A/N: Next chapter! Still tired. I can't feel my face. So many essays. Getting back into writing, though, this chapter is pretty long. And I have a solid idea of where I'm going to start my next chapter, so that's good. Um, there was something else I was going to say here but yeah. I can't remember. I like university, I'm liking it a lot more than I thought I would, but it takes up a lot of brain... thinky...ness. I can't think with my brain anymore because it's full of Post-Modernism and Discourse Communities and stuff. Which is interesting and all, and there's lots of nice, intelligent people and everything but yeah. My eyeballs feel like marshmellows... somehow. I'm really tired. I'm going to go to bed now.
Wait, I should thank everyone who reviewed, because you're all super awesome and full of win and everything, and I wish much happiness and fluffy puppies to everyone. And people who don't review, you guys are cool too. I don't leave as many reviews as I should, so I know how that goes. But I hope you're enjoying it! Um, yeah. Bedtime.
Waking up with Kurt's heartbeat against his ear was probably Harry's favourite way ever to come back to the world. The steady beat was indescribably soothing as he opened his eyes to the morning light slipping between the curtains of the living room window. It was still quiet in the Hummel house; it couldn't have been more than six in the morning. Kurt was sleeping underneath him, little snores huffing out of him every few breaths and his arms still loosely slung around Harry's waist. Harry smiled a little, looking at Kurt's sleep-slack face; he looked so peaceful in his sleep. Not like Harry, who Ron had once kindly said looked like he might bite anyone who got too close.
Kurt's lips were slightly parted, and they looked so pink and inviting in the warm light of the morning that Harry couldn't help but wriggle up far enough to kiss them lightly. Somehow Kurt's lips seemed even softer than normal, despite Kurt having been asleep, and Harry hummed a little against them before pulling back with hooded eyes. He kissed Kurt again when the boy began to stir underneath him, smiling against Kurt's mouth as Kurt began to return the pressure. Kurt let out a happy sigh when Harry kissed him again softly as he woke.
"That," Kurt mumbled, blearily blinking his beautiful eyes open. "Is the nicest way to wake up ever."
"I agree," Harry kissed him again, gently, before allowing Kurt to push him into a sitting position. "So you did sleep after all."
"I did," Kurt rubbed his face, patting down is sleep-mused hair and trying to wake up. "I fell right asleep. Gaga, what time is it?"
"I don't know, I can't see the clock from here," Harry reached over Kurt to grab his boyfriend's phone from the coffee table next to the couch. He fumbled with it for a moment, pressing on the screen until he remembered the button on the top. Once he got it working he squinted at the little screen. "It's quarter to six. Might as well get up then."
The two boys shuffled around, kicking off the blankets and struggling to their feet. Kurt shooed Harry up the stairs - "My shower will take an hour, yours will take five minutes, you go first." - and began to fold up the blankets as Harry began dragging himself to the bathroom. He stopped in Kurt's room to grab a change of clothes and his glasses, and pick up the blankets from the floor where he must have thrown them in his sleep, before making his way to the bathroom. The hot shower woke him up, and by the time he was drying himself (smelling like lavender and apricot this time) he wasn't yawning anymore.
Harry slipped on his glasses before he put his clothes on to check on his bruises in the mirror. Most of them were a sickly greenish-yellow, though a few were still a deep purple-red. There were still a few faint, unhealed scratches here and there, and he was somewhat disturbed by how his ribs were pressing against his skin, but somehow he looked better than yesterday. Less tense, maybe, or more awake. Harry smiled a little at his reflection, and he managed not to cringe when the pale, bruised, scarred little creature in front of him smiled back, one corner of his mouth lower than the other because of the pale pink scars ripping through it. The wizard hurried to put his clothes on after that, getting tangled in his sweater in his rush to get out of the bathroom.
Kurt was in his room when Harry got there, staring critically at the shirts he had in either hand. They looked much the same to Harry, if slightly different shades of grey, but apparently they were causing Kurt great consternation.
