Chapter 20: Still Human
Harry picked at his kidney pie and stole glances across the table at Ginny. Every now and then, she'd glance at him in the exact same moment, and they'd share a sly smile before glancing away again.
Time had begun to pass a little quicker since he'd learnt to block out Voldemort. Before he realised it, a month had gone by. An entire month of doing what he wanted, when he wanted. The concept still felt so foreign. He kept waiting for someone to come along and tell him what to do and who to be, but no one came. He could do what he wanted.
And what he wanted turned out to be spending every moment he could with Ginny. She laughed so much. When Harry heard it, it made him feel as though the sun had just risen after a particularly dark night. They had grown very close after a month. Harry had even described on one sombre evening what it had felt like to have his soul torn it two.
They'd grown closer in other - more physical - ways, too.
Ginny was training to become a professional Quidditch player. She wasn't yet old enough to apply for a team, so she spent her days practicing in the field behind the Burrow. Harry spent his days flying with her. He'd forgotten how much he'd loved flying.
Ginny's aspirations made Harry realise that he had no real plans for the future. He'd never needed any. Back at Hogwarts, his favourite subject had always been Defence Against the Dark Arts. The most logical next step was to become an Auror, but to Harry that felt like being a soldier under a different title.
A disturbing majority of the public still detested the Dark Soldiers' very existence, despite numerous campaigns by the Ministry of Magic to change public perceptions. This included interviews in the Daily Prophet with ex-Dark Soldiers. Harry had been approached numerous times for such interviews, to all of which he'd adamantly refused. The Wizarding World already hated him – there was no need to add kerosene to the flames.
Harry, for one, found the whole debate over whether the Dark Soldiers should be free of not to be completely arbitrary. If the Wizarding World decided they wanted to lock them all up, they'd have a hell of a time trying to catch them. They'd been trained well. The Dark Soldiers wouldn't come willingly back to captivity.
Despite the increasingly heated debates over the fate of the Dark Soldiers, the world as a whole seemed to be restoring to a natural order. They were collectively picking up the pieces and moving on as best they could. Harry glanced up the long table. The now ex-Order members were laughing and conversing freely. The banter came easily, and there was an air of festivity to their gathering. Harry knew this should be the happiest time of his life. All that tied him to his previous life now was his shackle and his memories. There were no runes, he had both halves of his soul, and Voldemort's voice was buried as deep as it could get.
And yet he still felt on edge. Off-kilter, as though the world was always slightly ajar, and nothing he did could right it again. Even after spending the entire day playing Quidditch and being with Ginny, he could never feel truly at ease with himself.
The constant flashbacks didn't help. Every now and then, a dog would bark, or a man with long black hair would catch his eye, and he'd be inexplicably reminded of Sirius. Suddenly, it was like he'd lost his Godfather all over again in that very instant. The guilt would surge in his gut. His heart would pound in his ears, and he'd forget how to breathe.
And it didn't stop there. Ginny and he had been playing Quidditch with the twins, who had goaded Ginny about being able to pull off a particularly difficult manoeuvre, to which she'd replied, "Watch me!", and suddenly Harry was back in the Dungeons, with Voldemort standing over the Muggle and his soul about to be torn in two.
Even the term 'idiot' said in passing was enough to make him flinch.
He wondered if the other soldiers' experienced things like this. Maybe it was just him and his cracked brain. That was the thing about pain, after all. You could endure a thousand Crucios and still gasp at a Stinging Hex. Pain didn't weaken over time or the more you felt it. Pain was constant. All that changed was your ability to cope.
Harry glanced at Ginny and caught her eye. She waggled her eyebrows and gave him a smile. He loved that devilish smirk. She set down her knife and fork.
"Come on," she said. She took Harry's hand, and he let her lead him away from the feast, around behind the Burrow where they could be alone. She turned around and kissed with such fervour that his back was pressed hard up against the wall. He didn't mind. She tasted like Yorkshire Pudding. He wondered absurdly if he tasted like kidney pie.
