CHAPTER 13: FILLING THE VOID

Flashback…

"Didn't you just eat before we got back to Hogwarts, Ron?" Harry asked, glancing sideways at his best friend as they made their way down one of the quieter corridors leading towards the Hogwarts kitchen. It was only 10:30 in the morning, and lunch wouldn't be served for another two hours. The Great Hall, at this hour, would be nothing but rows of empty chairs and tables.

Ron rubbed his stomach with exaggerated wistfulness. "Yeah, I did," he admitted.

"And you're already hungry? Mate, your mum whipped up a feast before we left! I'm still stuffed!" Harry said, incredulity thick in his voice. He couldn't help but shake his head at Ron's endless appetite.

"All that talking and answering questions made me hungry again," Ron defended himself. "Besides, I'm still growing, aren't I?" he added, giving Harry a side-eye. "Annnd…" he trailed off, his voice dropping lower, more serious, "I need something to take my mind off Bill and Fred."

Harry's expression softened at the mention of Ron's fallen brothers. Bill's recent death, so soon after the loss of Fred, had been a devastating blow to the Weasley family, and it was clear that Ron was still grappling with the weight of that grief.

Ron sighed and continued, "Lunch isn't for two hours, mate. Two hours! I'll be a skeleton by then." He tried to inject a bit of humor into his voice, though his eyes betrayed the sadness he was trying to push away. "You don't want to carry me to the Great Hall when I collapse from hunger, do you?"

"You're exaggerating," said Harry, though he smiled weakly. He couldn't fault Ron for trying to distract himself. "Alright, fine. I'll watch you eat, but I'm still so full I could last until dinner."

"Dinner?!" Ron scoffed, eyes widening in mock horror. "That's madness, Harry. What are you, a troll? Come on, you and me—second breakfast, and then lunch!"

Harry gave him a bemused look. "Second breakfast? What are you, a hobbit?"

Ron raised an eyebrow. "A what?"

"Hobbit," Harry repeated with a chuckle. "Small people, like the size of house-elves, but they eat all the time. You'd like them."

Ron gave him a suspicious look. "You making that up?"

"Nope. Read The Lord of the Rings. A wizard named Tolkien wrote it. You'd love it."

"Read?" Ron grimaced at the word. "Nah, not sure about that. I've had enough reading with Hermione constantly badgering me about my assignments."

"Yeah, I know," Harry said with a sigh. "High blood pressure and diabetes, here we come."

The castle was almost unnaturally quiet for a Sunday morning, with most students either returning to their common rooms or lounging around after breakfast. The only sound was the occasional creak of the old stone beneath their feet, and the faint whoosh of a distant wind stirring through the high windows.

Their walk towards the kitchens was mostly uneventful until they nearly stumbled into Mrs. Norris, Filch's ever-vigilant cat, prowling ahead in one of the dimly lit corridors.

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered under his breath. "She's everywhere these days. I swear Filch must've given her some kind of magical upgrade after the war. You'd think he has nothing better to do."

"Let's avoid her," said Harry, instinctively backing into a nearby alcove, his eyes scanning for any movement further down the hall. "Last thing we need is to get hauled up to Filch's office. I didn't come back to Hogwarts to explain why I was sneaking to the kitchens like we're first years again."

Ron snorted. "I'll never understand why Filch thinks he's in charge of discipline anyway. It's not even in his job description. He's just looking for an excuse to make someone scrub the trophy room without magic."

Harry cursed under his breath. "Wish I'd brought the Marauder's Map."

With a few quick detours—each one involving another close encounter with Mrs. Norris, who seemed to have developed an unnerving sixth sense for trouble—they eventually reached the Entrance Hall. Ron shot Harry a smug look as they managed to slip past the cat without getting caught.

They paused for a moment, scanning the wide, open space for any signs of life before making a beeline for a small, inconspicuous stairway near the entrance to the Great Hall. Once they were sure no one was watching, they slipped down the narrow staircase, descending into the quiet corridor that led to the kitchens.

They came to a stop in front of a large painting of a bowl of fruit, standing shoulder to shoulder. Ron reached out to tickle the pear, but Harry grabbed his hand at the last moment.

"Wait," Harry said quietly. "Let's not forget who we owe this little trick to."

Ron grinned, understanding immediately. "Fred and George," he said softly, his voice full of warmth and nostalgia. "Always."

