Chapter 10

Old Wounds vs. New Wounds

Harry ushered Ron down on the sofa. Neville moved to the armchair to allow him to sit beside him.

Ron was openly sobbing now. Raw, heart-wrenching sobs that shook his whole body. He gasped between each one, breath shuddering. His lip wobbled as he tried and failed to hold back a flood of tears that threatened to overcome him.

Not knowing what else to do, Harry leaned into the corner of the sofa and pulled him back into his shoulder, holding him in his arms. Ron collapsed willingly and buried his face into Harry's robes. Harry felt the tension release in his friend's back as he let out a muffled wail into the cloth, as if all it had taken was that simple touch to break him into pieces completely.

Neville reached over and patted his knee.

"I- I'm sorry, Ron. Do you want me to stay or? Should I, um... go..."

Ron just shrugged and continued to cry. His hand was wrapped in Harry's collar, which was becoming increasingly damp.

"Stay, Neville," Harry said. "I think he needs... I dunno."

"Support?"

"Yeah."

Neville stood. "I can do that." He walked off for a minute, then returned with Ron's blanket - one his mum had knitted for him with a big 'RW' and a warped but recognisable maroon lion on it. He draped it over Ron and half of Harry. Then, conjured a handkerchief and held it out. Harry worked an arm out from under the blanket and took it gratefully.

"Thanks, Nev."

"My gran said heartbreak's like finding out somebody's died. Except at the same time they're walking around just out of reach when they used to be the first person you reached for, which is almost worse."

Harry knew heartbreak. At least, he knew loss. And so did Ron and so did Neville. Sure he'd hurt when him and Ginny broke up, but it was a clean break, an easy one, really. But the loss... the feeling like his heart was cracking in two, like his throat was sandpaper, like his blood was ice. He knew that feeling. The sickness in the pit of his stomach when he saw Sirius fall through the Veil, or Cedric Diggory's body lying there in the cemetery, when he lost Hedwig, when Snape was bitten by Nagini - he could hear that final rattling breath, or the soft smile that remained as Dobby went limp in his arms... Fred, Colin, Remus, Tonks... so many deaths. So many losses. And of course Hermione wasn't dead - of course she was fine - and Ron would be fine, but in a way that didn't matter, because if Ron was feeling... if what Ron was feeling was a death, a death of something, then that made Harry's own heart ache, too, in an old, all-too familiar way. A way he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy.

Harry looked at the handkerchief, then laid it on the end of the sofa and wrapped both his arms even tighter around Ron's quaking body, which elicited another wail. Neville knelt and rubbed his back through the blanket in circles. Between them, they let Ron cry and cry and cry, until he couldn't cry anymore.

Over the weekend, Ron spent most of Saturday and Sunday wrapped in his duvet in bed, red-eyed, quiet and miserable. He'd skipped his Animagus class - it was just a lecture on famous Animagi, he'd said - and refused to go to the Great Hall for meals, so Harry had brought him up a tray for each one, even though he barely ate more than a few mouthfuls.

Harry had managed to find Hermione the next morning, while Ron was asleep. She too, looked as if she'd spent the night in tears. He hugged her, as tight as he had Ron, and she held him, too, until she pulled away slightly.

"Is he OK?" she asked, sniffling. She wiped her eye with the heel of her hand.

"Not really."

She nodded. "I guessed as much. This sucks, Harry."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry. I really am. To him. And to you, for making you have to pick up the pieces."

Harry frowned. "It's fine. Seriously. I'm here for you both, you know. I- I'm not brilliant at this stuff, but you can talk to me. If you need anything 'Mione. You know I will always love you both. Nothing's gonna change that."

Her eyes were getting dangerously watery.

"Oh Harry," she sighed. "I love you, too. Both of you. And this wasn't easy for me. At all. But I'm not... I'm not about to let something carry on if it's not working. I couldn't... I couldn't risk it getting worse with shame and doubt and... it was wearing. It was making me... smaller? Does that make sense?

"And Ron... I don't know what was holding him back, if it was fear or, or me, or well, no - I'm certain there's something else that he needs to figure out for himself. Whatever it is, I hope he finds it. I just can't wait around though, can I? I'm not the best at reading people, but I could read him. I can read the room when he and I are in it and the story either ends now, and becomes a different story, or it ends in a few years. Completely. Badly. And I don't want to put myself through that. Or him. We deserve better, right? If we make each other smaller. We didn't do that, as friends, but as more than friends... as more, I was becoming less and less. So I had to.

