AN: Thank you so much for reading! Hope you have enjoyed the story; it was very cathartic for me to write. And I hope your springs are full of hope and warmth (and for those of you in the southern hemisphere, a cozy autumn).
Harry's legs burned as he ran up the stairs to Ron's room and took a deep breath to steady himself. The room was as it always was: warm orange walls covered in layers of posters and photos that had been added as Ron had grown older. Pictures of the three of them were scattered about the room, most of them moving lazily about in the frames as their subjects laughed. Cosy patchwork quilts on Ron's bed and Harry's foldaway, mismatched pillows, Ron's teddy poking out from behind the clock on his bedside table, four slippers haphazardly shoved under the beds.
It was the first bedroom Harry had been in that really felt welcoming and he'd lost count of how many nights they'd stayed up past midnight, chatting away in the darkness.
Harry flopped onto his bed as Ron followed him into the room, shutting the door behind. Ron was fiddling with his DA coin and threw it to his bed after sending a message to Hermione.
"What did Percy want?"
"Nothing," Harry said, unsure if he wanted to tell yet. "Ministry stuff."
"Okay… what happened with death?"
"Let's wait for Hermione," Harry muttered, dropping his hands loosely in his lap. "It's worse than we thought."
"Worse than being marked by Voldemort?" Ron asked, sitting down across from him.
Harry sighed and traced the embroidery lines on his comforter beside him.
"Maybe?"
Hermione knocked twice on the door and then came in, sitting next to Ron and hooking her hair back behind her ears as she caught her breath. Ron may have been very used to climbing up the stairs to his top floor room, but it always took Harry and Hermione a bit to get used to it at the beginning of the summers.
"What is it?" Hermione said, summoning a notepad and biro pen. She looked like she always did when they were facing a problem; tired, but determined.
"I did meet death," Harry said. "And Dumbledore was right. If you hold the hallows, you are the master of death."
"Right," Ron slowly said. "So, you can ask him to save Fred?"
"No," Harry said. "I am the master of death."
Both Ron and Hermione looked slightly confused, and Harry took a deep breath.
"I can choose. I can save him, right now if I wanted to. But that means becoming death, and no longer being human. Alive."
Hermione gripped her notepad tightly before smoothing the paper out with her hand. Ron blinked and sat back, scratching his head.
"You have to die again?" Ron asked.
"I think…I am already partially there," Harry said. "The mark on my chest, there's a reason it hasn't been healing."
Hermione reached out and grasped his hand, squeezing it once. Hers felt so much warmer than his, and Harry tried not to think about why that was.
"I don't understand," Ron said, glancing between the two of them. There was an undertone of fear in his voice, and Harry hated that he was adding more worry to Ron's shoulders.
"I had all the hallows when Voldemort cast the killing curse. And I should have died. But I came back. So instead of automatically becoming death, and helping other people move on, I get to choose between living the rest of my life and giving up that control, or taking control and deciding what happens to Fred," Harry explained. "Do I make him better? Do I decide to fully become death and slowly lose you and everything else?"
"Harry, do we know for sure this is real?" Hermione said, glancing between him and Ron. She reached behind Ron to the end of the bed and picked up her bag, which Harry suspected still had all the books in it from their year on the run.
"This is fucking unfair," Ron said, watching Harry carefully. "This is too much, mate."
"I know," Harry said. He stood up and picked up the yellow mug on the bedside cabinet between the beds, considering it as he turned it in his hands. Ron and Hermione flinched as Harry threw it against the wall nearest his bed; the ceramic shattering across the comforter. He let out a hiccupped breath and put his hands up on the side of his face, fingers scrunching into his hair.
Hermione, anticipating Harry's next move, cast an extremely quick reparo and drew the shards of ceramic away from Harry as he sat heavily back on the bed, head in his hands.
Ron got up and sat next to him, not missing Harry's next muttered words.
"My chest hurts."
Ron was taller and found it easy to throw his arm over Harry's shoulder, casting a worried glance toward Hermione.
"Harry," Ron started. His leg was pressed up against Harry's and Ron could probably feel through the layers of trousers that Harry's body temperature was nowhere near as warm as his.
"I just wanted a normal life," Harry said, not moving his hands and continuing to look down at the floor. His voice was strong, deflated as his body lost hold of his anger.
