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Chapter Text

Friday 9 July 2010

Harry James Potter was walking through the Great Hall as if in vigil. He could almost see the bodies that had been placed there two months earlier, after what people now called the Battle of Hogwarts, as if it had been only yesterday. The grief somehow stronger, the guilt slightly less so, though that too was still there. He wondered if perhaps the guilt had lessened simply because he was so tired, so excruciatingly fatigued after having given the Wixen World everything — shouldn’t it be enough now that he’d given his life? Still, part of him insisted that nothing would ever be enough, that he owed them somehow, for whatever reason. That they needed him to do more. That he couldn’t let them down. He wasn’t even sure why. Probably a complex of some sort. A Mind Healer might’ve been able to explain it, but whenever Hermione brought it up he quickly brushed her off.

Most of the time he felt rather numb. Apathetic. He hid it well, he knew, he was always good at hiding his pain. Especially now. Snape’s disastrous attempt at teaching Harry Occlumency hadn’t been entirely unsuccessful after all; he had worked on it throughout their Horcrux hunt, with much more motivation than before. Emptying his mind, building walls, locking things away, finding ways of keeping Voldemort out. It had been harder to keep himself out of Voldemort’s mind though, not that he was sure why. It was only after Dobby’s death that he had managed that at all. Had it been Voldemort underestimating Harry’s Legilimency skills despite him not even being a Legilimens? Having had a piece of the noseless megalomaniac’s soul within him since the age of 1 had probably made it much harder to stop the onslaught of images and emotions when Voldemort was overwhelmed by strong feelings — like murderous glee or murderous rage, which had seemed to be his only two settings, really. 

Harry was glad he’d seen the part of Voldemort that had been inside himself dying, glad to have had the visual of it, it was just that he wasn’t sure whether or not he himself should have perhaps died too.

So Harry went through the motions, doing his best to appear alright. Laughing and smiling when that was required. And he was holding it together.

He’d joined several others, both professionals and volunteers — including most of the DA, in rebuilding Hogwarts over the summer and was truly happy with that decision. Or at least it felt like it was the right choice when all choices generally felt like too much. Not only did it mean taking part in the process of healing the only place he had really felt truly at home, but the manual and magical labour kept him from thinking too much while simultaneously exhausting his body and mind enough that he could mostly fall asleep at night. Sure, he would still wake up from the nightmares at times, but compared to the time shortly after the Battle, when he’d been shut up in Ron’s room at the Burrow in a constant sleepless daze and barely touched any food at all, his mind totally shut off, this was completely manageable.

Harry walked over to where the Gryffindor table usually stood. They were close to finishing the rebuilding now, and Hogwarts itself had helped (Harry had felt it the whole time, felt its hurt and its determination to heal), but most of the furniture wouldn’t be set up until the actual building was done. McGonagall had told them all at the start that some parts of the rebuilding, including the interior and the wards, would be left to the Hogwarts professors and a team of goblin ward specialists. Ron had barely questioned this in passing before Hermione started lecturing them on the special magic of old wixen spaces and how Hogwarts’ magic was even more special because of all the wixes who had occupied it over the centuries. Ron, though not listening, had smiled fondly at Hermione throughout her ramblings. Harry had actually listened and surprised himself by finding it fascinating.

Not everyone had been a part of the rebuilding the entire time; some had dropped by for a week or two, some a couple of days each week, some had been there the first month, while others had joined later. Ron had joined Hermione in her search for her parents in Australia, taking a fortnight’s pause in the middle of June. Harry, however, had been there since the beginning. After a week holed up in Ron’s room, Fred and George had carried him between them out of the house and made him help them rebuild the shed, forcing a hammer and a screwdriver into his hands to have him show them how to work the tools. Being outside and moving had cleared his mind enough that when McGonagall had owled them about the rebuilding of Hogwarts he’d sent the owl right back to offer his help. Ron, Hermione, and Fred and George had immediately volunteered as well, and in the end all the Weasleys, even Percy, spent at least a week at the site.

In the beginning he had spent most days’ lunch breaks learning how to neatly put on nail polish by Luna, then decorating each other’s nails in all the colours of the rainbow. It would always be a little chipped by the end of the day, even with the protective charms, but neither cared about that. Luna had said “that’s not the point of it anyway” in her dreamy voice when Harry had voiced this thought.

