Chapter 7: So It's Real?

The healers at Saint Mungo's had been prepared to receive casualties. They had received a notice from the DMLE of a battle at the Ministry, and had a trauma team on standby.

The hospital normally kept the emergency portkey room staffed, as most aurors would carry a portkey when in the field. Tonight, however, they had a full team ready and waiting.

Instead of the expected auror and civilian casualties, what they got were three witches and two wizards who were awake and alert on arrival.

Each had their wands out, ready for anything. Only when they recognized their surroundings did the five put their wands away and allow themselves to be treated.

The teenagers had few injuries worse than cuts from broken glass, though those cuts had the potential to scar, seeing as they were mostly caused by the enchanted glass of shattered prophecies.

Most of their bruises and scrapes had already been treated with muggle-style field bandages, to the surprise of the healers.

Ginny Weasley had sprained an ankle in the death room, when she misjudged her footing - but it was no matter, as she took down Rodolphus Lestrange from her back.

No aurors were treated that night, nor were any death eaters sent in for medical care. The healers later learned that there had been no badly injured death eaters - only captured and dead ones.

The team lead, whose muggleborn wife had been killed the month prior, found it very hard to feel bad about their fate, despite his oaths.

Hermione was waiting on her official release when Harry arrived. In a shot, she was across the room, giving him a hug.

Harry had seen her coming, knowing her as he did, and caught her.

"Are you ok?" she asked his shoulder, not breaking the hug.

"I will be," was his reply. It was all still too fresh, too raw. His parents, his brother, Dumbledore's betrayal. All of it would need time.

"So it's real, then? They were…?" She pulled away to look at him, getting a read on his reactions.

A nod. "Yep. It's them." He shook his head and chuckled at the reality of that statement. "My parents are alive, and Dumbledore knew."

Hermione looked just as horrified as he expected her to; so much of his life was defined not just by the actual loss of his parents, but by the manner of it as well.

That they had died to protect him was part of everything he did, every decision. Much of what he had done this past year was his attempt to live up to the Potter legacy.

To then learn that they lived? How is he standing here, composed and calm?

Her eyes must have told the tale, for Harry just grinned at her. "It's the end of the year, Hermione, of course my life would get upended. That's how these things work, remember?" That got him a little shove, just enough to make her point.

"Prat," she said, her eyes wet. He saw that she was smiling, though, which was good. The anger will come later, he thought.

Her features clouded a bit, and he revised that estimate - her explosion might be sooner rather than later. Again she looked up. "What do we do about them?"

Harry let out a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. He had been considering this very question for the last half hour. Ever since his run-in with James Junior. With my brother, he corrected.

"I need time," he said quietly, after a few moments. "I need to process this, figure out where I stand, before I do anything." He sighed again, sadly. "As much as I want answers yesterday, as much as I think I deserve answers, what happens with them isn't mission critical right now."

Hermione nodded to him, saying nothing. He had just about come out and said that the 'Potters' and his brother were unimportant, at least in the short term. When he puts it that way, he's right.

"James was seen fighting Voldemort in the atrium," Harry said. "No one spoke to me when I got off of the lifts, which makes me think that everyone assumed I was an auror."

"You went straight to Amelia, didn't you?" Hermione asked. Harry nodded. "Then you're right, they probably figured you were from the DMLE. Wearing a long coat, clearly having come from a battle? And you said your… um, James' hair was different?"

Another nod. "He has my hair, but his was kept long and tied back." Hermione's eyes went up to Harry's own dark hair, which he had managed to keep in a short (and obviously muggle) style.

The long-haired look was closer to the standard for the young pureblood heir - which was part of why Sirius had gotten rid of it.

"Right, then," Hermione continued. "I doubt anyone would make you out to be twins, then." She looked thoughtful. "And James Senior and Lily were, um, apprehended away from the public eye."

"It might not be public, then." Harry considered that. "Surely they won't just go back into hiding?"

"They might not have even been in hiding. Maybe they lived abroad under other names." Hermione speculated. "Did James have an odd accent?"

"Not that I noticed." He replied. Reaching into his coat, Harry pulled out a roll of parchment. "But I'll admit I had other things on my mind."

Hermione's eyes grew wide, even as they locked onto the document. Harry chuckled at her reaction, before handing it over.

She scanned the words quickly, thankful that the quill Harry had used wrote in a clean, precise script, rather than his messy scrawl.

They had known they'd only have one shot at a transcript of the prophecy. She had made sure they would be able to take advantage. This was critical intelligence, Harry had said.

He saw her look of shock at the words, her mouth hanging open. She looked up, her eyes again watering. "Oh, Harry." She hugged him again. "This means…?"

He hugged her back. "Yep." was his only response.