Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognise.

Challenges Listed at the Bottom

Word Count: 2395

Warning: Minor violence, and some depressive thoughts.

The Simple Life

Harry shifted in the mirror, straightening his bow tie. He was going to attempt to fix his hair, but honestly, he knew he'd be wasting his time. Even the strongest hair care charms Hermione had found hadn't done anything but made the messiness worse.

His hair was magic-proof.

He sighed. Merlin but he did not want to be going to the Ministry's latest event. Since the end of the war—or rather, the end of the funerals—it had been one after the next after the next, and he was utterly done with it.

He just wanted a few months of simplicity.

But then, he was Harry Potter, and when did it matter what he wanted when he was the property of the entire wizarding world?

That's how it felt at least.

Ensuring he was ready—if he showed up in less than exemplary dress, he'd be all over the Prophet in the morning—he locked up his newly acquired flat and Apparated from the hallway outside his wards.

…

"Harry!"

Harry sighed in relief when he caught sight of Hermione and Ron. They were usually at the event before him, Hermione being a stickler for punctuality, but on the rare occasion, he mistimed it and arrived early.

"How are you?" Hermione asked, hugging him tightly. "I know you hate these things, you haven't been here long have you?"

"Let him breathe, Mione," Ron said with a grin, reaching out to tug Harry into a manly hug.

"I'm fine," he told them, when Ron stepped back. It was almost a reflex answer at this point, and the doubtful matching expressions looking back at him told him that his best friends knew that. "Really, I'm okay. I've only been here about twenty minutes. Mistimed it."

She nodded, and because she was brilliant, started telling him about her internship, prattling on with all the details he didn't particularly care about but preferred to enquiries after his health and mood.

When she was done, Ron took over seamlessly, telling him about the reopening of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes that he'd been working on with George. A sadder subject, for sure, but one that made Harry smile regardless.

They'd all been worried about George in the immediate aftermath of the war.

As Ron talked, Harry felt a shiver run down his spine, his instincts suddenly on high alert.

He fiddled with the arm of his glasses as he casually looked around the room. His friends caught on, and followed suit, even as they continued their conversation like there was nothing wrong.

"Trouble?" Ron asked, tone as easy as if he was asking after the weather.

"I'm not sure," Harry admitted. "Something feels off."

Hermione nodded. "When you feel like something is really wrong, it's usually wrong."

Ron snorted his agreement.

A presence at their side made Ron and Hermione turn, but Harry continued surveying the room.

"Harry," Kingsley—the new Minister for Magic—said, and there was an urgency in his tone that told Harry all his instincts had been correct. "We've had word that—"

"Down!" Harry shouted, his hand flying out as his wand shot down from the arm holster he kept it in.

People around him all ducked, and he sent a stunner over their heads. It hit it's target straight in the chest, and seeing the assailant downed, Harry approached slowly, wand firmly gripped in case he needed it.

He didn't. Antonin Dolohov lay sprawled on the floor, his hood knocked off with the impact. How he'd gotten into the Ministry in the first place was anyone's guess, but Harry noticed that his wand was held loosely in one hand, and a knife was beside his other.

Harry shook his head and glanced at Kingsley. "I think your Aurors need a refresher course, mate."

…

After Dolohov had been restrained with magic suppressing handcuffs and taken away by the Aurors, Kingsley handed Harry a stiff drink and apologised profusely.

"It's never going to stop," Harry said, shaking his head. "I shouldn't be used to this, but I am. It's… not what I had in mind when I defeated Voldemort, but I probably should have expected it, right?"

"I don't think so, Harry," Hermione said, shaking her head. "The Death Eaters are being rounded up, you know that. We hear about it every other day."

Harry shrugged. "And when they're all gone, there will be new dark wizards that want to take out the Boy-Who-Lived, Hermione. You know that. I think we all know that."

Placing his drink on a nearby table, Harry left the hall. He walked straight for the Apparition point, unwilling to be within the crowd of people all staring and muttering at him.

The great Harry Potter did it again, he thought bitterly.

It was never going to stop until someone actually managed to do what many had tried already. It wasn't going to stop until he was dead.

…

"We heard about what happened at the Ministry, Harry, dear," Molly said, as he sat down at the kitchen table. "Are you okay?"

