Well I've been afraid of changing, 'cause I've built my life around you …
Landslide – Fleetwood Mac
Harry woke very suddenly on the last day of June with a horrible aching in his stomach. He sat up and pulled aside the crimson hangings, fighting the thoughts that were bursting into his mind. The faint gold light filtering in through the window told him that it was still early; the four other boys in the room were fast asleep.
The dormitory looked just as it had for the last six years. The debris of two months' residence was scattered across the floor, lone socks and sweet wrappers and crumped pieces of parchment; it was as if they'd never left.
Stop it, Harry told himself furiously, blinking hard. He scrambled out of bed and tiptoed over to the window, now burning in the morning sun. The sky was a clear, pale blue; it was going to be another glorious summer's day. The lawn and forest looked perfectly … normal. There was no clue that bodies had littered that lawn weeks before, or that Harry himself had been carried out of that forest …
It was the first time in the past two months that Harry had stopped to look, and a sudden thought struck him, one that made him feel distinctly queasy. Quickly, and as silently as he could, he dressed and headed down the stairs, tripping over his shoelaces in his haste. He did not stop running, through the common room, along the corridor, down the stairs, until he reached the Entrance Hall and burst through the mercifully unlocked front doors.
He turned, and faced the castle, and felt the breath he had barely begun to get back catch in his chest.
Hogwarts was fixed. It was fine. It looked no different from the very first time Harry had seen it, at night, seven years ago. The combined efforts of the teachers, students, past and present, and people who just wanted to help, had returned the school to its untainted condition, as it had been before Voldemort and his servants had broken it down.
It was so amazing to see that it had been repaired, and yet Harry felt a surge of grief as he sat down on the stone steps, his head spinning. It was the last day of term, or what would have been, had school still been in session, and now the castle was repaired, there was no reason to stay.
A year ago, though, had he not thought that this was the end, that he might never return to Hogwarts? He had just not expected, he supposed, to be given a second chance, a chance to return unencumbered by the threat of Voldemort and the Horcruxes. This was so much harder because he didn't have to leave, nothing was forcing him out. He could go home for the summer and come back in September with Hermione and Ginny and have his seventh year as it should have been.
He could go home …
This was home. He had realised that, hadn't he, as he had walked to his death? And he realised, now, that it wouldn't be the same. He had done his time at Hogwarts, and he had cut the cord, gone out into the world. Now he could linger, stay for a while, but it would never be the same, and it wouldn't feel right. He wasn't a schoolboy any more. He had other things, responsibilities, ties, calling him. To go back to lessons and homework and Quidditch games seemed … wrong. Like he was postponing reality.
And yet there it was, that knife in his stomach, the prickling in his nose, the burning in his eyes, for the home he had loved, the overwhelming need to never, ever leave …
With a gasp, he succumbed to the hotness in his eyes, and as the tears flooded down his face, he let himself be taken away to memories, memories of better times, of his childhood; of late night homework attempts with Ron, Hermione tutting disapprovingly, of the adrenaline of a Quidditch match – of the first time he ever flew, the pounding in his ears and wind in his air; of dinner in the Great Hall and Dumbledore's calming presence, of a troll in the dungeon, a new friend, of kisses by the lake, of laughter and happiness …
"Harry?"
Footsteps. Pulling himself back to the present, Harry swiped his face with his sleeve, as Hermione and Ron came down the steps and sat down either side of him.
"Just remembering," he said thickly, staring ahead.
Neither of them said anything, and he was grateful. The three of them were silent for a while, and Harry felt a surge of gratitude for them, for all of them, that they were alive and well and that they had shared such good times here. Hermione would be coming back, as Harry had known she would, but he and Ron were going onto greater things, to put their stamp on the world, to be the changes the world needed.
It didn't matter, he realised. It didn't matter that he was leaving now; he didn't have to say goodbye, because Hogwarts would always be there, for his children, perhaps, and their children, and for himself, if he ever needed to remind himself of his first home.
OK, this may not be very good, I don't think it is, but I just … I spent yesterday watching the premiere of Deathly Hallows Part 2 and absolutely sobbing because it just hit me so hard. Jo's speech was just … every time I think of the words 'Hogwarts will always be there to welcome you home', I just lose it again. And I felt the need to just … write something! I love Harry Potter so very much, it's been a part of my life since I could read – it is my childhood, something to turn to when I'm happy, sad, whatever. A week today, it will be over on paper, but it will never, ever end for people like me, and for everyone else who found friends in Harry, Ron and Hermione and laughed and loved with them.
Sorry if that was horribly soppy. I'm very emotional right now.