Seven Misfortunes and Eight Pains
"The virtues we acquire, which develop slowly within us, are the invisible links that bind each one of our existences to the others - existences which the spirit alone remembers, for Matter has no memory for spiritual things."
Prologue
The few years after the War were riddled with his mistakes, Harry reflected.
His first being that, when presented with a choice to hide in the shadows, he took it. He probably shouldn't have- not when it all was still so fresh and there was so much to do- but he was so tired of it all already- tired of all the people looking to him for guidance, like he was the second coming of Jesus or something, like he was the second Dumbledore, a wise old wizard with enough experience to provide a sound advice.
He wasn't. He was seventeen, not even a proper graduate, and he was so fucking tired of being the one in charge, and in no way he will be taking charge again, or holding their hands to make them do something.
He loved Ginny. And he was sure she loved him- but War changes people. It changed him, and it changed her, and so when he found her in the embrace of Neville (who had paled the moment he came closer for the formerly round boy to notice him), she looked at him evenly, in silence. Harry hold her gaze for a very long time- searching for any sign of this being part of some bigger scheme. He hadn't found any. Harry relaxed noticeably after that and smiled gently. It wasn't a happy smile exactly- worn and sad, but content. Glad.
He could tell that she was surprised (it was fleeting however, that's how deep their understanding of each other ran). She probably expected him to make scene. But that Harry was gone- he faded into the past, none of the anger he held present. His heart was both burdened but light at the same time. Had things gone differently, he would have probably married her. They would have lived in nice house, they would have children and normal jobs. He loved her and she loved him- it was that kind of a love that stays in you forever, hidden securely in the corner of your heart, remembered with slight bit of pain, but always in fondness.
It didn't mean they were over. It didn't mean they would meet in shifty locations, act on needs, and cheat on their future spouses.
It was a peaceful resignation with that fact that they would spend the rest of their lives loving each other, but being unable to be together. Ginny allowed her heart to love another despite all that- and Harry was glad, as Neville was a good guy- a good man, and that was important.
She smiled back- the exact small sad smile he gave her and nodded. Harry nodded back, before gripping Neville's shoulder in friendly way, and completely supporting, making him relax. He was confused what just happened. It was understandable. But he was a good man.
And that was enough for Harry.
-7-
He found Ron and Hermione on the way to the tower. They were still holding hands and quietly talking, both looking up when he came near them. They must have seen something in his eyes as they hesitated, before- without and word- they took his hands, all three of them creating a circle. But after all they've been through, words weren't really needed.
Later Ron told him, when Hermione went to bed and they both nursed a glass of firewhiskey (to make a tribute to all friends lost) that both of his friends decided that relationship between them was a no-no. He gave quite the glare to the dark-haired male when he started protesting, making Harry grin uneasily.
"It's similar to you and Ginny I think," the redhead rumbled, still glaring, making sure Harry was keeping his mouth shut "Just.. It wouldn't work out. ..The kiss was nice though," he finally said with similar grin and Harry had to laugh, because that was just Ron, through and through. Comfortable silence settled between the two of them after that, with the 'boy-who-lived' humming softly as he swirled the drink in his glass. The atmosphere was light, despite the grief that dug claws into their shoulders, explaining their position- both of them hunched over, looking like two tired old men.
"I'll be going back for the NEWTs," Ron said suddenly, but Harry wasn't surprised. He figured that Ron wouldn't like joining the Auror training, not after the battle took away so much from him. So he just nodded, keeping silent. There was more to be said after all. "...I want to try for healing, maybe," his friend continued, a bit of hesitancy creeping into his voice.
"There aren't enough healers," Harry agreed softly, after giving one surprised blink. And that was that. Ron nodded in satisfaction, and leaned back, looking surer than before. Harry was glad for him. They drank their glasses in silent once again.
"...Hermione won't work with the ministry," Harry stated, humming as he reached for the bottle.
"She won't, no."
"I reckon she is tired of being the 'brain'."
