No matter how much Harry protested that he was fine, Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let him leave the Hospital Wing.
"I've been here for a day already!" Harry groaned. "I drank all the potions, I'm not hallucinating anymore, and even the nightmares aren't so bad. Isn't that enough?"
"No, Mister Potter. It is not enough." The stern matron put her hands on her hips and glared down at him. "My job is to make sure that you are completely healthy and 'not so bad' won't cut it. Your simple reflexes still show the after effects of being under the Cruciatus for a long duration of time. And Miss Granger tells me that you're still not able to keep down all of your food without feeling nauseous."
"Of course she did," Harry sighed and looked at the empty seat that Hermione had been occupying for most of the day.
Pomfrey's expression softened. "Don't blame her. That girl is going to give herself grey hair from worrying over you as much as she does. She wants the best for you."
"I know," Harry said, feeling guilty.
He knew all too well the lengths Hermione went to for his sake. The hours directly after the third task was still fuzzy for him: all he remembered was a cycle of nightmares, waking up to a hospital bed and a disorienting reality that forced him to confront what he had done. He remembered the eerie contrast of the white curtains surrounding the bed and the visions of red assaulting his mind. He remembered how the silence of the infirmary had amplified the screams ringing in his ears and he remembered—
Hermione. Hermione who had shown up in the graveyard even if it had just been a figment of his imagination, stretching her hand out towards him in the darkness of that night. Hermione who had comforted him when he felt like he was going insane, who had tried to rationalize the madness of the third task in her firm, steady voice and brought peace to the chaos of 'what have I done, what do I do now' swirling through his mind.
He had gone to sleep and woken up to her sitting exactly where he had left her: beside his bed, scribbling on a notebook, and doing what she did best—planning. Not a day had passed and she was already noting down his—their—enemies and thinking of ways to defeat them.
He shouldn't have been surprised. This was the girl who had stood by him through thick and thin, even when everyone else had abandoned him. This was Hermione. No, he was just… relieved. Consoled by the fact that his entire world could turn upside down, Voldemort could return, he could become a murderer of Death Eaters overnight and she would still be there. Waiting to fight by his side.
Hermione returned from the kitchens five minutes later, carrying a tray of food that looked much more appetizing than the bland meals given in the Hospital Wing.
"I just don't like lying here, feeling useless," Harry told her after they had finished breakfast. "Voldemort's back—I should be doing something."
She huffed. "You've hardly had a break this whole year, working yourself to the bones. You can do something after you've rested. One day of rest will hardly kill you."
"No, but boredom might," he muttered.
"No danger of that—I expect that you'll be swarmed with visitors soon enough." At Harry's confusion, she smirked. "I haven't told you of the rumors flying around yet, have I?"
Hermione was right, as usual. A slew of visitors came that day to check how he was doing. Some like Molly Weasley, who cried and engulfed him in a hug as soon as she saw him, were expected.
Others like Cedric Diggory… were not.
"Congratulations on winning," Cedric blurted out after Hermione had left them alone. He winced visibly and gestured to the bag of winnings on the bedside table. "Winning that… not the other stuff."
It was rare to see the perfect Hufflepuff boy look so awkward and uncomfortable.
"Yes, congratulations to me," Harry said dryly. "Only had to fight off a Dark Lord and his minions to earn it. Ten out of ten, would do again."
Cedric exhaled loudly. "That was a bad start. I came to let you know I believe you. About Voldemort coming back. About everything."
"Some of my friends don't. My father—he thinks you're lying for attention. Says that winning wasn't good enough for you so you made it all up. I asked them if they would have said the same thing if it was me who had gotten to the Cup first."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I think I've always known," he said hesitantly, "that you were never a liar. When your name was called from the Goblet, you looked like the ground had been pulled from underneath your feet. I was… bitter then. I wanted to believe what they said you were. It was a competition for me—a game I wanted to win. But it was never like that for you, was it? You didn't think twice before telling me about the dragons. You walked around the castle with this serious, heavy air around you—like you were preparing for war—and I thought secretly it was a bit silly. 'There goes that Potter kid acting like he's carrying the world on his shoulders.'"
