The Appearance of the Chosen One to the People

Arcturus hadn't worked so hard to learn how to read people for nothing. Now he not only saw how they were constantly putting on facades, but he also realized that the advice to "be yourself" was often more harmful to society than helpful. Far too many, if they followed this advice, would turn out to be unbearable, uncontrollable, or even socially dangerous—after all, there was a reason why people were trained from a young age not to "be themselves."

Yes, such knowledge could make you lose faith in people. But it gave you control over situations.

That's why, when Arcturus read in The Prophet that there would be an open press conference at the Ministry the next day featuring the Chosen One, finally recovered after his historic battle with Voldemort, it didn't even cross his mind to miss the educational event. Daphne shared the same view, sending him a letter an hour after the paper came out, suggesting they attend together. Given the suspicions stirred in her by Ginny and Hermione, Daphne likely also wanted to see him and the Chosen One in the same room, to finally confirm that they were not the same person. Arcturus wasn't going to disappoint his friend—or perhaps more than a friend?—and sent his agreement back with her bird.

Arcturus wasn't clinging to the past. He was at that age where life changes were even welcomed. He had firmly turned his back on his old life, steadily purging himself of the downtrodden, underfed little Muggle-born boy he had been, breaking the internal limitations the Dursleys had imposed on him. In the same way, he was shedding the skin of the grateful, pampered orphan who was ready to save the world for a lemon drop.

From now on, he alone would decide what, to whom, and why he owed anything.

His former friends, who had lost their grip on him, might say he had become too proud, that he'd gotten too high and mighty. But to Arcturus, his disdain for the pitiful, miserable puppet he had been among them had nothing to do with arrogance—and if it stuck in their throats, that was their problem.

His world had turned upside down. Now, he belonged to a different group and was beginning to understand that there was neither merit nor fault in the fact that the old families were as they were. While others looked up to them with envy, they were simply living their lives, with their own problems and opportunities. Like all people, they looked up and didn't look down.

Arcturus was still too young to judge society as a whole with any detachment. When he and Daphne walked into the foyer of the conference hall, arm in arm, his world was still divided between those who were "his" and those who were "other"—only now, he stood on the other side of the line.

There weren't many of "his" people here. They stood in a small group, watchful and aloof. There were far more of the "others"—noisy, talkative, and emboldened. They felt safe, unconcerned with the well-being of the Boy Who Lived; they were there only out of idle curiosity and the chance to spread gossip firsthand. Daphne led Arcturus through the chattering clusters with skillful navigation, until she brought him to their group and introduced him by his full name, as they had agreed beforehand. The group was intrigued by him, but didn't press with questions, instead drawing him into neutral conversation to assess his manners and knowledge. Judging by the fact that Daphne's fingers didn't dig warningly into his arm, he seemed to be handling himself well.

Soon, the doors to the conference hall opened, and the crowd from the foyer began to flow in. The seating was arranged in a semicircular amphitheater, and the stage was hidden by heavy red-and-gold Gryffindor-colored curtains. Arcturus and Daphne entered among the last, with only seats in the far back still available. Neither of them sought to sit closer to the stage, especially Arcturus, who was just as interested in observing the audience as in the Chosen One's upcoming appearance. In one of the front rows, he noticed the entire Weasley family, with Hermione in tow, and wondered why they were in the audience rather than on the stage. There were hardly any other Hogwarts students present—everyone had their own lives, with no time to spare to gawk at the Boy Who Lived. From the papers, Arcturus knew about Sirius Black's amnesty, and he noted with indifferent interest that the Marauder was absent from the Weasleys' ranks.

"Not much of a crowd here…" he muttered to Daphne, who was also scanning the hall, a third of which remained empty. "Doesn't look like Britain is all that interested in its Chosen One."

"They were interested while they needed him," Daphne replied. "I see almost none of his Hogwarts circle here, let alone other students. Only Longbottom and Lovegood—no one else seems to care."

"Where?" Arcturus looked around, not spotting them at first.

