The next day wasn't as quiet as Harry might have hoped for although Draco had to go to work; and Minnie and Ron had to start preparing for the school term; and Luna set to work in the grounds with Tilly; and Arthur and Angelina had to go back to the Ministry; and George had to go back to the shop; there were still Mione, Pansy, Narcissa, Dromeda, Hebe, Molly, Teddy, and Blaise in the Hall. And although Minnie and Ron disappeared for the morning, they were back early afternoon. And when Draco came home, he brought Theo and Daphne with him.
Harry was pleased to see Theo again. At school, he felt the boy was surly and ignorantly silent. And it was well-rumoured that he was inordinately obsessed with cursed or hexed objects. Later, he understood through their work together that, like Draco, Theo was put in a terrible situation by his father, though at least he'd never been forced to take the Mark.
'We weren't rich like some of the older Sacred Twenty-Eight families even though we were on the list. My father had aspirations and pretenses that were well beyond his means,' Theo said as he sat on the grass in front of the Hall with Harry, Draco, Daphne, Ron and Mione, Pansy and Luna, Blaise too.
At first it seemed painfully unnecessary to be hashing over events from the past but Theo wanted to talk to the others about it and was the one who asked to explain his part in the past. Daphne held his hand tightly, supporting her fiancé fiercely as if protecting him from his past. Harry didn't fail to notice that Draco had shuffled in close to him too and was holding his hand tightly. He offered Draco a small sympathetic smile. He knew it was hard for Draco too. He pulled him closer, his fingers playing comfortingly on his thigh.
'School was hard for me,' Theo continued, 'maybe more because we became indebted to that world. Father owed people money, including Lucius. Loss of control was part of the problem because he felt angry with the world. He believed Dark Magic and taking the Dark Mark before the first war would free him by making him powerful. Instead, it made him weaker,' said the quiet man.
'You don't need to explain,' Mione said as Hercules nuzzled against Theo, seeming to know when to offer comfort.
'I want to. To all of you, and Dray too. I think I owe it to you. I never explained to anyone beyond Daphne. I confided in Daphne in the seventh year. At a time when I really needed it, she found me and I eventually chanced confiding in her. It was the best risk I've taken in my life.' He smiled at Daphne and the love was clear. 'And Harry knows a bit of my story through work. You see, I just let people think the worst about me. It was easier to survive that way and then just get on with things quietly.'
So, Theo, sitting cross-legged in front of them and intermittently playing with his boot laces or Hercules's ears or reaching out to hold Daphne's hand, told them his story. He said how he'd seen the truth about the Dark side long before the others as he watched his father become more and more obsessed with the Dark Arts and his growing collection of Dark and dangerous artefacts. And, as his obsession with Dark Magic consumed him, a brutal cruelty towards his wife and only son grew. One day, when Theo was ten, his mother disappeared without explanation from anyone. Nothing was done about her disappearance; no questions were asked and Theo wasn't allowed to mention his mother, ever. He still didn't know what had happened to her.
'Father said she ran off with another man but I suspect he killed her,' Theo admitted softly. 'He was quiet for a period of time. More reserved but I assume he was scared someone might come around asking questions. After a time, he returned to his crueller ways.'
'Would you like me to open the case?' Harry asked gently.
'What's the point? The bastard's dead now.'
'For your own peace of mind. To find out what happened to her.'
'Maybe you should,' said Daphne, looking gratefully at Harry. 'So you can finally lay the past to rest and either reconnect with your mother or mourn her properly, if that's what you need to do.'
Theo shrugged, unsure. 'What if she's alive and left me with him? How do I face the knowledge that she neither wanted me or had it in her to protect me?'
Instead, he continued with his story about how he felt more and more trapped by his father's beliefs and felt like he had no one to turn to, afraid of his father and afraid of families like the Malfoys, Goyles, and Crabbes. He couldn't openly go against Draco; the Slytherin Prince. He couldn't openly rebel, there would be a price on his head and there was nowhere to hide. And he didn't trust Dumbledore enough to go to him. The Dark side had done a good propaganda job on Albus Dumbledore; he was, as far as Theo was concerned, a fruitcake and after his own greatness as much as Voldemort was.
It still surprised Harry that Theo was one of the few Slytherins to actually call Voldemort by his name, many still skirted it or still called him the Dark Lord, even after four years.