"But the joke was on me." He smiled sardonically. "I don't know how a fourth year student trained to be better skilled than three seventh years, but if you hadn't, it would have been one of the other Champions taking that Cup. It could have been me facing You-Know-Who."
The irony wasn't lost on Harry. He had trained so hard this year, preparing for the worst. Perhaps if he had abandoned the Tournament preparations altogether, he would have been last and someone else could have taken the Cup. A small, resentful part of Harry wished that someone else could have suffered in his place. Why did it always have to be him? Why was it that no matter what he did, he could never win?
"So you're here to thank me," Harry said dully.
"No," Cedric said, his gaze serious. "I'm here to say that I won't ignore the signs right in front of me again—especially if those signs are telling me that you're right and Voldemort's back. I won't stay silent as my friends and family label you as a liar. Not like last time. "
Cedric's visit had been a surprise, Harry mused after he had left, but not an entirely unwelcome one.
Neville was another surprise. Not that he came to visit Harry—no, they had begun speaking much more after the Yule Ball and became closer. What was surprising was that he walked in with bloodshot eyes, not bothering with a hello, and simply said:
"I'm glad you cut off his arm."
Harry was caught off guard with the pure hatred in Neville's voice, but then the memory he had seen in the pensieve hit him. Hermione turned white, probably remembering the trial he had told her about, of Bartemius Crouch Jr being sentenced for the torture of Alice and Frank Longbottom…
"You know what he did, don't you? Barty Crouch." He scrutinized their expressions. "The others—they think he's just a random Death Eater imposter. But I grew up memorizing the names and faces of the people who tortured my parents from old newspaper clippings—I saw his face when they were carrying him out of the fields and I knew."
"After you fainted, he wouldn't stop screaming and wailing. He kept saying, 'Give me back my arm! Give me back my mark!' It's not like me crying, 'give me back my parents!" ever did anything; I'm glad he felt a taste of that helplessness." Neville looked at them with searching, desperate eyes. "Where is he now? Do you know?"
Hermione spoke hesitantly, "Neville, the Minister already subjected him to the Dementor's Kiss. He's gone."
"Gone? Just like that?" He seemed to deflate before their eyes, appearing lost. "He gets off like that while my parents will spend the rest of their lives at St Mungos. He was at Hogwarts this whole time, probably laughing when he taught classes on the cruciatus! I bet my parents would have seen through him—they were renowned aurors, you know. I'm their son. I should have known."
"No one knew. Not Dumbledore. Not the Ministry. He fooled everyone!" Hermione was getting agitated. "You couldn't have known, Neville."
"Harry knew, didn't he?" Neville turned to Harry. "He saw through Crouch. My grandmother sent me a letter this morning telling me that she wants to thank you for being brave and doing the right thing. For making him suffer. She always wanted someone smart and brave like my father, but she got me instead."
"Your grandmother wouldn't want you to be like me either," Harry said quietly. "It wasn't bravery that made me hurt him. It was hatred."
"You think I don't hate too? There's just nothing I can do with it." Neville said bitterly.
Harry groaned out loud. He didn't know if what he was about to say was good advice, but he knew the pain of being orphaned, the all consuming loathing when he realized exactly what had been taken from him. He knew that horrible feeling of being helpless all too well.
"Then learn—turn the skills you do have into something useful or gain new ones. Tell your grandmother to prepare too. We're going to need all the help we can get now that Voldemort's back."
"I t-thought that was just a rumour."
"Not only is he back, he's depleted his death eaters," Harry said. "And where do you think he'll go to fill up his ranks?"
It was strange to see Flitwick walk into the Hospital Wing without his customary smile and spring in his step.
"Do you have any idea how relieved I am that you're alive?" the half goblin said, his eyes glistening. "I keep asking myself: if you hadn't come that day to ask about the Fidelius, would I have still turned a blind eye? Would I have watched unflinchingly as you walked into that maze and shook my head had you died?"
"But I didn't die," Harry said, confused. "You made sure of that with your help."
"If I had known you were bait for You-Know-Who of all people, I wouldn't have waited so long to break the rules to help you! Merlin, I would have taken you out of that tournament myself!"
