Chapter XIV: The Lost Souls and the Found
Author's Notes: Right, well, this took a while, didn't it? I've been stuck on this chapter for ages now, just trying to get it down in writing. I hope this keeps to the level of quality you all expect of this story, but if not, hopefully, the next chapter will be here sooner. Thanks once again to amidland on discord for being a great beta reader.
The sound of soft chirping roused Harry from his sleep. His eyes peered open only to retreat in the face of blinding light. He blinked, raising a hand against the light, allowing his eyes a moment of respite. Following the chirping, his gaze found another pair of eyes, large and yellow, staring down at him unblinking from the bedpost.
"Hello, girl," he whispered. Hedwig preened at him, her feathers gleaming in the morning sunlight. "Glad to know you're always looking out for me."
The stark white owl chirped at him, a strange warmth in her eyes as if to say, 'of course'.
Harry took stock of the rest of his body as he slowly came back to himself. He could already tell just from a few moments of consciousness that his arm was in much better shape than it had been last night. Tentatively, he reached up to his shoulder and clipped the sling from his arm, tentatively pivoting his elbow and marvelling at how he felt no pain. It was good as new, as if it had never been broken at all. He'd have to thank Mrs Weasley for that. A broken arm was a handicap he really couldn't afford right now.
His scuffed wristwatch on the bedside table read nine o'clock in the morning. Undoubtedly, the rest of the house should already be awake, what with the Weasleys being early risers. Harry couldn't remember the last time he had allowed himself to sleep in so late. He rarely had time to just relax, what with there always being something that needed his attention. Now, however, he was happy to spend what little time he could lying in bed.
He pulled Hermione's body closer, revelling in the feeling of her shape against his side. She felt so soft and warm, bundled in blankets and her casual clothes. Closing his eyes, Harry felt the urge to fall straight back to sleep, but he resisted.
He knew he shouldn't be doing this, that he was weak for giving into his longing, but he might never get to feel this intimacy with her again. Hermione would go on to have a life beyond him, find someone new who would give her everything that she deserved. And he would be left behind, one of a lucky few who once knew her, who once held even a fraction of her heart. There would be but a handful of people in the world with the chance to hold Hermione Granger like he was now, and Harry wasn't going to waste that chance.
Harry softly stroked her hair, not too much to disrupt her sleep but enough where hopefully she would be soothed by it.
Her face was still, perfectly relaxed, and Harry was once reminded of just how truly gorgeous she was. How he had never seen it before was beyond him. True, he had never considered Hermione ugly or unattractive, not from the moment he had met her. She was always… well, she was Hermione, which was more than enough for him. She wasn't just a girl or just pretty or just anything, she was more important than that. To him, Hermione was more than just a person in a body, but the books, the library, Crookshanks, hugs, toast, letters and the feeling of never being alone. And then, on that fateful yule ball, she was more. More than Hermione, more than a feeling. She was beautiful, inside and out. Seeing Hermione in her periwinkle ball gown that evening had been a revelation. A piece of Harry that he didn't know he had ached from within him, whispering, "Oh, this is how it should feel."
Why on Earth Harry had continued to chase after Cho after experiencing that sensation would forever be a mystery to him. There were likely a thousand reasons. Hermione was his friend and he assumed that was all she would ever want to be; it was clear that Ron wanted Hermione for himself even if he was too thick to admit it; his crush for Cho came first and, being a teenage boy, his brain forbid him to admit defeat and just accept that it was never going to happen.
But Cho wasn't lying with him at that moment. He would never have allowed himself to cry in front of Cho. And Hermione had come to him. Not Ron, not Krum, him. It should all be perfect. He should be elated that he finally had the chance to tell Hermione how he felt. After all these weeks of keeping his feelings to himself, here was the woman he loved more than anyone else in the world, alone, sleeping in his bed with him. Surely, now was the time?
So why did it feel so wrong?
Why did he feel like he was standing on a precipice, looking down over a fall no man could survive? He knew that wasn't the case, there was no danger to be found here. Hermione was kind, she was strong. There was no doubt in his mind that a relationship with Hermione would be a wonderful thing.
Just, not right now.
Loving Hermione the way she deserved to be loved would be more than he could cope with. Harry knew that at this moment, a relationship as deep as theirs could be would drown him. He was not fit to be anyone's boyfriend, not with the kind of things he had been doing recently. Only last night, he had flown into a death trap with some part of him hoping he wouldn't come back. Rather than face the problems he knew he had, Harry channelled them into being a better soldier for Dumbledore's war. He had been a bad friend, a bad master, a bad son. There were amends to be made, starting today.
