Harry was drunk. Well, not drunk, exactly, mostly drunk.
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It had been two weeks since he'd resigned from the hospital, and he'd been like this for most of that time.. It was a new experience for him, the constant state of inebriation. Sure, he'd had a wild night here or there before but whenever things had truly gotten bad he'd managed to avoid the bottle. Now, though… well why shouldn't he drink?
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He'd killed Bill. He'd been reckless and irresponsible, and now his friend was dead. He had killed a Weasley.
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Or another Weasley, really. Hadn't he killed Fred too?
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Bill,Fred,Remus and Tonks and how many others over the years?
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If there was one thing Harry Potter was good at, it was getting people killed.
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He drowned the thought with another slug of whisky. The booze burned going down, but Harry hardly noticed. His hands shook as he poured another measure of the amber liquor. A fair amount slopped out onto the table in the process.
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Yes, Harry was good at getting people killed, and he was good at killing people. Wasn't that what he had achieved in his life – killing Voldemort? The Ministry had given him a medal for that. No medals for saving lives, but sure as hell one for taking one. Probably a sign, really. Should have been an Auror.
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Or a Hit Wizard.
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Or taken up Macnair's job as an executioner.
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Harry snorted to himself and watched as the spilled whiskey started to drip onto the floor. He made no move to stop it – not much point really, there was plenty of the stuff on the floor, the table, even a bit on the wall where he'd thrown a glass in a moment of rage.
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There'd been a lot of those too.
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Bill's funeral had been four days after Harry killed him.
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Harry hadn't gone.
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Ginny had sent him a howler. She'd never been patient with the way he handled these things. Called it "playing the martyr" or "hiding from people" or "being a fucking idiot".
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The others had sent letters. He preferred the howler, personally; once the thing burned itself out you couldn't go back and read it again. Letters weren't so merciful.
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There were dozens of letters, it seemed like. Letters from Charlie and Percy, from Neville and Ron, George, Mr Weasley and Mrs Weasley. A whole pile from Hermione. A single strange note on an odd sort of fluorescent yellow paper from Luna. They all said the same things – We're worried about you. We were sad you couldn't be here. If you need anything you just need to ask.
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Bullshit, all of it. Had to be. But it was so tempting to believe them…
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Every letter he read was like a tiny ray of light in the darkness of his self-loathing, and he wanted so badly to reply to them, to reach out and grasp the hands offered and be swept back into the reassuring crush of what he knew was his family. But he didn't – couldn't – because he was the reason they had lost a brother, a son, a friend.
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So Harry read the letters but did not reply, and when they didn't hear back from him they started calling on the floo. When that didn't work they started dropping by. Harry wondered how long it would be before they stopped pretending.
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Harry drained his glass and poured another. The bottle was nearly empty.
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Fucking useless bloody bottle of watered down piss booze. He'd drained three of the things and he wasn't even properly drunk yet.
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A particularly annoying bird sang obnoxiously outside the window, his neighbor was vacuuming, and his clock ticked a little too loudly. Harry wasn't sure why he even kept the damn thing. Wasn't like he had anywhere to go anymore.
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It could have been half past noon or a quarter to midnight when Harry was shaken from his thoughts by a sudden knock on the door. He jumped at the sound but made no move to answer it, reaching instead for his drink. They'd go away eventually, they always did.
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Except this time they didn't.
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Whoever it was knocked again. And a third time, harder.
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"I know you're in there Potter, just get up off your arse and answer the bloody door."
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Ron. Harry couldn't decide if he was happy or angry that his oldest friend was the one trying to break down his door.
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Of course in the end it didn't matter; everyone gave up eventually, even Ron.
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There was no fourth round of knocking, or even the usual note slid beneath the door. Harry put his head down on the table and closed his eyes, figuring that he'd go out in a bit to buy another couple of bottles and maybe get something to eat. Something greasy, preferably. A burger maybe, or…
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Harry groaned at the buzzing that filled his ears.
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Bloody Hermione.
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Only Hermione would try to break through the wards he'd put on his door. She never did know when to leave things alone. If she was willing to force her way in then he wouldn't be so lucky as to avoid company.
