Chapter 16: Sacrifices
Potter slept the better part of three days. They were three of the longest days of Gawain's life. Sitting and waiting for something to happen. Anything. He didn't even care what, he just wanted something to do. But alas, here he was, stuck in this house, surrounded by anxiety and sorrow and fear. He couldn't remember ever feeling so useless.
Frequently the sounds of the Bones children crying floated down the hallway. Edward largely kept himself to himself, trapped in a room on the second floor and avoiding contact with any of them. But he could be heard pacing around the room late into the night. Periodically there would be a crash like something had been thrown against the wall and a roar like a wounded animal. That first day, while the rest of the Gang had been situated around the table trying to formulate some pathetic excuse of a plan to make themselves feel less useless, Bones had emerged to the kitchen long enough to dig through the pantry to find a bottle of firewhisky, then he had marched back upstairs with it in hand. No one dared challenge him on it, though Gawain saw Margaret grinding her teeth as she watched him go.
And then, of course, day in and day out, Gawain struggled not to think about Gwen. He tried not to think about her when he woke up in the morning. He tried not to think about her when Amitra made cheese toasties for lunch. He tried not to think about her when he looked over and saw Mary with tears streamed down her cheeks, even as she was focusing her attention on Potter. Mary would scribble in the treatment chart or sort through her potions stock, ignoring the tears on her face, her expression emotionless. And Gawain would try not to think about how much of the pain filling this house was his fault.
Ella had cried herself to sleep the night they had told her about Gwen. Mary had laid next to her, stroking her hair late into the night. Gawain had excused himself down to the drawing room, deciding that an unconscious Potter was less depressing company.
People tiptoed through the house, not sure of their place in it. They congregated in the kitchen at mealtimes. Sometimes halting conversations would bring them together and other times they would sit in near silence eating the simple meals that Nayana or Amitra scraped together for them from the contents of the pantry. They were all of them waiting for something to happen. Something to change. But three days went by and nothing did.
Kingsley had developed the morning tradition of using the Geminio Charm on Potter's copy of the Daily Prophet which was delivered each morning. He would duplicate the paper until there were enough copies to be getting on with. Members of the Gang would hungrily snatch them up, eager to pour through it, hoping for any hint or clue of what was happening on the outside. Nothing of use ever turned up.
And Arthur Weasley came daily with updates from the Ministry, and the Gang clung to every word he said, hoping for any kind of promising lead. But day after day, they were disappointed. Preston was doing what he could, but there was little to go on. He had sacrificed his cover and only means of information in order to warn them. There was no going back.
Kingsley frequently hovered near Potter, checking in on him regularly. Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley came daily as well. The pair sat in the drawing room with Potter quietly. When Gawain would sneak a peek into the room as he passed, he would see Granger sitting with her head on Weasley's shoulder, her eyes sad as she quietly watched Potter sleep. Weasley kept his arm comfortingly around her and rubbed her back periodically. Gawain wondered if that's what he should be doing for Mary. But it did not come naturally. And the guilt riling his gut for Gwen's death found him avoiding being alone with her entirely.
He knew he was being cowardly. Knew it was not the honourable act of a good husband and father. But he found he couldn't bear the company of his family right then. He couldn't bear being in such close quarters and seeing their pain. And so Gawain began sitting alone in the drawing room with Potter late into the night, even after Mary had deemed the lad healthy enough that he could be left without constant supervision overnight.
Mary had found the rhythm of how frequently Potter would wake and when he would need another dose of potions and had begun to time her checks on him to this. Gawain saw Mary taking Madam Pomfrey's cautions to heart after Potter's surprise excursion to the kitchen that first morning. She was keeping him quite heavily sedated, sparing him very few minutes of consciousness before she would have him down another sedative and return to oblivion. When Potter did wake, he was often groggy and disoriented. Gawain did, however, at one time on the second day, pass the drawing room and see he was at least awake enough to be having a bleary conversation with Granger and Weasley. He even heard the three of them laughing softly together before he had headed down the stairs. But in the nights, Potter generally slept deeply.
Gawain couldn't say why he found comfort in sitting in the drawing room with Potter. It wasn't as though the lad was exactly good company. But somehow it seemed the only place Gawain could clear his head in the whole house. Gawain had returned to the library on the ground floor and helped himself to frightfully dull book on wizarding genealogy. Frightfully dull and yet still more interesting than anything else that was happening in the house. He would sit in the drawing room and read long past when the others went to bed, struggling to focus his mind on the book rather than the depressing situation they had found themselves in. And all the while, Potter slept.
The lad had woken once during the second night that Gawain had done this. Gawain had not even noticed him stir at first. But as he turned a page of his book, he heard a weak voice from the couch rasp, "Aren't you a little over-qualified to be babysitting me all the time, Mr. Robards?"
Gawain smiled, recognising the same words Potter had said to him when he had been escorting him in the Ministry. Through a life-threatening injury and whopping doses of mind-altering potions, Gawain had to hand it to him: the boy was still sharp-witted. "Well, as you recall, we did have some worries you might scare off someone of weaker character," Gawain replied, marking his page and closing the book with a soft smile. Vaguely, he wondered if it was the first time he had smiled in days. The feeling was foreign on his face.
Potter let out a small huff of a laugh, then sucked a breath in through his teeth, eyes clamped shut in pain when this jostled the wound on his abdomen. Gawain winced in sympathy. Note to self: no more jokes. "How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Like I have a hole through my middle," Potter ground out, his face screwed up in pain.
"Wonder why that might be," Gawain said sardonically. He reached for the Pain Reliever, and moved to help Potter sit up enough to take it, but Potter shook his head. "Can you give me a minute? Please? It makes my brain all fuzzy and sleepy. I just want a minute where I can actually think a bit."
Gawain replaced the potion on the coffee table and sat back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest as he watched Potter quietly. Potter just stared up at the ceiling breathing hard through his nose. Every time he tried to shift at all, he winced in pain.
"So is Kingsley going crazy yet," Potter asked dully after a moment of this.
"What?"
"Been pretty out of it… but aware enough to know he's keeps checking on me…"
"He's been worried about you, yes. And I think we're all feeling a little useless and directionless at the moment."
"I'm sure he's got more important things to worry about," Potter mumbled.
Gawain shrugged. "He cares about you," he said simply.
"Yeah, well... In my experience, that's a good way to end up dead. Caring about me. So maybe he should curb that impulse." Potter's eyes were closed and his face was screwed up in pain. But as Gawain considered these words, he found he wasn't sure if this pain was from the wound to his abdomen or to something much deeper. Gawain watched him sadly, trying to think of a response to this, but nothing came.
Potter took a sudden breath in through his nose and opened his eyes and looked sharply to Gawain who just gazed back. Potter had a strange expression of shock and embarrassment. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Dunno why I… It's these stupid potions…. Forget I said that."
Gawain wished he could forget it. But instead he just sat there awkwardly and studied his hands, still having no idea what to say. Potter went back to staring at the ceiling and breathing heavily.
Perhaps it was cowardice, not knowing what else to say and not being able to bear yet another person's pain. But after a couple more quiet minutes and a couple more sharp inhales of discomfort whenever Potter shifted, Gawain said practically, "You're in pain. Do your thinking tomorrow, lad. Believe me. We've got nothing but time. Take the potion."