"Spot on." Harry nodded again, bringing his refilled glass to his lips and taking a sip. The firewhiskey burned, but it was a pleasant burn. He will sleep without dreams tonight, probably. Leaning back just like Ron, he pondered quietly on his female friend. Harry had a temper- one that was like a volcano, erupting and burning. Ron's was a constant fire. Feed it and it will grow bigger, let it and it will cool down. Hermione... Hermione's was the ocean. Calm at first sight, deadly when closer. And just like the ocean, there was a deep darkness- and Hermione never forgets, and never forgives.
Both Harry and Ron are quite content to set their weapons down (for now, as they were warriors in heart) and enjoy the little peace they could. Hermione wasn't like that.
"She will hunt the rest," said Ron, probably knowing what Harry was thinking about "I offered to help but- well, you know," he shrugged uneasily, looking like always when he tried to get Hermione to stop studying and relax- and always failing. And Harry did know. Just like both Ron and he knew why Hermione choose this option, the girl- now a young woman- knew what they needed. Harry spent far too long looking over his shoulder and Ron is a protector- not a hunter.
"She will need a healer most definitely, every time she returns," he hummed again, placing the glass on the table. He had no illusion that this will be a brief thing. It will take months, maybe years- and, honestly? Harry doubted that all three of them will trust a stranger with their wellbeing, especially after the War. With no doubt, all of them being hauled as heroes (and he could already hear the whispers, making his blood boil and leaving taste of distaste on his tongue), the number of enemies they will have will increase.
"Bloody hell, better getting started early," Ron groaned and covered his face with a dirty hand. They all looked like they ran through the hell and then jumped in a swamp- and smelled just like that too. But shower was not important right now. Harry knew that the redhead understood. So he granted his friend an even look when Ron turned to him with slight frown.
"You are going away," he accused, and Harry inclined his head slightly.
"Yes."Ron frowned, but it wasn't angry, just thoughtful.
"But you are staying." Harry nodded again.
"Of course."
He watched his friend calmly as Ron grumbled, scowling as he racked his brains, trying to solve this puzzle Harry presented. When his eyes widened a tad bit, the last Potter smiled in amusement, the expression turning to faint grin when the redhead turned his eyes on him.
"The Un-?"
"Yes." Ron was now looking at him in slight wonder. To be honest, Harry felt the same, still, even after the brief contact he had with that man. His friend rubbed his chin slightly, scratching the stubble there. That made Harry feel childishly envious, as his skin was still baby smooth.
"There will be a cottage, at the edge of the forest, near Ottery," he offered instead "Sometimes around next week. Plenty of space." Harry will be gone from public eye, yes. He will probably make a lot of people wonder where he is. But there will be a cottage- both for him and his two friends, and there was no doubt that Ron or Hermione would not agree. Just like Harry, they could no longer imagine sleeping, or living without another two near.
"Efficient," Ron grinned warily "Of course, no-one knows it's there."
"Of course," repeated Harry in amusement. He picked up his glass again, and brought it to his lips.
-7-
The first three years were alright. And Harry's job- even though to the public eye he was unemployed- brought more into his life then he at first though. He was busy- but so was Ron, who was getting really good at the whole healer business, and so was Hermione, who returned almost every night with a triumphant if tired grin. And each night they laid down in the same big bed, complaining about blanket hogging and space management- and in a way, they were in relationship together, even if it was a highly strange relationship. All of them were keeping away from sight, content to live their life as they wanted. And Harry was more than okay with that, keeping himself pleasantly ignorant of everything that was troubling the society, as this was something he cherished.
It was a mistake, one that couldn't be blamed, but mistake nonetheless.
-7-
It was a sombre and ghastly pale Ron that greeted him in the morning one day. He frowned in concern, almost asking what happened, when his friend mutely passed him the day's issue of Daily Prophet.
Diagon Alley in shambles! Muggles performing a devastating attack, causing death of hundreds!