Harry smiled in return, a brief but powerful memory of the twins lighting up the Hogwarts corridors with laughter flickering in his mind. The loss of Fred was still fresh for them all, but moments like this—where they could remember him with a smile rather than tears—were precious.

Harry smiled and released Ron's hand, watching as his friend reached out to tickle the pear on the large painting. The fruit squirmed and let out a high-pitched, childish giggle before morphing into a green doorknob. With a swift turn, Ron opened the door to the Hogwarts kitchen.

The moment they stepped inside, a flurry of activity surrounded them. House-elves bustled to and fro, balancing trays of food and utensils, while others tended to large, bubbling cauldrons over fires. But when the elves noticed Harry and Ron, everything halted. A sea of wide eyes and anxious whispers rose from the crowd of tiny creatures. They bowed and curtsied repeatedly as the pair made their way through the kitchen.

"Blimey," Ron muttered under his breath, looking around. "You'd think they've never seen us before."

Harry chuckled. He was used to the reverence by now, especially from the house-elves. Ever since word had spread about his defeat of Voldemort, their admiration had only deepened. And the story of how he had treated Dobby in his final moments had become almost legendary among the elves, further cementing their adoration for him. Harry, however, always felt a twinge of guilt when he remembered Dobby's sacrifice, a wound that hadn't quite healed.

As they moved further into the room, a familiar figure pushed through the crowd of house-elves, a battered locket swaying around its neck. Harry immediately recognized the elf, his old companion from Grimmauld Place, and a small smile touched his lips.

"Kreacher," Harry greeted warmly as the elf bowed deeply in front of him. The elf's loyalty, once held only by that cursed locket, was now fully his.

"Master Harry Potter, Kreacher is here at your service," the house-elf said, his voice still gravelly but laced with pride. He stood taller than Harry remembered, though the years hadn't softened the lines etched on his ancient face.

"How are you, Kreacher?" Harry asked, his tone genuinely concerned. He knew the elf had been through a lot during the war.

"Kreacher is good, Master Harry. Kreacher is fine," Kreacher replied, bowing again. But then he hesitated, a look of longing crossing his face. "But Kreacher would much rather be at his mistress's house. Grimmauld Place feels... empty without Master there. If Master Harry permits, Kreacher would return."

Harry sighed softly, understanding the elf's feelings. "I know, Kreacher. I want to go back too. But it's not safe yet. Death Eaters and others could still be watching the place. We can't take the risk."

Kreacher bowed once more, this time slower. "Kreacher understands. Kreacher will wait until Master says the time is right."

There was a pause, and Harry placed a reassuring hand on the elf's shoulder. "We'll return to Grimmauld Place one day, Kreacher. I promise. But for now, I actually need your help, and the other house-elves too."

The mention of help caused the other house-elves to perk up, hopeful expressions lighting their faces. Harry smiled at the sudden shift in energy.

Kreacher's eyes glinted with purpose. "Kreacher is ready, Master Harry. What does Master require?"

Harry turned and gestured to Ron, who was already eyeing the kitchen with hungry anticipation. "Well, for one thing, Ron here is starving."

Ron grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, haven't eaten since breakfast. Got a bit... distracted."

Kreacher raised his hand in a determined gesture. "Say no more, Master Harry. Kreacher will see to it immediately." He turned to the other house-elves. "Prepare the best meal for Master Harry's friend at once!"

In a flurry of movement, the house-elves sprang into action. Harry and Ron followed Kreacher to a small table set apart from the main kitchen area, and before they knew it, the table was piled high with steaming cakes, sandwiches, pastries, and a jug of iced pumpkin juice.

Ron wasted no time. He dove into the spread, tearing into a large sandwich with relish. "Now this," he mumbled through a mouthful, "this is what I call a feast!"

Harry poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice and took small sips, his mind still lingering on the conversation with Kreacher. It had been so long since Grimmauld Place was a safe refuge, and he missed it. Despite its grim past, it had been their home, their base, for so long during the war. He silently vowed to return one day.

Kreacher, who had been watching Harry closely, stepped forward. "Master Harry does not eat?" he inquired.

Harry shook his head, smiling. "No, Kreacher, I'm fine. I'll wait for lunch."

"Very well, Master Harry," Kreacher said, bowing low once again. "If you need anything, Kreacher is at your service."