Potter's head lulled to the side as he turned to look at Gawain. He suspected Potter wanted to ask for clarification on this excess of time, but was too drained to do so. After another moment, he at last nodded in agreement. Only then did Gawain rise, support the boy's head with a hand behind his neck, and hold the vial to his lips. Potter begrudgingly gulped the potion, and then he slipped away into unconsciousness again.
Time meant little in Grimmauld Place. There was little resembling a routine or structure. The Gang gathered to attempt to discuss next steps in something that resembled meetings, but rarely did anything of note get accomplished. There was nothing for them to do, and these meetings were little more than a charade to make themselves feel like they weren't completely useless.
Kingsley invited Edward Bones, but he never took part. Gawain had to say he didn't blame the man; it all felt like such a charade anyway. But Gawain could not help but suspect that Kingsley was in fact glad of this. As it was, whenever Gawain did see the pair of them together, Gawain suspected that behind Kingsley's cool exterior, he was secretly wanting to start throwing hexes.
Bones's grief had taken the form of anger and aggression. His preferred targets for this seemed to be his family House-elf, Ninky, whom he was frequently seen snapping at, or of course, Harry Potter.
Gawain had thought that, as the days passed, Bones would calm and begin to see that Potter could not have done anything differently to save Iris Bones. But he didn't. And he was not afraid to share his disparaging comments regarding Potter to anyone who would hear them. The fact that no one in the house seemed to particularly agree with him, was no deterrent. If anything, it seemed make him even more determined to convince them that all of this was clearly Potter's fault.
Perhaps they may have been able to reason with him if they'd tried. But as it was, no one was eager to challenge a grieving man with such a debate. And so they all just sat quietly and let him rant. Still, while Kingsley never rose to the bait, Gawain could see that even the Minister's near-infinite patience was wearing thin. As it was, no one was particularly sad that Bones preferred to keep himself upstairs and only occasionally emerged for meals when coaxed by Margaret to get out of his room.
It was late in the evening of their third night in Grimmauld Place, and the Gang (sans Bones) sat in the kitchen in one of their useless meetings. Most all of the others had headed up to bed after dinner, but the Gang remained behind. It was past ten o'clock, but no one moved to bed. What was the point? It was not like they had somewhere to be in the morning.
Mary bustled in at half past ten, interrupting… well, nothing, really. All eyes turned to her as she pushed in the door. She paused, taking in the dejected faces of the Gang. Gawain avoided her eye, instead focusing on picking a speck of dirt out from one fingernail. Things had been strained between them.
"How are you, Mary?" Kingsley asked. "Need anything?" Gawain got the impression he was desperately hoping she would give him a job to do.
"No, no," replied Mary, moving over to the stove. "I just came down to find some broth for Harry. He'll be awake soon, I imagine, and I'd like to see if he can't sit up and take a little something to eat before I head up to bed." She emptied a tin of broth from the pantry into a mug and prodded it with her wand to warm it. Steam suddenly streaked from the cup. Kingsley smiled appreciatively at her, the expression just a little tainted by the general depression that was settled around the room.
"And how are you lot doing?" Mary asked, astutely recognising the sullen mood in the kitchen.
Kingsley let out a humourless laugh. "Mainly just wishing there was something of use we could be doing."
Mary looked around at them all sympathetically. Gawain recognised her expression as the one she wore whenever she imparted some words of motivation to him when he was frustrated at work. "I'm sure you'll figure it out," she said. "I know it must be frustrating. Not being able to be at the office and doing as much as you like."
"Or anything at all," commented Ben, dryly.
Mary opened her mouth to respond, but at that moment, the door creaked open, and in shuffled Potter. There was a screech of chairs as immediately everyone in the room was on his or her feet, ready to offer assistance. Potter just waved a hand weakly for them all to sit back down. They hesitantly complied, but Gawain, who was seated in his usual seat nearest the door, pulled the chair out next to him for Potter before he did. Potter sank into it gratefully, one hand held bracingly over his middle. He grimaced as he settled into the chair. The boy had managed to pull on a fresh pair of joggers and a shirt over his bandages before coming down. Gawain suspected the House-elf must have supplied them.
"You shouldn't be up yet," scolded Kingsley. "You're still too weak." Mary too looked rather exasperated.
Potter sat a moment, catching his breath, eyes closed before speaking. "Can't sit in that room another minute. Going crazy. Bloody hell, I hate that room." Potter had removed his glasses to rub at his face as he spoke. "I slept in that room the first night after going on the run last year. God help me; I think I'm stuck in a loop," he groaned through his fingers. Then he replaced his glasses, settled his elbows on the table top and his head in one hand and looked up at Kingsley down the table. "So how long was I out?"
"Three days," replied Kingsley. "A very long three days, I'll add." Gawain realised those days were probably even harder on Kingsley as they had been on him. But Potter just nodded as though this was all very routine.
"I couldn't find my wand?" Potter said it as a question.
"Right. Sorry. I picked it up for you," said Kingsley, reaching into an inner pocket of his robes. He stood and reached over the table as he passed it over.
Potter took with fingers that were surprisingly nimble in contrast to his weak, slumped posture. He turned it in his hand and ran his fingers down it's length reverently. "Thanks. I know it's dumb… I just feel a little… anxious, I guess… without it." Then he pocketed it.
"Understandable," said Kingsley softly and sadly as he sank back into his chair. There was a stretch of silence.
"I was just about to come up and check on you, actually," cut in Mary. "I was bringing you some broth," she reached across the table to set the steaming cup of broth down before Potter. "It's about time you got a little something in your stomach. And you're due for a bandage change. Would you prefer to go back up to the privacy of the drawing room for that? Or since you don't like it up there, I can just do it here, if you're more comfortable…"
Potter stared at the broth on the table as though he didn't recognise it at all, then blinked up at her. Mary waited for a response. Potter seemed to take a moment to understand she was speaking to him. "Right. Sorry. Sure. Here's fine," Potter finally managed. He looked confused as Mary bustled around the table and approached him.
Potter remained in his seat as Mary leaned over him and began gently unbuttoning his shirt. He still looked quite baffled and Gawain could not entirely understand his expression until he gave a small shake of his head and said to Mary, "Sorry… The past few days are a bit of a blur… Who are you, again?"
Mary let out an embarrassed laugh as she abruptly understood the cause of his confusion and that, from Potter's perspective, a complete stranger was undressing him. Her hands paused as they were working the shirt off his shoulders. "Mary. Mary Robards. I'm a Healer. I work in the Spell Damage ward at St Mungo's. So sorry. I should have introduced myself. Of course you wouldn't remember…"
"Right… Rings a sort of bell…" muttered Potter with eyes unfocused. He seemed to be wracking his brain to remember the events of the past few days. "Oh, God… Was Ginny here?" he abruptly asked, his eyes far away, but with a look of horror behind them.
A smile quirked Kingsley's cheek, hastily concealed. "She was. For a bit."
"Oh, no…" Potter groaned. "What did I say to her?"
"We left you some privacy. But if it helps you infer, she wasn't particularly happy when she left," replied Kingsley.
"Ah," replied Potter. For a brief moment, this seemed to sadden him before he brightened a touch and said, more to himself than to anyone in the room, "Well, that's probably a good sign." He did not elaborate on the meaning of this comment, but fell into brooding silence as he struggled to remember the events of the past few days.
"You gave us quite a scare, you know," Mary was saying after a bit as she was unwinding bandages.
"Right. Sorry," replied Potter again. His mind was clearly elsewhere. Mary glanced up to take in his distracted face for a moment, before returning to her work.
"How are you feeling?"
