"Good morning, love," Ron chirped as Hermione rolled over in bed.
"What time 'sit?" she groaned, her eyes still shut against the light peeking through the curtains.
"A little after eleven."
"What?" she bolted up instantly and her eyes flew open. "Why didn't you wake me up?"
"You haven't slept for more than two hours in the past three days, you needed it," he said sternly, not backing down from her glare. "Now come on, we're going out today."
"What do you mean? My parents won't want to see me." Her head fell back against her pillow and she looked at the ceiling dejectedly.
"Good thing we're not going there then, huh," Ron grinned mischievously at her.
"Where are we going?" Her sullen look was replaced with curiosity, but Ron merely shook his head. He leaned over and kissed her before straightening up again.
"You better get changed. As much as I love seeing you in pajamas, I doubt all of Australia does." Ron was seated on top of the bed, fully clothed in jeans and a t-shirt, reading an old edition of the Daily Prophet. For some reason, the Prophet owls did not deliver to other countries. Hermione moaned softly, but managed to swing her legs around the bed and rummaged through their trunk. Her eyes were still puffy and red from last night, but she at least seemed out of tears to cry.
After Hermione had given up on detangling her hair, they walked out of the hotel lobby with Ron leading the way, reading directions from hastily scribbled notes he had made last night. Hermione abandoned her sour attempts to figure out where they were headed and Ron grinned despite himself- at least she was distracted.
Harry lay in bed at roughly noon his own time, his eyes staring unseeing at the bare wall. His glasses sat somewhere on the table beside the mattress, but Harry was unfazed by only seeing blurred colors. He was much more fazed by the piercing pains in the scars on his forehead and chest. A pillow lay limply on top of his head and Harry had long since given up trying to smother his ears to block out the sounds and voices. The Burrow itself was quiet, but memories had been swirling around in his head since he had woken up hours ago, and nothing he did could get rid of the haunting images.
"Harry, dear," Mrs. Weasley said quietly, poking her head into the room. "Do you want some lunch?"
"No," he replied, his voice hoarse and dry. He wasn't sure if she asked him anything else after, instead his mind was clouded with a young Tom Riddle saying in his cold voice "Voldemort is my past, present, and future" as he stared down upon him and an unconscious Ginny. A large basilisk reared its head, its scales dark and wet, its fangs the size of Harry's upper arm. Another wave of piercing pain shot through his scars and he bit back the wave of nausea that accompanied it.
"Don't you want to come downstairs, Harry?" Mrs. Weasley asked for the third time, hoping for a response.
"No," Harry managed and hoped that she would leave. Mercifully, he heard the door shut softly behind her. He did not want to go downstairs. He did not want to leave his bed. He did not want to move at all. Move, or even think for that matter. The room was filled with the distinct sense that a dementor was sitting on the bed across from Harry, gleefully watching him slip further and further down.
"What is this place?" Hermione asked, her voice filled with wonder. The shop that they had come to did not disappoint Sophia's description from the night before. It was a cozy storefront with large windows outlined by light wooden walls. The green door was propped open so that the copper bell hung above it didn't ring when they entered. Inside were tons of circular tables and at the back was a small display of pastries and a swinging menu hanging from the ceiling. There was not a single section of the walls that was not covered in bookcases filled with novels of every color. A few people sat amongst the tables, reading or talking quietly while picking at their food or drinks. Ron watched Hermione turn around on the spot silently, her mouth hanging open in awe.
"Want to order something before picking out a book?" Ron asked, interrupting her moment of wonder. She nodded mutely and Ron slipped past her towards the back. Ron ordered a coffee and french toast and Hermione decided on tea and a muffin. She pulled out a small wallet of muggle money from her purse and handled the exchange while Ron sat at an empty table in the corner of the store, perfectly snug against the window, the bookshelf, and the staircase to the second level.
"This place is amazing," Hermione commented, her eyes still slightly glazed over. "How'd you find it?"
