The Final Solution

A/N: Thank you for your support through this story. Any similarity of names and situations in the story is purely incidental and accidental. This is JKR's sand, sandbox and playground that she is kind enough to let others use. A scene which is a precursor to lemons b/w H/Hr is included. There aren't any actual lemons – they are too young for that by about five years at least. I don't support or condone underage physical intimacy.

The atmosphere inside Hogwarts had turned very tense since the seventeenth of July, when the hunters had returned with their quarry. Neville had been extremely incensed to see the lone free man responsible for his parents' condition, even as Susan was incandescent about the subversion of the process of law. While strict restrictions were placed against any sort of interaction with the sedated prisoner, Neville had taken a crack at Crouch and had broken the man's jaw with a solid punch, much to his tutor's and friends' appreciation. That apart, nobody had reacted. There was no time for such frivolities as a single person's revenge.

It had taken Dumbledore the better part of two days to acquire Der Schmerzhafte Trank der Wahrheit. It was restricted as a Dark Arts item, and rightly so. It was the last resort for the truly desperate. Wilma Goth had also arrived within those two days. It was a good thing. She would know what questions to ask Crouch and would also know to counteract their plan.

The woman on the other hand, was in the Hospital Wing. As the foetus grew at about a rate six times that of normal, she seemed to sink further and further health-wise. By the end of July, with a week and a half to go, it was quite obvious that she was not going to survive the birth of the demon baby. It was horrible and there was no way out. It had caused everyone in Hogwarts (barring the Grangers – they had returned to their business; they did have money to earn and taxes to pay! They still visited and stayed over every night, though) to worry and grieve in their own way.

Molly Weasley, as a mother, couldn't fathom the idea of a birth as horrible as the one that was going to be, while Augusta and Mad-Eye, who thoroughly hated the Dark Arts, could do no more than seethe. It was not at all good for the people in the castle. So Sirius and Remus had brought out their act as Marauders and taken to being as funny as they could at every opportunity.

###

Once the original plans of manipulating the timeline while keeping it consistent with the previous one up to a certain point had been totally changed, thrown for a tizzy, and in Sirius' parlance, royally buggered up, and the terror duo had been captured (for at this point, the girl, Alia Bellworth was all but lost, and the being left was Baby-mort's mum) Harry had summarily withdrawn from any interaction with either of the prisoners.

Sensing the particularly bad reaction that Harry had to the girl, Dumbledore had set him the task of preserving and enchanting a copy of Harry Sr.'s consciousness. His pensieve had been loaned to the boy for that very purpose, though it was needed every now and then to dissect every sentence that Barty spoke, or to revise any new development regarding the exorcism.

Hermione had taken a more than passing interest in the matter. In her book, she was looking out for her own future as well. The life he had with her and the children were important factors. To her, that future, without the threat of war, and with peace and common welfare to which she contributed, was an ideal that she wanted to work towards. Somehow, she had ended up feeling the stirrings of love for Daniel, Michael and Luna, the children she would probably never have. That it had happened was proof for her that it was to all intents and purposes, a foregone conclusion. What teenage girl didn't hope and wish?

And therein lay her problem.

Objectively, within the group, everyone knew that in the future that Harry had come from, they had paired off. Barring Harry and her, nobody really knew who had become close. Well, the parents did, but the younger people didn't. Harry had seen to that. The scenes of the future he had allowed them to see did not include the familial bonds. There were only passing comments which hinted vaguely at things to come. The reason was that Harry had no intention to install an idea into his friends' younger counterparts' brains. Ron and Ginny, who had been present when a definitive comment had been made, had later been memory charmed with Molly's consent.

With Hermione and him, though, the matter was absolutely different. He hadn't been able to hide their future relationship from her for even an hour. And she was sure that she reciprocated; something that was a cause for happiness for them both.

And she feared that.

There were no updates about the Exorcists' efforts to free Harry from his unwelcome squatter. Harry, in his enchanting and experience-sharing quest, had essentially written his memoirs. Most others would not have seen it, but to Hermione, it was becoming blatantly obvious that he was becoming resigned to his fate – and worse still, the thought actually cheered him because it would take both back to their family, the younger to Lily and James and the older to his wife and children. She found the very thought unbearable. Her Harry's place was with her.