With that, Kreacher and the other elves left to prepare the grand feast for the rest of the school. Harry leaned back in his chair, his eyes scanning the kitchen. The air was thick with the rich, savory smells of roasting meats and baking bread. Despite the early hour, the elves were already hard at work preparing the lunch that would soon fill the Great Hall.

"I wonder what lunch'll be like today," Ron mused between bites, clearly already thinking ahead.

Harry chuckled softly. "Probably something just as good as this. Hogwarts food never disappoints, does it?"

Ron swallowed another mouthful of cake and nodded vigorously. "Yeah, I'd wager no other boarding school has food this good."

Harry took another sip of his drink, his gaze distant as he thought about everything that had led them here. Hogwarts had been through so much, yet the heart of the school—the kitchens, the magic, the warmth—remained untouched. It was comforting, in a way, that some things never changed.

As Ron continued to eat, Harry found himself smiling again, feeling a sense of peace that had been elusive for so long. Whatever dangers still lurked outside the walls of Hogwarts, here, at least, he could find a fleeting moment of calm. Hogwarts was home. And for now, that was enough.

Ron was still devouring the food with his usual enthusiasm, which made Harry chuckle. Deciding he might as well join in, Harry reached for a pumpkin pastry and took a small bite. The warm, spiced filling was comforting, reminding him of simpler times.

"You're sure you're not hungry, Harry?" Ron asked, his mouth still half-full of food. Bits of bread and crumbs flew out as he spoke, landing on Harry's shirt.

Harry wiped the crumbs away with a slight grimace. "No, I'm good. But please, don't talk with your mouth full, Ron."

Ron quickly swallowed, his ears reddening in embarrassment. "Sorry, mate."

Harry shook his head, smiling fondly as he finished the pastry in his hand. He could never stay irritated with Ron for long. It was part of who he was—a bit messy, a bit careless, but always loyal.

The two finally left the kitchen around ten minutes past noon, stepping into the bright Entrance Hall. Just as they were about to head towards the Great Hall for lunch, a familiar voice called out to them.

"There you are!"

It was Hermione, striding purposefully toward them, her expression a mix of mild annoyance and relief. "I've been looking everywhere for you two!" she said, slightly breathless when she reached them. "Where have you been? No, wait—don't tell me you sneaked into the kitchen again?"

Ron scratched the back of his head, giving her a sheepish grin. "Well... we might have, yeah."

"Ron wanted a second breakfast," Harry added with a smirk, knowing it wouldn't take long for Hermione to react.

Hermione crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at Ron. "Second breakfast? What are you, a hobbit now?"

"That's exactly what I said!" Harry exclaimed, his eyes wide with mock surprise.

"Alright, alright, enough with the hobbit jokes," Ron grumbled, looking between his two friends. "What's so important that you needed to find us, Hermione?"

Hermione sighed but softened her stance. "I was coming to ask if you both wanted to have lunch with me, but it seems like you've already eaten..."

"Ron's the one who ate," Harry quickly pointed out, raising an eyebrow at Ron. "I was just there to keep him company. But, as Ron was saying earlier, he's still got room for lunch. Isn't that right, Ron?"

Ron, catching Harry's drift, nodded enthusiastically. "Absolutely! Loads of room left." He patted his stomach for emphasis. "Could eat a whole feast."

Hermione rolled her eyes, though her lips twitched in a reluctant smile. "Honestly, Ron. Well, come on then. Let's go before all the good food's gone."

With that, she turned and made her way toward the Great Hall, her footsteps quick and determined as always. Harry and Ron exchanged amused looks before hurrying to catch up with her. As they walked, Harry couldn't help but feel a sense of normalcy wash over him. For a moment, it felt like old times—just the three of them, facing whatever came their way together.

Harry's mind drifted as he sat at the Gryffindor table, pushing a boiled potato around his plate. The familiar clatter of cutlery and chatter from the Great Hall buzzed around him, but his thoughts were elsewhere—on Ginny.

He couldn't shake the hollow feeling that had crept into their relationship. Even after all they had been through, especially with the war behind them, something had shifted. Her smile, once so warm and full of energy, seemed distant now. And that fleeting look she'd given him just now, without even a nod or acknowledgment, stung more than he wanted to admit.

"Hey, you alright?" Ron's voice cut through his thoughts as he shoveled more food onto his plate. "You've barely touched your food."

Harry blinked and looked at Ron, then down at his own plate. "Yeah... yeah, I'm fine," he muttered, though the tone in his voice made it clear he wasn't.