"Longbottom just came in, over there," Daphne gave a subtle nod back and to the side. "The tall, stocky guy."

"I see him," Arcturus said, having finally noticed Neville. "And Lovegood?"

"There—pale blonde, back row," Daphne nodded in another direction.

Just as Arcturus found the familiar cloud of pale gray hair and the wand tucked behind her ear among the other heads, the curtains began to part slowly. When the heavy red-and-gold drapes fully opened, Albus Dumbledore himself stepped out from behind them—the former head of the Wizengamot and the International Confederation of Wizards, and ex-Headmaster of Hogwarts. In his purple robe adorned with golden stars and a velvet cap to match, he looked more like the master of ceremonies for a Christmas show than a former leader. Dumbledore glided to the center of the stage and turned to face the audience, waiting for the murmurs in the hall to quiet.

"Dear citizens!" The Sonorus charm projected his elderly voice to every corner of the hall. "I am delighted to announce that today we are here to honor our young Chosen One, who has recently recovered from the curses sustained during his battle with Voldemort!"

Dumbledore spread his arms wide, as if to embrace the entire hall, and with a slight upward gesture of his palms, he waited for the applause to subside.

"But first, I would like to tell you," he continued once the hall quieted again, "about the person without whom our Chosen One could not have fulfilled his great mission! The person who stood by him, guided him, nurtured his character, kept him from making mistakes, and taught him to become the hero we now celebrate!"

Arcturus stared at the stage in disbelief. He was just as curious as anyone to know who this person was.

"This individual, many years ago, made a youthful mistake by joining Voldemort's circle, but soon repented and secretly switched to the side of Good and Light! For years, they were our spy within the enemy's ranks, providing us with invaluable information that helped us prevent or at least mitigate many Death Eater terrorist acts!"

After those words, it was hard not to guess. It was none other than Snape, the teacher, head of house, and then headmaster of Hogwarts, an utterly unpleasant person with zero teaching talent. Zero, because any ability greater than zero can develop, no matter how small.

"Among his many other undeniable merits, this honorable man helped me fake my death and served as headmaster of Hogwarts in my absence. I am delighted to introduce to you this unsung hero who has done so much for our victory. Meet Severus Snape!"

The hall gave a hesitant round of applause. From behind the curtains appeared a very pretty woman, slender and red-haired, in a festive emerald green gown with a very open neckline. She was practically dragging the hero announced by Dumbledore, dressed in a black tuxedo, with a sullen face, resembling nothing more than a costumed villain's puppet. He wasn't exactly digging his heels into the ground, but he followed her with extreme reluctance.

Dumbledore turned slightly towards them and once again spread his arms, one seemingly embracing the hall and the other welcoming the couple approaching him.

"As you already know, this beautiful woman next to Severus Snape is Lily, the mother of the Chosen One," he addressed the hall as they approached. "Not long ago, we knew her as Lily Potter, but today, I can no longer call her by that name. Unfortunately, the hero's father, James Potter, fell under the influence of Sirius Black from the darkest branch of the Black family, and James's feelings for Lily could not withstand the hardships of the underground struggle against Voldemort. He left Lily with a broken heart, but to our collective joy, she found comfort in her childhood friend, Severus. Today, before the conference, they registered their marriage at the Ministry, so let's congratulate the happy new couple – Lily and Severus Snape!"

The elder bloomed into the widest smile and dramatically clapped his hands to the audience. The spectators joined in, but sluggishly. Only the Muggle-born and Muggle-raised clapped without hesitation, while the core of magical Britain, both of noble birth and of none, was still half-rooted in an era when even Muggles had to apply to the Vatican for a divorce, and they were now faced with the difficult choice of either applauding the newlyweds or leaving the room at once.

Lily dragged her husband to the edge of the stage, smiled, and bowed to the audience. Snape stood stiffly, staring ahead as if he wanted to curse everyone all at once. The sensitive Sonorus charm amplified the Chosen One's mother's whispered words through her smiling lips: "Come on, Sev, smile," – but it had no effect.

"They sure moved fast..." Daphne whispered. "That only happens here if neither side has any relatives."