Her hands strayed up around the base of his neck. He stiffened. Her touch – a moment ago warm and tantalising – suddenly turned cold. He was choking. Voldemort's bony fingers were clamped around his neck. Harry jerked away. Disgust burned in the back of his throat. He gasped for a breath that wouldn't come. Redness clouded his vision.
"Harry?"
Ginny's voice sounded a million miles away. Suddenly he was dry-heaving on the ground, desperately trying to swallow down that feeling of complete and utter domination – all while giving Ginny entirely the wrong impression.
• − ○ ◊ ○ − •
Draco Malfoy hated being a Pureblood. Everywhere he went, people stared, and judged. Even though he'd helped the Order take down Voldemort. Even though he'd very publicly attacked his father. Even though his case had been overturned. He suspected there was nothing he could do to change public perceptions of him, but he'd be damned if he didn't at least try.
So when Potter came home that night, he found Draco waiting for him.
"Alright, Golden Boy," Draco said. "I did you a favour by teaching you Occlumency, now you return the favour by going on a date with me."
Potter blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Everyone hates me. Maybe if they see you and I meeting publicly on good terms, they'll rethink their opinion of me."
Harry narrowed his eyes at him incredulously. "Because you think the public's perception of me is any better?"
"Of course it is," Draco said. "You're the Boy-Who-Lived. The Chosen One. The Golden Boy."
Harry laughed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Gee - I'd love to break things off with Ginny and go out with you, Malfoy, but the unfortunate truth is, the rest of the world probably hates us both equally."
Draco huffed. "I don't believe you. The world's been putting you on a pedestal since you were a year old."
Harry stared at him for moment and then strolled out of the room. He returned a moment later holding a copy of the Daily Prophet. He unfurled it, revealing a full-page photo of Harry kneeling in front of Voldemort at the Celebration Ball, with the words BOY-WHO-BETRAYED underneath.
"Those days are long gone," Harry said simply.
Draco stared at the image of Harry, then turned his gaze to the real Harry. "Then what are we supposed to do? I can't stand being a social pariah."
Harry shrugged. "I'd invest in a good disguise."
Draco huffed and rolled his eyes. "I'm being serious."
"So am I," Harry said, raising his eyebrows. "I've been disguising myself as Fred Weasley for weeks now. Sometimes I'll just walk aimlessly among the crowds in Diagon Alley in complete anonymity – it's great."
The fireplace flared up suddenly and Remus stepped out of the green flames with wide eyes. He caught sight of Draco and Harry and straightened.
"Harry – oh good, you're here," he said in a pathetic attempt at nonchalance. "Let's just… stay here for a bit, shall we? Who wants tea?"
"I'm here, too," Draco said haughtily.
"What's going on, Remus?" Harry said.
Remus eyed Harry and pressed his lips together. Finally, he said, "There's a march in Diagon Alley."
"So what?" Draco said. "There's a march at least once a week."
"This one's different," Remus said, still eyeing Harry. "This one's led by a man who's calling for your death."
Harry immediately moved to the fireplace. Remus stopped him, standing resolutely in front of the flames.
"You can't stop me from going," Harry said.
"Not two weeks ago you were asking me to drive a basilisk fang through your heart."
Harry reached beneath his collar and tore the pendant from his neck. He set it on the mantle above the fireplace. "There," Harry said. "I'm immortal." Remus eyed the pendant, then eyed Harry, and cautiously stepped aside.
Harry wasted no time in making his way to Diagon Alley. There was a large mass of gatherers down the centre of the street while shouting various chants. Flanking the perimeter were Aurors. Remus and Draco appeared beside him.
Harry elbowed Draco as he watched the procession. "What was that you said about me being put on a pedestal?"
If Draco responded, Harry didn't hear it. He'd just caught sight of the man leading the demonstration. He held up a large sign, and when Harry saw what it said, everything inside him crumpled to pieces.