"Everything all right there, love?" Harry came up behind Kurt, slipping his arms around the boy's waist and leaning his head on Kurt's back. He could feel Kurt huff against his ear.
"I've been pretty slack in the fashion stakes this past week," Kurt informed Harry without looking up, scowling and squinting at the two shirts. "I need to make up for it with something fabulous. I've got that new pair of Docs I haven't worn yet, the purple ones with the silver laces that you liked so much, but I'm not sure whether it'll look better with the raw-silk button up with silver buttons, or with the pure-cotton button up with hidden buttons. What do you think?"
"...the first one?" Harry suggested, not bothering to look at the shirts first. They look pretty much the same."The, uh - the silver buttons will look good with the laces?"
Kurt nodded thoughtfully, and Harry took that time to slip away and begin making the bed. As Kurt began muttering to himself, disappearing back into his expansive closet to find the right pair of pants, Harry straightened the sheets and pillows, carefully arranging Kurt's decorative pillows on top of the duvet as closely to how they had been a week ago as he could. Kurt hadn't emerged by the time he was done, still shuffling clothes and opening and shutting drawers. Harry looked over when he heard a thump from inside the depths of the closet, and he shook his head as he made his way over.
"Are you all right, love?" the wizard asked, peering through the doorway. There were belts all over the floor and a box on its side next to them, and Kurt was sorting through them with manic energy. He looked up at Harry from the ground, his eyes wide and panicked.
"I think I've forgotten how to accessorise," he almost whimpered, clutching handfuls of belts in front of him. Harry shook his head, stepping into the closet gingerly and tugging the belts out of Kurt's hands.
"I think you're overtired and overwrought from a week of stress, and you just need to take a deep breath-" Harry grabbed two random belts and held them up so Kurt could see. "-and pick a belt. Which one of these looks best with what you've already got?"
"The one on the left," Kurt decided reluctantly, looking down at the belts on the floor. His eyes focused slowly, and he reached down and picked one up. "But this one with the leaf pattern would look better..."
"Great, wear that one," Harry quickly swept up all the other belts in his arms, dropping them back in their box and shoving it out of the way. Kurt looked like he was about to protest, and Harry shook his head. "Don't second guess yourself. You're a fabulous fashionista and you wouldn't have picked that if it didn't work."
"It does work," Kurt admitted, some of the tension in his shoulders relaxing a little. He rocked to his feet, helping Harry up as he dropped the belt onto the jeans he had rested on a small chest of drawers. "You know me too well, Harry Potter."
"Will you be okay now?" Harry accepted the kiss on the cheek with a smile, and Kurt shooed him from the room.
"Yes, Harry, I am capable of dressing myself," Kurt huffed a little. "...At least, I am when I'm not, you know, exhausted and overwhelmed by options."
"You've had a long week," Harry agreed, wandering over to Kurt's desk to idly straighten the stack of textbooks on it. "I cried last night during Mulan when the Great Stone Dragon broke, if you recall. We're all a little overly emotional."
"Harry, I don't know which scarf to wear!"
"On my way," Harry quickly made his way back into the closet when he heard Kurt's frantic voice. He may not have known a damn thing about clothes or fashion, but if nothing else he could catch the boxes of accessories it sounded like Kurt might drop on his head.
Kurt was in the shower by the time there was any other sign of life in the house. Harry was flicking through Kurt's textbooks, trying to work out how many would be useful to him given that he and Kurt were taking different classes, when he heard a soft knock at the door.
"Come in," he called softly, resting the books back on Kurt's desk. Harry smiled when Carole slipped into the room. She was still in her pyjamas, her dressing gown open and the belt dragging along the floor. She was as bleary eyed and exhausted as Burt had been the day before, and Harry realised again with a guilty jolt how much taking care of him had taken out of the Hummel family. Carole was the only one of them he hadn't seen yesterday; she'd gotten home a little after Burt and hadn't come upstairs. It struck Harry then how much of his care-taking would have been done by Carole. She was a nurse, after all, and Mr Schuester had said she had been the one to... change his clothes and such. And unlike Burt and Mr Schuester, she'd still gone to work every day. No wonder she looks tired.