"Was that even possible?" Hermione asked.
"Don't underestimate the convoluted means goblins have devised to cheat Wizarding contracts, Miss Granger." Flitwick humphed. "It would have likely been a nasty deal, but it would beat fighting a Dark Lord! I didn't—I just never thought it would turn out like this. Harry, did you have any idea at all about You Know Who's involvement in this? Did Dumbledore?"
"I had nightmares. Terrible ones that left my scar aching," Harry recalled the tale Voldemort had told in the graveyard. "Looking back, they weren't nightmares at all. They were visions showing what Voldemort was doing. I saw him discussing a plan with his Death Eaters, discussing Hogwarts. I saw him kill a muggle: Frank Bryce was his name."
"That can't be." Flitwick shook his head, as if willing away the truth of Harry's words. "It's impossible unless—that can't be."
"What can't be?" Hermione's voice was steely. Harry had never heard her speak to a professor that way before. "If it concerns Harry, he deserves to know."
"You'll have to forgive me if I don't inform you right away. Something of this caliber must be researched heavily before confirming." The half goblin asked Harry again, this time more urgently: "But did you tell Dumbledore of this? About the scar? The dreams? Your connection with the Dark Lord?"
"I did. He said it was a product of the killing curse and that there wasn't much to go on since no one had survived it before." Harry frowned. "As for the dreams, he confirmed that Voldemort seemed to be up to something and told me to be careful."
"T-told you to be careful?" Flitwick looked devastated. "Product of the killing curse indeed!"
"I don't understand. I've told you of my mistrust towards Dumbledore before, but it didn't bother you then."
"I respect Albus Dumbledore, Harry." Flitwick sighed. "He took me into his inner circle despite my heritage and hired me at Hogwarts when others would have shrunk away in disgust. He had been nothing but an exemplary wizard to my knowledge when you confronted me with your suspicions. But… doubts have grown since then."
He took out a letter from his robes and handed it to Harry. "What I'm about to say next concerns your vaults and your parents' will. If you would like to be alone for that—"
"Hermione stays," Harry interrupted, reaching out and grabbing her hand.
"Well." Flitwick looked at their grasped hands and cleared his throat. "You once said that since wizarding society forced you to participate in a tournament only for adults, you should have been allowed the status and benefits of an adult to go with it. The good news is that we goblins are a reasonable lot: the moment you fought in the first task as an adult, you were given adult status in their eyes and all the rights along with it. For example, you are no longer restricted to your student trust account and have full control over the Potter Vault and all Potter Estates."
Harry's head spun with the possibilities of this revelation. The Potter Vault—would he finally be able to hold some of his mother and father's belongings in his hands? Have tangible proof of the people they had been? The Potter Estates—would he finally have a home?
"The bad news is," Flitwick jolted Harry out of his thoughts. "That your vaults, your investments, and your estates have been left to gather dust. Usually, you would have a legal guardian to manage your accounts and keep everything in order until you're old enough to do it yourself, but… well, let us just say your guardian took the 'hands off' approach to another level. Oh, there was no interference of the sort, but it has been… quite forgotten. Even if you do wish to visit the Potter Manor, it will likely be in a state of disarray."
Forgotten. Just like he had been all those years at the Dursleys. Forgotten.
"And then, there is the matter of your parents' will. Mind you, I have no authority to read into the details of your account nor the will. I only know general information by making use of my connections and asking a limited number of 'yes or no' questions. The first question I asked was if your muggle relatives were on the list of people you were supposed to go to according to the will. The answer," he sighed, ''was a no."
"What?" Harry said. "Then why was I put there? Who—"
"Dumbledore," Hermione said quietly. "He was the legal guardian, wasn't he?"
"Correct," Flitwick said, appraising her curiously.
Hermione looked down at the ground. "There's something I haven't told you yet, Harry. I went to ask Dumbledore yesterday if we could find a better place for you to stay during the summer. I know I might have been overstepping my bounds again, but I was worried sick at the thought of you with those horrible relatives—especially after everything you'd been through—"
"Hermione—" Harry placed a hand on her shoulders, "—I'm not angry."
