The Most Precious of Things

Having only been home for a few days before Rosa's birthday, Harry and Minerva decided they would keep the affair an intimate one. They had invited her parents, the Flamels, and Rosalina for dinner, but had not hosted a party.

With Charlus still away, he had sent a present for his goddaughter with the promise that he would visit as soon as he was home, which would be soon if he accepted the invitation to the wedding, something the man wouldn't miss for anything.

Although it had been nice to shut out the world for a while, the ever-growing pile of missives Harry received were beginning to play on his mind, so he had finally opted to address the more pressing ones.

His business ventures were proving to be more profitable with each passing year, but it was the ones stamped with official Ministry seals that he responded to, making use of the post office in Hogsmeade to do so.

A written reply would, much to his relief, suffice for most, but there were those he would need to deal with in person.

Those had also been responded to with an explanation that he would visit when he was able to do so, but his own Minister of Magic could not be dismissed so easily.

Harry had a strong disliking for politics, but as Minerva had pointed out, Minister Fawley was someone he would have to make an exception for.

It would not do to offend the man.

The last thing Harry wanted was another Minister as an enemy.

Fudge had made his life miserable with his lies, and the wizarding public had proven to be fickle, willing to listen to almost anything the Minister told them.

As such, Harry found himself in the Ministry, disguised as he made his way through the atrium and towards Fawley's office.

"Wand, please," the guard behind the desk demanded.

Wordlessly, Harry handed it to the man who ran it through the scanner and handed him the printed piece of parchment without even reading it.

A rather lax security guard indeed, something that Harry was grateful for.

It meant that he could pass by without any attention being drawn to him.

He'd made the mistake of visiting Diagon Alley to buy a present for Rosa, in disguise of course, but what he had seen was enough to put him off making any public appearances for the foreseeable future, at least.

Banners had been hung calling for him to be elected Minister along with other messages offering words of gratitude for what he had done.

Harry shook his head of those thoughts as he reached the office of Minister Fawley, only to be intercepted by a trio of aurors who had their wands drawn.

"What is your business here?" a large blonde man demanded.

"I'm here to speak with the Minister," Harry replied. "He is expecting me."

"Name?"

"Harry Evans."

The Blonde frowned as he scrutinised Harry, looking for anything familiar that he would have likely seen in the newspaper over the past week.

With a sigh and a wave of his hand, Harry removed the disguise.

"Bloody hell, it is him," one of the man's companions gasped.

"And I would prefer that my presence was kept quiet," Harry said firmly.

The man's jaw snapped shut and he nodded frantically.

"I'll let the Minister know you're here, Evans," the blonde broke in, turning and knocking on the office door, entering when he was bid to do so.

He re-emerged a moment later and beckoned Harry forward.

"I am required to search you, Commander Evans," he said apologetically.

Harry nodded his consent and held his hands up whilst the man carried out his search.

"Two wands?" he asked curiously.

"You never know when you may need a spare," Harry returned.

He had taken to carrying the elder wand with him along with his own and had used it a handful of times.

In truth, it worked no better than the one he already had, though he could not deny the difference in the feel of the magic.

The elder wand was as cold as the cloak and stone, but it didn't seem to better his magical performance, not that Harry could notice.

The auror nodded thoughtfully as he gestured for Harry to pass him and enter the office.

Releasing a deep breath, Harry did so to be greeted by quite a giddy Minister Fawley who almost tore his arm from how enthusiastically he shook his hands.

"Commander Evans, it really is good to see you again," the man said sincerely.

Harry offered the man a bow.

"Your letter was quite insistent," he chuckled.

Fawley laughed and ushered Harry into a chair before taking the one behind his desk.

"I left the invitation open, so you did not feel compelled to rush," Fawley explained. "I understand that you have earned a rest, but there are a few things I wished to discuss with you."

"I got that impression, even if I did expect a slightly frosty reception with the signs and everything."

Fawley laughed as he waved him off.

"On the contrary, I am pleased to see the public taking an interest in politics again. I have been in the post for quite a number of years now, but I have no desire to retain it for another tenure. No, in two years, I will step down and another will take my place. I'm quite sure the post would be made available to you if you so desired."

