CHAPTER ONE

THE MISSING GHOSTS

Harry Potter fidgeted restlessly. He had been helping out at the Burrow, doing small tasks as a thank you to the Weasleys for allowing him to stay so long, but all the gnomes were out of the garden, the back stoop was swept clean of debris, and the ghoul in the attic had endured a bath by Harry's wand. Now he had come to a stop in the sitting room, and tortured himself by listing all the reasons why the Auror Department might deny his application. He made the mistake of looking at himself in the mirror. Harry had not yet gained back the weight he had lost the previous year, and his cheekbones stood out starkly under his green eyes. He looked pale, sickly even, and worried that he was in too poor physical shape to be an asset to the Aurors.

Desperately, he looked about for a distraction.

The room held just the right amount of clutter to make it feel like a home. A stack of books sat on a bench next to the chair Arthur Weasley most often sat in. Harry righted his glasses and peered at the titles: A History of MACUSA Involvement on the British Isles; 50 Greatest Muggle Inventions; and Is Electricity Magical? were at the top of the stack, and none of those titles particularly appealed to Harry.

He jumped up and looked on top of the piano, hoping Ginny had forgotten some of her Quidditch magazines. No such luck, but Harry had already decided that instead of distracting himself with Ginny's magazines, he would instead seek out the real thing. She might still be asleep — Ginny liked having a lie-in — but there were few things Harry found more enjoyable than waking her up. He took the stairs two at a time—

—and nearly collided with Mrs. Weasley.

Harry managed to stop himself in time, twisting out of her way, and taking a step back. He eyed her carefully. Mrs. Weasley had always been the motherly sort, had taken him in, and treated him like he was one of her children. But ever since the battle, when Voldemort had fallen, the light in her eyes had dimmed. She had lost weight, and her clothes hung on her frame. Standing there on the stairs, holding a laundry basket full of robes, she looked as though the weight of the world were pressing on her shoulders.

"I was going to go wake Ginny, but d'you want some help?" Harry asked cautiously. Her moods had become slightly unpredictable. Harry found this understandable. She had lost a child, after all.

"No, thank you," she said crossly. "Harry — were you planning to stay here ALL day?"

Harry, who had not had plans to do much other than hope an owl, bearing his acceptance to the Auror program, would arrive, was at a momentary loss. "Er—"

"You need to get out more," she said.

Harry supposed that was true. He'd been sticking around the Burrow quite a lot. They'd all come back from Hogwarts the day after Voldemort's defeat, and Harry had never really left. Ron and Hermione had; they were in Australia, untangling the Memory charms Hermione had used to keep her parents safe during their year on the run. But Harry... mostly stayed at the Burrow. His shoulders slumped. He really did need to get out more if Mrs. Weasley was commenting on it.

"I... could go to Hogwarts today, help out with the rebuilding," said Harry.

Mrs. Weasley nodded tiredly, and without another word, walked down the rest of the stairs. Harry stood there, watching her go; she hummed a little tune, an off-key melody of a song that did not sound very happy.

Shaking his head, Harry continued up to Ginny's room. It was his favorite room at the Burrow: it was bright, cheerful, and smelled so wonderfully of Ginny. He could not help but smile whenever he came in, and not just because he was with her.

She was burrowed under the covers, completely hidden except for one shapely leg hanging over the edge. Small snores emitted from her mouth. Harry grinned, and reached out to tickle her foot. "Wake up," he said teasingly. She jerked her foot out of his grasp.

"Wuzza," she said blearily.

"Good morning," Harry smiled at her. She smiled back. He leaned forward to kiss her, but she put her finger on his lips, and jumped up.

"Morning breath," she said as she headed for the bathroom.

Harry followed her.

They had not spent much time apart, he and Ginny. The morning of Voldemort's defeat, Harry had fallen into a four poster bed in his old dorm room. At some point, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny had joined him. Harry'd woken up to her weight on his chest, and her long hair tickling his nose. They'd talked for hours; Harry told her everything that night: the Horcrux hunt, the long hours spent watching her dot on the Marauder's Map, how much he'd missed her, how being apart had become physically painful. As he had predicted, they'd had days in which to talk... it was edging into months, and Harry could see himself still wanting to talk to Ginny years down the road.