"And if they do?" Arcturus asked, not realizing that someone in his position should already know the answer.

"It depends on which ones," she replied quietly. "If both parents are alive, they negotiate. If the girl's parents are alive, the man negotiates with them first. If she's an orphan, he goes straight to the head of her family."

"Then I'll have to meet your parents somehow," he said anxiously – and only then did he realize what he'd said. "Oh..."

"You can go through me," Daphne purred, casting a sly glance at the now-blushing boy. "I'll pass it on to them..."

"I... yes... well... of course... if you don't mind..." he muttered, avoiding her gaze. What did it cost him to wait until he got home and ask Kreacher about all of this?

It was all because of Snape. Arcturus had always turned into an idiot in his presence.

He was stewing in his own thoughts, oblivious to everything around him, until a particularly loud burst of applause snapped him back to reality. Looking up at the stage, Arcturus saw Harry Potter coming out from behind the curtains.

The real Harry. Plump and dignified, dressed in a dazzlingly black Muggle evening suit, a brilliant white shirt, a bow tie, and his signature round glasses in thin black frames. Harry Potter's untamable black hair was parted on the side, its rebellious attempts at disorder thoroughly subdued by gel. Two-thirds of his forehead, including the spot where the famous scar had once been, was covered by a meticulously combed fringe. Harry Potter marched across the stage with the stride of a self-important minor bureaucrat and stopped next to his mother.

Every step he took was accompanied by thunderous applause from the audience. Lily nudged her son and gestured to the audience; he stepped forward and gave a brief, rehearsed bow to the hall. Arcturus wouldn't have been able to stand in front of a crowd so confidently, looking down at them from the stage, but this guy had no problem handling the role he'd been prepared for.

Arcturus stole a glance at Daphne. She didn't seem upset by his earlier slip and was intently watching the scene. Dumbledore squared his shoulders grandly and stepped up to the young Potter.

"My dear fellow citizens!" he addressed the hall, standing beside Harry, with Lily on the other side. "I am overjoyed to tell you that our brave Chosen One has finally recovered from the grievous wounds he sustained in his decisive battle with Voldemort! He is healthy again, and now he is back with us!"

Dumbledore placed one hand on the shoulder of the Chosen One, who glanced at it with mild irritation, and with the other hand, he raised his palm toward the audience. Once again, the hall erupted in applause.

"He doesn't look like someone who just got out of a hospital bed," Daphne remarked.

"Britain's finest healers must've pulled out all the stops to get him back on his feet," Arcturus muttered in response.

"I think they overdid it. And are you sure that's Harry Potter?"

"Of course it is. Who else would it be? Don't you think he looks like him?"

"Maybe you didn't see him as closely as I did," she said hesitantly, "but I can't imagine him carrying himself like this."

"Well, he's a hero now – why not?"

"Fame changes people, of course, but..."

She trailed off as the applause faded and Dumbledore began speaking again:

"Yes, my dear friends, now Britain can look fearlessly toward the future because Harry Potter is back with us! None of us need hide from the enemy anymore – and many secrets are no longer secrets. The Boy Who Lived, in order to save us all, is ready today to answer your questions! Now, let's move on to what we're all here for. My fellow citizens, you may now ask your questions to our Harry Potter and to all of us here with him today."

The hall stirred. Some started clapping again, some began whispering to each other, and some prepared to listen. The journalists sitting in the front row, including the notorious Rita Skeeter, raised their notepads, signaling they were ready to ask questions. Arcturus, unaware of the feud between the Weasleys and the Potters, thought that the red-haired brood didn't appear on stage today to avoid confusion in the answers. However, in reality, Dumbledore convinced Molly's mother to bring her family to the hall today, merely reminding her that they were all involved in the same scheme, and their absence would look highly suspicious.

Rita Skeeter held her notepad higher than anyone else, but today Dumbledore was choosing who got to ask questions. Naturally, he gave the floor to another journalist. With a granting gesture from Dumbledore, a skinny, sneaky-looking figure from the first row stood up.

