After McGonagall left, and Harry waited a few minutes to be sure she wouldn't make a surprise return, then sunk into his chair and rested his head on his arms on his desk. It wasn't quite noon and yet he was already exhausted.

Even without what had happened in the alleyway that morning, some days were just like that for him; there was a deep-woven weariness to his very being, something that was a background hum for much of the time but would then suddenly show itself without warning and become impossible to ignore. It had happened a few times at the Weasleys' place in first several months following the war, when he'd found himself either unable to drag himself out of bed until an hour in the late afternoon, or he would wake up with everyone for breakfast and then find by lunch time find that he couldn't muster the energy to do much more than lay on the couch. Molly had grown so concerned that she'd suggested taking Harry to a healer, but Ron had backed up Harry's protests with the assurance that Harry had almost a year's worth of sleep to catch up on, so could anyone really be surprised that he was tired a lot?

And perhaps that indeed been part of the explanation because he'd eventually improved, although the fits of exhaustion hadn't gone away entirely. But tired days were more uncommon now, and he was typically able to push through them if he needed to, causing the issue to be placed very far down on his extremely long list of life concerns. It was, ultimately, more annoying than anything else, particularly as the usual restlessness and insomnia that had followed him from a young age were still just as present as ever.

The last few nights had been ones of only a few hours a night, and so Harry decided he could afford to allow himself another ten minutes of restless dozing before he went to go find Hermione as promised. He needed to check in with Parvati as well, but he'd give her a little more time to work on the crime scene—and process the feelings and memories he knew it had brought up for her—before he distracted her again.

Harry let his eyes fall closed, and the next thing he knew someone was knocking on his door.

He jolted awake, disoriented, unsure of how much time had passed and still half asleep, but thankfully the person at his door helped him out by calling through it with a familiar voice.

"Harry, are you in there?" Parvati asked, sounding somewhere between concerned and annoyed, which was a tone he heard often from her and couldn't exactly blame her for. He seemed to inspire that particular combination of emotions in a lot of people.

"Yeah. Yeah, I am, sorry—" Harry straightened his glasses as he sat up the rest of the way, then waved his hand in a sweeping motion to unlock his door. Parvati opened it a moment later, stepping into the room, and Harry blinked at her owlishly. "You're done at the scene already?"

"It's been two hours since I last saw you, Harry." Parvati informed him, causing Harry to glance frantically around the room for a clock, which only confirmed her statement. "Were you asleep?"

"I guess so, yeah." Harry responded, still a little hazy but now awake enough to be slightly embarrassed. "Sorry."

"It's fine." Parvati said with a dismissive gesture, but it was one that Harry knew fortunately meant she truly wasn't bothered, rather than just pretending not to be. "Yes, I'm done at the crime scene. We found out a little more; are you up for going over some of the details?"

"Um, sure, yes." Harry agreed, and that was all it took for Parvati to dump some papers onto his desk and drop gracefully into seat opposite him.

"When we looked more closely at the victim's injuries, they lined up with previous known victims of Greyback's, who were killed when he was in human form." Parvati said, though she wasn't looking at Harry as she did so, her gaze turned toward the files but distant. "There were only a few traces of magic lingering in and around the house, so that's further evidence that it was probably him."

"Okay." Harry agreed; he knew he should bring up the possibility of a different culprit, despite his own belief that Parvati was probably right, but decided not to do so just yet. The subject of Greyback was a delicate one. "Anything else?"

"There were the footprints in the alley, so he left on foot, at least part of the way. But while we were searching the alley for any other footprints or traces of blood, we found something else that didn't belong there." Parvati seemed to come alive again, rifling through the papers and finding a photo; one of the investigators was carefully holding a wilted leaf, turning it in their hands for the camera. It was mostly brown and dried, like the other leaves in the alley had been, but it shimmered a faint violet when the light hit it just right.

"What is it?" Harry asked, feeling some of his own energy coming back now that he had something to work on.

"It's yvior." Parvati said, as if that should mean something to Harry, who instead raised his eyebrows and gave a small shrug in a clear indication that it definitely didn't. Parvati sighed, rolling her eyes, but then seemed to realize something. "Oh, that's right… You weren't at school when we learned about it."

Ah. Their seventh year.

Neither dwelled on that point, as Parvati continued. "Well, yvior is pretty rare, and it's used in brewing some potions. It isn't too popular because it tends to dry up quickly, and depending on the portion there are typically better alternatives, but some potion-makers still prefer to use it."

Harry considered that for a few moments. "Are there any other uses besides potion-making? Greyback didn't strike me as the type to have the patience for that."

