This one's been floating around in my head for a while. With the approach of the movie and the promise of more Steve-Kloves-inspired ANTI-RON WRITING, I wanted to get this out beforehand. Hope you like it, let me know if you want more.
"What ho, young sir! A most hearty congratulations on your victory!"
"Thanks," said Harry wearily, turning his back on the enthusiastic portrait of Sir Cadogan. "Lavender," he called, squinting to make her out in the gloom of the tower room, "find anything?"
"Nope," came her reply: she emerged from the dim jumble of poufs and broken teacups, battered books and torn scarves. "I think there must have been some kind of fighting going on up here, but nothing more than a scuffle…probably someone ran up to hide for a minute and then got chased back down."
"Nothing in the corridor either," echoed Charlie Weasley's voice from the bottom of the stairs. Harry sighed and kneaded the bridge of his nose with his knuckles. On the one hand, no bodies, no one to bring downstairs with a cold and heavy heart…on the other, yet another room destroyed in some anonymous battle. Six years at Hogwarts had not prepared him for just how many places there were to fight in—and potentially wreck—inside the castle. He, Lavender Brown, Charlie, and numerous other teams had been working since early that morning on a sweep of Hogwarts, grounds and castle and lake and anywhere else that might conceal the body or bodies of fallen fighters. So far, two corpses had been uncovered: Rodolphus Lestrange, his hefty bulk sprawled behind Hagrid's cabin, and Leanne, Katie Bell's friend, lying pale and ghostly on the far shore of the lake. Lestrange's body had been laid with the rest of the Death Eaters, down by the Slytherin common room door, but Leanne's had been carried back up to the Great Hall with the other victims of the battle. Katie's wail of grief and the sight of Leanne's parents, white-faced and blank with anguish, sat like stones in Harry's stomach, aching occasionally and pushing him to search room after room despite the exhaustion that was threatening to cut him down where he stood. Weariness was becoming his permanent state of being: he swam through it, viewing the world through a slight haze.
"So what are you thinking, Harry?" Charlie asked as he appeared a few steps below. Harry glanced back at Professor Trelawney's classroom. Trelawney herself was down in the Great Hall with everyone else, putting salve on Firenze's wounds (she'd become fiercely protective of the centaur ever since he'd reared up in front of her during the battle and kicked Travers in the head, deflecting the Killing Curse he'd been about to cast). It wasn't likely she'd need it to be orderly in the near future.
"I suppose we can leave it like this for now…although I guess it'll have to be put right eventually," he said, kicking aside a shard of porcelain. Lavender fingered her wand.
"I could give a try if you want, Harry…I've always been all right at cleaning spells, it was me that kept the girls' dormitory neat during the last couple terms. People leaving books all over the place," she added in a mutter, and Harry hid a smile as he imagined who exactly would have left her books lying around.
"Sure, Lavender, give it a try."
Lavender smirked and turned towards the dark jumble of debris. She gave her wand a sharp flick and whirled it twice around in the air: almost immediately, poufs began to roll upright, teacup pieces flew back together and stacked themselves primly on shelves, ripped pages rejoined book covers, smashed lamps became round and whole once again. The many little tables and cushions made a sound like wind rushing through leaves as they dragged themselves into a circular arrangement, and the room suddenly became marginally brighter when a small pink fire sprang up in the grate. Red scarves were draped around the little lamps and a strange perfume, heavy and cough-inducing, started to seep from the walls. When Lavender dropped her wand to her side, the room looked the same as it always had: cramped, dim, and mysterious. She turned, beaming, to Harry and Charlie, both of whom made earnest noises of appreciation that seemed to satisfy her greatly. Their work in the North Tower done, Harry and Lavender descended the silvery ladder (which Charlie had repaired from mere splinters a few minutes earlier) and began to make their way down the stairs.
"Fare thee well, gentles and lady! Return soon, bringing tales of still greater triumphs and the vanquishment of villains most vile!" Sir Cadogan roared after them as they came out at the bottom of the North Tower. Charlie snorted.