Seeing Luna doing her own nails one of the first days, Harry had remembered Uncle Vernon’s enraged shouting about “shirt-lifters” and “bumboys” the second someone on the telly were anything less than hyper-masculine or they had walked past a colourfully clothed man with every nail painted in different colours (Harry had loved it, but was too clever to actually say so), and the memory had pushed him to ask Luna to show him how to do it. It had turned out to be quite fun. The days when Harry’s hands were too shaky to even attempt the nail polish, Luna would make small braids in his rapidly growing hair while Harry did his best to eat some of the food they were provided. He may also have caught himself looking at Charlie Weasley’s muscles as he moved about the place, and one of the male curse-breakers’ too (his name was Elliot), once or twice. He wasn’t ready to deal with that just yet, but he did notice it. He knew people were staring at him too, but he was used to that, and ignored it as well as he could.

Harry recognised some of the other wixes, most of the Order that survived the war was there and he knew Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson were there with a few other Slytherins. He’d seen Blaise Zabini once as he was moving through the castle to a different location, and Zabini had managed to make him blush by giving him a grin and a wink. He’d moved quickly after that. Harry hadn’t actually seen Malfoy, but Luna had told him that Malfoy had asked the ministry to let him help with the rebuilding as part of his probation, that he had been taken directly to Hogwarts after his sentencing and was staying there all summer. He wasn’t sure how Luna even knew this, but she had always seemed to just know things, so he didn’t question it, he simply accepted her knowledge.

In fact, Harry hadn’t seen Malfoy at all since he had testified at his and his mother’s trials; the memory of a gaunt and beaten down Malfoy in Azkaban robes still made Harry’s gut twist in a way he himself didn’t fully comprehend. He couldn’t have been in Azkaban for much longer than a week, but going straight from having the noseless megalomaniac in his ancestral home for a couple of years to the Battle and then to Azkaban had clearly taken its toll. 

He had barely reacted to Harry’s presence, tensing visibly when Harry had told the court he would be speaking in his defence, but not raising his head. In fact, Malfoy had only looked at him once, when Harry told the Wizengamot ‘Draco Malfoy is no more a death eater than I am’, and just as the shock in his eyes gave way to some other unrecognisable feeling he had quickly looked down once more. At his mother’s trial the next day he’d looked just as gaunt, though in his own more fashionable robes and properly showered he looked more like the Malfoy Harry knew, but this time he pointedly ignored Harry throughout the whole thing; wearing that mask of bored indifference, only barely slipping up during the sentencing. It had annoyed Harry more than he wanted to have to admit, so instead he locked it away in the back of his mind with everything else.

“Harry.”

Hermione put an end to his vigil, giving him a sad knowing look as she grabbed him by the arm, clearly determined to not just pull him out of the Great Hall but also the past. Harry gave a column a pat as they left the hall, as if Hogwarts was a large dog he wanted to comfort.

When they moved out into the sun he could clearly see how close they were to finishing it. A part of him had dreaded this day. They were supposed to use another few days to actually finish the rebuilding, but Ron and Hermione were having their engagement party the next day, which was apparently a big deal in the Wixen World, and since they wanted Charlie and Bill to be there they hadn’t had many dates to choose from.

Harry was happy for his best friends, but the thought of leaving Hogwarts had been so unbearable that he almost refused to give up those last days.

While Hermione was returning to take her NEWTs, he and Ron had been invited by Kingsley Shacklebolt, now Minister for Magic, to join the Auror Academy without theirs and they were starting in August. Ron had been excited, but Harry felt faintly nauseous every time he thought of it. He had accepted the invitation though. He knew people would be disappointed if he didn’t, even if Hermione had tried to convince them to get their NEWTs first. And there wasn’t much else he particularly wanted to do.

They had decided it would be more convenient for the three of them to move to Grimmauld Place together, since it would make it easier for him and Ron to get to the Academy every day, and Hermione would join them until she went back to Hogwarts.

The plan, therefore, was for Ron and Harry to take her to King’s Cross on the 1st of September, where they’d meet up with the Weasleys and say goodbye to her, Ginny, and Luna, and just the thought gave Harry a painful feeling in his chest.

