickly.

"Well, I think the idea is good. But I don't know if the Ministry of Magic would like us to make our point of view so accessible as well. Isn't it, Ron?"

Ron just snorted again and put his chin in his hands, staring at the sky as if nothing else was interesting. And after a few moments, he asked:

"So, do you have a plan of what you're going to do when you leave Hogwarts, man?"

He asked now, and Hermione still sitting on the parapet but facing Harry, both expressions of curiosity. Harry hadn't even talked to his friends much about what he was going to do next, about his ultimate goal, about what Harry Potter intended to do now that he finally and definitely defeated Lord Voldermort. And, catching himself rambling with those very words that came from himself, Harry smiled and looked at his friends. 

He wanted to have that image engraved in his memory, the three of them there in a corner of the castle, away from everyone, making small talk and eating treats, barely knowing that all that precious and carefree moment would be over soon.

(...)

Harry, Ron and Hermione and Luna were accommodated on the train back to Hogsmeade station, the Hogwarts Express had left a few hours ago. The boys were housed in the usual cabin at the end of the train, which was actually practically empty, taking them and just a few other students who were still unable to apparate, injured, and had not yet returned, plus some representatives of the Ministry of Magic who for some reason, they were also there. 

Harry thought they were on the train to watch him, and drawing that conclusion, he spent the journey watching the landscape of trees penetrating, blurring at high speed through the window. Hermione was reading one of the newspapers, editions of the Daily Prophet that were huddled together and tied in a single string on her lap. Ron now nibbled a carefree chocolate frog, and Luna was staring at the window with Harry. 

They stayed that way since they went up in a long silence, after all it was the first and one of the last two times that they would leave school, and it was only a fact that the four - since Luna had been kidnapped to the Malfoys' house - should return to provide the services. supplementary courses, and definitely graduate in a few months. Harry thought again about the Weasley family, and if somehow if George and Ginny would be angry with him for missing Fred's funeral, if they felt his weakness for the next few days - not that Ron had shown it or quoted those brothers' feelings, but the stones of the subconscious weight of guilt weighed him down as much as before they came back and faced Voldemort. What should have relieved him, now weighed him down even more in his heart.

Almost suddenly, he saw the smudges pass by the window and remembered what Dumbledore had said to him in the vision of after he died, talked to him in that form at Kingscross Station: "Don't pity the dead, Harry, have pity for the living, and above all those who live without love ”. It was clear that those who had died died with love, fighting for love, for what they believed, and, holding on to it, Harry let out a heavy sigh that the whole cabin heard.

"What did McGonagall want to talk to you about when we got back to the Common Room, Harry?" Hermione's voice called out to him, and Harry had been pulled from his brief detours into reality.

"Heh? Oh. She wanted to ask me a few more questions and handed me a letter, and went back to the principal's office. Only that." And he pulled from one of the sleeves of his indigo wool coat and showed a small brown envelope with the typical red wax seal with the Hogwarts symbol on his tongue. "This one here."

"Gee, haven't you opened it yet?" Ron asked now, looking at the letter. "And if it was an important thing who needed to answer soon?"

"Ah, don't be so silly." Harry smiled, analyzing the letter for a few more seconds and putting it away again, turning back to the window. "Professor McGonagall told me to open it when I got home and reflect on the content and that I could answer it later, don't you remember what I said?"

"No. I was too worried about the train leaving and packing my trunk than knowing every detail." Ron snorted and Hermione shot him an ugly look. "She's been staying in Dumbledore's office a lot since the Battle, isn't she? When did we see it right since everything happened?"

"Principal, Ron." Hermione said. "It's Principal McGonagall, now. She was Deputy Headmaster at Hogwarts, they forgot. It is obvious that she was elected the new Director of Hogwart."

And then she folded a piece of the thick volume from the previous week of the Daily Prophet in her lap, showing the moving photograph of the newest nominated Headmistress.

"If I were you, Harry." Hermione added. "I would read the letter as soon as possible, see?"

"Right." He replied the friend, now with a certain involuntary coldness in his voice, as he had no desire to discuss anything at that moment, not even by a simple letter.

"I thought the Ministry of Magic would try to put someone in their position after Snape... well, you know... "And Ron glanced at Harry and went back to Hermione and Luna. "I mean ... I'm glad the Ministry made a deal, right. For once."

"Yeah." Hermione agreed, folding the newspaper and lifting the batteries and laying them on the floor, yawning. "I want to go back soon, I have to say hello to everyone and Apparate to Australia. Review my parents, explain what happened. You know."

(To be continue next Post...)

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