"Yeah, we'll return soon—soon as they sell you to a Muggle museum, you mental," he muttered. Lavender and Harry laughed, and for a moment the suffocating aura of solemnity that permeated the castle seemed to lift. Harry forgot that they were roaming Hogwarts in search of dead friends, that there were too many already discovered, that grief was so closely threaded with the relief and celebration of this final victory. As he made his way through the corridors of Hogwarts with Lavender and Charlie, sunlight streamed through broken windows and Harry allowed himself a second of enjoyment. Laughter was still possible. It might not feel right, or even natural, but it existed. It could be found again, so it didn't matter that it had been lost for a time.
They turned right and walked along a passageway strewn with rubble, great chunks missing from the ceiling and wall. Charlie grunted with frustration as another right turn revealed a pile of suits of armor blocking access to the corridor beyond. They were jumbled together in a hodge-podge of visors and breastplates, clanking feebly and scraping against the marble floors.
"Through here," Harry said, pulling up a tapestry of Olaf the Ostentatious, a wizard in spangled robes who blinked curiously at Harry as he was swept aside. Lavender and Charlie followed Harry down through the hidden shortcut that led down to a fourth-floor landing. He tramped along dazedly, going through a mental catalogue of places to search next. Perhaps the Charms corridor…or maybe the third-floor hallway that had once held an enormous three-headed dog…or what about—
Harry was so preoccupied with his thoughts that, when he reached the end of the passage and pulled back the other tapestry that concealed the exit, he didn't see Ron and Hermione until he'd nearly walked right into them.
They were standing on the landing, wrapped so closely around each other that the folds of their robes made it hard to tell where one started and the other began. Hermione's arms were locked around Ron's neck and Ron was holding Hermione tightly about the waist, one hand pulling her against him and the other cupping the back of her head through her mass of bushy brown hair. Their eyes were closed and they were kissing—but it was not the kind of urgent, breathless kiss that Harry had seen them share in the Room of Requirement. This kiss was slow and deep and tender, and even as Harry stared at the oblivious pair, his brain not quite caught up with his eyes, a thought flickered somewhere inside: he had never seen this particular pure, blissful look of peace on either of their faces before, not in seven years of friendship. Something totally unfamiliar and wonderful had come over the two people he was closest to in the world, something that he was not a part of. And strangely, Harry realized as he finally came to terms with what he was seeing, that was all right with him.
Ron and Hermione were so involved with each other that, had Harry replaced the tapestry quickly enough, they might not even have noticed the intrusion. But Lavender and Charlie suddenly appeared at Harry's shoulders, and the urge to drop the tapestry and pretend that this way was also blocked became moot. Lavender made a sound reminiscent of a cat getting run over; Harry jumped and Ron and Hermione split apart, both of them turning dazedly towards the source of the noise. A horrible moment of silence followed as five pairs of eyes jumped around manically, each person trying to stare at everyone else without actually making eye contact.
"Oh…um…" Hermione stuttered uncertainly, letting go of Ron and taking a step back. She was unable to keep from glancing at Lavender, who seemed to be attempting murder through pure mental power. Charlie was biting his lip to keep from smiling and gazing pointedly at a spot of air about two feet from the ground. Ron, however, ignored both his ex-girlfriend and his brother: his face was set as he reached out and pulled Hermione back towards him, sliding an arm around her waist to prevent her from edging out of Lavender's range.
"Hey, Harry," he said in an unnaturally jovial voice. It was as though Ron was wearing blinders that kept him looking only at Harry and blocked out Charlie's smirk and Lavender's rage. His face was rigidly casual, but he couldn't stop his ears from turning a bright crimson. "Just got back from the North Tower, did you?"
"Er…yeah. Didn't find anything," Harry replied, trying not to watch Hermione shrink from the ire radiating from Lavender. "You?"