So she had started becoming clingy and constantly sought physical assurance that he was still there. Slowly, but surely, her fear started building a different sort of desperation in her mind, and combined with her hormones which were already causing lots of chaos.

Matters finally came to a head on the 29th of July. Harry had just completed the memoir which included each situation as it happened, his thoughts regarding who or what went wrong, and his comments, conjecture and the hindsight thus gained, which he was going to 'upload' into a picture of him and which was going to be animated and lent a bit of sentience – as was the case for Wizarding Portraits. He was sat pensively at his desk, that evening after a long day of training, when Hermione decided to act.

She had thought long and hard about it, though not necessarily correctly, and had come to the conclusion that whatever way the situation evolved, she was going to be his in every way that mattered – mind, body and soul. She entered his room, intent on her objective. She was so intent, that she actually forgot to close the door.

"Harry," she whispered into his ear, as she threw her arms around him. Her heart was hammering away faster than several horses a minute and the hormonal thrill was supplemented by adrenaline as it egged her on to do something so completely out of character that it mightn't have been her at all.

Harry smiled and turned around a bit, just enough to give her a chaste peck on the lips. It was homely, and something that Harry did without any thought at all. Seeing her alive had become a plaster on the large, sore wound of seeing her dead. "How are you now, Love?"

"I am here, Harry," she whispered and nibbled at his ear.

"Hermione?"

"Yes Harry?"

"What's going on? What are you doing?"

"Don't think Harry," she commanded sultrily in spite of herself, as she straddled him. "Just feel." She gave his confused look a cursory glance before dismissing it and started to kiss him, and soon lost herself in it. Soon enough, her hands and his started wandering as they hadn't before for the nearly fifteen and fourteen year old couple.

They had kissed before in that timeline, but not like that. While she had straddled him, Harry had a split moment to see her state of dress – or rather, given her usual attire, her state of undress. She had been clad only in his Quidditch jersey which was two sizes too large for her.

The older Harry had experience with Hermione's more intimate behaviour as well. This, whatever it was, was one of those moments where her passionate side (and Hermione was passionate; in love, in thoughts and in her beliefs) overrode her calmer, more proper side. And this wasn't right. She wasn't even fifteen.

Harry was shocked to find himself groping her, as she was him. Her pale long legs were wrapped around him as she had moved sometime during that heated kiss. He loved her, he truly did, but this wasn't love. This was desperation; this was fear. Checking the progress of his hands – which had crept over to naked skin – within the moment, he drew back and non-verbally demanded an explanation from her.

It had taken Hermione a lot for her courage to override her compunctions, and now that she had managed it, it was difficult for her to control herself. With a whimper and a mew of frustrated disappointment, she drew back as she found herself being questioned. Why did he have to keep his head, damn it! It had taken her several deliberations with herself to gather her courage!

"What is it H-Harry?" she stuttered. "Why did you stop?"

"You know why I stopped, my queen. What were you thinking?"

"Harry!" she moaned in protest, drawing out his name, as she dove in to continue from where they had left off. His iron grip on her shoulders cut off that course of action.

"What is it Hermione? You know this isn't right!"

"Don't you want me?" Her tone was accusing and her eyes were like flint.

"Don't go that way. Don't try that on me. You know it won't work," he said in a gruff, stern manner. Unlocking her feet from each other, he shifted her so that she was sitting in his lap sideways. She was being stubborn and refused to relent.

With a sigh, Harry gathered her in an embrace and poured all his love for the girl into it. And he realised that was where things were different. A part – the younger Harry – of him so very wanted to continue. He, the older one who had dismantled the situation, though, thought of her as a girl and not a woman. All the same, he called on his fourteen years of experience as her husband to find out what was bothering her.

"Minnie," he said, as he caressed her. There was as much approximation of a particular way of saying it as he could muster. With Hermione, there was more than just words that worked. "Why?"

Hermione, who was stubbornly refusing to speak till then, melted. Burrowing her head in his chest, she started sobbing in right earnest. A full five minutes later, the tears had abated enough to allow her to speak. "They- they haven't found anything!" It came out as a wail, and was interrupted by a hiccup.

"Anything about what?" asked Harry. He had a good idea what, but it was necessary for her to let it out.

"The exorcism," she sobbed some more. "They haven't found anything that can help you, have they?"