"Fine," replied Potter automatically. "Tired," he amended. "Bit of a headache. And is just me, or is it insanely cold in this house?"
Mary smiled as though at a joke that only she understood. Then replied gently, "That is just you. You're anaemic. You lost a lot of blood. It will get better over the next couple days as your blood count goes up. Shouldn't be too much longer. Your haematocrit has been responding well to the Blood Replenishing Potion." Potter nodded in vague understanding.
Bandages removed, Mary was leaning over, gently probing around the wound with her finger tips. Gawain noted Potter's jaw clench. So did Mary, evidently, because she said sympathetically, "Painful?"
"Nah. Nah, it's fine," replied Potter. Mary was clearly not convinced by this.
"We'll get you another dose of pain reliever once we get you back upstairs."
Potter just shook his head with a grimace. "Makes my head all fuzzy and jumbled."
"Just do as you're told and take the potion, Harry," said Kingsley, who had been watching the interaction silently to this point while fiddling with the gold loop in his ear. "For once in your life," he added dryly. Dimly, Gawain wondered who was better at getting under Kingsley's generally unflappable exterior: Bones or Potter. Potter, however, pretended not to hear him. He was leaning back in his chair, studying the ceiling, his arms hanging limply at his sides.
Mary glanced curiously over her shoulder at the Minister, up at Potter's face, then back to her work. "Well, the wound seems to be healing well," she said, changing the subject. "Still will need a few more days with regular dressing changes, but I should think you can go without the bandages soon." Potter simply nodded. "Sit up a moment? And arms up, please," Mary continued. When Potter complied, entwining his fingers behind his neck, she pulled out her wand and said, "Ferula!" and clean white bandages once again shot around his middle neatly. Mary straightened.
At this moment, the door creaked and in came Susan and Maxim Bones.
The pair faltered in the doorway. Susan blushed when all eyes turned to look at her. They had clearly not expected the kitchen to be so full of people at this late hour. "Sorry to interrupt. Couldn't sleep. We thought we'd come find a cup of tea or something."
"Of course, children. Come on in. I'll find you something," said Margaret, jumping to her feet and heading toward the kettle. "Is Brandon alright?"
"He's sleeping," said Susan. But it was at this moment that Susan caught sight of Potter. Her eyes went wide. "Harry!" she exclaimed, and then she had flown across the room and she was leaning down, her arms wrapped around Potter's neck. "Thank Merlin, you're awake! I've been so worried." Maxim was left standing awkwardly by the door, shifting his feet.
From his position seated next to Potter, Gawain saw the Potter's eyes bulge as he struggled to contain a gasp of pain as the girl hugged him tightly. "Susan," he wheezed. "I didn't know you were here."
Susan pulled back, abruptly realising she had hurt him and wincing an apology. "Is that alright? That I'm here?" She was wringing her hands and looking at him with worry. "I know I wasn't exactly invited. I was only going to stay a few more days. To be with my family. Then I'll head back to Hogwarts."
"No," Potter hastened to assure her. "Of course you're welcome to stay as long as you like." Then Potter hesitated before saying. "Susan, I'm so sorry… about… about your mum… I…"
"Don't!" she cut him off. "Don't you dare apologise. You saved my brothers. I'm nothing but grateful to you," she said earnestly, if a little tearfully. Gawain found it a welcome deviation from her father's opinion.
Potter gave her a sad but grateful smile which she returned. Then she nodded to Maxim and the pair of them rounded the table to sit on the other side where Margaret was setting out two cups of tea and a plate of biscuits for them.
Potter abruptly seemed to remember he was bare from the waist up save for the bandages. He awkwardly reached to replace his shirt, a slight flush to his cheeks. But as he reached to the chair back behind him for his shirt, he flinched as though he had forgotten that twisting was painful. Mary hastened to help him. Potter tiredly allowed her to help him feed his arms through the shirt.
"This is an interesting scar," Mary said conversationally, fingering the scar over his heart that Gawain had noted earlier. She pulled the shirt over his shoulders. Potter's fingers were buttoning the shirt from the bottom up. "Was it two separate injuries? This one looks like a burn." Her fingers passed over the perfect oval of smooth dark flesh above. "But this… I've never seen anything quite like it." This time, her hand hovered over the swirling pattern below, not quite resting on it.
"That would be Avada Kedavra number two," said Potter. He said it simply, his voice emotionless. As though this were quite uninteresting and couldn't possibly elicit further follow-up questions. Mary retracted her hand sharply as though burned and glanced up at his face, surprised. Then her eyes flew back to his chest, just as Potter closed the buttons over it. Gawain could see her indecision as professional interest warred with her desire not to appear intrusive. "That… that must have hurt," she breathed, softly, her eyes on his now covered chest.
"You should see the other guy," replied Potter. He kept a completely straight face. His eyes were still hooded with tiredness. Mary looked up at Potter's face in surprise, then a squawk of a laugh escaped her lips before she plastered a hand over her lips to contain it. Only then did Potter's mouth quirk in a tired grin.
Ben guffawed. "And just like that, Harry's back." There was a tittering of laughter around the table.
Kingsley, however, was frowning. "You said you weren't hurt."
Potter blinked at him. "What?"
"That night. After the Battle. I asked if you were hurt, and you said you weren't."
"Oh… yeah… right," replied Potter uneasily. "That night... When you asked… I guess I—" He shrugged as he tried to find the right words.
"Lied?" Kingsley finished for him flatly.
Something between a smile and a grimace crossed Potter's face, but he finished what he had been going to say, ignoring Kingsley's contribution. "—hadn't really had time to take stock of the damage. I was sort of a walking bruise after the Battle. Everything hurt. Didn't really realise it was anything more than that until later."
"I thought the Avada Kedavra Curse wasn't supposed to leave any marks," Ben asked, looking around for anyone to offer an explanation.
"I don't think it was so much the curse… More the piece of Voldemort's soul getting torn out." Potter shrugged and reached for the mug of broth. "That was my theory, anyway."
"You should have seen a Healer," said Kingsley, not to be distracted by this veer in conversation. His face was deadly serious. "You should have been checked over. We have no idea if there could be lasting damage from that curse."
Potter smiled tiredly and gave the smallest huff of a laugh. "Right," he said sarcastically. "Could have gotten the insight of the experts who specialise in survivors of the Killing Curse. Seeing as there's so many of them out there." He took a sip of his broth nonchalantly. When Kingsley continued to look worried, Potter added, "I'm fine Kingsley. It's healed. So it left a bit of a scar. It's really not a big deal. Not the first one. Nor the last."
Kingsley was opening his mouth to argue further, but he broke off at a small voice from across the table. "You were hit by the Killing Curse. You should be dead." All eyes turned to Maxim Bones. It was the most Gawain had ever heard him speak. He was now staring at Potter with a single-minded intensity.
Potter, however, looked wary as he took in Maxim. He paused and licked his lips before saying simply, "Yes."
"You died. But you're here. You came back," Maxim clarified.
Another pause before Potter said again, "Yes."
"How did you do that? There must be a way to come back. Or you wouldn't be here."
Another pause. Potter was looking at Maxim with a resigned sadness that Gawain did not understand. He could not see what Maxim was getting at. But Potter clearly did because he said then, "She won't come back. Please don't wait for her. She wouldn't want you to." And then Gawain too understood.
Maxim looked abruptly awkward. "I don't… I didn't… Who do you mean?" he said, unconvincingly.