"I had to, Harry."

Tears tracked down her cheeks. Harry pulled her in for another hug.

"I had to. Or I'd lose him. And he'd lose me. And maybe I'd lose you to-"

"No," Harry said insistently. "You'll never lose me. No matter what, we'll get through this. All of us."

Hermione nodded against his chest.

"Yes. For now, though... I think for now, Ron needs you. And I need to give him some space. So, I'm going to stay away, OK? Just for a while. No, it's fine. I've got Luna, and Ginny and the girls in my dorm. I'll be fine.

"But, can you please take care of Ron for me? Don't let him go to that place he went to last year - that place in his head where all that dark stuff plays out and gets him all turned inside-out."

Harry had promised to try his best.

Figuring a compromise was better than nothing, Harry managed to coax Ron to at least go to the classes they shared - Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures - even if he skipped the others. During the week, Harry basically stuck to Ron's side as much as possible, playing cards or chess or shuffling him from place to place. Neville, too, hung around them, despite the miserable atmosphere.

Even Seamus and Dean had taken to trying to cheer Ron up, though their attempts were a little over-jovial and miscalculated. Still, once or twice they'd managed to get him to crack a smile at one of their jokes. It was at such times Harry really missed the Weasley twins. It was impossible to be sad when they were around - their antics had been too surreal, too quick, too unexpected to ignore. Though it wasn't the same, it was this thought that prompted Harry to suggest Ron go to his brother's shop that weekend. To get away for a bit, with no chance of accidentally bumping into Hermione at every turn. He'd pulled himself together enough to agree, and Harry had seen him off after his Animagus class, with a strict warning - Hermione's 'look after him' ringing in his ears - to be careful when Apparating.

The trip had helped. A little. Ron returned late on the Sunday evening and the first thing he did was tell Seamus about a new goblet that had come in that would shoot whatever liquid you poured into it back up into the drinker's face in an explosive spray.

"Aye and what makes you think I'd be interested in exploding goblets, Weasley?" Seamus retorted, good naturedly.

"Oh hmm, let me think, why did you spring to mind..." Ron replied, putting his bag on his bed.

"Alright?" Harry asked.

He was sat with his back leaning against the headboard reading a book on bedside manners for Healers (which was proving very useful - listen, make eye contact, validate, be supportive and so on). Ron came over and dropped backwards on the mattress at the foot of his bed. He put his wrist over his brow.

"Yeah. M'okay, I guess. Good to see George. Rather talk to you than him about all this shit, like, he's been through so much my stuff must seem like bloody nothing. But he understood. Didn't ask for details or a load of questions, just acted super normal. You were right, it's what I needed."

He lifted his hand and turned his head to look up at Harry.

"Still feel like shit, though," he confessed. Almost as if he didn't want Harry to stop thinking he needed him. His voice sounded constrained, choked as the emotion bubbled up against his will. He swallowed it.

Harry put down his book. He leaned forward and crossed his legs, resting his elbows against his knees.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. When d'you think it'll stop? Will it stop?"

Harry nodded, even though he didn't really know.

Ron's arm had fallen so it was pointing towards the headboard. His fingers were curled slightly in towards his palm. His sleeve had pulled back, revealing the pale blue veins on his wrist. Harry tugged the magenta cloth back into place and smoothed it absent-mindedly. The cloth was cool, slightly rough. Ron's fingers twitched, but he didn't move otherwise.

"Wanna help me figure out how to Transfigure a bat into a telescope?" Harry asked. Dr Khatri wanted them to work on transforming increasingly dissimilar objects into one another, natural to man-made.

Ron smiled at the strange request.

"Sure. Uhh... where are we going to find a bat, Harry?"

The next day, Harry was in the hospital wing. He and Padma had gotten onto the subject of the essay they had had to write at the start of the year - about what they wanted to do after school - as they practiced the high-intensity cleaning charms required for medical-grade cleaning. Pomfrey had left them to it. Apparently, she wanted to check in with Professor Tang about restocking some supplies for the winter.

"I'm mostly interested in it because of Lavender, to be honest," Padma was saying. "I want to... honour her memory, I guess? By helping people, maybe I can make sure others don't lose their best friends. Or their parents, or... yeah. I'd like that."