Theo explained that when Harry was on the run, the Carrows made everything so much worse. It was a black and white situation of either showing you supported what they stood for or you were against it. He hated every moment of it, if there was anything to drive him further from the Dark side, it was witnessing their cruel behaviour that was so like his father's. So, when Blaise finally pulled them together during Snape's impromptu assembly and asked them to step up, Theo did so without thinking. He quietly claimed his place in the world and it definitely wasn't by his father's side. Though, ultimately, that fate had been sealed the day his father broke into the school with the other Death-Eaters to end Dumbledore's life.
'He willing brought Fenrir Greyback into a place full of vulnerable children... where his own son was. We never talked about it in the Slytherin common room but we all knew; Fenrir wouldn't have discriminated; blood was blood and flesh was flesh when he was in a werewolf-frenzy.'
'Yes, even Remus admitted as much about himself. It disgusted him but he knew that when he was in his werewolf form, he was a danger to everyone. He tried hard to keep it under control with Snape's monthly Wolfsbane Potions but one slip-up was enough to scare him into leaving. Of course, his hand was forced when Severus told everyone about his "little furry problem",' Harry smiled fondly.
'You really liked Remus, didn't you?' Theo said.
'He's Teddy's father and, for a short while, he was like the father I never had. I will always be grateful he was there when I was having doubts about my sexuality. He understood and was able to explain so much to me. He was family, really. Him and Sirius. Brave, brave, men...' Harry said quietly, lost momentarily in memories of two men who loved each other so much and fought with everything they had to make the world a better place. And for what...?
'I'm not brave,' said Theo. 'I'm not like that. For a long time, I wished I could have been. I used to beat myself up about it, berate myself for not trying harder or being better or being stronger. I've learnt now that I can't be someone I'm not. Instead, I call myself a quiet revolutionary,' Theo smiled. 'I could never be like you lot or even Blaise. But I can go about things in my own way, quietly working at removing the Darkness from our world, piece by piece. My obsession at school kept me safe, though no one realised that the interest was actually understanding the magic so I could remove the curses. I watched my father become eaten up by Dark Magic and I swore to myself that I would never be like him. I would never let it enter my heart and consume me.' Theo sighed as he looked across the lawn back towards the Hall. 'I used to dream of escape, sometimes he'd lock me in my room for no more than saying something which sounded vaguely sympathetic towards Muggles. Often, he'd forget about me, forget to feed me, forget I even existed. Sometimes I was little more than a House-Elf to him, especially once mother had gone away.'
Harry recognised the parallels. Who wouldn't? Mione and Ron, even Dray, looked between the two of them, horrified. At least Harry had been able to escape it all and go back to Minnie's or go to The Burrow. Really, the worst of it, that he could remember, had been his twelfth birthday when Vernon had taken his belt to him.
'Did he hurt you?' Draco asked, his eyes filled with sadness and Harry felt Draco touch his back, where the scars lay and he knew that he was thinking of Harry rather than Theo.
'No,' said Theo, 'only with words. Not physically or with magic, and for that I can be grateful. No, it was neglect, mostly, because he was so obsessed by his Dark artifacts that they came above all else. The only way I could garner any attention was to study them too. Only, what he didn't see was my determination to understand it so I could reverse everything he stood for. It utterly disgusted me and I hated it. So, taking over Borkin and Burkes meant everything to me. I have a Ministry licence to take in Dark items and work on removing the Hexes and Curses. Everything is registered and now I do consultancy work for the Ministry too. A lot of it is for your dad, Ron. He's a good man, silently took me under his wing for a while and helped me set up with the Ministry. And occasionally with Harry. I love my work. Daphne helps too, obviously. We found each other in the seventh year. Truthfully, it was Daphne who got me through that hell.'
Harry watched the couple smile at each other and that look said everything to him. He could see gratitude in Theo's face and fierce protectiveness in Daphne's, but more than anything, he saw soulmate-love and intense understanding that hurt to the core. He was glad they'd found each other.
'At the shop, we either put stuff in the showroom or act as auctioneers once items are clean. Some things even go back the Muggle Art World depending on their heritage and if there's any sort of provenance.'
After the war, when they'd started working together, Harry had decided that he really liked Theo and he was pleased he could see that in the others now. It was natural to feel as ease with the quiet, thoughtful man and he wondered, if things had been different at Hogwarts and if the Houses hadn't become so divided again, whether they might have been good friends. Perhaps Theo's father wouldn't have liked it or would have tried to persuade Theo to turn Harry into a Dark Wizard. It clearly wasn't their path to be friends back then but now, there was nothing to stop them.
