A storm raged intermittently outside of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. A hard rain came down in heavy sheets, only to suddenly and completely stop, giving way to warm sunlight, only to be replaced again with pouring rain. All the while, most of the sky somehow remained a perfect forget-me-not blue, raising the question of how so much precipitation could come from so few clouds. In the square, people hurried along, shielding themselves from the downpour with umbrellas or briefcases held over their heads.

Meanwhile, a stormed raged inside of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, in the mind of a young man. Harry Potter sat in the bedroom that had once belonged to his godfather, looking out the window at the rain falling outside. It had been over a month since the events of the May night that had completely changed his life; plenty of time for the realisation to sink in.

He drew little comfort from his contemplation; there were simply too many painful memories. It was easiest just to not think. So, Harry just sat there, peering out the window at the rain-soaked Muggles below.

Harry heard the squeak of a door behind him, but did not turn around to look. Instead, he put his elbows on the windowsill and held his forehead in his hands, observing a Muggle man in a suit running to his car with a newspaper held as a makeshift umbrella over his head.

“Hello, Kreacher.�

“Is Master needing anything?� asked the elf in his low, bullfrog voice.

“Not right now, thanks,� Harry replied dully, not bothering to keep the depression out of his voice.

“Master has not been eating properly,� observed Kreacher, sounding worried. “Has Kreacher’s cooking put Master off his appetite?�

Harry smiled, almost in spite of himself. He finally turned from the window. The look of apprehension on the elf’s small face bordered on comical. He gave the elf a comforting look. “No, Kreacher; your cooking is as fine as ever. The stress is just getting to me.�

Harry looked away from the elf, instead taking in the accommodations around him. After a few moments, he looked back out the window; even his room seemed to rub metaphorical salt in his wounds.

Scattered about on the floor were various Daily Prophets he had not taken out a subscription for over a year, but the latest edition was delivered bright and early every morning. The first time that this had happened, Harry had tried to put a silver sickle into the money pouch on the owl’s leg, but it had flown off before he could do so. Harry had given up this vain attempt at payment after a few days. He stopped reading the Prophets a few days after that. The only look he got of them anymore was of the front page before he tossed it aside.

Any other summer, the Daily Prophet was usually his only link to the Wizarding world. It served to remind him that he would not be stuck at the Dursley’s forever. It kept him informed about what Voldemort was doing, and reassured him that his friends had not been attacked or killed. It was a genuine comfort.

These days, the Prophet was just a heartache, serving only to remind him of what he had lost. Nearly every day’s headline concerned him: his life prior to Hogwarts, his schooling, his time on the run, his final battle. Every article was bedecked with his image, embroiled in something heroic or noble.

Every article seemed to sing his praises. The Prophet printed an entire extra section due to the number of letters to the editor. Some of them did mention the other people who fought in the Battle of Hogwarts, but not one of them left Harry’s name out. Were he not sickened by them, the articles would probably blow his ego up to the size of a small planet.

Harry did not consider himself a hero. He did not deserve all of that praise. He especially didn’t deserve the Order of Merlin that lay on the table next to his chair. Everyone at the Battle had received one; as they should. But he shouldn’t be rewarded; he was nothing as compared to them. Everyone else had fought, had given their lives to give him time. All he did was get people killed. But regardless of his wishes, he was praised and worshiped everywhere he went, and every time someone thanked him, it was like a hot poker in his heart, reminding him of what he had lost.

In the end, it was that sort of publicity that had brought him to here, to Grimmauld Place. While the Fidelius Charm could not keep out the Death Eaters who had managed to gain access the previous year, it did prevent the public at large from finding him. That was all Harry wanted at the moment. He just wanted to be alone with his thoughts, free to mourn. He had asked the Weasley’s not to contact him, and they had thus far respected his wishes. He missed them terribly, but the thought of George’s stony face and Mrs. Weasley’s endless crying at Fred’s funeral turned Harry’s innards to ice.

“Kreacher wishes he could help.�

Harry jumped; in his reverie he had completely forgotten that Kreacher was still behind him. The elf stood, shifting from one foot to the other, looking rather worried. Harry got up from his chair and knelt down in front of the elf. “You are helping, Kreacher,� Harry said, managing a comforting smile. “Having you here is a real help, but I think I need to handle most of this on my own. I just need time.�

“Of course, Master,� said the elf, sinking in to a deep bow. “Master knows best. He and his friends defeated the Dark Lord. He can do anything.�

Harry’s smile turned sad, but he didn’t contradict the elf.