"Harry, tell us how you fought Voldemort," he asked. "What were you thinking, what were you feeling? How did you manage to defeat the most powerful wizard in Britain?"

"I was thinking... um..." Harry Potter, confident that his mother would always bail him out, hadn't bothered much to remember the details of his double's life. "That he wouldn't leave me alone anyway, so I had to fight. And of course, I felt responsible for the fate of everyone in Britain. Since I'm the Chosen One, I had to defeat him, and I did."

"Tell us the details of this historic duel, Harry."

"Um..." The young man wasn't fazed at all, lazily recounting the little he had retained in his memory. "At first, he hit me with an Avada—so I just stood there, thinking maybe he'd kill himself again. He didn't, Avada doesn't work on me, so I fell down and pretended to be dead to buy time. And to... um... disorient the enemy. And when the enemy was disoriented, I got up and fought again. Well, Avada doesn't work on me, and he kept casting Avada, so he ended up dead. And then everyone fought side by side..."

"I must add something here," Dumbledore interrupted, noticing that the Chosen One's story was going off track. "The fact is, there was a prophecy about our Harry..."

The old man began explaining the prophecy and diverted the audience's attention to himself. Not all the details of the story had leaked to the public, so people listened intently. Emotions were added to the story by Lily, who occasionally interrupted Dumbledore to share her feelings about her son's great and terrible destiny. If anyone found the hero's behavior strange, by the end of the story, they had blissfully forgotten all about it.

More questions followed, not only for the hero himself but also for Dumbledore and Lily. Both answered for themselves and their charge, quickly inserting "my dear Harry meant to say..." or "our young hero wanted to say..." after each of his "um." Lily even managed to explain to a reporter from *Witch Weekly* that Harry's excess weight was due to the lingering effects of curses he'd suffered during the historic battle for Hogwarts. The audience listened eagerly and applauded every answer.

Half an hour into the conference, Daphne started quietly giggling at every "he meant to say." But Arcturus didn't find it funny at all. When the newspapers had slandered him in the past, he'd still held out hope that, if he defeated Voldemort, people would finally see who he truly was and realize how wrong they'd been. Instead, today he was completely convinced that people only saw what they wanted to see and didn't care at all who their Chosen One really was. The deed was done, the person existed—so everything was fine, and there was no need to think too hard about it.

Finally, the audience's questions started to dry up, and those on stage were growing tired. Seeing no more raised hands in the hall, Dumbledore beamed and flashed his half-moon glasses:

"Well, if no one else has any questions..."

"I have one," Luna's distant voice unexpectedly echoed through the hushed hall. "Who is this, and what have you done with Harry Potter?"

"I understand you, my dear girl," Dumbledore said, recovering from his momentary confusion. "Our Harry has changed a lot after what he's been through, but that's only natural. People change even from lesser things, so of course, the experience of dueling Voldemort and the vast amount of bloodshed in the battle with the Death Eaters couldn't help but leave its mark on his young and fragile soul. The boy will have to live with it now, as will those close to him."

Luna nodded in agreement and stood up. She made her way from her row, walked down to the front, and stopped in front of Dumbledore.

"Who is this, and what have you done with Harry Potter?" she repeated in the same detached tone.

"Poor girl, the battle has finally destroyed her sanity," Dumbledore muttered in feigned sorrow. He glanced at the law enforcement officers, who had been inconspicuously sitting at the edges of the first row, and nodded toward Luna. "Escort the poor thing out—she needs help."

Two Aurors approached Luna. Politely but firmly, they took her by the arms and began leading her out of the hall. Luna did not resist.

"Where are they taking her?! What are they going to do to her?!" Arcturus jumped up, watching them go.

Daphne looked at him very intently.

"Given her reputation as an eccentric—probably nothing, or almost nothing. They'll take her outside and, perhaps, send her to St. Mungo's for a short while until the incident is forgotten. But most likely, they'll decide even that's unnecessary."

The Aurors and Luna left the hall. Arcturus sat down, still worried about his former friend.

