Chapter 30: Finding it Again

Time continued to play its tricks. For the final two days of their captivity, it moved slowly but passed quickly, taunting Gawain more effectively than a poltergeist. A month in this house and Time had stopped. When it came time to restart, Time seemed to decide it had to speed up to account for all the waste. Looking back, there would be snapshots that stood out to Gawain in a blur of otherwise constant motion around him.

He didn't particularly remember moving to the kitchen, but at some point, he realised he was sitting at the scrubbed wooden table, waiting with all the other residence of Grimmauld Place. It wasn't until Margaret walked in and a palpable sigh of relief went around the room that he remembered what they'd been waiting for. Margaret had successfully Apparated Roslyn to the Ministry where she'd been taken into custody by the Aurors on night watch. Gawain imagined she couldn't have been gone long, but the way Amitra rushed to crush her lips to Margaret's at her return, he found himself altogether uncertain if it had been minutes or hours or days.

They waited some more. And time sped up again.

Later, Gawain remembered the tense atmosphere more than the occurrences. He remembered people spoke in whispers as though they feared being overheard, though by whom, he couldn't say. He remembered Margaret assuring them Roslyn was secured, remembered her saying something about an Unspeakable who specialised in curse-breaking already working to break the Trace and his assurances that it would finally be manageable now they had Roslyn. He remembered Arthur Weasley coming by, still wearing frayed pinstriped pyjamas under his cloak and, under Kingsley's instruction, gingerly taking the two-way mirror way with instruction to give it to Marina who would be coordinating a mission to try to capture Travers and rescue Robert Roslyn. Gawain remembered wondering if he should be helping with any or all of this. He also remembered not particularly caring if he should.

Morning must have come, he supposed, as it always did eventually, but in the windowless kitchen, Gawain had no concept of it. At some point the fire flared and Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger stepped out. It was only then that Gawain noticed an untouched plate of food in front of him. It was cold. Weasley and Granger looked around with an expression of tense expectation and worry, a habit which had grown so very familiar.

"Harry not here?" Weasley asked Kingsley, the concern evident in his tone. Gawain blinked and looked at the empty chair beside him in some surprise.

"I sent him up to get some rest a few hours ago—he was looking a bit peaky. Hasn't come back down yet. Thought you'd be at the joke shop," he added to Weasley as an afterthought.

Weasley brushed this off. "George can cope for the morning without me. Harry's more important."

Granger chewed her lip, eyes darting from Weasley back to Kingsley. "Is he… alright…?"

Kingsley shrugged. "You know Harry," he said by way of response. "Wouldn't likely say if he wasn't."

Weasley and Granger nodded in grim agreement. Granger sighed. "Why does he always have to be in the middle of this kind of stuff? I mean this wasn't even really about him for once, and yet, there he is."

"Would certainly be nice if things would just go easy on him every once in a while," Kingsley agreed. "Just when he seems to be catching a break, something happens. His injury, then his disappointment over his NEWT score, now this…"

Weasley and Granger stopped abruptly in their nodding and exchanged confused looks. "Disappointment over his NEWTs?" Granger asked, eyeing Kingsley bewilderedly.

Kingsley blinked at them as though surprised they didn't know. "Yeah. Well… Just seemed he didn't do as well as he'd hoped. Hardly his fault," he hastened to defend him. "Can't have been easy sitting the exams after a year away."

Weasley and Granger exchanged puzzled looks again. "Did he tell you he did poorly?"

"Ye—" Kingsley broke off and contemplated them for a moment. "Well… No. But he looked disappointed when he opened the envelope. And since then, he's been studying like mad again. I'd assumed he was planning to take the exams again."

Weasley glanced at Granger again before saying, "Well, I don't know what all the studying is about, but he did great on his exams. Better than me, at any rate."

"You did fine," Granger assured. "But Harry…I wouldn't be surprised if he was top of the class."

"Only because Hermione didn't sit it," Weasley said, grinning proudly at Granger.

Granger pursed her lips, but wasn't entirely successful at hiding her returning smile. "Maybe. But the point is, he did really well. Didn't get anything below an E."

Kingsley was frowning. "Why would he lead me to believe he didn't," he mused.

Weasley shrugged. "Modesty maybe? He's done weirder things to avoid attention." Kingsley grunted noncommittally, his expression thoughtful and frustrated.

"Shall we go check and see if he's awake?" Granger suggested to Weasley, shrugging off this discussion. They left the room.

Time skipped again.

There was no pretence of work today. No one broke off to their own activities. They all merely sat, each offering and clinging to a desperate silent companionship. And they waited.

Gawain didn't remember Harry rejoining them. Didn't remember Weasley and Granger leaving. But at some point, he noticed that Harry was there helping Nayana prepare dinner. At some point he remembered Arthur Weasley coming by to offer a quick update that things were going smoothly and not to worry. Still, they waited.

Everyone stayed in the kitchen much later that night, but, gradually, one-by-one, they drifted off to bed. Sandeep led Nayana away reminding her that she needed her rest when she glanced reluctantly toward the floo. As though this were a cue she'd been waiting for, Amitra practically dragged Margaret away—she'd not released her hand since she'd returned from the Ministry. Bones ushered his children up to bed just after—Gawain noticed Susan and wondered when she'd arrived. Mary roused Ella who had fallen asleep with her head on the table—he dimly heard his daughter grumble the whole way up the stairs about how she wasn't tired. One-by-one, they trickled out. Maybe tomorrow.

Gawain stayed where he was.

It was when Ben left, yawning and clapping Gawain on the shoulder from behind as he went, that Gawain finally blinked and looked around. Harry was sitting beside him. He had his books out and he was scribbling on a piece of parchment again. Noticing Gawain's gaze, Harry tossed down his quill and stretched, then blew gently on his parchment to dry the ink before adding it to a small stack of other papers and securing them between the pages of his book. He stood and his feet made the familiar trek to the cupboard to extract the teapot and cups. It wasn't until Harry set down three cups, that Gawin turned his head and saw Kingsley still at the table.

