Chapter 9: Eye in the sky

Disclaimer: All characters belongs to J. K. Rowling!

9- Eye in the sky

The day after dinner at Weasley´s was peaceful until noon. Harry had left quite late the night before, and returned to Potter Cottage in Godric Hollow. None of them wanted him to go back to that house because they knew how bad Harry felt there. George offered him to spend the night in his own flat just above his store in Diagon Alley, and even Ginny begged him not to go back to his parents' house. But Harry was determined and told them it was temporary until he found a place to live, though Hermione's annoyed look almost convinced him.

After the war was over, the boy decided to return to his parents' house and live there for a while until he choose what to do with his life. The press drove him crazy and chased him day and night so with the help of Professor Flitwick and Hermione as secret guardian Harry restored the Fidelius enchantment, broken by the death of his parents.

Actually, the house had been well restored. He had changed most of the furniture and had equipped the place with some "muggle" comforts such as electricity, a television and some kitchen appliances that he knew how to use thanks to his uncles (or because of them). He didn't want a house full of candles and gas lanterns and for the first time in his life he felt he could have a place to live on his own. But no one could repaired his room upstairs, where the killing curse destroyed part of the ceiling and wall. Besides, he would never use again the room where his mother had died to protect him, anyway.

But it had been a mistake, and just some days later he realized he couldn't live there, or at least not at that moment. Though too young to remember anything, Voldemort's visions of his parents' murder had stuck to his brain as if they were his own. Every time he was at the stairs he could see his father's body lying lifeless on the floor, and some nights he used to wake up startled, swearing that he had heard his mother's screams.

Only a few days after he decided to move there he was already irritable from lack of sleep and tortured with the memories of his deceased parents. At that time he was having problems with reporters who besieged him at all times, and he was also having strong discussions with some Ministry officials about some death-eaters which inexplicably (for him) escaped. To make things worse, his friends hardly came to visit him because of his increasingly unsociable character, and he argued in a daily basis with Ginny over the same issues. When Ron stopped talking to him (after his many fights) because he found out that Hermione was his secret guardian, his life became hell; only his best friend dared to go to visit him and tolerate his hermetic and bad mood.

"If this house had a room and a bed on the ground floor..." Harry thought when he woke up on the three-body couch. It was comfortable but he still had a sore back and a numb neck. He went out into the backyard and when he realized it was almost midday he got annoyed.

"Damn." He muttered. He wanted to go to the Diagon Alley to buy a Quidditch kit and a broom for the next day´s try-outs in the Puddlemere, hoping that the store would be open. It was already late, so he took his backpack containing the little he had brought from France and left to the Leaky Cauldron to have a late breakfast there.

He was still thinking of going back to his house in the outskirts of Toulon to get the rest of his things when he sat at one of the tables in the dark bar with a steaming cup of coffee (despite the bartender's displeasure) and the Prophet in his hand. Instantly he frowned as he saw the front page.

"Harry Potter returns to Hogwarts!"

"The Battle of Hogwarts hero returns to his beloved school at the reopening ceremony. His emotional speech was applauded by all, although it contained some critics to the press and the Ministry. More information on pages 2 and 3, his full speech on page 4. What did the officials say about it on pages 4 and 5."

After reading the small title over a picture of Hogwarts, Harry smiled maliciously and swallowed a good sip of coffee. He hated that paper but one of the many things he had learned from Hermione was that you had to know what the enemy was saying about you.

Another important headline on the left of the cover was dedicated to the Minister and his successful speech about reconstruction of damaged places, the money spent and the controversial start of classes.

"The reconstruction of the magical community will take a lot of time and all our strength and will. But we must do everything in our power to give our community the assurances and guarantees that everything will go back to the way it was before. That's why Hogwarts will open this year with half the school still disabled. So that we don't lose an entire year without our children receiving an education. So that the transition stage towards rebuilding our community will not be so traumatic. And to give the community a sense of continuity and effort to keep the Castle open, the bastion of our magical community and..." Full speech pages 6 to 8."

But what really bothered him was the photograph on the next page, which would not go unnoticed to Ron: he and Hermione hugging when they met at school, with a little explanation underneath it: "The heroes of the Battle of Hogwarts meet again after Harry Potter's return from France."

"Nice." He sighed resignedly. "Another problem. Bloody fucking newspaper."