HARRY POTTER KILLED MY SON.
Harry was running before Remus could stop him. He ran until he stood directly in front of the man and stared him in the eye. He now regretted leaving his horcrux on the mantle. He deserved to die. And this man deserved to be the one who did it.
The man threw down the sign and pointed at Harry. "You!" the man shouted. "You're the monster who killed my Nigel!"
Nigel.
Harry hadn't known the name of the boy when he'd stepped into the Cage, and he hadn't wanted to know after. Harry couldn't speak. He didn't know what to say. What could he possibly say? I'm sorry I became so lost in my own madness that I thought your son was the Dark lord.
Harry thought of the boy, lying there in the dirt. He'd looked so small. He thought of all the time he'd spent with Ginny these past weeks. All the while, this man had been grieving his son. Harry couldn't believe he'd actually allowed himself to be happy. The thought made him sick.
"I'm sorry-" Harry said, in a voice barely above a whisper, but the man heard, and objected.
"You don't get-" he broke off, his expression contorting. "You killed – you smashed – his face, with your own two – YOU MURDERED MY BOY! YOU ANIMAL!"
A woman to the man's left placed a hand on his shoulder, but he shook it off and seemed to gain some semblance of composure. He glared at Harry with fury in his eyes.
"You don't get to be sorry! You get to live out your life of freedom while I will never get to see my son again. How do you live with yourself? How can you just stand there?"
"I never meant-"
"NO!" the man yelled over him. "Do not make excuses at me! Don't you dare! You are a murderer, and nothing you say will change that!"
There is was. The someone who was telling him what to do and who to be. Harry did the only thing he could think of doing. He'd sworn that he would never do it again, but maybe this was different. This was for a reason. Harry fell to his knees in front of the man whose son he had murdered.
"I've knelt in front of only one other man, and it was never voluntary," Harry said, gazing up at the man and forcing his voice to ring loud. "I was in your place, once. I once met the man who was responsible for leading Voldemort directly to my parents, which means I know that there is nothing I can ever do that will be enough." Harry crossed his wrists over each other as though they were shackled. "So do what you will."
The man gazed at him for one furious moment, then withdrew his wand and yelled "Crucio!" The spell hurtled into Harry's chest, but only a brief spark flitted through him. The protesters behind the man shouted in alarm and moved to restrain him. Harry saw Remus and Draco running to him out of the corner of his eye. Harry never lost the man's gaze.
"You have to mean it!" Harry shouted at him.
Remus seized him and forced him to his feet. "What is wrong with you?" he hissed at him.
"I killed his son," Harry returned. "He's entitled."
Remus simply glared at him and turned to the protesters.
"Harry Potter is the reason Voldemort is gone," Remus said. "He and the other soldiers are not to be held accountable for their actions as Dark Soldiers!"
A young man stepped forward from amongst the crowd. "I would have died rather than to betray my family!" he yelled. "You say the Dark Soldiers had no choice? There's always a choice!"
"Yeah, they had a choice," Draco said. "'Do what you're told, or we'll torture you. Do what you're told, or we'll kill you. Do what you're told, or we'll kill your family.' What would you choose then?"
"Now is not the time," Remus said before the man could respond. "This debate is to be settled through the Ministry, not through the Unforgiveables!"
Remus gripped Harry by the wrist, and before he could apparate them both away, Harry turned to the man and said, "I may not be able to make amends – but I'll spend the rest of my life trying."
• − ○ ◊ ○ − •
When Hermione arrived back in Britain after a month and a half, she found that she was terribly relieved to be back home. Australia was a beautiful country, and she could see why it had always been a dream of her parents to move there, but she constantly found her thoughts drifting to home.
She'd found her parents in Sydney, having set up their own sweet shop. She'd expected them to be cross with her when she'd righted their memories, but they'd only been relieved and happy to remember their daughter. What had taken much more effort was convincing them to come back. They'd grown comfortable with the lives in Sydney. In the end, Hermione had only been able to convince them by reminding them of the numerous extended family members they'd inadvertently left behind in Britain.