Kingsley was sitting, leaning back in his chair, one elbow propped on the table as he twisted the gold loop in his ear between his fingers. It was his only motion, save for his eyes. They watched Harry's every moment calculatingly. "Done studying for the night," he asked into the quiet. Gawain realised that while most the Gang had stayed late in the kitchen out of a hope for an update from the outside world, Kingsley, perhaps, had a different purpose in mind.

Harry looked at him levelly for a moment, then turned his attention back to the teapot, tapping it with his wand to bring it to boil. "Enough for tonight," he affirmed, his face blank.

Kingsley let out a low grumble of frustration which Harry returned with a quizzical look. "What?"

Kingsley ran a hand over his bald pate, his teeth gritted. He opened and closed his mouth a couple times as though trying to decide whether he'd regret this discussion. "Ron and Hermione tell me you did great on your exams."

Harry raised an eyebrow at him as he righted each teacup one after the other, a slight ringing click as they were set down on their corresponding saucer. "And that's a bad thing…?"

"No, of course it isn't. But what is it you've been working on over there?"

Harry's eyes flitted to his closed book, then back to Kingsley. He peeked inside the teapot to check the colour before he moved to pour. "It's nothing," Harry replied evasively.

Kingsley let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a laugh of frustration that made Harry pause with the teapot suspended over the second cup. "You've been working on it—whatever it is—practically non-stop since you got your NEWT scores back. But obviously it's nothing," he said sarcastically. "I just don't understand why you have to be so secretive about everything!"

"I don't understand why you care so much," Harry returned evenly, going back to his pouring.

"Harry, last time you sneaked around it was to arrange that Potterwatch interview; you put yourself out for me. And, well, the time before that it was to go off hunting horcruxes and take on the most powerful Dark wizard of our age. So yeah. I guess I get a bit antsy when you're being secretive."

Harry's lips were pressed together in a very strange expression that Gawain could not initially interpret. But eventually they gave way to a grin, and he realised Harry was trying not to laugh. "Then, I mean, I guess you could say I'm improving on the self-preservation front, couldn't you? If my last big secret was just a plot to sway an election?"

Kingsley laughed in spite of himself, rubbing a spot on his brow. But for all the laugh, he was clearly not satisfied. Harry studied him for a moment, chewing on his lip before handing out the teacups. Then he turned and plucked the sheaf of parchment he'd been scribbling on out of his book.

"Here," he said thrusting them across the table. Kingsley stared a them for a moment as though expecting this to be a trick. Harry gave them an impatient little shake, and Kingsley reached up to take the parchment gingerly as though he thought it might explode or he might break whatever it was.

Righting them, Kingsley stared at the parchment, and his face went blank with surprise. Slowly, he shuffled the papers, glancing through each in turn. Gawain looked curiously between Harry and the back of the parchment but Harry's face gave nothing away as he sat back in his chair and blew on his tea to cool it.

After a moment, Kingsley lowered the papers and studied Harry. "This is an application to Auror Academy."

"Entrance essays," Harry confirmed, taking an unconcerned sip from his tea. "They're brutal too."

Kingsley looked back to the parchment again, his face nonplussed, then back to Harry. "Why hide this?"

Harry met his eye over his teacup. "I told you. I want to do it on my own. I want to earn it. It's bad enough the NEWT examiners went easy on me, last thing I need is the Minister for Magic putting a word in for me.

Mouth hanging open, Kingsley stared at him, shaking his head back. "Harry… You have earned it. You don't need me to put a word in for you. This…" he gestured with the stack of parchment before straightening them with a few taps on the table. "You deserve it," he said handing them back to Harry. "You deserve whatever you want to do."

Harry flushed. "It is actually nice, you know," Harry conceded, not quite meeting Kingsley's eye as he took the papers back. He shot a glance to Kingsley's questioning face and clarified, "It's nice that you care. Even if it drives me mental sometimes." A proud smile crossed Kingsley's face and the blush deepened on Harry's. He busied himself by tucking the parchment neatly back into his book, keeping his shoulders turned away from both of them for a moment.

The three of them sipped their tea in companionable silence for a time, and Gawain's mind fell blissfully blank. He was more relaxed than he'd been in days. Weeks. Perhaps years. He leaned back in his chair, almost dozing as the previous sleepless night caught up to him. His fingers traced the grain of wood on the table, and he abruptly found himself wondering if this would be his last evening sitting late into the night at this table. He felt the thought like a hippogriff kick to the gut and his fingers went still. He felt himself sit up a little, his breathing felt tight.

Quite suddenly, Gawain found himself wishing Kingsley would go up to bed. It wasn't an entirely rational thought and it took Gawain a moment in his head to unravel it—Gawain loved Kingsley and appreciated his company and normally would have been more than happy for him to join him. But if this was to be his last such night… A selfish part of him wanted that just for himself.

No sooner had he thought it than Kingsley drained his cup and announced he was headed up to bed. Gawain managed a nod as Harry wished Kingsley goodnight. Silence fell in his wake. Gawain sat stiff and awkward. Like he could no longer quite remember how he usually sat— What he did he usually do with his arms? Did he cross his legs? How did he usually start these conversations?

After a moment, he really wasn't sure how long, he looked over to find Harry watching him, a small secret smile barely turning up the corners of his mouth as though he could read his mind. Gawain met his eye awkwardly for a moment. He opened and closed his mouth a few times as he tried to think of something to say. Something clever or witty or heartfelt to mark the occasion. Something to let Harry know how much these late-night chats had meant to him these past few weeks. How they had kept him sane, kept him going. But Gawain, of course, had never been good with words, and he closed his mouth and swallowed.

Harry's smile widened and he looked down, a small laugh coming through his nose even as he bit his lips together to try to keep it in. Gawain wondered if he was about to get a cheeky comment, but instead Harry merely said, "I hear good things about the Ballycastle Bats' lineup. Who knows. Maybe they'll have a chance of knocking the Tornados off the top spot this year."

