title: salubrious
pairing: eventual h/g
an: oooh look another update! [warning: this chapter comes with little editing. sorry.] I'm on a roll, guys. one more chapter after this until I get to the reason why I had to start writing this again. I love you all, thank you for putting this little story on alert or favorite. please leave me a review, I'd love to know what you're thinking! enjoy. review. all good things.
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salubrious
Harry spends the next few days trying mostly to avoid everyone.
He thinks it's supposed to be harder than this, to isolate himself, but then he remembers the lengthy list of all the people he has lost who were supposed to give a shit.
Harry, not for the first time, wishes he could stop feeling.
Woodenly, he gives a wry, bitter grin at the thought. Dumbledore wouldn't've liked that.
Harry supposes it's a bit grim to think of Dumbledore, considering his location, but perhaps it's all the more fitting.
Aside from when he has gone back to sleep in the dormitory, grunting a few words to Ron and Hermione in the process, or ghosted around the forgotten parts of the castle, Harry has set up at the landing at the top of the stairs in the Astronomy Tower. Every so often, he goes to the kitchens to bring up some food, but otherwise he has sat here, Invisibility Cloak and Map spread carelessly next to him, back against the door.
He has a lot of bad memories associated with this tower. He knows that it makes Ron and Hermione all the more likely to not look for him here, but based on their activity on the Map, he doesn't think they are even looking.
He's glad.
After their run-in with… well Harry supposes the real word for those reporters would be 'paparazzi', when they had escaped back to the Hogwarts grounds and away from the vultures safely, Hermione and Ron still protectively hovered around him, Harry began to feel more and more ashamed.
Why had he lost it? Why couldn't he hold himself together? He understands being momentarily shell-shocked at the sudden influx of the unexpected cameras, but why couldn't he breathe?
He lets them know he's alright by returning to sleep in the bed next to Ron's at night, exchanging muted greetings. He hopes they aren't too worried, but based on his perusing of the Map, he knows that Ron has mostly been spending time with his family, Hermione usually by his side.
A part of him knows that the Weasley's, Mrs. Weasley in particular, are worried about him. Will always worry about him. He doesn't know what Ron has told them, but he is appreciative that they trust him enough to give him a few days to himself.
Even though he feels his loneliness in the world more acutely than ever before, another part of him feels like he needs this. He needs to let himself drown in it for awhile, without having to try to put on a brave face, without having to face the world and pretend to be doing fine.
To many of those congregating at the castle, he is their savior. (Twice, a small voice inside whispers.) He knows he has the right to not feel okay, to appear as weak and lost as he tries not to show, but despite his awareness that he does not owe these people anymore than he has already given, tried to give, he doesn't want them to look at him and see him crumbling.
In his self-imposed exile, he stares at the Map, studies it, picking out names and following their actions. In the past year, he has done this frequently. Though it brings him back to horrible times, the familiarity of it eases his mind. More often than not, he finds himself following the dot labeled Ginny Weasley. That dot is usually by many others labeled Weasley, the cluster of dots mostly staying together. Sometimes the dot, her dot, is by itself, down by the lake and lonely by where he knows the beech tree should be.
A few times, the dot has been by another labeled Dean Thomas. Harry refuses to give name to the emotions that have coursed through him, too confusing for him to want to sift through, but on those few occasions he has caught himself almost standing up.
Every time, he has sat back down.
More and more dots have been showing up on the Map as the days have progressed.
Hogwarts has turned into some sort of refugee camp. Harry has noted all of the names, most with familiar surnames, that have appeared on the Map in the past few days.
At first he was confused as to why the participants in the Battle had stayed at Hogwarts, why they had not returned home to more comforting and familiar ground. Why would you want to stay here, with all of the destruction and hurt and death?
Why wouldn't you go home?
He flounders a bit as, unbidden, the withering thought of you don't have a home snakes its way to the forefront. It's true, he supposes, as he tries to beat the thought back with logic, trying to take the emotion out of the thought. There is always the Weasley's residence, but a part of him will always feel like a guest there. Grimmauld Place… He closes his eyes, sighs. That hurt, the future hope of having a place, having a family, living with his godfather, is still overwhelming.
He does have Hogwarts though. Hogwarts had given him a safe place, a place he could call home.
A safe haven.
A lot of these people had fled their homes, lived on the run in order to escape persecution. Despite that Voldemort was dead, they must not be sure what they would be returning back to. The Death Eaters had fled after the battle, but where have they gone? Are they looking to exact a few, last, desperate attempts at revenge before they either are caught or killed? Take as many from the opposing side with them before they go down?
Everyone is still scared, and Hogwarts, despite having been taken over by evil Death Eaters who had tortured children, despite existing in a state of half-ruin, still represents a beacon of safety to alumni.
That is one of Dumbledore's lasting legacies, Harry thinks.
With his back to the door, as if holding that door shut with his body could keep all of his old memories and future demons at bay, Harry holds tightly onto that thought.