This will be a short two-shot about Harry two weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts. Mostly Harry angst, but if you squint, there's a tiny bit of Harry/Ginny and Ron/Hermione in the next chapter. The title and bolded lyrics are taken from Ministry of Magic's song A Phoenix Lament. Co-written with Outlaw's Daughter.
Thanks for reading and please review!
I'm tired and thin, haven't slept since the war
I'm a mess of wounded skin, like a wine sack that's been torn
Thirteen days had passed since the battle. Eleven since the Weasleys, with Harry and Hermione, had returned to the Burrow. Not that they really spent much time there. Every day, Mr. Weasley and Percy had gone in to the Ministry to help purge every remnant of Voldemort's regime, often not returning until late at night. Harry, Hermione, Ron, Charlie, Bill, and Fleur had joined the clean-up and rebuilding effort at Hogwarts, spending their days repairing the damage done to the castle and grounds. Ginny had wanted to go with them, but after a huge row with Mrs. Weasley where the latter ended up in tears, Ginny knew her mother needed her. George also remained at the Burrow, and kept mostly to his old room.
Harry threw himself entirely into the work, reveling in the simplicity. There was no room to think, to interpret. It was just move this or fix that. Nothing more.
Currently, he was repairing a section of the outside wall in the dark. Everyone but McGonagall had gone for the day. Ron and Hermione had left around sunset; they had lingered in the Entrance Hall, clearly waiting for Harry, but he had told them to go on without him. That had been three hours ago, and those had been the only words he had spoken all day.
He heard someone behind him and turned his head a little to see Professor McGonagall approaching. She stopped next to him and sighed as she examined the section of wall that Harry had been working on.
"Harry," the name still sounded unfamiliar from McGonagall's lips, "Harry, everyone else has gone. Go home. And take a day to rest; you look like death."
"I can't," Harry said dully, his voice rough from lack of use. His work at Hogwarts was consuming his life. He knew it, and he couldn't find it in himself to care.
Professor McGonagall's eyes narrowed slightly. "Harry, I think we can manage without you for one day."
"Professor—"
"Potter, don't make me order you to stay away," she said sharply. She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Go home. Rest."
Harry could not muster the strength to argue, so he turned and left. He entered the empty Staff Room, where helpers had been using the fire there to Floo to and from Hogwarts every day. He threw a handful of glittering powder on the fire and stepped into it, saying, "The Burrow."
It was late when Harry arrived in the sitting room fireplace, and the house was quiet, but he could see a light on in the kitchen. Not really in the mood to talk to anyone, he was about to continue up the stairs when he heard his name.
"I'm worried about Harry." It was Mrs. Weasley's voice. "He's so pale and quiet—quieter than usual."
"He seemed fine for a couple of days, but now…" Ginny's voice.
For a few seconds, the only sound coming from the kitchen was quiet clinking of dishes. Then Hermione spoke. "I don't think he eats much anymore, and Ron—Ron, you said you don't think he's really sleeping a whole lot either."
Without realizing it, Harry had been moving towards the kitchen door. His trainer scuffed against the floor, and the four seated at the kitchen table looked up. Guilt and embarrassment washed over their faces at the sight of him. For a moment, the room seemed frozen, and Harry said nothing, not sure if he wanted to agree with or deny their assumptions.
"Harry, dear, you're home." Mrs. Weasley broke the silence and stepped towards him, pulling him into a motherly embrace. "We've kept a cup warm for you."
Over her shoulder, Harry watched the other three, who met his gaze with pity in their eyes. He pulled away. Suddenly, the last thing he wanted to do right then was sit and have a cup of tea in that kitchen. "Thanks, Mrs. Weasley, but I'm tired. I really just want to go to bed."
"Oh, of course. Good night, dear."
The other three echoed her, but Harry was already halfway to the stairs.
In the sacred space, behind the lids of my eyes
Mad-Eye darkly holds my gaze
And I can still see Frederick's laughing face
Cedric, Sirius, Dumbledore, Mad-Eye, Dobby, Fred, Lupin, Tonks, Colin, Snape…
Harry stared blankly at the dark ceiling. Every night he saw their faces, and he couldn't escape it. One after the other in an endless cycle, they paraded across his vision; people he admired, people he loved, all staring up at him with empty eyes. Their voices, however, were not empty. They accused him constantly.
It's your fault, Cedric says, he killed me, but you lived. I am dead, but you get to marry, and have children, and grow old…
It's your fault, Lupin says, because of you, my son has no father and no mother…
It's your fault, Snape says, if only you were stronger, smarter, you could have saved us…
It's your fault…it's your fault…it's your fault…it's your fault…it's your fault…
He couldn't escape it, and he wasn't sure anymore if he even wanted to. It wasn't like after Sirius's death, when he had wanted to rip out his heart from the pain of feeling. No, this was more draining, as if his heart had already stopped beating and was just waiting for his body to realize it.
Outside the room, he heard footsteps on the stairs and knew that Ron was coming up. Harry turned on his side, away from the door, and clenched his eyes shut. Hopefully Ron would think he was asleep. The door opened and closed softly, and Harry heard Ron hesitate in the middle of the room, between the two beds.
"Harry?" Ron questioned cautiously. Harry made no indication that he'd heard his friend. After a moment, Ron's bed creaked, and a soft thump told him that Ron had given up and lain down. Harry waited until he heard Ron's snores before rolling onto his back again. Eyes open wide, the procession began anew…
Cedric, Sirius, Dumbledore, Mad-Eye, Dobby, Fred, Lupin, Tonks, Colin, Snape…