It was Parvati's turn to shrug. "I don't know and I'll look into it just in case, but it's always possible the yvior could've been from someone else, or he could've accidentally tracked it there from somewhere he'd been. Like I said, yvior is rare, so if we can locate a possible source…"

Harry nodded, following the logic, but then it hit him. "Wait, you said you learned about it at Hogwarts?" He didn't wait for an answer before continuing, the question rhetorical. "I just—I mean, McGonagall just visited; she was worried about the possibility of there being Death Eaters in the Forbidden Forest."

Parvati just stared at him for a few moments at that information, processing it and seemingly trying to decide if Harry was messing with her. "You cannot be serious."

"No, I am." Harry responded, aware of how ridiculous it sounded—he'd thought the same when McGonagall told him, after all—but it was all fitting together too well. "What if there are Death Eaters in the Forest? Do you think yvior grows wild there?"

"I'd imagine it does, but Neville would know for sure." Parvati responded, still sounding uncertain about the whole thing but apparently willing to go along with it. "I'll send him an owl tonight, unless you have any objection."

"No, fine with me." Harry assured her, secretly glad he didn't have to add that task to his to-do list. Not that he didn't like talking to Neville, but he had enough going on right now. "You might even have time to get a response from him today, if you act fast."

"Is that your way of telling me to get out?" Parvati asked, but her light tone and the small grin on her face gave away that she wasn't offended. Still, she rose to her feet and began gathering the papers all the same, which prompted Harry to feel a brief rush of guilt.

"Sorry, I'm not trying to be rude, I just… I was supposed to talk to Hermione almost two hours ago; I'm surprised it was you at my door, and that she hadn't broken it down yet." He tried to explain, but his rambling only earned a laugh and a roll of her eyes from Parvati.

"It's fine, Harry. I'll send the owl and I'll make you a copy of these records. Go talk to Hermione, and then think about going home." She finished gathering the papers and started to make her way across the room. "I'll leave everything here on your desk for you to pick up tomorrow."

Harry's shoulders sagged a little in relief, but also in appreciation. "Yeah. I'll… I'll do that. And thank you, for taking the lead on all of this after I just dropped it on you, I—"

"You've earned the right to have a bad day, Harry." Parvati reminded him from the doorway, and with a final small smile she was gone.

"I was just about to come looking for you." Hermione scolded Harry as she met him at the door of her office and let him inside. "I thought at first that maybe you'd gone somewhere with Professor McGonagall, but it's been hours now; I was getting worried."

Hermione's words had given Harry a ready-made excuse to use, and if she had been anyone else he would've considered taking it, but owed Hermione better than that. Besides, she'd understand.

"I'm really sorry, I just… I fell asleep. Stressful morning." He offered the explanation with a tiny, self-deprecating smile, which Hermione met with a frown of concern. She gestured for him to sit in the chair by her desk, and Harry did so without protest.

"What happened, Harry?" She asked in a repeat of her previous question, but Harry wasn't entirely sure where to begin.

"It's hard to explain." He told her finally, even though that wasn't necessarily true. It would really only take a sentence; the problem was more the fact that he was second-guessing himself, and he didn't know how Hermione would respond. He wasn't sure how he hoped she'd respond.

"Do you want to start with what Professor McGonagall was visiting about?" Hermione suggested, giving him another brief excuse to stall, and he was incredibly thankful for it.

"Yeah, sure. She was, um, actually offering me a job." Which was surreal to say, but in a nice way, for once.

"A job?" Hermione echoed, tone somewhere between curious and relieved as she took her own seat. "What kind of job?"

"The Defense Against the Dark Arts position. She doesn't have someone for the post, and wanted an auror, since…" And some of his enthusiasm waned a little as he continued, "The centaurs think there are Death Eaters hiding in the Forbidden Forest."

"Well, that'd be foolish of them, wouldn't it?" Hermione asked, an almost identical response to the one Harry had given McGonagall, which prompted him to give a faint grin and for Hermione to frown in return. "It's not funny, Harry!"

"No, I know, I just asked McGonagall the same question when she told me that. But she thinks the threat is real enough to err on the side of caution, and Neville wanted backup."

Hermione leaned back in her chair at that, frowning in thought, turning over options in her head for a few seconds before focusing on Harry again. "Do you want to do it?"

"I don't know." Harry answered honestly, messing idly with one of his fingernails. "I need to think about it, especially since Parvati and I just went to a crime scene this morning. I don't want to abandon her with all the work."

"That's where you were this morning?" Hermione asked, and Harry realized his temporary reprieve was at its end. "Was it really bad?"