"Fuck this," Ron said, his large hand pulling Harry's shoulder so that he was closer. "You will. We'll tell him to fuck off and leave you alone."
"I don't think you can tell death to fuck off," Hermione said, though she smiled a little. She'd pulled a book out of her bag and was flipping through it.
"Well, if anyone can, Harry can," Ron reasoned.
Harry huffed out the tiniest laugh.
"If I do that," Harry said, "there's a chance that Fred will die."
Harry got up again, full of nervous energy, and went to the window. Outside the birds were chirping and a muggle plane flew very far overhead – the signs of a normal boring day.
"There was always that chance," Hermione said. "For any of us."
"Yeah," Harry said, over his shoulder. "But I can save him. I can make Ron's family whole again."
"Wouldn't be whole if you weren't okay, mate" Ron said.
"But..."
"No," Ron interrupted, shaking his head.
"Shouldn't we talk to your parents?" Harry asked, his hands fluttering against his legs.
"No," Ron repeated, standing up. "I don't think we can. They'll wonder for a second about saving Fred. And immediately tell you not to. But for that one second… and they'll never forgive themselves for thinking it."
Harry felt the bottom of his stomach drop out.
"Because they want him back," Harry quietly said.
"We all do, Harry," Hermione said. "But not at the cost of losing you."
Harry made a face at that and shoved his hands in his pocket, looking down at Ron's floor. There was an ugly monster inside him that reminded him he'd already given everything for the war. He'd sacrificed himself, literally, and forgone any sort of normal childhood for his entire life. And that monster was screaming at him to say to hell with everything and walk away. To take his own life back.
He'd expected more deliberation from Ron, and it was almost freeing to hear that Ron understood and wanted Harry to live. To thrive. That Ron thought Harry was just as important and deserved to have a normal life.
"I think…I think I need to make the choice now. I can't have this hanging over my head," Harry said.
"Should we do it here?" Ron asked, frowning at his tiny room. "There's not a lot of space."
"You don't have to be with me," Harry said. "It's a little unnerving talking to him."
"Maybe Grimmauld?" Hermione suggested, completely ignoring Harry.
"Yeah, good idea. That place is gloomy enough, won't ruin the cheer here to have death around," Ron answered.
Downstairs a door slammed and Hermione shoved her book back in the bag.
"That's Ginny," Ron said, nodding toward the door. They could hear someone running up the stairs, and Harry was not at all surprised that Ron could recognise his family members by how they walked, or ran, up the stairs.
"Don't tell her," Harry said. "Don't tell anyone."
"Of course," Hermione quietly said, as Ginny knocked once and then came in.
"Snape's here," Ginny said, completely unsurprised to find them holed up together. "And he's demanding to speak to Harry."
Ginny disappeared without adding anything else and Harry looked between his friends.
"There's nothing else, do you think?" Harry asked.
"There shouldn't be," Hermione said. "There weren't more horcruxes; we saw his body. He died."
"Do you think he knows about you being the master of death?" Ron asked.
"I don't think so. Dumbledore didn't tell him all the plans."
"There's a surprise," Ron huffed. "Well, let's go see what he wants."
….
It was a little funny to see Severus Snape, dressed in severe black clothing, standing in a sitting room that contained nearly every colour imaginable in fabric, paint, or wood. He looked awkward and impatient as he waited for them to come downstairs, and held a folder of papers in his hand.
"I only want to talk to Potter," Snape said, watching as they entered the room.
"Too bad," Ron said, standing next to Harry and crossing his arms. Harry hadn't realised that over the year away from Hogwarts that Ron had grown enough to be slightly taller than Snape.
Hermione rose her eyebrow a bit at Ron's response, Harry saw, but didn't say anything else and Harry supposed he wasn't surprised as of the three of them she was actually the one that had broken more rules as they'd grown up.
Snape scowled and looked like he was going to object but then decided against, opening the folder and thrusting it toward Harry.
"What is this, Potter?"
Harry squinted slightly but it only took a few seconds to recognise Percy's list. Ron and Hermione leaned forward slightly to read it.
"A list of people who have died since the battle, and in the week before."
Snape pursed his lips as if he was expecting the answer, but was also not satisfied by it.