As Harry spent more time with Theo at the Hall, they connected over their shared paths. It was strangely comforting to find someone who'd been through the same experiences. It was strangely satisfying to know it wasn't just Muggles or Wizards who were cruel but rather just a small sector of society. Then they connected over a love for Quidditch and an interest in the artwork and objects in Beaumont. Theo was able to educate Harry in some of what he possessed and what it meant. It helped Harry to decide what things he wanted to keep because he liked them and ought to keep because they meant something and that separated them from the things he could sell or auction.
Gradually, all the items that Harry agreed he didn't want to keep were separated into the east wing room next to the games room. The room that Harry intended to eventually set up as a play room for Teddy. He left Narcissa in charge of negotiations. It seemed she had a good eye for what things were worth and he felt it took the awkwardness out of what was becoming a firm friendship.
Draco was amused but Harry could tell he was pleased too. It must mean a lot to find the true connections that had been missing at school because they were all too scared to open up about how they really felt. He realised it must have been very lonely to be in Slytherin House with no one to really trust and be open with and then being shunned by the rest of the school. He was glad Minnie had changed things.
'I'm glad he's found Daphne,' Draco whispered quietly to Harry the night after Theo's first visit. They lay in bed, the moonlight streaming in through the unshuttered windows and dancing on their naked damp skin. 'She always was a strong woman. Never had the time of day for me and when I came back to school Marked, she openly sneered and took herself off to the Prefect's carriage. A brave move really, thinking back, but I was too worried about my own arse to really notice. In the seventh year, she took things badly. We all had to perform. When the Carrows started making us cast the Cruciatus on the younger years, she stopped eating. Theo and Millie drew inwards. I caught Blaise physically vomiting after one lesson and Pansy would noticeably panic if she was asked. It was dreadful. That was when I found the book or rather the book found me and I started working on the fake curse.'
'The book found you?' Harry whispered, his hands trailing comfortingly across Draco's pale skin. It wasn't often they talked about the worst parts the past. Often, Harry thought Draco had a tougher and more damaging time of it than he did.
'Yes. I knew it was from the Restricted Section but it was amongst the Potion books. Right next to a very specific book I needed for my homework. The page was bookmarked too. And for a long time, I thought the handwriting and notes were Severus's but they weren't really. Similar, but more archaic somehow. The 'E's were wrong and the tails weren't as curly. I never got to the bottom of that mystery but it wasn't important back then.'
The next day, Harry couldn't resist asking Severus's portrait.
The man in the painting curled his lip and bluntly denied having anything to do with Draco's book or understanding the curse. And then he asked, 'why aren't you negotiating with Theodore Nott yourself, they are, after all, your... items of wealth,' he said the last bit with clear distaste rolling off his tongue.
'Theo and I are on the outset of negotiating a new friendship. We thought it better that someone more removed would make things less personal and Narcissa has a good eye and knowledge of what she's doing. I trust her to act on my behalf.' He was watching from the gallery as the series of vases from the south wing corridor were being lined up on the great table in the hall. It turned out that Henry's sister did, in fact, have a good eye for finding some gems and although Harry didn't like them, Theo was insisting that they went for auction in the Muggle world. They were, he said with awe in his voice, from an ancient Chinese dynasty and worth a bloody fortune. Harry chose one to keep one for the sake of it. It was blue and white with, funnily enough, Chinese fireball dragons swirling around its sides. It was added to the Dragon Room, though Theo said it should be kept out of reach of small and enthusiastic four-year-olds. He added, 'it is, you realise, the most expensive vase in the whole collection, worth in the region of 14,000 galleons.'
Harry's eyes nearly popped out of his head, though he couldn't wait to go and gloat at Henry for dismissing his sister's taste.
Theo actually insisted that Harry kept a rare ginger jar and conical bowl that completed the set and a suitable glass cabinet was found to display them in safely.
'I suggest you Ward it, if you intend to have strangers visiting the hall in the near future,' said Theo. 'The set is worth in the region of forty thousand. You could buy Hogwarts with that sort of money.'
Harry gulped.
Negotiations continued and Harry kept out of the way, only receiving eye-watering sums and estimations at the end of each day. For some of the items, Theo insisted on finding private buyers for first and he'd take a commission. Several sold immediately as he made a few Floo calls.