"Your mother," said Potter. His voice was gentle and kind, but also tired and sad.
Gawain watched as Maxim pushed the awkwardness aside, determined to understand. Determined to get an answer to his questions. "But it's possible! You came back. So there must be a way!"
"She won't come back," Potter repeated, a little more insistently. "I know you wish she would. I asked these questions once too. But she'll have gone on."
"If there's a way… any way at all… If she could come back to me… to us…" Maxim desperately glanced to his sister who was looking wretched and pitying as she watched her brother think this through aloud. "I know she would do it. She would do whatever it took to come back to us."
"She won't." The words seemed to pain Potter to say.
"How do you know?" Maxim was getting frustrated now. "You don't even know her. And there's a way to come back. You did it! What makes you think she wouldn't do the same?"
"Because I didn't want to."
Silence fell in the room at these words. All eyes were on Potter. No one moved. Gawain thought no one was even breathing. Then Potter sighed. He looked away a moment, collecting his thoughts, then turned back to Maxim. He was picking his words carefully when he continued. "I had a tie to this world. Voldemort was still alive. And he was a part of me. And I was a part of him. It gave me a way… a path to follow back. But even if your mum had that… even if she was tied here too… it would not be a path many would choose."
"But why? Why wouldn't everyone want to come back? If we didn't have to die… why go?"
Potter swallowed. He studied the table top, not meeting any of the eyes who were staring at him. "I know, in coming back, that I made the right choice. I was able to kill Voldemort. It ended the War. Saved lives. It was the right choice for everybody. But sometimes… sometimes I wonder if it wasn't really the right choice for me. Sometimes I wonder if I might rather have just been selfish and moved on." He was tracing patterns with his finger on the table.
"I had to come back. I couldn't leave it there. Leave my friends— everyone I cared about was up in that castle— I couldn't leave them to give their lives for me. But… But where I was…" he paused. A sad smile touched his lips as though remembering a happy memory of a long ago time that he could never return to. "It was warm. And it was peaceful and quiet. And for a moment… I was… happy." He paused to draw in a deep breath and let it out, now a frown creasing his brow. "Coming back… It was the hardest choice I've ever had to make. Coming back to this world. I had to wake up there in the forest, surrounded by Death Eaters. Voldemort was tossing my body around for sport. But more than that. Everything felt… harsh. And cold. And dark. It was… painful. Painful to leave that peace behind." Finally, he looked up to Maxim and met his eye. "Would you wish that for your mother?"
It was Maxim's turn to look away. He considered this, and Gawain saw tears in his eyes. After a moment he shook his head dejectedly. And with that motion, that moment of acceptance, his face screwed up as he struggled to hold back the sob that was trying to break free. Susan's arm was around his shoulders and she squeezed him comfortingly, even as tears streamed silently down her own cheeks.
Potter's eyes returned to the table, allowing time for everyone to process this.
Gawain felt the pain of it in his own heart. He had thought many times of the sacrifices Potter had made in the War. Had thought about how Potter had literally died for the cause. But he had never once considered that, just perhaps, what was harder was living for the cause. He spared a glance to Kingsley who was staring at Potter unblinkingly, a look of pure tragedy on his face.
Maxim took a moment to compose himself. Then he sniffed and said, very quietly, his voice an octave higher and it broke as he asked his next question. "Did it hurt? Dying?"
Potter smiled then, his gaze far away for a moment. It was a smile of a man fondly remembering a inside joke between friends. Then he looked to Maxim and said gently, "Quicker and easier than falling asleep. Promise."
Maxim managed a nod, before his face screwed up again. He turned it and buried his face in his sister's shoulder as her arms went around him in a tight embrace. The boy's shoulders shuddered in quiet sobs as she buried her face in his auburn hair and cried quietly too.
There was a deep quiet in the kitchen save for the sniffling of the Bones children. No one was looking at anyone. They all sat in silence, processing what they had just heard. Then Potter said softly, to no one in particular. "I'm quite tired. Think I'll head back up to bed." He pushed himself stiffly to his feet with another small grimace of pain, hastily concealed.
Gawain saw Mary give her head a little shake to clear it, and she moved to help him. Her voice sounded choked with emotion when she spoke. "Of course, dear. I can help you up the stairs—"
But Potter was already shaking his head and giving her a kind smile. "I can manage. Thanks." Then he turned and shuffled toward the door.
"Harry," a soft voice called. All eyes turned to Susan Bones. She was still clutching her crying brother to her chest, but now she looked over his head toward Potter who had paused in the doorway. Then she very simply mouthed the words, "Thank you."
Potter gave her one sad nod in response, and then he was gone.
The room was silent in Potter's wake. No one looked at each other. No one spoke. Mary sank into the chair Potter had deserted and was chewing on a thumbnail distractedly. Gawain studied his hands. He tried to wrap his head around all that Potter had just said. But he found that he couldn't. It was too big. Too much. The minutes ticked by, and still no one spoke.
Gawain couldn't say what drew him to his feet after a time. Still no one else had moved. But a nudging feeling was calling to him. And so he softly whispered to Mary that he would be right back, and headed out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Mary scarcely acknowledged him, so lost in thought was she.
He hadn't been expecting it. Not really. And yet he found himself completely unsurprised to find Potter sitting on the top step at the first floor landing. He was slumped back with his head resting against the wall, his eyes closed. His breathing was fast and laboured. His head lulled slightly with each exhale.
Potter opened one eye just enough to take in who was coming up the stairs as Gawain approached, then closed it again tiredly.
"Strong willed, aren't you?" said Gawain wryly. He leaned against the banister just two steps below the one Potter was seated on, and he studied the boy. Potter's face was pale and slack with pain and exhaustion.
Potter didn't open his eyes as he responded, his voice coming weakly between gasping breaths. "I said I could make it up the stairs. I made no further promises."
Gawain couldn't help the exasperated chuckle. He ran a hand through his hair. He had to laugh. What else was there to keep himself from crying? "Come on. Let's get you into bed." He reached down, and Potter allowed him to haul him to his feet. The boy sucked in a gasp of pain through clenched teeth as he did so.
Gawain half carried, half led Potter to the couch in the drawing room. "You know, you are allowed to ask for help from time to time," Gawain told him as he lowered the boy to the couch, pulling the covers aside for him to sit.
Potter's teeth were gritted as he leaned back against the back of the sofa. "Never was very good at that," he ground out, wincing as he fingered the wound on his abdomen. Gawain had no response to this. He turned aside and rummaged through the potions on the coffee table until he found a Pain Reliever.
It was a marker, Gawain thought, of the amount of pain that Potter must be in that he did not fight him when Gawain held out the potion to him. Instead, he merely looked up at Gawain, gave him a nod of thanks, and tossed the potion back in one gulp.
Potter was asleep before his head hit the pillow. Gawain hoped he found some peace in the oblivion it offered. Merlin knew he deserved it.
Breakfast the following morning was as sombre as ever. People trickled in with muttered "good mornings," but otherwise, as usual, there was little conversation. Amitra placed a large bowl of boiled eggs on the table where a collection of what appeared to be antique eggcups were waiting, and Nayana was churning out toast soldiers. The rest of them were helping themselves to tea and coffee as they preferred from the waiting pots on the table. Gawain looked around the room, noting everyone's unique morning routine. Kingsley and Roslyn were already buried in the morning's paper. Ben was already diving for the eggs. Margaret was coaxing the Bones children to help themselves to the food. Sandeep was brewing himself a particularly spicy smelling tea at the stove. He left a cup next to Nayana and settled himself down at his seat, before pouring the tea from the cup to the saucer and sipping it while looking around at all the milling people.
