The Ministry courtyard still smelled faintly of dust and broken stone, but the air held something lighter now—movement, voices, the uncertain rhythm of people trying to remember how to live without fear. Harry adjusted the strap of the satchel Kingsley had given him and stepped around a stack of half-repaired stone blocks. The early afternoon sun made the canvas roofs glow like pale gold domes.
Someone had erected a makeshift notice board in the corner of the courtyard. New posters were pinned there every morning: reconstruction updates, temporary office relocations, missing-person notices, and—more commonly now—arrest reports. Harry didn't stop to read today's list, but he did catch murmurs as a group glanced at the board.
"…another one caught near the coast…"
"…seems like the Aurors are really moving…"
"…at least they're not ignoring it…"
It wasn't excitement. It wasn't panic. It was something gentler—cautious relief. The kind that came in small breaths instead of dramatic sighs.
Harry didn't mind that. The world could use something quiet.
He ducked into the canvas corridor leading to the meeting tents. Inside, the air cooled instantly, charmed vents pulling in fresh wind and pushing out heat. He found Hermione already seated at one of the round tables, quill in hand, surrounded by carefully sorted folders.
"You're early," he said with a faint smile.
She didn't look up. "There's too much to do to be anything else."
Harry sat down. "You know, that line's becoming your motto."
She finally glanced at him, amused. "If it helps people get things done, I'll gladly keep saying it."
Before Harry could reply, a soft ripple of magic brushed against the tent as Kingsley entered. He carried a stack of parchments under one arm and radiated the kind of composed authority that made people straighten their posture without realizing it.
"Good afternoon," he said, though he looked like he hadn't slept enough to call anything good.
Harry nodded in greeting. Hermione offered Kingsley a fresh cup of tea—one she had quietly brewed when she heard his footsteps.
Kingsley smiled gratefully. "We'll keep this brief. There are a few updates we need to walk through."
He set down the parchments, and the atmosphere settled into something focused, calm, and deliberate.
The first part of the discussion was routine. Reconstruction progress. Department relays. A few minor updates from the Auror Office—two arrests early in the morning, both small names, one captured at a remote Floo junction and another while attempting to acquire forged travel documents. Nothing alarming. Nothing unexpected.
Then Kingsley shifted to something softer, more public-facing.
"People are still uncertain," he said, "so the Ministry needs to maintain communication. Reassurance without overpromising."
Hermione nodded vigorously. "The Prophet's doing a somewhat better job this week, but some of the smaller papers are… inventing things."
"What kind of things?" Harry asked.
Hermione sighed. "The usual. Claims that Voldemort's followers are regrouping in foreign strongholds. Speculation about secret alliances. Nothing based on facts."
Kingsley didn't show irritation, but his jaw tightened. "People are anxious. Fear tries to fill silence. Which is why we must choose when and how we speak."
Harry leaned back. "I get why you need to speak. But…" He hesitated. "Why am I here for all this?"
Both Hermione and Kingsley paused, as if waiting for the right phrasing.
Harry shrugged lightly. "I mean, I'm not a Ministry worker. I'm not trained for politics or public reassurance. Half the time I don't know what to do with these reports." He lifted the satchel a little. "And I'm not sure how involved I'm supposed to be."
Kingsley folded his hands. "You're involved because you lived what the rest of us are now trying to repair. You understand the war in ways even seasoned officials don't. That insight matters."
"But I don't want to be in the public eye more than necessary," Harry said quietly. "Not again. Not like before."
Hermione gave a sympathetic look. "No one's asking you to be the face of anything. Just… someone the Ministry consults when clarity is needed. When decisions touch on things only you can speak to."
Kingsley nodded. "You won't be pushed forward. And certainly not now. But in time—when it feels natural, when people need reassurance—you may choose to say something. Not because you're forced. Because it helps."
Harry absorbed that. It didn't lift the weight entirely, but it made it feel less like something being strapped onto him and more like something he could set down or pick up.
"Alright," he said quietly. "As long as it stays my choice."
"It will," Kingsley promised.
Hermione smiled softly. "You're already helping more than you realize."