He was surprised to see that there was no news about what happened with the death-eaters affair in France, but sooner or later they would know and there would be another bomb exploding in his hands and many reporters asking him stupid questions like "Did you know there were death-eaters in France?" or "Are you really sure they wanted to attack you?"

How he hated politics! And even more he hated the sector of the press that brazenly lied to manipulate the news by taking the side of the highest bidder.

He threw the newspaper on the table and finished his coffee. Luckily the Leaky Cauldron was almost empty so there were no curious people looking at him. He closed his eyes and cleared his mind to forget the problems and enjoy his shopping at his favorite store: "Quality Quidditch Supplies."

***HP***

Three hours later, Harry sat on the couch of his house in Godric Hollow without being able to wait to open the packages he had bought. It had been a long time since he had felt so happily anxious, and he was very satisfied with his acquisitions at the Quidditch store; the list of things he had to buy for the try-outs was long but he could managed to get everything.

He first opened those he was least interested in: reinforced leather shoes and leather gloves (the rest of the equipment would be provided by the Puddlemere). He also opened the small package containing an official golden snitch, in case he wanted to ride his broom and practice.

And finally the package he was waiting for: a long, narrow one that he unwrapped in a second to admire the content, holding it religiously with his two hands: a stunning 97 Series Firebolt. Harry couldn´t stop watching the brand new broomstick, every line, every twig of the back and every golden letter engraved in the wood: license number, a small symbol of the broom manufacturer and his magically HP initials printed near the front. The salesman had devoted all his time to Harry, not only because it was him but because selling one of those brooms would add a good commission to his salary; he explained that his final speed was almost 280 kilometers per hour maintaining a perfect balance. He grabbed the maintenance equipment that came with the broom ("maintenance equipment is free, for buying the latest model of Firebolt ") and took the parchment with the possession title, finding it strange that he liked its smell. The title was not really necessary as this model came with a completely new registration system: the seller had pointed his wand at the parchment after the purchase and at the same time his initials appeared on the broomstick and a small tattoo on his right shoulder representing the manufacturer's symbol on his HP initials. That system was failsafe to verify the broom owner and to be immune to any spell directed at the broom. There were other options like a bracelet or a ring, but he liked the tattoo.

He ran his hand over the waxed stick of the broom once again and deposited it on the kitchen table with extreme care. He had convinced himself to go to France as soon as he arrived from Diagon Alley to look for his stuff, or at least everything he could bring with him. He had almost nothing to wear because he had left almost everything in Toulon. He even had unforgivably left there some possessions such as the invisibility cape and the marauder's map, relics of his past (one of them a true Deathly Hallow) that he wanted to conserve.

He took his wand, hoping his apparition will work correctly, otherwise it would take him hours to reach his house in Toulon.

After a decent apparition on the outskirts of Dover, he registered to take the international Portkey to Paris, and from there he managed to appear near his neighborhood on the outskirts of Toulon, but a few miles downhill from his house. After another attempt he appeared quite close to where he had once appeared with Bill and Fleur. The whole journey had taken him almost half an hour, and most of that time he spent waiting to check in at Dover and then in Paris. As he walked down the street quite satisfied he remembered with a smile that just the boat trip across the English Channel (when he escaped from England he had not wanted to leave any magic track) had taken him more than twice as long.

It was a beautiful sunny afternoon, and Harry eagerly breathed the aroma of the woods of the place. He was happy to be there, though he had the wand in his pocket, ready. The weather was so different that it gave him the impression of two different days, one cloudy and the other sunny. He greeted a neighbor who was washing his car and smiling he saw children passing by at full speed on their small bicycles. The fragrance of freshly cut grass put him in an even better mood.

Gee, how he would love to live there! He would do it if possible, he would be immensely happy. The scenery amazed him and he remembered how much he missed running around the neighborhood in the morning. He definitely wouldn't sell the house. He would keep it for a while and thus keep the dream of settle down there.

"Bon jour Jean!" This time he hardly noticed that a neighbor named Yannick was greeting him sitting in his little new mower. Harry greeted him back with an honest, mischievous smile when he saw him with the mowing machine that he insisted on buying and that his wife denied him.

"Bon jour Yannick," he greeted and added to himself. "Either he got divorced or he got into a good mess."

