Rated: PG
Disclaimer: Standard: Harry Potter et al are the creation of JK Rowland, not me.
xxx
It was late in December; the sky turned to snow. A lone wizard stood on the platform at Hogsmeade Station, waiting for the train back to London.
This wasn't an express, jammed full of students and no stopping between. This was a slow train, with only a handful of cars and a dozen stops between the border and King's Cross, and Harry was glad of that. He'd left London two days ago; he'd done it before. This was one of those times when he needed to get away from Ron and Hermione and what seemed to be the entire wizarding world's concern for his well-being. It was sincere, of course, and they meant well, of course, but they never really understood...
As he boarded the train, Harry brushed the snow out of his disorderly hair that was going salt-and-pepper even though he was barely thirty. He looked in the compartments for one that was empty; halfway up the train, he looked inside one compartmentand saw two people were waiting for him, as he knew they would be; the two people who cared enough about him to find him...
The man spoke first: "Cripes, Harry, you look like a troll with a head-cold."
"Feel like one, too," Harry smiled as he rubbed his eyes behind his glasses. "Don't think I've slept in two days," he muttered; "just don't want to. Afraid of what will happen, I guess."
"So how is it when you're awake?"
He thought for a minute, watching the Scottish countryside slide past. "You know, there was a time when I would have said 'No better' or 'No worse;' now I have to say 'No difference.'"
"Is this about the Veil?" the woman asked.
Harry nodded. "Nobody ever told me how it would affect me."
"Nobody knew. Who else has been through it, come back again and then talked about it?"
"Maybe there've been others, and I can see why they don't talk," Harry said, looking at the couple sitting across from them. They were a couple in every sense of that word. After all this time together, they were even looking like each other now. In any event, he was less devil-may-care than when he was in school, and she was far less earnest. They had each other to thank. Love's Transfiguration, Harry had once called it...
"Harry, if you'd rather not talk..."
"No, I'm sure I will. Not much else to do on a long trip like this. Just don't mind me if I sleep a bit, all right?"
Harry looked out the window at the scenery for about thirty seconds, then looked down at his hands. He studied them for a minute, as if they really belonged to someone else and had somehow gotten grafted onto his arms by mistake. His companions sat silently, waiting.
Finally Harry spoke. "I suppose they knew right away that I'd slipped off."
"St. Mungo's wouldn't be worth much if they didn't know."
"It's almost as if they want me to slip out."
The woman leaned forward. "They really are doing their best for you, Harry; you have to believe that."
"I don't think they know what to do with me most of the time. I only run off to see people, you know; different faces. If I stay on the ward, it's just the same old mediwizards and patients."
"Surely you get visitors?"
Harry snorted, but half-heartedly. "Half of my friends from Hogwarts were killed in the war. And what have I done since then? The Ministry won't offer me a job. I tried out for three Quidditch teams needing a good Seeker, and they all said no."
"Did they tell you why?"
Harry shook his head. "They all talked around the subject, but it was in their eyes. They were afraid I'd lose it in the middle of a match, ignoring wizards who are there and talking to wizards who aren't." Harry allowed himself a slight grin. "Except I bumped into Luna Lovegood last week, and she said that wasn't it at all. 'They're not worried about paying you what you're worth,' she says, 'because they know attendance will climb. People want to come out to see the famous Harry Potter. No, the real reason they want to keep you out of Quidditch is because they're afraid you'll reveal the racket.'"
"What racket?" the woman asked, as her companion rolled his eyes.
"To hear Luna tell it, Quidditch is all about drug trafficking. The teams all carry Quaffles full of some very addictive form of pipeweed: it's from a plant with blood instead of sap, or something like that. Only a few people know about it, of course, and Madam Sprout is one, but she keeps the plant hidden in Greenhouse Four with the other carnivores..." Harry stopped, realizing that his companions were now staring openly at him. "I'm running off at the mouth again, right?" he grinned sheepishly.
"Not to be too terribly obvious," the man said to Harry, "but that's why you need friends."
"But that's why I leave; to look for themfor someone. That's why I came up to Hogsmeade. I just wanted to see someone I knew."
"No luck, then?"
"I never made it into Hogsmeade proper. I just went to the Three Broomsticks." Harry paused. "And I saw her."
"Harry, you know you didn't..."
"I tell you, I was standing at the bar, waiting for my order, when I turn to where a bunch of students are talking and laughing, not even noticing me, and there she is. She looks at me, she smiles, she walks toward me..." Harry stopped, took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.