"Oh, sweetie, it's so good to see you up," Carole hurried across Kurt's room to Harry's side, wringing her hands a bit as she came to stand in front of him. "I can't believe - gosh, I saw you yesterday morning but you look like a different person."
"It's amazing what being compos mentisdoes for your appearance," Harry agreed, stepping aside to offer Carole the desk chair. He kept talking even as she waved him off with one hand, dragging her dressing gown closed with the other. "I didn't get a chance to see you yesterday, Carole, and I'm so sorry I didn't come out to see you -"
"Don't be ridiculous, honey, you needed space," she interrupted, but Harry shook his head.
"No, it was rude, I - I talked to Burt and Finn but I didn't even... I was still just really fragile and I didn't want to..." Harry trailed off when he realised he was rambling, looking down at his feet rather that at Carole's somewhat pitying expression. Tears were stinging in his eyes for what felt like the millionth time in the previous 24 hours, and he was mumbling when he went on. "You've been so good to me. I may not have been aware of it at the time but I know you cared for me this last week. I can't thank you enough, really, and I'm sorry I didn't thank you sooner."
"You're quite welcome, Harry," Carole hesitated for a second before pulling the teenager into a hug. Harry froze up a bit, startled by the sudden contact, but he managed to relax enough to stop himself from pulling away. She wasn't as comfortingly soft as Mrs Weasley, being considerably thinner, but she was warm and soothing in that way only mothers had ever seemed to be for him. She held him close for a moment, carding her fingers through his still-damp hair, before pulling back and looking him over critically. "Oooh, you're much too skinny for a boy your age. We tried to keep you fed last week but you couldn't keep anything down. How about you come down stairs and I make you some toast? Kurt's going to be another half an hour at least, there's no point waiting up here."
When Harry hesitated Carole softened, squeezing his shoulders, "That's only if you're ready to come downstairs, honey. I could always bring it up here."
"No, no, I'll come down with you," Harry assured her, starting towards the door and waving her ahead of him. "I'm just... not very hungry. Or I am, but I feel kind of sick still, I guess?"
"A week of vomiting will do that to you," Carole said wryly, patting him on the shoulder as she lead him down the stairs. "Don't worry, honey, I'll make it easy on you. Toast with butter, orange juice and fruit should stay down just fine."
She was right, and within an hour Harry had eaten and was sitting on the living room couch watching Kurt and Finn run around trying to get ready for school. Kurt had had a bolt of inspiration about his outfit based on his leafy belt and had had to run upstairs to change his shoes twice and his scarf once, leaving his book bag packed neatly next to the door. By comparison, Finn had thrown his clothes in five minutes after stumbling through a two-minute shower, but he couldn't find his history textbook, his pencil case or his phone. Harry just watched the madness, bemused, occasionally sharing a look with Burt when a frustrated shriek or confused yelp drifted down from upstairs.
"Are they like this every morning?" Harry asked, picking at a loose thread on his t-shirt. Burt nodded with a wry grin.
"Yeah, pretty much. I don't know how I'd do it without Carole."
Carole did eventually find everything Finn was missing, but in ended up being Harry who extracted Kurt from his room and out the front door with a wave and a kiss on the cheek. Carole was on her way to work minutes later, shouting over her shoulder that, "There's sandwiches in the fridge, boys, eat whatever you like!"
"Do you have to go to work today?" Harry asked Burt in the ringing silence they were left in. Burt shrugged.
"Not urgently. Your friends called last night - Hermione and Ron? They're going to come over in a little bit."
"Oh," Harry thought back - Hermione said she was going to buy a computer today, maybe we can get started on that. "Okay, good."
There was a comfortable pause as Burt picked up the newspaper from the side table next to his recliner, leaning back and flicking straight to the Sports pages. Harry leaned back against the couch and breathed in; it still smelt faintly of Kurt's shampoo from the night before.
