Harry folded Pansy's letter and felt bitter. The holidays were over.
It seemed like his fighting would never end, whatever it was for. He had fought for many years against Voldemort, then for peace between different political parties and the release of innocent Death Eaters, and now he would have to fight for his loved ones to rebuild after all those battles. He couldn't remember a year when he hadn't fought for his happiness, for his life.
He was tired. Tired of fighting all the time.
His life was a never-ending war with many battles. Without respite, but with many victims.
He didn't answer Pansy's letter. He placed it on the corner of his desk and leaned against the back of his chair, looking out the window of the room opposite him. He sighed.
Nott Manor was big enough for him to have picked out an office and put his work stuff in it a few days earlier. He had been living in the mansion for several months now, having chosen to renovate parts of the house and furnish it to their taste for the arrival of his future husband. He travelled back and forth to the Ministry weekly for his Auror duties, staying at Grimmauld Place when he had to spend several days there.
He had also taken a few weeks off after Theo's release, to enjoy their reunion and take time to look after him. This was important to him, and although his husband had initially urged him to return to his job, he had eventually given up when he realised that Harry would never do it.
Harry had had no idea what state Theodore would arrive in. Would he be injured? Inert? What if he was unable to speak or move? He had been in limbo. So, even if his husband wasn't in serious condition, Theostill had a lot of damage from his time in Azkaban and Harry had made it his responsibility to help him through it.
However, to his horror, barely a week later, Harry was back in the bloody office. And this time it had nothing to do with his husband's particular desires. He would have to get organised–which he hated doing–to find a solution for Hermione. He would also have to do some research, to help her as best he could.
Pansy had spoken in her letter of a brain healer, a term he had never heard. He suspected that it was associated with Muggle psychologists, but he had no idea where to find these wizarding specialists. Would th healer have to be a wizard? Harry didn't know anything about it. He had never imagined that he would have to find mental health help. Selfishly, perhaps, he had thought that if he could get away with his own mental health, so could the others.
He desperately ran a hand over his face. It could take him a while, and Hermione would have to agree to an appointment other than the vet she visited once a year for Albert.
He was off to a bad start.
The office window looked onto the gardens outside and Harry lost himself in the late-day view. The sun was slowly setting, giving the sky a slight orange tinge. The cool spring air came in through the opening, stirring Harry's ragged locks. The trees were dancing in the wind.
Pansy's owl had come in the open window, and luckily found him directly. He had been looking for the photo album Hagrid had given him at the end of his first year to show to Theo.
They had discussed it over lunch and Harry had promised his husband that he would introduce him (albeit figuratively) to his parents. He would have loved to have a wizarding painting of them, to show them the man who now shared his life and whom he loved more than anything in the world. The only one who had ever known about it was Remus, whom he had told on the night of Bill and Fleur's wedding. He still remembered the emotion he had seen in Remus' eyes, temporarily banishing the sadness he felt that night.
He then realised that he had abandoned Theodore for a long time. Glancing at the clock, he realised that three quarters of an hour had passed.
He jumped to his feet, already forgetting Pansy's letter, and left the office to join his husband.
Merlin knew how much he loved being able to call Theo that title, to be able to walk down a corridor to find him and hold him in his arms. It was so simple.
He frowned as he discovered that the living room, where he had left Theo, was empty. Unconsciously, his heartbeat quickened as a ball of worry swelled in his chest.
He couldn't help but imagine that Theodore had been taken away from him again. What if he never saw him again? What if someone had come to attack him? Would he have lost one of his loved ones again?
He went through the kitchen, then the conservatory, without finding anything. He went upstairs to their shared bedroom, but didn't see him there either. He was panicking and out of breath.
Where could Theodore have gone? Had someone come to kidnap him? Had the law changed without his knowledge? Had someone wanted to take revenge on the Notts or on him?
Too many hypotheses were running through his mind. He was anxious.
Harry could already imagine having to live without him again, being alone and lost. Having to fight–again–to keep him alive, to free him. As if Harry's life was a vicious circle that would only end with his death. It was ironic since he had dodged it twice.
Eventually, as a last option, he stormed into the studio on the top floor. It used to be a large attic which, according to Satine, had been refurbished for Theo's grandfather, so that he could paint undisturbed. Apparently, his wife had a passion for singing. A passion, not a talent.
The room was huge, the same size as the house, and was full of frames, drawings, and clay sculptures, spread out in no great order. Some drawings were animated, while others were simple sketches displayed one on top of the other. No doubt his Aunt Petunia would have fainted when she saw this mess, but Harry liked it. It held a certain warmth, a certain intimacy that didn't leave him unmoved. It was like him, like them. He felt good there. He felt at home there.
When the door opened, Harry found his husband sitting at a large table in the corner of the studio, drawing on a piece of parchment with a Muggle pencil.
He thought he would faint under the power of the relief that came over him. He leaned against the door and quietly exhaled all his fears. Despite the fright he had just experienced, he wouldn't disturb Theo.