"Nah, the Astronomy Tower was empty too. Pretty banged up, but nothing serious." Ron cleared his throat and made a show of craning his neck to look at the sun through one of the few windows that was intact. "It's getting on a bit—we were just heading back to the Great Hall to get something to eat before checking out the dungeons. I don't fancy going there anyways, but…well, I don't want to handle that on an empty stomach."
"Good idea," said Charlie heartily. "We'll come with." He strode past Ron and Hermione down the stairs, unable to resist ruffling Ron's hair as he went by. Ron ducked and grimaced at his brother's back; Harry took the opportunity to usher Lavender across the landing after Charlie. She shots daggers at Hermione with her eyes all the way, only ceasing the attack when the turn of the stairs blocked her view. As she vanished around the bend, a sudden breeze seemed to waft through the air and all three of them relaxed. Ron let go of Hermione, who laughed weakly and leaned against the railing on the landing, her hair falling in her face. Harry shot Ron a look and the two of them grinned ruefully.
"So…see you both downstairs," Harry said, starting down the first few steps. Hermione stood up and shook her hair back, the blush still fading from her cheeks.
"All right, then," she said with a small smile. Behind her, Ron arched an eyebrow in a similarly grateful gesture. Harry raised a hand in farewell and headed down the stairs, laughing slightly to himself. The days of walking to classes in the midst of a storm of bickering, of keeping his head down as the two of them threw insults at each other, of four arguments before dinner and stinging comments dropped like hail, all seemed very far away suddenly.
Despite Ron's claim that they were on their way to the Great Hall, it was another half hour before Harry spotted them walking through the blast-pockmarked archway into the vast room. Hermione had tied her hair back: it revealed her face, pale and smiling in the noonday sun that filtered in through the windows and down from the enchanted ceiling. Ron sported a look of suppressed joy that Harry, having known him so well and for so long, could easily distinguish when others could not. For a moment, it seemed to light Ron up from the inside out, and he shone like a candle in the darkness.
Then his eyes fell on his mother, who was sitting with bowed head between Charlie and Percy at one of the long House tables, and the radiant expression slid away from him. Harry watched as Hermione noticed the change and squeezed Ron's hand at his side; he returned the gesture and then pulled away from her, moving towards the concentration of red hair at the table.
With a sigh, Harry turned back to his food. Kreacher had made him a bowl of French onion soup and some good rye bread: it was warm and filling and wiped some of bleariness from his eyes. The house-elf was down in the kitchens now, sleeping with the rest of his kind. Harry had told him to take as much time to rest as he needed, and to make sure he got something to eat himself before doing any more work. Kreacher's tennis-ball eyes had swum with grateful tears at these orders: it reminded Harry forcibly of Dobby, and he had turned away a little too quickly.
A strangled cry rang through the low clamor of the Great Hall, and Harry looked up again to see a tall black woman with her hair in two lopsided bunches running into the Great Hall, followed by three young girls who were obviously her daughters. They pelted across the floor, paying no heed to any of the numerous people who hurriedly jumped out of their way, and converged upon Dean Thomas, who had half-risen from his chair at the sight of them. The woman who appeared to be Dean's mother threw her arms around his shoulders, and the three girls grabbed hold of as much of him as they could. Dean tried to embrace them all at once, tears already making their way down his cheeks. Harry's chest ached a little as he watched them cry together, one more family reunited amidst the many that had been ripped apart.
"Slughorn went and got them," said someone behind him. He turned to see Ginny, her red hair falling around her face and her wand tucked atop her ear in a very Luna-esque fashion. Harry nodded and held out his hand: she took it and sat beside him, brushing his hair back from his eyes with concern. "You look awful…have you slept at all?"
"I'm fine. Dean's mum and sisters, you mean?" he said, bluntly evading her question. Ginny pursed her lips, looking more like Mrs. Weasley than ever.
"Harry, you need to—" she began, but he cut her off.