"You're doing really well, kid," Burt said out of nowhere, making Harry look over at him curiously. Burt hadn't looked up from his newspaper, but there was a little smile dancing around the corners of his mouth. "We didn't know what you were going to be like when you got out of the drug-withdrawal crap but I know I didn't think you'd be this good this soon."
"I'm adaptable," Harry shrugged, feeling his cheeks heat up. He didn't feel like he was doing particularly well; he was constantly on the verge of tears and panicking, how well could he be doing? But Burt was already shaking his head and lowering his paper, pinning Harry with a compassionate stare.
"You're stronger than you realise, kiddo. With everythin' you been through - hell, I don't know how you do it without going completely mental. And I know you don't think that the things you do - being with Kurt in public, joining Glee club, whatever - you don't think that stuff is brave but it really is. Most teenagers are terrified by that stuff but you just - okay, you might be scared or nervous or whatever, but you do it anyway. And now you're - well, you're sick. You're ill, and you're still takin' care of Kurt in your own way, makin' sure he don't freak out over his clothes and stuff. You take care of people without even thinking about it. The fact that you can even do that... you are strong."
Harry looked down at his hands. Helping Kurt pick out his clothes... that's nothing. Isn't it? I just wanted to calm him down, I don't like it when he's upset...
"Don't give yourself a headache over it, kid," Burt chuckled a little, picking up his newspaper again. When Harry looked back at him the man waved him towards the TV remote. "You spend too much time thinking. Watch the idiot box for a while. You know how to work the cable?"
"Yeah, Kurt showed me how a few days ago..." Harry trailed off, frowning. "Actually that was last week. Huh. I keep forgetting I effectively lost a week."
"Yeah, must be weird, stop thinking now," Burt pointed to the TV again with a firm, if amused, look. "Or read a magazine or something. Relax. Your friends will be here in a little while and I got the feeling that they got some stuff they want you to do."
"Yeah, me and Hermione are going to set up my new laptop with Skype," Harry flicked the TV on and frowned down at the remote. Which one was that cartoon channel? "So I can talk to my therapist."
"Why don't you just get a new one close by?" Burt looked over his paper, and Harry sighed a little as he went on. "I'll help you find a good one if that's the problem, I can make some calls -"
"I can't just see any therapist," Harry interrupted, ignoring the redness staining his cheeks in favour of looking resolutely at the tennis match on the TV. "I, uh - the sorts of things I'll probably talk about are, er. Secret. You know. State secrets and all that."
"Oh, right, right. Sorry," Burt ducked back behind his newspaper, clearing his throat. "I should've thought of that. You don't have a computer at home?"
"Remus threw me through the screen," Harry smiled a little wryly, stamping down thoughts of his former guardian as Burt visibly cringed, even behind the paper. "Well, into my desk, anyway. I knocked the computer off then, I think. It's a bit of a blur. It happened really fast."
"Jesus, kid," Burt huffed out a breath, lowering his paper again and staring at Harry incredulously. Before he could ask anything else Harry shrugged and pointed to the screen.
"It's done now. Is this baseball? I don't think I've ever watched a game before."
"Yeah, and this was a good one. World Series '07, good game. I'll explain it to you."
Burt spent the next half hour trying to explain the game to Harry, who just did his best not to look as bemused as he felt. The wizard found himself suddenly missing Quidditch something fierce; after having flown hundreds of feet in the air, dodging Bludgers and searching the skies for a tiny glint of gold, muggle sports just seemed boring. I should get a new broom and find myself a field some time. The baseball lesson was cut short by a knock on the door, and Harry could hear a familiar voice drifting under the door. He shut off the TV as Burt walked to the door, bracing himself for impact.
Hermione barrelled into the house the second the door was open, her arms stacked high with books and boxes, not sparing the gobsmacked Burt a glance.