Harry smiled. "I definitely get it."

He pointed at a bedside table. "Scourgifious Absoluti!"

Just then, the door flew open. Draco Malfoy staggered in. He was cradling one arm in the other.

"Pomfrey, where the fuck's Pomfrey?" he hissed, clearly in considerable pain.

Padma put a hand to her mouth. "Oh! She's not here."

"What?! I need her."

"I- I'll get her. I'll be back as soon as I can. Sorry!" she squeaked. She ran out of the room before Harry could stop her.

Malfoy stood, shaking. Harry eyed him.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Nothing," Malfoy shot back.

Harry rankled. "Let me see."

"No." Malfoy half turned away, hiding his arm from sight.

"I'm taking lessons with Pomfrey. I might be able to help, you idiot," Harry said.

"I fucking doubt that, Potter."

"At least show me. Unless you're afraid or something."

"Shut up." It worked though. Malfoy stuck out his hand, then winced.

Harry came closer. Malfoy's hand was burned all across the palm and fingers. Burned badly. Second, maybe third degree. It was horrible to look at, all red and blackened, weeping blood in places where the skin had cracked.

"Shit. Sit down, now," he ordered, trying out his best Pomfrey impression. That worked, too. Malfoy sat on the side of a bed immediately. He was probably in shock.

Harry pulled up a chair and took a closer look, without touching anything. He could feel Malfoy's eyes on him.

"I'm going to run a few diagnostics. Don't move." He waved his wand and muttered the incantations. "Just this hand?" he asked.

"Yes."

Harry stood and went over to the cupboard where Pomfrey kept her most-used medications. He took out a pain relieving potion. A pretty strong one. Burns were the worst for pain: nothing like setting fire to all your nerve endings to get them to scream bloody murder.

"Take this. Don't argue." He handed Malfoy the potion and watched him swallow it. "Good. Now I can't fix this myself, but I can do a few things to help. If you'll let me."

Malfoy closed his eyes as the potion took some of the edge off. "Just. Yes. Fine." He raised his hand. "Whatever. You better not fuck this up, Potter."

"I won't." Harry pushed his glasses up his nose and sat down again. First, he cast a gentle cleaning spell - not the harsh ones they'd been using to cleanse the room, but something to remove any dirt or debris from the wound. Then, he cast a heat dispelling charm that would help to soothe the area. He reached out, now that the potion had properly kicked in, and gently took Malfoy's hand from underneath to inspect it from a different angles. Deep burns to the palm and abrasions along the left side where he'd clearly burned the hand then hit it against something, causing the skin to rip.

"Episkey," he tried. Smaller cuts closed because of the spell, but it wasn't enough.

"Vulnera Sanentur. Vulnera Sanentur. Vulnera Sanentur." There. The edges of the gashes knitted together. He spelled away the blood, both from Malfoy's hand and his own.

"That... I remember that spell," Malfoy said, brow furrowed.

Harry remembered it too. From when he'd cast Sectumsempra and cut the other boy down in the sixth-floor boys' bathroom. Severus Snape had used the powerful healing spell to repair the damage he'd done. Harry hadn't realised Malfoy was still aware enough to hear it being chanted over him. That knowledge made the memory worse. Made the guilt worse.

"Guess we're even," Malfoy said.

"What?"

"You cut me. Before. Now you've healed me. Guess we're even," he repeated, simply.

Harry gaped at him.

Pomfrey and Padma returned, then. Pomfrey seemed impressed with Harry's choices. Examine the patient, stop the bleeding, address their pain: he'd been paying attention. She took over and shooed them out to breakfast. Malfoy didn't look up as he left.

At breakfast Professor Collins was once again waiting with a stack of notes in hand. He had a red fez on.

"Potter, you're earlier than usual? In any case, you're one of the students who will be joining this week's class. Thursday evening this week, before dinner. It's a mixed group - you don't need to prepare anything but the session should be about an hour, so manage your other obligations around that expectation, please. Muggle Studies showroom."

Harry looked at the note he'd been handed. It read much the same, but with the words 'Group Psychological Discussion - Obligatory Extra-curricular, All Years' were at the top. He vaguely remembered McGonagall mentioning something about this when she had spoken at the welcome feast.

"Ri- right. I'll be there."

"Of course. Oh and I notice Weasley has not been joining us at meal times these last few days. Could you give him one as well? He's also invited to the session."