"Sophia told me about it last night," he shrugged. "Go pick out a book to read, and find me one too," His legs crossed under the table and he took a sip of his coffee, watching Hermione happily. It was truly a mark of how in awe Hermione was that she didn't tut distastefully on their absolute lack of organization among the bookshelves. Instead, she roamed the shelves freely and eventually pulled out two books- one red with gold letters and the other cream with blue letters- and plopped into the seat across from Ron and handed him the book on top. Within seconds, she was immersed in her book and mindlessly picked at her muffin when the waiter left it at their table. She missed her mouth a few times because she simply refused to peel her eyes away from the pages.
Hermione tore through her novel while Ron barely finished two chapters and was more content to people-watch through the window and around the shop. Finally, after another round of drinks and muffins, she set down her book. Over their new cups of tea, they talked together until the sun began to set, and Hermione did not check her phone for missed calls once.
"Harry, Mum says to come downstairs for dinner." Ginny's red hair swung forward as she poked her head through the open door frame. Noticing the statement was more of a command, Harry obliged grudgingly. He trudged down the multiple flights of stairs into the kitchen where the four Weasleys were already assembled and slumped into his seat, still in his pajamas. Mercifully, they did not attempt to engage Harry in their conversation, so his mind was left to continue wandering through his past.
He mundanely pushed his food around his plate, but didn't intend on taking any bites.
"Harry, why haven't you eaten anything?" Mr. Weasley asked kindly.
"You must be starving, you haven't eaten all day!" Mrs. Weasley added on. Harry forced a bite into his mouth and swallowed the tasteless food to appease the questions. The Weasleys clearly knew that something was wrong, but they said nothing, probably guessing that Harry would just claim everything to be fine. Which he probably would.
Towards the end of the meal, when everyone was about ready to clean up, his scar across his chest burned fiercely and Harry tensed noticeably. Mumbling something about using the loo, he stumbled into the small sitting room down the hallway where he had listened to Remus' will. He shut the door behind him and collapsed against it, sliding his back down the wood and letting his head fall against the hard surface.
Hundreds of black dementors were swarming the lake and surrounding him. The cold embraced his skin and he felt the last dwindling hope inside of him die away. Ron wasn't here to snap him out of it. Hermione wasn't here to explain what was happening to him. Faintly, he heard his mother scream in pain as the green light flashed before his eyes. Her scream clouded his thoughts and his senses and it was quite a few minutes before he came to and realized he was not at the lake at Hogwarts nor the cottage in Godric's Hollow. He was at the Burrow and someone was knocking on the door.
He slid sideways so that he leaned against the wall, not the door, and reached up to let whoever it was in. George entered the small room followed by Ginny, and they both sat to form a small triangle on the floor: Ginny resting against the couch edge and George wrapping his arms around his knees. They said nothing at first, and Harry relished the silence. No screams, no shouts, no taunts, and no curses.
Finally, Ginny broke the silence. "I still hear him too," she whispered. George's head snapped up to look at her. "Tom Riddle. And the diary." They looked at her solemnly, not quite knowing what to say.
"I keep reliving any moment with… with Fred," George admitted. It was the first time since May second that he had said his name. "And scenes from the battle." Ginny nodded and they both turned to Harry expectantly.
He sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. "I see practically every scene from my grand life," he said finally, his voice thick with sarcasm.
"Like what?" Ginny pressed. Harry looked at her darkly as if to accuse her of asking such a thing. But, she met his gaze firmly, and he sighed and let his head fall back against the wall.
"Like my parents being murdered, being abused by the Dursleys, the basilisk, the dementors, the graveyard and the Triwizard Tournament, the Department of Mysteries and Voldemort possessing me, the cave and Dumbeldore dying, Nagini at Godric's Hollow and hunting the horcruxes in general, the battle, literally dying in that bloody forest," he listed heavily. The two siblings sat silently again, clearly shocked that he had actually opened up, even if somewhat barely. Harry himself was a bit surprised that he had said anything.
"I hate to break it to you, but your life has kinda sucked," George finally said.
"You're telling me," Harry replied dully, but couldn't help but match George's faint smile.