The next part of the meeting dealt with softer political matters—nothing dramatic, nothing conspiratorial. Mostly structural shifts. A few interim appointments to replace officials who had retired or taken leave. Orders to stabilize department communications. Instructions on how to filter credible press questions from ones designed purely to stir fear.
Kingsley summarized it as "reorganizing the mess without creating a new one."
One parchment contained drafts for a Ministry notice the press had requested. Hermione pushed it toward Harry so he could read it.
Reconstruction progresses steadily. Minor arrests continue. Departments remain coordinated. Citizens are encouraged to stay attentive to official updates.
It was plain, almost boring—and that was intentional.
"We're not promising anything too specific," Hermione explained. "Just letting people know that work is happening."
Harry nodded. "It sounds balanced."
Kingsley looked relieved. "Good. We'll send this out in two days, unless something urgent happens."
Urgent. Harry noted how Kingsley said it calmly, as though it was a remote possibility, not a looming threat.
And maybe that was the point—fear didn't need feeding.
Later, as the meeting thinned and representatives from other departments drifted in and out, Harry and Hermione stepped outside the tent for fresh air.
The courtyard was busier than earlier. A few vendors sold tea and simple snacks to passing workers. A cluster of witches discussed reconstruction charms. A pair of young Ministry recruits practiced levitation spells on broken flagstones, guided by an older supervisor.
Harry saw a mother reading a notice board with her teenage daughter. Both looked relieved as they found a familiar name in the "recovered and safe" section.
Nearby, a wizard muttered to another, "At least arrests haven't stopped. Means the Ministry's doing its job."
Harry exhaled. Those were the comments Kingsley had been aiming for—not adoration, not blind faith, just quiet trust.
Hermione returned with a cup of tea for Harry. "People seem calmer today."
"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Calmer than I expected."
He took a sip and glanced at a Daily Prophet stand. Today's headline floated gently in front of it:
PROGRESS CONTINUES: MINISTRY ISSUES RECONSTRUCTION UPDATE
Simple. Clean. No lightning graphics. No exaggerated statements.
Maybe the Prophet was finally learning restraint.
"See?" Hermione nudged him. "You're helping already. These calmer headlines didn't just appear out of nowhere."
Harry snorted. "I didn't do anything."
"You didn't have to. Your presence keeps everyone grounded." She gestured vaguely. "Even the Prophet knows that."
Harry wasn't convinced, but he appreciated her optimism.
Back inside, Kingsley was finishing a conversation with two Aurors. When they left, he turned to Harry.
"One more thing," Kingsley said. "People will eventually expect to hear from you. Not today, not this week, but… when the time feels right."
Harry frowned. "Why?"
"Because you symbolize the end of fear," Kingsley answered simply. "But they don't need a speech. Just a presence. A few honest words when the moment comes."
Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm not sure I'll ever feel ready."
"You won't have to rush," Kingsley said. "We'll move naturally with the world. If the public grows restless or anxious months from now, or if they need reassurance, we may revisit the idea. But slowly."
Harry let out a slow breath. He appreciated that answer more than he expected.
Kingsley packed up his desk. Hermione collected her folders. The day's work was done, and the meeting tent felt strangely warm after the long hours inside it.
They stepped out together.
Outside, the sun had begun to lower, casting long, soft shadows across the courtyard. The repaired entrance arch shimmered faintly with fresh enchantments. Workers were finishing for the day, exhausted but smiling faintly as they stored tools.
It looked nothing like the battlefield it had once been.
Hermione gave Harry's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "See you tomorrow."
Kingsley gave Harry a nod of subtle gratitude. "Rest well."
Harry watched them go, then lingered by the courtyard a little longer. A breeze lifted the corner of a parchment pinned to the notice board, revealing the names of people recently found safe.
A small thing. But important.
He took a slow breath. For the first time in a long while, the world felt like it was learning how to settle—awkwardly, unevenly, but genuinely.
Harry didn't feel like a leader. He didn't feel ready for speeches or interviews. He didn't fully understand his place in this new world yet.
But he was here.
Present.
Taking part in the quiet work of rebuilding.
Not because anyone demanded it—because he wanted to help, step by slow step.
And that, he realized, was enough for now.