The kitchen table was overflowing with food items, all sorts of favorites of Harry that she was fairly certain were almost all full of truth serums and confounding charms in hopes Harry would feel privy to tell his stories now rather than later. The countertops were full of letters, fans in one pile, reporters in the other. There was a collection of stranger gifts in the sitting room; a lampshade, a bust of Harry that was rather accurate and a complete bronze statue of him that was rather not. There were plaques and small, moving trophies; cheap watches and particularly nice ones. Drinks, paintings, brooms (which was the only token she thought Harry might enjoy) and the lot invaded their home as Ginny bustled through the growing mess. She looked at the clock on the wall just at it chimed ten o’clock and wondered what was keeping Harry away so long.
Suddenly a great smash at the front door startled her and Ginny jumped backwards into the countertop, tossing a stack of red envelopes to the floor. “Reporters!” she said loudly as she gathered herself and began storming towards the door. “Will they never leave this alone?!” She took a quick glance out the peephole to see a mess of a man on the front steps as if he had fallen to the ground and she threw the door wide.
“I’ve told all of your friends that we’ll release an official statement soon and to leave it alone until then!” She demanded when a pair of bright green eyes looked up through their cloak cover and Ginny sighed. “Harry?”
“They’ve been over all day, I take it?” He replied meekly.
Ginny smiled, sighed and reached down to help Harry off the ground.
“Sorry, but yeah. I can’t heed them off, no matter how hard I try! What were you doing down there, anyway?” She asked, interrupting herself, as she noticed Harry wobbling slightly as he walked through the front door. He dusted down his sides and laughed.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve tried that “ apparating in mid-flight. Guess I’m not as sharp as I once was.” He simply said. Ginny looked down and noticed his old broom, smashed in two and a large crack in the front door. Harry really had slammed it good.
“Well, no need to worry about that, there’s a whole stack in the corner,” Ginny pointed as they passed and headed towards the kitchen. Harry found the nearest chair and plopped down while Ginny began to pour him a cup of tea.
“Even brooms?” Harry added nonchalantly from the sitting room, noting the stacks of packages all over the house. The large bust of himself made him chuckle and the lampshade made him nervous. He decided he would burn it later.
“I started opening a few letters, sorting them for you, but I could only get through a very small stack,” Ginny said as she entered the sitting room, carrying a tray of warm tea. “The door was ringing one after another and I didn’t have much chance to really think.”
Harry smiled as she set the tray down next to him and sat down. She pushed a few stray hairs out of her face and shoved them behind her ear with a swallowing sigh. She sunk deep into her chair and looked over at the massive piles of envelopes waiting to be opened.
“Don’t worry too much about it, Gin,” Harry said. “There’s plenty of time to sort through all of them. Most of it is junk, of course, but we’ll get rid of it all. These piles won’t last forever.”
He took a quiet sip of tea and leaned back in his own chair. The two stayed in silence for nearly fifteen minutes, just enjoying the peace of the moment, the calm of the room. Amidst even the most chaotic of messes, sitting with each other was always the most serene place either could hope to find themselves.
Harry finally leaned forward and set his cup down. He reached off to his right and picked up a small, cream envelope, addressed with a scribbled quill. On the back there was no official seal and Harry pulled it open, catching one of the folded pieces of paper as it fell from within the first. He noticed a crayon drawing of himself, triumphant, his cloak flowing behind him like a muggle superhero, a giant squiggley smile across his cartoon face. The second piece of paper had only a few sentences written across it, but Harry’s heart couldn’t have smiled any wider:
Thank you for saving the world. I am very happy that you did not die and that
you killed Lord Voldemort. Someday I hope to be just like you. Or my dad. But mostly like you.
Sincerely, Barry Bartholomew
He handed the letter to Ginny and let her soak in the carefully drawn and delightfully youthful picture of Harry before speaking.
“You know, when I forget the good and just remember the bad, it’s moments like this “ notes like that “ that remind me. They remind me of just how many people this affected. How many lives were really changed…in this case, a life that wasn’t even born yet; a life that might never have been born.”
“Of course, Harry,” Ginny said softly, “I know I’ve told this a million times, but you saved the world…literally. Nothing would be the way it is today without you. Nothing would matter without the sacrifices you made.”
Ginny lifted herself up out of her chair and stepped onto Harry’s lap. She reached across him, stretched her hand down to the same pile he’d picked the last letter from, and brought back in front of them a larger, black, crisp envelope. There was a mustard yellow seal, The Royal House of Markindorv embedded in with strong embossed letters, and Ginny carefully opened it.
My name is Dietrich Markindorv and I graduated from Durmstrang many years ago. My son, though a wonderful wizard, found the pull of dark powers too strong to resist and joined Voldemort’s cause at the beginning of the second war. I tried to convince him otherwise, tried to make him understand that there is something better, a path more wisely chosen. I had survived the first war and knew how this one might end.
He spent three months with the Death Eaters until his best friend was killed on the Dark Lord’s orders, for no other reason but mistakenly calling another by the wrong name. My son, Bevcrikof, came home only a week following…after watching you in battle with the rest of his fellowship. He was amazed: You didn’t kill. You stunned, you confused, you fought. You had passion, unlike the drones he was partner to. The only passion they had came from worshiping one man. One man who could care less for any of his followers. There was no love or loyalty.
Bevcrikof was killed shortly after he escaped. I tried to hide him, but I think we both knew that it was a hopeless cause. The Death Eaters did not take lightly to treachery, as you know better than anyone, I’m sure. The evening before he was murdered, he asked me one favor:
If I ever had the chance to talk to Harry Potter, to tell him that all was not lost, nor would it ever be as long as he continued to fight the way he had been. There is something ultimately powerful when someone battles out of love rather than greed…something winning and sincere. He asked that I thank you for giving up your life for the cause and to never stop. Everyone is ultimately on your side.
Mr. Potter, because of you I had a last moment with my son; I was able to say good-bye and continue on with the peace that he was more a hero than a traitor in any road. I get to wake up every morning and remember that because of one man, because of you, I am free, my heart is at rest, and the world will never face a darker day again. Thank you for changing my son, for showing him love, whether you knew it was happening or not.
Sincerely,
Dietrich Markindorv
Ginny’s head had fallen onto Harry’s chest while she finished reading the letter aloud. Harry wrapped his arms around her and she curled more comfortably onto his lap.
“Quite a different tone, I suppose,” he said quietly. Harry wasn’t exactly sure what to make of the note with its heavy words and message. He tried to remember the name, what battle it had been or if he’d been in contact with the young man, but he couldn’t recall.
“I think that’s enough for tonight,” Ginny said. “Let’s go to bed and worry about the rest tomorrow.”
She stood up and reached back for his hand, causing him to follow her lead. Harry gazed around the room as they passed each new pile of gadgets, gizmos, bribes and letters, and onto the bedroom. They were tired, overwhelmed with the previous week. Coming back to life was an exhausting business.