With all the fireplaces at Hogwarts, Harry should have known enough to specify one when he stepped into the Floo, but apparently the default was McGonagall's old office, adjacent to the Transfiguration classroom. The others must have been waiting for them there; Harry had barely taken one dizzy step beyond the hearth when he was accosted by Hermione and Ron. He could see Dennis chattering excitedly with Andromeda and Mrs. Creevey a few feet away, and McGonagall was leaning against her old desk with several pieces of parchment in her hand.

"Oh, good, Mr. Potter, you're back. I was just about to leave for the Ministry," she said, looking appraisingly at the newcomers. "I see you've brought back an entourage."

"This is Dennis's mother, Vera Creevey," Harry offered, touching her arm. "Mrs. Creevey, Professor McGonagall is the — well, was the Transfiguration teacher, although now she's the headmistress."

"We've met," McGonagall said dryly. "Vera was here at Hogwarts not so very long ago." The women shook hands as Harry flushed; he really should have known that much. "Both your sons always did very well in my class," McGonagall was saying. "I'm so sorry, though, about Colin." Vera nodded.

"Well, of course you know Dennis. And . . . but did you teach Andromeda?" Harry asked. He tried to do the math in his head, but he really wasn't sure how old Andromeda was. Probably in her mid-forties, and McGonagall should be on her fortieth year of teaching . . .

"Indeed," Andromeda smiled, gently patting Teddy's back; Harry couldn't figure out how his little godson could take the trip through the Floo so calmly. He was actually smiling! "I was never very good at Transfiguration, though. I preferred Charms."

"You preferred any class where you could get away with talking the whole time," McGonagall said severely. "Couldn't keep her mouth shut for ten seconds straight," she addressed the room. "Of course, Filius is the same way, so they got on smashingly."

"Well, Andromeda came with me to see Mrs. Creevey, and we all decided to come here; I figure we need all the help we can get," Harry explained.

"We just sent off the last load of Death Eaters with the thestrals," Ron informed Harry. His face darkened. "I don't really like how they got express service like that when there are plenty of our people still in the dungeons."

"Now, Mr. Weasley, the Minister just wants to make sure he knows which ones are still around . . . so they can be arrested," McGonagall answered. Ron looked somewhat appeased. She turned to Harry. "Mr. Potter, I have to meet with Kingsley now to compare the list of our dead with the current inhabitants of Azkaban. To see if the any of the families match, that is. Only three bodies have been claimed so far."

Harry nodded. "How will they figure out who should be kept there and who gets released?" he wanted to know. "I know a lot of people got thrown in there arbitrarily under Thicknesse, but there have to be some that we don't want out."

McGonagall looked tired. "That's not going to be easy," she replied. "It wasn't complete chaos when Voldemort took over, and they did keep good records, thanks be to Merlin, so we'll have to go through the arrests and see what the official reason was for each person. If it sounds like the prisoner was just in for blood status or speaking against Voldemort, they'll be let go. But of course, there's no way to be absolutely certain."

"What's happening with those that were working at the Ministry under Voldemort?" Harry asked. He thought of Umbridge. "I know some of them, like Mr. Weasley, just stayed to do what they could. But plenty had to enjoy the evil stuff they were "forced" to do."

"It is rather complicated, as you can see," McGonagall replied. "After the pressing matters are taken care of here at the school, Kingsley will need your help. All three of you, and anyone else we know we can trust. We can't necessarily punish anyone who worked for the Ministry, because even if they weren't part of the Order, like Arthur, there's no crime in staying at a place because you're afraid for your life. I'd like to say that they should have fought when it came to the worst, like shoving people into Azkaban if they couldn't prove blood status, but . . . the Wizarding world just isn't big enough for one person to make a difference most of the time. And who am I to judge? I let plenty go on here at the school." The older woman looked away, ashamed.

"That isn't true!" Hermione cried. "What good would it have done for you to get fired? You did what you could, but you had to keep your job, or the students would have been totally at the mercy of the Carrows!"

McGonagall gave her a tiny smile. "That's how I justified it at the time, Miss Granger. I'll never know what would have happened if I'd spoken out. But I do hope that when you're called upon to judge the actions of the others — the Ministry employees, or even those imprisoned under Cornelius Fudge or Rufus Scrimgeour — that you'll be as forgiving when it's called for. There's a huge grey area, as you can see. It'll probably never all be sorted out. But we can only do our best." She sighed. "I'll be going, then."

"Wait," Harry objected. "Mrs. Creevey came because she wanted to help. Can she go with you? You said they need people at the Ministry."

"Every hand we can get," McGonagall answered.