Gawain's mouth stretched in a rueful smile and a self-deprecating laugh escaped his lips as he looked down, rubbing a hand through his beard. It took him a moment to reply. His chest hitched with unexpected emotion, and found he was struggling to draw in a proper breath. He sniffed a little and blinked several times. Harry waited patiently for him to collect himself, a soft and understanding smile on his lips. Gawain nodded a few times to himself, drew in a deep breath and let it out before he turned back to Harry.

"That'd be something, wouldn't it? The Tornados are getting a little too cozy up there. The Bats probably have as good a chance as anyone. Definitely better than Appleby anyway!"

"Oh, you're an Arrows man," Harry acknowledged nodding. "Poor bloke. The only ones the Appleby Arrows ever have any chance of beating is the Canons!"

"Tragically, something we have grown accustomed to…"

Morning did not soften the mood around the kitchen table in Grimmauld Place. Conversation was minimal and there were repeated glances toward the fireplace, even as they helped themselves to boiled eggs and slices of bacon Amitra wordlessly passed around. And so when Arthur stepped down from the hearth, it was to find every single pair of eyes on him expectantly.

No one moved. No one breathed. Arthur looked around, blinking through his glasses at them. Then he grinned wide. "Well, how would you lot like to get out of here?"

There was a collective breath around the table, and then relieved laughter.

"We should really test it first," said Margaret with forced reason, though she was smiling in a way that said she'd really rather not bother. Amitra bit her lip and laid her hand on her wife's arm. Margaret patted her hand, but her gaze met Gawain's questioningly.

He nodded. "Reckon it's my turn, isn't it?" He smiled at the look of relief on Amitria's face. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mary open her mouth to say something, but she seemed to think better of it and closed it again. "Well, Ben. How do you fancy taking a stroll with me on this fine morning?"

"Hell, yeah!" said Ben with an enthusiasm that had the whole room break with giddy laughter.

Gawain led the Apparition, Ben content to Side-Along. He hadn't even asked where they were going. He was like a puppy: just happy to be included on an outing and not at all concerned about the details. Gawain felt the familiar compression and Ben bouncing along against his side before his feet slammed into the earth. He kept his eyes closed.

He felt the wind first. It gently kissed his face, fluttered his hair. It whooshed in his ears. Then he felt the warmth of the sun on his skin. He felt the rocky uneven earth beneath his feet. He drew in a deep breath, felt the air flowing through his nose, and he smelled the familiar heady scent of the heather.

"Wow," came Ben's voice to his left. "Where are we?" Gawain blinked open his eyes.

It hadn't changed. Eighteen years since he'd stood on this spot and it was just the same. If he'd been an artist, he could have painted this scene from memory. The hills stretched before him, a sea of colour fading from purple to green and every shade in between. Soft sunlight bathed the landscape, casting shadows that seemed to dance across the rugged terrane as the wind rustled through the scrub.

"North York Moors," Gawain muttered in response to Ben's question.

Ben nodded, taking in the tranquil beauty. "Nice place," he said in what Gawain could only consider a wholly inadequate assessment. "Why here?"

"It's where my wife took me on our first date," he answered softly. But still his eyes stared out across the moors, watching as they seemed to undulate in the breeze.

"Romantic," Ben acknowledged. "Feel like we should have brought Mary, then. Not that I'm not touched, but you're not really my type..."

Gawain smiled softly. He didn't correct him.

Ben drew in a deep breath of appreciation. "Damn it's good to smell some fresh air, isn't it?" he chattered. "Feel like I can finally breathe! Finally stretch my legs properly! You know what I feel like doing?" but Gawain was hardly listening and couldn't muster more than a "hm?" in response. "I feel like doing cartwheels! I haven't done cartwheels since I was a kid, but damn it, I'm gonna do some cartwheels!"

Gawain couldn't help but smile as Ben dashed down off the rocky out-cropping where they were standing to more even ground, take up a wide-legged stance, arms outstretched, then proceed to fling himself upside down only to fall in a spectacular heap, laughing like a madman. Shaking his head and chuckling, Gawain turned again to look out across the moors.

It didn't surprise him when he saw her standing there beside him, gazing out across the picturesque landscape. She was there, clear as Ben was. Clearer even. He could count every eyelash, every freckle. A touch of sunburn kissed her cheeks. The sun bathed her straw-coloured hair in golden light as the wind whipped and tangled it about her. Feeling his gaze, she turned to look at him, pushing a lock of hair out of blue eyes, though he knew it would fall right back across her face a moment later. She smiled at him, a dimple on her cheek, a slight gap between her two front teeth. Then she turned and began to walk away. Her slender hips swayed as she picked her way down the rocky hillside with a fluid grace, arms held wide for balance

He stood where he was and watched her go, the smile on his lips turned bittersweet.

He stood in their empty bedroom, eyes raking for anything forgotten. Mary had left the frayed blankets on the two beds neatly made, the battered dresser newly dusted, the wood floors swept. There wasn't a trace to suggest that a family had lived in this room for over a month. He crouched down to look under the beds but there wasn't so much as a pair of Ella's dirty socks. He wasn't sure why he felt the need to double check—he was sure Mary had already combed every cranny. But he felt an inexplicable loss. As though he were leaving something terribly important behind and forgotten.

He tried to tell himself that even if they did forget something, he could simply come by to pick it up, but somehow the situation felt more final than that. Like there would be no coming back. This was it.

He closed the door to the room with a deliberate softness, though there was no one there to disturb. Then he turned and walked slowly toward the stairs. His feet plodded along the worn carpet running the length of the corridor. He watched his feet, but no dust was kicked up—Kreacher had cleaned it since they'd moved in. He couldn't remember when he'd done that. He tried to think back on all the times he had walked this corridor. Tried not to think that perhaps this was the last time.

Nayana and Sandeep's door was open and there was a clinking and rustling from within. Gawain paused to look in as he passed. Nayana was alone. She was collecting a few trinkets one by one, wrapping them in crumpled pages from the Daily Prophet at placing them gently in her bag. The little brass candle holder he had seen her with before. Then she closed the lid over a tin of red powder and wrapped this too. Then another tin with what appeared to be twisted up bits of cotton.