Harry shook his head, but Hermione didn't seem convinced. "When I saw you earlier you looked sick, Harry. Like you'd seen something horrible."

"I did, but it wasn't… It wasn't the crime scene, though that was bad too." Harry said hesitantly, trying not to lose the nerve to tell her, but still stalling. "I'm not sure what it was, or maybe I am, but I'm not sure it was what I thought it was. Does that make sense?"

"Nothing that prompts you to ask that question ever makes sense, Harry." Hermione said, but gently. Her expression grew grim again, and she leaned closer towards him. "Whatever it is, just tell me. We'll figure it out."

Harry swallowed nervously, bouncing his knee for a moment before catching himself doing it and stopping. Between McGonagall's visit, falling asleep, and then talking to Parvati, Harry had successfully avoided thinking too much about what had happened in the alley. In doing so he'd put enough distance between it and himself that he could almost convince himself it had been nothing, but he knew that revisiting the memory would break the illusion.

But it was okay. It had already happened. Talking about it wouldn't make it any more or less real than it had truly been.

"I saw…" He began, but then changed his mind on how to approach the story, letting his gaze drop toward his hands. "I was in the alley, behind the victim's apartment, and I was looking for anything that might tell us something, you know? And I saw these bloody footprints, but the trail faded away." Harry glanced up at Hermione to gauge her reaction, finding her watching him intently, sympathetic and patient, and he continued.

"So I turned back to go get Parvati, and I—" His breath stuttered, but he kept going. "I saw Voldemort. Clear as day, right there, right in front of me."

Hermione's breath caught as well, but only for a moment, as she drew back just slightly in shock. But then her face settled into one of determination, and she reached out to take Harry's hand. "Then what?"

"He spoke to me." Harry said, Hermione's hand on his reassuring enough to help him continue. "He said it had been too long since we'd seen each other, and he reached out, toward my scar." He paused again briefly, but he was through the worst of it now. "The next thing I knew, Parvati was there, asking me if I was okay. She said I screamed, but I don't remember it; I think I might've lost a little time."

Silence hung for just a few seconds, and Hermione took a deep breath. "Okay. Okay, you're alright, Harry. There are many logical explanations for this."

"It was a hallucination, it had to have been. Wouldn't be the first time, right?" Harry wasn't sure if he was trying to convince himself or Hermione more, but this was the only explanation coming to his mind that both made sense and had relatively minor implications. "Besides, I know half the Ministry's been expecting me to be a bit of a nutter anyway, so maybe I'll finally stop disappointing them."

"Don't say that." Hermione admonished, but without any real heat behind it. "Something as simple as sleep deprivation can cause hallucinations and memory loss, and I know you haven't slept well a day in your life, so it's probably just that."

It was a relief to hear her come to the same conclusion Harry had originally tried to convince himself of, but at the same time anxiety curled in his chest at the thought of taking the easy explanation because it was what he wanted to believe, only to later find out that he'd been wrong. He'd disregarded things like this before, and they'd turned out to be incredibly serious.

Hermione watched him, quiet and giving him a chance to speak, but he didn't take it. So after several seconds she squeezed his hand gently, ducking her head a little to make eye contact. "Come stay with us tonight."

Harry shook his head immediately, but Hermione continued before he could protest. "I'm serious, Harry. I don't want you to be all alone if it happens again."

"I…" Harry wanted to object, but the only reason for doing so was that he didn't want to bother her and Ron, and he knew she would just tell him he was being ridiculous if he said such a thing. He decided to just save them both the trouble, and finally nodded his agreement.

"Good. Thank you." Hermione said, squeezing his hand once more before letting go. "What are you doing for the rest of the day? Working on your case?"

"No, Parvati kicked me off it." At Hermione's concerned and slightly irate expression, he hastily explained. "Not officially, just for today. She was worried, but I think she also just… She wants to take the lead on this. It's personal."

"Personal?"

Harry nodded, glad to be focusing on something other than what he'd seen, even though this topic had its own weight to it as well. "Our case, the murder victim… We think it's Greyback, who did it."

"Oh." Hermione breathed the word, and her posture sagged a little in realization. "Lavender."

There were very few people who had survived the second wizarding war without losing at least one person they had cared about, and this was especially true for those that had fought in the Battle of Hogwarts. The death toll of that one night was over fifty people; some were Order members, some had been members of Dumbledore's Army, and some had simply been students standing up for what was right. Among those who had been lost was Lavender Brown, a Gryffindor who had been Harry's classmate, a member of Dumbledore's Army, and Parvati's closest friend for their entire time at school together.