Vera looked at Dennis, and Harry knew what she was thinking. Having lost one son — not to mention her husband, though it had been several years — she was probably loath to let the last of her family out of her sight. "Dennis can help us here. What are we doing today, anyway?" he asked Hermione.

She sighed. "Well, while you were gone, we packed up the Death Eaters — that part you heard — but Oliver and Ron and I were visiting Dumbledore's portrait earlier, and he gave us some instructions on how to begin the major repairs on the castle. It's complicated; it's almost like building things from scratch, because every layer has to have different spells on it. Neville, I know, is supposed to start on the grounds; they got pretty torn up in the fighting, and he and Professor Sprout are trying to repair the magical plants."

"What happened to the mandrakes?" Harry wanted to know. It was a stupid question, really, but he just wondered.

"Oh, they died, poor things," she answered. "They're not supposed to be out of the soil for longer than it takes to be replanted. But they took their share of Death Eaters with them."

"Great, more heroes to bury," Ron muttered.

Hermione gave him a contemptuous look. "Can I hold Teddy?" she asked Andromeda, changing the subject.

"Of course," Andromeda answered, handing him over. Teddy started laughing when he saw Hermione's bushy hair, and soon he was grabbing big chunks in his fists and yanking on it.

"Ow, Teddy, don't pull my hair out!" Hermione cried in a mock-angry voice. Teddy giggled even harder and kept pulling. "Owwwww!"

"Well, we'd best be going," McGonagall said, beckoning Vera over to the Floo. Vera gave Dennis a hug, which made the fifteen-year-old squirm in embarrassment, before following the headmistress.

"And we'd best be eating," Ron said eagerly.

Harry suddenly remembered something. "Hermione, please tell me you didn't actually go outside last night," he asked apprehensively.

Hermione averted her gaze. "Well, not exactly," she mumbled.

Ron gaped at her. "You had us all fired up over it, like it was some big emergency that we were too lazy to tackle, and you didn't even go?" he asked in consternation.

Harry felt a huge wave of relief wash over him. "I'm glad you didn't," he assured her. "We should go with you, but I was so damned tired last night. Well, I was until Snape . . . don't even get me started, but I was so pissed off after he woke me up, I totally forgot." He had practically screamed himself hoarse at the stupid git, and when Snape's ghost finally floated off to seek some other entertainment, Harry had been so agitated that he wouldn't have cared if Ginny stepped out of the Floo wearing only a pointed witch's hat and a smile just for him.

"I wanted to go," Hermione said, "because I really think we should get that ring. I know that supposedly no one else knows it's there, but it just makes me nervous. But then . . . I got out the front doors, and I got . . . scared," she finished in a tiny voice. "It was so dark, and the lawn is still a mess. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Harry assured her. "I wouldn't wander around in the dark right now for anything. We'll get it, I promise. You're right, it isn't a good idea to just leave it there."

"I'm hoping we'll have some time before it gets dark," Hermione answered.

"Right now, I think we're all hoping for food," Andromeda said, and Harry nodded his agreement. It had been five hours since he'd had breakfast, and his stomach was growling ferociously.

"About bloody time," Ron grumbled. The five of them, with Hermione still holding Teddy, headed downstairs to eat. In the newly cleaned Great Hall, the house-elves, headed by Kreacher, had set up a gigantic lunch for everyone. Harry helped himself to several sandwiches and a bowl of tomato soup, while Ron piled a little of everything onto his plate. Hermione munched a sandwich in one hand while she gave Teddy his bottle, and Andromeda drifted away to join Slughorn and Flitwick at another table. They both greeted their former student enthusiastically, and soon the three were deep in conversation.

Of all the privations the three of them had suffered while on the run for almost the whole past year, Harry never would have believed he'd miss pumpkin juice this much. He also couldn't help wondering how, considering that everything had been so chaotic for so long, someone had managed to keep enough pumpkins growing to provide a constant supply of juice. He'd found, however, that wondering about such aberrations in the Wizarding world just gave him a headache.

Harry suddenly shivered as he felt a cold breeze touch his back, and looked up to see Snape settling next to him on the bench the way Nearly Headless Nick used to do. Nick had obviously been a masochist in life, as he seemed to like nothing better than to sit and watch students scarfing down delicious food that he was unable to eat. Or maybe he just liked making them feel guilty as they observed his mournful expression. Harry glared at Snape, still raw from the argument the night before. "Why aren't you haunting the Slytherin table with the Bloody Baron?" he asked.

"You've seen my memories, Potter. Are you going to tell me I didn't die a Gryffindor?" Snape answered.

"You're sick." Harry piled some carrot-raisin salad on his plate. "You want some?" he asked snidely. The look Snape gave him was more exasperation than anger.

"Oh, that's right, you can't," Harry smirked.