"You aren't?"
"Why would I be? This is the first time anyone's cared enough to try and stop me from going back to that hell hole. The first time anyone's even considered an alternative." He squeezed her shoulder gratefully. "Thank you."
Her expression turned crestfallen. "Well, I didn't manage to do much for you in the end. I was turned down. The headmaster seemed to think that the Dursleys were the only option for you. I asked him how he could say that considering how terribly you're treated there. And—he didn't even ask what I meant by that—he just launched into a speech about how he knew that when he left you on your aunt and uncle's doorstep, he knew he was condemning you to ten dark and difficult years. But that, due to your mother's blood protection, it was the best place for you to be safe."
"Safe? Safe?" Harry couldn't help but laugh. Flitwick and Hermione looked at him with concern but once he started, he couldn't stop. I was safe all right, he thought hysterically. Safe in that dark, small cupboard. So safe that no one would know whether I lived or died.
"If he sent me there to be safe," Harry said in a raspy voice once he could finally stop laughing, "then why did he never check for himself? Not once in ten years! He just—just resigned himself to the fact that I would be miserable there, as if there was nothing else to be done?"
Harry felt cold all over. He remembered the terrible pain of a child who had reached out for his aunt's hand only to be knocked backward to the ground as she yanked her hand away. He remembered primary school and coming home with grades better than Dudley, Uncle Vernon locking him in the darkness of the cupboard, and the emptiness in his stomach as he listened to the sounds of a boisterous dinner. His classmates snickering at his baggy, washed out clothes. Shoves and rough handling that were so frequent he should have grown used to them—not dreaded the pain they would bring, the overwhelming loneliness that always wanted to swallow him whole—he remembered it all. It was a dull sort of pain that never truly went away.
"Couldn't he at least have tried?" Harry asked, a lump in his throat. "Did my happiness mean so little? Or was it me—was I just not worth the extra effort in the end?"
What a waste! Aunt Petunia grumbled as four year old Harry ducked his head and quietly finished his meal.
You know what you are, boy? Uncle Vernon squinted at eight year old Harry. Useless. Unwanted. We didn't want you here. And neither did that miserable sod who dropped you on our doorstep.
"Oh, no—Harry, you mustn't think that!" Hermione sounded close to tears as she grabbed his hand, "I knew I shouldn't have told you! You're still not fully recovered—breathe, Harry. Listen to me."
"You deserved more than the pitiful amount of care shown to you. You deserved to be cherished and loved. To be happy." She took a deep breath. "I've tried my hardest to understand Dumbledore's actions and in a way, perhaps he was doing what he thought was right. Perhaps, the Dursleys really were the best option for you. But when he decided to put you in that household, he acquired the responsibility to look after your well being. The negligence to do so speaks of his failure as a guardian, not your worthiness.
"I can't think of a soul more deserving of happiness than you. Do you understand?"
He nodded numbly.
"I am sorry to have been the bearer of this distressing news." Flitwick sounded tired. "More sorry than I can say."
"No," Harry found his voice. "Thank you for telling me. Both of you."
It hurt. Despite his resentment and suspicions against the headmaster, there was still a small part of Harry that had yearned for his approval. Dumbledore was eccentric and strange at times, but he had seen Harry. Seemed to understand him even, read his deepest thoughts. Harry remembered waking up in the hospital bed after fighting Quirrell for the stone and feeling such enormous relief at the sight of the headmaster—a weight lifting from his chest. He had instinctively thought of Dumbledore as someone larger than life, someone who could keep them safe, someone he could rely on.
But it seemed Dumbledore, too, was only human. Someone who could cause pain.
"I deserve to know the truth," Harry said. "No more lies."
He was no longer that little boy in the cupboard.
He refused to be left in the dark.
After Flitwick left, Harry was silent and moody for the rest of the evening. He couldn't bring himself to smile or talk or do anything, really. He just felt… empty. The letter containing the will sat unopened on his bedside table, taunting him. He was scared of opening it only to find more lies, more secrets, more hurtful truths.
Hermione did her best to offer support, but even she couldn't erase his past.