Harry slammed the newspaper down on the table, ignoring as Ron's cup of tea jumped and broke down on the floor. There was a tense silence after, neither of the males capable of saying anything. The photo of the Diagon Alley was like from a one of the history books Harry remembered from primary, the part where it talked about World War II. He met Ron's gaze with a look of hopeless and quite a bit of fear. Ron covered his face, all worst thoughts confirmed.
The article talked about muggle fanatics, but Harry knew it wasn't true. This was deliberate. Planned.
It wasn't a parent that blew the street up, it was an aerial attack; the muggle government wanted them all gone.
Their society was on the edge of another war and Harry knew that not only they weren't ready- but also that they had no chance of winning.
-7-
It wasn't just them, they found out, when Hermione returned from abroad, ashen-faced and terrified. All over the world, muggle governments has been hunting down wizards and witches, taking away newborns and euthanizing them, pulling children out of the school and cutting them up for experiments.
They all huddled together that night, holding each other close while the house was bathed in darkness. They were afraid to turn on the light; afraid that it would tell away where they live, where they are hiding.
Ron went out right before the dawn, and returned just in time for breakfast, looking pained and angry, but most of all scared and lost. Harry closed his eyes at that, exhaling shakily. They were barely adults and this was something they weren't prepared for. From the redhead's expression he knew that he went to visit his family, tried to warn them, and was laughed off.
For once, they all stayed at the cottage, setting up a ward to get rid of the post owls from their work. Even Hermione, who travelled around the world the most, was sitting almost calmly at the table, nursing a mug of coffee. The day was spent in thick silence, and there seemed to be a whisper at the back of Harry's head that kept repeating the word 'cowards' again and again, but Harry preferred 'survivors'
Gone were the days they met unknown danger head-on. Especially when both Hermione and Harry knew how deadly muggle weapons are. And Ron wasn't a fool to not to trust them on that.
-7-
Wizarding Britain was gone in mere year. Most of the magical dead, the rest of them on a run as there was no safe place left in the world. Wards at the Hogwarts were compromised with a well targeted missile from aerial base, probably on information from one of the captured. All over them people were dying, seeking place to keep their families safe-
And only the three of them, the Three Cowards as the papers started to call them when they didn't respond to Prophet's pleads for help, they stayed hidden safely in the cottage, with lights permanently off, and wards long gone, as the muggles seemed to have a way of tracking magic both in person and in objects around them.
Burrow burned to the ground, along with its inhabitants. All their friends were dead. They only really had each other, three tiny fires in this wasteland of ice- and it wasn't a happy existence at all. And all the time they were plagued with thoughts- doubts and guilts. Could they prevent it? Was there something, anything they could have done? If they were more involved, would they be able to see the signs?
Harry knew that people cursed them as they died. He could feel it in his magic, the force in him coiling and flinching each time when someone gasped their names in last dying breath.
Damn you.
Damn you all.
May you never find peace in afterlife, may you all three burn in Hell.
The cottage, that at first was a paradise, their own sanctuary, turned to prison, the air around them slowly turning rotten, poisoning them and stealing everything they worked so hard to gain. In those times, Harry always looked up at the grey sky, watching the heavy clouds, and inspecting the howling wind. It would be winter soon.
And they had nothing that would help them survive it.
-7-
"This is the end." Hermione spoke one morning, her voice tired. Harry just nodded while Ron grunted in agreement. This was their fourth day without breakfast- rations were low, so they had to do with a lunch only.
"It was long coming," the dark-haired male reminded gently "We knew that from the very beginning."
"I know, I just-" she swallowed painfully, tears spilling and rolling down her cheeks "I just hoped-"
Ron pulled her to a hug immediately and Harry could only watch with aching heart. Hope... he had hoped too, that's why he is still alive after all. But as the saying goes, hope dies last, and they truly had nothing else. Everything was gone. Everything they fought for, everything their friends and teachers died for, it was all gone.