Hermione, seated across from them, glanced up, catching the exchange. Her brow furrowed as she carefully put down her fork. "Harry, is this about Ginny?" she asked softly, her voice filled with understanding.

Harry hesitated before nodding. "She's been... different. Ever since we got back. I thought things would go back to normal, or at least start to, but..." He trailed off, staring into his goblet of pumpkin juice. "It's like she's avoiding me."

Hermione exchanged a quick glance with Ron, then sighed. "Ginny went through a lot last year, Harry. More than we can imagine. She's probably dealing with things in her own way."

"But she won't even talk to me," Harry added, frustration creeping into his voice. "I just want to know what's going on, but every time I try, she shuts me out."

"Maybe she just needs time," Ron offered, though he looked a bit uncomfortable. "You know how she can be. Stubborn as anything. She'll come around."

Harry exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair. "I hope you're right."

Hermione placed a hand on Harry's arm, her gaze steady. "You two will figure it out. Just give her space, but let her know you're there. Sometimes it's hard to talk about the things that hurt most."

He nodded, though his heart still felt heavy. He knew he needed to talk to Ginny, to figure out what was really going on, but the uncertainty gnawed at him. He took another sip of pumpkin juice, trying to shake off the weight that had settled in his chest.

"Right," Ron chimed in, breaking the somber mood. "Let's not dwell on this now. There's a huge Quidditch match next week, and I need you both in top form." He grinned, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

Harry managed a small smile. "Yeah, wouldn't want to miss that."

For now, he'd have to focus on what he could control. The rest—Ginny, their relationship, everything—would have to wait. But he knew that conversation was coming, and soon.

The trio finished their meal in companionable silence, the weight of Harry's thoughts hanging in the air but unspoken for now. As they left the Great Hall, Ron and Hermione began chatting about the upcoming Quidditch match, but Harry's mind remained elsewhere. His eyes wandered across the grounds as they made their way toward the common room.

The castle was quieter these days. Fewer students roamed the corridors compared to years past. And though the walls still stood strong, holding centuries of memories within them, the events of the war had left scars—some visible, others buried deep within the hearts of those who had survived.

Harry couldn't help but feel the emptiness left behind by so many who didn't return. Fred, Remus, Tonks, and so many others. Even now, the names haunted him in quieter moments, whispering through his mind like ghosts. Ginny, too, had lost so much. Maybe that was part of it. Maybe her grief was different from his, something he couldn't quite reach or understand.

As they climbed the stairs toward Gryffindor Tower, Harry realized he had been silent for far too long. Ron and Hermione had gone quiet as well, as if sensing his need for space. The Fat Lady's portrait swung open, and they entered the cozy common room, the familiar warmth of the crackling fire greeting them.

Hermione settled down into one of the armchairs, pulling out a book, while Ron flopped onto the sofa, his legs stretched out lazily. Harry lingered near the window, gazing out at the twilight that now bathed the grounds in a soft, fading glow.

"Harry," Hermione said gently, not looking up from her book, "I know you're worried about Ginny, but maybe you should talk to her tomorrow. Give her some space tonight."

Harry nodded, though he wasn't entirely sure he could wait. He wanted to fix things, to understand what had caused the rift between them. But Hermione was right—pushing Ginny now might only drive her further away.

"I guess you're right," he muttered. "I'll give her some time."

Ron, who had been staring at the ceiling, chimed in. "Ginny's always been tough, mate. She'll come around. Just don't pressure her."

Harry appreciated their advice, but it didn't ease the tightness in his chest. He needed answers, and waiting wasn't his strong suit.

After some time, the common room grew quieter as students headed to bed. Hermione was engrossed in her reading, and Ron had dozed off, his head tilted back and snoring lightly. Harry glanced at the clock. It was late, but something compelled him to stay awake.

Unable to resist any longer, he stood up and made his way toward the portrait hole. "I'll be back in a bit," he whispered to Hermione, who gave him a knowing look but said nothing.

Harry slipped out into the corridor, his footsteps echoing softly in the stillness of the castle. He didn't know exactly where he was going, but his feet seemed to guide him toward the seventh floor. As he reached the familiar tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, he stopped. The Room of Requirement. It had been a place of refuge before. Maybe it could help him now.

He paced back and forth, thinking of Ginny, of the distance between them, of his need to understand. After a few moments, the door appeared, and Harry stepped inside.

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