"I thought I'd go over to Hogwarts," Harry said through the closed door. There were faint splashing sounds as Ginny brushed her teeth and washed her face. "Maybe try to figure out how I can help. Want to come?" Unspoken was his desire to rediscover those secluded areas of Hogwarts.

"I need Ginny here today!" Mrs. Weasley said loudly, and with great irritation.

Harry winced.

"Looks like I'm staying here today," said Ginny. Harry could hear the grimace in her tone. "Give me a minute, Harry, I need to have a pee, and I can't with you listening at the door..."

Harry wandered away from the bathroom door and toward Ron's room, it having suddenly occurred to him that if he were going to Hogwarts today, he could finally return the Elder Wand to Dumbledore's tomb. This was something he had meant to do since just after Voldemort had been defeated by his own rebounding curse. The Elder Wand was a responsibility he did not want, but the time had never seemed right to return it. But today was the day.

The Elder Wand was very heavy in the pocket of his robes as Harry made his way out the Burrow door and toward the little landing that everyone used as an Apparition point. It had been hidden in Harry's trunk these last couple of months, and he'd had it pushed to the back of his mind, as well. Now that it was in his pocket, he remembered its legendary status. His stomach twinged faintly. Harry was not AFRAID of the Elder Wand — after going to meet his own death in the forest, he did not think much would ever scare him again — but the Deathstick was not an easy object to hold.

It could be worse, Harry thought. It could be a Horcrux.

"Harry!" It was Ginny, leaning out her window, waving at him. "Get a move on! The sooner you leave, the sooner you can come back!"

Harry waved at her; she blew him a kiss, and withdrew back into her room. There was movement from the window above hers; George was sitting there, staring at him. Harry waved, but George did not move. It was as though he didn't see him.

Shaking his head, feeling a pang of sympathy for George, Harry turned on the spot, and Disapparated.

He'd chosen to Apparate just outside of Hogsmeade, deliberately choosing to avoid the small wizarding village. Turning back to look at it, it looked just as busy as ever. There was a queue outside Madame Puddifoots, and smoke issued out of the Hog's Head chimney. So many happy days had been spent here during his school days, which seemed so long ago to Harry now, as though the last year of being on the run had stretched to five or ten years.

Harry turned and marched toward Hogwarts.

Some of the damage had not yet been cleared from the path: boulders were strewn about, and Harry thought he spotted a large, cracked club that had to have been dropped by one of the giants. He pulled out his wand – his holly-and-phoenix wand – and waved the boulders to the side of the path, and crumbled the clubs into powder. If he was going to help clean up the mess Voldemort and the Death Eaters had made, he might as well start now. Continuing up the path, he cleared up several more pockets of debris, and was just deciding how to rid the path of a pile of logs, when he came upon the broken gates of Hogwarts.

Harry stared at it, surprised it had not yet been fixed… perhaps the damage inside had been so extensive that the professors and whoever else was helping restore the school had not yet been able to make it outside. More determined than ever to help, Harry climbed over the gate, and strode up the path, passing Hagrid's mostly intact hut along the way. With a pang, he realized he had not seen or spoken to Hagrid since the morning of Voldemort's defeat…

As though his thoughts had conjured him, Hagrid and Fang emerged from the forest with a deafening cry of greeting from Hagrid, and frantic face-licking from Fang.

"Hagrid!" Harry cried.

"Harry! Yer here!" Hagrid swept him into a bone-cracking hug. Harry winced, and was uncomfortably reminded of the last time Hagrid had held him. It flashed across his mind: Hagrid, carrying him out of the forest, and laying him at Voldemort's feet. Harry'd had to try so hard to remain perfectly limp.