It was time for him to wake up and get started on that. He had already delayed his duties enough.
"Hermione," he whispered as he lightly jostled her body. The dozing girl responded with a low whine that squeezed Harry's heart and forced his lips to smile. Waking up in the morning with Hermione Granger by his side was something he could get all too used to. He slipped himself out of Hermione's grip and softly held her hands as she felt for him.
"I'm here," he promised. "I'm just going outside now but I won't be gone for more than a couple of hours. If I am, you have every right to drag me back on a lead."
Harry settled one soft kiss on her crown and quietly slipped out of the cot, not daring to stay any longer, for fear that he might never leave.
He still had his dark riding gear on, a stark reminder of the previous night. Harry stared down at himself. If he had been any less lucky, if Fawkes hadn't turned up when he did, these would have been the clothes he died in. All black, how appropriate.
Choosing to forgo the jacket, leaving him in his dark blue t-shirt and grass-stained jeans, he sidled through the doorway as quietly as he could. He tread carefully across the landing in his trainers, trying not to alert anyone of his presence. The last thing he wanted was to come face to face with any of the Weasley children, not just yet. There were others who he needed to apologise to first.
He descended into the kitchen, finding the usual suspects already awake. Mrs Weasley was busying herself in the pantry. Fleur sitting at the table, reading the prophet, sitting side-by-side with Bill. Remus too was at the breakfast table, having just finished a plate of toast. Tonks was nowhere to be seen, nor was Kingsley, likely having already left to resume Auror duties. Luckily Mundungus was nowhere to be seen, a blessed relief on Harry's already sour mood. It was a shame to see that Hagrid had already departed for Hogwarts, but then again he doubted there was room for him in the first place, what with the Burrow housing so many guests as it was. Mr Weasley was the first to notice his arrival and very quickly he came to a standstill. The man stood upright, examining the young man, waiting.
No point in drawing it out any longer, Harry thought to himself.
He cleared his throat and every eye landed on him. One by one, eyes turned in Harry's direction as he stood at the bottom of the stairs. The atmosphere in the kitchen quickly turned cold, like an icy breeze had blown through and snuffed what little warmth there was left.
Everyone was staring at him as at any moment he would erupt. It was probably justified. He had all but run away to die last night. God only knew what kind of state he was in. Even Harry himself barely knew. He immediately felt shame boiling up inside him.
"I'm sorry," he announced to the small gathered company. He tried to keep the tremor from his voice, standing tall. He didn't deserve their sympathy, he wasn't a little boy anymore. If he wanted to be treated as a man, then he needed to act like one. He had to say it. "I was wrong. I lied to you. I put myself and all of you in danger. It was stupid, it was self-entitled and it won't happen again, I promise."
He expected disappointed sighs, reprimands, anger, shame. Everything that he deserved for being such a colossal idiot. That didn't come. The first sign of movement from the small audience was from Mrs Weasley, who stopped whatever she was doing as rushed over to him. Before he could stop her, or insist that he didn't deserve it, Harry found himself in the grasp of one of her firm hugs.
Once Mrs Weasley released Harry, Remus was next to embrace him, and this time Harry didn't hesitate to hug him back. Everything that Harry needed to hear had already been said last night. There was little point of repeating it, not when Harry remembered almost every word. He knew exactly what Remus thought of his actions, and that most importantly he was forgiven. Now, the only thing left to do was learn the right lessons. No more burrowing away his thoughts, trying to do everything by himself.
From his place at the table, Bill smiled at Harry, glancing at Fleur for a moment, who nodded.
"It was stupid," Bill said, "but we both get why you did it. If I were in your place, I might have done the same thing. Besides, it's what we get for trying to keep you in the dark."
Harry hadn't allowed himself to think of it that way, hadn't allowed himself any such satisfaction. What he had done was wrong and to try and justify it was to disregard his culpability, to disregard the anguish he had put others through. Although, despite himself there was a small voice in his head that couldn't help but agree with Bill. He squashed it immediately.
A few moments later, once Remus had stepped away, Mr Weasley walked up to him, so that they were standing eye-to-eye. He sighed, looking the boy up and down.
"I don't agree with what you did," he said and Harry nodded, "but regardless, I accept your apology, Harry."
That meant more to him than he could ever know. It was an immense relief to know that he hadn't lost the respect of a good man like Arthur Weasley. He spent the majority of his time awake weighing up the odds of whether they would just kick him out of the house and be rid of him. He couldn't blame them if they did, he'd even understand. He'd already thought of a contingency, going to stay at Grimmauld Place by himself, letting Ron and Hermione stay and have a nice Summer at the Burrow whilst he prepared for their next step.
