The war was over. Azkaban was full of prisoners, Hogwarts was full of students, and the Diagon Alley Merchants' Association was sponsoring all sorts of programs to lure shoppers out of their homes and into the stores. One of these programs involved the sponsoring of a play, the dramatic adaptation of Harry Potter's autobiography, "The Boy Who Lived, or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Dark Lord." It had been a runaway best-seller, and the merchants were desperately hoping that a reenactment would draw crowds, nay, hordes of people, all of whom could be counted on to relieve the store shelves of any merchandise not nailed down. That the play would be performed by many of the principals, well, that would just add to the drama - people would have paid just to stare at the great Harry Potter for two hours, let alone while enacting his heroic journey! The idea couldn't fail!

Or, at least, that's what the merchants thought.

That most of the cast was at Hogwarts was convenient. After all, an education is important, Hermione had said, and it was the safest place possible in terms of avoiding the press. Neither of these opinions had much impact on Harry, until Ron had pointed out it would be an excellent way to be scouted for professional quidditch, rather than going to tryouts and hoping. They'd been placed among the students of the year below theirs, but that was all right, as it meant there was always someone available to give Harry parchment and quill, or clear a seat for him, or anything else that a young tortured hero might require.

Most of the principals had been strangely reluctant to be cast in his play, despite the convenience of all being gathered in one place, but Harry had informed them all that they could be replaced, and they'd shared a frightened look (although, actually, it hadn't really been frightened, had it?) and agreed to be in the play, their faces wreathed with smiles. If there was a bit too much toothiness on display, Harry simply took it as their way of ingratiating themselves after causing him a moment's worry.

This theory served him well all through rehearsals, as whenever someone would act unreasonably hostile, the others would all turn and glare, always saying something about remembering to work towards opening night. Upon reflection, Harry realized he should have wondered about that more, particularly when Malfoy said it.

Still, everything progressed splendidly all through rehearsals. All of the costumes and props had been provided by the Merchant's Association, and everyone looked just as they should at dress rehearsal. Harry's own costume was truly marvelous, black velvet with scarlet and red accents, striking the perfect balance between showing he was just a Hogwarts student, with a robe like anyone else, and showing he was nothing of the sort, but rather Someone Special. It was this sort of subtle detail that would make the play truly spectacular, he thought. Fabric choice wasn't something that anyone would notice (except Malfoy, the conceited prat), but it would subconsciously influence their thoughts. Hermione had made a snorting noise when he'd explained, but he was sure it was of jealousy because she hadn't thought of it first.

And so it came, opening night, and Harry peeked out at the huge crowds gathered to watch his masterpiece before taking a deep breath and turning to his cast and crew. "All right, everybody, this is it! Just remember, if I can defeat Voldemort, you can defeat stage fright, so let's get out there and really wow them!"

"Yes," said Hermione from directly behind his left shoulder. He felt it was rather unnecessary for her to chime in, but she'd always been an attention hog. "Just remember, we've all rehearsed this and worked very hard to make sure everything goes exactly as it should. It's all for the glory of the Boy Who Lived, isn't it?"

Harry frowned. "Now, Hermione, it's for all of us. Just because I'm first among equals doesn't mean it's all about me!"

"Of course," Hermione said, looking around at the others in what Harry felt was suitable remorse for her misguided words. The determination in the faces surrounding them pleased Harry, and he smiled beatifically before ordering everyone to their places.

The show began with Neville narrating what had come before. Seamus and Parvati, who would've had no part otherwise, wore wigs and played the role of Harry's parents, declaiming on the precious nature of their baby boy before dying artistically when Dean, done up as Voldemort, pointed his wand at them.

Next was a montage of Harry's early years, with students from younger years playing him as he entered Hogwarts, met Ron and Hermione, and defeated Voldemort time and again. He frowned as he watched from the wings, because some of the lines had been tweaked. It wasn't anything huge, just that he was made to seem a lot squeakier than he'd ever been, and somewhat less heroic. The parts for the younger Ron and Hermione were definitely padded - the Ron who was dragged into the Shrieking Shack actually got to tackle Sirius in Harry's defense, instead of whining and crying for Harry to rescue him, and that wasn't how Harry remembered it at all. Still, it wasn't changed very much, and he could always make sure the little ones got their parts right before the next performance.