"And are you planning on adding yourself to this list?"
"What the hell?" Ron asked, as Hermione made a surprised noise. Harry stood still, levelling a stoic look at Snape.
"I'm already there. Page two. Harry Potter, Forbidden Forest, 4.37am, 2 May 1998," Harry recited.
He could tell that Ron was now looking at him strangely, but Harry kept his focus forward as if to challenge Snape about whatever the hell this was. Upon saying the time aloud though, Harry spared a second's thought to wonder if that was why he kept waking up from sleep at that time.
"I see," Snape said.
"Is that all?" Harry asked. "I'm doing my job for Newt. I also looked up some information on death, because I wanted to see if anyone else had experienced the same I had. And no one has."
Harry was fairly certain that the stress from the impending choice he had to make was causing the throbbing pain threatening to set up behind his right eye, and the short temper in his response to Snape.
"I have… concerns, Potter," Snape said, giving Ron and Hermione side glances as if he really didn't want to say, or admit, this in front of Harry's friends.
"That he'll come back?" Harry asked. He couldn't actually decide if he cared about that at the moment. He'd already done what he was supposed to do, the noble thing, and was still dealing with the consequences.
Snape made a slightly funny face at that before shaking his head minutely, inhaling deeply, and tapping his chin with his fingers.
"That you are at risk of self-destruction."
Harry blinked a few times, annoyance deflating slightly, never expecting those words out of Snape's mouth.
"I think, maybe let's sit," Hermione said, nodding toward the couch.
Harry sat first; his brows furrowed as he tried to work out why Snape thought he was going to hurt himself. Perhaps he wasn't exactly wrong, but it seemed to come from out of nowhere, and Harry didn't think that Snape really cared that much.
The folder was placed on the coffee table and Snape flipped through it, though only Harry recognised the further pages: his notes on trying to meet death. Following his writing were notes from Snape, the scrawl rushed and untidy, but appearing to be observations of Harry when he was at the office. And finally, at the bottom, was the Archive book on death. Hermione's breath sucked in a bit at seeing it, and Harry chided himself for not having put the book away.
Snape, sitting in Mr Weasley's armchair opposite them, tapped on it.
"Why do you have this, Potter? Are you trying to tempt death? Is it an adrenaline rush you seek?"
"No," Harry said, staring down at the book. "Is this what you've been doing at Newt's office this entire time? I thought you were writing about the Death Eaters and being a spy."
"I was," Snape said. This time he was focused solely on Harry and didn't seem to acknowledge that Ron and Hermione were also there. "You did watch every memory I gave you, correct?"
"Yeah," Harry said. "I should… do you want them back?"
He patted his pocket as if to pull his wand out but realised he had nothing to keep them in anyway, and didn't actually know how to extract them. It didn't matter, as Snape had waved his hand as if to push away the offer.
"Then you remember what Dumbledore asked of me."
"Ron," Hermione said. "Let's go talk in the kitchen."
She gave him a meaningful look but Ron was hesitant to get up until Harry nodded that it was okay.
Snape seemed to relax slightly as they left, though his cheeks were still flushed from the underlying embarrassment of the conversation.
"Your promise to protect me from Voldemort," Harry said, crossing his arms. "So long as no one ever knew."
"Yes," Snape confirmed. He looked down at the files and frowned, before looking back up at Harry with dark piercing eyes.
"That includes the aftermath. I suspect you also remember how I appeared after the events of Godric's Hollow. Despite your victory, post war is a very dark time, Potter."
"I don't need a lecture on that," Harry said, feeling irritated again. Snape was a professor that had taken great pleasure in cutting him down at school, and now he had the audacity to show up at the Burrow and pretend to care about Harry's well-being after the war? "I'm fine."
"You are not," Snape said, with the extreme confidence of someone who had spent years catching Harry at lying. His eyes glanced towards Harry's chest and Harry wondered if Queenie had told him about the mark as well.
"It doesn't matter," Harry firmly said. "I will be fine and there's fuck all you can do about it."
Snape scoffed with an expression that was oddly comforting as Harry had seen it so many times during his years at Hogwarts.
"Potter, you are not fine. And I will bodily throw you over the finish line of this battle if that's what it takes."
