Chapter 20: Hogwarts. May 1998.
Harriet watched the two men as if from one end of a long tunnel, they were so far away, their voices echoing strangely in her ears.
"So the child… Potter must die?" asked Snape quite calmly.
"And Voldemort himself must do it, Severus. That is essential."
Voldemort's body is placed in a chamber off the Hall, away from the fallen. Away from Fred or Tonks or Lupin. Away from Colin Creevey. The House tables are back but no one is split by their Houses any more. It's a mixed crowd, students and teachers, ghosts and people, centaurs, house-elves. Even Grawp peers through the frame of a smashed window, food thrown at his grinning mouth.
Harriet is completely exhausted, fighting to stay awake on her bench besides Luna, but Luna never expects anything of her. That's what makes Luna great company when you're this tired of the world. "I'd want some quiet if it was me, Harry," Luna suggests. "How do you feel about that?"
"I'd love some," Harriet says.
"I'll distract them," Luna offers. "Use your Cloak and go -OH LOOK! A Blibbering Humdinger!" She waves and points at the window.
Everyone looks up and Harriet slides under her Cloak and starts walking.
She observes as she moves through the Hall unseen: Molly Weasley hugs Ginny, both mother and daughter have matching streaks of tears over the dust on their faces, Neville has placed the Sword of Gryffindor besides his plate like a butter knife that someone has hit with an Engorgio. A newly gathered flock of admirers surrounds him. The Malfoys huddle together, looking unsure if they should be here at all, but everyone leaves them to their own devices. There are families everywhere she looks. Groups of friends or loved ones gathered together. Ron and Hermione are right there, by the window, sharing a private moment, with Hermione resting her forehead against Ron's shoulder. Harriet passes them by and lets them be. There will be plenty of time to talk later. And finally, at last, she sees the one whose company she craves most right now.
George's utterly lost, broken form might as well be a rag-doll, the way he huddles at the far end of the Hall, against the narrow bench, away from others. Still cloaked, Harriet slides her hand over his shoulder and whispers "Will you come with me?"
Is that gasp a 'yes'? She cannot tell but he follows. She leads him out, hand in hand, to the Gryffindor tower, to the common room that no longer feels her own after all this time away from Hogwarts. The fireplace is unlit. The armchairs are still there. She transfigures one wide enough for them to lie down side by side together and steers George down on it, hugging him to her. Harriet holds him until his arms stop trembling and wrap around her waist, his face is pressed in the crook between her neck and shoulder and his lanky body is shaking with sobs. Hearing each one breaks Harriet's heart into a million pieces.
They stay here in the dark room, surrounded only by the portraits and the light streaming through the gaps in the curtains. How long has it been? Harry has no way of knowing, as she holds George through his grief. As they hold each other. Her Cloak rests beside her. Her hair and clothes are a mess. It doesn't matter. She slides her hands under George's jumper to warm them against his fevered skin. George shivers and then, with a deep breath, mirrors her movements. His touch is warm and delicate as his hands press along her bare back.
It's been a rough year. They are both skin and bones. Harriet's hips are as bony as George's. She's never been this thin before.
Time moves slowly. Somewhere, a clock strikes seven times. Stops. There is a noise outside and then the portrait hole lights up with someone's Lumos.
"Harry! Oh, there you are!" Hermione's worried voice reaches her. Ron is right behind Hermione, his face pale and his eyes wide. Harriet and George don't jump up and separate themselves from one another, not anymore. Harriet stays holding him. She is well aware of how this looks like. She doesn't give a damn. Neither of them does. George's thumb traces something a lot like a heart into the bare skin of her side and she's content to do the same. It's a promise to not give up, to keep on living for those who didn't make it this far.
"Harry, you need to hear this!" Ron interrupts, panting from racing up the staircase. They must've rushed to get here. Harry reaches for her glasses by her side. Raises herself up and braces for the bad news. Did they find another body? Who?
"Come quick." Hermione cries. "We found Snape! And, just listen to this, he's still breathing."