"They haven't, yet," agreed Harry. "So?"

"SO?" shrieked Hermione through a sob. "SO I DON'T WANT TO LOSE YOU!"

"I know."

"How would you know?" she asked bitterly.

"I lost my Hermione and our children, didn't I? Even the younger Harry has lost his parents, and even though neither of us remembers them, their absence has created a hole in our heart that nobody can ever truly fill. So I do know." As a sign of acceptance of that answer, he received a nod somewhere in his chest, even as she was shaking with silent sobs, both because of what she feared and in self-recrimination for what she was about to do. "What I don't understand is why you have given up hope?"

"They have been trying for so long, Harry..."

"And we have practically forever now, don't we? That was the objective of capturing them, wasn't it? The captures have bought time for them!"

"I KNOW! I KNOW THAT HERE!" she ground out, with a vicious jab to her temple. "But here," she said, pointing to her heart, "Here I see each new day that passes without a solution to be the one when they will give up!"

"Why would they give up? In fact, now there is more of a chance that they will succeed, isn't there? They no longer have to worry about any plans Voldemort might have, for everything is now in control. There is only the matter of ending it all. It will come in time. Haven't you seen the change in everyone?"

And it was true. Ever since the captures, every resident of the castle had become cautiously happy and optimistic. Sirius and Remus were practically treating the thought of pulling pranks on everyone, everywhere and everything, except the warded area where the prisoners were, their God given right. Mad-Eye and Augusta were often seen chatting away and laughing! Molly Weasley was Molly Weasley, and was entirely happy with the prospect of mothering everyone at Headquarters and within the castle. The younger cadre were inspired by the successful ambush and were working harder than ever. Minerva and Filius were hard at work, in search of a really good Potions Master and Professor. The positivity was infectious. Even the Ministry was caught in it, as the cleansing was going on at an earnest.

Even better news was obtained when Crouch, who had been told about each enchanted object that would resurrect the Dark Lord, had given the name of everything and place that the Horcruxes would be found as or at. The Shield was found on him. It turned out that Voldemort intended to make the Horcrux from the death of the twin of the very baby that he was possessing. Their estimate had been wrong, initially. There was a lot that potions could force in conception. Well, that wasn't exactly good news, but well...

"I have." Her voice was timid like a mouse.

"So why do something so, so un-Hermione-ish?"

"Because I am still afraid, okay!" she retorted. "I fear that they will give up. If not now, then a few years down the line. And I won't be able to bear that. I like you a lot, Harry. And knowing what you and your Hermione had, I want the same for my Harry and me!"

"I can understand that. I truly can." He blinked at her. This time she was sure that it was her Harry and not the grown-up man who was just as much a prick when it came to things not related to war, who was speaking. "I am really flattered Hermione, that I can be loved so much, that can be loved at all. Even better is the fact that a person as good, as great in every way as you are loves me. I don't truly know whether what I feel for you is love. But if it is, and I feel the same as that Harry feels for his Hermione, then it is, and I do love you."

He was glomped by the girl as she gave him a tremulous, watery smile.

"But," Harry continued, and this time, somehow Hermione knew that it was the older prick and her Harry who were both speaking with one mind, "we still don't understand why you did it."

She looked at him/them incredulously, before answering, "I wanted to be yours, completely, thoroughly. For whatever time we have, and for however long we have together, and beyond, I now can't imagine being with anyone else. I fear you being stripped away from me. So I want you in every damn way!"

"I still think you are barmy, though I was very happy with what we were doing," 'her' Harry finally replied, after staring at her for about a minute. She knew, for the older one didn't really smile. 'Her' Harry did. "But seriously, Hermione, I am surprised. It seems the only one who has given up on me staying alive is you."

Hermione reared back as if she had been slapped. "WHAT? HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT?"

"Calm down, Hermione. Understand what he is saying." Again, it was the authoritative prick. "What he is trying to say is that you are seeing smoke where there isn't any. There is no need to panic." He blinked and 'her' Harry came to the fore. "Exactly! What were you thinking? Were you going to give me a vow to forever remember me, that you'd be mine forever? I wouldn't say no, but not when you fear that I'll die, or are under stress. We have a lot of time together. It is only the older me who'll be leaving."

"And what about when you keep behaving cheerfully all the time, and keep looking at us after every page you write in your memoirs?"