“Perhaps Kreacher will go and prepare dinner; if Master is not up to it when it is done, Kreacher can re-heat it later.�

“That will be wonderful, Kreacher. Thanks.�

Kreacher sunk into another bow, then turned and left the room with a smile on his face, shutting the door behind him once again.

Harry turned back to the window, again looking out into the square outside of his house. As he did so, he noticed a tall figure bearing an umbrella striding towards the front door of number twelve—a tall, black man wearing a dark, pinstriped suit, and a single golden hoop though his left ear.

A grin came to Harry’s face. He bolted from the room and ran down the stairs towards the front door, not bothering to keep the noise down. While the portrait of Sirius’ mother had a Permanent Sticking Charm on it preventing its removal from the hallway wall, it did not stop Harry from painting over the canvas, silencing the lunatic forever.

He skidded to a halt in front of the door, just as three long knocks reverberated through the entryway. He opened it and in stepped Kingsley Shacklebolt, the newly appointed Minister of Magic. Until that moment, Harry had not realised how much he missed people.

Harry closed the door. “Hello Minister! It’s good to see you,� he exclaimed, presenting his hand.

“It is good to see you too, Harry,� replied Kingsley in his slow, deep voice. He took Harry’s hand and shook it. “And I wish you wouldn’t call me Minister; I’ll always be Kingsley to you, and when you become Minister of Magic, I should hope you would extend the same courtesy to me.�

Harry laughed. “I doubt I will ever get the top job, but if I do I promise not to be overly-formal about it. At least not to you.�

Kinsley nodded approvingly. “Is there a place where we could talk?�

“Of course, right this way,� Harry said, gesturing Kingsley into the nearby drawing room. He took Kingsley’s umbrella, shook the rain off of it, and stowed it in the stand in the hall—the same one that Tonks had always tripped over, Harry remembered with a pang. He quickly re-arranged his expression, hiding the hurt that had appeared there. Harry stepped into the room to see Kingsley taking a seat in an armchair. “Can I offer you any refreshment?�

“To be quite honest Harry, I wouldn’t mind a firewhiskey if you have it,� said Kingsley. “My journey here was rather wet and I could do with some warming up.�

With a sudden crack, Kreacher Apparated in the middle of the room, holding a platter with a bottle of amber liquid and two tumblers with a generous measure of the same. “Your drink, Minister,� he said, passing the glass to Kingsley.

Kingsley, looking slightly startled, took the glass. Chuckling, Harry took the other and sat on a sofa opposite him. “Thank you, Kreacher.�

“Will Mister Shacklebolt be staying for dinner, Master Harry?�

Harry looked inquiringly at Kingsley, who took a sip of his drink and looked at the elf, “Ah, no. I’m only on my way back from introducing myself to the new Muggle Prime Minister. I won’t be here long.�

“Okay,� Harry said. He nodded to Kreacher, “Thank you, Kreacher. That will be all.�

Kreacher gave a deep bow, first to Kingsley, then to Harry, then Disapparated.

“Well, his demeanor has certainly improved,� Kingsley said approvingly. “Not that long ago I was ‘the dark one’ and wouldn’t have gotten a drink to save my life.�

“I know what you mean. Dumbledore was right; all he needed was a little affection.�

“Well, Dumbledore turned out to be right about a great many things.�

“I suppose he did,� replied Harry, almost regretfully. Even though everything had worked out, Harry had not quite completely forgiven his old headmaster for all he had put Harry through, or more accurately, what he had forced Harry to put everyone else through. “So, to what do I owe this visit? Not that I would mind a simple social call.�

Kingsley set his glass on the table beside him and leaned a bit forward, his expression becoming more serious. “I have come to talk to you about your future.�

Harry gave him a quizzical look. “What do you mean?�

“The way I remember it, you had quite the desire to be an Auror. I believe I am in a position to help you with that,� said Kingsley, giving Harry a wry smile.

Harry grimaced. That was indeed what he had planned to do after Hogwarts, at least it had been a year ago. But he had only really wanted to do so because the training required to become an Auror would have helped him in his fight against Voldemort. With the bloody git dead, expending that much effort seemed unnecessary.

“From your expression, it is apparent you no longer have that desire.� Harry looked up. Kingsley’s brow was furrowed, his eyes analytical.

