Chapter Text
1998
The gavel sounded.
Now that the trial was over, everyone started shuffling out of the courtroom. Harry passed members of the Wizengamot wearing those distinctive plum-coloured robes embroidered with the letter W. He nodded out of politeness and pretended not to notice their reactions. He was already sick of people looking at him with wide-eyed awe. Especially when they were so much older than him. Merlin, he wasn’t even eighteen years old!
So he pushed out from the courtroom and headed down the hallway without stopping. Harry was carrying a long wooden box, lined with velvet. He held it very carefully. With his free hand, he adjusted his tie, which felt uncomfortable around his neck. He wasn’t used to wearing formal clothing.
If he went up to the Atrium, then there was a chance that he could intercept-
“Mr Potter,” a voice called.
It was Kingsley Shacklebolt, who shook his hand and pointedly did not ask about the box. “I was surprised that you chose to speak at the trial,” he remarked.
“He made bad decisions during the war, but Malfoy doesn’t deserve Azkaban.”
“Many would disagree with you.”
“Thankfully, the Wizengamot did agree with me,” Harry replied with a rueful smile. He looked down the hallway, where those who attended the trial were now coming out from the courtroom, chatting amongst themselves. Then he glanced at the stairs leading up to the Atrium and adjusted his grip on the box. “I should, er, congratulate you on being appointed the next Minister for Magic.”
Shacklebolt inclined his head. “Thank you. I hope to surpass the last Ministers.”
Harry snorted at that. “Nothing to worry about there.”
“I heard that you are planning to become an Auror?”
“Just working with Robards to track the remaining Death Eaters, for now.”
“A noble task.”
Harry nodded, although he didn’t really think so. It was hardly noble if he was doing it to avoid making any long-term decisions about his future. Robards had framed it as ‘trialling field work’. At least he didn’t have to explain what would be involved to Shacklebolt, who was a former Auror.
“Excuse me. I really have to, er. I need to speak with someone.”
He waved goodbye to Shacklebolt and nearly ran upstairs, careful not to drop the box. When he reached the Atrium there were reporters from the major newspapers gathered around. They flashed cameras and shouted questions to him. Harry ignored them, looking past the fountain.
He’s not here.
The realisation was somehow disappointing.
Not wanting to deal with attention from the reporters, Harry headed to the Floos. He stumbled out of the fireplace at 12 Grimmauld Place and immediately took off the tie.
There will be another chance to return it, he reasoned.
But the following week, Robards sent word that there was a lead on Selwyn’s whereabouts. It took another three weeks before the lead panned out and they apprehended him. In the process, Selwyn took Harry down with a ricocheting curse that put him in St Mungo’s for an entire fortnight.
The nurses there celebrated the summer solstice by playing the Witching Hour on the wireless and bringing bundles of herbs to patients without sensory issues. Harry was gifted with a tiny bouquet of white flowers with dark black stems. They had no fragrance and did nothing at all, it seemed.
“What is this?” he asked.
“Moly flowers, Mr Potter,” the nurse informed him.
Later, Hermione explained that the wizarding community was bringing back ancient traditions. Summer solstice was the first opportunity they had to celebrate instead of mourning.
“I don’t know if anyone will care about it next year,” she said honestly.
When Harry was discharged from the hospital ward, Robards brought him into the months-long pursuit of Greyback. The werewolf was considered particularly dangerous amongst the Death Eaters. His birthday passed during that time, the party postponed until Greyback was apprehended.
By December, the escaped Death Eaters were imprisoned and awaiting their own trials. There was a new scar at his shoulder from the ricocheted curse that had sent him to hospital. Now that he better understood the risks, Harry accepted a position at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Robards gave him two weeks of leave around the winter solstice and thanked him for his hard work.
So Harry went to the front gates of Malfoy Manor, holding that polished wooden box.
No face appeared in the gate.
“Hello?” he called.
No one came to greet him.
Harry frowned and checked the gates for any hostile spells. Finding none, he pushed at them. The wrought-iron gates did not move at all and neither did anyone come out from the manor. It was almost like the estate had been abandoned, though the gardens were too well-maintained for that. Harry peered through the metal whirls of the gates and saw that there were no more albino peacocks. He wondered if Narcissa Malfoy had removed them after her husband was imprisoned for life.
He scratched his jaw and considered leaving the box here, propped up against the gate. Out of sight, out of mind. He could stop worrying about returning its contents and go about his life.
Acting on an odd impulse, Harry opened the box and gently touched the wand that was resting inside. It faintly buzzed with magic that still lingered after seven months of disuse. There were smoothed-over scratches and worn grooves where its original owner positioned his fingers countless times.
Harry frowned at it, then closed the lid with care.
He considered the box and the gate, before shaking his head and Apparating away.
The box waited on his bedside table for another week, a silent reminder that it needed to be returned.
But Harry soon became distracted by winter solstice traditions, which involved carving wooden figures and giving them to those around you, and gathering for dances in the snow-covered fields near Ottery St Catchpole. Despite being absolutely rubbish at dancing, he twirled his friends and always caught them before anyone could stumble into a snow drift. They laughed together and had a better time than he was truthfully expecting. The Yule Ball had been terrible, after all.
There were rumours that the Ministry was considering holding formal balls next year. Apparently, that had been commonplace during the 19th century.
I wouldn’t mind attending, he thought.
When the Daily Prophet published photographs of him dancing with Ginny and Luna, publicly speculating about a ‘secret love triangle’, Harry frowned and changed his mind.
It would have to be a masquerade. No chance of being recognised or paired up with my friends.
It really bothered him that the newspapers just assumed that he was straight. Right now his priority was making it through Auror training without any new scars, though. Harry could deal with misunderstandings about his private life when it became important to correct them.
The newspapers went into the bin, and the wand box went into the drawer of his bedside table, soon to be forgotten about completely.