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"Fine, you win," Harry snarled, standing far too quickly. The world spun and he fell painfully against the table as he struggled to regain his balance. The buzzing intensified and he closed his eyes to keep from vomiting. Maybe the whisky wasn't so weak after all…
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The door creaked as it opened, and Harry fell back into his chair with a heavy thud. The empty bottle rolled off the table to shatter on the floor at the impact and he vaguely noted Ron swearing at his state.
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Someone that was not Hermione vanished the glass, and Harry shook his head to clear the moths that seemed to have taken up residence where his brain should have been. Of all the people that could have come to check on him, she had the best reasons not to.
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And yet when he opened his eyes, Fleur was kneeling in front of him looking…well, tired, to be honest.
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That more than anything else made his heart clench. In all the years he had known Fleur, she had never looked so tired.
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There were dark circles beneath her eyes and her hair was tangled, her nose was rubbed raw and she wore a rich blue Weasley jumper that was three sizes too big. Harry stared, seeing her as though for the first time. Fleur had always been so sure of herself, so confident and put together, but here she was, tired and scared and hurting, and it was all his fault.
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"Oh, 'arry," she said, and at the kindness in her voice the dam finally broke.
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It had been two weeks since Harry couldn't save Bill Weasley, but now he wept.
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There in Fleur's warm arms he cried for her loss and his own. He cried bitterly for the pain he had caused and gratefully because he no longer needed to suffer it alone. They held one another for what could have been an eternity, each mourning the unfairness of it all, and when they finally separated both saw that the other hurt less.
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"I'm sorry," they both said.
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"Good," Ron interrupted. As an afterthought, he added, "Harry, not you, Fleur. Obviously."
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Harry blinked, having almost forgotten that Ron was even there in his moment of catharsis.
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"Here's how this is going to go," Ron continued, "you are going to sit at this table with Fleur and listen to what she has to say to you. While you do that, I will clean up this shithole of a flat. If you argue, I will hex you. If you are a prat, I will hex you. If I decide that I feel like it, I will hex you. When Fleur is convinced that you've temporarily removed your head from your arse then we will all go out to a pub of my choosing and you will buy us all dinner as compensation for putting up with another round of your shit. Clear?"
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"I…"
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"Clear?" Ron repeated, angling his wand at the bridge of Harry's nose.
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Harry nodded.
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"Good, now shut the fuck up and listen."
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And so Harry did. What happened next defied his every expectation.
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Fleur had always been strong, far stronger than most ever gave her credit for, but in that moment Harry was in awe of her resilience. Given the opportunity to lambast him, to look him in the eye and tear him limb from limb, to destroy him utterly, she chose instead to apologize.
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"I am so very sorry for what I said to you, 'arry," she said, "Neville told me all you did to try and save Bill, and I was so cruel to you."
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"No!" Harry protested, "I…"
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"Non," Fleur continued, "I know what you are going to say. I do need to apologize. You did not kill my 'usband."
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"I missed something."
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"Yes, you did, and so did Victoria. But I do not see her drinking 'erself to death."
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"No more than usual, at least," Ron interjected. Fleur shot him a look that said he might consider helping a little less in this particular conversation.
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"You did not kill Bill."
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"As good a…fuck, alright Ron!"
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The stinging hex had caught him in the ear. "Listening, Harry," Ron firmly replied.
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Fleur's hand on his stopped Harry's growing temper in its tracks. "I know you don't believe me, 'Arry," she said, "but it is the truth. You did not kill Bill."
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"But…I missed something. It's…it was my job not to miss things. You came to me because you trusted me not to miss things."
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"Non, I did not. Bill came to you because he knew you would care about him, even if it was nothing."
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Harry fell silent for a moment, then rather dumbly replied, "what?"
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"Bill thought I was overreacting. He told me that he had just eaten something that did not agree with him, and that I shouldn't worry. He was certain that nothing was wrong, and we only went to the hospital because I would not stop fussing over 'im. I was going to take him to St Mungo's, but he told me that he trusted you more than anyone else. That's why he had Victoria page you down, because 'e knew that you wouldn't let him leave without knowing that 'e was alright."
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Guilt churned in Harry's gut. "But I did, Fleur, he should have gone to St Mungo's, if he had…"
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Ron scoffed as he charmed a sponge to scrub angrily at a stain of unknown origin in the sink and muttered something that sounded like "unbelievable."
