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It was raining in London. Obvious? Maybe. In any way, his trench was soaked, his jumper as well actually and maybe his shirt. What can be inconvenient for wizards is that they get used to living comfortably. Even if it is said that it balances the greater dangers they have to face, fighting dark wizards and dragons to keep your clothes dry under the rain appeared like a good deal at the moment.
For him, it was worse. Despite all the dangers he faced, he was soaked. He sighed loudly, impatient to return to the wizarding world to use a bit of magic. The water pearls on his glasses prevented him from seeing clearly, and his bushy hair was absorbing all the water. His mane had doubled in weight, his hair was covering his forehead and his thin scar.
With a fast pace, Harry Potter was nearing the Leaky Cauldron where he could hide from the rain and rent a room. After walking through a few streets, he glimpsed the decrepit front he knew very well. Without slowing down, he pushed the door and entered the establishment.
After drying himself with a wand flick, the heat slowly permeating his body felt so good. The young barman jumped at his sight. Approaching with big uncertain steps, his goodwill and clumsiness revealed his lack of experience. Since Tom had taken his well-deserved retirement, Hannah Abbott was in charge of the shabby pub. This had led to a change in personnel and in decoration, unfortunately not sufficient to hide the poor state of the place.
- Mister Potter! Wow, Mister, mister Potter! What are you doing here? Wait, I shouldn't say that. What can I do for you? Mister. Mister Potter…
Harry smiled lightly to calm the poor employee, before asking for a hot meal and a room for the night.
- Is chamber 11 available? He asked.
Activating himself behind the counter, the other lifted his head with an apological look. He was troubled to be unable to meet a demand from Harry Potter and kept apologising. When Harry managed to stop the flow of grovelling, he chose room 12, took the key and went up immediately, nodding silently to the barman that informed him that his meal would be ready quickly.
To access his room, he passed room 11, this was where he had lived for more than two weeks a few years ago. He stopped, nostalgic, in front of the door that still exhibited its copper plate. Tearing himself from memories of a life that was way simpler, he slipped into his room. Removing his trench coat, he realized that the talking mirrors had disappeared.
Without thinking about it too much, he sat – fell rather – on the bed. Overtaken by a sudden crisis, he clasped his head between his hands and tried to control himself. After a few minutes of deep and controlled breathing, he managed to calm himself down.
This kind of crisis was frequent. Since the end of the war, he seemed to be the subject of deep crisis that was shaking him physically and mentally. The amount of work to do, the stress induced from new responsibilities, but mainly the sadness of losing so many souls was weighing on an already heavy heart.
Even worse, the loneliness was omnipresent. Harry had no one anymore. His parents, his godfather, then Dobby, Lupin and Tonks, and of course Fred. Fred Weasley. After the high of the victory, everyone had to face the losses that occurred. Harry had been overwhelmed by grief. Seeing Ms Weasley, that had always been here for him, crumbling into her husband's arms, which seemed twenty years older, was unbearable. George was devastated, Ron incapable of speech, and Ginny… Ginny…
Forcing himself to brutally escape his waking nightmare, Harry found himself on the floor, still trying to control his breathing. He took a long time to completely settle down. Once he felt himself more stable, he got up and went down without looking at door 11.
- Maybe it is for the best, I would not have been able to calm down in this one, he whispered for himself.
He tried to shorten his meal as much as possible, impatient to return to his room. The Leaky Cauldron was almost empty, good news for Harry that was against the idea of chatting all evening. Thanking the barman, still oblivious of his name, he went up. He fell asleep as soon as he undressed, exhausted by an intense work week.
Harry woke up early the following day, physically rested but mentally in disarray. Thankfully, he was not working that day, a gift from the Minister of Magic for his good work. Since the Ministry had been reformed, Harry had acquired a very important but tiring position, that he would keep until the new institutions settled down.
Moreover, he was often sent on diplomatic missions to wizards from other countries or a small portion of Muggles that suffered greatly from the war. For example, after the death of Voldermort, he had to meet with the Prime Minister to exchange pointers regarding Muggle security and to apologize for the violence of the dark wizards as a spokesperson for the wizarding world.
Harry's days were filled to the brim, so filled that he did not see the time slowly wither away. It had been nine months since the Dark Lord was defeated. Nine months without Hogwarts.
He was trying his best to avoid thinking about the time he had not talked to his friends. Feeling somewhat responsible, he distanced himself from the Weasleys, that travelled a lot to Romania to grief as a family. Hermione had returned to her parents in Australia and restored their memories before starting a world tour with them.
Of course, he had received letters. Ron and Hermione, Hagrid, Ms Weasley who was worried, and even Minerva McGonagall was keeping him informed. If Harry always answered, he knew his short and indolent letters had, little by little, isolated him from his pen pals. Ron had not sent him anything since the new year, Hermione was in Indonesia two months ago but that was all he knew. Hagrid was tirelessly writing but Ms Weasley and McGonagall did not maintain the connection. They were surely busy with numerous problems, wasting time with someone that seemed uninterested was surely not one of them.
In the end, he received way more owls related to his work than his private life. Other people he knew from his years at Hogwarts were dead, grieving or did not care about Harry.
Before being preyed upon by the bottomless pit that was his loneliness, he started moving, got up and dressed himself with the same Muggle's clothes he wore the day before. As he was going to leave, he noticed a letter that had been slipped under the door. An owl probably arrived during the night.
He immediately recognized Kingsley Shacklebolt's writing, the new Minister of Magic. Not fond of starting his day with a letter from his superior, he put it on the bedside table of the room while promising to open it later. He got out of the room, eager to enjoy his first day off in ages. He felt a bit more relaxed already and tried to take a brighter outlook on his situation.
In the lunchroom, he asked the barman for a big breakfast and his name. Auguste. Enjoying his hot meal, Harry looked around, the pub was almost empty at this hour. Soon, wizards would pass through the Leaky Cauldron to access Diagon Alley or the Muggle's world. And later in the afternoon, clients would meet up and drink while talking loudly. As of now, the few patrons were attending their own business.
Harry heard steps from behind him, but chose not to turn around, expecting an employee or a regular customer. But the steps, that were nearing his position, suddenly stopped. A pause, then the rubbing of a wizard robe and the sound of steps escaping rapidly.
Intrigued by this weird behaviour, Harry turned around rapidly to catch a glimpse of who interrupted his meal. His heart missed a beat. Or several. Or maybe it beat much faster. He did not know anymore. He got up abruptly. His chair flung violently on the ground. Without worrying about it, he jumped towards the fiery hair trying to flee. He could recognize this hair anywhere, anytime.
He moved so quickly he seemed to have Apparated and intercepted the lady at the bottom of the stairs.
- Ginny… he said only.
This was indeed Ginny, Ginny Weasley, alive and well in front of him. She turned her head and smiled softly.
- Harry.
Her red cheeks, white skin and brown eyes brought Harry to a different time. His heart was still missing most of the beats. They stayed a moment there, at the bottom of the stairs, looking at each other.
- I think… I think we need to talk, said Harry, without realizing he sounded like someone about to break up. Nothing to break here anyway.
- When? She simply said.
- Now? Proposed Harry quite boldly. Now that he had started something, he wanted to see it through. I am free all day.
Ginny nodded and did an about-turn to aim for the little courtyard leading to Diagon Alley. Harry followed her in silence, his heart beating so strong he could hear it.
This is one of my old projects I am translating as practice. A somewhat grimmer take on the aftermath of the war, but hope is just around the corner. Literally for Harry.
I hope you enjoyed this first chapter; I will be translating quite fast to bring you content as fast as possible.
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