“Well, I guess I just hadn’t given it much thought lately,� Harry said. “I’ve had … other things on my mind. But now that you say it, I guess I just don’t care anymore.�

“You thought Voldemort would be the end of you,� Kingsley stated, a knowing look in his eye. “You only wanted the training to increase the chances that you could finish him off.�

“Yeah, pretty much,� admitted Harry, a bit surprised to hear those words coming from Kingsley, or anyone for that matter.

“There are still Dark wizards out there, Harry,� said Kingsley, his eyes now on the drink in his hand. “And I’m not just talking about the few Death Eaters that have eluded us. Even in times of peace, there will always be people who threaten the safety of others. We must always have good Aurors working for us who are able to bring them to justice.�

Harry stood up, turned his back on Kingsley, and pretended to examine the picture of his parents on the mantle. “But why do I have to be one of them?� questioned Harry, a tinge of anger creeping into his voice. “Haven’t I seen enough death, caused enough death for one lifetime?�

“Perhaps you have,� Kingsley replied in an understanding voice. “I’m not saying that you have to do anything; this is your choice.�

“Good. I’ve had enough of master plans and predestination for a while,� Harry said, beginning to pace. “And I’m sick of all the responsibility being laid on me. I have always been the ‘Boy Who Lived’ or the ‘Chosen One’. People have always just assumed that I would be risking my life to defeat Voldemort, and they were right. I had to kill him so that my parents could rest easy. For that matter, I had to kill him to save my own life. I know that there are other Dark wizards out there and I know that someone needs to keep them under control.�

Harry stopped pacing to look Kingsley in the eye. “I’m sick of being that someone. I’m sick of people dying because of me, because of my mistakes.�

Kingsley held the gaze. “It isn’t your fault, Harry. There were tough decisions to be made, and you made them. No one can ever hold them against you.�

“Is it so bad for me to want a normal life?� Harry said in a whisper, almost to himself. “Since I learned who I really was all those years ago, I’ve been expected to do great and wonderful things. I accepted that. Voldemort made me who I am, and it was my duty to finish him. But with him gone, my duty is done. I am not special anymore, not really. I just want a quiet life now where nothing I do can hurt anyone.�

Kingsley spoke in a cool, calm voice that nevertheless carried an edge, “All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing. And you, Harry, are a good man.�

Harry didn’t want to care. “Don’t get philosophical with me, Kingsley,� he warned.

Kingsley continued to look at Harry. “There is no point in denying that you are an exceptionally gifted wizard when it comes to Defense Against the Dark Arts. With the proper training, you could become a tremendous asset. Who knows; with an auror as talented as yourself working the case, perhaps the mole in the original Order of the Phoenix could have been found. Perhaps your parents could have been saved.�

Harry’s eyes blazed with anger, but he managed to keep his voice below a shout. “That’s not fair!�

Kingsley stayed in his seat, not breaking eye contact. “Perhaps,� he replied coolly. “But it is also the truth. Who knows how much suffering you could prevent? Wizards don’t need to be connected with Voldemort to hurt people, to kill people. You have the power to do great good in the world, Harry.�

Harry finally looked away. He snatched his untouched class of whiskey off of the table and took a large gulp, feeling the fiery burn down the back of his throat that gave the drink its name.

“If you really want to be normal, this is it. None of the other people who fought Voldemort had a connection to him like you did. They fought because it was the right thing to do, because they wanted to protect those they loved. It’s what your parents did.�

Harry felt a stab of guilt. He never ceased to amaze himself on how egocentric he could be. Not ten minutes ago, he thought how much more heroic and noble everyone else was for just that reason. But now, when given an opportunity to be as heroic as them, to earn respect as they had, he had backed out. He was a coward and a hypocrite.

He turned, defeated. “You’re right, of course.� Harry moved around to stand in front of Kingsley. “I’ll do what needs to be done.�

“I knew you would,� said Kingsley, smiling sadly. “In my time as an Auror, I felt just as you do. Many times. �

Kingsley finished off the last of his whiskey and reached for the bottle. As he poured himself another glass, he turned to Harry. “Of course, this means you must finish school.�

Harry stood, half paralyzed. Then he let out a groan and fell back and slumped into his chair.