He tried not to dwell on that night, but it intruded on his thoughts and crept into his dreams. Whenever it happened, he would remind himself that others had lost so much more. The Weasleys, who were still shells of themselves. Andromeda and Teddy, who had lost everyone but each other. This ritual performed, Harry turned his focus back on Hagrid.

"What've you been up to?" he asked.

"Bin tryna settle the creatures down, bin a full time job," said Hagrid, waving his hand at the forest. "The centaurs made a move on acromantula territory; they weren' too pleased abou' that."

Harry stared at him in horror. He tried to picture Hagrid putting himself in the middle of a fight between acromantula and centaur, and could not believe his friend had survived.

"—bin glad ol' Newt Scamander came out of retiremen', ter be honest," Hagrid was saying. Harry vaguely recognized the name of the author of one of his textbooks.

"He's been helping out?" Harry asked, still trying to get the image of Hagrid being pulled apart by a giant spider and a centaur out of his head.

"Yer, up at the castle," Hagrid said. He put a big hand on Harry's shoulder, and pointed, as though Harry had needed directions to the place that still felt most like home. "Have a bit of a mystery," he added. "Not soon after ye bea' You-Know-Who, we couldn' find the ghosts — any of 'em. Still can'."

"You can't find any of the ghosts?" Harry said with great surprise. Some of the Hogwarts ghosts had been at the school since near the founding: case in point, the Grey Lady, who had supplied Harry with a timely piece of information at a critical moment. The idea of them not being at the school anymore was... unsettling. Like the Burrow without the Weasleys. "What about Peeves?"

"Oh, Peeves didn' go anywhere, bu' he ain't himself," Hagrid said darkly. "S'why we called Scamander."

Harry tried to imagine how the poltergeist could be anything but himself — could poltergeists catch sick? — and failed. He knew that if he'd still been in school, these mysteries would keep him up at night, along with Ron and Hermione. But perhaps that torch had passed. A new batch of students would soon be arriving... they would be probing the mysteries of Hogwarts; they would be the ones to find out where the ghosts went, and why Peeves was not himself. Harry liked that. Last year, it had seemed like the world would never be normal again, but he'd been wrong, and they were all starting to move on.

Everyone was moving on.

"Well," said Harry, shielding his eyes against the sun, "I ought to go on up and see if I can help... is that Professor McGonagall I see?"

Hagrid chose to follow Harry up the steep path. His footsteps made the ground vibrate. As they drew closer and closer, Harry's felt guiltier and guiltier. Professor McGonagall was not looking her usual impeccable self. Some of her hair had fallen out of its bun, she had a burn mark on her cheek, and when she swung around to see him striding toward her, the look on her face reminded him immensely of Mrs. Weasley. He should've come to help out sooner, Harry thought with an inward wince.

"Professor McGonagall!" said Harry.

"Potter," McGonagall said tiredly.

"Isn' it so good ter see Harry?" Hagrid enthused.

McGonagall waved her hand. To Harry's relief, she managed a small smile. He'd not seen her so out of sorts, not even when she'd returned from St. Mungo's after being hit with four Stunners at the end of his fifth year.

"I came to see what I could do to help?" Harry said.

"Oh, Potter," said McGonagall, a little sadly, "haven't you done enough?"

Harry was slightly taken aback, and it was several heartbeats before he could think of what to say. "Are you sure?" he asked. He craned his neck; it did not appear as though many people were helping put Hogwarts back together. Even if McGonagall felt he had done enough, Harry thought he could do more.

"I'm sure. If you'll excuse me, the gargoyles are not going to mend themselves." She swept away.

"She bin workin' day and nigh'," said Hagrid. They turned and headed back down to his hut. "She an' the other professors bin runnin' themselves ragged, jus' ter get the castle back afore September."

"She seems over-worked," said Harry, with a large amount of sympathy.

The following couple hours were not at all what Harry had expected them to be. Instead of using his magic and his wand to help, Harry sat and ate rock cakes with Hagrid, and told him everything that had happened since he'd left Hogwarts and gone to the Burrow at the invitation of the Weasleys. "I... haven't really left since," said Harry, made slightly uncomfortable at the thought.