"Harry, I've got some ideas that I think we can expand on," she burst out, not even looking over at Harry as she strode briskly across the room. "I'm going to make it as easy as possible but it is a little bit complicated so I hope you're more awake today, we need to get this done, and I hope you don't mind but I went out a bought a couple of laptop computers this morning with your money so you could pick one and I will send one to your therapist and I'll keep one so Ron and I can keep up with you too but first we have to set up this program, it's just fascinating the way the world is changing..." her manic voice faded as she disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Burt blinking in the doorway and Harry stifling laughter on the couch. Ron was poking his head the front door by that point, and he shot Burt a sympathetic look.
"Sorry about that, mate. She had a lot of coffee this morning, and she's kind of on a roll," he clapped the man on the shoulder, shaking his head at the faint sound of Hermione's continued ranting from the kitchen. "She had the poor sales boy almost in tears at the computer shop, she bloody steamrolled right over him. He looked a lot happier when she filled up a cart full of stuff, though."
"I bet he did," Burt rumbled, a chuckle building up in his chest. He looked over at Harry with a dazed smile. "Suddenly I get why you're so good at dealing with Kurt when he gets in one of his moods."
"Yeah, there's a lot of similarity between Kurt in a fashion-fugue and Hermione in a learning-fugue," Harry got to his feet and stretched, relaxing into himself as Ron crossed the room to clap him on the back. "I'd better go join her before she bursts a blood vessel."
"You're on your own, mate, I've been with her all bloody morning," Ron groaned a little, collapsing onto the couch Harry had just vacated. "She's never thought about - you know, electronimacal stuff before, so now there's a whole world of things for her to learn about and she's acting like she's in first year again. I think she might want to pull one of those lappy computers apart to see how it works."
"She and your dad should get together and talk about it when you guys get back," Harry suggested, thinking back to the little shed at the back of the Burrow that was overflowing with outdated, broken down electrical products that Mr Weasley had taken apart and tried to put back again. Ron shook his head in horror.
"Do not even suggest it to her, Potter. We'll never see either of them again."
"If you guys are gonna be okay here," Burt interrupted, making both Ron and Harry start - they'd forgotten he was there. "I might take off for the garage for a little while. Jim's kid has a cold so we're understaffed today."
"Right, of course, we'll be fine," Harry nodded, feeling a little bashful for having ignored the man. Ron nodded earnestly, his ears turning pink.
"Yeah, we got it. Sorry for taking over your house like this," Ron winced when a slight thump was heard from the kitchen, followed by Hermione swearing colourfully. "Um, I promise we won't break anything."
"It's fine, boys, have fun," Burt wandered to a side table to grab his keys, patting Harry on the shoulder as he made his way to the door. "I should be home a bit after lunch, okay, Harry? Don't forget to eat."
"Don't worry, Mr Hummel, there's no chance of me forgetting to eat," Ron grinned, and Harry nodded as he waved Burt out the door.
"See you later, Burt," Harry turned to face the kitchen door when Burt was gone, shaking his head when he heard another thump from the kitchen. "I don't suppose you're going to help me with her?"
"Nope," Ron settled back against the couch cheerfully, reaching into his pocket to pull out a cell phone. "I spent the last two hours picking up shop displays and old ladies she knocked down in her quest for knowledge. I'm going to sit right down here and make my phone calls in peace. You're on your own with the crazy woman."
"Thanks, mate," Harry rolled his eyes, crossing to the kitchen. "Wish me luck, then."
"May God have mercy on your soul," Ron called over, smiling brightly as Harry stepped into the kitchen.
It was pretty much exactly how he'd imagined it would be. There were half a dozen laptops set up around the room, the cords and wires overlapping so they could all stick in a power-board sticking out of the wall. The computers' boxes and manuals were strewn around the counter-tops, random gadgets and gizmos that must have come as a package were stacked up on the kitchen table. Hermione was wrist deep in the circuit board of a seventh machine, pulling out a small chip and squinting at it carefully, peering between it and an open textbook resting next to her. Hermione hadn't had a good research project for a while; legal rights for all magical beings had become very samey and repetitive after a while and she'd been complaining about being in a learning rut for months, so Harry guessed he shouldn't really be surprised by her enthusiasm.