Harry shook his head emphatically.

"I don't see a future in politics for me," he said firmly. "No offense to you, Minister, but I could think of nothing worse than dealing with the Wizengamot and being sat behind a desk."

Fawley chuckled amusedly.

"No, I don't suppose it would appeal to you," he mused aloud. "It's a shame really. It would be quite interesting to see what a man like you could do in this position. Anyway, the future is only part of the reason I wished to see you. As you can understand, I have been inundated with requests from many influential people in Britain and beyond to see that you are justly rewarded for your contribution in the war. Even the Prime Minister himself was rather insistent on it when I spoke to him last. He refused to provide details, but it seems that you have remained in contact with him," Fawley finished pointedly.

"He assisted me with something pertaining to France," Harry replied. "There was nothing untoward."

"No, I didn't believe for a moment there was," Fawley assured him. "Winston is fond of you, as is what seems to be the entirety of wizarding Britain. As such, I have seen it fit to approve the request to elevate your position."

"Elevate my position?" Harry asked cautiously.

Fawley nodded.

"The title is ceremonial for the most part," he assured Harry. "You will receive a seat on the Wizengamot, but the title itself would deem you a protector of Great Britain. It sounds daunting, Commander Evans, I know, but there are no formal responsibilities that you must fulfil."

Harry released a deep sigh.

It was evident that the man had already decided to bestow this title on him.

"What about the others who played their part?" he questioned.

Fawley smiled.

"I had suspected you would ask, and a monument is already in the works to honour the dead. As for each man who answered the call, they too will be recognised in the ceremony with an award of their own. Lord Potter will receive an Order of Merlin First Class for his triumph over Hans Gaulitier. Quite the achievement."

Harry nodded his approval.

"May I recommend others who I feel should be recognised?"

"Of course," Fawley complied enthusiastically. "You led these men, and if you believe they deserve merit, it shall be given."

"The first would be for Arcturus Black," Harry began. "During an attack in France, he defended his men who were out of their depths from werewolves and erumpents. Someone else received the credit for his efforts, and that should be rectified."

Fawley nodded his agreement as he made a note on a fresh piece of parchment.

"Throughout the war, he has been pivotal in our success, putting his life on the line several times to keep others safe."

"I never would have believed a Black would be so selfless," Fawley snorted. "It is not a trait they are associated with."

"Arcturus is different," Harry chuckled.

Fawley hummed as he finished taking notes.

"The second would be for Reginald Yaxley."

"A Yaxley?" Fawley asked, his eyebrows almost vanishing into his hairline.

"Reg has been Charlus's second in command and has earned the respect of our men. He has personally infiltrated hostile environments many times to provide me and the other commanders with much-needed intelligence. He's proven to be a great man and deserves credit."

Fawley's expression of surprise remained as he wrote.

"Anyone else?"

"Derek Gilbert," Harry supplied. "He worked with Reg on the espionage side of things and has proven to be an invaluable asset. Without them both, we wouldn't be where we are now."

"Gilbert," Fawley mumbled to himself as he frowned deeply. "Is he not a former inmate of Azkaban? I vaguely remember the name, and not in a good way."

Harry nodded.

"He has caused more than his fair share of trouble," he admitted, "but he has more than redeemed himself. Even when he received the notification that his sentence was completed, he remained behind to finish the war. I cannot emphasise how much the man has changed, Minister. He deserves to be recognised just as much as the others."

Fawley deflated as he took note of what Harry had said.

"I will take your word for it, Commander Evans," he sighed. "Anyone else?"

"Do we give awards to those from other countries?"

"It is not common," Fawley answered thoughtfully, "but this war was certainly an exceptional circumstance."

"Then I'd like to nominate Petr Sokolov."

"A Russian? I'm not so sure that would be greatly received."

"Why?"

Fawley released a deep breath as he laid his quill down.

"What is your historical knowledge of the relationship between the ICW and Russia?"

Harry shrugged.

"Not good."

"I thought as much," Fawley murmured. "The Russians are a power unto themselves and when they applied to join the ICW some two centuries ago, they were denied because their ethics and ethos did not tie in with those of the members at the time. The Russians were very open about how they treated their prisoners, the way their education system was run, and their views on blacklisting certain magical practices. They were not willing to negotiate on these matters and the ICW all but turned their back on them."