"Uh...that's actually older Harry. He is happy that he can go back to his family and friends, but he is going to miss you."

Hermione couldn't help it. She was already still sobbing, and this answer made her laugh out loud in relief. "You must think I am stupid!" she said with a sniffle. She had missed the obvious while trying to see more than others did. Sometimes the simplest things were the ones that were true and therefore ignored.

"I do, but I don't." She couldn't help but snort. "However, and we are both saying this in all seriousness, if such a situation comes to pass, do try to remember us, and name your firstborn after us. We want you to live a good, happy life. I, 'your' Harry will wait for you on the other side."

"What?" In all honesty, this was the sort of thing she had been expecting to hear from Harry. She couldn't see how she could be happy without him.

"Huh. Pranked you!"

"You idiot!" shouted Hermione as she swatted his arm repeatedly. She then sank into another embrace. It wasn't out of love actually. She was sure she would smack him in the face if she saw him grinning at her. "So you intend to be here with me?"

"Absolutely!" answered her Harry. "We have just been trying to find a way to let older Harry go to his Hermione and still keep a part of him for ourselves. I don't intend on letting Voldemort win."

"And he won't." Sirius was standing in the doorway, leaning on the jamb and grinning at his godson and his girlfriend.

"You made it a habit to emulate Snivellus, Padfoot?"

That slid the grin right off the old dog's face. "Hey!" he protested. "I was only listening to my smooth godpup trying to calm down his scared and clearly barmy girlfriend, and was waiting to intervene if he failed. Damn you pup! James wasn't as smooth at fourteen! Though, I must say, Lily would have been proud of you, and James would have wondered whether you were really his son if they saw you rejecting the advances of a beautiful girl."

He received a cheeky grin in response.

"And Hermione, I can understand what you were trying to do, though you are going to run three extra laps for that stunt. When you intend to do something like that, don't walk from the dormitory wearing just a jersey. Been there, done that, and all that stuff. And also remember to close the door."

Hermione could only blush and wonder at her own stupidity.

"Of course, being the responsible adult that I am, I haven't given you any pointers to pull that off. Also, to ensure that this doesn't get reported to your parents, you are going to grin and bear as you become the butt of pranks for the next few days."

"That's blackmail!" the clearly mortified girl nonetheless protested.

Sirius grinned widely. "Of course it is. I am a Black male, after all!"

Harry clapped sarcastically as Hermione groaned. "Great, now you have given the dog a new chew toy! We just about broke him out of the habit of his tired name pun, and now this!"

None of them could keep a straight face for long though, and they burst out laughing.

"Anyway," Sirius continued, once he had calmed down. "I really have seriously good news."

"Oh?"

"We have found a way to reclaim Harry's body from the shard."

Hermione bounced off Harry's lap and grabbed Sirius in a hug, practically squeezing the life out of him.

"Now, understand, this is not a hundred percent. There is a margin of fatal error. But this is the best we have."

That sobered her up immediately.

"The basic plan is to have Crouch kissed, but alive. He will work as a temporary container for either the pup's soul or Voldemort. We are performing the ritual on his birthday. The ritual will need two people to convince Harry to return – though why that is so, I don't know. At the moment, it is you and me, Hermione."

"And the danger is?"

"We aren't sure which soul will transfer to which body. Ideally, pup will return to his own body, and Riddle to Crouch's but there is always the probability that the reverse or worse can happen."

"What can be worse than that?"

"Riddle can possess either of us. We won't be exiting our bodies, so to speak, as Harry and Tom will be doing, but there is a margin of susceptibility."

"You are not doing this."

"And why not?"

"The susceptibility and risk to you is unacceptable."

"You don't get to decide that. Of us all, Hermione and I are the only ones who can coax you back. There is a component of love necessary for the ritual."

"Then rework it! Unless you have forgotten it, there has to be a component of self-preservation as well. I can coax Harry back into his body."

"That's where the problem is. You see, it is not only Voldemort who is possessing Harry's body. In a way, so are you, though it is your own in a way."

"I – What?"

"Yes. You see, the difference between active and passive possessions is the presence of a consciousness. Voldemort had a consciousness in conjunction with his piece in Quirrel. Till you came along, Harry was a two soul, one consciousness entity. Now, he has two consciousnesses related to the same soul and one parasite. The probable problem is that instead of you, it is him that will be released into the afterlife to your family."