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Harry fought the urge to punch his best friend and plowed forward as though he had not been interrupted. "I mean it. I missed something, if another healer had looked at him, Bill would probably still be alive."
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Ron had had enough. "Another healer did look at him, Harry! Victoria Welsh. Healer Welsh. The woman went through the same training you did, has the same amount of experience as you do, ran the same tests you did, and came to the exact same conclusion you did!"
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"But I should have been better than her!" Harry snarled back, "I needed to be better than her, because Bill was counting on me!"
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"That is unfair to expect of yourself, 'arry," Fleur countered. "Why should you be held to a standard that none can reach? You are only human, and no one can expect you to be anything else."
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"Because he's Harry fucking Potter, that's why," Ron answered. "And he's always got to be special."
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"I'm not…"
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"Yes, you are," Fleur cut in, "but not because you are Harry Potter. Bill came to you, requested you specifically, because you were 'is friend. Our friend. We did not 'ave many, and the ones we do 'ave are all the more special for it."
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There was nothing Harry could say to that.
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Fleur must have sensed her victory on the point, because she continued, "but special or not, no one expects you to be perfect."
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Harry sighed, suddenly exhausted. Ron put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
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"Listen, Harry; Fleur doesn't blame you. I don't blame you. Nobody blames you except you and sitting here drowning yourself in cheap liquor is not going to help anyone."
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"I know," Harry conceded.
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"Expensive liquor does not help either," Fleur added.
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It was not a particularly good joke, but Harry laughed anyway. It started as a chuckle, weak and dry, but quickly grew into something more. Before long he was holding his sides, his ribs aching from the force of his mirth, and then all three of them had been claimed by the hysteria. The grief was still there, and the guilt, but the burden was at least a little bit lighter for now.
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"It's good to 'ear you laugh," Fleur finally said, when they'd all calmed.
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"It's good to hear you laugh, Fleur," Harry replied seriously. "I'm so sorry for…everything."
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Ron shook his head and went back to tidying up.
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"No, not for…well, yes, for Bill, but not because it was…well, it was my fault, but…"
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Fleur cut him off. "You 'ave nothing to be sorry for, Harry."
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"But I do. Bill is gone, regardless of if that's my fault or not, and here you are worrying about me when I should be worrying about you!"
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"Everyone else is worrying about me already. I'm tired of people worrying about me."
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Harry understood what she meant. After he'd killed Voldemort everyone had worried about him. It had been exhausting. "I'm…I just…I'm sorry," he finished lamely. "How are you doing?"
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What a stupid question.
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But apparently the right one to ask, because her eyes filled and she offered him a small, sad smile in response. "I am surviving, thank you, " she answered.
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"Is there anything you need? I can…I don't know what I can do, but if there is something I could…"
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"Oui," she replied. "I do need something. I need you to stop this…whatever it is you are doing."
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She made it sound so simple, but just the words made Harry's pulse race. Come back to the Weasleys? Sure, for some reason Fleur might not blame him for Bill, and maybe Ron didn't either, but what about Mrs Weasley? Mr Weasley? Hermione? Charlie, George, Percy? Ginny?
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What about Victoire? She was going to Hogwarts for the first time in a few weeks and her father wouldn't be there to send her off.
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What about Teddy? He had been almost as close with Bill as he was with Harry.
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"I can't."
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"You can. Please, 'arry, this place…you should not be alone in this place."
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"It's not that bad," he joked half-heartedly.
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"It is," she said. "It's dark and lonely and sad and filled with grief. This is not a place for you, please, you can't just keep hiding yourself away here."
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That hit a nerve.
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Harry flushed angrily with a burst of irritation. "I'm not hiding, Fleur," he asserted firmly. "I just don't think that you or frankly anyone else deserves to have me reminding them of things right now!"
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As soon as the words were out his mouth Harry regretted raising his voice. Fleur's reaction only made it worse – he was used to arguing with Ron or Hermione or even sometimes Neville, friends who wore their tempers close to the surface and met his anger with their own – but Fleur was different. She simply frowned at him. It took no time at all for his frustration to fade into shame. "I'm sorry, Fleur, I didn't mean to…"
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"It's alright, Harry," she replied, "I know you are suffering as well, and that is why things need to change. You don't have to abandon your home, or give up your solitude entirely. But you cannot keep acting this way – don't you see that?"