Kingsley chuckled as he replaced the bottle's cork. “Not looking forward to resuming your studies?�

Harry gave a mirthless laugh. “With all the stuff that happened last year, being on the run for so long, assuming I'd die facing Voldemort—I never even thought about having to go back to school again.�

“I always thought that you enjoyed your studies. Albus said you hated being away from school.�

“No, I enjoyed going to school—I did not enjoy my schoolwork.�

Kingsley laughed. “Ah, there lies the rub. If there was only a way around that ... ,� Kingsley trailed off.

Harry examined Kingsley closely. “Can I become an Auror without doing my seventh year?�

“You wish,� Kingsley laughed. “I’m not even so much concerned with you taking your N.E.W.T.s; I’m willing to make you an auror now, at least in title. However, there is simply no way you could make it through the training without seventh year instruction. But I do have an alternative.�

Harry perked up, listening attentively. “Go on.�

“I think you should leave the country for a while. Go abroad.�

Harry took a sip from his drink as he analyzed what Kingsley said. “Well, I wouldn’t mind it. It'd be good to get some rest and relaxation, but like we were just saying, I should probably get my last year done as soon as possible.�

“I quite agree.�

Harry paused for a moment, trying to figure out what Kingsley was saying. He gave up, “Huh?�

“I think you should go to school abroad,� said Kingsley. “To America, as a matter of fact.�

Harry’s mind seemed to be filled with a buzzing now, as if someone had loosed a swarm of doxies in his skull. He knew that there were schools in America; he had seen a sign during the Quidditch World Cup for the Salem Witches Institute, but he had never really given the matter much thought. “America?� he said, completely abashed.

Kingsley settled back into his chair. “Indeed. I happen to be friends with the headmaster of one of the schools there.�

“One of the schools? How many are there?� Harry had never known a country to have more than one magical school.

“Four, actually: one on each coast, one in the south, and one in the middle-west. The one I am referring to is the latter. It is called Underwood, and is in a secluded area called the Black Hills.�

Harry began to process this peculiar information; he could almost feel the wheels grinding in his head. Apparently, spending three weeks alone looking out the window did not lead to the best mental agility. “And you think this is a good school?� Harry asked.

“Oh yes, the headmaster is a very staunch opponent of the Dark Arts and his school has a very, very good Defense Against the Dark Arts program. And he is quite an admirer of what you’ve done,� Kingsley gave Harry another wry smile. “He’s managed to pull some strings in the American government to guarantee your acceptance to his school.�

“I didn't realise that I had fans over there, too.�

Kingsley shook his head. “Very few. Voldemort did not extend his reach that far from our little corner of the map. I figure he would have eventually, but only after Britain was completely secure.�

“He probably wanted to kill me first, too,� Harry said, almost as an aside.

Kingsley nodded solemnly, “I figured that, too. But in any case, the battle never reached American shores, so the public at large doesn’t know that much about it or you. They have probably heard something in the news that Voldemort was defeated, but I doubt that many people really care about it.�

Harry took a moment to work this new data through his atrophied brain. “Is it really worth all the trouble? I mean, Hogwarts taught me enough to defeat Voldemort, didn't it? And with you at the helm of the Ministry, I'm sure that we can get a good teacher for DADA. What does this Under-place have that Hogwarts doesn't?�

“You're quite right; Hogwarts is an excellent school. Perhaps the best, though I think that we are both more than a bit biased as to that. I wouldn't rest as Minister if that weren’t the case, and I know for a fact that it will have a good DADA instructor,� Kingsley gave a small smile as though he knew a secret, but he didn't elaborate and Harry chose to ignore it. “In fact, I daresay that our DADA program teaches the best traditional techniques of anywhere in the world.�

Harry stared thickly at Kingsley, wishing the fog in his brain would clear. “You didn't exactly convince me there.�

“I said the best traditional techniques. The American programs have a much more diversified education, covering scores of techniques from dozens of cultures. You have a superior grasp of our methods, but since Dark wizards know what we teach, they know how to circumvent it. Most of the people you will be fighting were trained at Hogwarts themselves, remember. Even Voldemort was.