"He didn't even manage to get a spell off, Mrs Weasley," Harry replied softly. "I'm fine, I promise."

"I'm not only worried about your physical health, dear," she retorted, a touch testy as she set a cup of tea in front of him. "I know it must be draining, to be on guard all the time."

"It's… something," Harry agreed, wrapping his hand around the mug. Tea was inherently comfortable, especially when it was made by such a motherly woman as Mrs Weasley.

It was its own kind of magic, in Harry's opinion.

He ran a hand through his hair. "I really am fine," he said, when he caught her watching him with a sad look in her eyes. "Just a bit tired."

She nodded, but he knew she wasn't convinced. He wasn't overly surprised by it.

The many Weasleys began pouring through the doors, and soon enough, the Burrow was busy enough that Harry didn't have to worry about convincing people he was fine. He could just melt into the crowd of people he felt utterly comfortable with.

Even Percy was there, still a little timid and unsure of himself, but trying his best to reconcile with his family following his change of heart at the final battle. They'd shared an awkward conversation a couple of weeks after it was all over, and Harry had firmly told him that there were no hard feelings.

He just didn't have the energy to hold grudges against someone who belonged to the people he considered his family.

As the day wore on, Harry slipped outside into the messy garden. He loved it out here. It reminded him of simpler days, when degnoming was the worst thing he had to worry about.

Sitting himself on a bench close to Arthur's shed, Harry looked up at the colourful sky. He loved sunset colours. They were just so pretty, especially in the summer.

He lost track of time out there, watching as the sky slowly darkened to an indigo night, a low buzz of conversation coming from the open doors of the house, comforting in their nearness, but with the space that he'd come to desire.

Tears slipped down his cheeks unchecked, a release more than anything. He didn't often allow himself to cry because he didn't believe it helped anything, but sometimes, he just had to let the tears fall.

"You okay?"

A low voice, but a familiar one snapped him from his reverie, and he wiped at his cheeks, not embarrassed to be caught crying. He figured he'd probably earned a few tears, and besides, he'd never had to make excuses with the Weasleys.

Even the ones he didn't know so well.

He nodded at Charlie, shifting across the bench to let him sit down.

"You know it's okay if you're not, right?" Charlie offered softly. "I don't think anyone is really okay at the moment, are they?"

Harry snorted, because Charlie was right, but pretending to be okay was what Harry was good at. He'd had so much practice at it, after all.

Charlie nudged him with his shoulder. "You know, Ron came to me earlier about you."

Harry frowned slightly. "Oh?"

"He thinks you need a break. Some time without the press and the public pecking at you for every last detail about your life."

"Chance would be a fine thing," Harry replied, and the venom in his voice took even him by surprise.

"That's what I'm suggesting," Charlie said quietly. "I'm going back to Romania in a few days. I've only stuck around this long for Mum's sake, but I really don't want to be here. Romania is home for me now."

"Okay?" Harry said, his tone questioning.

"I think you should come with me."

Harry blinked. Could he just… go? Just like that? To a country where nobody cared about what he'd done, or who he was.

He knew his answer almost immediately. He just had to take the leap.

…

"Oh, that's awful," Harry moaned, clutching his stomach as he crouched down, pressing his other hand firmly to the floor.

Charlie chuckled, but even he looked a little green. "Long distance portkeys are the worst way to travel," he agreed.

He waited patiently for Harry to pull himself together, and when he finally pushed himself back up on unsteady legs, he put his arm out to help steady him.

"Look, Harry."

Harry looked up and gasped. The sun was rising over the reserve, a beautiful sight if Harry had ever seen one. It was such a simple thing, and it made him feel small, but in the best possible way.

"C'mon," Charlie said, eventually. "I'll show you where we're living."

The walk was nice, Harry mused. He followed Charlie silently, comfortable that they didn't need to talk to be companionable.

Charlie's hut was small, but well equipped with necessities. There was a plush looking double bed, a table with two chairs, a bathroom partitioned off with bamboo shoots, and a tiny kitchen corner complete with fridge-freezer, sink and microwave.

"I like it," Harry said with a small smile. "It's simple."

"Life here—outside of work at least—is all about simplicity," Charlie replied. "I think it's just what you need."