"The Russians were offended?"

"Yes, but it runs deeper than simple offense given," Fawley huffed. "Russia is not such a rich country, and they put their pride aside and came to the ICW for help. When it was denied, it created a very frosty atmosphere between the two entities. Russia continued on as it had and did some rather questionable things in the process by absorbing smaller ICW countries into its territory to coincide with the lands their muggle counterparts had taken."

"I see," Harry acknowledged.

"We were on the brink of war with the Russians when Germany decided it wished to follow a similar path. Instead of confronting the enemy that had grown so bold over so long, the ICW chose to confront Germany first. After that, everything seemed to die down until Grindelwald emerged and the Russians shocked everyone by aligning with the ICW."

Harry could only shake his head.

Perhaps he should have looked into the matter sooner.

"What will happen now?" he asked.

Fawley shrugged.

"It is difficult to tell," he answered honestly. "What has happened could improve relations, or it could reignite the enmity between them. At this point, it is anyone's guess."

Harry hoped that didn't happen.

He had made many friends within the Russian ranks, and he didn't think he could bring himself to fight against them.

"What about Britain's personal relationship with Russia?" he asked.

"There isn't much of one to speak of," Fawley replied. "We have had very little to do with one another."

"Then it shouldn't be an issue rewarding a man who deserves it," Harry pointed out. "Petr is the son of the Russian Minister, and it could go some way to establishing a positive relationship with them."

Fawley grinned as he nodded.

"That is true," he conceded. "I will see what I can do."

"Thank you," Harry offered sincerely.

"You're very welcome," Fawley replied with a kind smile, "and thank you for everything you have done, Commander Evans. It warms my heart to see such gumption from our country when it is needed. Now, allow me to explain your new title. Worry not, the ceremony won't be held for some time yet."

Harry shook his head.

The meeting with the Minister had not gone how he had imagined, but it certainly could have been worse than receiving a formal title of sorts.

With a shudder, he remembered all of those that Dumbledore had been given, and he hoped that he would not find himself in such positions.

Not that he would accept them, though he could not help but imagine himself as an old man with a long white beard and dealing with future Ministers and their buffoonery.

He snorted to himself.

Harry was certainly not as genial and patient as the Dumbledore he had known, and any who attempted to use him in such a way would find that out for themselves.

(Break)

Legally speaking, Tom should not have apparated here, but according to Rosier whom he was in regular contact with, the aurors rarely checked if anyone had a licence, and the fine was only a few sickles if caught.

For Tom, the risk was worth it, and he had arrived in Little Hangelton a few hours prior.

The village was a far cry from the hustle and bustle of London, almost as though he had stepped back in time a few decades, but there was something charming about the place, and Tom could see why his ancestors had chosen to settle here.

Finding the Gaunt home had not been particularly difficult, but upon arriving, he felt himself filled with fury as he sensed a familiar presence around the shack he had spied through the gap in a hedge.

At first, he thought that he may have been merely experiencing the magic protections placed by his family, but no.

The magic was quite similar to how his own felt, though the differences were undeniable and exactly the same as what he had faced in the chamber.

Evans had been here.

Tom knew not why or what protections had been placed, but he knew that he did not wish to trigger them.

He did not fear Evans, the man did not even hail from the Slytherin line, and his inferior magic would not deter him under any other circumstances, but Tom did not wish to draw attention to himself.

Vowing that he would come back when it suited him, he returned to the village and entered the shop to quench his thirst when he overheard the mention of a name that made him freeze.

Riddle.

"Are you well, young man, you look as though you have seen a ghost?" the lady behind the counter asked.

Tom said nothing as he placed the muggle coin in front of her and took his leave, flitting between emotions as he walked aimlessly down the main street of the village.

Surely it could not be a coincidence that a family sharing his name lived so closely to the Gaunts?

Riddle.

That was the name his mother had given him instead of her own, named after the father that had abandoned them both whilst she carried him.

Tom shook his head.

This was no coincidence at all, and once more, he felt his anger pulsing through his veins.