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Harry nodded miserably.
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"Look at these letters on your table, do you not see how much everyone is worrying about you?"
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He knew they worried, but…
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"You think that we don't deserve to be reminded of their own grief, but can't you see that what you are really showing us is that we don't deserve to help you carry yours?"
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Harry clenched his jaw, frustration returning as she turned the screws against his resolve. Couldn't she see that he just wanted to give them – give her – the space to heal?
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"That's not…"
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And then something changed. "Non," Fleur snapped. "You are listening to me, not arguing. This behavior is unacceptable, and I will not put up with it any longer."
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The resurgent anger froze in Harry's chest in surprise. He had seen Fleur upset before, but the force of her personality hadn't been aimed at him like this in years.
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"Avoiding us, missing Bill's funeral, the drinking…you say you don't want to hurt us, but what is it you think we feel when we see you acting this way?"
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"I…"
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"Non, I am not done talking, Harry Potter! You do not seem to understand that no matter how much you may think you do not belong, you are as much a part of this family as I am, and that means that you 'ave a responsibility to be part of it – not just when you think you should, or when you feel like they need you, or when you want them around. You are one of us, and it's time for you to start acting like it."
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"Damn right," Ron agreed firmly.
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Why couldn't they see what they were asking him for? He knew that the Weasley's thought of him as family, and that they wouldn't come out and blame him to his face. In fact, he knew that if he were to ask any one of them they would protest the very idea to within an inch of their lives. But thinking something and feeling something were so very different, and it was because he cared about them so much that he wasn't going to them for support.
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He wouldn't subject his family to that sort of pain.
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Fleur sighed, seemingly spent. Her weariness was far worse than her fury had been.
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"I'm sorry, I should not have shouted at you," she apologized. "It is so frustrating that you do not realize how very lucky you are, and how fortunate we are to have you."
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Harry, of course, had only heard the first part of Fleur's statement, and the sympathy he had been feeling an instant before evaporated. Now he was ungrateful? He damn well knew how lucky he was – he was thankful every single day for his friends and family! – and he told her so.
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"No, you don't," Ron cut in. The fact that he wasn't yelling shocked Harry almost as much as when Fleur had. He fought down a sudden wave of nausea and his chair creaked ominously as he slumped heavily.
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"Think who you are talking to, Harry. I've been your best mate for nineteen years, we've spent more of our lives as brothers than we did as strangers. You have always been welcomed by my family, from the time we were eleven years old. Mum knitted you a sweater before she even met you, for goodness sake! But Fleur, bloody hell Harry, you remember how it was for Fleur."
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"It wasn't so bad," Fleur demurred.
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"We were awful to you," Ron countered without hesitation. "I was a drooling idiot, and Ginny was always calling you names behind your back, even Hermione couldn't stand you! And mum, she was…"
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"Your mother is a lovely woman, Ron," she replied instantly.
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"Yes, now! But she wasn't then, and you know it." He shifted his attention back to Harry, "You remember how mum treated Fleur that summer she came to visit us. It wasn't right."
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And Harry did remember. Molly Weasley had always been so welcoming, so warm and kind and motherly, but when he looked back at that summer before his sixth year Harry couldn't think of a single moment where she'd been anything other than distantly cordial to Fleur. Not unkind, just…unwelcoming. He had only had to exist for Molly Weasley to knit him a jumper and visit every summer; Fleur had had to prove herself every step of the way. He was fairly certain she'd not received her first Weasley jumper until after she and Bill had been married for a year.
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Had he been taking the Weasleys for granted? Something bitter twisted painfully at the thought. Even now, after everything, he knew that if he were to show up at the Burrow everyone would be happy to see him. He could drop by to see Hermione, or count on Charlie to put him up if he ever traveled to Romania, or stop in for lunch anytime with George in Diagon Alley. He had so many people that he could count on, not just the Weasleys but Neville too, and Luna, and so many others, and he had been so worried about hurting them with his presence that he hadn't even considered a world in which they didn't want him around.
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Ron, seeing him thinking things through, twisted the knife just a bit further to make his point. "Do you know what mum has been doing since the funeral, Harry? She's been baking. Constantly. It's what she does when she is worried – she fusses, and she bakes. She sent a half-dozen pies to the office yesterday, and Hermione won't allow another bit of dessert in our home for at least another week. All that baking, all that worrying, and do you know who she asks about every time I visit her?"