"Oh! Hi, Gawain," she said, abruptly noticing him in the doorway. "All packed up?" Gawain nodded, but his eyes were on her hands at they worked. She looked down as well and blushed prettily. "I'm afraid I never was very good at packing light," she said, gesturing with the tin of cotton before sliding it in her bag. "Sandeep was teasing me that in the five minutes I had to pack, I managed to bring everything for pooja, but I forgot his toothbrush." She gave a small laugh.

"Pooja?" Gawain asked.

"Prayer," Nayana clarified. She held up a small figurine of a man with an elephant for a head that Gawain vaguely recognised as a deity, before wrapping this too in newspaper. "An offering to God." Gawain felt a surge of self-disgust. Something must have shown on his face and been misinterpreted because Nayana's blush deepened, and she shrugged almost apologetically as she self-consciously added, "It brings me comfort."

Gawain swallowed and schooled his features. He forced himself to smile and nod. "I think 'comfort' is an item worth packing."

Nayana beamed at him as though a little surprised. Then she held out a small plate with two apple slices and a few nuts. Gawain took an apple slice and a walnut, but then hesitated uncertain of its meaning or if he should eat it. Nayana smiled knowingly, picked up the other slice of apple and popped it into her mouth. Gawain followed suit, and Nayana watched him with her lips pressed together as though she were trying not to grin. Plate emptied, she wrapped this too in newspaper, placed it in her bag, and latched it closed.

"Well, I think that's everything," she said, glancing around the dim bedroom.

"Can I take your bag down for you?" Gawain offered, holding out his hand for it.

Nayana eyed him with mock sternness, but that smile still tugged at her lips. "I'm pregnant, not an invalid." Gawain did not lower his proffered hand, and he gave her a significant look. She laughed and passed him the bag. "Honestly, you're as bad as Sandeep," she said, shaking her head. But she looked rather pleased as they made their way down to the kitchen together.

Goodbyes were already underway when they arrived. People were scattered around the room chattering loudly over each other, last minute items were being shoved into packs, shoes and cloaks donned. Mary was having a stern talking with Ella who claimed to have lost her jumper (Gawain was quite certain she knew exactly where it was).

Sandeep dashed over to accept Nayana's bag from Gawain when they walked in. "Car just arrived!" he told her cheerily. He had insisted that a car be arranged to take them home as, with the baby due to arrive any day now, he didn't want her Apparating or using the Floo system. "I'll take this out and let the driver know we'll be just a minute."

Harry was chatting with Margaret and Amitra in the corner. He grinned self-consciously as Margaret ruffled his hair. Amitra said something that made them all chuckle as she pushed Margaret aside and took Harry's face between her manicured hands. Then she pulled him into a big hug and rocked him back and forth in big exaggerated gesture of possessiveness. Harry manged to break free and said something that had all three of them bent over laughing.

Gawain leaned against the wall, settling in to watch the procession from afar. As they broke apart, Amitra and Margaret waving and calling final goodbyes to everyone as they headed for the door, Sandeep returned to the kitchen. He and Nayana took their place to offer Harry hugs. Sandeep grinned his toothy, eye-crinkling smile and nodded in agreement as Nayana bullied Harry into agreeing to come to their home for more cooking lessons.

Next, Susan Bones dashed over to hug Harry and thank him as well. Gawain felt himself tense and his hand subconsciously went to his pocket as Edward Bones sidled up behind her. But then, head high and back straight and stiff, Bones merely held out a hand to Harry. Harry blinked, staring at it in surprise before he took it, and they shook. Edward's back was to him, and Gawain couldn't hear the words if any, but Harry looked a little shell-shocked as he waved his goodbyes to Maxim and Brandon, before the family headed to the Floo.

Mary and Ella made to move forward, and Gawain pushed off the wall to follow them. But Ben beat them there. He and Harry thumped each other on the back jovially and Gawain heard them agreeing to meet up next week for sparring practice ("Anywhere but here, mind. No offence," said Ben).

Mary finally stepped up, pulling Harry into a tight embrace and holding him there for a moment. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, but she was smiling as she said, "We're going to miss you so much." She broke away, but kept hold of his hand as she gazed earnestly into his eyes. "You'll come to visit, won't you? Anytime you like, you're always welcome. More than welcome."

Harry smiled back at her warmly. "Count on it," he replied.

Mary sniffed as she stepped aside for Ella to say her farewell. Ella held out the old Snitch Harry had given her. "Thank you for lending this to me," she said uncharacteristically shyly. "I hope you weren't too sad without it."

Harry grinned his lopsided grin as he bent a little to take it. But he simply pocketed it and pulled Ella into a hug. "How could I be sad? I had you."

Gawain's heart pounded a little as they broke apart. Harry was saying something about coming over to go flying with Ella sometime, but Gawain was having trouble listening. It was his turn. He should step forward and say… But he couldn't think of what he should say.

Harry straightened and looked around as though to see who was next. His eyes met Gawain's for a moment, but still Gawain couldn't quite figure out how to unstick his feet from the floor. Gawain jumped a little as Kingsley took pity on him and slapped his back affectionately.

Kingsley side-stepped around him and pulled Harry into a hug as well. Harry returned it warmly. When the broke apart, Kingsley left one hand on Harry's shoulder, as he eyed him soberly. "Hate to leave you here alone," he said. "But I dare say you'll be glad to have your house back to yourself again," he added, eyes laughing.

Harry gave a weak chuckle. "Yeah…. dunno… Guess I actually kinda got used to having people around. Gonna be weird." A small flash of worry, hastily stifled flashed across Kingsley's face, but Harry continued. "I actually… I actually thought that maybe I'll go stay at the Burrow for a bit. To adjust."

Kingsley made no attempt to conceal the pride on his face.

Gawain's excuses were gone, now. Kingsley was heading to the door, chatting with Mary as they went. And Harry was looking at Gawain, that small secret smile curving his lips again.

Still, Gawain could think of damn-all to say. They merely stood there and stared at each other. Gawain tried to find the words. Tried to think of something profound and heart-felt. Something that would express his gratitude, his affection, his hopes for the future. But everything that came to his head felt flat. It wasn't enough. No thank you sincere enough, no promises of future meeting that hadn't already been said, no words of fondness warm enough. So rather than say the wrong thing, Gawain just stood there and said nothing at all.