Now, he wouldn't have to, because for some reason they were all willing to give him another chance. Remus' words from last night echoed in his ear, 'Every single person in this house would risk their life if it meant they could help you because we believe in you. Not the prophecy; not fate. You, Harry.' If there were any doubts left in Harry's mind about the truth behind those words, then this was the final proof. The simple fact that he was still standing in the Burrow, treated a welcome guest. Like he was family…
Harry was quick to change the subject before he dissolved into a mess. That was when he remembered the previous night and the one who deserved an apology more than anyone else. The one would never be able to hear it.
"Where's Kreacher?"
Mr Weasley's face dropped and he gestured through the wall.
"In the living room."
He led Harry through into the sitting area where, on a nearby sofa wrapped in a blanket, Kreacher's body lay. Harry stood and stared at the bundle for a while, not speaking, nor thinking of much. He didn't want to imagine what was underneath the blanket just yet. He just wanted to get on and do something.
"He was my elf, he's my responsibility. I want to bury him - by hand, without magic."
Mr Weasley nodded and went to fetch a shovel from his shed. Not five minutes later, Harry had left the Burrow and was walking down the garden path away from the house, making sure to always be in view of the kitchen window and to stay well within the bounds of the wards. His only companion was Dobby. Many offered to come with him and help dig the grave but Harry insisted he go by himself. The work was more than toil, it was penance.
Despite what the others told him, Kreacher's death was in part his fault. He would always feel the weight of the house-elf's untimely end on his shoulders and that was something that couldn't be reasoned out of him. Harry needed this, to take responsibility for it in some way, so that he could move on.
However, he knew that he shouldn't do it alone. Of all the people who offered to join him, he allowed Dobby as his sole companion. It wasn't just about having another house-elf as witness to Kreacher's burial, because Dobby was more than that. Losing Kreacher made Harry realise just how much he took Dobby for granted. Despite many other wizards and witches not sparing the poor house-elf a second thought, Harry didn't want to think of the day when he would have to bury Dobby too.
For one, he wouldn't know how. For all his talk of Kreacher's burial being his responsibility, Harry didn't actually know what he was supposed to do. In fact, Harry realised he had no knowledge of any house-elf traditions. What were you supposed to do with a house-elf when they died? Or at least, what would they want? He certainly had no intention of mounting Kreacher on the wall of Grimmauld Place like some trophy. Would a burial actually suffice?
"Is there any specific way you're supposed to bury a house-elf?" Harry asked as they walked, suddenly regretting not having asked this before they left the Burrow.
The small house-elf thought for a moment before shaking his head, flapping his long, dropping ears as he did so.
"Dobby doesn't know."
How would he? Dobby was in servitude to the Malfoys for… for who knows how long. Those monsters wouldn't have treated their elves anywhere near the right way, and Harry wanted no part of their traditions. Well, since there were no other elves to ask, Harry decided to go with what felt right. What he would've wanted.
"Then we'll pick a good spot. Somewhere nice to look at."
After many minutes of walking under the blazing summer sun, the pair reached the edge of the meadow surrounding the property. The tall, uneven house of the Weasleys was still in sight, not a kilometre away, but diminished under the all-encompassing blue sky that stretched across the fields for miles. Harry was thankful when they passed beneath the shade of some trees leading deeper into the woods. The subtle lapping of water nearby drew them to a picturesque stream and Harry decided to follow it.
They eventually found a small clearing beside the river bank with soft soil and plenty of space. The breaks in the canopy allowed beams of light to fall on the centre, illuminating the spot with some unearthly glow. This… this was the right spot. Harry couldn't help thinking that he wouldn't mind being buried here, when the time came. But hopefully not for a while, he reminded himself.
He looked to Dobby for affirmation, wanting to be sure. The small elf noticed his eyes on him and quietly nodded. Harry readied the shovel. It was best to get started, he had a feeling he would be here for a while.
Harry stabbed the shovel into the earth and began to dig. Pivoting the handle, he pushed down and pulled away at the earth. Slowly but surely he dug away at the ground, marking out a small rectangle big enough to shelter Kreacher's body. Deeper and deeper he went; the pile of dirt next to him only grew taller as he sunk further into the earth. Every so often he would pause, gasping for breath as he realised just how easy it could be to take magic for granted, only to continue with renewed vigour.
Harry didn't allow himself to rest for too long. It was the least he could do to to get this done, for Kreacher's sake. What with the task being so simple as to dig and heave, it allowed him time to think back, to mull things over. All the mistakes, the hours spent alone at Privet Drive, letting himself go down into a place that he knew was unhealthy. There were many things that were beyond his control but his mental discipline shouldn't be one of them. How the hell was he supposed to win a war if he lost against his own mind? He had to take back control, and now was as good a time as any.