With all thoughts of Evans having left his mind, he headed towards the shop once more where he garnered the attention of the old lady.

"I'm looking for the Riddle family," he explained.

"Are you a relative?" the woman asked. "I must say, you do share quite the resemblance to the men of the family."

"A cousin," Tom answered through a strained smile. "I'm here to visit them."

The old lady offered him a smile.

"Well, if you head towards the end of the street and look towards the hills, you will see their manor. It is the only one in the area," she informed him. "Do tell Tom I said hello. He comes here quite often."

Tom nodded as he discreetly drew his wand and looked around to ensure no one else was here.

"Obliviate!"

The woman's expression went blank before she turned and busied herself sorting through newspapers, no longer aware that he was there.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Tom left the shop once more and headed in the indicated direction, his anger flaring as he took in the sight of the enormous house on the hill.

He had been forced to grow up in an orphanage, and his father had simply returned back to his affluent life after abandoning his mother.

Not that she was any better.

The weakling had died, and Tom had endured years of misery because of two useless parents.

The fact that his father still breathed offended him, something that had to change.

For everything Tom had endured, his father would suffer equally.

Flaring his nostrils, he approached the house and concealed himself in one of the pruned hedges until darkness fell.

With Tom lost so deeply in his thoughts and desire for revenge, the hours passed quickly, and when he was certain he would not be seen, he headed towards one of the only illuminated windows on the ground floor.

Gathered around a large dining table were three people, and Tom could see why the woman believed him to be a relative.

Looking at the younger of the two men, they were identical in appearance, something that only fuelled Tom's already boiling rage.

No one was like him in any capacity, not this stranger and not Harry Evans.

He watched as the trio ate and laughed amongst themselves, unaware of the inner turmoil of the teen looking in.

Tom knew that logically there should be a part of him that longed for what the Riddle family had, but he felt nothing but resentment towards them, and the fact that he shared their name sickened him to his very core.

"Oi! What do you think you are doing?" a voice questioned loudly.

So focused on watching the family, Tom had not heard the approaching and muggle, and as he turned he found himself staring down two barrels of a gun.

Immediately, he felt himself filled with fear, the thought that simple squeeze of the man's finger resting on the trigger could spell his demise.

"MR RIDDLE?" the man called loudly.

Tom chanced a glance through the window to see the older of the men leaving the table, and he carefully slid his wand into his hand.

"Imperio!" he cried, pointing it towards the man who had caught him so unaware.

Once more, this was a spell that Tom had not cast on another, but the muggle's mind fell easily under his control.

"Frank?" another voice called. "Frank, where are you?"

"Tell him it was a false alarm," Tom commanded in a whisper.

The man said nothing or gave no indication he had heard him, but walked towards the front of the house, and Tom cast a disillusionment charm on himself before following.

"Sorry Mr Riddle, I thought I saw someone in the bushes," Frank offered apologetically.

Riddle gave the man an understanding smile.

"It's alright, Frank," he soothed. "You're safe here. No German war camp, and no enemies."

Frank nodded mutely.

"Get some rest," Riddle Senior urged as he headed back towards the house.

That smile, it caused Tom's rage to flare once more.

"Kill him!" he whispered harshly. "Kill them all!"

Without hesitation, Frank levelled his gun towards his employer and pulled the trigger, the sound of the shot echoing across the village below.

Mr Riddle collapsed to the ground with half of his head missing and Frank stepped over his body, encountering his wife as she reached the door to investigate just what was happening.

Her scream at the sight of her dead husband was cut off as Frank discharged another shell, this one catching his victim in the chest.

He didn't pause and entered the house and Tom heard a commotion within as he remained outside, rooted to the spot by what was happening.

Another shot sounded, pulling him from his thoughts and he entered the house to find Frank in the dining room, covered in blood and staring blankly ahead.

Tom swallowed deeply at the sight of his father's mangled corpse, but it wasn't a sense of sadness he felt.

No, it was a rush satisfaction mingled with a little excitement.

"Kill yourself, Frank," he said, his S carrying a drawn-out sibilance.

Once more, the man complied, and Tom took a moment to enjoy the demise of his muggle family knowing that none would be the wiser.