He was here, alive, well, doing his thing. He was fine.
He allowed himself to observe his husband and noticed how focused he was on his work. From where he was standing, Harry couldn't see clearly what he was drawing, but he had no trouble knowing that his drawings were exceptionally precise.
There was no colour–and he didn't know if there would be–but the drawing seemed to represent a face. At least, that was what he imagined.
Theo was bent over his parchment, his eyes squinting at his work, gliding his pencil with amazing fluidity. It was as if he had no difficulty, nor even the need to think about his next lines.
It made Harry feel good. How long had it been since he'd seen him practise like this?
Almost nine years.
He still remembered vividly their evenings in the Room of Requirement in sixth year, when he'd spent hours watching Theo draw. He had always been fascinated by people with drawing skills.
Harry was well known for his messy handwriting and lack of artistic creativity. He had great difficulty in picturing shapes, measurements or details of anything. Colours weren't his strong point either; he had trouble with mixing and always felt foolish when Theo explained to him how to get one colour or another.
He had tried several times to join his boyfriend during his drawing sessions, trying to reproduce simple characters or objects. Of course, it was always a failure, but it had the gift of making Theo laugh, which wasn't negligible.
"Are you going to stand there and watch me for long?" Theo said, startling Harry.
Harry smiled helplessly and a slight laugh escaped from between his lips.
"You know I wouldn't complain about that," Harry retorted, lifting himself off the wall and walking over to him.
Theo looked up from his drawing and smiled tenderly.
"Sorry to leave you alone down there," sighed Harry as he reached Theo and put his arms around his neck behind his back.
Harry kissed his perfectly shaven cheek as he passed. He could still remember watching his husband in action in the bathroom that morning.
"I got a letter from Parkinson while I was looking for the album and lost track of time."
"What did she want?" worried Theo, setting his pencil down on the large desk.
"She's worried about Hermione, she was asking me for help. She'd like me to go and see her, just to give her a pep talk and remind her that she doesn't live alone anymore and she can't keep letting herself down."
Harry felt Theo freeze in his arms and his jaws clench against his cheek.
"Are you going to go?" asked Theo in a tone that he wanted to sound natural, but which exuded anxiety.
"I don't know yet, I haven't thought about it. If you'd rather I stayed, I'll stay, Theo."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to. I get it. Pansy offered to stay with you, in case you didn't want to be alone. It would be a day, no more."
"I'm not afraid to be alone."
Harry heard the lie in his voice. He closed his eyes and held back a sigh. He didn't want to hurt Theo, nor did he want him to relive the same feelings he had in prison. An overwhelming loneliness.
"If you don't want me to go, it can wait, Theo. You're my priority, don't forget that."
Harry heard him swallow, before Theo nodded, almost reluctantly.
"Sorry again for leaving you alone."
"Don't worry, I soon found something to do. I think I'd missed all this. Being able to draw with good materials and different pencils is a pleasure I didn't think would be so important in my life."
Harry smiled softly and rested his chin on his husband's shoulder to take a closer look at the drawing he had done. It was better to change the subject. He didn't want to bring back bad memories for Theo.
Harry's eyes widened at the beauty of his husband's sketch.
He had been right; it was a portrait of a young woman with fine features and full lips. But what struck Harry most was the depth of her eyes and the emotions they conveyed. It was impressive. So much so that he felt as if he could feel everything she was feeling himself.
A sadness mixed with melancholy.
"It's beautiful," Harry breathed out without believing it.
It was so precise and unique that it seemed almost unreal.
He remembered Theo's talent, of course, but he couldn't miss the progress he had made. In just a few strokes of the pencil, Theo had managed to create a beautiful and touching piece of art.
"Thank you," Theo replied, raising his right hand to stroke Harry's cheek. "I've had her face in my mind for a few days. Don't ask me why."
A small laugh escaped his lips after that last sentence, making Harry shiver with happiness. What could be more beautiful to hear than the laughter of the man he loved?
"Back there, we were allowed parchment and a pencil," Theo explained, and Harry didn't need much more to understand what place he was talking about. "I drew every day. I used to picture all your faces and put them on paper so I wouldn't forget them. It was a good way to keep my head together and most of all, not to lose the memories I had of you."
It brought tears to Harry's eyes. He turned his face until his mouth was pressed against Theo's neck. Harry found it hard to stop himself from sobbing.
"I think that woman looks like my mother. She had the same nose," Theo whispered.
oOo
"Pansy wants us to go back to England," Astoria announced as she dropped into the bed she shared with Ginny.
Ginny frowned and put down the magazine she was reading before turning to her.
It was rare for them to receive mail from their relatives. Everyone had realised over the years that there was no point in expecting anything from them–except stories of their travels–and so had quickly stopped contacting them about their misfortunes or asking them to come home.