Gawain was just helping himself to a boiled egg and a few soldiers when there was a crack that had most everyone around the table jump. The high alert melted away when Gawain saw it was only Kreacher the House-elf.
The elf had made it quite clear from the beginning that he had no intention of waiting upon any of them save his Master. Of course, with his Master unconscious for most of that time, the elf had had very little to do and had mostly kept himself to himself. Now, however, the elf had bustled up to the seat next to Gawain and was setting a place setting. He summoned a bowl of porridge from the stove and set out a cup for tea. As a final touch, he laid out a copy of the Daily Prophet next to the bowl of porridge.
Kreacher completely ignored the eyes of everyone in the kitchen who was watching him, but he was muttering under his breath. "Master should not be eating eggs and toast yet, my no. Kreacher's porridge is very nutritious, Mistress always said so. Much better than what these trespassers eat. Master will want coffee, but Kreacher must insist he have tea until he is healed…"
The House-elf had never done such a thing any other morning. It was perhaps silly that it took Gawain a few minutes to understand why the elf was suddenly doing all this. But then, of course, just as realisation was hitting, the door swung open, and Potter walked into the kitchen.
Potter was neatly dressed this time in clean trousers and shirt. His hair was still damp from a bath, probably the first time he'd been properly clean in days. He was still pale, but he looked the brightest Gawain had seen him since the injury, and his back was straight. Even so, he moved a little slower than he had before. All eyes were on him instantly.
Potter paused in the doorway for just a moment; his eye's roved around the room, taking in the many occupants who were all staring at him expectantly. Then he smiled a little shyly and said, "Good morning." He crossed to the place at the table the House-elf had arranged for him.
"Thank you, Kreacher. This looks great," Potter said softly to the House-elf, who bowed his head acquiescently and backed away.
There was an awkward silence in the kitchen. The Gang may have been used to being in the company of Harry Potter, but their families were most definitely not accustomed to dining with a legend. Potter, Gawain was sure, felt the awkwardness, but he seemed to be determined to ignore it. Gawain rather got the impression that this happened to him quite regularly.
Potter was slowly attempting to lower himself into the chair at the table when Margaret broke the awkward silence. "Well, it's about time," she said loudly enough to garner the attention of the whole room. Her gaze, however, was on Potter, her expression unimpressed.
Potter paused from his act of sitting, only halfway to the chair. He had been occupied in trying just a little too hard to not let anyone see him wince in pain to be convincing. He froze, most of his weight on his hands supported by the table top. He looked at her, his face nonplussed.
"Kids these days," Margaret continued. "Think they can just laze about in bed at all hours." A small smirk broke through her attempt at a straight face as she regarded Potter with a mock-stern expression.
Ben caught on first. "Yeah, geez. What a slacker." He was not even attempting to keep a straight face. He was just grinning from ear to ear. Sandeep was smiling his brilliant straight-toothed smile as well as he helped himself to another bite of his egg.
Potter let out a small self-deprecating laugh and finished lowering himself into the chair, and leaned back, crossing arms and legs and regarding his accusers with a small smile on his lips. By now, hesitant smiles were breaking out around all the occupants of the room.
"Honestly. How are you ever going to accomplish anything for society if you can't even get up at a decent hour?" Gawain contributed.
Potter, turned his head to look at him. The grin breaking through rather diminished the effectiveness of the glare he was shooting Gawain's way. And then the whole room was laughing at the ridiculousness of bringing Harry Potter to task for not accomplishing enough for society.
"I guess that's fair," Potter muttered through a gentle guffaw, accepting their teasing with good humour as he reached to pour himself a cup of tea. Gawain did not miss his other hand going to massage the wound on his belly as he did so. "Especially given that I'm supposed to sit the NEWTs in two weeks, and I haven't even started studying."
Gawain noticed Mary looking between Gawain and Potter from across the table with a quizzical expression in her eyes, though her lips were quirked in a small grin. Gawain avoided her eye. He shoved aside the shame that he had not told her that he had been getting to know the boy over these past couple months.
"You're looking much better," noted Kingsley as the laughter died down, his eyes twinkling in the fond smile Gawain had not seen on his face for several days.
"Yeah. Yeah, I feel much better." As Potter spoke, he was casually tearing the front page of the newspaper off and crumpling it in one hand. He lobbed it in the direction of the fireplace with a practiced air as though this were a perfectly normal thing he did every day. Gawain wanted to ask why he did this—and from the look of a few puzzled frowns around the room, he was not the only one— but the conversation was already moving on.
"Well, it's good to have you back," Sandeep commented, lifting the saucer from which he was drinking his tea to Potter in a salute.
Across the table, Ella was whispering excitedly to Mary. Mary smiled at her, and reached into her pocket to pull out a piece of parchment which she handed to Ella. Ella hurried around the table, squeezed in between Gawain and Potter, and held the parchment out to Potter, blushing to her ears. Gawain recognised the parchment as the drawing Ella had been working on. The words Get Well Soon, Harry were flashing in different colours over the drawing of a figure who could only be Potter, suspended on a broomstick before three goal posts and what Gawain suspected must be a bludger zooming past.
"I made this for you," Ella muttered shyly, unable to meet Potter's eye.
Potter blinked at her in surprise and took the parchment. He studied it for a brief moment, then a grin split his face. "Wow. Thanks, Ella," Potter said. Gawain was surprised Potter remembered her name after just two brief encounters. "You drew this?"
Ella nodded. "Nayana did the charm to make the words flash different colours," she conceded.
"You're really good," said Potter. He made an admirable show of studying the details of the drawing closely, then he looked up at Ella, his smile deepening. "That looks like a Nimbus Two Thousand," he said, gesturing to the figure on the broomstick. "Nice touch." And he winked at her. Gawain did not know it was possible for Ella to blush an even darker shade of magenta, but she did. She glanced at Mary, who beamed back at her proudly and beckoned for her to return to her seat. Ella seemed to dance back on light feet with an even lighter heart. Potter carefully tucked the drawing away in his breast pocket.
"We have all been looking forward to being able to thank you," said Nayana sweetly to Potter, smiling at his exchange with Ella. "It was so gracious of you to invite us into your home."
Potter looked at her with surprise and some little embarrassment. He huffed a small laugh, a flush touching his cheeks at this acknowledgment before he turned it around. "Well… Gracious of you to call Grimmauld Place a 'home'." Gawain recognised this as a tactic to avoid gratitude and lifted his coffee cup to hide his smile. "I hope you all found rooms that weren't infested with doxies or filled with some sort of Dark Magic booby-traps."
"We're all quite settled," Kingsley assured him, warmly.
"So if this isn't home," asked Mary as she thoughtfully chewed her toast, taking in this boy she had only gotten to know while he was sleeping, "where is?"
Potter seemed to consider this then said, "Home… never really experienced the concept. But I hear it's nice." And he smiled at Mary kindly to soften some of the tragedy of that statement when she looked somewhat stricken.
"It is a rather… unusual… house," Amitra said, glancing at her wife then back to Potter. There was a clear question in the statement that she couldn't quite seem to figure out how to formulate into words.
Potter laughed softly and repeated under his breath, "'Unusual…'" The he replied to her, "You're so polite as you ask why Harry Potter lives in what looks like the Barbie Dream House for Salazar Slytherin."