When the Weasley twins dropped by, dragging Ron along with them, Harry was jolted out of his brooding. They came armed with a basket of their strange inventions and treats that Harry didn't have the heart to tell them Hermione had already smuggled for him from the kitchens.
Once the twins had finished tussling Harry's hair jokingly and making over dramatic exclamations about his rumoured comatose state, Ron spoke up from the side.
"Hey there, Harry," he said.
"Hi Ron," Harry replied, feeling strange.
Before this year he had never felt uncomfortable in Ron's presence, but now a heavy blanket of silence and awkwardness lay between them.
"How—" Ron shuffled his feet. "How are you?"
Terrible, Harry wanted to say. I've just fought Voldemort and his merry band of Death Eaters. I've found out that a man I had once respected sent me to my childhood prison. My head is bloody aching. And this is the first time you've spoken to me in almost six months after I told you to choose between apologizing and remaining my friend.
"Fine," Harry said instead. "You?"
"Oh. That's good to hear." Ron looked relieved at his response. "Nothing much going on with me, really. Just the usual."
Taking Harry's silence as an indication to continue, Ron started to talk about how the past few weeks had been, the grueling year end exams, something Seamus and Dean had been up to, his excitement at Quidditch returning to Hogwarts next year... the words seemed to meld together as Harry began to zone out.
Ron was an ordinary boy, talking about ordinary school things, and at one point in his life Harry would have soaked in the normalcy his presence offered. But the Harry of the moment could not bring himself to care about what was being said. He felt like he and Ron were standing on opposite sides, with an ocean of differences separating them.
Ron, too, seemed to run out of things to say and began to fidget before muttering that he had forgotten about meeting someone and made a hasty exit.
Fred and George raised their eyebrows at each other and shrugged, taking over Ron's role as conversation starter. Harry truly was not in the mood for talking, but the twins had the ability to inject laughter into any room they stepped into. After entertaining Harry and Hermione with silly anecdotes and lighthearted gossip, the twins grew serious.
"You really gave us a scare there, Harry," Fred said. "When you fainted, we didn't know what to think. Thought you were a goner."
"Take care of yourself, yeah?" George frowned. "I can't imagine fighting You-Know-Who was easy."
"It wasn't a walk in the park, that's for sure." He shrugged, not ready to go into the details of that night. "But most of my injuries have already healed."
"What about you two?" He changed the subject, noticing the heavy bags under their eyes. "Rough night?"
"It wasn't like we could sleep after everything that happened!" Fred said.
"But Bagman running away with our money definitely didn't help either," George muttered.
"He did what?" Hermione exclaimed.
After a little urging, she managed to wrangle the story out of them. With every word they spoke, their shoulders seemed to droop and their voices lost their previous energy.
"I know what you're going to say," George sighed. "It was stupid of us to bet all of our savings. Foolish."
"But when you're desperate, you don't really think clearly." Fred shrugged. "Next year is our last year at Hogwarts. It was either settle for one of those Ministry jobs Mum's been nagging us about or bet on our last hope for setting up our own joke shop. And now that plan's dead in a ditch."
Harry looked thoughtfully at the bag of winnings at his bedside table. "It doesn't have to be."
Fred's gaze followed Harry's line of sight and he stiffened. "Harry, you can't—"
"Can't what?" Harry grabbed the bag and turned to Hermione, asking if she could take out a quill and some parchment to write on.
"Can't just give us your winnings!" George had caught on too.
"I'm not giving anything," Harry snorted. "I'm investing."
An idea had slowly been growing at the back of his head while he casually played with the silly inventions the twins had brought and listened to their story. Silly was the key word. Everybody seemed to perceive them as a couple of jokesters, but now that Harry had learned the value of twisting a simple spell, he could easily see their pranking through a mean spirited lens instead. Perhaps, people would always consider what they did as harmless fun or look down on the pranks.
But being looked down on wasn't necessarily bad, Harry considered carefully. Being underestimated was what had saved his life at the graveyard after all.
He started writing down terms on the parchment. Money wasn't really important to him, but having the right to point the directions of their inventions and use them exclusively was.