After a moment, Harry's grin widened and he nodded. "See ya around then," he said.

Gawain nodded slowly feeling a small fond smile stretching his lips. Then he turned and followed his family out.

"Well, I think security is set," Officer Gardner was saying. Gawain's eyes roved around the Ministry Atrium, looking for any weak points they may not have thought of. "I'll brief my folk. Let me know if you decide to add an extra Auror or two who can do the rounds, but I think we're in a good place." Gawain nodded in agreement. "Need anything else from me, before I go finalise a few things?"

"No. Thank you, Gardner. I'll let you know if there are any changes." Gardner nodded and headed off in the direction of the security desk. Gawain watched him pass the canvass shrouded statue that graced the centre of the hall, waiting for its unveiling at tonight's festivities. A few blokes from Magical Maintenance were there, hard at work setting up a dais just in front of it. One was studying a schematic with a frown, and Gawain was sure he was taking in the rows and rows of chairs and decorations they were expected to erect in the short two hours between the end of the work day and when the ceremony was due to commence.

Deciding to make one more circuit before he headed up to his scheduled meeting with Kingsley, Gawain turned, plodding through the crowds of Ministry workers going about their day. Speaking of Kingsley, his face blinked up at Gawain from various newspapers and magazines, as he passed the newsstand. A week since his official inauguration as Minister for Magic and the press was still marvelling at his last-minute surge in the polls. It was all any of the headlines had been shouting about all week. Gawain's feet paused near the news kiosk as his eyes caught something new, however. He picked up the latest edition of Witch Weekly and felt himself smirk as he studied the headline superimposed over the large photo stretching across the glossy cover.

WITCH WEEKLY
Who is the Chosen One's chosen one?

Harry was standing on what was unmistakeably Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. His arms were wrapped firmly and possessively around a petite girl such that only a mane of flaming red hair was visible and they were engaged in a… particularly passionate… farewell. On closer examination, Gawain was quite sure the photo had been taken from a great distance with a Telescopic Charm on the camera. He was simultaneously amused and affronted on Harry's behalf.

"Oi! Yeh gonna pay for that? This ain't a libry."

Gawain glanced up in surprise to find the newsstand attendant glowering at him. "Sorry. No. Thank you." Then, under his breath he muttered, "Go get her, Potter," as he replaced the magazine. He waved another small apology to the newsstand worker who was still eyeing him and turned to head for the lifts. Kingsley was expecting him.

The Atrium was packed. The last of the attendants were being sternly but professionally ushered to their seats, whether they wanted to or not. Kingsley stood on the raised dais on the far side of the hall; Gawain could just make him out over the heads of the many onlookers from his post. The Minister for Magic stood, his hands clasped behind his back, staring down the aisle in Gawain's direction expectantly. Grandiose music was commencing and Gawain's mouth twitched—Harry was going to hate it.

Gawain's eyes roved around the Atrium, taking in each of his stationed Aurors and Patrol members. Everyone was where they should be. He waited at his post beside the Apparition Zone, trying not to fidget. He wasn't nervous exactly, but he did have a faint curiosity about what would happen if they didn't show.

Barely had he thought it, however, when he heard the soft pop pop pop pop signifying that the guests of honour had arrived.

Harry stepped up beside Gawain, looking out over the hall as people craned around to try to get a look at him. A few people stood and were immediately chastised into taking their seats again. Cameras were already flashing in their direction. "Déjà vu?" Harry said, looking at Gawain out of the corner of his eye, his crooked grin spreading across his face.

"Let's maybe have this time go smoother," replied Gawain.

Harry chuckled in agreement. "But aren't you a bit overqualified to be babysitting me, Mr. Robards?" Weasley, Granger, and the boy Gawain recognised as Neville Longbottom took positions flanking Harry and they watched their banter with quiet amusement.

"Not today, I'm not."

Harry met his eye and they smiled at each other. "Well. Shall we get this over with?"

"After you."

Gawain kept a discrete distance back as Harry, Weasley, Granger, and Longbottom walked the long isle through the rows of chairs up toward Kingsley on the dais. His eyes roved the crowd, he told himself because he was assessing for threats, but more-so out of curiosity. As Harry passed a collection of Hogwarts professors, all brimming with pride, he saw Hagrid offering Minerva McGonagall his polka-dotted handkerchief— she looked as though she were blowing her nose on a bedsheet. A gaggle of former classmates cheered them, roaring "DUMBLEDORE'S ARMY" over the din of the dramatic music. One made a sarcastic rude gesture clearly hoping to elicit a laugh—Ron sniggered. They passed the rest of the Weasley family, all sitting together—Molly's head was on Arthur's shoulder; he squeezed her tightly as tears streamed down both their cheeks. Ginny, looking very pretty in a midnight blue gown, had eyes only for Harry as he walked. Her expression brimmed with pride; that was until he looked her way and she rolled her eyes at him in an expression that clearly said, Whatever, no big deal.

Gawain saw Harry look up to the newly unveiled statue in the centre of the hall. Indeed, it did not depict the comically lavish design that Harry had scoffed at. Instead, there was a collection of figures all standing shoulder to shoulder, arm in arm. Wizards and witches, young and old, centaurs, house elves, and even a giant. All of them stood together in unity, their eyes fixed defiantly and determinedly up toward something unseen that towered far bigger than themselves. Gawain saw Harry take this in, then his eyes met Kingsley's, and he nodded in approval. Kingsley grinned back.

Gawain barely listened to of the speeches, unimpressed by the pomp and circumstance of it all. But he applauded along with everyone else as one by one Weasley, Granger, and Longbottom accepted their awards. They each shook Kingsley's hand, blushing and smiling proudly as cameras flashed for posterity. When it came time for Harry, Gawain couldn't help but crane his head curiously for a better view. He remembered Harry's renunciation of the idea of shaking Kingsley's hand and smiling for the cameras, and true to his word he did not. Instead, he pulled Kingsley into a hug. The cameras flashed in wild elation.