'Of course, one couldn't expect you to negotiate your way out of a sock,' sneered Severus at Harry from his portrait. 'So, one couldn't expect you to know the value of your own nose.'
Snape's time at Beaumont had done nothing to soften his tone but Harry had persevered his snide comments by generally ignoring the portrait. Harry concluded that without Draco there during the day, Snape was misbehaving more than usual and after one comment too many, he tucked the portrait under his arm, ignoring Snape's complaints at being upended and marched up to the topmost east turret room on the fourth floor which he'd claimed as his study.
'What is your problem?' Harry scowled at the painting as he slammed it down into a chair opposite his desk and paced his room.
Snape was jolted within his frame and he narrowed his eyes hatefully at Harry.
'Mum said you'd got past all this nonsense. That you were being quite civil about me before the Battle. Why have you started again?'
'Perhaps it's just your general existence... Potter.' Snape's obsidian eyes glowered as he enunciated every syllable.
'Perhaps you need to grow up. You are aware I should be hanging a duplicate of your portrait here in the hall? Why on earth should I want you hanging around here, snarling and insulting everyone who walks past you for no particular reason than your own warped and selfish perceptions?'
'Goodness only knows what thick-headed idiocy has given you the idea that I should be... here,' he sneered the last word as he thrust his nose into the air with a look of derision.
'Snape, have you not listened to anything we've uncovered about Ancestral Magic? I thought you named Draco as your descendant...'
Snape rolled his eyes. 'You know I did.'
'So, therefore, he is not just the last descendant of the House of Malfoy but the House of Prince too. And, as my soulmate, his place is here. One of our descendants will officially be named as the next Malfoy and Prince. Draco's portrait will hang here, yours will too though I may have to find a way to silence you.'
Snape pursed his lips. 'I am already silenced.'
'What do you mean?'
'It appears you haven't been paying attention to your lessons either, Potter.'
Harry waited.
'What have you learnt about magical portraiture?'
'That the artist's magic means the subject can move and talk but the subject's magic means the true characteristics are captured.'
'Indeed. So, ask yourself what happens if the portrait is completed... posthumously?'
'You never commissioned your portrait?'
'No.'
'So, who added your character?'
'The artist,' Snape sneered.
'Through his memories of you and other's reports?'
'Obviously.'
'Bugger!'
'Eloquently and, in this case, most correctly expressed... Potter.'
'You can't help this?'
'No.'
'This isn't your true voice?'
'Precisely deduced.'
'What can I do to help?' Harry threw himself down into a chair opposite Severus.
'Short of resurrecting me from the dead, very little...'
Harry was already out of his chair and charging down to his bedroom.
'Potter...' Snape drawled when Harry returned and carefully placed the Resurrection Stone and the broken Elder Wand on his desk. 'You cannot just call me back and hope for the best. Are you thinking of an exact spell or this going to be your usual ignorant and bull-headed approach? This is a very new and unresearched territory of magic. And far too clever for your thick skull.'
'I didn't have an exact spell when mum and dad appeared before I...'
Snape did, at least, not sneer. 'Did you need them to perform any kind of magic?'
'Well, no.'
'Research, Potter. Fetch Ms Granger, at least she has more than two braincells to rub together.'
Harry returned with Mione and a pile of books on portraiture, plus Merlin's book.
'Hebe recommended Virgil Ackhart,' said Hermione, warily eyeing the Resurrection Stone and the broken Elder Wand. She didn't even know he had them. Last she'd seen of the Elder Wand was Harry throwing it off the viaduct bridge into the abyss below. She wasn't sure what Harry was planning but the presence of the Deathly Hallows, even if the Wand was broken, was deeply concerning.
They flicked through the books until they found the specific spells that Ackhart recommended.
'Blaise recommended this one,' she said, pointing to a spell called the "Vivificat nos Applicemus [Giver of Life]". He did some research at the Ministry as he studied. Obviously, his Muggle Art College portraits didn't move but he wanted to learn. He suggested this one works with a permanence and the best results in terms of capturing true characteristics from the literal giver of magic.'
'But it has to iterated by the subject,' said Harry
'Yes, so that part of the subject's magic is embedded into the portrait, that way true character and memory is captured.'
'All well and good when said subject is alive and has magic in their veins to pass into the painting,' sneered Snape.