'If you can't handle being alone,' Harry thought to himself, 'then don't be alone. If you can't get better by yourself, then get help. Being sad isn't good enough anymore and I'm sick of it.'
By the time the grave had taken shape, Harry's skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat and dirt. Even with the knowledge of how big the grave was going to be, he had somehow underestimated the work behind digging a hole, even a small one. He thought he would be done by breakfast. Now, however, he'd be surprised if it weren't coming up on lunch around now.
Harry set the shovel aside for the moment.
At this point, the hole was deep enough to swallow him up to the waist. There would be little point digging any deeper than that. He planted both hands on the side of the hole and vaulted out. He glanced over his shoulder to find Dobby with a large, flat rock at his feet for the headstone. As Harry began to wonder how he would write out Kreacher's name without a wand, he noticed, placed neatly beside the rock, sat a hammer and a chisel.
Then came the difficult part. Harry looked down to the bundle he had been lying silently a little ways from the grave. He was relieved to see that it had been undisturbed, no insects or birds having touched the fabric. Kreacher deserved that luxury at least.
Careful not to unravel the blanket, Harry picked up Kreacher's body. He slowly climbed down and gently laid the bundle in the grave. Once he was sure Kreacher was settled, he climbed out and began piling dirt on top. He was sure to take his time, almost serving the earth on top of the body, as if not to hurt it. He decided to let him lie with the blanket still around him, it would be more comfortable that way.
After a while, the hole was filled, and Harry started on the headstone. Grabbing the hammer and chisel, he chipped away at the grave with a sharp stone, carving Kreacher's name and date of his death as neatly as he could. Once he was done, he planted the rock at the head of the grave. He made sure to push into the ground, burying its base so that it wouldn't fall over. With the marker firmly planted, Harry leaned back to take a look at it and frowned. Even with that small detail, something was missing from the scene. It needed a bit of colour, something to make it less out of place amongst the vibrant pasture.
"I don't know what flowers he'd like," Harry admitted bashfully. It was just another reminder of how little he really knew of the old house-elf, the lack of time he had taken to truly understand him. Luckily for Harry, Dobby clicked his fingers and a bunch of daisies sprouted from the ground in front of the headstone.
Harry glanced around, watching the sunlight gleam though the canopy, and sighed.
"I hope you like it here, Kreacher." He looked down at the upturned soil, imagining the old elf lying peacefully under the ground. He wondered how he might have felt about this being his final resting place, whether he had finally done something right for the poor elf. "I'm sorry. I wasn't a very good master, was I? I didn't look after you nearly as well as I should have. Haven't been looking after myself, all that well, either…" Harry looked down at the grass beneath his knees. "You won't be forgotten, though. I'll make sure people know what you did. How you were a good elf, in the end." He glanced at the clumsily-carved headstone. "You sleep now, Kreacher. You've done more than enough."
It was as fitting a good-bye as Harry could have given. The only way it could have been better in his mind was if Kreacher were alive to hear it.
He looked down at the house-elf by his side
"Anything you'd like to say, Dobby?"
Dobby wrung his hands, looking down at the grave with a strange expression, melancholy but with an air of peace.
"Kreacher is like Dobby now." He looked up at Harry, his eyes shining. "He's free."
Harry couldn't help but smile at the house-elf's unique sense of wisdom.
"I think you're a good elf too, Dobby," clapping the house-elf gently on the shoulder as he sat down, "and a good friend."
In the thin beams of light that shone through the canopy, it looked like Dobby's eyes were wobbling in their sockets. Tears were flooding down his small cheeks, dripping down his long, pointy nose. It was all Harry could do to pull the house-elf into his side and let him dry his face on his t-shirt.
Eventually, after his tears calmed to the occasional sniffle, Dobby decided that he ought to go back and help the Weasleys around the house. It was only once Harry excused him, after noticing the house-elf sitting by his side, waiting for his approval, when Dobby disappeared in a crack and Harry was alone with his thoughts. He had never made Dobby his elf, not properly anyways. Maybe it was Hermione's S.P.E.W. efforts catching on in his head, or the reminder of Dobby's treatment at the Malfoy's that caused Harry such hesitation on the matter. Besides, Dobby was happy to be free, and who was he to deny him of that? Then again, Harry would never have done it without asking the house-elf first. If Dobby wanted to help him from now on, it was his choice and Harry secretly hoped that he would. It would be smart to keep Dobby close-by when they went underground, not just for the company but also having a house-elf they could rely on would be extremely useful.