"Gin, please, just drop it for the moment. I'll sleep soon, I swear," he added with a small smile, his eyes pleading for her to give him this small favor. After hesitating reluctantly, Ginny nodded and touched his jaw, her fingers traveling across the rough five o'clock shadow.
"Yeah, he went into London for them a little while ago," she said quietly. "Must have brought them by Side-Along Apparition. He fetched Seamus' mum and Terry's aunt and uncle earlier this morning…and Michael's parents," she added in a dead voice. Harry felt that involuntary twinge of grief beneath his collarbone: Michael Corner was among the dead that lay at the foot of the far wall. No one knew how he had died, though from the marks on his skin Harry suspected that Bellatrix was to blame.
It was unbelievable, the rush and fall of things. One moment he felt hope surging through him as Dean's family crowded into the castle to reclaim their son and brother, and the next his stomach seemed to dissolve acidly inside him when he thought of Michael, who had lasted through the year of torture and pain without even considering surrender, finally falling alone and unnoticed as so many others had. Without saying anything else, Ginny reached out and pulled him close: he closed his eyes and let his head rest in the curve of her neck, the faintest flowery scent of her hair calming him as no lullaby or kind word could have.
Harry didn't know how long he and Ginny sat embracing at the table, but it was much too soon that he felt a gentle tap on the shoulder and heard a throat cleared beside him. With considerable effort, he pulled back and saw Hermione looking down at him, her hair loose again and dark shadows visible beneath her eyes.
"I'm so sorry, Harry, Ginny…but your mum needs you, I think," she said apologetically. Harry looked with Ginny down the length of the hall at the knot of Weasleys, where Mr. Weasley and Bill had joined their brothers and mother. All five of the red-haired men were bent low around Mrs. Weasley, who had her head in her hands and seemed to be shaking violently. As Harry watched, his stomach already burning, Ron lowered his lips to Mrs. Weasley's hair and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, while Percy spoke quietly to her and Bill rubbed her lower back. Mr. Weasley and Charlie stood with their hands on each other's shoulders: Mr. Weasley looked miserably down at his wife and sons, while Charlie was gazing back and forth across the Hall. Harry saw his gaze land on Ginny.
With a sound somewhere between a whimper and sigh, Ginny stood and made her way over to her family. Mr. Weasley hugged her with his free arm when she reached him, and Percy reached up to take her hand. The only one missing from the huddle was George, but that was not surprising: Harry had seen him only once in the last twenty-four hours, making his way out across the grounds towards the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He suspected that the Forest, the only place at Hogwarts that the twins had never ventured into, offered George the rare opportunity of a setting that did not constantly remind him of his brother. Harry couldn't blame George for wanting, even in vain, to escape the stabbing grief, the horrible burning that seemed to freeze and scorch every part of the body at the same time. If some chance had appeared for him to wander off and let his mind go numb for a few hours, he would have taken it in a heartbeat.
"Harry?" Hermione spoke timidly, as though frightened of spooking him. He looked up at her familiar face and saw with a jarring clarity the same exhaustion he felt in his own bones. Without thinking, he grasped her arm firmly and pulled her down onto Ginny's empty seat. She let him steer her onto the bench, her eyes fixed on his. "Harry, do you need…some time? To yourself?"
"If that's your way of telling me to go to sleep, Ginny beat you to it—and besides, you should take your own advice," he said with a raised eyebrow. Hermione snorted.
"Actually, it's my way of asking if you need time to yourself. You're…well, you're not looking your best," she said wryly. Harry laughed before he could stop himself.
"What a shock." He caught her smiling and for a moment, that flash of good feeling seemed to warm the air and turn the sunlight a little brighter. Then the group of red-headed mourners swam into view over Hermione's shoulder, and a leaden weight settled beneath his ribs. Hermione, catching his change in expression, glanced behind her and wilted slightly when she saw what he was looking at.