"You don't think it's done?" Harry said, his blood running cold.
Snape stood up and pulled his sleeves down as he gathered his papers and got ready to leave.
"I am aware Mr Weasley is still in hospital," Snape said, "but as to my definition of done, I believe it will be when you, the targeted one, start to feel alive again."
….
Grimmauld Place would be the start and the end to this hellish year, Harry determinedly thought, using his wand to open the curtains and light candles in the rooms. It was bright out, sunny London spring, and Harry wanted the sitting room to look as warm as it could be. A fire roared in the hearth, and he picked up the cushions from the floor. So many months, a lifetime had passed, and their makeshift beds were still on the floor.
"I'm surprised no Death Eaters came through," Ron said.
"I think Kreacher cleaned," Harry said, running his finger along the coffee table. There was no dust, and the floors had recently been swept as well.
"Can you really clean the gloom from this place?" Hermione asked, picking up the blankets.
"It's not one of my priorities," Harry said, throwing one last pillow to the chesterfield. "Are we ready?"
"I think so," Hermione said. "We'll ask to see him, and make sure your choice is clear."
"Right," Harry said, tapping his hands against his legs. "And then this will be over."
Harry suddenly saw movement to his left and turned to see Ignotus Peverell walk through the door from the corridor.
"Is he here?" Ron asked, glancing around the room.
"Yes," Harry said, maintaining eye contact with Ignotus.
"Great," Ron nodded. "Expelliarmus!"
Harry jumped as his wand flew out of his jeans pocket, his arms reaching up to try and snatch it back. Hermione stepped back out of the way as he almost hit her, and Ron easily caught the wand, tucking it into his pocket.
"Just in case you're thinking of doing something stupid, like running to the forest alone again."
"I'm not…"
"… the master of death. Not anymore," Ron said.
"It doesn't quite work like that," Ignotus softly added.
Harry ignored him, his back tense, facing Ron and glancing up to see just how feasible it would be to try to take his wand back.
"None of us knew if we would survive this war. That's the way Fred went into it. That should be how it ends," Ron said, his voice steady and firm.
"Harry," Hermione started, calmly, eyes damp but clear of any actual tears. "It's not selfish to want to live."
Harry shook his head and turned to face Ignotus, before the lump in his throat got too strong for him to speak. He hadn't been this upset walking to face Voldemort, and Harry knew it was exactly why he'd not told Ron and Hermione he was going. And selfishly, this time it was why he had. He wanted to live.
"I'm not going to join you," Harry said. "I want… I want Fred to live. But I can't be the fate that decides it."
Ignotus nodded with a kind smile.
"I know," Ignotus said. "I knew as soon as we'd first spoken."
"If you knew all along, why did you make me choose?" Harry asked, frustrated and suddenly exhausted from the whirlwind of emotions he'd been through in such a short amount of time.
"What is the human experience if not the paths we take defined by the very choices we make? Your free will and decisions you make form the very core of your character. I knew your answer, yes, but you did not. And I could not take that power from you."
Harry swallowed roughly.
"You're not angry at my answer."
"Naturally no. I wish you a long and happy life," Ignotus said. "Just as I have for all of my descendants."
He bowed slightly and vanished before Harry could say anything else.
Harry blinked and sat heavily on the couch behind him.
"He's gone."
"He accepted the terms?" Hermione asked.
"He did. He wasn't surprised, either," Harry said, looking up at them.
"Fuckin' weird that he wasn't," Ron said. "In all the stories death is a trickster, isn't he?"
"Yes," Hermione said. "But perhaps it is because those who told the stories expected to be tricked, and so that's what they received."
"Did he say what would happen to Fred?" Ron asked.
"No," Harry answered. "He just wished me well."
"So, he's just left and not said if Fred's gonna live?"
"I guess that's the chance part, mate," Harry said. "We won't know."
"Bollocks," Ron said, kicking the foot of the couch. "Can we go home then? Place gives me the creeps."
"Yeah," Harry said, feeling a tiny bit warmer inside. He knew that Ron had always, and would likely continue to, call the Burrow home. But he also knew that Ron said it in such a way that he meant it was Harry and Hermione's too.
….