"If you decide to take the winnings, you decide to enter into a partnership with me. I would be a shareholder, I suppose. You would still be running the whole business, but I'd be entitled to chime in here and there for things I'd like to see you try."
Hermione was looking at him with a contemplative expression, as if surprised by this turn of events.
Identical, slow smiles spread across the twins' faces. "What do you have in mind, Harry?"
Harry smiled back. "If you're allowed to go crazy with your inventions, just how nasty can you make them?
The sun had just set but Hermione's eyes were already drooping.
"Hermione," Harry said exasperatedly. "Will you please get some rest? I bet you didn't get any sleep last night either. It's not like I'll disappear once you come back."
"I am perfectly fine where I am, thank you very much," Hermione said sternly, but the yawn that escaped her a second later said otherwise.
"At the very least, come lie down," Harry said, sitting up from the bed. "You've been sitting on that chair all day."
She half heartedly protested, but Harry just rolled his eyes and pulled her along.
Once they were lying side by side on the small hospital bed with the blanket pulled up to their chins, Harry whispered: "Hermione?"
Hermione turned on her side and faced him. "Yes?"
"Did you feel that same thing earlier? When Ron was here?" Harry frowned. "I know it's been a long time since we've spoken, but I didn't expect to feel so... alienated from him. I didn't even know what to say."
She looked thoughtful. "You two are on different wavelengths now, emotionally and regarding what you consider important. You grew apart, Harry. That's all it is."
"Is that normal?" He asked. "Was it like this with you too?"
"When I stopped talking with Ron?" Hermione sighed. "You have to understand that me and Ron were never the best of friends. He insulted me or ignored me or belittled my opinions and I would snipe at him and insult him right back and it was just a vicious cycle. Honestly, the only thing we had in common was you. I doubt we would have ever become friends otherwise."
Harry was taken aback for a moment, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized Hermione was right.
"What about us?" A sudden thought hit him. "We won't ever grow apart like that, will we?"
"You and me?" Hermione laughed, bringing her face closer to his. "You think you could get rid of me that easily? I'm here to stay for the long run."
Harry reached down and grasped her hand tightly. "Good."
That night, there were no nightmares.
The whole time he had been recuperating, Harry waited for Dumbledore and his inevitable interrogation. Surprisingly, the headmaster seemed to be busy with other affairs and did not visit him until the very last day of his stay in the Hospital Wing.
Perhaps this visit would have gone unnoticed had Harry not woken up early that morning, thirsty for water, and found the headmaster sitting in the chair besides his bed with one hand rubbing the creases on his forehead and his eyes closed.
"Professor?" Harry called out, uncertain if this was still a dream. Dumbledore had always been an elderly respected figure, but Harry would never have classified him as old. Yet, as he looked at the man who seemed to have aged another decade overnight, noticed the wrinkles on his face and the sunken bags under his eyes, Harry was once again struck by the thought that Dumbledore was…human after all. The usual aura of power and authority that surrounded the headmaster had vanished and left behind a brittle old man.
Dumbledore opened his eyes at the sound of his voice and the sharp glint in his gaze along with the imposing pressure it brought—as if those eyes could see through all the lies of the world, all the hidden grievances in Harry's heart—made Harry wonder if he had imagined what he had just seen.
"Good morning, Harry." Dumbledore gave him a slight smile as he reached out and handed him a glass of water, ignoring how Harry tensed up in response. "I did not wish to disturb your rest these past few days, but Madam Pomfrey tells me that you have made a full recovery. I am glad to hear it."
Are you? Harry thought.
At his silence, Dumbledore's smile slowly faded and he sighed. "I know this will be painful, but I need to know what happened after you touched the portkey in the maze. Can you tell me, Harry?"
Harry had long seen this question coming. He told the headmaster of the homunculus form of Voldemort that he had mistaken as a baby, Wormtail tying him up, the torture he had endured, the strange phenomenon where his and Voldemort's wands had connected, seeing his parents…
"And then?" Dumbledore prompted quietly when Harry suddenly stopped speaking.
Harry's throat felt dry. "And then while the ghosts fought Voldemort, I used the Accio charm to get the portkey and found myself lying on the ground outside the maze. You already know the rest."