"No way," chimed in Ben. Unlike Gawain, Ben seemed to know what a Barbie Dream House was, because he said, "Salazar Slytherin's Barbie Dream House would definitely contain a swimming pool full of snakes, and I don't see anything like that here."
"That you know of," replied Potter cryptically, giving Ben a mysterious look. Then he laughed and turned back to Amitra as Ben snickered. "To answer the question you are too polite to ask… This was an Order of the Phoenix safe-house. It was once the Black Family ancestral house. The Blacks… Well, I never knew any of them, save Sirius. I'm sure we all would have gotten on swimmingly. Very into the Dark Arts and blood purity and wizarding superiority… Really sounded like stand-up folks." The sarcasm positively dripped from his words. "But fortunately, Mr. and Mrs. Black were rather paranoid, so they had all sorts of protective enchantments and the like up around the house. When they died, the house passed to Sirius Black, who was my godfather. He never wanted much to do with the place, so he leant it to Dumbledore to use as Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, and Dumbledore added his own bits of protective magic. Then when Sirius died, the house passed to me. And now, well… it's as safe a place to stay as any. And really I have no where better to be. But let's not dwell for too long on how depressing of a thought that is." Potter smiled and took a bite of his porridge in a manner that seemed to close that conversation.
Mary took this in with some confusion on her face. "I'm sorry," she said, blinking at Potter. "Did… did you know Sirius Black? I mean…. He was in Azkaban most of your life and a fugitive for the remainder, surely…" Gawain had quite forgotten until this point that Mary had been at school with Black and had known him quite well before he went to Azkaban.
Potter looked at her for a moment, opening and closing his mouth as he struggled to decide how to respond. He smiled nervously. Then he glanced at Gawain. Then back to her. "Are you asking me, in a room filled with law enforcement officials, if I aided and abetted an escaped convicted murderer? Because if so, I think it would behove me to keep my mouth shut on that topic."
"Oh, we're not listening. Are we Robards?" said Amin with a wink in Gawain's direction.
"Well, there's always comfort to know that if I'm going down, there're a few people I could take down with me," said Potter with a sly smile in Kingsley's direction.
Kingsley was shaking his head slowly at Potter, an indulgent smile turning up one corner of his mouth. "Sirius Black has been cleared of all charges. And I hardly think my role in all that 'aiding and abetting' compared to yours."
"You were in charge of his investigation!" exclaimed Potter incredulously. "And in any case… According to Cornelius Fudge, I was too young and impressionable at the time to be a reliable witness in Sirius's defence. So hypothetically, if I was so young and impressionable, I couldn't possibly be held responsible for my actions. Even if I did hypothetically steal a hippogriff and hypothetically ride it to the window of the seventh floor office in Hogwarts where Sirius was locked up and hypothetically break him out of said room and help him to flee the country. Hypothetically." Potter took another bite of his porridge, smiling to himself. Kingsley was laughing to himself and shaking his head as he tapped the top of his egg with a spoon to crack it. He had clearly heard this story before.
Gawain, meanwhile, abruptly realised egg yolk was dripping from the soldier that was forgotten halfway to his mouth as he stared open-mouthed at Potter. He replaced the piece of toast to the eggcup quickly, then looked back to Potter, an eyebrow raised. He was trying to do mental math in his head, counting the years since Sirius Black's infamous and mysterious escape from Hogwarts. But this wasn't adding up right. It couldn't be right. "And how old were you at this time," Gawain asked, shocked. "Hypothetically," he hastened to add.
Potter grinned at him. "I hypothetically would have been thirteen."
There was silence in the room, and all eyes were on Potter. Gawain was quite sure his was not the only mouth hanging open. Potter, however, casually ignored this, and turned to his newspaper, taking a sip of tea as he turned the page. Then, quite suddenly, Ben broke the silence as he began to laugh. And laugh hard. Gawain suspected no little mirth was due to the look on his, Gawain's, face. And then the whole room was laughing. Potter merely glanced up, met Gawain's eye, and smirked. Then went back to his paper.
It was as though a weight had been lifted. Potter's return to the land of the conscious had everyone feeling more relaxed. Gawain couldn't remember laughter in the house since Potter had been injured. Without doing much of anything at all, Potter had a way of comforting and distracting everyone from their sorrows. Gawain was in awe of this talent that Potter seemed quite unaware of. Even now that Potter had turned his attention to his newspaper, casual conversations sprung up all around the table and the atmosphere of the kitchen felt completely different than it had before he had entered.
As the others returned to their conversations and Gawain returned to his newspaper, he kept an eye on Potter out of the corner of his eye. Gawain cast furtive glances Potter's way with each page turn as Potter also worked his way through the Daily Prophet. Potter only ate a few bites more of his porridge, and as breakfast wore on, Gawain noticed his posture slowly slumping with tiredness. His charade of peppy normalcy was wearing on him. He was not ready to be out of bed so long.
A glance around the table showed Gawain was not the only one to have noticed. Amitra was deep in conversation with the Bones children, who were more talkative today than Gawain had yet seen them. Margaret and Ben were debating the practicality of hippogriffs as a mode of transport. Roslyn was engrossed in her newspaper. Nayana had grasped Sandeep's hand and held it to her belly, as their baby presumably was giving a kick. They were lost in smiling at each other the way they did only when they thought no one was looking.
Mary, however, was also studying Potter with a shrewd look on her face, and Kingsley was casting furtive glances the boy's way over his paper. He looked more and more concerned with each glance. Gawain was just debating how he might quietly offer Potter an excuse to leave without insulting him or drawing the attention of the room, when the fire roared green.
The arrival of visitors by Floo was by now quite routine and elicited nothing more than a turn of the head from the occupants of the kitchen. When it was noted to be Ron Weasley stepping off the hearth, heads turned back to their previous conversations without comment. Mere seconds later, the fire roared again and Hermione Granger stepped out, quite predictably. They had not spotted Potter sitting at the kitchen table yet, though he was quietly watching them.
"Ginny bringing the cake?" Gawain heard Weasley ask Granger.
"She said she had it. Hopefully it doesn't end up in the embers."
Beside him, Gawain heard Potter groan and mutter, "Oh, no…" under his breath. Gawain initially thought this must be in response to Potter realising he was going to have to face his ex, but then Potter leaned over and pulled Gawain's newspaper over to him. He flipped to the front page which Potter had torn off his own paper and looked at the date in the upper corner of the paper. Then groaned again, slumping. He pushed the paper back to Gawain, returning it to the page Gawain had been reading just as Weasley and Granger caught sight of him.
"He's up!" exclaimed Weasley just as the fire flared again. Ginny Weasley danced out of the fire with quite remarkable grace given that her hands were occupied with a container the size of a hatbox. Potter visibly mustered the strength to straighten his back, and he smiled at his friends.
"Harry!" cried Granger, joyously as the fire flared one last time, this time producing another young man who had to be a Weasley as well. He was shorter and stockier of build than Ron, but the red hair and freckles marked them as unmistakably related.
"Happy birthday!" all four cried in unison. The occupants of Grimmauld place looked around in surprise, then looked to Potter curiously.
Ginny Weasley glided around the table and opened the container she was holding to reveal a cake, frosted in Gryffindor colours. She sat it down in front of Harry with a shy smile.
"Thanks, guys," said Potter. There was a tiredness in his voice, but he smiled contentedly at all of them as they crowded around him. The rest of the room was now watching this gathering with quiet interest.
