What Else Can We Do?

Part 1:

The Dreamers

Chapter 8:

'Teach us to care and not to care

Teach us to sit still'

-'Ash Wednesday' by T.S. Eliot

It was odd at first to be sure, the feeling of his body being in two places at once. Harry opened his eyes to his mindscape and found himself sitting cross-legged near the railing of the highest level of the Astronomy Tower. Behind him, great revolving gears and parts moved and groaned, the copper rendition of the solar system in motion like it was during those midnight lessons back at Hogwarts. This place was made from his memories, but he couldn't help the feeling of finally coming back home.

He stood up and gripped the railing, looking out at the rest of the castle with a considering eye. He lifted a hand and made a scooping motion with it, marvelling at how great expanses of earth outside the walls were lifted and disappeared, like ash swept off by the wind. He had started small – a simple room with a lock and a door – and now here he was, surveying the stronghold he had built brick by brick, the levels upon levels of fortifications he had designed to keep his mind safe. It didn't surprise him that his Occlumency shields had manifested themselves as Hogwarts. Safe haven or not in reality, Harry had experienced more joy than horror within its walls and for that it was home.

Harry moved his hand around in a circle and a deep trench appeared, surrounding the castle. He brought both of his hands up, palms first, and the trench became a moat, the pit a lake. Without looking, he reached out and snatched a Snitch flitting above his head. It was a memory of the Tri-Wizard Tournament and the Second Task when he swam to the depths of the Black Lake. It brought back in detail the gloom, the pressure, the forest of swaying seaweed, the darting shapes in the dark, the panic and confusion. The desperate need to find what was lost before it was too late. He put all of it in the water. He held the Snitch tight in his fist then threw it into those depths, the memory acting as a key, the anchor, of his outermost defence.

With that done, Harry hopped over the railing and jumped off the ledge.

A roaring filled his ears as he fell through the air. In the corner of his eye, he saw a few Snitches following his descent, their silvery wings pulled back. They were familiar, fond memories of that first flying lesson he'd had in First Year, of him tumbling off his broom having caught his first Snitch with his mouth, the many Quidditch practices and matches after that. . . He caught himself smiling as he landed on soft and silent feet on the flagstone floor of the courtyard below. Without a glance towards his new work, Harry spun round and waved the entrance open. Swatting aside the myriad of safeguards that sprang into life before him with an absent hand, he walked, lost in thought, his feet taking him to Gryffindor Tower before he knew it.

He stopped before the portrait of the Fat Lady and frowned. The Snitches that had made their home here were buzzing above his head like bees. He hadn't meant to wander here, of all places. He thought he knew better than that. But now that he was here, he found he couldn't leave even as the memories flickered into life about him: the three of them sneaking back into the Common Room with the Invisibility Cloak, Ron teasing Neville for forgetting the password again, Hermione tripping, her books skidding along the floor, blushing as he and Ron ran to help. The older memories seemed to inexorably bring up the newer ones he'd made: the dawn light filling the cavern that morning, dazzling him when he first opened his eyes, just as Ron rolled over sleepily and kissed him before hiding his face in Harry's neck, his stubble rough, his breath ticklish, his weight comfortable. It had struck him then how some things were still too raw, too new between them and would be so for a long time, but they could at least do this, the little things, right.

Harry blinked and found himself looking at the scowling face of Aberforth. He shook his head at the disorientating change from Hogwarts to the cavern, hoping that between closing his eyes and opening them Aberforth would kindly piss off. He was disappointed.

'Why aren't you fortifying your Occlumency shields?' Aberforth asked, his words like a bite.

'I did,' Harry said. 'I thought I'd have a rest.' The warmth the last memory left him with made his body heavy and insistent on sleeping once more, even if his mind knew that dreams were no longer a respite but another training ground with Azadeh as more master than teacher. Harry missed the chaotic mess of human dreams, the strange freedom they used to represent. Now they were just another battleground.

Aberforth was frowning down at him past his wild and bushy eyebrows, which Harry considered a feat in itself. 'You can rest later, Potter,' Aberforth finally said, crossing his arms. 'You still have your afternoon training left. And Legilimency practice afterwards.'

Harry held back from saying a snarky remark that was on the tip of his tongue and retorted with a disdainful 'I know' instead, just as Hermione and Ron opened their eyes, emerging like him from their mindscapes. Hermione rolled her eyes at the increasingly familiar scene: Harry and Aberforth scowling at one another. But when Ron stretched out his arms in the air with a yawn and uncrossed his legs, Aberforth seemed to decide he was better than a 'childish' staring contest and went onto his next target of the day.

'Are you tired as well, Weasley?'

Ron blinked. Looking at the old man as if he'd gone mental, he answered, 'Yeah. I'm not used to concentrating like this. And all the practising you've got us doing - ' Ron grimaced, 'it's bloody murder.'

'Anything to add, Granger?' Aberforth asked, giving Ron a side-long look that clearly said he found him distasteful.

'Yeah, I'm tired too,' Hermione replied, pushing her hair away from her face with a quiet sigh that Harry recognised as homesick, when all she wanted to do was curl up on the couch in the Common Room and watch the fire burning, a cup of tea in her hands, warming her inside and out. He knew that look on her face from the end of exams and the school year when something bad always seemed to happen.