Following the ceremony, there was a great deal of commotion and Gawain strove to keep track of his charge as the chairs were cleared and replaced by scattered cocktail tables, as guests made their dash to the bar, and as a legion of waiters appeared carrying trays of canapes or glasses of champagne.

Harry was passed from simpering bureaucrat to simpering bureaucrat, and while he maintained his polite smile and nodded and seemed to say all the right things, he extracted himself quickly from each conversation. Still, they kept coming, shaking his hand, pressing cocktails at him, slapping his back, urging him to eat while also keeping him talking too much to do so. Everyone wanted their moment with Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One.

A young blond girl of about Harry's age passed Gawain at one point, dragging a man wearing a press badge behind her. "I don't know, Luna…" the man was saying reluctantly, pulling back against her.

"Dad, let's just go talk to him! Harry's not one to bear a grudge. I know he'll forgive you…" Gawain didn't catch any more of what she said, but when she managed to reach him, Harry looked genuinely happy to see her and enveloped her in a warm hug. When he looked at her father, his face went a little blank with surprise for a moment, but then he held out his hand for the man to shake.

Their circuit carried them in a wide dance around the room. Gawain stayed far enough back to give Harry his freedom, but close enough to step in if he was needed. Gawain was quick becoming exhausted from the press of people and noise and lights, so he could not even imagine how much worse it must be for Harry. Were he not on duty, he would have been all too happy to have found a dark corner to recharge, or better yet go home. But duty called and so he trailed along as expected.

Still, he couldn't say he wasn't pleased when he found himself next to Ben and Margaret. "Hey," he greeted them in some relief. Harry had been ambushed by a collection of Wizengamot members and seemed unlikely to extricate himself quickly.

"Hey, Gawain," Margaret replied, then automatically slapped Ben's hand away from a passing tray of champagne. He got the impression it wasn't the first time. "You're on duty," she hissed at Ben.

"You are no fun," Ben grumbled back. "What's even the point of working a party if you don't get to enjoy any of the perks."

The three of them chatted idly for a bit as Gawain kept one eye on Harry, but he seemed well trapped.

"Oh good, you're all here!" Gawain looked around and saw Sandeep dodging his way through the crowd toward them.

"Sandeep! I thought you were away on—"

"I was! I am. But I knew you'd all be here, and I couldn't wait until I come by to show him off!" He thrust out a photograph of an exhausted but gloriously happy Nayana holding a tiny wrinkly baby in her arms.

"Hey! Congrats!" cried Ben, capturing Sandeep in a hug. Sandeep's smile had never been wider. Gawain clapped him on his shoulder and Sandeep grasped his forearm, smiling back at him.

"That was really it. I should go. I'm supposed to be on a nappies run, but we wanted to share with the Gang." He looked around at each of them in turn. "Finding I rather miss you lot, you know. Feel like we should organise a Grimmauld Place reunion or something."

"Testifying at Roslyn's upcoming trial not a fun enough reunion for you?" Ben asked. Gawain gave him a look that made him wince. "Sorry. Bad joke," he mumbled.

Sandeep smiled tolerantly. "I was thinking something a little more festive. You know, when things calm down. Anyway. Gotta go. Nayana sends her love." And in whirl, he was gone.

"Oh, thank God. Please save me," came Harry's voice from his other side not a minute later. Gawain turned to see him ducking into their corner with a look of exhausted relief to see them. "Kingsley owes me big for this one, that's all I have to say." They all chuckled. "Think I might be able to sneak out soon? I'm knackered."

"Dunno about sneak… There's about twenty people eyeing you right now to try to make their move the minute they see you alone," Ben said, scanning the crowd. Sure enough, numerous heads kept turning in their direction, planning their attack.

Harry groaned. "Well, then, maybe not sneak… Maybe marching unapologetically out is the better way to go…" Harry mused. Gawain wondered if this would let him off the hook—if he too could go home if Harry left.

"Harry, my boy!" cried a jovial voice to Gawain's right. He turned and saw Cornelius Fudge approaching their group, holding out his hand to shake Harry's. Guy Burgess was trailing behind him, his jaw set firm and chin held proudly high.

Harry blinked as he turned to face Fudge. Then he looked down at the former Minister's proffered hand. Then back up.

"Yup. Unapologetic march out it is," Harry concluded, turning back to Gawain, Margaret, and Ben and finishing his previous thought. "I'm out. Good to see you lot."

"We're still on for Friday, right?" said Ben.

"Friday!" Harry agreed. Then he turned and marched away toward the Apparition Zone. Fudge stood there, his hand still extended for a shake as though he'd completely forgotten it was there.

Gawain cleared his throat awkwardly. Margaret adjusted her eyepatch in such a way that Gawain was quite sure she was trying to conceal a smile. Ben was sniggering openly. "How do you do, Mr. Fudge," Gawain managed.

Fudge grumbled something Gawain couldn't quite catch and stalked away. Burgess followed him, shooting them a disgusted look. The three of them burst into laughter the moment they were out of earshot.

Gawain trudged up the few short steps to the front door. He tiredly pulled out his wand and tapped the door knob four times in the familiar rhythmic pattern and waited, listening wearily to the metallic clicks of the locks before the door swung open. Stepping through the threshold and closing the door softly behind him, he cracked his neck and stretched an aching shoulder before fumbling with the clasp to his cloak. His eyes drifted closed tiredly. When he finally managed to extricate himself of the garment, he hung it on the line of hooks and kicked off his shoes.

The house was silent, but there was still a light coming from the kitchen. He padded noiselessly down the corridor and paused at the entrance to the room. Mary was at the sink, turned away from him as she finished the washing-up from dinner. She didn't immediately notice him, and he took a moment to watch her. He took in her weary expression, the lines at the corner of her eyes and between her brows, the streaks of grey at her temples. He must have made some noise because she turned then. Her soft hazel eyes met his for a second and Gawain caught the barest flicker of some unknown suppressed emotion before she turned away again, looking back to her work. Gawain could not seem to recognise the look, but, for some reason, it made him sad.