'Hebe suggested that I could potentially separate the magic of my ancestors and pour it into a portrait to replicate the spell.'
'Potentially...' mused Hermione. 'But it won't be as effective.' She studied Severus Snape who was glaring back, unused to a direct challenge. 'And it'll be your memories...' She looked at the portrait. 'And you have to have that Ancestral Magic in your system...'
'Quite,' said Snape.
'We're talking, very specifically about when the portrait is painted after the subject has died, aren't we?' asked Hermione, suddenly understanding why Harry had asked for help, why they were looking at this particularly portrait. She realised what Harry was considering.
Severus raised an eyebrow, clearly waiting. Harry didn't speak.
'Quibus pythonicus [Necromancer]...' muttered Hermione, swallowing deeply. Necromancy was Dark Magic, even with the Resurrection Stone. Maybe more so with the Resurrection Stone.
'Indeed... Ms Granger,' Snape drawled.
'Does Merlin have anything to say on the subject?'
'Beyond don't mess with the dead...' Hermione scolded.
Harry raised an eyebrow and she withered. It was worse than Snape's look of derision.
She carefully leafed through the book until she found the page she wanted, adjusting her brain for reading the ancient runes. 'That necromantia has a number of levels, the most basic being talking or communicating with the dead, through to raising soulless creatures from the dead or possessing human corpses. That it has always been considered Dark Magic, but we know that from Voldemort's use of Inferi during the war. Merlin writes, the maleficium of the dead soul to manipulate the mind and will, or to draw their magic may be possible without demonology but runs the risk of madness, inflammation of the spirit, failure to constrain the spirit resulting in possession by the spirit, or even manipulation or trickery of the necromancer's mind by a malign spirit, such as in the fable of Doctor Faustus.' She looked up into blank expressions from both Harry and Snape. 'Never mind. Merlin suggests the best way to proceed would be to create an alchemic stone during the correct astrological phases and so forth... but suggests, even then, that there are still considerable risks in asking the spirits to step back from beyond the curtain, as we know from Beedle. Merlin goes into the particular ways of trying to make the stone but notes his failures.'
'Which suggests that Cadmus Peverell was the only wizard known to succeed...'
'Harry...' she said. 'You do know what you're doing? You know if you get this wrong, you'll trap Snape's spirit in this world in a way that would be torturous to you both? Or worse.'
'I think you should leave me to contemplate the next move,' said Harry, understanding exactly what Mione had meant. 'And you...,' he pointed at Snape, 'don't speak.'
She looked disapproving but left.
'Do you know what to do... Potter,' Snape asked, despite the order for silence.
'Yes. I need to mend the Elder Wand. This needs more specific and focused magic than just wild wandless magic. As Mione said, "Quibus pythonicus" ...'
'I didn't think you held with the nonsense of your various ridiculous pseudonyms, Potter.'
'I think this kind of necromancy actually calls for the Master of Death to do this correctly.'
'Any expert in Wand Lore will tell you the Wand can't be mended...'
'...by mortal man, so I'm told.'
'Are you actually considering yourself... immortal?'
'No, it's not as black and white as that, it never has been. I know I'm not immortal and I would be foolish to think otherwise. Isn't that what Antioch Peverell believed just because he had the Elder Wand? No, that is complacent and foolish. I tried explaining to mum once. Although I died and coming back was my choice, I'm not immortal. But I have defied mortality too. In doing so, and being Master of the Deathly Hallows too, I have the ability to hold other's lives in my hands, in life and death, including your spirit in the afterlife. This is beyond simply using the Resurrection Stone to bring your spirit back; this is about taking part of that recalled spirit and keeping it on this side of the curtain but letting the spirit return to the afterlife in peace. To do so, I need the Elder Wand, I need to call on all three Hallows, to make sure that I am totally in control.'
Snape pursed his lips but didn't say anything.
Harry picked up the two broken pieces of the Elder Wand and sat back in his chair, his eyes shut. For a while, he didn't move beyond feeling the two pieces under his fingertips, feeling the fractured magic, feeling where it fit together, where it had to be melded back together. He felt it all and he knew. He held the two pieces together, turning them slowly until he felt the Thestral hair core reach out to its other half, weaving together. He felt the familiar, compliant magic. He remembered how it felt under his fingers, how it felt to wield its power. He remembered how it felt to control the magic and force it back into the Wand, to take life, to have that capability. He felt the weave of his power amongst the command of the Elder Wand. He felt the magic bond become complete; he felt the Wand fuse back together under his fingertips.