Harry scooted closer and put a hand on her shoulder. Hermione gave him a curious smile and Harry realised that he'd never been one to comfort people, let alone her, in this way: with touch and not words. That was Ron's job. He didn't know what had possessed him to this.

'All of you shouldn't be this tired,' Aberforth said, startling Harry out of feeling awkward. The old man glanced between him and Hermione suspiciously. Harry didn't like that look and he slowly took his hand off Hermione's shoulder. Aberforth followed the movement and Harry could almost see the gears turning in his head to an answer he did not like. 'Tell me, when did you start sleeping together?'

'That's none of your business,' Harry cut in, affronted. He didn't like how still Hermione became at his side, or how Ron blanched. Aberforth narrowed onto Ron's reaction.

'Planning on being more forthcoming than Potter, Weasley?'

'I don't see how our feeding habits are any of your business, no,' Ron replied, grim-faced.

'It is when you've all been starving yourselves!' Aberforth burst out angrily. 'It has been two months since the Change. Two months! How am I supposed to train you like this? Half-starved and using an unconsummated bond –'

'What difference does it make?' Harry asked, matching the man's tone. He refused to be made to feel ashamed. He would never allow anyone, least of all Aberforth, to have that kind of hold over him again.

'All the difference in the world,' Aberforth replied, 'and you would know that if you'd done it already.' The old man pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closing with a sigh. 'Go – just go. There is no point in further training. You'll just get weaker instead of stronger.'

xXx

With his head on her lap and his face nestled close to her belly, Harry's eyes drooped closed as Hermione played with his hair. Not long ago he would've never thought he'd be comfortable in such a position, nor would he have believed anyone if they said he'd seek it out. But here he was, a person who never sought comfort, who ducked away from hugs, who found hand-holding a strange business to be sure, feeling as if he were someone else because of a need for affection he'd never been aware of having before.

He knew it was in part because they now needed touch to survive, but he wasn't one to let hunger bother him like this. It wasn't to be ignored though, not when it was so insistent in the way it yearned, picking at him, slowly unravelling him until he found himself reaching for Ron or Hermione before he realised it. It'd been embarrassing at first, the way he'd cling to them sometimes, but they just smiled. There was understanding and no pity, making it far too easy to give in. And there was the fact that they needed it too. He could see it in their eyes, a question they couldn't seem to voice, not yet.

He was reluctant at first, there could be no denying. But it was eroded away, so much so that he hadn't noticed until now. Perhaps that was due to how they had to sleep at night, cuddled close otherwise they wouldn't sleep at all: with as much skin touching as they could with their clothes on, hands clasped together, legs a tangle, making too warm a heap on their bed of cloaks. He had been so very tired those first few days in the cavern when he slept apart from them, when Aberforth refused to give them any leeway in regards to training, that he would've accepted any respite. The reasons for his reluctance fell short and the next thing he knew he'd become so used to it that he almost forgot what it was like to sleep alone.

It was the little things that convinced Harry that they might actually want him. He could see that they were trying. They were careful, always making the effort to include him. They were certainly better than he was at it. He very rarely felt like he was intruding. There always seemed to be a hand seeking to hold his, and far too many smiles he didn't deserve sent his way. Yes, perhaps there were mistakes made, but they were harmless, done so unthinkingly, forgiven instantly. They were so wary of him sometimes, treating him as if he were porcelain, liable to break at any moment. He worried that it would be too crowded, but it wasn't, and irked him that when it was just two of them, it was too few and three became just right.

Harry opened his eyes and looked up at Hermione when she stopped and laid her hand on his neck. He frowned at the way she watched him, head tilted to the side, a worried glint in her eyes, the sad set of her mouth. Harry sat up and rested his elbows on his knees, his hands clutching at his arms. Ron sat across from them, playing with the ends of his tailcoat. Hermione crossed her legs and repositioned one of their cloaks they used for bedding.

It was this awkward silence that had Harry glancing up and down now and then, anxious and unsure what to do, a large part of him unwilling to do anything. It felt like there was a threat hanging over their heads. It was suddenly all too real and too soon for what they had to do.

It would change everything.

What if they couldn't walk away from this unscathed? It felt like a blow to Harry when he realised that he only had Ron and Hermione. They were his only family left, because Sirius was . . . He took in a deep, shaky breath and forced himself to be present.

'Oh, bloody hell,' Ron muttered before he pulled Harry over for a kiss, cutting Harry's noise of surprise short. For all the stubble, the nervousness and eagerness, the kiss made Harry smile and snort with laughter when they parted. Ron motioned for Hermione to come closer and she took both of their offered hands. Ron kissed her knuckles and said, 'We may have to do this, but I damn well plan on making this a night to remember with a stupid grin. All for one, one for all, yeah?'

'Yeah,' Hermione said quietly with a trembling smile, squeezing their hands once, tightly.

Perhaps his life would never be normal, but it needn't be if he had Ron and Hermione. They made all the difference. So with that thought, he took the plunge and said just as softly, 'Yeah.'