So when Hermione dragged him across the lawn to where the Weasleys were gathering to leave, he felt like a piece of him was left inside the castle.

Chapter Text

Saturday 10 July 2010

“Oi! Harry, you in there?”

Ron pounded on the bathroom door like he thought Harry might’ve drowned in the shower, making Harry jump in surprise and nearly choke on a mouthful of water. He spat and coughed, trying to clear his airways before attempting to speak.

”Fucking hell, Ron, can’t you wait until I’m done?” Harry finally managed to reply, feeling thoroughly annoyed that he’d had his shower interrupted. 

He enjoyed showering, letting the water rush over him and taking the dirt that somehow felt ingrained in his skin after their Horcrux hunt with it, the sound of the water clearing his mind as well as cleaning his body. The only times he’d ever really had the opportunity to enjoy his showers were at the Burrow, and even here you couldn’t exactly spend forever under the water. He had big plans for his future bathroom.

“Language, mate! You need to be done quick. Guests are arriving soon and mum’s really grating on Hermione’s nerves, and if you don’t come and give either of them something else to focus on I’m worried they’ll both bloody explode.”

Ron sounded actually worried. Hermione would’ve usually just left things to Mrs. Weasley, of course, but seeing as this was her and Ron’s engagement party she had wanted the two of them to actually be the ones in charge. 

Mrs. Weasley meant well, they all knew she meant well and they all loved the woman, but she had a way of just barrelling in like a hippogriff, ignoring everyone else’s ideas and wishes, and taking control of everything. Hermione had tried to politely rein her in, but it had made no difference. The only things that seemed to work were someone distracting Mrs. Weasley or Harry making his best friends’ wishes for their own engagement party appear to have been Mrs. Weasley’s own ideas. 

Harry’s strategy was something he had started doing while living with the Dursley’s. It didn’t always work, of course. He had learned that the hard way.

“‘Language’? You sound like your mum, mate. And besides, you swear just as much as I do.” Ron huffed on the other side of the door, not denying either statement. Harry sighed deeply, but accepted Ron’s plea nonetheless. “Fine, I’ll come as soon as I can. Just... try stalling her until I come down.”

“How??” Ron replied, clearly still panicking.

“I dunno, ask her about the table napkins. Actually, suggest using paper instead of cloth, she’ll hate the idea.” 

Harry had overheard her confessing her hatred for paper napkins a month earlier, as she was talking to a wix he didn’t know during lunch at Hogwarts. At the time he thought it strange, considering the number of children she had, but he supposed magic made them easy to clean and meant not having to worry about buying new napkins all the time.

“Okay, mate, but just... just hurry! We need you!” 

Ron stomped back down the stairs, finally leaving Harry to finish up.

Sighing again, Harry stepped out of the shower, put his glasses back on, and used his wand to dry off, catching sight of himself in the mirror before moving quickly across the hall to Ron’s bedroom wearing only a towel. The time spent rebuilding Hogwarts had given him slightly more defined muscles in addition to deepening his natural tan, but he was still quite... small. He was both skinny and short, as he always had been, though not really abnormally short. 165 cm was perfectly average, surely. Especially considering he was half Indian and grew up in a cupboard. He knew he wasn't taller than Ginny, but then again she was quite tall for a witch, wasn’t she?

The thought of Ginny made him pause in the middle of pulling on a shirt. She’d given him a tentative hug after they started on the Weasleys’ shed, telling him it was good to see him outside, but walked away before he could bring himself to say anything to her. He wasn’t sure what to even say. He knew things had changed, and not just his understanding of his own sexuality (which he frankly hadn’t understood at all at that point), but he was having a hard time putting it in words and somehow felt too guilty to try, which meant he ended up avoiding her. 

Ginny seemed to understand though. She had given him space and tried to make their interactions as pleasant as possible. 

Harry dressed in his better black dress robes, lined with maroon and with silver clasps. Hermione had bought them for him when he couldn’t stomach facing the crowds of Diagon Alley. He thought about doing something more with his hair other than running his hands through it and away from his face, but thought better of it — it was long and heavy enough that it didn’t stand up, just about reached his shoulders, and anything else would take too long — and headed downstairs after Ron. Perhaps he’d ask Luna to add two small French braids over one of his ears like she’d done that one time at Hogwarts. He’d liked that. 

