Chapter 12: The Truth Hurts

"The only difference between a rut and a grave are the dimensions."
- Ellen Glasgow

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When Ron emerged from the Ice Cream shop for his lunch break two days after "the incident," he found another surprise waiting for him. His jaw dropped at the sight of Hermione sitting at one of the outside tables, jumper pulled tightly around herself as she held out two brown paper bags.

"Care for a little lunch?" she asked innocently.

For a full minute, Ron was speechless. He stood frozen, too stunned at seeing her there at his job to move. "How did you find me?" he finally blurted. He really thought he'd covered his tracks!

"Well," she said with a smile, "it appears that for the second time this summer, Ronald Weasley is something of a hero." She pulled a Muggle newspaper out of her purse and unrolled it on the table. And there he was, right on the front page wearing that ghastly, purple cow suit with the ruddy head tucked under his arm. He was frowning, practically glaring at the camera. Good thing Muggle pictures didn't move because he knew there was no way on earth his picture self would be staying in that frame otherwise.

"Ugh!" he groaned, covering his face in humiliation. "That wasn't heroics! It was a stupid Muggle fight. I can't believe they printed it in a paper!"

Hermione laughed and stood up, tucking the newspaper away again before coming around to stand right in front of him.

"Maybe," she said. "But you are a hero." Her voice was suddenly soft and serious, and Ron thought he could see tears brimming in her eyes again. "And do you want to know why?"

He didn't answer. He was finally starting to figure out that there were some times when a girl asked a question and she didn't expect a reply.

"Because you took this job for me, a Muggle job that you absolutely hate, so that I could keep looking for my parents. Thank you, Ron," she whispered, and reached up to pull him into a kiss. "I love you."

He was so surprised by her last words that he almost forgot to return the kiss. She loved him! Him! Boring old always on the sidelines Ron Weasley! She'd just said it out loud. He would have been beaming from ear to ear if Hermione hadn't been snogging him fiercely.

"Did you really bring me food?" he asked a few moments later when she finally let him go, and he'd managed to come to his senses.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "I tell you you're my hero and snog you in public and all you can think about is your stomach?"

"What, I'm hungry! It's hard work being a purple cow! And I only have forty minutes of lunch left."

"Fine," she said with a cocked eyebrow and a smile she couldn't quite hide. "Here you go." She held out one of the paper bags. "But can we go inside? It's freezing out here. Who would seriously want to buy ice cream in this weather?"

"Wait, I have a better idea," said Ron, a grin splitting his face as he grabbed his lunch and then took his girlfriend by the hand, tugging her toward the street. It wasn't often he had the chance to show Hermione something. Usually, it was the other way around.

Quickly, he pulled her across the street and into the little bookshop.

"I've been coming here to eat lunch. It's quiet, and there's no bloody cow staring at me," he explained.

"Oooh," breathed Hermione, looking around at the stacks of books in appreciation. "You've really been coming in here all on your own?"

"Always the tone of surprise," he grumbled. "I can read you know. Just always had better things to do in the past. And before you go getting sucked into some boring history section or something, let me show you my favorite place." He dragged her up the stairs to the back corner.

"Comics. I should have known," laughed Hermione.

"I know, isn't it brilliant! Muggles have comics, too!"

"I could have told you that, Ron. I used to read a lot of these when I was little."

"What?" cried Ron, seeing his girlfriend through entirely new eyes. "How come you never said anything? These things are amazing! We could have had wicked fun!"

Laughing again, they settled down on the floor to eat their lunch while Hermione pulled a few worn paperbacks off the shelves, flipping to her old favorites. It was such a pleasant, relaxing break from the stress they'd both been under for so long that Ron absolutely hated when the clock struck the hour, reminding him that he was a grown-up now who had responsibilities. Reluctantly, he replaced the books and climbed to his feet.

There was a commotion in the main part of the shop as they came down the stairs. Loud talking and banging filtered in from the back room, as if people were shifting heavy objects. Lisa was at the counter, however, and looked unperturbed by the noise.

"So, is this your girl?" she asked as they left the stairs. "The one you've been trying to find the perfect book for?"

Ron blushed slightly and didn't dare meet Hermione's eyes. Instead he changed the topic. "What's going on, Lisa?" he asked, indicating the sounds still coming from the cracked doorway behind the counter. "Everything okay?"

"Oh, yeah. Dell and Nikki just returned from their holiday. Dell's bringing in the luggage to the flat in the back."

"Dell and Nikki?"

"The owners…"

"Oh, yeah, I remember."

"Lisa?" a man's voice called out just then, followed by footsteps approaching from the back. A door opened behind the counter and a head poked through. "Did the furniture for the nursery arrive while we were gone? Nikki wants to put the hordes of baby clothes she bought away."

Ron's jaw dropped as beside him Hermione hitched in a breath and froze.

"Dad?" she finally whispered, her voice cracking.