The headmaster seemed to accept this as he nodded and proceeded to explain to Harry what exactly had happened with Voldemort and Harry's wands ("Priori Incantatem," Harry whispered and felt a shiver go through him at the notion that he held such a powerful connection to the Dark Lord….that he mirrored him) and the significance of what Voldemort had done with the blood protection Lily Potter had left behind.
Surprisingly, Dumbledore did not ask about what he had done to Barty Crouch and Harry did not mention it.
After Dumbledore finished explaining, it was his turn to fall silent. Harry looked down at the white bed sheet and tried not to fidget or show his discomfort. Surely, he hadn't realized that Harry was hiding something?
Then the headmaster spoke, his voice low and mournful:
"Your words after the third task have haunted me. I have had many regrets throughout my years and now I have another to add. You should never have had to experience what you did that night. But as much as I regret the pain you have been subject to, I cannot help but be overcome with pride.
"You have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you, Harry. You have shown bravery equal to those who died fighting Voldemort at the height of his powers. You have shouldered a grown wizard's burden and found yourself equal to it — and you have now given us all we have a right to expect."
Once upon a time, these words would have brought indescribable joy to Harry, pride at receiving Dumbledore's high praise and relief that he had done the right thing. But now, the Harry who sat motionless on the hospital bed felt like someone had carved out his insides and left behind a hollow shell of a person. He was not the brave, honorable boy Dumbledore said he was. He was nothing and he felt nothing.
Regrets? Harry wanted to ask. Do you regret leaving me behind at the Dursleys and never checking to see how I was doing, if I was suffering? Do you regret using me as bait in this tournament even though I begged you to believe me?
Would you say those same words if you knew what I did that night? If you knew how I slaughtered those Death Eaters and watched them die with satisfaction in my heart? If you knew what I've become?
Harry didn't want to know.
He had a feeling he knew what the answer would be.
Dumbledore sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder in what was probably meant to be a comforting gesture, and then finally got up and walked out of the Hospital Wing.
Harry remained motionless and silent long after he left.
The rest of the days at Hogwarts passed by in a blur. Even once he was released from the Hospital Wing, Harry and Hermione kept to themselves and spent more time in the Room of Requirement or taking walks outside rather than subjecting themselves to the whispers and stares of the student population. By the time of the year end feast, Harry was in control of himself enough to sit emotionlessly through Dumbledore's speech of Voldemort's return and not react to the half hostile, half curious looks directed his way.
Before he knew it, he was on the train and on his way back to the Dursleys.
Hermione had been acting strange all day; she urgently pulled him into one of the compartments and shut the door with a loud bam.
"Harry, I have something to tell you." She wrung her hands nervously. "When I went to ask Dumbledore if you could go somewhere else this summer and he gave that whole speech about keeping you safe, he added another condition. I'm not supposed to contact you either."
"What?" Harry's stomach sank. "Why not?"
"Apparently, it's too much of a security risk to exchange owls when both the Ministry and Voldemort's people will be keeping an eye on surveillance. Frankly, I don't buy it." Hermione lifted her chin. "Besides, there are other ways to keep in contact."
"What's this for?" Harry asked as she passed him a parchment and quill.
"Your address and your phone number. I'll be needing them." Hermione said in her no-nonsense voice. "I can't believe we've never thought to use muggle methods of communication before, but better late than never. I can always just taxi over if I need to or find something to do in your area so my parents drop me off."
"As for calling…" She handed him another paper. "That's my address and number. There's bound to be a telephone booth near your area that you can use if the Dursleys don't let you use theirs. And in the case of emergency, you can call a taxi too. Just ask Dobby to go to Gringotts with your key and convert a bag of galleons to pounds, and you're set."
Harry was dumbfounded. "You seem to have been planning this for a while."
"I'm not leaving you alone this summer, Harry." Her eyes blazed with determination. "No matter what."
As Harry got on to the platform and spotted the Dursleys, he felt his heart grow heavy.
"I guess that's it then," he said, attempting to smile but not quite succeeding. "Goodbye."