Harry nodded. "Do you have any spare quilts so I can make a bed up on the floor or—"

"Harry."

Harry looked at him. "What?"

"You can share the bed."

"Are… are you sure? I really don't mind sleeping on—"

"I didn't bring you here to make you sleep on the floor," Charlie said, rolling his eyes. "Now, drop your stuff over there, you can unpack later. I want to introduce you, properly, to Henrietta."

Harry frowned and then his eyes widened. "The Horntail?"

Charlie nodded. "The Horntail."

…

Harry shifted on the bed. He'd been trying not to toss and turn. The last thing he wanted to do was wake Charlie up, especially after the day they'd had.

Harry really should have been as exhausted as the red-head, but he still just couldn't seem to turn his mind off.

Eventually, knowing that staring at the ceiling was pointless, he slipped from beneath the thin sheet they were using as a blanket, and out of the hut, closing the door softly behind him.

Outside, there was a simple patio furniture set up, and Harry dropped onto the swinging seat, his eyes on the stars. There were so many more in the sky here; it was a visual treat for his eyes.

He thought about home, about how glad he was to no longer be there, and how guilty that made him feel. He had some semblance of hope now, that he could learn how to live again, that he hadn't had before.

He knew he'd done the right thing for himself, but that didn't ease the guilt that he'd left his friends behind to grieve without him. He'd left them there to deal with the press, the questions, the stares without him there to give all those things a permanent focus.

"Harry?"

Harry turned over his shoulder to see Charlie standing in the doorway. "Sorry, did I wake you?"

Charlie shook his head. "I just woke up and wondered where you were."

"I was struggling to sleep," Harry admitted. "It's really quiet here. Quieter than anything I've ever known."

Charlie nodded. "It took me a while to get used to it as well."

Harry smiled.

"Come on back to bed," Charlie said, and he waited until Harry had joined him in the doorway to go back inside, letting the door swing shut behind them.

…

1 year later.

…

Harry had grown to love the simplicity of his life in Romania. When he'd gotten bored of sitting around, he'd started to join Charlie on the reserve, and through that, had gotten to know Mira, one of the healers.

Healing was something Harry had always thought about on the periphery, even when his focus had been Voldemort, and being an Auror, and with the freedom to learn, he'd flourished under her watchful gaze.

Taking away people's pain, helping people feel better, he loved it. It brought him a measure of peace and fulfillment that he'd never had before.

When he'd been offered a position at the infirmary, he'd jumped at the chance, and hadn't even thought about what that meant for his life in England.

Ron and Hermione would understand, and really, that was all that mattered to Harry.

The biggest change to Harry's life though, had been Charlie.

"What's got you thinking?" Charlie asked as he left the bathroom, freshly showered and ready for the day.

"Hmm? Oh, nothing important," Harry replied, smiling when Charlie kissed his cheek and then wrapped his arms around him from behind, resting his chin on Harry's shoulder.

"Must have been something," Charlie pointed out, "since the toast is now more cinders than bread."

Harry blinked. "Shit."

Laughing, Charlie vanished the burnt offerings and shook his head. "We've both got the day off, should we head into town? We can grab breakfast before we go shopping?"

Harry grinned and nodded. "Sure, sure. Sorry about that."

Charlie snorted. "It's just bread, babe. You apologise for the most random things."

Harry just turned in his arms and tilted his head for a kiss, which was happily bestowed on him. "Love you."

"Love you too."

Written for:

Bromance to Romance: 9. Glasses

Written in the Stars: 10. Getting ready for an event

This or That: 8. Knife

Showtime: 18. Permanent

Film Festival: 3. Handcuffs

Lizzy's Loft: 12. Not what I had in mind

Elizabeth's Empire: 19. Venom

Angel's Archive: 12. Sunset

Amber's Anime Adventure: 11. Indigo

They Said What: 19. "When you feel like something is really wrong, it's usually wrong."

Lyric Alley: 7. I had no hope to hold on to

Resolution Evolution: 10. Theme: Taking a leap

Artist Appreciation: 5. Sunrise

Buttons: A3: Crying

Other:

Gobstones: Copper Stone: Simplicity / Accuracy: Charlie Weasley / Power: Toast / Technique: Pain

Auction: Day 2, Auction 2: Sharing A Bed

365: 22. Visual