"Pardon me," the man who used to be known as Mr. Granger asked, stepping fully into the room with a confused look on his face, "but do I know you?"

"It's him! It's them! You found them, Ron!" Hermione suddenly cried, latching onto his arm with vise-like fingers. She totally ignored her father's growing puzzlement.

"Dell?" another voice joined the insanity as a woman entered from the back, drawn by the noise. "What's going on?"

Ron recognized her at once. Hermione bore a close resemblance to her mother. Dell and Nikki…Wendell and Monica… It all suddenly made sense. He remembered that afternoon several weeks ago when he'd sat down on the bench outside this shop and his Deluminator had led him to the ice cream job. Once again, he realized, Dumbledore's gift had saved him, without him even knowing.

"Mum…" breathed Hermione, tears starting to leak down her face. "Oh, Mum, I've missed you so –"

His girlfriend broke off abruptly as Mrs. Granger stepped out from behind the counter, her obviously pregnant midsection coming into view.

"Oh, Merlin." The words slipped from Ron's lips before he could stop them.

Hermione let out a heart-wrenching sob and suddenly bolted, slamming through the front door and disappearing down the street.

Ron gaped after her, then turned back to the others. Lisa was staring at him in confusion, while the Grangers appeared almost hostile. He gulped and then tried to paste on a smile.

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Beads of sweat ran down Harry's face as he shoved the crates out of the way.

It was hotter than Hades in this attic and he couldn't believe how much crap had been stuffed into the room over the years. The Black family apparently never threw anything away, and now he had to sift through it. Here and there he found a trinket that reminded him of his godfather. These he set aside to save, but the vast majority of the junk stored up here was worthless, dangerous, highly illegal, or downright deadly. The pile to be magically incinerated was growing exponentially.

Frowning, Harry slammed the lid on another box of evil objects, his mood falling father into a funk.

He was exhausted. Day after day he spent his time chasing the ghosts of a war that just would not end – fighting, running, dodging, hiding… He couldn't show his face in public without drawing some comment, either embarrassing praise for his fabulousness or scathing criticism for everything he was doing wrong, from how he tied his shoes all the way up to all the lives he'd destroyed. Awful dreams haunted his nights, robbing him of any sleep and leaving him weary and bleary-eyed each morning. Physically, his body ached, the bruise on his chest having settled into a sort of dull throbbing over the last few days. Worst of all, however, was the pain in his heart he felt for his missing best friends. How he longed for Ron and Hermione to come home.

A trunk in the corner gave a funny twitch, drawing Harry's attention. Snatching up his wand, he approached slowly.

"You know, normal people collect photo albums in their attics, or outdated clothes," he muttered to himself tiredly. "Not the heads of their ancestors, or weapons of mass destruction."

Squaring off directly across from the wiggling chest, Harry raised his wand and magically forced the lid open.

He was fully prepared for a boggart or something similar to jump out at him, but nothing did. Instead, an eerie, disturbing silence descended on everything. It made the little hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Unnerved, Harry approached the trunk with caution.

Suddenly, a thin, anguished wail filled the room. It started as one voice but it seemed to escape from the chest and multiply. Other boxes and chests burst open, releasing more horrendous sounds, until he was surrounded on all sides. It was as if all the cries of human suffering over the centuries had been captured and contained in one place, and now Harry had released them. He clamped his hands to his ears.

And then, to his horror, pale, translucent shadows began to drift up from the open containers, congealing into ghostly forms with eyes that glowed red.

"Colloportus!" Harry screamed as his heart raced, whipping his wand around to point at the original source. The lid of the trunk barely moved. He switched plans.

"PROTEGO!" he shouted, sending out a massive shield spell. It expanded around him like a bubble, gradually pushing the chilling figures back where they had come from. Finally, they disappeared. The wailing lessened and a second command for the trunk to lock was finally obeyed. As the first trunk snapped shut all the others scattered around the room followed suit.

The screams ceased and blessed silence met his ears as he stood in the center of the attic, panting and sweating like he'd just ran a marathon.

And then the door behind him banged open.

"Harry, what was –!"

He whirled and fired off a massive stunning spell before he had even consciously realized what he was doing. In the doorway, an instantly alert Kingsley Shackelbolt broke off his sentence to throw up his own wand, only barely managing to deflect the spell. It hit the attic wall with a crash that echoed off the walls and left a smoking hole behind.

Harry's arm dropped and he let his wand slip from his fingers as he gazed in horror at what he had almost done. Kingsley was gazing at him not in anger but in profound sadness.

"What are you doing here?" Harry finally managed to ask, head hanging in shame.

"You asked me to stop by, to finish up the details on the rental contract? Remember?" The man's voice was soft and low.

"Oh," was all Harry could think to say. He'd totally forgotten about that conversation from much earlier in the day.

Another awkward silence followed.

"Harry," Kingsley eventually broke it.