Upon arriving back Harry fell into the routine of helping prepare for the Weasley family dinner. Both Mr and Mrs Weasley were home for a change, as Bill and George were at the hospital with Fred. The mood seemed a little different, heavier, as with Mr and Mrs Weasley there it was impossible to think for a few moments that everything would be okay. The lines on their faces were deeper, the shadows under their eyes darker, and though they would smile and try to be positive for the rest of the family, Harry knew that they were still in the middle of their worst nightmare.
"Has there been any change?" Harry asked, trying for casual as he spooned mash on his plate. He steadfastly refused to make eye contact with Percy, and passed the bowl to his left.
"No," Mr Weasley tiredly said. "Molly is going to take the overnight. He's not gotten worse though."
Harry speared a bit of sausage quietly and didn't, like the rest of them, acknowledge that Fred not getting worse after a week was a very low bar.
Conversation moved toward plans for the next day, deciding who would be sitting with Fred next, and what needed to be done. Some security wards around the house still needed work, and the garden needed tending to. Mrs Weasley spoke about buying groceries, but was quickly shot down by Kreacher, who was circling the table and watching for empty dishes. It was a mark of how worn Molly Weasley was that she didn't fight his request for a list.
"Bit late for an owl," Percy suddenly said, as they watched a dark bird fight the evening wind.
Ron's fork clanged against the side of his plate as his eyes shot up to the window, causing them all to flinch.
"I think it's a Ministry owl," Mr Weasley commented, as it passed the barn. The collective breath being held was released and Harry felt, as he assumed Ron and Hermione also did, a stab of disappointment.
He'd made his decision. It didn't seem fair they'd have to wait an indeterminate time to find out about Fred.
"Hospital owls are a different breed," Charlie murmured.
Mr Weasley accepted the post in exchange for some bits of sausage and broke into a warm, but tired, smile as he read.
"They've located your parents, Hermione. They'll be coming home in three days."
"How wonderful," Mrs Weasley said, slightly too loud and overenthusiastically. "Once they're all settled we'll have to have them to visit."
Hermione pushed her plate slightly away and offered a smile back that didn't meet her eyes.
"Yes, I think I would really like that," Hermione said. Ron squeezed her shoulder before taking another bite of his dinner, and Harry couldn't help but think that this had been the roughest dinner since the first night after the battle.
….
Later that night Harry went to bed, feeling slightly restless. He changed in the room, Hermione having gone to the washroom, and frowned at the mark on his chest.
"Still there?" Ron asked, his head stuck inside his shirt as he struggled to pull it on.
"Yeah," Harry said, poking at the edges. "Maybe it's fading."
"Looks it, a little bit."
Hermione came back in, unashamedly glancing at Harry's chest.
"Hmm. Maybe we should get one of those disposable cameras, we could compare," Hermione said.
"We can in the morning," Harry shrugged. He'd thought the mark would have gone, having made his choice, but his lightning bolt scar had been permanent and Harry didn't want to think about this one being that way too. He already felt scrawny, compared to Ron, and couldn't imagine having a prospective date and taking his shirt off to reveal a dark bruise the size of a fist in the middle of his chest.
"Tomorrow let's go check on Fred," Harry said. "I don't know how long it will take for things to change, but maybe you can try irritating him awake again."
"Yeah," Ron said, grinning. Neither of them mentioned the possibility that it would go the other way, and that Fred would never wake up.
In the middle of the night, when the birds hadn't yet woken and the sky was only slightly beginning to lighten, Harry woke with a gasping breath and shot up in bed. His vision swimming, the dark orange walls mixing in with a picture in his mind of the common room and a game of gobstones in front of the fire, laughter ringing between his ears as he tried to reach for his wand.
"Agh!" He inhaled, unable to make any further noise, his chest crushing him with an invisible force.
"Rrruh," Harry gulped, his fingers white as he gripped the comforter in terror, trying to get air.
"Harry?" Ron asked, sleepily raising his head.
Harry coughed and groaned, trying to pull his shirt off but not having any success. He couldn't reach his wand and couldn't keep his feet still, moving any part of his body to get rid of the pressure.
"Harry!" Ron repeated, throwing the covers back over Hermione and nearly tripping to get out of bed. He scrambled to help, fingers accidentally scratching Harry's torso as he pulled the shirt up and off, Ron's eyes frantically searched Harry's, taking in his reddened panicked face as Harry coughed and grimaced in pain while Hermione unearthed herself from the comforter Ron had thrown over her.
