Seek

"You can't be serious." Hermione set her fork down calmly, staring at Harry as if he'd gone mad between quick glances at Ron for reassurance that she wasn't the only sane person at the table.



The three friends sat at a table in the pub just down from Harry's flat with the bit of paper that Harry had scribbled Snape's missive on between their plates. Harry looked at them both and pulled a face as if to say, 'What can I do?', while he calmly finished chewing the generous piece of steak he had stuffed into his mouth right after announcing to Hermione that he intended to go to America. He swallowed with much relish and a little difficulty, then sipped from his water glass before clearing his throat.



"Why shouldn't I go?"



"Ron?" Hermione dismissed explaining the obvious to Harry and took another bite of her quiche, knowing full well that Ron had always been able to simplify things to a level Harry would understand immediately.



Ron was scowling into his shepherd's pie, and answered at length, "I don't see why not, mate." Hermione dropped her fork yet again and Harry raised a curious eyebrow. "What, Hermione? Its not as though Britain'll crumble without Harry here. And you could use some time abroad," he continued sagely, nodding at Harry, "get yourself out of dodge before the reporters get stirred up again."



Harry 'hmmed' and even Hermione looked thoughtful. It was only two months till the anniversary of his defeat of Voldemort and the media had already begun sending owls for the exclusive interviews he never granted, hanging around his flat for the snaps he never posed for. Every year Harry's comparative peace was shattered by paparazzic frenzy, and it had not ceased to frazzle him. Some of the more intrepid newshounds had gone so far as to attempt to break into Harry's flat last year, and Hermione maintained that Harry might have spent some time in Azkaban for his reaction if he weren't still the figurehead of the wizarding world.



"But still, Harry, why go after all this time? It's been years. News of the defeat has reached every corner of the world by now. Malfoy could have come back on his own." Hermione studied him over the tabletop and Harry began occluding automatically before making eye contact with her. Her lips twisted wryly and she looked away. "I wish you wouldn't do that."



"Force of habit." He replied quietly.



Ron cut in, his own voice cautious, though Harry couldn't tell of what. "She's right. For all you know the ferret's died or gone barmy. Or just doesn't want to come back. There's still a lot of folks who'd have words for him if he showed his face 'round Diagon Alley."



"The reports cleared that up, Ron. How long has it been since someone vandalized Sirius's grave?"



---



The reports. In the weeks following his defeat of Tom Riddle Harry had been a whirlwind of activity. He was at every meeting of the Council of Merlin, he broke the ground at every memorial he could, he was seen in parades, he even spoke at homes for elderly, personally allowing witches and wizards who could not comprehend the lifting of the veil of fear that had hung over them for so long to touch his scar, hear his voice. He must have had his picture taken a million times. Then the world began to right itself and Harry disappeared, sequestering himself at Grimmauld Place for six months, seeing only those he requested by owl. And request he did. Hundreds of people had wound their way in and out of the house in those months, all close-mouthed about the purpose of their visits. And at the end of that time Harry Potter re-emerged and published a document simply know as the Reports.



They set straight a great deal of propaganda and outright lies that had circulated during the War and after, filled with first person testimonies and official documentation that might never have come to public light. Through all of the accounts there wove Harry's voice, lending a sense of unity, tying the accounts into a seamless history of the conflict. He had brought to light many of the War's unsung heroes, like Neville and Padma Longbottom and Pansy Parkinson, devilified Sirius, Snape and the Dursleys and brought the truth of the Horcruxes and his own prophecy to the public.



Many commented that his own war-time actions were glossed over, and this was true. Never had Harry given an accounting of his own feelings, only his whereabouts and those actions that had effected the War effort publicly. But the Reports had still ushered in the final sensations of closure to the Wizarding community.



And they had cleared the name of the Malfoy heir absolutely, Harry's account of Dumbledor's death had been one of the most highly publicized segments.



---



I had taken some time last night for Harry to accept that Malfoy had never been initiated into the ranks of the Death Eaters and that his childhood rival had survived the curse the Dark Mark had laid upon all it's bearer's at Riddle's death.



The rest of the time Harry had spent awake the previous night had been occupied with cursing himself for waiting seven long years to carry out Snape's final request, and Hermione's questions had brought that issue to the table again.



"For all I know you're right Ron. I certainly can't understand why Malfoy wouldn't at least have tried to contact somebody. But Snape did say he wouldn't return willingly, and he was very specific about needing Malfoy around."



Hermione cut Ron off as he opened his mouth, doubtless with more speculation on the fates that could have befallen Draco Malfoy. "The reconstruction's gone off well enough without him, hasn't it Harry? What prompted you to go to Spinner's End after all this time anyway?"



Harry looked down at the scarred veneer of the tabetop and murmured, "Marsha."



"Oohh." Hermione and Ron exchanged sympathetic looks above Harry's head.



"Snape's... what he said to me at the end there, it was all muddled together," Honestly, Harry had remembered nothing but Snape's actions until the week before, when a series of odd dreams featuring the potions master speaking to Harry in some twisted version of Parseltongue and offering him lemon drops had come up in his therapist's office. "Marsha had to put me pretty far under to bring it up. Then it took me a few days to figure out if the house hadn't already been searched." He looked up again, with a crooked smile, "And to get up the stones to go marching into Snape's house in the first place."



Ron grinned at him and Hermione rolled her eyes.



"Anyway, Marsha thinks I ought to go." He raised a hand to forstall any further protest from Hermione. "After all, what harm can it do? These are Snape's last wishes and he's as much as hero as anyone. This is the only payment we can give him anymore."



Ron nodded again then turned his attention back to his food, which Harry warmed for him without a thought by pressing his fingers to the edge of the plate and casting a subtle nonverbal spell.



He did his best to ignore the brief flash of pain in Hermione's eyes as he did the same for his own.