Chapter Four.

For the first time in a long time, Harry slept peacefully that night. He dreamt of quiet forests and calm lakes, of pine trees beneath millions of stars, a glowing stag, and a shimmering lake in which a silver otter swam joyously. He also dreamt of an open field and a tent which emitted a warm orange glow into the darkness around it. Harry longed to be nearer to it. When he approached, he heard a soft humming coming from within. It was a song that Harry only vaguely recognized. Curious, he lifted the flap to see.

She was swaying, softly, her back turned towards Harry.

'Hello?', he asked softly, not wanting to interrupt whatever it was that she was doing.

The girl turned, and a wave of shock washed over Harry when he realized who she was. Her dark eyes betrayed no surprise as she spotted him. Instead, she smiled warmly and reached out her hand to him. He took it, and she spun under his arm, swaying him into the dance with her.

'I'm so glad you're here, Harry'. Her voice was an unusual echo of her own.

'You are?', Harry asked, stupidly.

She laughed softly and looked up at him, lifting her head from his shoulder. Harry felt warmth rush through his body.

'I thought you might need this', she whispered, reaching for something behind her.

And then Harry woke.

It took him a while to understand where he was. Hogwarts looked nothing like it'd done two days before, but nothing like it did last night, either. The rubble in the Great Hall was gone, revealing its awfully bare, ceiling-less skeleton. Half of the students who had fallen asleep here had disappeared, and the light of an early morning sun came streaming into the Hall from all sides of the school. It looked almost peaceful.

Harry then spotted professor McGonagall, walking alongside Kingsley Shacklebolt and a rather solemn-looking man, and the sense of peace abruptly vanished.

Harry, motivated to get up by his empty stomach, tried to sit up and groaned painfully. Every bone in his body ached, but especially his leg, and his head stung. 'Hermione?', he groaned, rubbing against his forehead. 'Are you awake?'

When there wasn't a response, Harry turned to look at her. Hermione was gone, but she'd left her coat, torn up and bloodied from the battle. Harry frowned. He forced his body to stand and walked around, trying not to put too much pressure on his left leg.

'Oh, Harry!' Professor Slughorn came hastily towards him, cheery as ever. 'How are you feeling, my boy?'

Harry nodded slowly so as not to worsen the thumping in his head. 'Good, sir.'

'A little bruised, I presume?' Slughorn laughed. Harry nodded again. 'See, Harry, if you need anything against the pain, just know that I've plenty of resourc-'

'Yes, thank you, Horace.' McGonagall stepped swiftly to his side, gently forcing the Potions Master aside. 'But I hardly think that will be necessary. Mr Potter has proven himself quite unbreakable, don't you think?'

Slughorn, obviously startled by McGonagall's sudden appearance, nodded quickly. 'Yes, yes… quite.'

'Besides, we wouldn't want the boy's senses dulled, would we? We need his assistance, here!'

Harry swallowed. 'Assistance?'

'Oh, yes! That man over there is Gawain Robards, Head of the Auror Office. He would like to speak with you regarding… well, everything', Professor McGonagall said, gesturing to the solemn-looking man Harry had spotted earlier. He was staring at Harry, now, a deep frown furrowed between his brows.

'I'm sorry, professor', Harry said quickly. 'But I meant to-'

'Go see Mr. Weasley', McGonagall nodded. 'So I understood… but I'm afraid this matter is rather urgent.'

Harry studied McGonagall's unyielding face for a moment, realized arguing would be useless, sighed, and then nodded.

Gawain Robards took up most of Harry's time and energy, that day. They sat in an empty, mostly intact classroom for hours as Gawain Robards asked question after question. He asked about Voldemort, the Malfoys, the Elder Wand, Snape, Nagini, and much more, going back in time as far as Harry's first year at Hogwarts, when he fought Professor Quirrel and Voldemort for the Philosopher's Stone. Harry felt tired, hungry and sore, and couldn't quite remember everything as well as he would have if he'd rested properly, but Robards was ruthless. He insisted on having the story completely and correctly that very day. The Ministry was waiting for answers, he said, and so was the world. So Harry told him everything he could, taking short breaks at times to think, and by the time Robards was finally satisfied, it was well into the afternoon, and Harry's head felt like it was about to burst.

Robards promised to contact him for any further questions, as Harry privately hoped that he wouldn't, and left the classroom.

Harry sat there for a while, rubbing his temples, slowly coming back to his senses. He hadn't very much enjoyed going over everything, again. In fact, it'd emotionally exhausted him, and all he wanted right now was a fire, and quiet, and…

He wondered suddenly where Hermione had gone, and sat up in alarm. They'd agreed to go see Ron today, but she had vanished without a word. That was unlike Hermione.

Harry suppressed his longing for quiet and got up, leaving the solace of the empty classroom behind.

Seamus and Dean were just coming up the stairs.

'There you are!', Seamus cried out, clapping his hands together in excitement.

'You've got to get dressed, Harry', Dean said.

'And showered,' said Seamus, wrinkling his nose.

Harry looked down at his torn shirt and muddy jeans, sniffed subtly, and frowned. 'Well… yes', he said. 'Why are you coming to remind me, exactly?'

'The feast, o'course!', Seamus smiled.

Harry's frown deepened. 'What feast?'

'At students' request, Hogwarts is throwing a feast tonight, in celebration of the end of another hard-fought war.' Seamus' proud smile betrayed exactly who had requested this celebration. 'It's limited to the Great Hall, o'course… since the rest of the school is still under repair and all that- but it should be fun!'