They couldn't use magic now- the country was riddled with sensors that picked it up, and the response to magic usage was brutal. The world was a true hostile place for everything magical, and Harry knew that all of remaining witches and wizards had no idea why. Why now? What started it?
All three of them figured that there must have been a meeting, where their kind was discussed, and considered threat. In their eyes they must have been something dangerous and deadly, something that is unknown and has to be destroyed. After all, they weren't like the other humans.
"...I have three bottles of the draught." Ron muttered softly, making Harry to look at him. His friend wasn't meeting his eyes, as if he thought that taking a potion that helps you fall into easy death was bad.
"I have no need for blaze of glory," he informed him, feeling a bit short with Ron for thinking that "We will make a portkey. To Hogwarts. It doesn't leave a trace so the only magic would be from here." He rubbed his eyes "I want to die at Hogwarts." 'not in this damned place' was left unsaid. Hermione bit her lip, but she looked down, her shoulders hunched over with resignation. She too couldn't see any way out of their situation. And if they were to die, it would be on their own, peaceful terms, and not by bullet to the head.
-7-
Still, right before making the portkey, they left all sorts of nasty things for the muggles to find- trapping runes and bubbling cauldrons, all set to explode in the most devastating way the moment someone comes near them. Either to kill or permanently change, as there weren't any healers around able to fix magical damage.
They didn't stay around for that of course, no matter how satisfying it would be.
Hogwarts were a mess, just like they have been after the Battle. It was a painful sight, especially as Harry remembered Ron's excited letters when they first started the repairs. That all the effort their people put into restoring the castle to its glory was wiped away by one rocket was a bitter pill to swallow.
The castle now looked dead, but still more inviting and feeling more like a home than their cottage did. The heavy door protested as they pushed it open, tensing when dust and slight debris came down on their heads, making them worry for moment. Relaxing soon after, they squeezed their way inside.
The halls were cold. It was a sobering feeling that remained them of the nearing winter, and their lack of everything to survive it. Sure, they suspected that muggles won't be able to get to Hogwarts, not now, not ever, but what good that is? Trying to survive in a castle is even worse idea than trying to survive in the cottage. At least at Ottery there was a prospect of stealing from muggles, while here? There was nothing.
House elves were gone- where had they gone, the trio had no idea. Perhaps with the slaughter of the wizardkind there suddenly wasn't anything to bind them, and they simply faded.
That was probably for the best.
Walking down to the Great hall, they could see how people left in a hurry- a forgotten backpack or robe there, lots of scattered parchments- notes on charms, Harry noticed with sadness. There were also empty cots scattered around, stained with what looked like dried blood, and it occurred to the dark-haired male that the consequences of the missile were graver than they first thought.
An itch on the back of his neck told him they were watched, and when he turned around he could see various ghosts- both old and new, he found out, suddenly feeling faint as he looked at what seemed to be a first year girl, large piece of glass impaling her through her tiny chest.
The spectres said nothing and although their gazes were clear and not accusing, Harry couldn't help but feel guilty. They left soon after, fading and disappearing through walls- they probably knew that the trio came here to pass on.
The Great Hall was even bigger mess than the rest they'd seen so far, and silently they agreed not to spend any more time exploring.
Slowly, they undressed, shivering from the freezing cold. They folded their clothes and placed them on the griffindor table, where they used to sit and laugh. Without hesitation they placed their wands right on top, knowing that the simple stick of wood will remain strong for centuries to come, thanks to the magic within.
Completely nude, they backed away before they sat on the cold floor- Ron cursing and complaining, making Harry grin faintly and Hermione to giggle- before looking at each other.
They wanted to cry.
They wanted to hug and promise to see each other again.
But, of course, things don't work like that.
And so Harry grinned faintly again, raising his vial in mocking toast.
"Well, bottoms up."
And on the same time they drank the tasteless potion, their eyes falling shut, and their bodies shutting down even before they hit the ground.
In that last second, before Harry lost consciousness, he suddenly wished for a treacle tart, if only to make this ending bittersweet.