"Ginny did all the work on the cake," supplied Granger as she leaned down and gently hugged Potter, being careful to avoid his wound.
Ginny blushed. "Not so much. Mum helped with the baking. But I decorated."
"It looks great, Gin," said Potter, earnestly. She beamed, then looked away.
Gawain watched their interactions curiously. Had Gawain not known that they had dated, he would never have guessed that Potter and Ginny Weasley had a history. Potter spoke to her politely but detachedly. As though she was nothing more than his best mate's sister. But when Ginny moved away to collect some plates and forks for cake and wasn't looking his way, Gawain caught Potter glance at her a time or two. And in that look, Gawain thought he could see sorrow and longing. Ginny clearly wanted to be with Potter. And it seemed to Gawain that Potter wanted to be with Ginny. So why were they just not together then? Granger, Gawain noticed, had also caught these quiet glances and was looking between the two of them contemplatively, as Ron Weasley chatted away obliviously.
"Beginning to think you're intentionally avoiding us on your birthdays, Harry. We never get to celebrate properly," Ron Weasley was saying.
"Yeah," said the stockier of the Weasley boys. "I mean, he even went so far as to try to get himself killed. Again. But hey! Eighteen! It's a bloody miracle!"
"I know, right? Who knew I'd make it this long."
"How are you feeling?" asked Granger, concernedly, clearly not appreciating the talk of her friend dying.
"Fine. A lot better," replied Potter.
"Well, you look like shite," said the unknown Weasley boy, considering Potter shrewdly. "You know. Just in case you were wondering."
"Thanks, George," said Potter dryly. "Kinda wasn't."
The boy named George snorted and nudged his brother with his elbow. "Remember that time the Dementors came onto the Quidditch pitch and you fell like fifty feet off your broomstick?"
"I try not to," muttered Potter.
"Oh, yeah," said Ron Weasley. "He does look like he did then!"
Granger rolled her eyes at them. Then she caught sight of Susan Bones across the table. "Susan!" she exclaimed.
"Hey, Hermione," Susan replied. Granger rounded the table and the two girls embraced a little shyly.
Granger sat down next to Susan and the pair talked quietly to each other. Granger's expression was sympathetic and consoling.
Ron Weasley meanwhile pulled out the chair next to Potter and helped himself to the plate of toast on the table. Ginny rolled her eyes at him too. "Honestly, Ron. You just had breakfast." She was cutting a generous piece of cake and passing it to Potter.
"So?" replied Weasley. "I'm still hungry." And he munched away unconcernedly. "Oh! I almost forgot," he suddenly exclaimed. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a rolled up magazine. "I brought you a birthday present, Harry," he said. He tossed the magazine down on the table in front of Potter.
Potter glanced at it for merely a second before he snorted a laugh. "Gilderoy Lockhart, eat your heart out," Potter said as Weasley sniggered. "Well, let's just hope they don't forget to list this among my accomplishments on my Chocolate Frog card," continued Potter with a smirk. Then, when he noticed Gawain looking curiously his way, Potter passed him the magazine to pass around.
It was a copy of this week's edition of Witch Weekly. And on the cover was a large picture of Harry Potter, grinning his crooked dimpled smile and the words:
HARRY POTTER
Winner of this year's
MOST CHARMING SMILE AWARD
Gawain recognised the photo on the cover as the one Graham Haversham had taken in the Atrium of the Ministry when Potter had been in conversation with Gawain. He remembered the exact moment. Potter had just told him that he liked him, and Gawain had been so surprised at the flattery, that he had not noticed Haversham approaching. It was not Gawain's proudest moment. But still, Gawain found himself vaguely wondering if he should be offended that he had clearly been cropped out of the photo.
Gawain laughed softly to himself at the ridiculousness of it all and passed the magazine down the table for the others to enjoy. They were all a little starved of entertainment, after all. Ben sniggered when he read the headline.
"I think they're running out of photos of you to use, Harry," said the boy Potter had called George. "They keep reusing the same ones. You've gotten too good at avoiding their photographers."
"It takes a special talent," replied Potter.
"That or an invisibility cloak," commented Ron Weasley.
"That helps too."
The small party chatted and teased each other happily. Potter nibbled a few bites of cake, complimenting Ginny on the bake. Kingsley had struck up a conversation with George. And gradually the room returned to a buzz of conversation and laughter.
Gawain noticed Granger, who had been sitting on the opposite side of the table with Susan Bones, was throwing concerned glances Potter's way. And after just ten minutes of socialising, she called across the table, "I think we should leave you to get some rest. You look exhausted."
Potter smiled at her gratefully. "Yeah. Feeling about due for a bit of a kip."
"Well, we really just wanted to come by and say happy birthday," she said.
"Mum said to tell you she's coming to visit tomorrow," said Ron. "She would have come today, but she's in baking mode." He rolled his eyes as though this had some deeper meaning that Gawain couldn't understand.
"Just to warn you, she's making enough pasties to bring you all to last an army until next year," Ginny said, directing this comment between Potter and Kingsley. "Or to last Ron one week," she added.
"I dunno. I'm getting sick of baked goods. I'm glad there's someone new for her to bake for. I mean, I get that she's sad about Fred and baking is her coping mechanism, or whatever, but if she hands me one more scone—"
"Ron," Granger interrupted. She gave a pointed look in the direction of George, then raised her eyebrows at Ron. Ron broke off, a flush touching his ears, and he looked down at the table awkwardly.
Gawain curiously followed her look. George suddenly had a far-away gaze and a wretched expression on his face. The group was suddenly very awkward. George seemed to blink out of a trance a moment later. "Think I'll head back," he muttered into the quiet. "Meeting a supplier for the joke shop in an hour. Happy birthday, Harry."
"Of course. Thanks for coming, George," said Potter. George nodded, not meeting his eye as he moved toward the fireplace and tossed in a pinch of Floo Powder. Potter watched him go with a sorrowful look on his face.
The awkward silence continued until Ron cleared his throat. "Yeah… Guess we should be going too. We've been trying not to leave Mum alone for too long… She gets… you know."
"Yeah," said Potter soberly. Clearly he did indeed know, unlike Gawain who really had no idea what had just happened.
There was silence again for a moment. Then Ginny said, "Well, not exactly the best birthday party, was it?"
Potter managed a smile. He straightened his back again, abruptly seeming to realise he had returned to his former weary posture. "Nah. It was great. Thanks, you lot."
Granger had risen and retuned to Potter's side of the table. She leaned over and hugged him. "It's so good to see you up," she said, earnestly. Potter smiled at her fondly.
"Take it easy, mate," said Ron Weasley, smacking Potter on the back. Potter struggled to conceal a wince. Granger punched Ron in the shoulder. And the three visitors moved toward the fire. They waved at Potter who smiled and waved back cheerily.
The instant his friends had disappeared, however, the smile slid from Potter's face and his posture slumped tiredly. Gawain remembered his thoughts on the mask that Potter knew how to put on and remove so effectively. The boy was too tired to maintain that mask for the whole world right now. Not when even his private sanctuary was filled with people. And so he prioritised it for the people he knew would worry about him the most.
The energy had changed in the kitchen. Gawain knew he was not the only one who did not fully understand what had transpired with Potter's mates. But all of them had clearly felt the mood shift. They now sat in silence, casting glances Potter's way.
"Think I'll take that nap now," muttered Potter after a bit. He tiredly pushed himself to his feet. "Help yourselves to cake," he said to the room at large. And he turned for the door.