It was a beautiful and peaceful place, so charming that even Fleur, who is French, had congratulated him for having chosen that place. And also Hermione would love it too, as she used to vacation with his parents in France.

"And why the hell am I thinking of Hermione again?" he said to himself. But he smiled as he imagined her in that sunny place walking among the children on a bicycle or under the sun reading a book after a life full of suffering and privations just for having stayed always with him.

As he arrived at the house and watched the surroundings with the wand ready he remembered when his friend was wildly tortured by Bellatrix, or when she was injured in the Ministry when they went to rescue Sirius; he entered the house with a knot in her throat.

***HP***

By nightfall, Harry collapsed on the couch in the living room of his house in Godric Hollow. He was exhausted, somehow those short apparition trips between countries tired him, or maybe it was the energy he had to use for those apparitions. Anyway he was satisfied, he had spent a couple of hours visiting some of his neighbors and storing in his two backpacks (which an extension spell thanks to Hermione) his clothes and everything he had there to take with him to England.

He felt a huge contrast between his house in La-Valette-du-Var and this one. In France he was happy and everything helped to feel that way: the landscape, the neighbors, going unnoticed, it felt like home. There, the memories overwhelmed him. Ginny and Hermione were right, that house made him feel bad. It gave him the impression that the memories were around his head without being able to get rid of them. Godric Hollow was a beautiful small town, but those months in Toulon, with its sunny days really amazed him.

He watched television for a long time enjoying a "muggle" beer and when it became night he quickly prepared some meat sandwiches that he devoured in front of the television set comfortably reclining in the leather armchairs similar to those of his other house in France. He had been nervous all day for the imminent try-out of the next day. And as he thought how great it would be if there were a television channel dedicated to Quidditch, he caressed his new broomstick, smiling excitedly: he was going to play his favorite sport after a long time.

An hour later Harry was sitting in the backyard when an owl came out of the darkness and handed him a letter which he opened, surprised. It belonged to the Weasley family, in which Molly asked him why he had gone to France and if he would return. She also said she wouldn't forgive him leaving again without telling anyone.

Harry looked at the letter in astonishment. How could they have known about his trip to France? Wasn't he a grown up wizard and could go and do whatever he wanted? Why were people always watching over him and protecting him? Until he remembered the international portkey. There was a reason why you must registered to use them. Somehow someone told them and they got alarmed. But he was here, and that's what he wrote answering in the same scroll, explaining that he went to look for some things he had left in his house in France.

Annoyed, he saw how the owl took flight and was lost in the blackness of a starry and fresh sky. He had taken to the garden one of the two armchairs of the living room and a small table for the beers and some sandwiches. He thought of spending the whole night outside because he didn't feel like being inside the house, and while he was opening his first beer he heard noises that rumbled inside the house.

"Damn it! And now what?" he insulted quietly, and headed to the front door. It was too late and it could be no one but the four or five people to whom he had given his address because of Fidelius. Thinking that perhaps Mrs. Weasley was too worried to wait for an answer on an owl, he opened the door and met Hermione face to face. Her hair was a little uncombed and was wearing a pair of worn jeans with a scratched sweater, all signs that she came from her home.

Harry was surprised and stood still in front of his friend. He asked her, frowning:

"Is something wrong, Hermione?"

In a couple of seconds her friend's face changed from surprise to awkwardness.

"Oh... no Harry... I only... well, Kingsley told me that you had gone to France and I thought... well that..."

"That I had left again?" he asked incredulously.

Hermione only lowered her eyes nodding, ashamed.

Harry smiled sadly. Perhaps he deserved so much mistrust.

"Well, I just went to get some things from France I hadn't brought."

Hermione looked a little more relieved, though Harry knew there was more. "Are you all right?"

"Yes." She hesitated a little and continued to speak so quickly that he could barely understand her. "Well, I'm glad you're still here. Goodbye Harry." The girl took him by the arm with her hand and left towards the entrance.

Harry hesitated for a few seconds, but he finally made up his mind. "Hermione..." He hadn't finished saying his name and his friend was already turned around looking at him.

"Do you want to... come in?" She was still a little angry and really hated that house, so he thought she wouldn't want to stay.

The girl did not answer. She was stuck in the place and was either troubled or on the edge of something. Harry began to worry, went to her and took her hand.