The rustle of trodden grass from behind him caught his ear. His heart leapt into his throat. Driven wholly by instinct, he sat up. His body twisted around, his eyes wide and alert. It took a second to register the sight of Fleur standing in front of him and only when he was sure it wasn't a trick did Harry allow himself to relax.
"Eet's only me," she smiled as Harry took a deep breath. Whether she merely failed to recognise his reaction or just chose to bypass it for his sake wasn't clear. Instead, she waited for him to stand and brush the dirt from his jeans. He noticed a small bouquet in her hands. "I brought zese. For ze 'ouse elf." She took a few tentative steps closer, taking in the small woodland clearing as she looked around. "You picked a lovely place for eet."
"Thanks," Harry nodded as his eyes returned to the make-shift tombstone. "He deserved it."
"'E saved Bill's life. Ze curse that killed Kreacher, eet would 'ave 'it Bill," she explained. "I wanted to say thank you."
"That's good of you."
Fleur placed the lilies beside the newly-grown daisies, settling the bouquet against the headstone. Harry thought the two flowers complimented each other suitably.
For a few moments, Harry allowed the mood to sit in quiet contemplation, partly to appreciate the tranquility of the scene and partly to mask his struggle for how to continue.
"How's Gabrielle, by the way?" he finally asked after a while of thinking of something to say.
"She's well, very well," Fleur smiled. "She's coming over for the wedding. Very excited to see you again."
"Oh, dear," Harry chuckled as he ducked his head.
"She's been going on and on about meeting ze great 'Arry Potter again," Fleur added mischievously, "asking me all zeese leetle questions about you. I think you 'ave a secret admirer."
Harry nodded, not really listening, having long since caught on to what was happening. He tolerated it until now, but here, in front of Kreacher's grave, alone, it felt stifling. It shouldn't have made him feel this way - he knew she was only trying to help - but for some reason it did. However, rather than stay silent and let it all build up, he decided to let it be known.
"You know, you don't need to come out here just to cheer me up, or to check that I'm still here," he assured her. Her face fell slightly as she realised the game was up. He sighed. As the moment drew on, his polite smile faded away. The mood quickly turned somber. "I know I'm not well. I haven't been for a long time now." The only sound left was of the stream rushing by, washing away the guilt from his mind. He had to let it out. Admitting these things was the first step, perhaps the hardest. "If I can, I want to get better, because it's not just about me. There are people who rely on me. I've got too much to fight for to give up now."
There was a long pause where Harry worried that he had said too much. That was until he felt Fleur take his arm in her's, in what felt like a form of solidarity, and Harry was surprised to note that it helped somewhat.
"I know someone who can 'elp you. I will get you in touch with zem."
He once again nodded in thanks, not sure what else to say, or whether he could. For some reason he couldn't muster the enthusiasm to feel anything, stuck in this limbo of slight despondence, teetering on the edge of exhaustion, physical and mental. It wasn't fair to her or the Weasleys, he told himself. They had done so much for him already and now they had to put up with him in this state. They had other people to worry about without him acting like this, but no matter what he tried, he couldn't drag himself out of it.
"I'm sorry to drop this on you all," he said, "especially you, Fleur. You've got your wedding coming up and that all needs to be organised. This should be a happy time for you all and I've just-"
"'Arry," Fleur interrupted before he could dig his hole any deeper, "did you ever wonder why Bill and I insisted on holding a wedding at a time like this?" Harry glanced at her, waiting for her answer and Fleur took it as a sign to continue. Clutching his arm, she gazed down at Kreacher's grave. "Because this is not a happy time. People are suffering, dying, and it will only get worse. But we are taking whatever happiness we can get, while we can. You should, too. It's alright to want something for yourself even if it's inconvenient. Love always is."
Harry glanced at Fleur from the corner of his eye, scrutinising her. How much did she know? Was he that obvious with his feelings? He hadn't made the best effort to hide them, after all, especially last night. Or perhaps she was far more perceptive than anyone gave her credit for.
"Come on," he said as he realised he'd been staring at nothing for too long, "let's give Kreacher some peace and quiet."
It was time to go back to the Burrow and face the rest of the Weasleys, he decided, and probably time for some lunch as well. Before he could turn to leave, however, Fleur stopped him. As he was about to ask what was going on, she reached up and pulled him into a warm hug.
"You are one of ze bravest men I know, 'Arry," she said quietly, with steely conviction. "You 'ave given so much to so many people. Take some time for yourself, now. Please."
