Acceptance. I finally reach it.

But something is wrong.

Grief is a circular staircase.

I have lost you.

– "The Five Stages of Grief" by Linda Pastan


Harry blinked when the door to the dormitory opened, admitting Ron and Hermione in. They were whispering furiously to each other, but stopped when they saw Harry staring at them. The rest of the dorm was empty, something Harry had relished in, because he just wanted some peace and quiet.

Ever since the battle at the Department of Mysteries (and Sirius' death), a.k.a the reveal about the truth of Voldemort's return (and Sirius' death), no one would leave him alone.

The public had swung from sheer hate and disbelief to hero worship so quickly, it gave him whiplash. Oscillating so casually between hailing him as a saviour, a hero, a misunderstood but determined young man, to deriding him as a deranged, dangerous lunatic who was the next dark lord in the making. As if he weren't a human. As if he wasn't even a person. As if he was just another new song or a trend or an upcoming Quidditch team they weren't sure about.

Even the people who didn't treat him like a hero, treated him like spun glass. Not counting the ones who outright hated him. Namely Death Eaters and their kids. He didn't want to think about them right now though. Because despite the hate and the whole I-will-torture-and-kill-you-for-what-you-did thing, they weren't fickle in their opinions of him.

Once hated, always hated. Simple. Easy to comprehend and keep track of.

Not that he minded the eggshell walks around him. He liked it, almost. Even if it felt patronising at times. But he'd rather be coddled and left alone than hounded for autographs and asked questions about his 'face off with You-Know-Who'.

Everyone thought he was oh so brave for standing up despite the Ministry's derision, even though they'd all stood behind the Ministry's aforementioned derision.

He didn't feel particularly brave. Or determined. Or like any sort of hero. The opposite, really. He felt tired, and stupid, and angry. Angry, oh merlin, he felt so angry. More angry than he'd been last year, more angry than he'd been with Voldemort influencing his emotions. More angry than he'd been at Dumbledore at the end of last year.

All this rage was his own, and he didn't know what to do with it. It bubbled and sizzled under his skin, with nowhere to go to. He wondered, often, why the cruciatus hadn't worked on Bellatrix. He'd meant it, hadn't he? Or maybe he'd been too shell shocked to cast properly.

He'd be able to do it now, he was sure. He just needed Bellatrix.

He couldn't do anything about it right now though. So he settled for feeling tired. A deep seated, heavy exhaustion that settled into his bones and made his limbs feel like lead, and his brain like he'd just come back from one of Snape's occlumency lessons. And one of Binn's classes. Both mashed together into some form of mental torture that transcended words.

Back to Ron and Hermione though, who were fidgeting on the threshold of the dormitory.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, eying them with narrowed eyes. He didn't feel particularly up to dealing with people. He loved Ron and Hermione, he really did. But looking at them just made him feel like someone had sent a bludger straight to his stomach. Hermione still had trouble breathing sometimes from the bone melting curse she'd taken. And the scars on Ron's arms would never fade, Madam Pomfrey had said.

Ron had been wearing long sleeves all term. Hermione had stopped buttoning her shirt up to the collar.

"We wanted to check on you," Ron said, yanking the bed curtains aside and depositing himself on Harry's bed. Hermione hovered after closing the door behind herself.

"I'm fine," Harry frowned, and then, feeling a little irritated, said, "I thought without me third wheeling you'd have snogged or something." He flopped back on the bed, pressing his forearm to his eyes and listening to Ron splutter. He felt a twinge of guilt, knowing he was being unfair. He just wanted to be left alone right now.

And he'd grown a little tired of them tip-toeing around each other. Honestly, he'd thought they would get their heads out of their asses after the whole Yule Ball thing.

He ignored the thumping in his chest as, instead of leaving, he felt the bed dip beside his face, knowing Hermione had settled down too.

"Budge up," Hermione said, and then there was a flurry of movement as he was manhandled on the bed. By the time he blinked, they'd all settled. Harry found himself with his head in Hermione's lap, and his legs thrown over Ron's. The bed was decidedly too small to fit three sixth years. But they managed, somehow, despite Ron's abnormally long limbs.

Harry flushed a little, but the other two seemed unfazed. Ron wasn't even red from his earlier comment anymore.

"You need to eat more, mate," Ron said, pulling out a Chocolate frog from one of his pockets, unwrapping and handing it over to Harry. Harry stared down at the wriggling frog in his hands. "Mind if I keep the card?"

"What?" Harry said, distracted by Hermione's hand stroking through his hair. Her fingers felt really good against his throbbing skull. "Yeah sure." For a lack of better things to do, he took a bite off the frog, which squirmed in his mouth for a hot second before stilling.

"I prefer sugar quills," Harry said absently, relaxing against the gentle ministrations in his head. His hair was going to be a nightmare when Hermione was done. Not that he cared.

"We know," Ron said, shrugging and pulling out two more chocolate frogs, one of which he offered to Hermione, who declined. "I ran out, we'll buy more on the next Hogsmeade weekend."