That was some good news, at least.

"Yeah, will do."

That Thursday, Ron and Harry walked up to the showroom after Care of Magical Creatures. Hagrid had imported a Hodag from Wisconsin, on loan. It was a frog-headed creature, four legged, with horns and a bad temper. Apparently it had a taste for Mooncalves, but Hagrid had fed it a whole chicken and it seemed pretty happy with that, too. They were discussing the latest arrest in the news. A familiar name: Goyle Sr., Gregory Goyle's father.

As they entered the room, which was lit dimly, casting the array of Muggle objects on display in an eerie light, vacuums with long shadows and half-hidden garden gnomes, they saw a ring of chairs in the centre, all facing one another. Most were filled with students of varying ages, some Harry vaguely recognised, but most he didn't. They were the only eighth years present.

They both took their seats. No-one had spoken since they entered. Harry wondered why they'd stopped talking, when he remembered: oh yeah. Chosen One. That whole thing. Somehow, with everything lately, he'd forgotten he was probably the most famous wizard ever these days, if he hadn't already been before he'd killed Voldemort. He was so used to the stares he'd learned to filter them out. But in a ring of younger students, he suddenly felt put on the spot.

Ron leaned in. "Where's Collins?" he whispered, clearly also feeling awkward.

The man himself appeared almost on cue. Behind him, a few more students filtered in. Harry sucked in a breath when he saw the one other eighth year that was here. Of course it had to be him. Malfoy. He noticed his hand was still bandaged. It took a while to heal burns properly. You could do it quick, and leave a scar, or over a matter of weeks if you wanted to avoid scarring it too badly. Clearly Malfoy had opted for the latter option - hell, he'd probably needed it to retain full use of his hand after an injury that bad. The question remained: how did he get it?

"D'you think Malfoy burned his hand touching one of these Muggle things, eh? Burned him like you burned old Qu-Quirrell?" Ron whispered, a bit too loudly.

Malfoy glared at them both. He was sat to the right of Professor Collins, who was almost directly opposite them.

"Right! So, a brief agenda then, everyone.

"Firstly, I will explain the purpose and rules for this session. Then, if you please, I would like you all to introduce yourselves to the rest of the group and say what House you're in. Those of you in Dumbledore House, please also state what House you used to be in as well. Please also say your year. Thereafter, we'll get stuck right into it. That all clear?"

No-one said anything, but some nodded.

"Good. So these sessions have been running, quite successfully now, over the last few weeks. The purpose being to facilitate empathy and understanding across Houses, year groups and backgrounds via an open, candid discussion. It is your turn to share. It is your turn to be heard. I will prompt with questions and topics. You can choose not to answer, but I urge you to take the opportunity presented this evening to be as honest as you can.

"The rules are as follows:

"One - Nothing anyone says here may leave this room unless the express permission of the person is sought and agreed.

"Two - Everyone must listen to one another and respond only when someone else has finished speaking.

"Three - There are to be no insults, no denials, no fighting of any kind. Raised voices are permitted, but if it goes beyond that we will have to pause the session. Let's keep this civil. Is that all clear? Would anyone like to add or amend the rules?"

Again, silence.

"Good. Let's get started."

They all introduced themselves. There were people from year four and up, from all the Houses. Harry found it felt weird to say he used to be from Gryffindor, even though he'd kind of gotten used to being in Dumbledore House now.

Then, Professor Collins asked them how many people in the room were Muggleborn. Then, how many were Pureblood. Malfoy's hand went up, obviously. As did Ron's and a few others'. Then, it was Harry's turn as someone with both Muggle and magical blood.

"We'll start simple. What traits do all of you have in common? Please call out; I'll write them down."

He dragged in a chalk board and floated a piece of chalk into position. The words started flowing in: They could use magic. They were all at Hogwarts. They all wore uniforms. They all had family, in one way or another. They all hated homework (Hermione wasn't there to be a dissenting voice). And so on.

Next, Collins had them all go around the room, one person swapping clockwise and the other anti-clockwise, so each of them would have one minute to talk to one another face-to-face. They were meant to find five things they had in common between them that wasn't already on the board.

Harry, of course, turned to Ron first. They bashed their commonalities out pretty quick, choosing whatever random facts sprung to mind: both slept in a tent, both liked Quidditch, both nearly died a few times, both collected chocolate frog cards, both met a baby dragon.