Harry was once again lost for how to respond, so he just decided to stay quiet and hug her back. He and Fleur had never really spoken before now, not with this amount of sincerity. Had they never found the chance to talk, he might have never known that she felt this way about him, that she actually believed in him - someone who, in his mind, should have no reason to. Just like everyone. Harry always assumed that she thought he was-
He smirked as a memory from years before resurfaced.
"So I'm not a 'leetle boy' anymore?" he asked innocently. He heard a tut as he was swiftly let go. Fleur glared at him but her eyes held no real venom.
"Now why would you say zat?" she admonished. "I was trying to be nice to you."
"Just making sure Bill has nothing to worry about," Harry laughed. Fleur shook her head.
"'E agrees with me," she assured him. A warm feeling rushed through him, knowing a man like Bill Weasley thought so highly of him. With her arm hooked in his. he began leading him back to the Burrow. "And by ze way, I wasn't lying about Gabrielle. And I'm sorry, but I did promise you would meet 'er at ze reception."
Harry sighed dramatically.
"And here I was thinking you were buttering me up for no reason," he smiled. "Don't worry, of course I'll meet her. Can't disappoint my adoring fans, eh?"
"Bien sûr."
Harry picked up the shovel and they both turned together, ready for the walk back to the house.
"Thanks for coming to see me," in a moment of real honesty. Fleur simply smiled and patted his arm.
"You're welcome."
'Right, that's enough about yourself, Potter,' a voice in his head spoke. 'Change the subject, focus on her for a change.'
"I'm looking forward to the wedding," he offered politely. "You and Bill, it's nice. He's a cool guy. I'd say you're both lucky."
Fleur hummed.
"I like to think 'e is ze lucky one and I merely 'ave a refined taste."
"Lucky indeed. He's marrying a Triwizard Champion, after all. Well," he added particularly, "third place, but who's counting?"
"You seem to 'ave cheered up," Fleur noted with a hint of amusement.
"What can I say?" Harry said as they ventured from the thicket. "I'm a smug git."
The pair soon left Kreacher's grave behind them, where it sat quietly, undisturbed in its tiny corner of the woods. The little songbirds sang, the treetops bristled and the river ran clear as glass. A quiet little world for an elf fast asleep, never to be hurt again.
Harry spent most of his late lunch in a hard talk with Remus. He had a lot of questions about what Harry planned to do now he was out of Privet Drive, their mission from Dumbledore, his seventh year, how he was going to get better whilst in a war. Harry didn't have answers for many of them - either for the fact that he didn't know or simply couldn't tell him - but he tried his best to convince Remus that he was taking this all seriously. No more random acts of outlandish martyrdom. He was in it for the long haul now, or for however long he had left.
Despite wanting to, despite knowing that he deserved the truth, Harry still didn't tell Remus about the Horcrux in his head, or about the Horcruxes in general. Knowing about the Horcruxes would only put him in danger, along with everyone else. Harry hated it, having to keep it to himself, but he shared as much as he could, skirting around the important details.
He told Remus about his depression, his panic attacks, his brief sessions with a mind healer from St Mungo's, how they labelled it P.T.S.D. and just told him to avoid stressful scenarios. As if that would ever be an option for him. And at the end of it all, Harry told him that he had no idea how to go forward, but he knew that he needed help, desperately, if he was ever going to get to a healthier place. Luckily, Fleur stepped in with that 'someone' she knew from her time in France, someone who specialised in trauma therapy - veterans, victims and all sorts of broken people. She offered to send an owl over that very same day, just for an initial visit, to see if it could work, and Harry agreed. It was a start at least.
Throughout their discussion, Harry couldn't help but notice how Mrs Weasley kept a very close eye on him, like he would disappear at any second. She all but forced him to eat every scrap on his plate, until there was nothing left in front of him. Although it was a tad overbearing - he expected nothing less from Mrs Weasley - Harry had to admit that he needed the food. For all the excuses he'd made to Hermione about stealing his fair share, he hadn't been fed nearly enough over the Summer. It got to a point where he couldn't pinpoint how much of his body's new definition came from rigorous exercise or malnutrition.
By the end of the afternoon, Harry was exhausted. Laying everything bare like that, digging everything up and trying to make sense of it, had left him with nothing else to give. Deciding that they had made enough progress for today, he excused himself from the kitchen and made his way upstairs to rest in his room before dinner. His leaden feet trudged one at a time, up and up, floor by floor. Harry kept his eyes to the floorboard as he went, not daring to look at the doors he passed, the reminders of what was to come. The conversations with the rest of the family - with Ron - were yet to come and he wanted to do it right. Facing anyone else now, at what felt like the end of his rope, would be too much. He just needed a nap, or something, just some time to himself.