Harry didn't feel like having fun. He felt quite irritated, actually.

'I'm not in the mood for a feast, really.'

'We understand', Dean said seriously, nodding his head. 'But we think it's important you come, Harry. You're the star of the show.'

Now Harry felt angry.

'I didn't ask to be a star, Dean', he said brusquely, pushing his way past them. 'And this is not a show.'

'But Harry!', Seamus protested.

'I'm not in the mood for a party, Seamus!', Harry snapped. He turned around to face the two boys, who were exchanging a solemn glance. 'People are dead!'

'We know, Harry', Dean started, quietly. 'Truth be told, neither are we. But we've got to lift some spirits…'

'It's depressing in there!', Seamus sighed, gesturing towards the Great Hall. Dean prodded him with his elbow. 'What I'm tryin' to say', Seamus said quickly. 'Is that McGonagall is worried. It's quiet, Harry… quieter than it's been in a while. We just thought… well, we thought the school could use some brightening. Togetherness, you see?'

Harry blinked.

'Think about it, Harry. Hogwarts hasn't been bright in weeks. First there was Snape, and those foul Carrow Twins… then… well, this', he said, gesturing at the destruction around them. 'We could all do with some music, and dancing, and company.' He fidgeted his ring nervously, almost apologetically.

'Let us go back to the gloom tomorrow', Dean muttered. 'With raised spirits.'

Harry remembered Lupin and Tonks, reaching out for each other on the floor of the Great Hall. He remembered Ron crying on his dead brother's chest, and Snape, choking. No. Harry felt no desire to party.

'Not this time', he said. 'Sorry.'

Without another word, Harry turned around and walked off. He wasn't quite sure where he was going until he arrived before the portrait hole. The Fat Lady stared at him for two minutes as Harry tried desperately to remember the weeks' password, before she finally let him in with a soft: 'Oh dear, go on.'

And then he found himself sitting on the carpet before the fireplace, leaning against the red couch. The common room had been left almost completely intact. One of the windows had been shattered and a chair toppled, as if something, or someone, had come flying through the window at high speed, but that was all the damage. Harry didn't actually mind the spring breeze coming through. He didn't mind much, at the moment. Not even the rumble of his stomach mattered. He only felt exhaustion, and Harry considered for a moment that it was probably not just physical exhaustion.

He tried not to, but he soon found himself thinking of Sirius, and Lupin, and George, and the Weasleys, and Teddy, and Snape, and Cedric, and his parents, and finally he felt hot tears burning in the corners of his eyes. He hadn't wanted them, but he decided to let them go. They had to go, at some point.

The heat that started in his throat spread through his body like wildfire, until it was shuddering, trying desperately to rid itself of months of built-up tears. Harry's face felt hot, and his throat ached, and the tears blurred his vision for a while so that all he could see where flashing images of the people that had died for him, or lost for him… but the rush calmed. After a few minutes, his tears had run out. When he finally allowed his head to rest against the couch, his broken glasses between his fingers on the floor, a weight lifted from his shoulders, and his eyes closed by their own will.

'Incendio.'

A flood of warmth and a bright light wakened Harry's senses from their sleep. He groaned softly in protest, and thought for a second he had heard someone chuckle.

'Hello?', he croaked.

He heard someone step closer.

Harry's eyes, still swollen from crying, took longer than usual to adjust to his glasses, but finally saw a pair of bare legs standing in front of him. They slowly lowered to their knees, and Harry was met with Hermione's face, looking at him with a careful smile.

'Hi there', she whispered.

Harry quickly sat upright and pushed his glasses back on his nose. 'H-hi, Hermione. What are you-' He frowned at the sight of her. 'What are you wearing?'

Hermione looked down at her clothes. She wore a short burgundy dress, her hair had been done up in an unruly bun, and Harry noticed she'd put on some light make-up.

Hermione never wears make-up, Harry realized.

'I'm dressed for the feast', she said.

Harry's brain took a minute to remember Seamus and Dean, and their feast, and Harry sighed softly at the memory. 'Right. That.'

'You've missed half of it', Hermione said.

'I wasn't planning on going, actually.'

'I think you should.'

'Why?'

'Because I'm going.'

Harry looked up at her and frowned. 'H-how can you-'

'I'm not', Hermione said, smiling sadly. 'But sometimes our brains need a little help, Harry. This is one of those times.'

Harry pushed his glasses back and studied Hermione's face. The cut above her eyebrow looked neater, and although she looked tired, she looked okay, too. Healthy.

'I think you should go', Hermione whispered.

Harry stared at her for a while. She stared back. Eventually, after some consideration, he said: 'I don't have anything to wear.'

Hermione chuckled. 'I'll take care of that. You should go take a shower.'

Harry looked down at the mud and dirt and blood on his clothes, realized suddenly how awful he must smell, and nodded. He was in the shower the next minute.

When he returned to the common room, rubbing a towel through his hair, Hermione was standing by the roaring fire, looking studiously into the flames. Harry's gaze drifted from the golden glow on her face to the couch behind her, where a pair of perfectly intact glasses laid waiting for him. Next to it lay a black suit and a burgundy undershirt. Harry, once again surprised by Hermione's thoroughness, lowered the towel and looked at her, slightly incredulous.

Hermione's eyes met his, drifted to the couch, and relocked themselves with Harry's. 'Is that okay?', she whispered.

Harry smiled. 'Absolutely.'