"Hermione?" Harry asked cautiously, stepping over an open laptop and next to Hermione at the table. She didn't look up from her squinting.
"I can't tell whether this is a graphics card or a video card," she informed him, flipping a page of the textbook. Harry blinked at her.
"What's the difference?" he peered at the chip in her fingers. It looked like a piece of plastic to him. Before Hermione could answer he shook his head. "Wait, no, what does this have to do with Skype? Kurt said it runs on any decent computer."
"Well, yes, but..." Hermione trailed off, lowering the chip in her hand slowly, her cheeks going pink. "...it's really interesting...?"
Harry shot her a wry smile, "I have no doubt. Would you like me to leave you alone with your computers for a while?"
"No, no, we'll get this done," she carefully replaced the little chip and put the case back on the bottom of the computer, tapping the base until it clicked back into place. "Sorry, it's just that I've been out of the muggle world for so long and there have been all these technological leaps and I've fallen so behind-"
"Feel free to take whatever with you to look through," Harry offered, slipping into a seat and looking over the disaster-area kitchen. "I only need one computer out of all these."
"Yes, well," Hermione coughed a little, not meeting Harry's eyes. "...there may be a couple more in your car."
Harry snorted, rolling his eyes, "Does the word excessive mean anything to you, Hermione dear?"
"Oh hush, I was being thorough," Hermione huffed, picking up a bit of packaging from the ground and vanishing it with a wave of her wand and a muttered spell. "You can pick any one you like, but the man at the store said that one over there was the best."
"Yeah, sure," Harry shrugged, dragging himself to his feet to look at the computer Hermione had pointed to. It looked like all the others to him; he really didn't know the difference between the various kinds of computer. Hermione was sending computers sailing back into their boxes with her wand, and she waved Harry towards the table.
"Come on, bring it over and we'll get started. I managed to get in touch with Healer Ryan, he's happy to try this; I'll have to go back to help him set it up, though. It shouldn't take too long on this end."
"I think you're underestimating our very computer illiterate I am," Harry plopped back into his seat, carefully placing the laptop on the table. Hermione waved a hand.
"I think you're underestimating what an excellent teacher I am. Now plug it in and let's get this done."
When Hermione and Harry wandered out of the kitchen about an hour later, Hermione's voice hoarse from explaining and re-explaining the ins and outs of the program, Ron was still on the phone. He had a hand over his eyes and was sprawled back against the couch, his mouth pinched and teeth gritted.
"I understand that, Mr Armstrong, but this isn't exactly a usual situation. The so-called child in question will be 18 in less than six months," he was sighing into the phone line. He waved at Harry and Hermione when he noticed them out of one eye, before returning his hand to cover his face. After a pause Ron rolled his eyes. "Yes, I understand your position, but as I stated earlier there is no family. Not in the US or the UK. The only blood relatives are in the UK and they have given up all guardianship rights."
Hermione put an arm around Harry's shoulder when the shorter boy tensed, pressing a gentle kiss to his hair and whispering in his ear, "Don't worry about it, love. Ron will deal with it. Even if he has to lie."
"I'd rather he didn't have to," Harry bit his lip, digging his nails into his palms as Ron continue to argue on the phone. "If it got out that he had lied during legal proceedings he could lose his place in the Auror training - "
"Harry, it pains me to admit it but the Wizarding World - well, specifically the British Ministry - does not give a damn whether or not we break muggle laws. As long as it can't be traced back to the magical world, it won't make a difference."
"Still," Harry muttered, digging his nails in harder as guilt welled up in his chest. Ron had begun to rhythmically hit his head against the arm of the couch, obviously beyond frustrated with the bureaucracy he was being inundated with. "He shouldn't have to - he shouldn't have to deal with - "
"You shouldn't have had to re-furnish your entire kitchen last summer, but you did, because Ron set it on fire," Hermione rolled her eyes and began to lead Harry out of the living room and up the stairs. "Sometimes friendship means doing things that aren't fun, lovey. He doesn't mind. Just buy him a nice birthday present and he'll consider it a job well done."