"Lumos!"
The mark on Harry's chest was pulsing; expanding and contracting slightly as Harry breathed. He barely saw it, his eyes flicking closed as he coughed. Pick-up quidditch on the quidditch pitch, chasing his friends and soaring high over the Hogwarts grounds.
"Are you choking?" Ron asked, holding onto Harry's shoulders as he sat awkwardly on the bed.
"No," Harry said, voice raspy and pained. "I feel like I'm going to die."
"As a champion you'll have to dance at the ball," Seamus mocked, whilst Harry and Ron collapsed on their beds laughing.
"The fuck you are," Ron muttered, looking frantically around his room.
"Ron, it's moving," Hermione said, watching them carefully. She held a bottle of dittany loosely in her hands, dug out of her bag, still closed.
The mark on Harry's chest had started to rise, moving toward his throat. Harry could feel the squeeze of it as it moved, pressing against his throat like a giant apple had gotten stuck. Harry started coughing again, doubled over and scratching at his throat.
Sitting at Florian Fortescue's with the biggest ice cream Harry had ever seen, grinning as his friends grabbed spoons to help.
"Are you trying to get it out?" Hermione asked, leaning down to try to make eye contact, her hand clutched around Harry's ankle. He shook his head no, and then nodded.
Visiting Hagrid in mid-September, small enough that their feet didn't reach the floor from the chairs, celebrating Hermione's 13th birthday.
Ron suddenly got up and sat back down behind Harry, his long legs bracketing Harry as he pulled him back against his chest. It didn't help Harry's breathing, and Harry struggled against Ron's strong forearm that braced him. Ron's wand flew into his outstretched hand and he touched it to the black mark, his voice steady as he cast spells that Harry had never heard before.
His first real Christmas, giggling with Ron late into the night after eating too many sweets.
The mark rose again, drawing itself inward to a smaller circle as it followed the wand. Ron drew it up Harry's throat and toward his mouth. Hermione caught on quickly and conjured a bucket just in time for Harry to vomit up a black tarry substance.
Clapping as he sat in a high chair, his Mum and Dad dancing together in the kitchen.
"Any more?" Hermione gently asked, as Harry held onto the bucket and took raspy deep breaths.
His face was pale and clammy, sweat across his brow and his lips devoid of colour. Hermione vanished the bucket and conjured a few cloths, batting Harry's hand away as she wiped his mouth and his face.
"I think it's out," Ron said, looking down at Harry's chest. It was back to its regular pale colour, black hair dusted across the front, with a small plain circular scar in the centre that looked like it had healed long ago.
"Is it?" Harry asked, leaning his head back on Ron's shoulder. His chest was still heaving as he caught his breath. His vision had mostly cleared and he only saw Ron and Hermione looking worried at him, instead of any further memories.
"How do you feel?" Hermione asked.
"Better. Exhausted," Harry answered. "I felt like I was being crushed."
"Hmm," Hermione said, and Harry knew she'd have more questions later. He tried to shift a little but Ron was hesitant to let him go so Harry stayed put.
"Kept seeing memories. Happy ones."
"Sometimes Muggles talk about seeing their lives flashing before their lives, if they're in danger," Hermione offered. Harry frowned a bit, because he'd felt a weird mixture of scared and in pain, but also at peace with the memories he'd seen.
"How'd you get it out?" Harry asked. "I thought I'd have to cough it out."
"Spell mum used when we were little. Sometimes when we were sick she'd say it was better to get the stomach monster out, than calm it with magic," Ron explained.
"I wonder why it came out now," Hermione said, still watching Harry carefully. She gave him another washcloth to wipe his sweat with.
"What time is it?" Harry asked. Gooseflesh had started to appear on his arms and Ron let him up as he reached for his shirt.
"Quarter to five," Hermione answered, checking Ron's clock.
"I think I know why," Harry said, pulling the shirt on. Neither Ron nor Hermione had moved from his bed, but Harry wasn't bothered by it.
"I've been waking up at this time the whole week. Usually bad dreams, and in some of them Death was there. And I think it's because that was what time I died, during the battle."