Harry nodded again at Hermione's words, sinking down further in his chair as well. "Parvati wants to make sure Greyback pays for what he did. Whether or not that means going to Azkaban is up to him." Harry knew Parvati well enough to be sure she'd give Greyback the chance to surrender if the situation allowed it, but if he didn't take that offer, Harry also knew she wouldn't hesitate.

Silence fell heavily between them, Hermione studying her own hands, her eyes dark and contemplative. Everyone who had survived that night still carried it with them in their own ways, and maybe they always would.

Before Harry could decide on what, if anything, to say, Hermione had pulled herself together and lifted her head. "Well, all the better to leave it to her for now. I'll cancel my meetings for today, and we'll just take off early."

Harry blinked at her for a moment, processing that, and then immediately began to protest. Hermione had loosened up over time when it came to being perfectly professional and by the book, but it was still unusual for her to skip out on work, and he felt a wave of guilt at having given her reason to think she needed to do so. "You don't have to do that, Hermione, really, I can find something to do for a few hours—"

"I've already made up my mind, Harry." Hermione said, her tone making it absolutely clear that she wasn't going to hear any arguments, as she began to scribble immaculately written notes onto the paper used for interdepartmental memos. As she finished, she tapped the note with her wand and it duplicated several times, before each folded themselves into tiny paper birds and flew from the office. "Is there anything you need from your office?"

The question pulled Harry's attention back from where he'd watched the notes fly away, and he shook his head. Seemingly satisfied by that answer, Hermione stood. "Good. Let's get going, then."

Harry followed her from the room, hurrying to keep up with her rapid strides, and was struck with a sudden humorous suspicion. "Hermione, are you just using me as an excuse to get out of your afternoon meetings?"

"Absolutely not." Hermione answered, far too quickly, and Harry couldn't help but laugh a little despite his mood. Hermione glanced back at him and rolled her eyes, but couldn't hide her own smile. "Alright, maybe that is a secondary benefit to leaving early, but I would've done the same whether or not I had any meetings scheduled."

"Sure. I see how it is." Harry continued to tease her a little, the normality of the situation comforting and grounding, and he affected a tone of put upon acceptance. "But I know my role, and I graciously fulfill it. Any time you want out of a meeting, let me know."

"Harry, stop." Hermione said, but the effect was ruined by her attempts not to laugh.

"No, really. I'll come up with a dramatic story, maybe even pretend to faint in front of a few people, that should give you a good excuse." Harry continued, as they neared the floo network. "No one would dare suspect I'm faking it."

"You're the worst, Harry." Hermione said, but as she stopped in front of one of the fireplaces and turned around to face him, her expression was lighter than he'd seen in awhile. "Come on. Let's go to the shop."

Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was always chaotic no matter the time of day, and the early afternoon was absolutely no exception. Harry usually loved looking around the place, even if it was occasionally overwhelming, though he knew Hermione typically had somewhat less patience for being out on the sales floor than he did. He felt much the same way at the moment, and so he stuck close to Hermione as she blazed her way through the store.

It was George who noticed them first, face lighting up with delight and then shifting to his usual look of mischief as he pushed his way through the crowd, meeting them in the relatively quiet corner Hermione had led Harry into near the checkout. "Hermione, Harry, to what do I owe this pleasure?" He didn't wait for an answer before eyeing them suspiciously. "Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"We've skived off." Harry said immediately. "It was Hermione's idea. She's a terrible influence on me."

Hermione gave him a look so affronted that if Harry hadn't known her so well, he might've concerned she was actually upset. But instead Harry just returned the look with a purposefully annoying grin and began to dig through the cabinet nearby for a stash of candy he knew was hidden in it, and Hermione sighed loudly before arguing in her own defense. "That was not what happened, but we did leave work early."

"You know I'm not judging." George said, then glanced from Hermione to Harry and then back at Hermione. "Looking for Ron, then?"

"Yes, but if he's busy, we'll go get something to eat and come back later." Hermione answered, and Harry sensed her gaze turn toward him. "As long as Harry doesn't decide to make chocolates his lunch in the meantime."

"I've only taken a few." Harry protested, turning to show her the three small foil-wrapped chocolates before promptly unwrapping one and shoving it in his mouth. He realized just then that he hadn't eaten that day, and was at sudden risk of doing exactly what Hermione had just said, but with some effort he showed restraint and pocketed the rest of the chocolates for now.

"You could stand to take a few more." George commented, poking Harry's shoulder pointedly, but then he turned his attention back to Hermione. "I reckon I can let Ron go early now that Seamus is around. Last I saw him he was in the back." He nodded his head toward the nearby staff door.