"I tried to get him the Cannons for Christmas, but they aren't looking to sell," Harry admitted mournfully, opening Kurt's bedroom door and shuffling inside. Hermione rolled her eyes.
"He almost refused to accept the Firebolt 2, so he probably would have objected to an entire Quidditch team," Hermione sat on the edge of Kurt's desk, pulling Harry into her arms so she could kiss him lightly on the forehead. They stood like that for a moment, almost-brother-and-sister giving and receiving comfort, before Hermione sighed sadly. "I'm going to have to go home soon."
"I know," Harry nodded, his voice just as quiet as hers. She squeezed him a little tighter.
"I want to stay, Harry. It's just - the Ministry found out I was out of England, and they're rushing to put through a bunch of laws that will undo everything I've done before I can rally the public to stop them-"
"Hermione," Harry interrupted, sensing the tension and guilt in Hermione's voice. "It's okay. You've worked too hard to lose that, and I'm doing pretty well anyway. I'll have the Hummels and my friends here and Healer Ryan and I know you and Ron are just a phone call away. When do you have to leave?"
"Within the next two or three days, at the latest," the witch admitted reluctantly, pulling away from Harry to look him in the eye. "Are you sure you'll be all right? Because I might be able to -"
"I will be fine," Harry shook his head firmly. "Honestly, Hermione, what else could go wrong?"
There was a pause, and they both cringed.
"Oh, Merlin, I shouldn't have said that," Harry sighed, shaking his head. "Something is going to go horribly wrong now, isn't it?"
"Almost certainly," Hermione giggled a little, shoving Harry's arm gently. "Good one, Potter."
"I'm sorry! I wasn't thinking!" he protested, rubbing his shoulder as though he'd been wounded by her gentle push. "So what terrible thing do you think is going to happen because of my foolishness? The Apocalypse, maybe?"
"At least," Hermione agreed solemnly, a happy twinkle in her eye belying her serious expression. "Some horrid calamity, certainly. Maybe a bunch of Deatheaters will decide to take an American road trip and run you over."
"Maybe Snape will show up on my doorstep declaring his undying love for me, refusing to leave without a kiss."
"Maybe I'll get back to England and find out the Rita Skeeter is my new neighbour."
"Maybe Hagrid will get a new career as an international supermodel and we won't be able to go anywhere without seeing pictures of him in bikinis."
"Maybe Molly Weasley will decide that this summer was just a fluke, and if she tries even harder you'll marry Ginny after all."
"Don't even joke about that," Harry grumbled, shuddering a little at his memories of the many awkward moments over the summer. The Weasleys had stayed with him in Grimmauld Place for a few weeks, during which time Mrs Weasley had apparently decided that she wanted Harry for a son-in-law. The woman's vision was clear: she'd get to call Harry a son, and Ginny would get to marry her childhood hero. What she didn't take into account was the fact that Harry considered Ginny a sister, and Ginny didn't like limiting herself to one significant other at a time. All of the forced romantic "dates" Mrs Weasley had less-than-surreptitiously set them up on usually consisted of them talking about Quidditch and whether or not Ginny should try to date Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas at the same time. To call it uncomfortable would have been an understatement. "Thank you so much for your help with that, by the way. I particularly appreciated you telling Mrs Weasley that I had a thing for red-heads and that I was humming Here Comes the Bride in the shower. Both of which were blatant lies."
"You're welcome," Hermione replied airily, not meeting Harry's glare. She just smiled at Kurt's mirror without a hint of guile, casually fixing her hair as though she didn't have a fierce look pinned on her. "I was happy to help."
Harry rolled his eyes, "How is Ginny, anyway? I haven't heard from her since I came to the States."
"She's fine, still doing her sixth year," Hermione grinned a little. "Still going through boyfriends and girlfriends at a rate of knots. I think she's dated half the sixth year class at this point."
"Ah, well, if it makes her happy," Harry shrugged, relaxing back on Kurt's bed a bit. "Did she ever tell you why she chose not to fast-track her graduation like we did? I mean, she was offered that option, right?"