Ron swallowed thickly and glanced between Harry and Hermione.
"So, this really must have been death leaving you," Ron said.
Harry nodded.
"And maybe why we didn't hear anything right away about Fred? After the conversation with him."
"I think we're about to," Hermione said, pointing out Ron's window. In the distance they could see a silvery white ball of light zooming toward them. Ron jumped up and ran to the window, his wide shoulders blocking most of the view as he watched the patronus come closer.
"It's Mum's," Ron said. "That's her bear."
He took off toward the door and Harry didn't even bother to put pyjama trousers on over his boxers as he staggered to follow.
"Dad!" Ron called, thundering down the stairs.
Harry leaned over and coughed a bit as they stood outside the door, still sounding like there was something slightly stuck in his throat. He shook his head when Hermione held up her wand, in offer to clear it.
"What the hell," Percy said, holding his wand alight as he opened his door. He wore a confused expression as he took in the scene.
Half a landing up, Charlie stumbled out of his room. Ron banged again on his father's door, and below, Harry was pretty sure he heard Ginny throw something at her bedroom door.
"Is there news?" Charlie asked.
"A hunch," Hermione said. "We saw a patronus arrive."
No one asked why they'd all been awake as a second later Mr Weasley opened the door, his night gown long and slightly askew on his shoulders. The smile on his face was tired, but bright.
"He's muttering in his sleep. Your Mum thinks he's waking up."
"Yes!" Ron breathed, hugging his dad. Charlie grinned and slapped the doorframe of his room out of happiness.
Harry felt lightheaded at the news, at the overwhelming feeling of relief that flooded him. He grabbed onto the banister and held tight, managing to keep himself upright. Seconds later he found himself enveloped in a hug from Ron, the crush from his friend so much warmer than the feeling of the curse leaving him.
A final door creaked open and below, through the space of the stair bannisters, George looked up at his family.
"Freddie?"
….
Lambeth, 10 May, 5:30 am
The staff at St Mungo's attempted only once to tell the Weasleys that half five in the morning was not visiting hours. They'd piled into Fred's tiny hospital room, George and their parents at the head of the bed, talking quietly to him. Fred looked a bit agitated as he kicked and twisted a bit on the bed, making noises but having trouble forming full words.
"We are not fully certain what he'll need to re-learn," the healer said, speaking to the room. "He's been asleep for just over a week, and we don't know if there's mind damage."
"What sorts of things?" Charlie asked, standing at the foot of the bed. "How to walk?"
"Potentially," the healer acknowledged. "To speak, to do magic. His personality may change."
Harry stayed at the back of the room with Hermione, and watched as Percy fidgeted, seeming more and more agitated as the healer went through the list of things that could still affect Fred as he continued to heal.
"I'm going to get some water," Harry said, pushing himself away from the wall he'd been leaning on. "Percy, could you show me where the cafeteria is?"
"I don't…" Percy started, narrowing his eyebrows.
"Yes, you do," Harry asserted, standing right beside Percy until he led them out the door.
Harry was practised enough to know that the muffliato spell he used in the room two doors down was enough to prevent anyone from understanding what they were saying.
"You're not happy," Harry said.
"I am," Percy immediately countered, crossing his arms as he leaned against the empty hospital bed in the room. "But he's not better. Better was the deal."
"We didn't have a deal," Harry countered, closing the door behind him.
"A deal for you to consider," Percy corrected, animated as he bounced back up to his feet. "To restore happiness, normality…"
"To damn myself," Harry interrupted.
"Excuse me?" Percy said, stopped as he was about to begin pacing.
"That's what killing someone does, doesn't it?" Harry asked, his hand running over the worn vinyl fabric of the back of the visitor chair in the room. "It rips someone's soul apart."
Percy remained silent as he processed Harry's words.
"Percy, how dare you ask me to murder again so soon after the last? To destroy your family once more, after my friendship brought such a target to your backs?" Harry quietly asked.
"It would not be murder," Percy slowly said. "It would be a transaction. Me for him."
"It's the same thing," Harry sighed, dropping his hand from the chair. "Would your mum not blame me all the same?"
"She wouldn't have to know."