The engagement party was a lavish affair, as much as anything at the Burrow could be labelled as lavish. Harry had asked once what the big deal was, not having much experience with weddings in general (he had only ever been to one, and that hadn’t exactly been a normal wedding what with the Ministry being overthrown in the middle of it), and Hermione had rushed into a long explanation about the history of the ritual, etc, etc. 

In essence, the most commonly used wedding bond ritual (and this was a wedding bond, not a soul bond) actually started at the engagement party and was then completed on the wedding day, so the engagement party was more like the first part of the wedding, and when you asked someone to marry you you would exchange bronze courting rings rather than silver engagement rings, in most cases.

There could be anything from a couple of months to a year between the engagement party and the wedding, but with Hermione at Hogwarts and Ron at the Auror Academy they’d decided on a winter wedding just before New Years. It would give them something to look forward to while away from each other, was what Hermione said.

Ron had proposed to Hermione soon after the Battle, seeing no point in waiting any longer than they already had when he’d known for a long time that she would always be it for him. Harry had been more than happy for them when they finally told him, his friends deserved this. They deserved their happily ever after. They didn’t tell him until after he had finished with the shed, apparently too worried about his state of mind, but he’d assured them that he was alright, just working some stuff through. Or avoiding it, his mind offered. Oh well.

Harry found Mrs Weasley standing in the garden, one hand on her hip and the other gesticulating wildly in the air as she expressed upon her youngest son the importance of cloth napkins. He didn’t need to actually hear her to know that, but as it happened he could hear her before he even left the house. It seemed to have worked as a distraction though, as Hermione was flitting about the tent behind them making sure everything was in place and hadn’t been changed while she’d had her back turned. Mrs Weasley didn’t notice Harry until he was right next to her.

“Harry dear,” she said, her hands thrown up in clear exasperation. “Would you tell Ron that it would be preposterous to use paper napkins at such an important event? We are not trolls!” 

Harry had to work to hold back his laugh and feign an innocently supportive expression.

“Oh absolutely, Mrs Weasley. Besides, the lovely periwinkle blue ones you picked out are already laid out, aren’t they?” 

He looked vaguely in the direction of the tent with a purposely bemused expression before looking back at her and Mrs Weasley beamed at him, blissfully unaware that she had been tricked into suggesting them in the first place. Her first suggestion had been a set of old once-white frilly things they’d inherited from some great great aunt or something of the sort. Truly hideous. Ron and Hermione had been thoroughly impressed by Harry’s work, Hermione saying it was impossible for Mrs Weasley to argue against him and his big innocent green eyes. Now Ron gave him a wicked grin from behind his mother before striding over to his fiancée.

“I’ve told you to call me Molly, Harry dear. You’re family, it’s only right”, she said softly as she cupped his face with both her hands. Despite now being taller than her (thank Merlin), it still made him feel like a child when she did this, but more than that it made him feel like he was her child, and that was a good feeling.

“Of course, Molly. It’s just, y’know, habit,” he replied with a shrug, but gave her a fond smile. “Do you need any help with the food? It seems everything out here is ready, you’ve done a wonderful job.”

“You are a sweetheart”, she said as she patted his cheek. “You can help move it to the tent.”

She turned, and Harry followed her to the kitchen, where there was such a vast amount of food you would think she was feeding all of Britain. While carefully levitating dish after dish to the buffet table in the tent Harry couldn’t help but think how lucky he was to have them all, especially now. It would’ve been so easy for him to completely fall apart after the battle. Well, he pretty much had, absolutely had, but they hadn’t given up on him. They’d given him space, yes, but not for too long. They hadn’t let him hide more than a few days before they pushed him out of his cocoon of guilt and grief and misery. He still felt broken and numb, with his magic a constant itch on his skin, but he was functioning and that was something.

No sooner had he thought this before several of the pitchers of water he was currently levitating exploded in the air in front of him. Hermione barely managed to magically catch the ones that hadn’t exploded before they fell to the ground, as Harry had frozen at the sudden noise. Not fully functioning then...