"Thank you, George." Hermione said, smiling gently, and Harry could see the suspicion return to George's face in an instant. But this time it was serious.

"Something up?" He asked lightly, but Harry had heard George's 'pretending to not care but actually serious' tone more than enough times to be able to tell it apart from his genuinely casual voice.

"Oh, you know. Bad tea at the office today." Harry quipped, but it was less a brush off and more a way to say something had happened but he didn't want to talk about it. Hermione shot Harry a sidelong glance, but Harry ignored it.

"Doesn't surprise me those Ministry types can't make decent tea." George met Harry's blithe remark with one of his own, signaling he'd gotten the message. "Dreadful conditions they've got you working in. Maybe that's the real reason Ron quit."

"Y'know, that could be." Harry played along, relieved at being offered the out and flashing a brief smile at Hermione, who'd been watching the conversation with some concern. "I'll have to tell him we're onto him."

"Well, get on it, then." George encouraged with another wave toward the storeroom door, the door unlocking and swinging open slightly with his gesture. Harry and Hermione bid him farewell and wandered into the storeroom, which was a surprisingly large room full of shelves, boxes, and assorted other supplies. Harry and Hermione had both been in it before, but it never seemed to be any less difficult to navigate.

"Ron?" Hermione called out, striding down one of aisles created by two rows of shelves, while Harry was immediately distracted by what looked like a prototype of a new line of screaming yo-yos. He was incredibly tempted to try it out, but before he could decide just how annoying he felt like being, he heard Ron answer Hermione's call.

"Hermione? What're you doing here?"

Harry followed in the direction he'd seen Hermione go and soon found both her and Ron, the couple sharing a quick hug. They parted after a moment, and Ron noticed Harry, the grin on his face getting even broader than it had been.

"Harry! You're here too?"

"Yes, we've come to rescue you from stockroom duty." Hermione chirped, linking arms with Ron and then gesturing for Harry to come over to them. He did so, and she looped her free arm through one of his, beginning to drag the two men through the storeroom. "We're going to get a late lunch."

"Okay, not that I'm complaining, but why?" Ron asked, perplexed as he cast Harry a confused look, and Harry just gave a helpless half-shrug.

"Because I'm hungry." Hermione said simply, as if that were actually the answer, though she continued immediately on a more serious tone. "And we have something to talk about. But it can wait until we've eaten."

The pub they went to was one they occasionally frequented, not far from Diagon Alley and owned by an elderly wizard couple who were constantly bickering about the most ridiculous things. This particular day it had something to do with the radio, though Harry didn't catch the actual details and didn't care to try to.

Instead, he'd listened to Ron explain a story from the shop, something about a kid combining a few products together and manifesting an unexpected side effect; the kid had ended up a human pinball, bouncing from floor to wall to ceiling, floating around unharmed and having the time of his life. George had ended up giving the kid the products for free as payment for discovering the effects, and he and Ron now had a new product in the works.

It was a lot better story than how Harry's morning had gone, and it was nice to talk about something frivolous. More importantly, it was nice to see Ron and Hermione laugh, and by the time they'd all finished eating Harry's mood had improved a lot.

The three made their way from the pub and to Ron and Hermione's place, a small cottage they'd managed to buy only a few months earlier but had already made into a home. Despite trying to give Hermione and Ron space to enjoy their new home as a couple, Harry had spent a lot of time there and found it so warm and inviting that every time he left he was he resolved to make 12 Grimmauld Place less terrible, but never actually got around to doing so.

Ron and Hermione's place was exactly as it had been last time he'd seen it, a strange and yet somehow perfectly blend of The Burrow and a magical library. Cozy but elegant furniture surrounded a large table in the main room, providing a place for Hermione to read and do research, assisted by massive bookshelves that lined an entire wall of the living room. A smaller dining table was in the kitchen, a vase of ever-blooming hydrangea flowers decorating the center of it, and the kitchen itself was spotless other than some clutter on the countertops. The walls of both the kitchen and living room were decorated with charms, photos, and paintings, along with a large Gryffindor banner that Harry knew Hermione pretended to hate but secretly was very fond of.

Off to the right of the living room was a small hallway with a few doors. One was Hermione and Ron's bedroom, and another was Hermione's study, despite the living room already essentially serving that purpose itself. The study was occasionally used as a guest bedroom as well, with a comfortable futon nestled amongst the many bookshelves. The two bedrooms were separated by the washroom.

Since it wasn't all that unusual for Harry to stay over, and so Ron hadn't questioned it right away when Hermione had said Harry would be returning home with them from the pub, but now that they were settled in at the cottage it was clear he wanted to ask what going on. Harry wanted to stall for longer, finally feeling somewhat calm and back to a sense of normalcy, but it was time to fill Ron in.