"Well, it's grea' ter see yer here now," said Hagrid, his black eyes twinkling.

It was well into afternoon that Harry, feeling positively buoyant by now, made his farewells. "Take care, Hagrid," he said. "I'll be by again soon."

Harry did not leave Hogwarts immediately. Instead, he made his way over on the far side, where he found a large white tomb engraved with his old mentor's name. Mentor hardly encompassed what Dumbledore had turned out to be for Harry, Harry knew. It was a pale word. Dumbledore had guided him, trusted him, had left his imprint on the events that led Harry into the forest a few months ago… Dumbledore had saved him.

Harry missed him. He wished Dumbledore could have seen how it all played out. Harry'd been following in Dumbledore's footsteps, after all. Dumbledore did not get to see the triumph. If he'd been here, there'd be no need to spend months fixing the school… Dumbledore would've fixed it in a moment, and making it look easy… fun, even. The ghosts wouldn't be missing, and whatever was going on with Peeves… Dumbledore would fix it.

He drew the Elder Wand out of his robes.

And yet… it did not feel quite right. It did not feel right to open this tomb again, to disturb what rested there. Harry stared very hard at the name engraved on that tomb. What would Dumbledore really want? It was the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny, and whatever else Hermione had called it. But hadn't Dumbledore proven that it could be a powerful tool of protection as well? Harry wanted to be an Auror. What if, God forbid, a new threat arose, and Harry needed a more powerful wand? He could keep both.

It was dusk before Harry finally put the Elder Wand back in his pocket, dusted off his robes, and began the long walk back to Hogsmeade and the Apparition point. His mind was clear, though, and he enjoyed the walk. No regrets, thought Harry, as he made his way back over the broken gate. I'll keep it for now…

It was a good day, he mused. It had been good of Mrs. Weasley to prompt him to get out of the house.

Just before dinner, Harry, who was helping set the table, happened to glance out the window, and spied a tawny, handsome owl winging its way toward the Burrow. His heart leapt up into his throat. It was from the Ministry, it had to be. Indeed, when Mrs. Weasley reached around him to open the window, it eyed Harry and held out its leg. A small scroll was soon in Harry's shaking hands. He nearly fumbled it.

Dear Mr. Potter, it read.

Congratulations on being accepted into the Auror program at the Ministry of Magic.

Due to your age and lack of the N.E.W.T. scores we usually require, you will enter the program with a probationary status. Your employment in the Ministry is subject to continuous review by your instructors, the Head of the Auror Department, and the Minister for Magic.

Training begins September 10. Please report to the Ministry of Magic in London no later than 10 o'clock.

Attached is a list of the items you will need in the coming months as you prepare to protect the Wizarding community of Great Britain from threats of a dark nature. You will be reimbursed upon completion of the program.

Sincerely,

Mr. Ben Hanscom, Auror

Harry read the letter twice, elated. This was it. Despite never finishing Hogwarts, despite not having the N.E.W.T.s, Harry was at last seeing his dream of becoming an Auror realized. He glanced over the second page: the required items for the Auror training program were more extensive even than what had been required his later years at Hogwarts. There were fourteen books to buy, from A Compendium of Curses to A History of the Dark Arts on the European Continent to How to Recognize Dark Rituals, A Primer. Hermione would be in her element. There were potions ingredients Harry had never even heard of — including the toenails of a blast-ended skrewt. He was excited in a way that reminded him of how he'd felt in previous years, when he received his letter from Hogwarts...

The prophecy was over and done with. Harry had triumphed, due to help from his friends. Despite that, Harry still felt a duty, a responsibility, to continue on as he had done for the last seven years... Voldemort may be gone, but there would other threats. He thought of the Weasleys and winced. There would be other families torn apart. Harry wanted to be part of eradicating that. And becoming an Auror was without a doubt the best way of doing that.