“What happened, Harry?” she asked, her concern clear on her face. She quickly sent the pitchers she’d saved to the tent and then took Harry’s shaking hands (he hadn’t even noticed he was shaking until then) in her own. “Are you alright?”

Taking a few deep breaths, Harry gave her an unsteady smile. 

“Yeah, sorry, I’m fine. Not sure what happened, maybe I wasn’t paying enough attention. Don’t know why that was the result though.” He managed a weak laugh and looked down at his wand, still clutched in his shaky hand, which in turn was held loosely in Hermione’s darker one. She looked down at it as well, with a slight frown.

“You don’t think... It’s not the wand, you think?”

Hermione got terribly thoughtful every time they mentioned his wand, as if it was a puzzle she was trying to figure out. After the battle Harry had used the Elder Wand to fix his own Holly one, and Hermione had looked confused, and like she wanted to say something. Then, in a move so uncharacteristic for Hermione that it had been Harry’s turn to look confused, she’d said nothing. He was still waiting for her to burst out with whatever it was.

Now he looked at her face closely before he answered her, keeping his voice deliberately light.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. Like I said, I must’ve been too distracted, you know how I get.”

She gave him a look that told him quite plainly that she didn’t believe him for a second, but in the end let it go with a sigh. He wasn’t exactly lying though. He didn’t think it was the wand, and he was distracted. He had a tendency to be distracted. Maybe it had to do with the years spent in a cupboard without much entertainment, but he had always let his mind wander a lot, telling himself stories or simply disappearing into his own mind. 

And he could tell his magic was different, somehow. Feeling it on his skin like an itch was new, and sometimes his magic would fizz and crackle in a way. It could be the wand, but he doubted it. He had died and come back. Ron and Hermione didn’t fully believe him, but he knew he had, and it might have done something to his magic. He hadn’t shared his worries though. Instead he locked it away, only taking it out late at night sometimes to ponder it.

“Fine,” she said with a huff. “Could you help me clean this up?”

She squeezed his hands before letting go and he pushed his glasses further up his nose as he replied, realising they too had cracked.

“Of course! Your Reparo skills are far better than mine though, so maybe you do that and I’ll refill them.”

Hermione chuckled at the compliment and flicked her wand at his glasses before doing the same to the crushed glass pitchers.

“One of these days you need to have your eyes checked, Harry. If you don’t do it on your own, I will,” she threatened, though the words were softened with a smile.

“My eyes are fine, ‘Mione.”

He pushed at his glasses again, quite unnecessarily. He knew Hermione meant what she said, and it was far from the first time she’d said it.

She gave him such an unimpressed look in response to his statement that he couldn’t help but laugh before making his way back to the house to refill the pitchers. This time he carried them the muggle way.

)o(

Later that night, Harry walked around the garden drinking wine and watching the guests.

He wasn’t particularly comfortable with crowds, but they were all people he knew, with very few exceptions, and the Weasleys had taken great care not to let any reporters in, with the help of Kingsley. 

Andromeda had been there too, though not for long, and Harry had made sure he got to talk to her and say hello to his sleeping godson. He hadn’t seen her since Remus and Tonks’ funeral, but they had written back and forth since then. Harry had apologised for not doing more for her husband and daughter, and expressed his wish to be a part of Teddy’s life. He had expected scorn, or at the very least blame, for his part in tearing her family asunder. Andromeda, however, despite her own grief and fatigue, had reprimanded him; had told him it was not his responsibility to protect them and that they had been adults, that what had happened was terrible, but they had known that could be the result from very early on. 

“We have both lost a lot, Harry,” she had said afterwards, in a softer voice. “But I hope that we can be family, for each other and for Teddy.”

She had never looked less like Bellatrix than in that moment, Harry had thought as she gave him a quick hug, and squeezed his hand before walking away. Two days later she had written to him, told him about Teddy and asked what his plans for the summer was. He had replied the same day, sending his letter back with her owl Perseus, told her about rebuilding Hogwarts. 