And so, as the three sat around the large table in the living room, Harry related as little of the story as he could while still getting across the important parts. That he'd seen Voldemort, just standing in an alleyway as if he were any other wizard.

When he finished Ron just stared at him for several seconds, expression somewhere between disbelief and nauseated horror, and he was quiet so long that Hermione nudged him pointedly in the shoulder. That seemed to snap Ron out of it, and he looked from Harry to Hermione and then back to Harry.

"Blimey, Harry, that's…" There was another pause, and then Ron ventured, "Don't take this the wrong way, but maybe you were just seeing things?"

"See, that's what I said." Harry responded dully, and at the same time Hermione asked incredulously, "What was the right way to take that, Ronald?"

"Like Harry just did!" Ron answered Hermione, with a wild gesture in Harry's direction. "He knows what I mean!

Hermione glared at Ron for the comment but was less heated when she replied. "You could still stand to have a little more tact."

"It's fine, Hermione." Harry assured her, slumping forward a little to rest his arms on the table and set his chin on them. "It's not Ron's fault that the best outcome here is that I'm losing my mind."

"That is not the best outcome." Hermione said, and Harry could hear she was genuinely annoyed now, and so he didn't look at her. "Hallucinating doesn't mean losing your mind. It could be as simple as being exhausted, Harry."

"I've never hallucinated from lack of sleep." Harry reminded her, and didn't have to add that he'd had plenty of opportunities to do so if that were something he was prone to. But she clearly got the point anyway, pursing her lips together in that way she did when she wanted to argue but couldn't.

"Even if that's true, there are other reasons why you might be seeing things, and many aren't as serious as you're afraid of, especially in the wizarding world. I'll begin some research tonight, and I'm sure we'll find an explanation that makes sense." Hermione declared, and she was so confident that Harry almost believed her.

So he offered a small shrug, not an argument but not an agreement either, just a willingness to let her see what she can find. And that seemed to satisfy her, as she looked back at Ron again. "Harry's staying with us tonight just to be safe, in case it is something serious."

"Right, makes sense." Ron agreed, still looking pretty unsure about the whole thing, and Harry didn't blame him. In a sudden desperation to change the subject, Harry lifted his head and remembered he had something else to mention.

"I was also offered a job today."

"Yeah?" Ron asked, latching onto the subject change as well, while Hermione got to her feet and went to the nearest bookcase. "Doing what?"

"Teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts." Harry said, finding himself beginning to grin despite the seriousness of the previous topic. "McGonagall came to the Ministry to make the offer."

"Wicked." Ron said, also lighting up a bit, straightening in his chair briefly before suddenly learning toward Harry over the table, almost conspiratorially. "Are you gonna take her up on it?"

"I haven't decided yet." Harry said honestly, even if he was now feeling a small tug in his chest at the idea of teaching, despite all of his doubts.

Hermione returned to the table with a large book, setting it down and cracking it open, but when she spoke it was on the topic the boys were discussing instead of the issue of Harry's hallucination. "I think you should do it." She declared, fixing him with a look. "You looked so excited, just now, when you were talking about the offer. I think you'd be good at it, and it'd be good for you."

"Good for me how?" Harry asked, just slightly defensive, even if he was aware that he was focusing on the wrong part of what she said and did his best to reel in his emotions.

Hermione didn't take the bait, and replied simply with, "You're a fantastic teacher, Harry. I know you enjoy being an auror, but perhaps something a little quieter might be a nice change, even if it's only for a year."

Harry found that he couldn't really argue with that and so he went quiet instead, filing the idea away for later.

The rest of the afternoon and evening passed uneventfully, the three of them working together to cook a small dinner and then helping Hermione with research, but they found very little of use. Ron had found a plant that caused vivid hallucinations, and Harry had briefly wondered if it was yvior, but it turned out to be an incredibly rare flower from the mountains in Nepal. Not something likely to be found in England, and since it had to be smoked for its effects, they ruled out any realistic chance that Harry could've accidentally been dosed with it. Ron made a comment about how they should get some and take it just to see if the effects match, but Hermione gave him an incredibly unimpressed look and he quickly changed the subject.

It wasn't particularly late by the time Harry began to fall asleep at the table, and after needing to be woken up three times in a row by Hermione, he was sent to the guest room to get some rest. He had stayed over at the cottage enough times that he had a few changes of clothes kept there in storage, along with a small assortment of other necessities; the three had never quite shaken the feeling that it was best to have emergency supplies stashed away, ready in case they ever had to go on the run again.