"But, it's like you said, right? It'll get better and easier with time?"
"I suppose," he responded roughly.
"You sounded a lot more confident when you told me," George accused.
"Well is it true?" Harry retorted, half angrily and half desperately.
"Yeah," he said simply. The three fell into companionable silence again and Harry shut his eyes. The throbbing pain in his chest seemed to ease slightly.
"Do you guys remember when Fred and I spent the whole April Fool's Day pretending like we had pulled a massive prank and everyone was super on edge, but really we didn't do anything?" George interrupted. Ginny chuckled appreciatively, but Harry remained lost in the silence. The two of them spent a few minutes revelling in past pranks.
"What are you thinking of now?" George asked, abandoning his attempt at humor.
"This one time when the Dursleys looked the other way as Dudley "accidentally" missed his birthday piñata and kept hitting me instead and then when I tried to grab the bat from him they locked my in my closet for a week," he said bluntly.
"Why'd you say my closet?" Ginny asked, her eyes narrowing at his choice of phrase.
"Ron or Hermione didn't tell you guys yet?" He looked up to see their worried faces as answers. "Well before I turned eleven, my bedroom was a closet under the stairs." It felt nice to get things off his chest and just out in the open. Somehow, the pain eased even more slightly and his chest felt lighter than it did before. His head fell back against the wall as George and Ginny shared a horrified look. The night continued as Harry randomly shared a horrible memory, one after another, with Ginny or George occasionally adding something that haunts them. Eventually, George fell asleep in an armchair, but Ginny and Harry sat resolutely awake in the night.
"Ginny?" he asked softly.
"Hmm?"
"Can I ask you something? You're probably the only other person who can relate because of the diary."
"Sure." Her voice was even, but her body tensed at the mention of the Chamber of Secrets.
"After… the forest and after the horcrux inside me died, I feel- different. I'm not sure how to explain it, but I feel…"
"Lighter? Freer? More in control than you've felt for a long time?"
"Exactly. Well, not lighter necessarily, but freer and more in control."
"It's a nice feeling, isn't it?"
Harry nodded. "And doing magic is suddenly easier too, I think. I mean, I haven't really tested it, but it feels like it takes less energy or something."
"I don't think I ever noticed that because I was just a first-year, but it does make sense. You had part of an evil soul weighing you down, it was bound to have an affect on your magic too." Harry nodded, lost in thoughts, and his head drooped back onto the couch that he had moved to. Ginny fell asleep in the other armchair, and eventually, Harry drifted into unconsciousness sprawled out across the sofa.
The next few days passed in a similar fashion. Hermione and Ron wandered the streets of Australia, usually returning to their favorite café for lunch and Ron pushing away his girlfriend's hand when she tries to check her phone for the third time in the past five minutes. Harry typically did not leave his room unless for the occasional meal or two with Ginny or George or sometimes both keeping him company whether he wants it or not. Oddly enough, George's spirits seem to soar much closer to his usual self as Harry's dipped to new lows. It seemed like the Burrow could only handle one depressed teen at a time.
Three days after Mr. and Mrs. Grangers' memories were fixed, Hermione's purse began to buzz. She stopped mid stride (they were on their way to the café) and grabbed Ron's arm. After a brief pause to make sure she wasn't hearing things, she dug through her purse and answered the phone as quickly as humanly possible.
Ron watched her carefully as she nodded and muttered "okay" or "sure" and didn't need to ask for an explanation when she hung up. Instead, she looked him right in the eyes and said "They want me to come for tea this weekend."
Quick note: In a previous chapter I wrote that Professor Albright was the new Potions Professor, but I meant new Transfiguration Professor since Slughorn is still teaching Potions. I fixed it in the last chapter already, but sorry for the confusion!
Also, thanks for the reviews! Thank you Nina, and hopefully the choice of making Ron and Harry head aurors will make a bit more sense on their first day of work. I'm glad you agree with my decision to wait for Harry and Ginny's relationship though! And welcome to my new followers!