Eventually, he arrived at the door to the guest room and pushed it open, only to find Hermione sitting on his bed. Despite his exhaustion, Harry immediately stood up straight. Hermione in turn looked up from the book in her lap and sat up, her face strangely neutral. The fact that she was dressed in different clothes was the only evidence that she hadn't been sitting there the entire day.
"Hello," he finally said, to which she simply replied.
"Hi."
There was a long, awkward moment before Harry walked forward, picked her up and hugged her tight. Hermione burrowed into his side. Few things meant more between the two of them than one of their hugs.
"I'm so sorry-"
"It's alright." She looked up at him through her eyelashes and her messy fringe. "I know you are."
The reunited pair moved to the bed, sitting so close to each other that their sides were almost glued together. Harry took a moment to simply be with Hermione, holding her against him, wondering for a moment how they had ended back here again. Then he remembered what Fleur had said, about wanting something for himself, and decided to just accept it.
During they're impromptu cuddle, Harry told her about his morning, his walk with Dobby to find the spot, digging the grave, carving the headstone, how he'd all done it all by hand - Hermione seemed to really appreciate that little fact. He also told her about what Fleur said to him, about the friend that Fleur suggested and told her he was planning on taking up her offer.
"I need all the help I can get," he admitted, shrugging his shoulders. "I think I was making a bit of progress with the healer from St Mungo's, but it was more just figuring out what was happening to me. Which was good but it wasn't making me any better."
"Talking about these things - even if it's just with me - that helps. It doesn't have to be a professional."
"No, I guess so, but at the same time I want someone who knows how to deal with people like me."
"There's nothing wrong-"
"I know, I know," he hastily replied, wanting to get his say in before she got started. "You know what I mean. It's more just… I don't want to pile on you or Ron or anyone else when they've got their own problems to deal with- and I know you want to help, I know, and I really appreciate it. I just need someone who I can talk to about just this. I don't want my whole life to be about me dealing with this. I want something… outside of that- more normal. It's more fair on all of us."
Hermione bit her lip as she stared up at him and for an instant Harry considered doing something very selfish.
"As long as you'll talk to me about things that are troubling you, okay?"
"I could never hide anything from you." He pulled her closer, leaning his forehead against hers. "You're right here, Hermione, always. Even when I can't see you."
The pair sat together for a while longer, their hands woven together, neither saying anything in a mutual silence. Except, it didn't stay that way for long. The long pause in conversation, the comfortable limbo they had settled into, was soon broken by Hermione when she finally whispered, "I need to tell you something."
There were a million things going through Harry's mind as to what this something could be. He really hoped that it was good news, he needed more of that nowadays. However, as he leaned back to get a good look at her, he quickly realised that it was anything but. She looked anxious, terrified even. Despondent. In spite of his own reservations, Harry urged her to go on. If this was as important as it sounded, the last thing she needed were his own fears compounding on hers. She took a deep, shaking breath.
"I told my parents everything, the war, Voldemort… you. I told them that, if they stayed in England, they would probably be killed. We decided it was best if I…" she swallowed. Her bright, brown eyes were shining, distorted through tears. Harry's sinking feeling only intensified, but he remained stoic for her sake. "I- I made them forget me."
For what felt like an eternity, Harry merely stared at her, trying to comprehend what he had just heard.
"Wh… What?"
Even as alarms blared in his head, his first instinct was to hold her as her lip trembled and her shoulders shook.
"They're gone, Harry. I took their memories and I sent them away. They've probably landed in Sydney by now. They don't remember anything of their previous life. They don't even know who I am anymore."
Harry stared at her in pale-faced, wide-eyed horror. Despite trying his best to remain strong for her, felt like he was going to throw up.
"No," he whispered desperately. "Hermione, why? Why would you do that to yourself?"
"Because I had to keep them safe," she whispered in a broken voice. Her eyes met his, fire raging behind a sheen of despair. "I'm with you no matter what, Harry. It's no secret where my loyalties lie. If Voldemort found out about my family-"
"But we could have protected them!" Harry stood up and began pacing back and forth in the tiny room. "Oh god, can you undo it? Can we stop them from-"
"No, Harry. It's too late to bring them back. And even if we did find them, I wouldn't know how to restore their memories."
"Hermione, do you know what this means?" He took hold of her shoulders, forcing her to stare into his face. "You might never see your parents again!"
"If they stayed," she replied, staring right back at him, "they would have been killed."
Harry wanted to scream at her, or rush over the nearest airport and fly all the way to Sydney, to do anything to fix this. But he knew it was already too late. That was why she only told him now, so that he couldn't stop it, because she knew he would try. Harry felt a great wave of shame radiate from within him. This was his fault, he knew it. If he wasn't who he was, if he- he sighed, kneeling in front of her in surrender.