They would merely assume that Frank had murdered them before turning his gun on himself, and as Tom took his leave of Riddle Manor, he did so, feeling happier than he ever had in his life knowing that he had exacted some vengeance on those that had abandoned him.

(Break)

Albus had spent many days here in the company of Gellert as they plotted what would eventually be the cause of his friend's downfall. They had been gifted boys, both intelligent and possessing magical talent in abundance, but oh so naïve.

They had felt invincible, neither able to fathom anyone being able to stop them as they set about implementing their grand plan; a world in which witches and wizards need not hide what they were.

Albus released a deep breath as he shook his head.

It had begun in Godric's Hollow, and their shared dream had ended here so many years ago.

Now, Gellert was dead, his dream having come to nothing but violence, death, and destruction.

The world was better for his death, of that Albus had no doubt, but he wasn't, and though he knew he was wallowing, it was not something he could.

It would take time to move past the misery if he ever truly could.

No, it would never pass, but as he had with the death of Ariana and his mother, he would grow accustomed to carrying the burden.

Gellert had never outgrown his foolishness, and it had always been his nature to focus on something so intently that he became blind to everything else.

Albus didn't blame Harry for what had happened, and he didn't blame Gellert either.

It was Albus that shouldered much of the blame of what had come to pass.

He knew Harry well enough to know that he would not hesitate to kill his former friend, and he knew that Gellert would never concede defeat.

It simply wasn't in his nature to do so.

Could Albus have intervened and prevented the bloodshed and death that resulted from the war.

Perhaps he could have, and maybe he should have done so when he first heard whispers of Gellert's re-emergence on the continent.

Instead, Albus had tried to pretend nothing was amiss, a decision he regretted deeply.

He could have stopped Gellert back then, by force if necessary but in a way that would have seen the man live.

"Such a waste," he murmured as he placed the flowers he had brought on Ariana's grave. "I suppose that it is all over. The past has finally been put to rest."

Ariana could rest easy now, Abe could live the rest of his life knowing that Gellert had been killed, and Albus would do the same, though without the same glee his brother would feel.

Despite everything Gellert had done, it was not so easy for Albus to simply switch off his feelings for the man.

He would mourn him, mourn the memories they had shared, and the boy that Gellert had once been.

The world would remember the monster, but not Albus.

He would remember his friend, his equal, the one who had taken his heart with him as he departed this life and began his next great adventure.

(Break)

"If you don't stop fidgeting, I swear I will curse you!" Poppy huffed.

Minerva gave her friend a wry smile.

With how on edge she felt, she was struggling to sit still.

Harry had barely been home a couple of weeks, and already, they had managed to pull off a wedding together. Well, Harry had.

After a discreet visit to Diagon Alley, he had arranged for a cake to be made, decorations to be delivered, and even secured a dressmaker who had arrived the same day to measure Minerva and begin working on her gown.

It had been finished only this morning and dropped off at the house.

As they had with Rosa's birthday, they had decided to keep the wedding an intimate affair with only their closest friends and relatives attending.

They were even holding the ceremony at the house that would be conducted by her father with the help of Rosalina to complete the magical aspects.

"Sorry," Minerva said sheepishly. "I'm just nervous."

"Nervous?" Poppy scoffed. "Harry is lucky to have you. It's not like he could do any better."

"She's not wrong," Augusta piped up. "How did he handle the offers of marriage in the end?"

"He burnt them," Minerva answered with a smirk. "In his own words, he already has two difficult women in his life, and he doesn't need any more."

Poppy and Augusta laughed.

"He wouldn't have it any other way," the latter sighed. "He's a glutton for punishment is our Harry."

"I'm not that bad," Minerva grumbled as Poppy finished fixing her hair.

"There, all done," the woman declared. "Where is your mother?"

"Calming down my father," Minerva said amusedly. "He's a bag of nerves."

"Imagine how bad Harry will be when Rosa decides to get married," Augusta snorted. "That will take some man to measure up to her father."

Minerva shook her head.

She didn't even want to consider that right now. Rosa was only two and had many years before such a thing would become a reality.