"She'd figure it out," Harry said. "Percy, we all did things during the war that we regret. But you dying instead of Fred won't make what you did better. It's not, it isn't that tidy."
Percy looked down at the floor and rubbed his foot on a scrape mark in the flooring.
"Harry - I abandoned them. They cannot just take me back like the last three years have been nothing."
"It's not a political negotiation," Harry said, shrugging. "They're not trying to win something out of you. But I have a suggestion instead. What if those three years weren't a waste?"
"Well, they were," Percy said, slightly confused. "The Ministry is in shambles."
"Right. But you should work at the Archive with me. At Bletchley."
Percy laughed bitterly.
"I'm not qualified. You fought in a war. I pushed paperwork and supported a corrupt regime."
"Percy you were high up in the Ministry when there was a, a... what's it called."
They both turned toward the door as someone walked by and dropped something loud in the corridor.
"A coup."
"That's it. You don't think Newt would want to document that? Of course he would."
Percy sighed but at least didn't have another immediate rebuttal.
"It would still not be enough."
"Maybe you should ask them what's enough, instead of assuming and putting yourself through hell," Harry reasoned.
Percy nodded and looked like he was going to clasp Harry on the shoulder but awkwardly abandoned the move part way.
"I would appreciate perhaps a meeting with Newt," he said, clearing his throat. "And for you to, ah. Not mention my earlier proposal."
"I won't," Harry immediately replied. "It's not something I could have done anyway. I am not what you thought I was."
It was a bit of a white lie, but Harry absolutely did not want any rumours circulating, and wasn't going to tell anyone other than Ron and Hermione.
"Understood," Percy said, giving Harry a small smile.
….
Ottery St. Catchpole, One month later.
"Harry, can you take the basket of rolls out with you dear?"
"Sure, Mrs Weasley," Harry said, sticking his wand in his back pocket as he picked up the giant basket of rolls. He squinted as the sun hit his face through the kitchen window, the bright June sun beams causing scattered rainbow reflections through the kitchen.
"Ginny, are the flowers out?"
"Yes, Mum," Ginny called, jogging up the stairs.
"Make way for the chronically unbalanced!" George called, leading Fred through the kitchen with his hands on Fred's shoulders.
"Gerroff, I'm not that bad," Fred said, rolling his eyes.
George let go of him for a few seconds and Fred teetered off-kilt toward the dishes cabinet.
"Out you two," Mrs Weasley said. "The Grangers will be here any moment."
George caught his brother again by the waist and steered him through the door.
Harry grinned and followed them out, glancing back over his shoulder at Mrs Weasley. She'd been busy since the crack of dawn, scrubbing down all the surfaces in the house and making sure that it was sparkling for the Grangers. Harry and Ron had been set to the garden de-gnoming as soon as they'd woken, Ginny had been sent with Percy to set up the tables outside for their picnic, and Fred and George had been told to clean up any and all dangerous experiments from around the garden and house.
Harry didn't think they'd had many experiments left out and about, but it kept them busy and Harry knew that the manual work was useful for Fred learning how to balance himself again.
He saw Mrs Weasley smiling and singing to herself as she prepped her tray bake for the oven, her expression as bright as the kitchen. It would be a long and uneven road to recovery for Fred, but Harry was so overwhelmingly grateful that things had worked out that he couldn't express it. Instead, he just breathed in the happiness of the Weasleys and the laughter of Fred re-learning his skills.
It was the feeling he'd been hoping for at the end of the war.
"Harry! C'mon, there's time for a quick fly!" Ron called, standing by the broom shed.
"No, there isn't!" Hermione said, checking her watch. "I'm going to get them in five minutes."
"Five minutes is still time!" Harry grinned, dropping off the rolls on the table that was heaving with plates, dishes, and drinks.
"I can fly too, right?" Fred asked, wobbly as he held onto a chair at the picnic table, but sharing a lopsided grin with them all. Percy, who was standing closest to Fred, flinched and put his arms out to catch Fred if he tipped.
"Yeah," George brightly said. "Why not. Let's play 'keep Fred on his broom' and let mother kill us all."
Mr Weasley, oblivious to the brooms and the bartering, held up a list of parchment.
"I can only ask them about ten things?" Mr Weasley said. "Do you think they know anything about how aeroplanes work?"
Fin.