"Bye, Harry!" said Hermione, and she did something she had never done before, and kissed him on the cheek.
Harry froze for a second, unable to process the feel of her soft lips against his cheek and her scent surrounding him.
She stepped back and turned away to go, but before he knew it, he was pulling her back and into his arms.
"I'll miss you." His voice was muffled by her hair. "I never did tell you, did I? Thank you for everything, Hermione."
"You really are silly sometimes." She laughed, leaning into him. "Thank you for giving me one of my Harry Hugs."
When they finally separated, Harry approached the Dursleys who had been watching the display of public affection with more than a little horror.
"Who was that girl?" Aunt Petunia asked, her nose scrunched up in distaste.
"My best friend." Harry smirked. "Don't worry, you'll be seeing her around more often."
The car came to a stop in front of #4 Privet Drive. The house loomed in front of Harry, as perfect and immaculate as ever. As Harry stepped out of the car, he thought he could hear voices taunting him: You don't belong here. Why have you come back? You don't belong.
Harry ignored the stifling sensation in his chest and focused on taking deep, steady breaths like Hermione had taught him.
Aunt Petunia's shriek broke him out of his panicking. "What's that mutt doing on our doorstep?"
Harry moved in front of her and stared down at the doorstep, feeling like his heart was about to burst with all the different emotions swirling inside of him.
"Padfoot?" He bent down and whispered, barely daring to hope.
The black dog—Sirius, it was him, wasn't it? He wasn't dreaming?—barked and nudged a letter into his lap.
Harry opened it with shaking hands and began to read out loud.
"As the godfather of Harry James Potter, it has come to my attention that my godson has been treated abysmally ill by his so called guardians Petunia and Vernon Dursley. In consideration of the years my godson has spent with these guardians, I have refrained from appearing personally and showing just why I have become infamous among the muggle police as a wanted criminal. From now on, this dog will be my eyes and ears in this place. You treat him or my godson ill and I will know. Signed, Sirius Black."
Behind him, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were shouting and yelling, but Harry couldn't bring himself to pay them any attention. He wrapped his arms around Sirius' frame and closed his eyes, unable to help the smile growing at the corners of his mouth.
For the first time in his life, he thought: So this is what it feels like. Coming home.
~A/N~ The art for this chapter by Arishatistic is the best so far...a whole comic strip on the Kiss Cheek moment. I've always thought that was such an important book moment and had so much potential for more! You can find links to the comic art on my profile or use this indirect link: instagram dot com/p/CF-a9LWg8QU/
And we've finally reached the end! It feels a little surreal to me...this story has grown so close to my heart. I've had quite a few people ask if this will be continued to fifth year and beyond. The answer is that as of now Awakening works as a standalone fourth year story, but I do have ideas for fifth year.
If I do end up writing the sequel, I'm undecided if I'll mark this story as complete and start 5th year as a new story or just continue updating from here. Either way, I would ideally draft out the whole year before I start posting again. EDIT: Since many have requested this, on the chance that I do post the sequel as a separate story, I will do as you say and make a chapter update to let everyone know. I would suggest still keeping this story on your follows/alerts for that.
In the meantime, I do hope to post a few Harmony short stories like Home is Where the Heart Lies so look out for that.
Thank you to all the wonderful betas (Elwyn, tyrannicpuppy, trieshardtowrite, Halt CPM) for their help. Thank you to Arishatistic for making so many amazing works of art to go along with the words. Her art has brought this story to a whole other level and brought it to life in a way I could never have done alone. Our goal when we started posting Awakening was to fully illustrate a 4th year Harmony story and it was a struggle to do every chapter, but she really made it. And did an incredible job too!
Thank you to the HMS Harmony Discord (link to join: discord dot gg/2GcXw8R) which re-ignited my love for HHr and is the reason I started writing again in the first place. If anyone ever wants to chat, I am always active on there and it's a wonderful place for like minded fans of Harry and Hermione.
Thank you to everyone who has commented and shown so much love for this story. It means the world to know what you all have to say and really gives me motivation to write more. I hope you have all enjoyed Harry and Hermione's journey in Awakening because I have very much enjoyed bringing it to you.