Finally it was time for the real play to begin, and Harry stepped out from backstage to wild applause, waving and smiling at the audience before beginning the reenactment of his sixth year. The audience laughed hysterically at the antics of Lav and Won-won, booed and hissed when Malfoy was sneaking around to poison people, and sniffled when Harry held Dumbledore as the old man (well, Colin Creevy wearing a false beard, but the boy really sold it) kept refilling his cup of poison and draining it dry. There were a couple of spots where there was murmuring and snickering where there shouldn't be, but Harry put those out of his mind. If people gasped and muttered when Malfoy went down in the face of Harry's Sectusempra, it was only because the effects people had overdone the amount of blood and the audience was anticipating how much trouble Harry would get into.

Finally they reached the point at which Harry nobly gave up his only happiness, and there wasn't a dry eye in the house as Harry broke his own heart in order to spare Ginny's. Everyone else drifted away, and the curtain fell on Harry, the lone hero, standing over Dumbledore's coffin while a single tear fell from his soulful emerald eyes.

There wasn't much time between acts, and as Harry dodged the various members of the crew who were changing the set despite the risk to life and limb of anyone still standing on the stage, even though Harry had warned them about that repeatedly, Harry took it upon himself to remind his cast that they needed to make sure they played their parts right. "We're telling them all the story of what really happened," said Harry, ducking just before a painted flat decapitated him. "We owe it to the public to give them a really great performance. Neville, get a cough drop if you need one, but you've been stumbling over some of your narration. Malfoy, you're the biggest git on earth, act like it. Hermione, your hair looks too nice - tangle it up or something, you don't want to look so good no one recognizes you."

"What about me, Harry?" came a voice from the back, and Harry stepped through the crowd to take Ginny's hands in his.

"You're perfect, of course," he said, leaning down to kiss her. She moved so that the kiss landed on her cheek and he frowned, then shook his head. "Of course, you don't have time to redo your lipstick. You really are perfect for me."

Still smiling at Ginny, he yelled, "Places, everybody!", then composed himself to look somber as he recalled what happened in the summer following his sixth year.

The curtain rose and there was a gasp from the audience, as well as a hastily hushed-up voice saying, "Well, I never! Our house doesn't look anywhere near so shabby!" Music played and people danced in the background as Harry took center stage. He stood out from the laughing crowd because he alone looked somber, still in the same clothes he'd worn for Dumbledore's funeral.

"I wish I could be like them," he said with a sigh, turning away from the festivities. "I've known, though, since I was eleven years old, that my destiny is a sad and lonely one." Ginny danced by in the arms of one of her brothers and Harry sighed again. "Maybe someday, I'll be allowed to love."

He trudged away, walking upstage so the curtains could close for the next scene change, only to have Ron and Hermione follow him. "You're supposed to wait until the next scene, remember?" he whispered.

"Don't be stupid, Harry," Ron said loudly. "We've not allowed you to face danger on your own before, so we're certainly not going to start now."

Hermione was loaded down with bags, and it reminded Harry that she'd been similarly encumbered when they'd done this in real life. Too bad he hadn't remembered before, as it added a nice comic touch to her appearance. "Honestly, Harry, setting off to face evil with nothing but your wand sounds good, but unless it's going to be over with by teatime, you're going to need supplies!"

"I, er..." Had she said that back then? What had he said in response? "I can always get supplies later... The good people of the wizard community will help, because they're the salt of the earth," he added proudly, smiling at the audience.

The lovely moment was spoiled as Hermione rolled her eyes and Ron said, "Harry, mate, I know you got raised as a muggle and maybe they do that, but most wizards will slam the door if you just stroll up and say, 'Hello, I'm saving the world, can you give me food and money?'"

"Not to mention," Hermione said acidly, "that it wouldn't be terribly discreet. Unless you planned to just walk down the high streets banging pots and pans together and shouting, 'Oy, Voldemort, come out, come out, wherever you are!'"

"All right, all right!" Harry scowled at his friends and moved forward, letting them trail behind. He looked back to see why they were taking so long, but by the time he did, they moved forward and the curtain had closed, not allowing him to see whether the audience was whistling at something Ron and Hermione had done, or something on the set of the Burrow.

Whatever it was, it was cleared by the time the curtain rose again, revealing the gloominess of Grimmauld Place. The effects crew had done a splendid job with it, although they'd perhaps overdone the cobwebs a bit. Dobby, made up to resemble Kreacher, was shuffling around, and Harry hoped the elf would remember its lines, or at least not fawn over him inappropriately. "Horrible boy, shameful, wicked, terrible master!"