Harry changed into pajamas and then battled the room's futon by hand for a few minutes before remembering oh, right, magic, and he shook his head at himself as he cast the correct spell. Old habits die hard, even after so many years in the wizarding world, but finally the futon was defeated and Harry crawled exhaustedly under the blankets.

Some part of him was nervous, afraid of what his dreams might hold for him after the day's events, but that was such an old fear at this point that it was easy enough to ignore. He let his eyes fall closed, and was soon asleep.

Harry awoke suddenly, as though a switch had been flipped from off to on, but no memory of a nightmare that might've explained it. He was just simply awake now, curled under the blankets on a futon in the cottage's guest room-slash-study, exactly where he last remembered being. What had woken him up?

The room was dark, both due to what was likely an early hour and because it seemed to be raining, the sound of the raindrops on the roof creating a soothing rhythm. For a few seconds he let himself stay settled, listening to the rain, until he picked up the faint sound of voices.

Lifting his head from the pillow, he listened more carefully, and soon identified the voices as Ron and Hermione. They seemed to be coming from their room, muffled by the rain and walls and the space of washroom, and Harry would've laid his head back down to try to return to sleep if he weren't able to catch their tones. The words were unintelligible, impossible to make out, but he could tell that something was wrong and he was instantly concerned.

He soon heard the sound of a door opening and propped himself up on his elbow, listening as two sets of footsteps moved into the hall, then the living room, then the kitchen. He still couldn't hear what they were saying, but his chest was twisting with anxiety and concern, and after a few more seconds of waiting and deliberation he decided to go ahead and get up.

He made his way to the door and opened it as quietly as possible, crossing into the hall with carefully silent steps, unsure just yet if he was planning to eavesdrop or was simply being careful not to startle Ron or Hermione with any sudden noises. A moment later he decided it would only be the latter, as he heard the distinct sound of someone crying.

"Hermione?"

She was the one crying, face hidden in her hands as she leaned back on a countertop for support, as Ron rubbed his thumbs on her shoulders soothingly. She looked up just briefly as Harry entered, and Ron glanced back over his shoulder at the same time, both looking drained.

"Sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to wake you." Hermione said, doing her best to smile weakly at him through her tears.

"No—it's not—you don't have to apologize." Harry stumbled over his words, gaze shifting from Hermione to Ron and then back to Hermione in concern. "Are you okay?"

It was a stupid question, but the real meaning behind it would surely be clear enough to both Hermione and Ron. Was she crying because of one of the usual reasons, or had something worse happened?

"I'm alright, Harry. Just a bad night." Hermione told him, confirming thankfully that it was the former, and Harry breathed a quiet sight of relief. She was okay, it was just one of those nights, and it would pass.

"Harry, mind putting the kettle on?" Ron asked, the request clearly more to give Harry something to do than anything else, but it was also an indication that it was alright if Harry stayed. Understanding the finer points of certain relationship dynamics had never been a strong suit of Harry's, which had caused him a lot of uncertainty in the early parts of Hermione and Ron's, but fortunately both Hermione and Ron knew this and accommodated him.

So he nodded immediately, moving to fill the kettle while Hermione tried to dry her tears, and out of the corner of his eye he briefly caught sight of her tugging on the sleeve of her night shirt. It was already down all the way, but she was pulling it even further down and over her hand, making sure it wouldn't have a chance of riding up.

She'd been dreaming about Malfoy Manor. About Bellatrix.

A sudden crack of thunder caused all three to startle; Hermione gave a short scream and Harry dropped the kettle, making another clatter that immediately scared them all again. As usual, Ron was first to recover, pulling Hermione close to him in a hug and looking sideways at Harry.

"Alright?"

"Yeah." Harry and Hermione both answered from their respective places, and Harry murmured an additional apology as he collected the kettle, which seemed no worse for the wear and had only spilled a little water. As he picked it up, the quiet absurdity of the situation came over him, and he couldn't help but fall into a sudden fit of weak yet genuine laughter.

Hermione was the next to start, giggling through her tears, and Ron followed soon after. And so the three laughed, partially at themselves, partially at the situation, partially because they were all here.

After everything that had happened, they were all still here.

"Look at us. Right sorry state we're in when a little thunder sends us into a panic." Ron commented, making Hermione laugh harder into his chest, and Harry finally put the kettle on the stovetop while shaking his head. "Death Eaters? No problem. Thunder? There's the real challenge."

"Forget Defense Against the Dark Arts," Harry remarked, glancing over at Hermione and Ron; Hermione had finally lifted her head from Ron's chest and was drying her eyes again, still giggling weakly. "Hogwarts should really offer a class called Defense Against Unexpected Weather."