"How is Harry coping with being home?" Poppy asked.

Minerva deflated slightly.

"He still doesn't sleep much, but he never did really," she replied. "He spends so much time with me and Rosa. It's like he's trying to make up for being away so much, and when he's not with us, he's in the basement."

"The basement?"

"He has created a training area down there," Minerva explained.

Poppy shook her head.

"Same old Harry then."

"For the most part," Minerva agreed, turning towards the door to her bedroom as it opened.

"It's time," her mother declared, her expression softening as she took in the sight of her daughter. "You look wonderful, Minerva."

"Thank you," Minerva replied shyly as she stood. "Where's Rosa?"

"With Harry," Isobel huffed. "I had to drag him and the rest of the men in from the Quidditch pitch. Your daughter is as crazy as the pair of you on your brooms."

"Just be grateful she's still on her training one," Minerva returned. "Harry is trying to get the Nimbus lot to make another for her."

Isobel looked horrified by the thought, but she didn't comment further.

"Come along, everyone is waiting now," she urged.

With Poppy and Augusta in tow, Minerva followed her mother through the house and into the grounds where a marquee had been set up for the event.

In all, around thirty people had been invited, something that Harry had been insistent on, as well as keeping the knowledge of the ceremony between only those they trusted.

Minerva took a deep breath as they reached the structure, her stomach turning somersaults as the band struck up the music to announce her entrance.

Arm in arm with her mother, she entered, keeping her eyes ahead to where Harry was standing next to her father with Rosa clinging on to his hands.

Minerva noticed the girl's dress was quite filthy near the knees, but her own smile didn't waver as she took in her daughter's own and Harry's sheepish grin.

"Was it too much to ask to keep her clean?" she whispered amusedly as she reached them.

Harry's grin only widened.

"You try saying no to her."

"I do, Harry," Minerva murmured. "She's got you wrapped around her little finger."

Harry hummed.

"She's just like her mother then."

The simple, offhand comment warmed Minerva, and as she took her place opposite Harry, it was to the realisation that this was everything she had ever wanted.

She barely took in the words of her father as he spoke as she played over the journey she had shared with Harry in her mind.

From the night he had arrived and found her in a state of undress, to the final years of school and him leaving to become a Hit-Wizard, only for him to do so when war broke out.

All of it, the good and the bad had led to this moment, and despite everything they had been through, she wouldn't change any of it if it meant she did not end up here.

(Break)

"Doesn't she look beautiful," Angelica gushed as Minerva passed them heading towards the alter.

"Too good for a prat like Harry," Charlus chuckled, receiving an elbow in the side from both his mother and Dorea who had accompanied them.

"Some would say I'm too good for you," the latter commented.

"They would be right," Charlus replied.

Dorea blushed as she narrowed her eyes at the man, the urge to elbow him again, as he smiled smugly difficult to ignore.

(Break)

"I do hope you still plan on giving me another wedding, Arcturus," Melania whispered.

Arcturus nodded as he bounced Cygnus on his knee.

Orion had been quite a content and quiet baby, but his younger sibling couldn't be more different.

"You can have any wedding you wish," he replied. "I owe you that much at least."

Melania nodded her agreement as she pulled Cygnus on to her lap to stop him fussing.

"I'll hold you to that, Arcturus Black," she warned.

"I wouldn't expect anything less."

(Break)

Derek felt completely out of place surrounded by such finery and well thought of people. His dress robes that Sorina insisted he wore were chafing and he couldn't help but fidget in his seat, much to the amusement of the Romanian woman.

"It's not so bad," she soothed. "It will be over soon enough."

Derek smiled.

This was the first time he had returned to Britain since Grindelwald had been defeated, and as much as he missed parts of it, there was nothing that could draw him away from Sorina and Iulia.

He had tried to leave a few times, fearing that he was imposing, but Sorina would hear nothing of it, and Iulia would cry whenever he mentioned doing so.

As such, he had stayed with them.

It had been a little over two weeks, but Derek had loved every moment of it, though he couldn't help but think what he would do when the time came that he had to leave.

He couldn't imagine his life without the two of them, merely the thought making his heart clench.

"Stop it," Sorina whispered.