Hermione and Harry both frowned, before Harry smiled mischievously.

"What?"

"I just think that it'd be a brilliant prank. His Hermione always called him a big kid. Having me around will drive her barmy!"

"Was James like this as well, Sirius? I wonder how Lily ever came around to liking him," Hermione asked scathingly as she rolled her eyes.

"She didn't for six years," Sirius replied. He wanted to scold the pup, but really, that was funny. He could almost picture a grown-up Hermione being frustrated by a younger Harry.

Ending the moment of mirth, Harry Sr. asked, "What if I guard and guide him? Am I allowed that much interference?"

"Yes. No. Probably. I don't know."

"And things just became crystal clear," came the rejoinder.

"My dear git of a godson, older one, specifically, you are always a magical rule-breaking situation by yourself. There are several things that can only be ensured via experiment, and you are the only available test subject fitting the criteria."

"So there is nothing else to do but try," Hermione summed up.

"No! Try not!" snarled Harry gutturally. "Do or do not! There is no try!"

He received a smack from Hermione for his trouble.

"Why is it always a ritual 'circle'?" Harry complained. "There are so many different shapes. Why does it always have to be a bloody circle?"

"It's okay Harry," Sirius consoled. "It's just easier to dance naked around a circle than a square or any other angular shape. No sharp turns, see."

"Why do I have the feeling, that you have tried that before?"

Sirius blushed. "I did. Stole my mother's cat's catnip, some myrrh and incense and lit it in the middle of a square, a triangle and a circle. The last was easiest. I was trying to create a ritual. I was eight."

This was the trigger for a round of nervous laughter. It was, after all, their version of barracks humour.

"Boys!" admonished Augusta, calling for discipline. She was going to be the chief priestess. "Circles represent cycles, Harry. With no starting and end, a circle continues forever. Most rituals which aim for permanent effects are performed inside circles for that very reason."

Dumbledore led Hermione and Sirius, each to one of the two circles that intersected with the larger one. Another circle with equal radius already had a soulless Barty Crouch Junior lying within. A feather from Fawkes, hair from the Thestrals and straps of birch, hazel, reed, elder, poplar and yew, were used to bind them all, according to the ogham significances. The chant was in Gaelic.

For Harry, who had survived being cursed with the Cruciatus by Voldemort no less than five times, this was pain that he had never encountered. He screamed and screamed and screamed and he barely registered Sirius and Hermione screaming for him as he lost all sense of time and space. When he next regained a modicum of consciousness, sense and understanding, he found himself in whiteness.

There was nothing, bar him and a snake that was writhing on the ground. He felt no sense of self, of being Harry Potter, or of having ever known life. He just was, wherever and whenever he was.

He looked down at the snake. It was black, he decided, though black was only a means to say it was everything this whiteness was not. It was in obvious pain. But what was pain? And why was it in pain? He felt so comfortable. So calm, happy. Why wasn't it so for the snake? Should he help it? He crouched to one knee and was about to touch it when his instincts screamed at him not to. Why?

The voices of his instincts gave him pause. He had heard the voices before, or so he felt. But that wasn't possible, was it? He had never known anything but the whiteness. And that led to the questions about himself. Who was he? What was he? He looked down to the whiteness beneath him. Then again, all directions were relative in this, whatever it was. It might have been him who was beneath the whiteness.

"Harry!"

It was a voice, a whisper, so like the one of those of his instincts, yet different, older. What was a Harry?

"Stay away from the snake!"

Why? But they were his voices. Should he trust them? And why was that thing called a snake? On balance, he decided to not touch it. Should he eat it? He felt something. Was that hunger? He could hunt. Before it could hurt him, he could stomp on its head and hurt it and then eat it. He was tempted.

Presently, there was a shift in the whiteness. And the temptation to eat the snake was overridden by a deep sense of foreboding.

"Harry." The voice was clearer. It was closer. And it was the same. It was nice, familiar and it gave a feeling of home. What was home? He seemed to be thinking of words, but for him they held no meaning.

He turned in the direction of the voice, when once more his 'instincts' – another word which he knew had a meaning yet meant nothing – shouted to him not to. This time there was a deeper voice. A voice that he knew, and somehow wanted to obey. But why?

