Head of Hogwarts

*Chapter 6*

 The gaping wounds that I had carved into my own heart were now healing, forming enthusiastic, little scabs across the crevasses of misery. The rain no longer stung my skin, but it cleansed me of my old self; the sky was no longer grey, but a blanket of shimmering silver; Hagrid was no longer dead, but riding his flying motorcycle with its creaky side-car to a better place. If only the other guests could see that. I slipped through the broad front door of the cabin and hid in a dark corner, able to observe the congregation without distraction. Huddles of monochrome cloaks shook with grief; rivers streamed from face to floor, causing me to wonder whether I would have to swim my way out the cabin by the end of the day; and some muttered in the shadows where the candles could not cling to, their heads lowered and eyes flicking from one to the other. This peaked my curiosity. I slipped around the wall like a stiff hieroglyphic, muttering words of apology to the crying obstacles who blocked my path. The secretive faces grew clearer and clearer as my eyes adjusted to this foreboding atmosphere. I didn't recognise many of the aged and weary faces, etched with wrinkles and scars from times not so long forgotten. However, one face snapped upwards, warm chestnut eyes burning into my own bold gaze. I was caught red handed. The others soon followed pursuit and scattered away, averting their attention from myself, and explaining they had something to attend to or some people to comfort. But he stayed.

"Good afternoon, Harry." The voice was low and boomed without a particular change in volume.

"Good afternoon, Minister." I felt scrawny compared to Shacklebolt, his posture was that of a king, and his pride radiated out of his very being, like an alpha lion. It had been so long since I had read the Daily Prophet (my work in Papua New Guinea made sure of that), so calling my friend, Kingsley Shacklebolt, "Minister" brought back images, images I wish I could forget. Blood, rubble, screaming, corpses, broken families, Fred, Tonks, Lupin, screaming, screaming, I couldn't block out the screaming-

"I'm very sorry for your loss, Harry" A shudder raced through my body as I was thrown back into the conscious world. His hand was now cupped around my shoulder, an act of sympathy that felt so distant. "I knew Hagrid meant the world to you, but he died fighting for what he believed in: That Hogwarts should not remain a place of shattered memories". Blood flooded to my brain and set my face ablaze, the level of professionalism felt unnatural between two friends, I could sense there was more to this funeral then just honouring Hagrid's memory. "And that is what I would like to talk to you about". My heart stopped.

"Hagrid's belief in the rebuilding of Hogwarts?"

"Very much so." My throat tightened and my limbs went numb. I felt like I was falling all over again, down into the chasm of smirking shadows who they knew I would return soon enough. I pulled at the ends of my jacket and straightened myself. If Kingsley Shacklebolt was going to address this in an adult manner, then I was going to do the same, no matter how many fists pummelled my stomach.

"Continue..." He guided me out of the cabin and into the privacy of the garden, where Hagrid's freshly planted gravestone stood with such authority amongst the wilting weeds and moulding pumpkins. Shacklebolt withdrew a wand from his silk cloak, the jet black material outlined with dazzling gold borders, and flicked it easily above our heads. The rain began to run down a spherical nothingness, like an invisible umbrella had been placed above us. He straightened again and kept his gaze firmly sealed on my face. I felt intimidated, as if whatever was about to be said or suggested would be done, no matter what my input was.

"Harry," His voice strained to say my name, he knew I wouldn't like this, "a year ago, on the 30th September, the Ministry voted on a suggestion that many had put forward. This suggestion was to rebuild Hogwarts and return it to its rightful position as Britain's most prestigious wizarding and witching school." The hand around my throat tightened further. "And the ministry agreed that it was the right thing to do." I couldn't breathe. "Then, on the 28th October that same year, the ministry voted on the construction team." My stomach twisted; this was really going to happen. "Three days later, we announced to the wizarding community of our intentions, some were outraged, many believed it to be wrong due to the events that took place there, however, the majority agreed it was the right thing to do. Our temporary schools we set up after the Battle of Hogwarts have seen a fall in OWL and NEWT grades, leading to a rise in unemployment and many vacant jobs, even in the ministry." I fought for words. I wanted to be outraged, and I believed it to be wrong... but there was a part of me that also agreed. Hogwarts had changed so many lives, mine included, and excluding people from that experience was almost as heart-breaking as the Battle of Hogwarts itself.

"Okay" Were the only words I could mutter. Shacklebolt continued further, picking at the newly created scabs that allowed me some sense of healing.

"And by the 5th February this year," I knew what was coming, and it hit me like death, "we elected a new Headmaster of Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry".

"Oh yes?" My voice was shaking uncontrollably... my muscles groaned with the effort of merely existing with such stress...

"Yes, Harry, and, if you do not object, we wouldlike you to be the next Head of Hogwarts."