"I should have remembered your birthday." It was Kingsley who had spoken. He was considering Potter regretfully. Potter looked back at him wearily as Kingsley continued. "Should have planned for something to celebrate…"
Potter gave a small humourless laugh. "Never mind, Kingsley. I made it seventeen years without celebrating a birthday. I see no reason to start now."
It was a strange comment. Gawain could not understand why he would never have celebrated a birthday before. Wasn't that something that children looked forward to growing up?
"Still…" said Kingsley. He seemed to understand this comment better than Gawain did. "Or maybe especially because of that… I should have done something to make it… well, a little less abysmal."
Potter snorted. "Well, if it helps, I don't think this even makes the top ten list of my worst birthdays ever. Sure beats last year's anyway." And with that, Potter left the kitchen, leaving Kingsley staring after him with sad understanding.
There was silence in the kitchen after Potter left. Then Ben broke it. "What happened last year?"
"What?" asked Kingsley distractedly.
"What happened on Harry's birthday last year?"
Kingsley looked back to the door, but his gaze was far away as he answered. "It was the day the Ministry fell to the Death Eaters. They came after him, and he had to flee. He went into hiding."
There was a sad silence. Gawain shifted. Guilt riled his gut as he remembered how little he had done to stop that from happening. "Wow. Some birthday gift that must have been," commented Ben. "What were the odds? Of all days?"
"It was no coincidence," replied Kingsley gravely. "It was everything we could do to keep the Ministry afloat until then. After he turned seventeen, the Order of the Phoenix had no choice but to step back and let it fall. It was a losing battle from the beginning, and we knew that. But we had to keep Scrimgeour in power until Harry's birthday."
Ben frowned in confusion. "Why? Why was his birthday so important?"
"Because it was the day the Trace would break," Gawain spoke his sudden realisation aloud, staring at Kingsley with comprehension. "When he came of age."
Kingsley nodded. "If the Ministry had fallen even a day earlier… There would still have been a Trace on Harry. And they would have had access to the knowledge of where he was at all times. And nothing we could have done would have been enough to protect him then. He would have been killed in a heartbeat. And everything would have been lost. Everything we were fighting for depended on Harry." Gawain glanced around the table as this sank in. Everyone was grave. "And so we fought like hell to keep the Ministry up and running until we couldn't anymore. It was everything we could do. And people died in the effort." He paused. Then added, "And Harry knows that."
The silence stretched. Then Ben summed up the sentiment in one sentence. "Yeah, I would say that would make for a pretty lousy birthday."
Potter did not emerge from the drawing room again until dinner time. As with breakfast, his entrance to the kitchen was heralded by Kreacher the House-elf bustling in and setting a place-setting especially for Potter. The elf seemed thrilled to have a job again, however small.
It was one of the rare meals for which Margaret had managed to coax Edward Bones out of his room upstairs to join them. He was sitting sullenly at the far end of the table, arms and legs crossed while people bustled around them preparing food or settling themselves at the table. He looked over and caught sight of the House-elf arranging a spot at the table for Potter. Bones seemed to catch on to the significance of this quicker than Gawain had at breakfast, because, almost at once he sprang to his feet.
"Children," he snapped. Susan, Maxim, and Brandon, who had been chatting together with Margaret, looked up in surprise at his curt tone. "Upstairs," Bones commanded. "Now."
The all looked confused. "What? Why?" asked Susan. "Dinner's almost ready," she added gesturing to Amitra who was draining a large pot of spaghetti into the sink as a pan of sauce bubbled away on the stove.
"For Merlin's sake, Susan, don't argue. Upstairs."
"Why—" Then Susan caught sight of Edward throwing a glare toward the House-elf, and her face darkened. "No. Seriously, Dad? You cannot still be on this!"
"Susan—"
"No! This is so stupid. You have to let it go. None of this is Harry's fault!"
"I've had enough of your arguing, Susan! We've talked about this. I don't want you or the boys anywhere near him."
"Well, tough! I'm hungry and so are Brandon and Maxim. Sit down," she added to the two boys who were frozen halfway up from their seats in uncertainty at the command from their father. They sank into their seats hesitantly.
"We can have Ninky bring some food upstairs. Not like she's been doing anything else of use lately…"
Susan's eyes flashed dangerously. "Ninky is still recovering. And she's been doing plenty to keep our rooms tidy and keep up with laundry. Lay off her. And we're staying for dinner. You go, if you want," she finished to her father. Then she resolutely turned her back on him, and returned to her conversation with Margaret. Margaret, Maxim, and Brandon were all looking uncertainly back and forth between the pair of them.
Edward Bones opened and closed his mouth a few times, a look of fury on his face. A vein was pulsating in his temple. And then he turned on his heal without another word, and moved to the door of the kitchen. He reached it, just as the door opened and in walked Potter.
Potter blinked in surprise as he found himself mere inches away from Edward Bones's face. It was the first time they had come face-to-face since Bones had thrown Potter against the wall that very first night. Gawain wondered if Potter remembered that.
"Mr. Bones," said Potter politely. His face shifted from surprise to sympathy. "It's good to see you. I've been—"
But Edward Bones did not wait to hear what Potter had to say. He shoved past the boy and the door swung shut on his heal. Potter gaped after him. As he turned back toward the table, Gawain saw Potter mutter a soft, "Oh…" under his breath, a look of sad comprehension was on his face. Potter glanced across the table at Susan as he pulled out his seat. She gave him an apologetic smile.
Potter cleared his throat awkwardly. Few other people in the kitchen save Gawain and the Bones children and Margaret seemed to have noticed the interaction. Then Gawain noticed Kingsley gritting his teeth and glaring after Bones. "Evening," Potter said casually to Gawain as he shook out his napkin.
"Evening," Gawain replied. He looked back the way Bones had left. He really couldn't think of anything else to say. He thought it would be confusing if someone treated him as Bones just had. But Potter seemed to fully understand and accept this treatment without question.
Still, the lad was rather more quiet through dinner than he had been at breakfast time, and after he had finished his plate of spaghetti, he retreated back upstairs without a word.
A/N (16.08.2021): I've rather been looking forward to writing this chapter since I first started conceptualising this story. Pretty crazy that some of these scenes appeared virtually unchanged since my very first outline way back in 2008, specifically here the conversation between Maxim and Harry. Maxim was going to be a bigger character when I first started writing. I've since given a lot of his scenes to Ella (believe it or not, initially Ella didn't exist; it's hard for me to imagine the story without her now).
I know the presence of a scar from the second Avada Kedavra Curse is a debated topic. When I first was planning this story, I had initially thought for sure Harry must have another scar (he did after the first time, why not after the second? Or so I thought). But since then I've rather changed my mind on that topic, and I'm now inclined to think not. But I'd already been planning out and looking forward to this scene and his scar was the opening point I needed to get Maxim asking questions about death. So I didn't have the heart to nix it. I was really looking forward to putting Harry in an awkward position where he was forced to speak about his experience with death. It's, of course, a nod to Nearly Headless Nick and his role in helping Harry heal from his own losses, even if it was with harsh truths. I wanted Harry to help pass that on. But without someone young and innocent who would be shameless enough to press him, Harry would never open up about this experience in front of Gawain. (And when a story is told in third person limited, if Gawain doesn't hear it, it rather didn't happen at least from the reader's perspective.)
But now I'm curious as to all of your opinions! A second scar: Yay or nay? I open the floor to debate.