A/N: Apologies for the long wait! I'll try to update a couple of times a month going forward. Thank you for reading, and extra thanks to Andeerivers23, Jenisha, darkoraclegirl (who wrote the prompt for this story), clarkfan325, and lilacaliens. I'm so glad you're all enjoying this!

This chapter picks up where Deathly Hallows ends.


Chapter 3: We Always Hurt

12.15 pm – 2 May 1998
Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts Castle

After they left the headmaster's study, Hermione and Ron returned to the Great Hall, and Harry dragged himself up to Gryffindor Tower. As he climbed through the portrait hole and into the common room, the sensation of being home and safe swamped him, rolled through his body, and sapped whatever remaining battle-alertness that had kept him upright thus far. The four-poster bed no longer seemed necessary or even within reach, and he fell gracelessly into one of the maroon armchairs.

Hermione found him half an hour later with his feet kicked up on a low table, head thrown back, hair sticking up wildly, mouth slightly ajar. Her lips twitched into a smile. He had fallen asleep like this in the common room before, usually when he was meant to be writing an essay or revising for exams. Except for the ash and blood stains that he hadn't washed off yet, he looked more like the eleven-year-old boy he'd been than the battle-hardened hero he'd become.

Not that he had to change all that much to get here, she reflected ruefully. After all, that child had also walked alone into terrible danger, altogether too ready to die. He had said, "I was lucky once, wasn't I? I might get lucky again," which was not a fucking plan, and the eleven-year-old version of her had wrapped her arms around him as if that could lock his life inside his body. She had called him a great wizard, and he was. A great wizard, a great man, and the greatest friend she would ever have. Yes. But not a lucky man. By Hermione's calculation, the sum of all the close calls and near misses in his life could not outweigh the catastrophic unfairness of never being loved correctly, properly, enough.

Oh, she knew Lily and James had loved their son. They had gone into hiding to protect him and had died trying to save him. They were celebrated for their bravery and their sacrifice. But Hermione thought love was more than just wanting your child to survive, particularly when the parents' actions were the reasons the child was in danger. They should have—and she knew her parents would have—done anything in their power to protect their child. James and Lily hadn't even left their home village. Knowing and understanding the threat, knowing there was a traitor in the Order, they put all their trust in the Fidelius Charm, which is only as powerful as the one who keeps its secrets. And that had been enough for them to feel safe. No extra layers of protection. No escape plans. Not even the simple precaution of keeping their damn wands on them at all times. Neither had known, in the moments before death, that Harry would survive. They had failed in every single way to protect Harry, who only survived because Voldemort's offer of mercy allowed Lily to sacrifice herself. That, Hermione had long thought, was not really something to be applauded. Then, on top of all that loving negligence, Sirius' love for Harry had not been enough to stop him running off in pursuit of vengeance. She wondered if it even occurred to him to stay with his newly-orphaned godson.

And then, of course, it would be almost ten years before anyone showed Harry love again. The Weasleys, Remus, and Hagrid all loved him. She and Ron loved Harry. But none of them had loved Harry enough to choose him over the war, to try to remove him from the war. They had all put their faith in Dumbledore, and Dumbledore had put his faith in a prophecy that required Harry to die. Dumbledore, who had also loved Harry. Harry was comforted knowing that Dumbledore guessed and hoped that Harry would survive. But supposing he had known Harry would die and stay dead, Hermione rather doubted Dumbledore would have acted differently. He'd never balked at sending children into mortal danger, after all. The ends, the means. The bastard.

Dumbledore had chosen the wizarding world over Harry, and it had been the right choice. Hermione knew that risking the safety of many to save one life was irrational, and she knew that Voldemort had to be fought. The war had to be won. Dumbledore had shaped Harry into the weapon he needed because that was the surest way to defeat Voldemort. The rational part of Hermione believed Dumbledore made the correct choice. But she believed just as fiercely that Harry had been failed by every one of the people who loved him. How do you ever reconcile those beliefs?

Realising that she had failed Harry as much as everyone else was a bitter pill to swallow. But the war was over, and his job was done. He'd sacrificed everything, and as she stood there looking at him sleep, she promised herself that for the rest of their lives, she would make sure that he didn't need to do it again. The wizarding world and the people in it could bloody well take care of themselves.

"You look so serious," Harry mumbled. Hermione jumped, and Harry's lips tilted up in a sleepy smile. She wondered how long he'd been aware of her presence.

"I'm surprised you can see me at all with your glasses hanging off one ear," she teased. "And I think your neck is going to hurt tomorrow." He snorted as he righted his glasses.

"What's one more ache? But I guess I can make it up the stairs now." Harry stood and stretched. "Is Ron gone?"

"Yes, they went back to the Burrow. We're both invited, of course, but…" She shrugged, and he nodded. Neither of them wanted to be at the Burrow right now. "Ron said he'd see us in a few days. He needs to be with his family. And McGonagall said we can stay here as long as we need to."

"That's good. But…if you're willing, I thought we could all move in to Grimmauld Place. Not today, but soon. If you want." He looked anxious, which surprised Hermione. It wasn't as though she had another home lined up. Her parents' house had been sold, and in truth, she hadn't spent much time planning for life after the war. She smiled wryly.