"Molly's been crying all day. I think she would have hated herself if she hadn't—done what she did, but right now it's making everything worse, and George has been gone for so long…It's hell for Arthur and all the rest of them too. Ron keeps going all strange and blank, and I know it's when he's thinking about Fred, but the rest of the time he's either pretending everything's fine or he's just kind of vague and serious and he doesn't hear when people say things to him. I want to help him, but I…I'm not sure I know how, really…" Her voice trailed off suddenly, and when she turned back to Harry he saw a blush creeping across her cheeks. "Harry…about earlier…"
"You don't have to say anything," Harry said quickly, hoping to spare her any garbled explanation. But Hermione shook her head and looked him in the eyes, the blush still glowing slowly.
"You understand…I mean, you don't have to feel bad that you—walked in like that. Well, maybe it would have been better if Lavender hadn't been there," she amended with a small smile. Harry rolled his eyes and nodded.
"You think?"
"Yes, somehow I do…but really, Harry, we shouldn't have been—in the middle of the stairs, anyway, it was—"
Harry cut her off. "Hermione, it's all right. It is. I mean, if people don't need each other now, when will they?" His words seemed to echo in his own head, and suddenly the Great Hall felt much too big and much too small at the same time. Harry rubbed his eyes, which itched with the need for sleep, and looked skyward. The sunlight had softened from noon glare, and shimmered in the air like a haze of gold.
"Sometimes…everything gets a little too painful to be alone with…and you need someone very much," he heard Hermione say softly. Returning his gaze to her, Harry saw a shadow of something that recalled weeks spent not talking in a small canvas tent, missing more than one person terribly and staggering under the weight of the world. Impulsively, he reached out and brushed his fingers through her hair, much as she had done that night on the hill, countless hours ago. Hermione smiled and grasped his hand tightly. "Thank you for understanding, Harry," she said softly.
"No problem," he answered, returning the pressure on his fingers. "You and Ron…the both of you…if there's anyone I want to be happy right now, it's you. I couldn't have done anything, any of it without the pair of you—"
"Give it a rest, Harry, or we'll start to think you like having us around," said Ron as he walked up to them, his lanky arms swinging at his side. Harry grinned and stood, pulling Hermione to her feet and grasping Ron's shoulder. With a hand on either one of them, steady and warm and living, Harry felt his world stabilize momentarily beneath his feet.
"All right, mate?" he asked Ron, who shrugged a little too quickly.
"Sure, sure…I saw Dean's mum and sisters showed up, that's brilliant," Ron said heartily, his eyes bright. Hermione glanced quickly at Harry and laced the fingers of her free hand with Ron's. He jumped at the touch, then turned to Hermione, tension draining from his shoulders and face. They gazed into each other's eyes, and Harry saw clearly his cue to depart as Hermione's hand slid out of his and Ron moved closer to her so that their sides pressed together.
"I'll see you both around," he said quickly, and turned to leave without checking whether or not they had reacted to his farewell (he was sure they hadn't). The Great Hall unfolded before him, people weaving back and forth in bustling patterns. The sunlight showered down on them, illuminating familiar faces wherever he turned: Luna soothing a small boy who Harry thought might be Parvati and Padma Patil's younger brother; Neville talking seriously to Professor McGonagall, her arm in a sling and his scars more numerous than ever; Hagrid sitting in the corner like a small bushy-haired hill as he helped Professor Trelawney splint Firenze's leg. Everywhere he saw people he loved and cared for, people who would gladly give him all the company he could want.
And yet, as he watched them go about their business, working to slowly begin the healing of this last, most painful wound, Harry thought that Hermione might be right after all. The blue sky above was beckoning, and it was likely that a functioning broom existed somewhere around the castle. Leaving himself behind for even a little while, feeling the pull of the wind against his face and a swooping instead of a burning in his stomach…and flying, as another Seeker once had, out over the green grounds and above the castle that would never be like any other place to him, the castle that was his home.
A little time to himself was exactly what Harry needed.