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"You."
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"Not the kids, or Hermione, or me, or any of the rest of us, but you. Have you heard from Harry? Oh, I hope Harry is alright. Do you think Harry would like a treacle tart if I made one, they always were his favorite. Every single time. Do you know why?"
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"Because you are the only one of her children that hasn't come to check in on her, Harry."
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Harry wanted to curl up into a ball in some long-forgotten hole in the ground and die. He'd been such an arse. More than that – he'd been arrogant, and self-centered, and stupid. Couldn't he have at least replied to her letters? But on the other hand…
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"I'd just be another reminder that she lost Bill, though," he protested.
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Fleur actually snorted. Harry blinked dumbly at the most blatantly un-feminine noise he'd ever heard her make.
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"Do you think she forgot?" she scoffed bitterly, "Or that I had, or any of the rest of us?"
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"None of us is about to forget Bill, and I know that I miss the bastard," Ron added, "but mum misses you too. And she's not not the only one. Dad has been setting aside Muggle shit from work to ask you about, and George asked if I thought you'd be up to meeting up at the Leaky Cauldron this week. Hell, Ginny saved an extra ticket for you at the stadium, and she knows the chances of you showing up to see her lose to Appleby is next to zero. And Percy – Percy! – wanted to know if you'd be willing to look over his report on something to do with standardization of base substances in the potions curriculum at Hogwarts. Do you honestly think that Percy of all people would turn to you for help with paperwork?"
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"And Victoire was asking just this morning if I thought you'd be able to 'elp her with her flying," Fleur contributed, "she is 'oping to try out for the quidditch team this year, and I 'ave never been very good on a broom."
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None of it made any sense, Harry thought, reeling at the sudden barrage of people that apparently needed him for a litany on largely innocuous tasks. Hermione was much better at explaining Muggle technology than he was, and George could go to the Leaky Cauldron anytime he wanted. Ginny knew that he hated the crowds at her matches and Percy had never once wanted him to look at a meaningless report. And he'd only flown with Victoire a handful of times! Not to mention the little girl's favorite aunt was routinely rated in the top five chasers in British quidditch.
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Really, none of them needed him for any of that, and yet Harry knew that Ron would not lie to him about this. His friends – his family – needed him, and even if he didn't understand why that meant that Fleur was right. It was time to act like part of the family…
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The sheer enormity of that statement crashed down on him an instant later. He'd neglected the people he cared about the most, and now he wasn't sure if he had enough to give when it came time to pick up the pieces. How was he supposed to help when he barely made it out of bed in the morning? What good would he do them half-pissed and reeking of whisky? The days ahead stretched out in his mind's eye and Harry was filled suddenly with the overwhelming desire to… he didn't know, but not go to Holyhead, or the Leaky Cauldron or the Ministry, or even the Burrow. Honestly, he hadn't felt stretched so thin since he was still in his residency.
Ron must have seen the look in his eye, because he reassured him that, "you don't have to do it all at once, you know. It's not a to-do list, we all just wish you were around more right now."
"But…why?"
Harry hadn't meant to ask the question, but it slipped anyway. Maybe it was the liquor in his system, or maybe he just didn't have the energy to stop it from escaping out into the world. Whatever the reason, he couldn't un-ask the question.
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"Because we do," Ron answered with a shrug. "Don't need a reason more than that, do we?"
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And that was that.
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They did eventually go to a pub, and Harry did buy dinner. In the aftermath of their difficult conversation Harry, Ron, and Fleur were subdued but it did feel like something had changed. After two weeks of isolation it felt good to just be with his friends – his family – and when they returned to Harry's flat he was in much better spirits.
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The clock read half past nine when Fleur left to pick up Victoire from the Burrow. Ron followed soon after, having extracted a promise that Harry would stop by first thing in the morning to visit with Hermione, Rose and Hugo.
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And then he was alone again.
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In the darkness of his quiet flat, Harry tried to hold on to positive thoughts they had gifted him but all too soon that feeling of camaraderie and acceptance faded back into a darker mood. He wanted to remember Ron's grin when he discussed some new trainee's antics at the auror academy or the music in Fleur's laughter, but it was not long before such pleasant distractions were replaced by older, grimmer musings.