"Harry," the woman said softly, "you're telling us you saw Cho Chang again? You know she's dead."
"Oh, I knew that as soon as the girl opened her mouth; had a Liverpool accent so thick I could hardly understand her. And she didn't look a thing like Cho when she started speaking. But when I first saw her..."
"You still care about her, then?"
"Look, I know thatIt's bloody immodest to say so, but there have been lots of girls after the war, and during it, for that matter, who wanted to get next to me, tell me what they thought of me. But Cho..." Harry took a deep breath. "She was my first kiss. She was the first one ever to say she liked me. And she did it when it wasn't an easy or popular thing. She supported me in the Tournament when the rest of the school thought I'd cheated to get my name in; they were all backing Cedric." Harry had to pause. "Funny how that one worked out, eh? She ends up with Cedric anyway, then he dies, and then she dies."
"Look, Harry," the man opposite him said, "why can't you let that be the end of it? Looking for her will do no good."
"But it will," Harry interrupted, "because I understand now. I understand why she kept pining for Cedric for a year after he died. There were so many things that she never got a chance to say to him, things she wanted to ask. And I'm afraid I wasn't much help to her back then."
"Well, eventually, you ..."
"That was Sixth Year. Could we not talk about that one, please? So many awful things happened."
"Fine; talk or don't talk, it's all one." The compartment fell silent.
"The cart will be around soon," the woman suggested a minute later. "Harry, you really should eat something."
"You don't have to look out after me, you know," Harry smiled.
She smiled back. "A bad habit that's lasted for years. I don't have to do it, but I do it anyway."
Harry turned to the man. "Can't you talk to her about it? She won't listen to me."
"Now you know how I feel," the man smiled back.
"Suit yourselves, then," the woman chuckled. "I just can't help loving the two of you."
"I'm glad of that..." Harry couldn't continue speaking; something caught in his throat. He hurriedly turned away from the gaze of his two companions. When he turned back to look at them a minute later, there were tears in his eyes.
"The war again, Harry?" the woman asked.
Harry nodded, and said barely above a whisper, "And Cho." He swallowed and took another minute to compose himself. "Why was I so thick in Fifth Year? I wanted to comfort her, I wanted her to like me, and when she did, I ended up saying and doing all the wrong things."
The man across from Harry nodded. "Fifth Year and thick seem to go together. Did you ever think that maybe she was the thick one in her Fifth Year, hooking up with Diggory?"
Harry shook his head, sighing. "No, I could see where she was coming from. He was good-looking; all the girls thought so, anyway. And what with the dance and the Second Task, she saw him as a knight in shining armour. I never stood a chance."
"Something else you had in common, then," the man said; "you both had your hearts broken."
"But she never meant to hurt me; she said so!"
"When, during Sixth Year?" The woman watched as Harry shook his head. "You mean after?"
"Now, don't start in..." the man started.
It was too late; the woman was already on her feet pacing the narrow confines of the compartment. "I hate it! I hate what that damned Veil is doing to you! It's eating you up a little bit at a time, and, I'm sorry, Harry, but I'm afraid I'll look up one day and you'll just begone."
"Don't worry," Harry smiled, although there seemed to be a bitter edge to his smile. "The finest minds in the wizarding world are trying to put me right."
"Well, I really hope they sort you out soon," the man said. "How many of these mystery tours do you expect to take?"
"As many as I have to, I suppose," Harry sighed. "Until I find what I'm looking for."
"Here's King's Cross," the woman interrupted.
As the train pulled into the station, they looked out the window. Harry immediately saw two people waiting for him on the platform: a tall, red-haired man and a curly-haired woman, each holding a wriggling red-headed baby.
"How are Ron and Hermione getting on, then?" the man asked.
"Well, it's not easy raising the kids, and both of them working for the Ministry. But they couldn't be torn apart with a Disruption spell now." Harry rose and put on his coat. "In spite of the bickering, sometimes it hurts to see how much they love each other."
"You'll find that kind of love someday," the man said; "I know it."
"Hope so," Harry said quietly.
"Well, go down to them before they barge in here with wands drawn."
"Will you two be all right?"
"Oh, we can take care of ourselves. It's you we're worried about."
"I'll be fine. I guess."
"You sure?"
"Yes, dad, I'm sure."
The woman sighed. "Please take better care of yourself."
"Alright, mum. I'll see you two, well, around."
Harry Potter opened the door and walked out of an empty compartment.