"Everyone who fought was," Hermione confirmed, looking a little more serious. "So most of the now sixth-and-seventh years. For all their faults, the Ministry was smart enough to realise that expecting children to spend a week defending themselves in battle before going back to being kids the next year was a bit much. Most people chose to go back, though. Get some semblance of normalcy, I guess."
"Did anyone other than the three of us, Neville and Luna?" Harry asked, looking down at his hands. He was trying not to remember the siege, not to think about watching the fifteen and sixteen year olds he'd studied with for years fighting for their lives, but he couldn't help but be curious. He hadn't really heard about the Wizarding World's recovery from the war; everyone had tried to protect him from the details. Indeed, Hermione still looked conflicted as to whether or not to tell him, even months later, but she eventually nodded her head.
"A few. Mostly Slytherins who'd ended up fighting family members. I know Draco Malfoy did. I haven't heard a thing about him since his father's trial in November."
"Was he testifying for or against Lucius?" Harry frowned a little, thinking back to what he could remember of Draco Malfoy from before he'd left. He knew that the Slytherin had spoken out against the Deatheaters that last year; Hermione had told him about it. Malfoy was still a bigot and a right prick, according to both her and Ron, but he hadn't seen any reason to kill or wipe out muggle borns and muggles. Hadn't had the stomach for it, Moody had grumbled at the time. Harry didn't really know. He'd only seen Malfoy once during the entire siege - he'd been with Blaise Zabini, shepherding a group of first and second years through the fire and the fights. They'd exchanged less than ten words -
("Potter! Where do we - "
"Hufflepuff Common Room, go!")
- but from what Ron and Hermione had grumbled over the year ("I swear, if I hit him again, Harry, it'll be a punch, not a little slap like third year.") he hadn't really redeemed himself otherwise. Harry was wrenched back out of his thoughts by Hermione's sigh.
"Against," she admitted, looking a little put out by Malfoy's good deed. "His testimony shattered Lucius' defence of Imperio. He's why they were able to convict. Still, even if he isn't evil I still think he's a git."
"True enough," Harry agreed, smiling faintly at Hermione's disgruntled pout. "Do you think he -"
He cut himself off when there was a tapping at the window. They both looked over, startled, but went still at the sight of a small brown owl at the window. Dread started welling in Harry's chest when Hermione's breath hitched, and he waited for her to speak.
"That's Neville's owl," she muttered after a moment, shooting Harry a vaguely apologetic look. Harry nodded stiffly; Neville's owl. Neville, who was searching for Remus. Hermione started over to the window, babbling a little like she always did when she was nervous or flustered. "I'm sure it's nothing. I mean, maybe he just wanted to check in, or see if you were okay. I haven't spoken to him since you woke up, he might just be asking after you. It might not be - it might not be about..."
"Remus," Harry finished for her, feeling a strange coldness sinking into his bones. She nodded minutely.
"It might not be," she repeated softly, looking down at the letter she now had in her hands. The owl was sitting on Kurt's windowsill quietly cleaning its feathers, oblivious to the thick tension in the room, the silence as Hermione ripped the envelope open and pulled out the parchment letter. The witch read it quickly, and Harry ground his teeth together as she went pale.
"What does it say?" he asked softly, gripping his knees hard. When she didn't say anything he repeated himself, his voice harder. "Hermione, what does it say?"
She held it out to him wordlessly, and he dragged himself to her with heavy limbs. His heart was thudding in his chest, wondering where is he, is he even alive, what did he do what do I do -
The first lines were almost a relief, in an odd sort of way;
Hermione - we found him. He's in a Wizarding Asylum in North Carolina. No idea how he got there and no-one knows who he is, so Harry's cover is safe. We're getting him back to England tonight.
It was the last line that sent Harry careening down the corridor to the bathroom, throwing up everything he'd eaten that day. The first word was smeared with ink, as though Neville had tapped the quill there, contemplating whether or not to say,
We think he may have killed someone.