The next few people were harder. They had to ask each other all sorts of questions, very quickly, to find anything in common. They didn't usually manage to get more than one or two before the timer went off. Harry found a Ravenclaw fifth year who had also owned a snowy owl. That was kind of nice. He met a very young looking Hufflepuff - Muggleborn - who lived in the same town as he used to, which was cool. A Slytherin had begrudgingly admitted that he too, quite liked the new Potions Master, Professor Tang, which for Harry had been a last desperate shot in the dark.

And then he was face-to-face with Malfoy. For the second time that week.

"Potter," he greeted him, waving his burned hand. Almost politely?

"Hi. Err. So I don't think we have anything in common..."

"Don't we? 'Cause off the top of my head I can think of a dozen things."

"Alright, well you start then."

Malfoy leaned closer. "We have both been Seekers, but can no longer play as our preferred positions. We have both been in my house, at the same time. We both know what really happened in the Astronomy Tower. And in the Room of Requirement. We have both used Unforgiveable curses. Shall I go on?"

"Hardly a positive list, is it?"

"You want positive, Potter? We both survived direct encounters with the Dark Lord. We both held on to true friends that we can rely on. We both owe Snape a lifetime of gratitude, if he were around to be given it. What else do you want? My favourite flavour of Bertie Bott's Beans? My favourite colour?"

"I- no." Malfoy was right though, the more Harry thought about it, the more he remembered...

"We both hated Gilderoy Lockhart," he added.

Malfoy smirked.

"Oh Godric, that fucking guy. What the hell ever happened to him? He just left?"

"Obliviate gone wrong. He cast it. Backfired. Back when Ron's wand was broken and he tried to use it on us. I think he's still in St Mungo's."

Malfoy whistled. "Hell. Really? Shame. I was really looking forward to his next book: 'How I Single-handedly Defeated Lord Voldemort Using Only a Bucket.'"

Harry snorted. Just then, the sound went for them to swap partners.

"See you around, Potter," Malfoy joked, gesturing to imitate the strange circular dance they were all performing. He rolled his eyes.

Harry felt his lip twitch before he could stop it. Am I actually smiling at Malfoy? He stood and moved seats in a daze.

A few minutes later, all hell broke loose. Ron was standing facing Malfoy, fists shaking. Malfoy was also on his feet, looking equally enraged.

"'Both lost people in the war?' Fuck you. Actually fuck you. Who did you lose? Death Eaters? Murderers? Your fucking aunt Bellatrix?"

"Oh there's another one! Dear aunt Bellatrix killed our mutual acquaintance - Dobby. The House Elf. That was his name, right?"

Ron shoved him.

"He was my friend! Don't you dare say his name! And anyone you lost was your own damn fault. You know who I lost? My fucking brother, you sick bastard. He died trying to defend the castle, to defend children from the monsters you helped. He died at the hands of one of your Death Eater pals. I lost him and it was pointless and ugly and I never got to say goodbye. So fuck you!"

Ron was shaking all over, crying bitter, furious tears. Malfoy looked stunned, pale. The fight had drained out of him as Ron spoke.

Harry stood, too, knowing what was going to happen next. He was right: Ron launched himself at Malfoy and threw him to the ground, punching whatever he could reach. Harry heard Malfoy cry out as Ron landed a blow on his bandaged hand, which he'd raised to defend himself. Suddenly, Ron went flying back as Professor Collins yelled, brandishing his wand.

"Stop this at ONCE."

Half the chairs were tipped over. Everyone was standing now, everyone except Malfoy and Ron, who were still sprawled on the ground.

"As understandable as that exchange was, it was equally unacceptable," fumed the Professor. "Thirty points from Dumbledore House. Weasley, I will have you here tomorrow evening for detention. Malfoy, you will stay behind after class so I may speak with you."

He turned, his voice mellowing slightly.

"Otherwise, I thought we were making good progress. Well done. Perhaps we can continue the session another time. For now, I think let's call it a day there. You may leave. Thank you all for your participation."

Harry went over and helped Ron up by the elbow. He pushed him bodily out the room before the red-head could say anything else.

"I'll fucking kill him, Harry. I said I would and I will. I can't just do nothing."

"Yeah, I know, Ron," Harry said, because Ron was still crying and there wasn't anything to do but agree with him until he calmed down. "I know..."