Yes, he'd definitely gotten into the spirit of things; if Harry hadn't known better, he'd have thought that Dobby himself resented him. Before Harry could say his line, though, Ron broke in. "Hey, Harry, you should order him to find the locket for you, like Hermione said you should while we were coming here."

"Thank you, Ron," said Harry from between clenched teeth. "I was just getting to that." Despite its dramatic impact now being considerably lessened, Harry delivered his line and Dobby/Kreacher scurried off, muttering imprecations the whole way. Feeling things getting back on track, Harry shook his head and said, "We should start looking through these books to find out where to look for the other horcruxes."

Again the impact of his line was completely destroyed by the incompetence of his fellow thespians, as Hermione was already surrounded by books and just looked at him incomprehensibly before shaking her head and getting back to work. Ron had wandered off somewhere and Harry looked for him while frantically trying to remember what the next line was. Just as he'd started to say something about the search, Ron came back in carrying a parchment. "Hey, Ginny said--"

"Of course, Ginny!" Harry cried. "The diary was a horcrux, maybe--"

"You destroyed it second year, which Dumbledore told you," said Ron. "And don't go off your nut, but Ginny's dating Dean again. Seems like she found out someone was using a potion and that's what got them to break up..."

Harry turned bright red, cleared his throat, and delivered the next line in the play, completely ignoring Ron's ad lib. "Dumbledore said it was destroyed, but maybe it has a connection. We could use it to trace the other horcruxes!"

"Assuming you can get it, seeing that some monumentally stupid person gave it back to Lucius Malfoy, I might be able to find a spell to do that," Hermione said tiredly from behind her books. "It'd be dangerous. I'd have to dabble in the Dark Arts, at the risk of my soul and my health, and I want to find another way to do this."

A bit different from the way he'd written it, but not by much. Maybe they were finally starting to cooperate. "All right, you do that, and Ron and I will break into Malfoy Manor."

"Harry, are you mad?" Ron said, aghast. "The Malfoys have all sorts of killer wards up, and they've hidden from the Ministry all this time, what makes you think you can just stroll into their home and take what you like?"

"Because I'm smarter than the Ministry," Harry said with a saucy wink at the audience. "And besides, Lucius is in jail and Draco's sniffing around Snape's ankles, so who's there to stop me?"

"This is a bad idea, Harry," Ron said nervously.

Harry grinned. "Don't be such a nelly, Ron! Tell you what, why--"

"Talk to Scrimgeour," Hermione said, rubbing her eyes. "If you finally stop avoiding him, he'll help you, if nothing else but to help his own reelection chances."

Harry glared at her but she turned away, burying herself in the pile of books before her until Kreacher returned. "Harry, no!" she cried as he reached for the locket, and that was definitely not in the script. "Remember what happened to Dumbledore, Harry!"

"Don't you talk to me about Dumbledore!" he shouted, fury superseding his devotion to the play. "You have no right!"

"Don't you talk to Hermione that way," said Ron, his fists bunched. "She's worth ten of you, you'd be nowhere without her!"

The curtain descended prematurely and Ron stalked off, Hermione shooting Harry an unreadable look before chasing after him.

"Right!" Harry shouted, making the people around him scatter. "Right! Someone bring me the script and a quill, we'll need to make some adjustments."

There was a small commotion, and a somewhat rumpled Ginny made her way to where Harry was standing. "Now, Harry, darling, surely you can forgive me for letting the curtain fall? I was just trying to get things back on track, I take full responsibility."

"Well, that..." He stopped when he saw her pouting, and took a deep breath. "Just don't do it again, all right, love? It's very important--"

"I know, Harry, I know," she crooned, taking the script out of his hands and running the quill along the neckline of her robes. "This is so hard for you! You're flushed, darling, let's get you some juice and we can sit for just a moment, just until you're feeling better."

She was so good for him, Harry smiled and followed her to a small table that was part of a set dressing waiting in the wings. Before he could pull her into his arms, she poured him a glass of pumpkin juice and sat down, her skirt rising slightly above her knees and making his mouth dry. They hadn't had a chance to be alone yet, since upon his return he'd been busy with his obligations to the public, and the more he saw her, the more eager he became to rekindle what they'd had. He swallowed his juice hurriedly, but she leapt up and said, "Oh, Harry, you're supposed to be on stage! They've already done the scene at Malfoy Manor!"

Harry spilled juice on himself, but just swiped at it and made his way to the stage - the show must go on, after all.