"Stop what?"

"You know what, Derek," she chastised. "I can see what you are thinking."

Derek could only shake his head in response.

The woman knew him too well and had not relented until he had told her what had been playing on his mind since the war ended.

Perhaps he should have simply returned to Britain, but he could not bring himself to do that, not without saying goodbye at least.

Goodbye had turned into dinner, and that in turn had led to it being too late for him to travel.

Derek had spent the night and had been roped into being Iulia's pony.

When he had tried to say goodbye again, the girl had been beside herself and refused to stop crying only if he agreed to stay a little longer.

It had been two weeks now, and yet, the goodbye still hadn't been uttered.

"Do we need to have another conversation when we get home?" Sorina asked.

"Home?" Derek replied confusedly.

Sorina tutted and muttered under her breath in her native tongue.

"Does it not feel like your home when you are with us?"

Derek swallowed deeply as he nodded.

"Yes," he answered simply.

Sorina simply took his hand in her own and looked towards the unfolding ceremony, a smile tugging at her lips.

"Don't forget it, Derek Gilbert," she whispered. "You don't get to just walk away from us."

Iulia was looking up at them curiously from her seat next to him where she had chosen to sit and shot Derek a bright smile as he met her gaze.

Without thought, he wrapped his free arm around the girl who melted into his side, snuggling against him in a gesture that meant more to the man than he could ever put into words.

(Break)

Nothing more than a shared glance between Nicholas and Perenelle was needed to convey what they wished to. They had watched Harry grow from a lost boy into a man that both were so proud of, and to be sharing this moment with him, Minerva, and Rosa was more than they could have asked for.

If anyone deserved happiness, it was them, and as Nicholas looked around the marquee he found himself seated in, he knew he had made the right decision all those years ago to help Harry.

From the moment he had met the boy, there was something about him, and Harry had risen beyond the alchemist's expectations.

Today, however, was not about what the young man had achieved in his young life, but what the future held for him, and seeing the smile that graced his lips as he spoke his vows, Nicholas knew that whatever path Harry chose to tread, he would do so with a woman that loved him by his side.

(Break)

It was quite surreal to find himself here. Being at war and having endured everything he had, it had been hard to imagine that he might just make it at all, yet, here he was.

He had survived where many others would have fallen, and as Rosalina finished wrapping his and Minerva's clasped hands with a final golden thread, he allowed himself a moment to simply revel in the happiness he felt.

For the first time in his life, he had a family to call his own, a dream he had dreamt of as a young boy finally having come to pass.

To Harry, this was what mattered more than anything else, more than any accolade that could be bestowed upon, more than any amount of gold that could fill his vault.

This was the most precious thing in the world to him, and he would treasure it for what it was.

(Break)

Cassiopeia looked up at the stone tower, the final vestige of everything Gellert had tried to achieve. She remembered being in awe at his brilliance when she had visited the finished prison, a feat that no other single person would have been capable of.

She couldn't be certain how long ago it was that Gellert had been killed, but every moment of every day, she watched him being slaughtered again and again.

It happened when she did not focus on keeping her thoughts away from it, and every time she closed her eyes.

There was no escape, no reprieve from the grief she felt.

It festered within her, and the more she drifted, the more Cassiopeia lost touch with what was real and what she was seeing in her mind.

Nurmengard was real.

She could reach out and touch the smooth stone Gellert had used to construct it, but she couldn't say the same about everything else she could see.

Cassiopeia shook her head as Gellert's final expression of defeat flashed in front of her, and she watched once more as he keeled over, the hole in his chest so much like her own emptiness she felt.

Why the ICW was not here yet, she couldn't be certain, but Cassiopeia was tired, so tired of the heartache, so tired of the drifting.

She wanted to rest for a moment, and she could think of no better place than here.

If only the voices she heard would fall silent, perhaps she could.

Still, she was too tired to do anything more than slide down the stone wall and look up briefly at the sea of faces that watched her.

She recognised none of them, but she smiled, her cracked lips pulling tightly.

"Kill me," she whispered.

Her voice was hoarse, and her throat was parched, but her smile remained as someone pointed a wand at her and a flash of red light granted her the peace she sought.