"Tell me."

"Many things, Harry." She replied with a very low voice and glassy eyes. Harry had always felt uncomfortable when people got emotional in front of him, but with her it was very different. He felt he had to do the impossible to comfort her.

"You can talk to me. You know that, don't you?"

After Hermione nodded, Harry drove her inside the house, but once there the girl slowed down. She looked very distressed.

"Bloody hell we're friends, Hermione, what do you think I would do to you?" He said, smiling.

The girl shook her head. "It´s not that Harry! You've suffered a lot in this house and here you disappeared in front of me when you escaped to France, I don't like being here!"

The house made her suffer? Just like him? Harry didn't understand, or maybe he did because he took her by the hand and said, "Me neither, Hermione. That's why I'm sleeping outside in the garden today. Come"

Once outside, she calmed down even though she was still anxious about something else. "I'll sleep on that couch, it's comfortable and I'm warm. I also like to see the stars."

Hermione looked up and smiled.

"Wait, I'll get you an armchair." After a while, he came back carrying one just like the other from the inside.

"Couldn't you... summon it with the wand?"

Harry shook his head as he set the chair close to his own. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Same as you, thank you." she said, and insisted. "Then is true, you are having trouble with your magic."

Harry closed his eyes leaning back and sighed. He didn't want to speak about that with her, but even with his eyes closed he felt Hermione's looks penetrating him; he knew her: she wouldn't give up.

"Not even a simple accio?"

"Apparently." Said, laconically. "In time it will come back, I'm sure."

"Yes, I know. And... How do you feel about it?" whispered her friend, fearful of Harry's reaction.

"Like a squib. I thought when I was able to cast the Reducto to the death-eater, I wouldn't have any more problems, but it seems that my magic is unavailable most of the time."

"That's because our magic is directly related to us and our state of mind. There are spells that don't require much energy from within, but there are others that work mostly depending how we feel, such as defensive or attack spells. Anger is closely related to unforgivable spells, whereas our happy memories make the patronus possible."

Harry thought it was a textual explanation of a book, but her tone of voice was full of anguish, she almost broke in last word. Fleur had explained him something similar, but hearing it from his friend was something else. After a few seconds of silence, the girl continued.

"Your... Patronus doesn't work, does it?"

Harry shook his head with a sigh. He hated feeling so useless in front of her.

"Yes, that´s what I thought." She said, exhaling air from his lungs. "What a pity, I loved your Patronus."

They both looked at the stars. The night was just perfect, cloudless and cool, and no wind at all. Harry took a couple of beers and gave one to her.

"You're still mad at me, aren't you?"

Seeing Hermione's eyes still fixed on the stars, he tried again.

" I'll never forgive myself." She still didn't say anything.

"Have you read my letters?" Insisted Harry a few seconds later. He was tempting luck and didn't want his friend to explode into anger.

"Yes, every one of them."

"Oh." The boy raised his eyebrows, surprised. A few moments later he added:

"I would have very much liked to have had one of yours, but..."

"Leave it there, Harry." She interrupted him by raising one hand.

Hermione had a long drink of beer and then reclined in the comfort of the armchair, enjoying the starry night.

"And where have you been living? It's a nice place?" she asked, thoughtful.

"Yes, I liked it a lot. It's on the outskirts of Toulon, La-Valette-du-Var. It's a very nice neighborhood between forests and mountains. You would have liked it very much, if you could have come to visit me..."

Hermione interrupted him again by rolling his eyes. "Oh, yeah? And how could I have come to visit you?"

Harry took the beer and drank it. Maybe with alcohol he would stop being stupid.

"You were never good talking to girls." Said her friend looking at him, with a tiny half smile.

Harry smiled and shook his head. They laughed, and after a while some of the tension was gone.

A few minutes later Harry was still telling her about his "new" life in France, the landscape, the village of Gap, his neighbors. Hermione was watching him mindful and smiling. He was delighted, he really enjoyed talking to her about subjects that did not concern Voldemort, his scar or the horcruxes. She was a charming girl who liked simple things beyond her fascination with books or study. But something in her eyes had changed, a more intense look with a hint of admiration (something that made Harry feel shamed just to think about it), although perhaps it was related to the long absence of news.

But she changed abruptly as Harry began to tell her about the death-eaters; he now clearly noticed worry in her eyes, and something that the boy associated with guilt or regret.