"You could've on this one," Harry muttered, popping the rest of the chocolate in his mouth and letting it melt instead of chewing. He sighed, and wriggled his toes into the blankets which had been pushed towards the end of the bed. "I still don't know what you both are doing here instead of, dunno, being in Madam Puddifoots or something."

"Harry," Hermione said exasperated, Harry looked up to see her face tinged pink. "Is it really so hard to believe we are worried for you?"

"No, it's just–" Harry huffed, mouth twisting a little, "I just thought– I just think you both deserve some time away from me, ya know? I've not exactly been great company the last few weeks."

"Of course you're not," Ron agreed, chewing on his third chocolate frog, while he shuffled through what were probably at least fifty chocolate frog cards. Harry shot him a betrayed look as Ron held up two cards and frowned at them. Then he set them down and turned to Harry, "Grieving people aren't supposed to be great company. You're allowed to feel sad about Sirius."

Harry closed his eyes, but it was my fault Sirius died. I don't get to mourn him. "It's been months," he said, instead.

"And he's still dead," Hermione said quietly, reaching out a hand to wipe a smear of chocolate from the corner of Harry's lips. Harry refused to let his breath stutter. "You can't just get over it that easily, Harry."

Ron nodded, "Bill tells me that Mum didn't come out of her room for several days after her brothers died, and didn't do any magic for another few. I think the only reason she didn't fall deeper into despair was that there was still a war going on and she had us kids to care for." Ron started stacking all his cards together, his voice going the tiniest bit strained, "And we still sometimes find her crying at odd times. Although it's rarer now. It's been almost two decades."

Was that supposed to make him feel better? The fact that he might still feel this way years later? That this weight on him would never lessen?

Ron shifted until he was more comfortable, chocolate frog cards stacked aside now. He truly had an impressive collection. He let his head thump against the wall behind him, and absently started tapping out a rhythm on Harry's leg. When he started humming, Harry recognised it as one of the newer Weird Sisters songs that had been constantly on the wireless the last several weeks. Harry had started growing sick of it, especially the way it seemed to stick in your head.

Harry let out a small sigh, the sound of his friends breathing, humming, their warm weight against him, their fingers on his leg, his hair, it felt calming in a way nothing had felt since he'd returned with Cedric's body after the third task. He felt himself drifting off a little, dreamless and peaceful. He didn't even see Sirius stamped behind his eyelids like usual.

He didn't know how long passed until Hermione shifted under him. He startled awake, and felt guilty instantly. How long had he been lying on his friends? Their limbs must have been numb by now. He opened his mouth to apologise, to get up, but Hemrione shushed him quickly.

He stared at her face, blinking sleep out of his eyes. She jerked her head towards Ron, who'd fallen asleep, mouth slightly open and little snores puffing out with every breath. Harry felt a smile quirk his lips as Hermione shifted again.

Harry slowly extracted his legs from where Ron had his arms sprawled over them, and sat up, looking at Hermione as she pulled out something wrapped in a napkin.

She smiled at him, "Here. We know you didn't have breakfast, so I saved you a sandwich. I know you've already had the chocolate frog, but contrary to what Ron might think, it's not actual food." She thinned her lips, "Also, at the rate he's going, he'll rot his teeth."

Harry stared at the sandwich in her hands, and felt unexpected tears sting at his eyes. What had he done to deserve such good friends? Especially with how he'd been treating them recently. And all last year. He swallowed roughly as Hermione sensed his hesitation and shoved the sandwich into his hands, "Eat."

"Right," he whispered, unwrapping it. A roast beef, his favourite. He swallowed past another lump and took a bite, before offering some to Hermione.

He thought about waking Ron, but the redhead looked so adorable sleeping there, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Although it did look like he'd develop a crick in the neck later if he went on.

Hermione leant forward and took a bite off the sandwich and Harry grinned at her. They both finished the sandwich in five bites between them. It wasn't something particularly filling, but Harry felt full in a way he couldn't ever complain about.

He stared down at his greasy hands and the crumbs littering the bedsheets and grimaced.

"I should," Harry started, gesturing around with his hands, shifting to get off the bed. He didn't particularly want to, but the idea of sleeping in crumbs or with greasy hands appealed even less. He'd just swung his legs off the bed when Ron's arm shot out and grabbed him at the waist, pulling him back onto the bed with a startled 'oomf'.

"Are you a wizard or not," he mumbled, taking out his wand and cleaning up the mess and Harry's hands with a wave. Wordlessly. Hermione gave a delighted little squeak, no doubt about to start chattering about his non verbal magic, something they'd been attempting unsuccessfully in class for a while now, but closed her mouth when Harry shook his head.

"C'mon," Ron said, moving around the bed and pulling at Hermione's leg. "If we aren't going to Hogsmeade, we might as well get some sleep."

The bed really, really wasn't big enough to hold two almost adults, and one actual adult in it. But none of them tried any transfiguration. They made do with enlarging the blanket and somehow squishing themselves against each other, with Harry in the middle. Hermione had her leg thrown over Harry's waist, and Ron's arm was long enough to reach her over Harry. Harry's leg was wedged between both of Ron's, and one of his arms was under him. Something he'd regret later but couldn't bring himself to be bothered by right now.

The bed curtains swished shut around them.