"That sounds wonderful. I'm planning on sleeping for the next two days, though, so if you want to move in before that, you'll have to carry me." Harry grinned and hugged her around the shoulders. Together they walked to the stairs that led to the dormitories.

"It'll be great. We'll get Sirius's awful mum off the wall and incendio all the obviously evil furniture."

"As long as we never spend another night in a tent," she joked. She kissed him on the cheek. "See you in 48 hours, Harry."


Hermione shifted restlessly for hours before finally drifting into an uneasy slumber. Harry fell back to sleep immediately. He slept deeply and dreamlessly for over twelve hours.

Then: he was kneeling on a sandy bank before a wide stretch of the river with his head bowed. He had finished doing the most important thing. The most terrible thing. The air lay heavily against his bare skin, and he wanted nothing more than to go home. He had to get the blood off his skin before he went back though, because his brother and Hathor were waiting for him. He didn't want them to know what he had done, but he would tell them. Then there would be no turning back. There was already no turning back. But his brother would understand. Hathor would stand with him, as she had before. Maahes would go where Hathor went. No way to guess how the others would react. No way to know what would happen next. But no one could be allowed to find the body before he explained everything to the people who mattered. He rose and walked forward into the water. When he raised his hands, a spiral of water rose from the river and doused him, washing the blood off his naked body. Then he turned around to take care of the body…

Harry woke, panting and covered in sweat, with his legs tangled in the sheets. In his mind he could still see what had startled him out of the dream: the body of a very large, dark-skinned man sliced across the neck, surrounded by an uneven ring of scarlet sand. The eyes were empty black sockets. Harry shuddered. Out of habit, he rubbed the scar on his forehead. The motion soothed him even though the scar wasn't burning in reaction to the dream. He supposed it wasn't likely to hurt ever again, not with Voldemort destroyed. He unwound himself from the bedding and felt around for first his glasses, then his wand. Then he paused, uncertain what to do next.

It was just a normal nightmare, although a weird one. But—what if it wasn't? It had seemed too detailed. He'd wanted to talk to people whose names he'd never heard before, whose faces he could still picture. In the dream, he had known them and loved them as much as he had hated the man he'd killed. His father, he realised, although he didn't know where the knowledge came from. He killed his father. Who is he?

Harry had been someone else in dreams before. He had seen what Voldemort saw and who Voldemort killed. What if…but he couldn't even tell where it had been. Not Scotland, certainly. Anxiety curled in his chest. He could wake Hermione. But she'd looked so worried about him when he'd woken to find her watching him in the common room. He didn't want her to worry. Besides, most likely, she would tell him it was just a dream. He wasn't a horcrux anymore, and Voldemort was gone. He'd never shared dreams with anyone else, so why would he start now? Hell, maybe it was normal for people to have weird, vivid dreams after defeating deranged dark wizards. It seemed like the sort of thing that might happen.

Satisfied but not at all tired, he looked at the battered gold watch on the bedside table. Not even twenty-four hours since the war ended, and he was already having nightmares. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. Now what?


3.00 pm – 20 July 1998
12 Grimmauld Place

Even Hermione didn't know how to find out why there were having the dreams, and short of sending owls to everyone they knew, there didn't seem to be a way to find out who else was affected.

"I like that," Ron snorted. "Hullo, Seamus, mate. Just wondering if you were planning to head back to Hogwarts this year. Still a bit undecided myself. Oh, almost forgot to ask if you've had any dreams about being an ancient god-like being? Do let me know. Cheers!"

"Luna might be," Ginny said.

"Yeah, 'course she is, Gin. This is her real seventh year, like you." Ginny rolled her eyes at her brother.

"I mean, she might be having the dreams too. She mentioned something a bit odd last time I saw her." Hermione's lips tightened into a straight line to stop herself from speaking, but she couldn't keep the skepticism off her face. Harry elbowed Ron, drawing his attention to Hermione. They dissolved into laughter.

"Oh, stop it!" Hermione said, although she was giggling too. "I'm sorry, Ginny. It's just that Luna's always a bit odd, isn't she? What did she say?"

"Something about being my friend in the darkness and carrying a silver wheel." Ginny shrugged. "I asked her what she meant, but she'd moved on. Wanted to know if she should owl Malfoy, of all people."

"She's not going to thank him for the hospitality, I hope," Harry said grimly.

"Um. Well, yes. He wasn't unkind, apparently. Snuck them extra food, water, that sort of thing."

"I suppose he was also about to help them escape, only we beat him to it," Ron sneered. Ginny frowned.

"I don't think that's fair, Ron. He was risking a lot offering them anything. It's more than any of us expected of him, isn't it?"

"He didn't lift a finger to stop Hermione being tortured," Ron pointed out. When both Hermione and Harry opened their mouths to object, Ron waved his hands to stop them. "I know, I know, Bellatrix would have killed him. And what a major loss that would have been."

"If Malfoy had died, his mum wouldn't have lied to Voldemort at the battle for me," Harry said. "Which would have lost the war." Ron scowled.