"Harry."

This time the voice seemed to come from within. It was the beautiful voice. He loved it. But it was younger. Why? Nothing made sense. He wished he could see the people of the voices instead of just hearing them. The whiteness was nice, but he was tired of it now. He wanted to know more, to be more. He felt a bit nervous.

"Daddy!" Again there was the whisper that tugged at his heart. This time, there were more voices to draw his attention. These were younger, definitely. Hey felt like home as well. And they called him Daddy. What was a Daddy?

Finally, unbidden, the words came. "I can't see you. I want to see you all, all of you who call. But I can't. I want to feel you all, and to know who you are and to know who I am."

And those were the magic words. As if a curtain was drawn from both the whiteness and his mind, the being who felt like a Harry, became the two Harry Potters. He realised with a start that he was naked. And, he realised, as he looked around, so was his wife.

"Good grief!" he muttered as he verbally wished for clothes and hastily wore them, while at the same time also looking around for his younger self. "Damn it, Minnie! As much as I love seeing you this way, it makes me quite a bit awkward to be so attired in the afterlife."

"Then, you love-monster, it is what you wished to see! Ever since I and the kids got here, we have been clothed!" Hermione Potter snapped.

Harry looked sheepish and gave her the grin that turned her insides to jelly. But then again, she as a whole turned his brain to mush, so the scales were still tipped in her favour.

"So, how did they get you?"

Harry grinned widely this time. "They didn't. Ron, Gin and I found a way to travel back in time. We sent me back. This was us defeating Voldemort for the final time. We got all his pieces." He really was enjoying the look of utter shock on his best friend and wife's face. Even that was something to fall in love with. "And that reminds me, have you seen a 'me' who looks to be about fourteen? Sirius and young-you are performing a reworked exorcism. Young-me needs to be sent back to them."

"Bloody hell that was you?"

"Ron?"

"Yes, mate. Something went wrong, I am sure. As soon as we performed the ritual, and you collapsed, everything got destroyed. Next thing I know, I wake up to find my sister examining Luna's tonsils with her tongue and Lavender my kids swarming all over me!"

Harry cringed. "You know I love those two as my own sisters, but that was an image I didn't need." Ron seemed to agree to that. "So tell me, where was my younger self?"

"Last time I saw him, he was looking at a verbal tennis match between a ghostly-little Hermione and ghostly-Sirius, against one more Sirius, Lily, James and your kids. Michael had speared a black snake."

"How in hell do I manage to find myself in such trouble irrespective of the age?" Harry groaned rhetorically. "The snake came with the younger-me, did it?"

"Yes."

"That was the piece of Voldemort in him. Plans had to change quite a bit. Anyway, the good news is that we succeeded. Apparently, we changed the world so much with that act that the timeline could no longer exist and was destroyed explosively. I am not complaining."

"I agree mate. I am back with Lav and the kids. Couldn't ask for more, really."

The three made their way to where Ron had reported the squabble was taking place.

"Michael Dennis Potter, put that bloody thing down right this moment!"

"Daddy!" squealed three voices. In a trice, Michael, Daniel and Luna latched onto their father and were rejoicing.

Harry really wanted to celebrate, but other things really did come first. He put them down and turned to the squabblers.

"Sirius, Sirius, Hermione, Dad, Mum and everyone else, just shut up for a moment!" And they did. "Now listen up, you lot. Little Hermione, you take the Sirius that came with you and 'your' Harry out of here. Move on."

"But son, he is b–" started Lily and then looked askance at him. "Why are there two of you?"

"That's because he is supposed to be alive. I am supposed to be dead. You should be trying to send him back. Now what were you fighting about?"

"Well, you see, Padfoot here got the idea that since there were two of him, and you and your wife were teenagers again and we already knew that you had kids, that there must be some dark magic going on. The other Sirius was not having it and wanted to take Harry away without checking any of them," explained James and Lily, alternating their sentences in a way that the Weasley twins would have envied.

"Proves that he is an idiot. Padfoot, you are an idiot. No, not you Sirius with little Hermione. You, the godfather who was dicking about with the insane cousin. You are an idiot. I destroyed that timeline, and Mouldy-shorts is dead. We are sending them back there."