"Hogwarts should really offer therapy." Hermione stated flatly in return, and Harry gave a huff of laughter while Ron glanced from one to the other in confusion.

"Muggle thing." Harry explained, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"One of many that the wizarding world could stand to learn from." She declared, and Harry couldn't disagree.

The tea was soon finished and the three sat around the small kitchen table, listening to the storm, and after a few minutes decided that they should just give up on any idea of going back to sleep and instead make breakfast. It was a familiar task for them, which mostly consisted of Harry taking charge of the kitchen with minor delegation to Hermione, and Ron being tasked with retrieving ingredients and dishware as requested. They'd done this so many times that it was seamless at this point, and Harry's thoughts could drift as he worked.

As he cracked several eggs one-handedly, a particular memory came to mind; it was from years earlier, only a few weeks after the war had ended, during the time he'd been living at the Burrow and before he'd started work as an auror. Harry had been looking for ways to pull his weight around the place, both out of a sense of guilt and a need for a distraction, and so he'd taken to helping with or even completely handling breakfast most mornings. He liked cooking well enough the task gave him a reason to drag himself out of bed on all but his worst days, but most importantly it was something he could do to help, even if only in the smallest way.

The morning had been like any other, and he had been alone in the kitchen while the others were out running errands or tending to the garden or any number of other things that needed to be done. Things had been going fine, but then his attention had waned.

It had only been for a few seconds, but those few seconds had been enough for the eggs to begin to burn, and although entirely salvageable—something he had set about working on immediately, with almost frantic stirring of the eggs and adjustment of the heat—it had felt suddenly like an insurmountable failure. He couldn't even manage this one thing, something he'd been doing practically his entire life, how useless…

Tears had come to his eyes suddenly, and he'd blinked hard to try to clear them. When that hadn't worked, he'd hastily tried to dry his eyes on his sleeve without knocking off his glasses, all the while still working to salvage the meal. Pull it together, Harry, he'd demanded of himself angrily, but no matter how hard he'd tried, the tears wouldn't stop.

"Harry?"

The sudden voice had startled him and he'd flinched, nearly losing the entire pan of eggs all together, but it was just Arthur. Arthur had assessed the situation for only a moment before he'd reached to gently take the spatula and the handle of the pan from Harry's hands, moving the pan to a cool part of the stove and then turning off the flame, speaking softly as he'd done so.

"It's alright, Harry, it's just eggs."

Although the words themselves had been reassuring, for some reason they'd had the opposite of the intended effect. Soon Harry hadn't been able to see through his tears at all, wrapping his arms around himself and beginning to cry uncontrollably in the middle of the Weasleys' kitchen.

"Harry…" He'd heard Arthur say quietly, and a moment later he'd felt himself pulled into a hug. "It's alright, Harry. Everything is going to be fine."

This time it had been easier to believe him, and Harry had managed to take a few deep breaths between his sobs, the realization that it really was fine and there was nothing to be so upset about finally beginning to sink in. He was fine. It wasn't a big deal. There was no need to be crying, and even though doing so was unnecessary and embarrassing, Arthur wasn't angry with him or judging him for being overly emotional. Everything was okay, at least as okay as it could've been.

"It'll be a few minutes, before everyone else gets back." Arthur had assured him quietly as Harry had gotten himself more under control, patting his back carefully, and Harry had nodded against his chest, thankful for the understanding. That meant he had a few minutes to fully get himself together, and Arthur would let him pretend that nothing had ever happened.

So by the time the rest of the family had returned, Harry and Arthur had managed to cobble together the rest of the meal and set the table, and if anyone had noticed Harry's slightly red eyes—and he was pretty sure that at least Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had—they politely hadn't mentioned it.

Harry had managed not to break down crying during any other meal preparations after that, although there had been some close calls, and he'd had plenty of other bouts of random tears to make up for those he'd avoided. Still, it had been a moment that had burned itself deeply into his mind; Harry had always liked and trusted Arthur before, but that experience had only further cemented the bond between them.

When Harry drew himself back to the present, he thankfully found himself to have not yet relived his memory in that nothing had been scorched quite yet. But he was a little surprised to find Ron standing next to him, who gently nudged him with an elbow in a silent question, and Harry nodded in response. He was okay.

The rest of the meal preparation went smoothly enough, and soon Ron was regaling them with another work tale as they all had a very early breakfast. Hermione looked much better than she had only minutes earlier, laughing as Ron related the various ridiculous questions George had tormented Seamus with during his job interview, and by the time breakfast was done they were all in much better spirits.