"I'm surprised the lot of you haven't written him thank you letters."

Harry looked thoughtful. "Maybe we should." At Ron's look of dismay, he broke into a wide grin. "I'm joking, Ron. He may not be evil but he's still a great big prat. I think it's enough that we spoke up for him and his mum at their trials." Ron shrugged but didn't say anything. He had testified in defense of Narcissa Malfoy, but his refusal to testify on her son's behalf had been one of the reasons Hermione broke up with him. No point in stirring that up again.

Evidently Hermione agreed. "What did you say to Luna about sending the owl?" she asked Ginny, her voice tighter and higher than usual. Ginny looked between Hermione and her brother uncomfortably.

"I told her he'd publicly throw it back in her face first chance he got," she admitted. "But she probably did it anyway."

"He might not have the opportunity," Hermione mused. "I doubt he'd come back to Hogwarts, and it's not like the Lovegoods and the Malfoys attend the same parties."

"Do you think McGonagall would let him in?" Harry asked doubtfully.

"We did get him cleared of all charges," Hermione said. "I think it might look peculiar for her to refuse him entrance."

"Then why wouldn't he go back?" Ginny wondered aloud. "You can't think he wants to hang around the manor with his mother on house arrest and his father in Azkaban and who knows how many little surprises hidden away by Voldemort's lackeys—

"They're Death Eaters, not cats," Ron said with a grin. "I doubt they left hairballs and dead birds lying about." Ginny shrugged.

"You know what I mean. I'd want to leave if I were him, and I doubt anywhere else would have him."

"I hope he doesn't," Hermione said frankly. "I've no idea what he thinks about being saved from prison by a muggleborn, and I'd just as soon not find out." Harry and Ron exchanged surprised glances.

"I thought you weren't sure about, ah, what you wanted to do in the fall," Harry said, not quite asking the question. The last time they'd discussed returning to Hogwarts, Hermione had hurled a book at Ron's head and told them to stop rushing her. Of course, the first time they'd talked about it, she'd gone almost catatonic, so Harry supposed she'd been making progress.

Hermione chewed on her lip. "I'm sorry for being difficult lately," she said slowly.

"You're not," Harry protested. Ron added, "You've just been kind of weird." Hermione laughed a little.

"Thanks, Ron." She twisted her fingers together. "I don't want to go back very much, really. But I don't think I can keep hiding away here, and I'm beginning to think we may all need to go back to Hogwarts. I know you weren't really planning to," she began, looking at Ron.

"I'll go if you go," he said immediately.

"And as established, I have to go," Ginny said wryly, ignoring the pang of loneliness she sometimes felt around the trio. "I'm guessing you think at Hogwarts it'll be easier to find out if other people are having the dreams too?"

Hermione nodded. "That's part of it, yes. But we also know it started soon after the battle. I think something must have happened at Hogwarts to trigger it. We'll need to find out what it was."

"You don't think it was defeating Voldemort?" Harry asked.

"Not everything is about you," Ginny teased, flicking Harry on the ear. Hermione smiled.

"I don't know, Harry. But I can't think why it would have been. It's more likely that some cursed object in the castle was triggered and it affected some of us somehow. It hasn't hurt anyone that we know of—

"Yet," Ron muttered.

yet," Hermione continued, "but that doesn't mean it can't. Hogwarts is the best lead we have."

"Good," Ginny said with finality. "I was dreading going back." Ron looked suddenly stricken.

"I didn't know that, Gin. I didn't think." He squeezed her hand. "I would have gone with you, you know, if you asked."

Hermione hugged her and murmured, "We all would have. And we should have realized."

Ginny felt her heart squeeze painfully in a very different way than it had before. She still dreaded going back to Hogwarts where memories of Neville and Fred were so present and alive in her mind, she might expect to see either of them down every corridor and so experience those losses again and again. But she wouldn't be alone. Harry smiled sadly, but his eyes were understanding.

"It might not be as bad as you think," he said. "Terrible things happened there, but we all love Hogwarts. I don't want to lose that. I don't want any of us to lose that."

Ginny nodded, but her throat felt too tight to speak.

Hermione gave her another squeeze. "And just think, once we fix whatever is wrong with us—

"Except me," Ron put in.

—yes, fine, except for Ron," Hermione said, rolling her eyes, "then all we'll have to worry about are our N.E. . No more war, no more dark lords."

"This is a surprise, Hermione. I always thought you were more scared of test scores than Voldemort," Harry said. Hermione scowled at him.

Seeing the beginnings of a smile on Ginny's face, however, Ron added, "Wasn't that the entire reason she agreed to skip seventh year in the first place?" Harry nodded solemnly.

"All to avoid McGonagall handing her a failing grade. I can't blame her though. Remember that boggart? Truly awful." Ginny and Ron began laughing.

"I was thirteen!" Hermione wailed. "You're all awful, and I hate you. Ron is scared of spiders!"

"Yeah, but I was proved completely right," Ron said. He patted her shoulder. "Don't worry about it, Hermione. You can crib off my papers. It'll be fine."