"You should have gone with them," he said quietly.
"Not a chance," she objected indignantly, to which he bit right back.
"Yes! Hermione, do you understand what you've just given up?"
"Of course, Harry!" She grabbed his face and tilted it upwards so that they were looking eye-to-eye once again. Tears trailed down her cheeks. "It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do!"
"Then why would you do it?!" he cried, amazed, frustrated how she could possibly be so adamant about this.
"Because I'm not leaving you!" she said with a voice of steel. "Not ever. I promised that I would stay by your side no matter what and this is part of that. This is where I stand, right here with you."
"I never asked you for this," he whispered as if by some hope he could change her mind and convince to run far away and live a life in Australia with her parents before it was too late. "I never asked you to ruin your life for me."
That was when she pulled him up into her arms, whispering into his ear.
"It wasn't your decision. If you had any choice in the matter, I know you wouldn't have let this happen, but it has. My parents are gone but they're safe. I can live with that. If I could convince you to do the same, I would, but I know I'd be wasting my time. And I know you can't convince me either. I'm here for as long as you need me."
Harry pawed at her jumper, gathering her up in as tight a hug as he could muster. Her body pressed against his, kneeling together on the carpet.
"I'll always need you," he breathed into her neck. He felt her smile into his cheek.
"Then I'll always be here."
"Ahem." The sound broke the mood between them. Harry managed to turn his head, just enough to see Ron standing by the door, as he had been for who knows how long. The redhead awkwardly raised a hand. "Hi."
Harry reluctantly disengaged from Hermione's embrace and walked over to his best mate.
"Ron-"
"Yeah, I know," Ron waved him off. "You're dumb and you have a death-wish."
"It won't happen again."
"You bloody well know it won't." A pair of gangly arms captured him before he could step away. "Shut up, you're getting hugged. Hermione, you come here, too."
He heard Hermione scuffle towards them from her place on the floor.
"I don't think-"
"Yeah, come on."
Before he knew it, there was another pair of arms around him as Hermione was pulled into the group hug. The Golden trio, finally reunited after too long. It warmed Harry's heart, having two of the most important people in his life, his family, right there with him. This was what he was fighting for, this was why he had to stay.
"I can't promise that I won't be sad," he admitted, "or that I won't have bad days."
"Well, we all do, don't we?" Ron shrugged. "Sometimes I'm a moody, jealous git who needs a kick up the arse and I don't even have a Horcrux in my head. I think you're allowed some bad days."
"And sometimes I'm a bossy know-it-all who can't accept when she's wrong," Hermione added. "No one's perfect. Having times where you can't cope doesn't make you a bad person. Frankly, Harry, I'm staggered at how resilient you are in the face of all of this."
"I could say the same for you," Harry replied knowingly, rubbing a hand up and down her arm to comfort her. Hermione silently nodded and Harry knew his gesture was deeply appreciated
"Just…" Ron sighed, catching Harry's eye with an uncharacteristically sober stare, "next time you come up with a plan that should more than likely get you killed, tell us first so we can convince you not to do it."
Fighting down the urge to laugh at the blunt delivery - he reckoned that would ruin the moment - Harry simply nodded.
"Good plan, Ron."
Now Harry could only hope that he would stick to it. He only wished that he had such faith in himself, that he honestly believed that he could get better, that he could be fixed. That was how he saw himself, someone who was broken in so many ways, who had a long road ahead of him if he was ever going to become a functioning human being.
The silver lining in it all, however, was that he had people he could rely on to pick him up when he stumbled. The greatest proof that Harry Potter was a living, breathing person, not just a story or a symbol or a chosen one, was standing right in front of him. His two best friends, who'd been through hell for him, who hadn't lost faith in him, even at his worst, and who would be there for him right up until the end.
Just like how Harry would never run away from them again, no matter how scared he was, no matter how hard it was to look at them, knowing that one day soon, Harry would never see them again. They wouldn't grow old together, share long, busy, annoying, joyous lives together, as they should. One day the Golden Trio would be broken forever.
That day wasn't today, nor would it be tomorrow, nor would it be weeks from now, no matter what fate or prophecy dictated. Harry was going to fight, with every breath in his lungs, every drop of his blood, every second he could steal from time itself. He would never give in so easily, no sooner than when death itself came to personally escort him down into the earth.
And until then, Harry would fight not just for his life, but for his soul. So that one day, when it came time to lay him in his final resting place, he might be remembered as more than a boy who lived, but as a good man who died well, sorely missed and deeply loved.