Harry didn't look up.

"Harry," Kingsley said again, in a voice that Harry knew demanded his attention. Reluctantly, he raised his eyes. "No more. You are off the search."

"What! No, that's not fair! You can't –"

"I can and I just did."

Harry felt rage building inside of him, stoking the flow of adrenaline that had already led to him accidentally attacking the Minister himself. When Harry spoke again, there was an uneven desperation in his voice. "I can't just stop!" His breath was coming in short anger-laden gasps. "And you can't stop me!"

Just for a second, Kinglsey appeared to be holding back the urge to grab Harry by the collar. He kept his cool, however, and took a deep breath. Slowly, he eyed Harry. Then he nodded in resignation. He placed his wand back in his robes as he took a seat on one of the chests. "Sirius said the same thing to me, once. And he was right. I couldn't stop him. And now he's dead."

It hit Harry like a blow to the stomach. He was expecting a fight, not a comparison to his godfather.

Kingsley casually gestured to one of the chests.

Chagrined, Harry sat down.

The Minister continued to eye Harry with a piercing stare. "Sirius was a good man, caught in a bad life. Something I know you understand." He let that sink in before he continued. "Growing up as an outcast from a Death Eater family tested him to the limits and while he managed to keep his soul, his experiences left him restless and very reckless, some might even say self-destructive."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. He feared he knew where this was going.

"He never got to live his life, circumstances saw to that. But, Harry, his real problem was, even if he'd been given the time to, he didn't know how." The older man cocked an eyebrow at Harry. "Now, you've been given something Sirius never had - time. And you're wasting it. If you stay on this path, you're going to suffer the same fate."

Kingsley let that work on Harry for a few moments before he resumed, speaking sadly. "Harry, Sirius carried around the guilt of what happened to your parents like a millstone around his neck. He couldn't stop blaming himself for their deaths – felt like it was completely his fault, no matter what anyone tried to tell him after the truth came out. But let me ask you this, do you believe it was his fault?"

"No, of course not!" Harry answered instantly.

"Exactly, and yet, you're doing the same thing. Only you're trying to carrying the guilt for an entire war. A war that is not in any way, shape or form your fault."

"But – !"

"No, Harry, listen to me," Kingsley interrupted. "You may have, through circumstances beyond your control, played a pivotal role in this whole mess, but it IS NOT YOUR FAULT! This war has been in the making since a lonely, miserable young woman tried to force someone to love her, and then couldn't deal with the consequences of that decision. This war was a result of one evil man who enjoyed causing pain and fear. And of thousands of others who made decisions to join him, or fight against him.

"What I'm trying to say is that while fate may have set you up for a part in all this that you shouldn't have been asked to play, every single person who fought in this war or in the Battle on either side made their own choice to do so. You can stop trying to bear the burden of guilt for all of them. Sirius let that guilt consume him. So, that's your choice. You're finally free to do what you want. You told me that Dumbledore said 'your soul's your own, now,' and he was right. Now you have to choose for yourself, Harry. Just for you."

Harry was about to speak when Kingsley cut him off again.

"But, you just might want to consider what your actions are doing to others before you do."

One name shot instantly through Harry's mind – Ginny – followed quickly by those of Ron, Hermione, and the rest of the Weasleys who had adopted him into their midst. It was hard work, Harry realized, being part of a family and learning that his choices could affect more than just himself.

Kingsley nodded as if he'd been reading Harry's thoughts, if not his facial expressions. "So, you're right, I can't stop you from hunting renegade Death Eaters, or working yourself to exhaustion." Then Kingsley's tone turned colder and less personable. "But, as Minister, I damn sure can keep you out of the Auror Corps."

As he rose and turned to leave, Harry felt his heart sink. There went his dream. He sighed and let his head hang, but then Kingsley hesitated and turned back.

"At least until I'm certain you've taken some time away from saving the world to save yourself," the older man said, giving him that same sad look he'd used several times already. "Can you live with that?"

Knowing he really had no other choice, Harry nodded. Kingsley nodded back, satisfied.

It wasn't until the Minister was halfway down the first flight of stairs that Harry remembered the vile trunk.

"Minster, wait!" he called out, stopping him. "You don't think perhaps you could send a…erm…Auror cleaning team here? I don't even know what most of this rubbish is, but at least half of it has tried to kill me."

Kingsley just shook his head and rolled his eyes, something Harry thought he'd never see the stately man do. "You know you could just ask Arthur, Bill, and Charlie. Their varied professions mean they are more than qualified."

"Oh," Harry muttered sheepishly, realizing how stupid it was that he'd never thought of that.

"It's time to start remembering that you are not alone, Harry," was all Kingsley said in response. "Now, come see me tomorrow about what this meeting was supposed to entail. Until then, go home, Harry."

And with that, Kingsley turned and finished his decent down the attic stairs, leaving Harry speechless as he disappeared out of sight.