Word count: 1117
For Bex
Warning: PTSD
They're all haunted, but Kingsley doesn't think anyone is quite as haunted as Harry. So when he wakes in the middle of the night to his boyfriend's screaming, and he feels Harry tossing and turning like he's so desperately trying to escape from something, he isn't surprised. It's been three years since the war ended, but they all still carry the weight of that tragic night in their bones. The grief never seems to fade, no matter how many days pass.
But it isn't just grief for Harry. It's something so much more, something Kingsley can never truly understand. Even so, he understands pain, and he knows Harry is hurting right now.
"Hey. Hey," Kingsley soothes, carefully resting his hand on the other man's shoulder and shaking him as lightly as possible. In the early days of their relationship, he had startled Harry out of a nightmare and ended up with a busted lip; Harry had spent the next week apologizing over and over, but Kingsley was never upset about it. "Harry, wake up. Come on. You're safe now."
Harry bolts upright so suddenly that Kingsley just barely manages to move in time. "I… Voldemort was… There was…" The sentences never quite come out, trailing off into a strange nonsensical string of words and incomplete thoughts. Harry looks around, blinking slowly, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "It was real."
Kingsley understands. These aren't just nightmares; they're memories that will never truly let go. He still sees Amelia in his, and every time, he wakes up, tears falling silently for his fallen friend.
"I know," Kingsley assures him, pulling him into a hug.
Harry wraps his arms around him, holding him tightly. It's so easy to forget that Harry is just as human as anyone else. Even Kingsley is guilty of it. After all, how could a mere human defeat Voldemort? But Harry is so very human, vulnerable and weak in places, even if it's only ever behind closed doors and away from the public eye because he knows what would happen if the press thought he was breaking. Even as Minister, Kingsley didn't know if he could prevent speculation in articles, and he knows he can't stop any whispered rumors about how the Boy Who Lived has come unhinged.
So he gives these moments to Harry. He lets him break, because this is the only time and place where he feels safe to do so.
"I just want to feel okay again," Harry says, his voice soft and quivering, breaking in places, so strained with emotions.
"I know." Kingsley rubs gentle circles over Harry's back, humming the tune of the lullaby his mother used to sing him. Kingsley has forgotten the words, but he doesn't need them now. Harry relaxes against him.
They fall back against the mattress, and Harry doesn't let go of him. He clings to Kingsley's shirt for dear life, like it is somehow enough to save him. Kingsley doesn't complain. If he can help Harry just by being there, he will gladly do it.
Long after Harry's snores fill the air, Kingsley's sleepless eyes remain fixed upon the shadows on the ceiling. He has to do something. Caring for Harry isn't the problem. Kingsley loves him and will do anything for him.
But Harry is broken, and Kingsley wants to know that those pieces can be put back together again.
…
"I'm not going to therapy," Harry says when Kinglsey makes the suggestion over breakfast. He picks at the crust around his toast, pinching away pieces without actually eating them. "I'm fine."
They both know it's a lie, but they don't really talk about that part. Harry so rarely admits that he's falling apart, and Kingsley has learned not to push too much because it will only make Harry pull away.
"I'm fine," Harry says again, and it's a far cry from the broken man Kingsley had seen the night before. "It's been years. There's nothing wrong with me."
Kingsley stays quiet, swiping his toast through the busted yoke of his fried egg. It's always like this with Harry. All he has to do is sit back and let his boyfriend talk himself through everything. In the end, he always finds his way.
"Years, Kingsley. I defeated Voldemort three years ago. Who the hell still has problems after three bloody years?" Harry demands. He's spilled his tea now, but somehow he doesn't even seem to notice. "There's nothing wrong with me! I'm fine."
And then he breaks, a sob ripping through his chest. Kingsley is by his side within seconds, holding Harry close and making soothing shushing noises. Harry clings to him, burying his face in Kingsley's chest and sniffling.
"You aren't okay," Kingsley whispers. "And it's okay to not be okay. You went through a traumatic ordeal." He presses a kiss to Harry's dark hair, sighing. "I'd be more surprised if you made it out of that war unscathed."
"I'm pathetic." Harry pulls away, adjusting his glasses so that he can wipe his eyes.
"No. You're human."
"I don't want to be human anymore."
Kingsley almost laughs at that. He remembers Sirius talking about how emotions are easier in an Animagus form, how he would change into a dog whenever the pain was too much. When Kingsley had first become the Minister, he had longed for peace; sometimes, he had been tempted to become an Animagus just so he could escape the heartache each day seemed to bring.
Sometimes he still feels that way, but he's grown. He still has wounds from the war that never seem to heal, and scars that sometimes threaten to rip open. But he is human, and he is healing, and he will find a way to be okay again.
"Hermione recommended an excellent therapist," Kingsley tells him.
Betrayal flashes across Harry's face. "You told Hermione?"
"She recommended the therapist for me," Kingsley says. "A few months after the war, when I could barely focus because of how much everything hurt."
Harry's expression changes, softening. He nods. "You needed help too?"
Kingsley nods. "I did. I do." He laughs, shrugging. "Healing is a process. It's not just one quick chat, and everything's better. I can arrange an appointment for you."
Harry is silent for several moments before he finally nods. "I think I'd like that," he says.
Kingsley knows things will never be the way they were before. Grief seems to have become the new normal, and they're all still stumbling along, figuring things out one day at a time.
But they are healing. Slowly but surely, they are finding their way through the darkness, and Kingsley knows there will be a brighter day for them.