"No, but you can be sure I'll irritate you as much as possible while you're eating," Snape threatened.

"Unless you can take off your clothes while a ghost, I think my appetite will survive," Harry retorted. Snape opened his mouth, but Hermione spoke first.

"Harry," she said, keeping her voice low, "I understand why you brought Dennis back and everything, but what can he do that doesn't require a whole lot of complicated magic? He's only in fifth year, after all."

Dennis was eating with Oliver and Neville at the other end of the table, and from the way he was animatedly waving his arms around, Harry guessed their conversation couldn't possibly be overheard. "I guess he can help with the lawn," he said. "Or at the very least, he can watch Teddy. I just didn't want him and his mother all alone, grieving over Colin, you know?"

"Oh, I understand," Hermione assured him. "He just seems like the type that might try to take on too much and get hurt."

"Dennis was always good at Potions," Snape offered unexpectedly. "Perhaps Horace could use him as an assistant. I've been down there helping him with the concoctions for St. Mungo's, but I can only talk, not touch." He got up from the bench and started for Dennis. "I'll ask him now."

"That's done, then," Harry said in relief. Just at that moment, Andromeda wandered over.

"I'll be helping Filius with the cleanup upstairs," she informed them. "My family was always putting up various and sundry protection charms, so I'll be able to help with the restoration. But I'm afraid to have Teddy around all that rubble. Can you take care of him, or at least let me know when you'll be starting something big?" Harry assured her they would.

"Everyone's finding a job, then," Hermione said when Andromeda had left. All three of them were pretty much done eating, and Teddy was looking sleepy in her arms. "I think we'd better find an empty classroom and figure out what to do next."

The three of them left their plates behind and settled for a room on the second floor that hadn't been damaged in the fighting. Teddy was conked out on Hermione's shoulder, so she pulled out her wand and conjured a small cradle, which she gently rocked with one foot after tucking him into it. "He's so sweet, Harry," she said, keeping her voice low so as not to wake the sleeping baby. "It's such an honour to be godfather . . . between you and Andromeda, I bet he never feels like he's missing anything."

Harry smiled. "He is sweet," he agreed. "I hope I can always be there for him." He thought of Sirius and felt that horrible pang of longing that never seemed to lessen, no matter how much time had passed. He hoped he could make Teddy so happy that he'd never have to feel that way.

Ron spoke up. "I'm not trying to be flippant here, but it just occurred to me. What do you think Mrs. . . . uh, Andromeda will put on T — well, Dora's stone? She hated her first name, and Tonks was her maiden name."

"I reckon 'Nymphadora Lupin,' although the poor girl had every right to hate that name," Hermione said, shuddering. "I don't even like mine very much, not least because the only nickname anyone's ever come up with is 'Hermy.' But it isn't 'Nymphadora,' that much I'm thankful for."

"I think your name is nice, Hermione," Ron answered. Hermione looked away, blushing to the roots of her hair. "But we should try to convince Andromeda to cut her daughter a break, twenty-six years late though it may be."

"Whatever happens," Hermione said, still looking faintly pink at Ron's compliment, "do not let it be one of those that reads: 'Here Lies Remus John Lupin, Beloved Husband, Father of Theodore, Member of the Order of the Phoenix and Recipient of the Order of Merlin, First Class, Died May 2, 1998 While Valiantly Defending Hogwarts Against Voldemort,' then below it, 'and Nymphadora, his wife.'" Her eyes were flashing. "I hate that. They did that to my grandmother, as if she was Granddad's appendix or something."

Harry couldn't repress a snigger at the look on her face. "Tonks had a pretty bad temper. I think if she knew we'd put that on her grave, she'd come back and make us miserable. I've already had my fill of that, thank you."

"I'll bet Andromeda just doesn't want to think about it right now," Ron suggested. "Mum's so upset over Fred that Ginny and Dad're pretty much making all the arrangements."

"I don't know," Harry said slowly. "Andromeda's a tough lady."

"Yeah, but just because she can doesn't mean she should have to," Hermione pointed out. "We could arrange the funerals for her so she can just focus on Teddy."

Harry had to admit she was right. He smiled when he thought of his tiny godson. He'd never thought much about babies, and wasn't about to turn all sentimental over them, but he thought that even under Crucio, that giggling little bundle would be enough to cheer him up. "There are going to be so many funerals," he speculated, frown lines creasing his forehead, "and I just don't see —"

He was cut off when Hermione suddenly let out a shriek, and Harry's head whipped around to see what she was staring at. He jumped up from the floor when he saw Snape floating inches from him.

"Do you mind? We locked the door so we could talk in private! Where the hell did you come from?" Harry asked, fumbling for something to say in his embarrassment.