Gawain watched her a moment longer. Her delicate hands moved steadily as she waved her wand to rinse away the suds from a pot and sent it soring to the drying rack. Her thick hair was pulled up as it so often was, keeping it practically out of the way of her task, but tendrils were escaping the pins, curling at the nape of her long graceful neck. Gawain found himself entranced by the small inverted triangle of dark hair at the base of her skull. He drew in a deep breath released it as a soft sigh, a gesture conveying every feeling and none all at once.

"Sorry I'm late," he said at last. "Ella in bed?"

Mary did not even look up from her work, but merely nodded once.

"I expect you're hungry. Shall I heat you up some leftovers?" Still, she did not look up. Something in the tone of her voice cut him to the bone. It was empty, emotionless. It was as if she had lost all hope in him, and couldn't even be bothered with arguing anymore. She's angry 'cause she cares, yeh ken? Gwen whispered in his ear. Tis when she's nae angry… that's when yeh ken yeh have a problem. He found himself wishing Mary would yell at him. Wishing she would beat her fists or shout or cry. He was quiet for a moment, silently praying for the old tedious squabble about how he ought to be home for dinner each night, spending time with his family, giving his daughter structure.

"Starving," he choked out, surprised by the unexpected emotions filling him. She gave another nod as she rinsed the last plate and put it aside. "I'll just check in on Ells," he murmured, turning away to exit the room because in that moment, he couldn't bear to look at his wife. He walked further down the hallway and mounted the staircase. The landing was dimly lit by a single candle in an alcove. He picked his way over to Ella's room and walked in, as soft as a shadow.

Ella was fast asleep, breathing softly. Moonlight fell through the window, falling on her bed, creating a square pattern of brightness on the comforter. It made her pale translucent skin glow an unearthly silver colour. She looked angelic, her face peaceful and shining radiantly. Gawain couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of this vision. His daughter. He settled himself on the edge of her bed, watching her steady breathing. He reached up and brushed a lock of her dark hair off her forehead, his hand lingering with his fingers barely touching her.

After a while—he wasn't entirely sure how long— he rose and left the room. He made to close the door before he stopped, remembering that Ella had always liked to have the door open to allow in a little extra light. But then as he turned away, he paused again, his brow furrowed. He couldn't remember how it was when he had entered. Did she still feel that need? Perhaps she had outgrown it. What other loved and charming childish quirks might be gone without him noticing?

When he re-entered the kitchen, Mary was just finishing making up a plate for him. He watched quietly as she prepared his dinner, waving her wand to reheat it, bringing with it tendrils of steam. Even more of her hair had escaped the pins and was curling about her shoulders. He found himself thinking of Harry and they way he had watched Ginny when she wasn't looking like she was a thing of such preciousness that he could never be allowed to possess. A faint sad sort of smile tilted up the corners of his mouth.

Sensing his eyes, Mary looked up at him and met his eyes with a blank expression. Then she looked away. She made to pick up the plate, preparing to carry it over to the table. Gawain crossed over to her in three silent strides, gently catching her wrist with one hand and taking the plate and setting it back on the counter with the other.

"There's something I want to talk to you about," he said, keeping his hold of her hand. She followed the plate with her eyes as he set it down before she looked at him, a flash of shock and confusion and something else—fear?—were apparent on her face before she wiped it blank again. He ran his thumb over her graceful fingers as he picked his words. She merely waited, her eyes intent on his face, her body painfully still.

Gawain licked his lips. "I had a meeting with Kingsley today," he said. A blink—not what she had been expecting. She said nothing though, so he continued. "The Wizengamot has asked me to step up as the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. To replace Roslyn."

"Oh!" Her eyes widened but before he could read more, Mary extracted her hand from his grip and turned her back to him. She busied herself with adding another scoop of mashed potatoes to his plate, though there was already more than enough. "Oh, I see. Con—" there was a catch in her voice and she had to try again. "Congratulations. I know how much that means to you."

Gawain watched her back very carefully, trying to read if she meant it. "Thank you. But… I actually turned it down."

Mary whipped around to face him. A chunk of potatoes dripped from the spoon she held, splattering on the floor, but she didn't seem to notice. She stared at him with wide and startled eyes, lips parted. "But… why? You've worked your whole career to be the department head! It's been your goal as longs as I've known you."

Gawain shrugged a little. "Goals change. There's more." Mary's eyes narrowed now. "I told him I had to talk to you first, but… I've been thinking of stepping down as Head Auror."

Mary gave a little convulsion as she choked down some emotion, but before Gawain could read her face, she spun around again, placing her back determinedly to him. He saw one hand clutch at the counter edge, the other went to her mouth. From behind, he could not read her expression and she didn't make a sound, but her shoulders shook with supressed emotion. She was crying?

He was growing alarmed now. God, but how did he always manage to bungle it all? Could he do nothing right by her? "I'm sorry," he spluttered, the words coming fast and desperate now. "I should have talked to you first. I know it means turning down a big promotion, a big pay raise. But I just… I've been missing out on everything at home so much, and I don't want to do it anymore. So I've been thinking. Sylvester Selwyn is retiring—turns out he actually means it this time. So they'll need someone to head up the Auror Academy. It would mean I'd be home by five every night, no working weekends, no emergency call. I can help with dinner every night and read Ella a bedtime story. No more missed birthdays or family holidays…" He was rambling, desperate to make her understand, but at this point Mary lost all semblance of control and the sobs burst forth and she was crying in earnest, leaning against the counter as she bawled into her hand.

He hovered a hand over her shoulder, uncertain how to comfort her. Uncertain what he should say. This was not how he'd seen this conversation going. "I… I'm sorry. I know I should have talked to you. We're a team. I should have thought… I can go back. Talk to Kingsley again. I'm sure it's not too late to…"

Mary turned and looked at him at last. And through the fingers of the hand she held to her mouth and through the tears streaming down her face, he saw that she was smiling brighter than the sun. "Don't be daft," she said, half crying half laughing as she shook her head at him. "It's happiness you idiot."