"And when I was writing the letter the two of them surprised me from behind. Luckily Bill and Fleur appeared out of nowhere and saved me."

Hermione sat on the edge of the couch looking quite preoccupied.

"Hermione, are you all right?"

The girl nodded weakly.

Harry didn't want to annoy her, he didn't want to see her like that. But he had to try to comfort her.

"It was nothing." He hesitated, but then continued. "Everything´s ok, Hermione, it was only one..."

"No! It's not okay! How can you tell that?" She finally exploded. Now her friend stood up looking at him; she was almost yelling. Harry understood her anguish and her concern for him, but he still thought that something else was hurting her.

"Calm down, will you?" He said as softly as possible. "I'm fine, nothing happened to me."

"Nothing? You've gone to France to escape from all your horrible memories and guilt that was torturing you, and you say nothing happened to you?" Hermione was slowly getting upset, she was finally taking out everything she had kept inside.

"I..." Harry didn't know what to say. She decided it was best if her friend could unload on him, maybe that would help her.

"You could have died, Harry! You didn't even have your bloody wand with you when you were ambushed!"

"It didn't matter! I wouldn´t be able to use it anyway! Nothing happened to me Hermione, Bill and Fleur..."

"Exactly! They saved you." She was trying to get some air with desperation. "For Merlin´s sake, they could find you in time! What if they had taken a little longer to find you?"

Hermione were now was in panic at the thought of what would have happened to his best friend. Harry was stunned by the image of his friend, he saw her so sad and unhappy but at the same time she looked so pale and beautiful under the moonlight.

"Hermione, you will gain nothing with suppositions. It happened as it was meant to."

"No! It's not supposed to keep happening to you, Harry! Bill and Fleur were able to find out where you were! I read your letters waiting for you to tell me where you were! I couldn't do anything! Absolutely nothing! Do you understand?"

The boy's eyes opened immensely at his friend's confession. He was shocked, stunned. Then he was right, Hermione felt guilty? How was that possible?

"You couldn't do anything because I made one mistake in a letter to the Weasleys." Harry got out of his chair and knelt in front of her, she was sitting again "You didn't find me because I didn't make mistakes with your letters." He tried to smile at her to calm her anguish a little, but she failed miserably.

"My ass! I couldn't do anything for you! You looked for tranquility and peace and instead were almost killed! Twice!" Hermione tried to calm down but she couldn´t. "The death-eaters found you, Bill and Fleur, even Hogwarts found you! But I couldn´t!"

Her friend covered her face with her hands, frustrated. Only now did Harry understand why she felt so guilty, he should have guessed it. He would have felt exactly the same if it had happened the other way around, as both of them had protected and cared for each other since they saved her from the Troll during the first year at school.

"What would I do without you?"

Seeing her like that made him miserable as never before. Harry wrapped his friend in his arms and hugged her tightly. Suddenly he felt an enormous desire to comfort and protect her. Hermione put her arms around his neck and rested her face on her friend's shoulder, a little less distressed.

"Why don't they leave you alone, Harry?"

Harry rested his head over hers. His heart was pounding and he noticed that their embraced bodies were just perfect.

"Do not blame yourself. It was my fault for leaving."

"I thought after you defeated Riddle that you wouldn't need me anymore. And when you left me... you broke my heart." she said in a soft whisper, thoughtful with her eyes fixed on the stars. "I will always need you Harry. And I will always take care of you. You're always getting into trouble." Hermione said, smiling a little despite her melancholy.

Harry smiled back and sat just next to her and looked up at the sky, remembering something.

"Do you know where Polaris is? It's that bright, lonely star to the north." he said, pointing with his finger.

Hermione nodded softly.

"It is the polar star that our ancestors used as a guide so that they could orient themselves to the north."

"That star is you, Hermione. My guide and my complement. Like an eye in the sky always ready to take care of me."

Harry noticed that his friend's eyes were shining, but this time of tenderness and gratitude. She kissed him on her cheek warmly, and then turned her head to watch the stars again. And there the two remained, both sitting comfortably in the armchair and looking to the dark sky full of stars, until they fell deeply asleep.

After all, it had turned out to be a perfect night. The night when Harry was sure, as he had never been before about anything, that he had finally recovered his magic.