"Sweet Merlin on a Comet Two Sixty, Potter," Snape said in exasperation. "Ghosts can float through walls, you know. Maybe you're confusing me with an Inferi, but look!" He twirled around, his translucent robes billowing out. "You can see right through me!"

"Shut up," Harry muttered, even as Ron snorted.

"Your sister," Snape addressed Ron in his familiar dry voice, "wanted me to inform you that there are funeral arrangements set for your brother this evening."

"Ginny's here?" Harry said eagerly.

Snape gave him a knowing look. "Miss Weasley has already left," he rejoined, and Harry's face fell. "Naturally, I assumed you wouldn't want her disturbing your secret meeting."

"We're trying to figure out what to do about people's funerals," Harry said, too disappointed over missing Ginny to want to argue much. "I really think we should go to everyone's that fought for us, because we're kind of the Ministry representatives now, but there will just be too many. Besides, McGonagall said there've only been three bodies claimed so far. Probably the others' families are dead or in prison or something." He sighed. "I hate to say this, but we have so much to do, and this is really getting in the way. I don't want to feel like that, but —"

"That's only natural," Snape interrupted. Harry looked at him in surprise; since when did Snape take his side? "In 1981, up until you defeated Voldemort the first time, a lot of people were dying: Order members, Muggles, Ministry workers . . . sometimes whole families at once. I assure you that with all there was to do trying to get him, we all questioned the time it took to arrange things for the dead. It didn't mean we respected their sacrifices any less." Snape looked pensive. "Why don't you plan on a memorial service for everyone?" he suggested. "That way, not only does it all get done at once, but the ones whose families aren't available don't get slighted."

Hermione's face relaxed, and Harry gave a sigh of relief. "That's brilliant," he acceded.

"Of course it’s brilliant," Snape agreed, and Ron rolled his eyes.

"Where should it happen?" he asked.

Harry frowned. "Do Wizarding families have separate . . . erm, cemeteries?" he asked. He'd never thought about it, but then again, he couldn’t see wizards wanting to be thrown in with Muggles, either.

"Not exactly, although they prefer to use the ones in Wizarding communities, like Godric's Hollow or Hogsmeade," Ron answered. Harry nodded; after all, his parents were buried in Godric's Hollow, which appeared to be mainly home to wizards, but with a large enough Muggle population.

"Well, I know it's supposed to be the 'final resting place' and all, but really, with magic, it's easy enough to move someone later," Hermione offered.

"Or cremate them later," Snape muttered.

Harry shot him a furious glare. "Believe me, there's nothing I'd like better than to watch you burn," he snapped. He spoke to Hermione. "Can you believe the greasy git woke me up last night to tell me he wanted to be cremated? After all we did getting him in the ground?"

"Well, we didn't do so much, mate," Ron told him delicately. "I mean, it was really Hermione who did all the work while we were la — erm, talking."

"It's the principle of the thing," Harry muttered. "First we're supposed to drop everything to get his portrait painted, now he wants us to dig him up and cremate him. Whatever he did for our side is quickly being cancelled out."

"Anyway," Hermione said pointedly, "we'll need to get all the letters from McGonagall's office to figure out who's still here. When she gets back with the family information, then we'll go from there."

"I'll get them," Harry offered.

"And I'll . . . oh, we can't leave Teddy alone," Hermione said. "Ronald, can you ask Dumbledore where he thinks all our people should be buried?"

"Uh-huh," Ron answered. "Why didn't it occur to you to ask me to watch Teddy?"

"Well, you're not especially careful," Hermione retorted.

"I have a younger sister, in case you've forgotten," Ron snapped back. "Of course, I dropped her a few times . . ."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Just come help me, mate," he ordered Ron. "Teddy's going to have enough problems without being dropped into the bargain."

The two of them exited the classroom; Ron was still muttering under his breath, but Harry was hardly listening. He was thinking about Fred's funeral that night. It was the first time he'd be seeing Ginny, really seeing her, for months and months. And he couldn't get rid of the nagging feeling that the whole family would blame him for Fred's death. He'd done the best he could, and granted, Voldemort was dead . . . but to the grieving Mrs. Weasley, would the end justify the means? Well, he had to go to the funeral; he couldn't disregard Fred, who'd given his 'last full measure of devotion,' just because he felt uncomfortable around Fred's family just now. And he did want to offer Ginny his support. She might be tough as nails, but losing a brother had to hurt.

"Oi, Harry," Ron said, breaking into Harry's train of thought as he jogged to catch up, "I've figured what to put down for Tonks's name."

"What?" Harry asked absently, trying to plan out the memorial service in his head.

"Dances With Wolf."