In one stride, she had crossed to him and taken his face between her hands, and she was kissing him before he could even process what she had said. For one heartbeat of shock, he stood there as she crushed her lips to his. But then his arms wrapped themselves around the small of her back, pulling her tight against him, so tight he hardly knew where he stopped and she began. His lips met hers with a desperation akin to madness, for he knew how close he'd been to losing her, how easy it would be, and he knew he that he would not survive it if he did. She was the air in his lungs, the gravity that kept him grounded to the earth.

Gawain wasn't one for words. He didn't know how to tell her this. All he could do is clutch her closer, kiss her deeper. But when, several moments later, Mary pulled back just enough to smile against his lips, just enough to flutter open her eyes to look into his, he thought she had understood. She kissed him again, surprisingly chaste, her lips soft as a feather against his.

They pulled away enough to be able to look at each other properly, but Gawain kept his arms firmly around her waist. "So… not angry then," he said after a bit.

The light danced in her eyes as she smiled a laugh back. "Not angry."

"'Cause… it really was an enormous pay raise they offered…"

She laughed softly, shaking her head, her hands caressing his cheeks. "It's only gold. And we have everything we need right here," she said earnestly. Then, as an afterthought she added, "Plus, I'm really curious what it'll be like training Harry."

Gawain choked out a chuckle. "I'd be lying if I didn't admit I'd considered that too." They both laughed together and Mary sniffed and wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

Still he didn't let her go, not that she seemed particularly inclined to do so. They just continued to stand there in their embrace, staring into each other's eyes like love-sick teenagers. Neither spoke further. They didn't need to. The intensity of feeling was palpable, even without words. Gawain just stood there, gazing at her, and he felt as though he could do this for hours, breathing her in, memorizing every single plane of her face.

His eyes roamed over her, taking in the slight asymmetry to her eyebrows, the way her upper lip was just a bit disproportionately thin, her chin just a bit too round, her hairline just a bit uneven. Gawain took to committing each and every freckle of gold in her hazel eyes to memory.

Potter's words floated back to him as clearly as though his Potterwatch interview were playing on the radio right there in the kitchen.So I suppose when you ask how I kept hope alive, I guess the answer is that I didn't always. It wasn't so much about keeping hope. It was about knowing where to look for it again when I invariably lost it.

Quite suddenly, Gawain knew. It was clear in every little imperfection on Mary's lovely face. It was clear in every breath his beautiful sleeping daughter took. It was clear in every stone they had used to build this life together.

At long last, Gawain knew where to look.

Acknowledgements

On April 28, 2009, I posted the very first chapter of this story. Today, fourteen years, eight months, and three weeks later, I posted the last.

I didn't plan for this story to take me a decade and a half to write. I didn't plan to take a ten-year hiatus halfway through. I didn't plan for much of anything. When I posted my first chapters, I had no expectations whatsoever. I didn't know if anyone would ever read it, didn't know how far I would get, didn't know if anyone would come to care about the random side character I had chosen to explore. I just had an idea, thought I would start writing, and see what happened.

Mostly, what happened was life. I wrote the first few chapters, and I found joy in it. A small handful of people read it and left kind notes of encouragement, but not many. Slowly updates were fewer and further between. Slowly, the responsibilities of adulthood pushed aside the ambitions of adolescence.

I went off to veterinary college a few months later. My studies overtook my free time, and I thought, 'I'll pick it up again when I leave school.' But then, after I left school, I was starting a new career, and I thought, 'I'll pick it up again when I get my feet under me.' But then my dad was diagnosed with cancer, and I thought, 'I'll pick it up again when he no longer needs me to care for him.' But then I was getting married, and I thought, 'I'll pick it up again when the wedding planning is over.' Life happened.

Never once did I forget about my story. Never once did I consider it abandoned. Through it all, I always intended to go back to it. Periodically, over the course of those ten years, I would get a kind review reminding me that there were people out there who still cared, and they simultaneously made my heart swell with joy and my stomach clench with guilt

It took a global pandemic, in the end. The stay-at-home order was given, and as an essential worker who was busier than ever, I watched jealously as all my friends showed off their various lock-down projects and hobbies and accomplishments. And I just made up my mind that the time to write was never going to be there unless I made room for it.

To the writers out there worrying that it has been too long since their last update to continue: There is no such thing. To those worrying they are too old: There is no such thing. To those worrying they are too busy to update frequently enough: There is no such thing. If writing brings you joy, write. The sense of accomplishment you will get in finishing something that so few people in the world ever finish is indescribable. Don't worry about the timeline, don't worry about how often you can or cannot update. Don't worry about whether you might be losing readers—the readers that matter will wait (believe it or not, I actually had a few readers still there waiting for me after ten years without a word!). And even if none do wait, you'll find new readers every time you post. If it brings you joy, then write.

To the readers out there anxiously waiting for an update from their favourite authors: Tell them. No, don't just drop a kudos and move on. Leave the comment, write the review, DM them, it doesn't matter, just tell them! I'm not saying you should be pushy and demand updates. Authors are human beings. We have busy lives and each order our priorities differently. But we're not thought-readers, and if you don't tell us you care, we have no way to know it. A lot of us write fanfiction without ever speaking of it to the people in our real lives. The only motivation we have is from what we scrounge up for ourselves and from what you kind internet strangers offer us. I don't care how long it has been. It's never creepy to show interest in an old or apparently abandoned story—this isn't your ex's Instagram. You never know when a simple message saying that you are still there waiting might make an author pick up their quill again.

And finally, to my readers. My wonderful, glorious, patient, kind-hearted, and encouraging readers. I would never have finished this story without you. This story exists because of you. I write because of you. Thank you.

PS A special note to my FFN readers: This site holds a special place in my heart. It was the first place I ever posted anything at all online. I will forever be in awe that there were those who waited for me and were still here to read my work, even with years of no contact.

It is with a heavy heart, therefore, that I say that this will be the last story I post on FFN. The slow demise of this website has been painful to watch. It is clear that it is no longer well maintained and gradually most of my readers here have moved on. I will continue to post on AO3 and I hope you will consider following me there. Please find me on AO3 ala_baguette or on Tumblr ala-baguette. Thank you for fifteen wonderful years.