When he opened his eyes, Snape was watching him carefully, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. Eventually, Snape said, 'how did you do that?'
'You don't need to know and nor will I tell you.' He opened the bottom draw in his desk and pulled out his Invisibility Cloak. It felt soft and ethereal beneath his fingers but with the other Hallows so close, he felt a sovereignty he didn't want to possess. He could, he knew, be far more terrible than Voldemort should he ever feel that dangerous draw for authority and control. Not considering the Ancestral Power he already held. Holding the Elder Wand and the Resurrection Stone, he wrapped the cloak around his shoulders, not as an Invisibility Cloak but as the gown of Death.
He sighed deeply, pulling the dark draw of infinite power under control. He understood far more than he would ever let people know, he understood Grindelwald's and Voldemort's self-aggrandised desire for supremacy like this; he felt invincible and yes, he understood the pull. If he allowed it, it would be utterly pervasive. But he also knew that like an addiction, it would come control him beyond reason rather than him controlling the power. It was a treacherous path to tread.
'I need to remove the magic that's giving you this...personality,' Harry said as he eyed Snape's portrait with distain.
The man nodded but pursed his lips.
Harry didn't need to even wave the Wand and it happened. Snape stilled and waited.
Harry murmured 'Flagrate' and drew the runic sign of the Deathly Hallows so it hovered mid-air in fiery-scarlet magical lines. He then slowly turned the Resurrection Stone three times in his hand and levitated it to within the centre of the rune.
Then he summoned Severus Snape from the dead.
When the visitor from beyond stood before Harry, more solid than a ghost but not quite as solid as flesh, they nodded to each other in acknowledgement.
'You can do this, Harry?' Severus's spirit questioned.
'Yes.' He held the Elder Wand lightly in his fingers, watching the man in his faded colours, his faded solidity, feeling the melancholy of one called from where they truly belonged. 'Audi me, animam meam a mortuis. Ego, Mors Magister, trahunt a te fragmen spiritu tuo creare Speculum mortuus est illi ut daret spiritum imagini de bonis defuncti. Hoc egro iubes pacem pace quia in aeternum...' he said quietly, drawing a ghostly white thread from Severus's spirit through the Elder Wand and passing it into the portrait. [Hear me, soul of the dead. I, Master of Death, draw from you a piece of your spirit to create a mirror of the dead to give life to the image of the deceased. I command this in peace, for your peace ever after.]
'Thank you, Severus,' Harry said softly.
'Thank you,' the shadow of the older man nodded.
'Rest in peace, Severus. You may return. I won't call on you again.'
Harry closed his hand around the Stone, breaking the rune, and the visitor vanished.
He shucked the cloak from his shoulders and discarded the Wand and Stone to the top of his desk as if he couldn't be rid of them quickly enough.
'May I suggest, Harry,' Severus drawled from his portrait, 'that you don't leave those items simply lying around on your desk.'
Harry smiled lopsided. 'You sound pleasantly different.'
'I feel pleasantly different. Thank you, again.'
'I'm glad I could help. Would you like me to pay the artist a visit?'
Severus's lips briefly quirked. 'That will not be necessary. Though I might decide to haunt an empty frame in his studio for a while.'
'Do we need to have a long chat and get things out in the open?' asked Harry.
Severus raised a dark eyebrow and studied Harry intently with his obsidian eyes. 'I think not!' he said, the 'T' producing a new set of punctuation rules in the English language.
And Harry had a flashback to being a small boy and tugging on Severus Snape's professorial gowns in the Great Hall and suggesting he got some fresh air to help his mood. His lips twitched until he could contain it no longer and he burst out laughing. And he could see the humour in Severus's eyes until the other man started to laugh too. The sound of deep throaty laughter coming from Severus was so surreal that it made Harry laugh harder until he was crying tears.
'Oh Merlin! Can I duplicate your frame and hang it in the gallery?' he gasped between his tears as the laughter subsided.
'Obviously, Harry.'
They smiled at each other and Harry placed the Hallows into the top drawer of his desk and locked and Warded it carefully and thoroughly.
'What will you do with them, in the long term?' the mood sober again.
'I have a plan,' Harry said.
'You don't intend to say...'
'No.'
'Most sensible.'
***