Before they left, Ron and Hermione decided to visit the Wizarding World of Australia. They had a similar Minister of Magic, and Ron seemed to find it terribly amusing that the most pressing matter the Australian Ministry of Magic had to deal with was the worryingly increasing number of incidences of wizarding delinquents spelling magpies to attack unsuspecting Muggles.
Ron also quite enjoyed learning that the Ministry's fourth Minister, Harold Holt, had been elected for the role of Prime Minister of Australia as well as Minister for the Ministry of Magic in the same year. Holt had found this to be far too stressful, so faked his own death in the Muggle world the following year. He subsequently visited the swimming pool named after him every Sunday.
What fascinated Hermione most, however, was Australia's wizarding school, Thundelarra. The school had no houses and had very little structure in general. Each morning, classes offered for that day would be posted on billboards stationed around the grounds, and the students were free to choose which class they attended based on recommendations for their skill level. This created a strong sense of community and mateship, where the students were actively encouraged to teach and learn from each other.
What interested Hermione even further was that there was no Pureblood or Muggleborn agenda in Australia. All the students were expected to be familiar with both Muggle and Magical worlds, and thus, Thundelarra offered classes on spells, potions, and charms, while simultaneously offering classes on algebra, art, and science.
Ron and Hermione arrived home with her parents in tow in the late afternoon, just in time for the nightly feast at the Burrow. The first thing she noticed was how different Harry was. He looked far healthier than he'd been when they left, and his smile upon their arrival seemed genuine. The second thing she noticed was how close Ginny and Harry had become. They sat about as close to each other as they could get.
"So, what have I missed?" Hermione said, glancing between the two once they'd been through the reunion and sat down. Her parents sat further up the table, having been enthusiastically approached by an overzealous Arthur.
"Not much," Ginny said. "Marches in Diagon Alley. Threats on Harry's life. The usual."
"Still keeping up the old antics, eh, Scarface?" Ron said, slapping a hand on Harry's shoulder.
"In more ways then one," Harry said monotonously.
Hermione smiled. "So you two are a couple?"
"Wait, what?" Ron said. "You two are – No, absolutely not."
Ginny raised her eyebrows. "You think you can dictate who I go out with?"
"I – no – but – Harry!"
Harry shrugged and grinned at Ron. "You said to live one day at a time. That's exactly what I've been doing."
Ron scowled at him. "I swear to Merlin, mate. If you do anything, you can add another tally to the number of threats on your life."
Harry slung an arm over Ginny's shoulder and said, "Seems fair."
Ron's scowl grew darker. "I liked you better when you were an angsty teenager."
"I bet you did," Ginny said. "Because now the only one being immature is you." Ginny turned pointedly to Hermione, just because she knew that ignoring Ron would infuriate him most. "How was Australia?"
"It was extraordinary," Hermione said. "There is such a sense of community there. We visited their magical school, Thundelarra. It made me realise that we still don't have a school. We've got an entire generation of magical children whose education is being neglected. I was thinking of started up a Ministry Education Board to discuss…" She trailed off when Harry and Ginny shared a knowing look. "What?"
"Come on," Harry said. Ginny and Harry took Ron and Hermione's wrists, and they apparated from the feast. They landed on the grassy banks above the Great Lake. They turned, and there were the ruins of Hogwarts. Except much of the rubble had been cleared away. All that was left were the inner structures of the lower floor, and already the skeletal frame of new structures and buildings had been set up.
"I'm to rebuild it, Hermione," Harry said.
Just as a side note, I made up Thundelarra because I'm Australian and still salty Rowling didn't give us a magical school of our own. Us Aussies always draw the short straw. One day, I'm gonna invent my own magical narnian lord-of-the-rings type kingdom and the only people who'll be able to get to it are us Aussies! That'll teach ya.