“But if you know something different, something unexpected—it is that kind of knowledge that will truly hit them where they hurt.�

Harry was definitely interested now. “What kind of techniques? From where? What do they do?�

Kingsley chuckled at Harry's newfound enthusiasm. “I honestly don't know; you'll have to ask the Americans. All I know is that I haven't won a sparring match against my friend since I met him, and not to be immodest, but I am quite good at what I do.�

Harry sunk into the cushions of his chair. “I will admit that it all sounds extraordinary and everything,� he said, almost thinking aloud. “But I don't know if it is enough to convince me to leave the country. After all, I could stay and just study the American's books or something. It might not be quite as good, but it'd be good enough.�

“Ah, but you are forgetting perhaps the best part. Since Americans don't know of your defeat of Voldemort, they wouldn't borderline worship you. You’d be able to be in public again without getting swarmed by fans.�

Harry's eyes grew to the size of Galleons. “Yes. Yes, I'll do it. I'll go.�

Kingsley was almost taken aback at how quickly Harry responded. “Forget about your following for a while there, eh Harry?�

Harry again looked to Kingsley, desperation in his eyes. “The only while in a month. Now I know why Dumbledore shipped me off to live with the Dursley’s when my parents died; the publicity has just been insane. You were there for the funeral. You saw the people cheering when we came out. I just can’t … I can’t…,� he trailed off, raking his fingers though his hair in frustration.

“Indeed,� said Kingsley, understandingly. “Even I am getting a bit tired of the attention, but I know what I get is nothing as compared to you, Ron, and Hermione.�

Harry’s mind, which was just getting back up to full speed again, seemed to hit a wall: Ron. Hermione.

He had forgotten how much he missed them. It had been a long time since he faced a real challenge without their help. And he knew that they were just as sick of all the publicity as he was. Ron liked the attention at first, but after he was mobbed while leaving Fred’s funeral, his temperament changed drastically. Everyone had been on edge. Ginny had almost cursed someone before Bill stopped her.

Ginny. He now realised how very much he missed her. With Voldemort gone, there was no reason they couldn’t be together again. He couldn’t just run away and leave her, Ron, and Hermione behind. Besides, he couldn’t last anywhere—much less America—without them.

“Kingsley,� Harry began tentatively, “I have a favor to ask you…�

“You would like to know if Ron and Hermione can come too.� It was not a question. “And Ginny too, if my information is correct.�

Harry looked at Kingsley in amazement. Either Harry was very predictable, or Auror training included becoming psychic. “Yeah, pretty much.�

Kingsley looked at Harry with a very serious face. Harry began to get worried. Could they not come? Did the headmaster only want him, the “Chosen One? Did the American Government only allow so many foreign students per term?

Just as Harry’s brain started to really race, Kingsley smiled. “Of course they can go with you,� he laughed. “In fact, Professor Morgan was almost as eager to have them as you. That is, assuming they’ll come, of course.�

“You haven’t talked to them yet?� Harry inquired.

“No, I thought perhaps you would like to tell them.�

Harry face broke into a wide smile, the first of its kind in a long, long time. “I’d love too. I’ll head out tomorrow.�

“Very well,� said Kingsley, finishing off the rest of his whiskey. “With that settled, I really should get back to the Ministry. I’m sure they’ve managed to work themselves into frenzy in the hour I’ve been gone.�

Harry and Kingsley both got to their feet and made their way back to the front door. “I’ll have owls sent to you all with the details of your trip sometime this June; it may be a while, since some of the finer details have yet to be ironed out.�

“I look forward to it,� Harry said, grabbing Kingsley’s umbrella as he walked past the stand. He handed it to Kingsley as they reached the front door. “Have fun Ministering.�

Kingsley gave Harry a betrayed look, “Oh, I’m sure I will.� He opened the front door and walked out onto the front step. “At least the rain looks to have passed.�

“It was really good to see you again, Kingsley.�

The man nodded, and shook Harry’s hand. “It was good to see you, too.�

Harry watched him turn and walk out into the now empty square. About fifty feet out there was a swish of a cloak and a faint pop, and Kingsley disappeared.

Harry closed the door and walked slowly back to the sitting room. Just as he entered, there was a loud crack, and Kreacher appeared. He began to collect the glasses and the bottle of whiskey from the end tables. He then turned to look at Harry. “Dinner is ready if Master is feeling up to it.�

Harry gave another broad smile. With Kreacher’s words, he realised that he was properly hungry for the first time since coming to Grimmauld Place. “Yes, Kreacher, I think I am feeling up to it.� Harry followed Kreacher from the room toward the kitchen; he could smell the mouth watering steak already, and something else. Something … sweet. “Kreacher, did you happen to make treacle tart?�

“Yes, Master Harry, I did take the liberty.�

“Kreacher, you’re the best.