Only Ginny's mother continued to do so, which wasn't so surprising when she thought about it. Molly would go out of her way to try and convince her that her life in Britain was no different from the one she had around the world. She would only respond with snapshots she took in the various countries she visited.
"Why is that?" asked Ginny. "She should know that's not in our plans."
"She's worried about my sister," sighed Astoria, hiding behind her elbow. "And I confess that the descriptions she gives me would be almost alarming if I didn't know Daphne so well."
"Can I–can I read what she wrote to you?" asked Ginny hesitantly.
Astoria just nodded and handed her the letter she had just received.
She and Ginny were in the Netherlands, not far from the capital. They had been there for three weeks already and were planning to leave again in a few days. They were still hesitating between Japan and Thailand. Astoria preferred the former and her fiancée the latter.
As it often was, it would probably be settled in bed. Ginny usually won that little victory.
"Do you want to go home?" Ginny asked once she had finished reading, turning to her.
Astoria didn't need to ask to know that Ginny was worried about her answer. Her tone implied it.
They had been living together for almost three years and had never left each other.
"No," she replied promptly.
"I wouldn't blame you if–"
"I know, Gin', and that's not the point."
"She's your sister," she replied, frowning.
"I know that, thank you, but I know her by heart, I know she'll get over it."
"Ria, Parkinson sounds serious."
"She doesn't know Daphne as well as I do. She doesn't know what she would be capable of to get the attention she feels she deserves," Astoria said firmly.
Ginny was confused by her fiancée's answer. Although she was aware of the history between the two sisters, she couldn't imagine Astoria being so detached from her family.
Ginny had drifted from her family after she left, but that didn't stop her from exchanging letters with some of her brothers and her mother, something she knew Astoria didn't do.
Up to a point, she understood that not all families were as strongly connected as the Weasleys, but she couldn't understand the Greengrasses being so disconnected that Astoria wouldn't want to help her sister. She wasn't judging Astoria, of course, but she couldn't help but feel that she was wrong in her judgement of Daphne.
Ginny knew very little about the elder Greengrass, not having been around her at Hogwarts or after the war, but from what her fiancée had told her, the two sisters were drastically different.
Daphne was very much a stickler for the principles of the old pureblood families, strictly following the education their parents had given them. She had been promised to Gregory Goyle early in their schooling and the two Slytherins had fallen madly in love, fortunately for them.
This hadn't been the case for Astoria, as she wasn't the eldest of her siblings; she still had the choice of finding a husband, if, of course, he was pureblood. She had never told her parents that she was engaged, mostly because it was a woman. Some families, including Astoria's, weren't as open-minded as most wizards.
Daphne had never written back to her sister after Astoria had told her about her engagement to Ginny Weasley. So Ginny understood the contempt she heard in Astoria's voice.
Some would say it was an excuse, a way to cut her ties with Daphne completely, but Ginny wasn't one of them. She was probably the only person on Earth who knew the relationship between the two Greengrass sisters inside and out. The time Astoria and Ginny had spent together had allowed them to detail the history of their lives in great detail. Astoria, too, knew the Weasley family well.
"Are you sure you won't regret it?" worried Ginny all the same.
"Certain."
Ginny swallowed but nodded, knowing that nothing she said would change her fiancée's mind. She lay back and rested her head on Astoria's chest, who immediately ran her fingers through her red hair.
"On the other hand, if you want to drop by England before our next destination, I won't stop you, you know? Pansy seems to be saying that it would be wise for you to visit Granger, or even Potter."
Ginny bit her lower lip, unsure of how to respond. Part of her couldn't help but feel that extra support would take a weight off Harry's shoulders, while another part of her felt that her presence might not change anything.
Ginny occasionally exchanged letters with him, regarding the progress of their battles and news about their group of friends. It was he who had told her about Narcissa Malfoy's death, Lavender's pregnancy, and the birth of Bill and Fleur Weasley's second child. She followed all this from afar.
"Still not decided to abscond to Thailand?" Ginny said, with a playful smile.
Astoria looked down at her and couldn't help but giggle as Ginny climbed astride her pelvis. Astoria put her hand on her waist and smiled frankly at the defiant look in Ginny's eyes.
The one that always conveyed the redhead's courage and strength so well.
"It all depends on what your arguments are, love."
"I would offer to make the meals for the next three days, but I doubt that would be enough for you," Ginny chuckled.
"Indeed, as good as they are, especially when you're remaking your mother's, I had other ideas in mind," Astoria replied with anything but an innocent smile.
"Miss Greengrass, you sure know how to talk to me," Ginny breathed as she leaned in close to her fiancée until she placed her lips on hers with passion.
Astoria responded to her kiss with equal fervour, tasting her lips repeatedly again and not being able to get enough of them. As their dinner consisted of strawberry ice cream for dessert, she could savour the last hints of the fruity scent on her tongue. Delicious.
Thailand was a beautiful country after all.
And that's it! See you on Sunday 11/08 for the next chapter!
Thanks to Acciobraincells, habon and kreimal for their help!
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