"Thanks, Harry. I didn't know I was such a prick!" he spat in his doppelganger's general direction.

"That's news to me, really," dead Sirius muttered, sarcastically. The live one was about to retort, but Hermione the younger gave him a smack on his head, and dragged both him and a very bemused and wholly confused younger Harry (ghostly forms could affect each other, it seemed) along to a door that she had clearly wished for in advance.

"Good Lord, Harry, but Sirius is such a drama queen!" Ron complained.

"Don't I know?"

A massive gasp sounded from Sirius, Hermione, and Harry, simultaneously. The former two groaned, while the latter sat bolt upright and touched his scar on reflex. There wasn't one.

"Am I me?"

"Yes. You are you, Harry."

"And a lot of help you were against your parents and Sirius. Damn it, you are such a drama queen!"

"He was. I am not!" The man could only protest with a groan. "Are we clear?"

"Yes." We have been monitoring you. All of you are you and unencumbered," answered Dumbledore.

"Thank Heavens!"

"No don't! The other you will gloat about it!"

And on that confusing, frustrating and fairly peaceful and a lot less dramatic note than would have been expected, the war against Voldemort ended with a whimper.

It took quite some time, but what portended to be a war that would test them all, ended up being a damp squib. Well, to the people of the living timeline, it did. To those who had passed on to the afterlife, including the older Harry, it was a bad life which they had all put behind them. Several of those who hadn't died in the future were now living in the knowledge that their younger counterparts would never have to live with the fear and sorrow as permanent companions.

Even the final killing of Voldemort was a matter of great show and pomp, but little of substance. There were photos of Dumbledore, Sirius and Harry together, which each of them grinned and bore through. The actions taken by Harry since his return to bring down an entire Dark organisation at just shy of fourteen were eulogised and he was the one who gave baby-mort the ceremonial push through the veil. For his trouble he was awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class, making him the youngest recipient. Even the Potter and Weasley seats were elevated to hereditary status. Sirius' seat, which he intended to bequeath to Harry, was safe from having a rather clueless but tenacious Auror as its representative.

All of a sudden, there were questions asked which Harry simply had to have the answers of. It was nothing short of stupid. Voldemort, with his singular goal to be immortal and cause as much havoc as he could, was simply not a top-class dark lord, all things said and done. He diversified a lot, and never achieved the ideological notoriety of Grindelwald and his inclusivity. Pureblood propaganda had festered long before he came onto the scene and would do so – it was a part of human conditioning. Harry's temporary victory and his long-standing fame and acclaim would only serve to drive people from that agenda. Of course, people could always find something new to use as a cause for discord.

Nonetheless, when at the end of seven years, Harry, Ron, Susan and when her schooling ended, Ginny as well, moved to Auror Corps and trained, Wizarding Britain celebrated like they were the second coming. It was hilarious, from one point of view, and absolutely stupid from almost every other. Hermione chose to get within the system to create international awareness. She had taken the lessons that Dumbledore had learnt with reference to the ICW and the world's powers' reactions to heart and had chosen that as her profession.

It was not always smooth sailing, particularly as every new Dark Lord Wannabe wanted to pass the Hogwarts squad test, as it were. It was tiring and yet, with the way Harry's memories had shown their later years, they lived fairly unadventurous lives, just as Harry wished, for himself at least.

And, just because it needs to be mentioned, it may interest the reader, that apart from the war, the happy parts of the previous timeline replicated themselves. Neville and Susan followed the less dramatic and more romantic path to marital bliss and ran a successful chain of greenhouses. Susan helped manage the place in her spare time, and Neville freelanced as a reserve civilian combatant. Ron, the Auror, and Lavender, the correspondent with the Daily Prophet, were brought together in a way that would seem to make James' pursuit of Lily pale. Of course, his friends helped him in every way and therefore were largely hindrances. That they still ended up giving Harry Fabian, his godson, as Neville gave him Rhapsody his goddaughter was more than a minor miracle. Teddy Lupin, the metamorphmagus welcomed them to that exclusive group. As for Harry and Hermione, well, Ambassador Potter and her Auror husband were a very happy and unremarkably unruffled couple, with a happy family. They gave Minister Black his god-grandchildren. And they ensured that they kept things simple, and as unremarkable but successful in every way that mattered, as possible, and therefore happy, ever after.