"Nothing will happen to her," Daphne tried to reassure him. "Everyone knows about her oddities; they won't take her seriously."

At that moment, Dumbledore announced the end of the conference. The audience applauded, seeing off the esteemed guests. Snape, who had stood on stage like a statue, didn't wait for the applause to end and headed backstage, followed by Lily and the Chosen One, and finally, the old man himself. Once they left the stage, the audience began to file out as well.

Arcturus, thoroughly enraged by the course of the event and especially its conclusion, was trying to regain his composure and was grateful to Daphne, who silently waited for the crowd to leave the hall. The last thing he wanted was to bump into the Weasley brood, now making their way past him toward the exit. Luckily, the entire Weasley family was listening to Molly, who was speaking with a displeased expression, and didn't glance in their direction.

They left the hall last, just as the remaining crowd was leaving the foyer. Once outside, they almost immediately spotted Ron nearby, waiting for someone or something. Arcturus briefly thought that perhaps the redhead was waiting for him, but Ron was looking the other way.

However, they couldn't pass by unnoticed. Out of the corner of his eye, the redhead saw movement nearby, turned his head, and saw the Slytherin girl with her boyfriend. The very same guy Ron had seen with her at the café and whom Ginny and Hermione had told him was actually the former Harry Potter.

"You!" Ron instantly bristled. "Hanging out with snakes, huh? The Hat wanted to send you to Slytherin, you freak!"

"Coming from a freak like you..." Arcturus hissed through his teeth. "From a blood traitor... and just a traitor... and a filthy spawn from the stinking Burrow... and Dumbledore's bootlicker too. Haven't you and Granger choked on your thirty pieces of silver yet? Well, don't worry, it's coming..."

"Death Eater scum!"

Ron lunged at Arcturus with his fists, but Arcturus, having been trained in the finer points of combat by Rabastan and even some basics of Dolohov's methods, easily dodged the charge from his former friend, landing a blow to his teeth in the process. Blinded by rage, the redhead attacked again and took another hard punch to the jaw, knocking him to the ground. Arcturus, now completely furious, loomed over Ron, barely restraining himself from kicking him while he was down.

"Harry!" A shrill cry rang out. Hermione was running toward them, having just come out of the ladies' room. "Harry, how could you attack Ron?!"

She rushed forward, pushing Arcturus away from the redhead lying on the floor.

"Get lost, you stupid know-it-all!" he snapped at her. "Take your monkey and get out of here before I kill it! And don't forget to put it on a leash so it doesn't attack people!"

"You didn't see anything, Granger!" Daphne's angry voice came from behind him. "Weasley attacked first!"

Her hand grabbed his elbow and pulled him back. Arcturus, now somewhat regaining control, obeyed and stepped away.

"Is that true, Ron?" Hermione rushed to the redhead.

"As if you don't know him," Arcturus spat at her back.

"Let's go, please..." Daphne tugged him along as Hermione bent over Ron. The redhead was sitting on the floor, feeling his jaw.

Rabastan was right—if you don't have the strength for a good punch, at least make it quick.

"Let's go, Arcturus, let's go..."

"Wait," he jerked his arm irritably, and Daphne released his elbow. "I'm not done here yet."

Arcturus focused first on Ron, who was sitting on the floor, and then on Hermione, who was inspecting his battered face. With all the fury boiling inside him, he cursed them both, one after the other, with a harmless little spell Walburga had taught him.

"Now I'm done," he said and offered Daphne his hand.

In complete silence, they walked to the Ministry's Floo network. Arcturus only calmed down halfway to Fortescue's café, where they had planned to stop after the conference.

"I'm sorry, Daphne," he said, now ashamed of the ugly scene he'd been part of.

"Don't worry," she replied gently. "Those Weasleys can drive anyone mad."

"I don't even know how I lost it like that..." he muttered with a sigh.

"Just don't think about it."

"And I feel bad in front of you..."

"I understand, Arcturus, don't be upset. And you know, I'm still willing to introduce you to my parents. But I think you owe me a story first..."