Now he was set to visit her and Teddy in a few days, his very first visit. He wanted to tell her about his plans for Grimmauld Place, that he wanted to make it so that they could both come stay there any time. He hadn’t mentioned Grimmauld Place in the letter, worried she might have bad memories of the house, but now the hope that they might come stay with him some time overshadowed the worry. As he made his way through the garden he was looking forward to getting to know them both.

It had been a beautiful day — the preliminary wedding ritual had been performed by a beautifully decorated stone altar in the middle of the tent and Harry had surprisingly enough found it fascinating as well as emotional (something about the raw traditional magic of the ceremony was just so captivating), the food had been magnificent (naturally), and the company had been comfortable. Everyone were still grieving those they had lost, but seemed ready to celebrate something good, something hopeful and full of love; the promise of future happiness.

Harry was happy for them, he truly was, but he couldn’t help feeling like they were all moving on except from him. He still felt stuck in the war somehow. He made an effort though. Or at least he put on a good show of it.

As he moved through the crowd toward the house he saw Hermione and Ron laughing and dancing in their simple traditional robes (according to Hermione they were meant to be light to symbolise the purity of their love, and simple to show their readiness to take on the commitment, that it had nothing to do with virginity or anything silly like that), Dean and Seamus were snogging in a corner of the tent (they never had been particularly concerned about PDA), and Charlie met Harry’s eyes when he quickly turned away from them and gave him a wink that made Harry grateful for the dimmed lights and his own tan’s ability to hide the flush he felt spreading across his face. 

Fred and George were doing a dramatic tango (despite the somewhat pop’y romantic song playing) and making Neville and Ginny laugh so hard they were holding onto their sides, while Luna looked on with a serene smile on her face, and Mr Weasley had managed to drag a blushing Mrs Weasley— Molly— onto the dance floor where Hermione’s parents were already dancing.

Harry grinned and nodded when Mr Weasley looked up and met his eyes, and got a smile in return, then he turned and walked inside the house.

It was well past midnight at this point, and he was still feeling that fatigue deep in his bones, so he was hoping the alcohol might counteract the itchiness on his skin and help him sleep. Feeling suddenly very tired, he downed the rest of his wine before walking up the stairs to Ron’s room.

Safely in bed, in his cot, he took a deep breath, trying to feel his own body. His magic was crackling across his skin, still itching, and he could feel it on his hands. He wondered if he might be able to do wandless magic. It felt like the magic was so close to the surface that all he had to do was flick his wrist and it would shoot out like fireworks. He hadn’t really tried doing wandless magic before, but he had done it as a young child, not really understanding that it was magic. Just small things, like lighting up his cupboard despite the light bulb being broken. Stuff like that. He had used to call it ‘squeezing his brain’, he remembered. 

He could try a simple Lumos. That should be safe.

He took a deep calming breath and closed his eyes, focusing the way they’d been taught in the beginning at Hogwarts, feeling the magic on his fingertips before he’d even spoken the words out loud.

“Lumos,” he spoke quietly and opening his eyes.

In his hand was a soft ball of light.

“Wicked,” he whispered.

“Nox.”

Chapter Text

Sunday 11 July 2010

It all started with the nightmares. The nightmares themselves were nothing new, he’d had them for years now, but about three weeks before the engagement party Harry had been woken up by a panicked Ron to an unusually messy room — which was saying something, as Ron was a supremely messy wizard. 

According to Ron he had woken up when something (his Chudley Cannons photo album, it turned out) hit the back of his head and turned around to find a small storm raging in his room and ‘a small Harry Potter’ (Ron’s very very funny joke, the giant git) tossing about on the cot he always slept on at the Burrow. Ron claimed that the house had started shaking too, but Harry wasn’t sure he believed him.

So he wasn’t ready for it when, early the morning after the engagement party, he was again tossing about on his cot with a nightmare and found himself shaken awake, this time by Molly Weasley.

“Wha—what’s...?” 

He looked around the thoroughly trashed room in confusion. Ron, Mr Weasley, and Hermione stood by the door, all in various states of concern and dress, from what he could make out without his glasses.

“Harry dear, you’ve had a nightmare and your magic got a little erratic. It’s nothing to worry about, but perhaps you should sleep on the bed instead of the cot. Might make it more comfortable.” Might remind you you’re safe in bed, he thought was what she meant, but didn’t want to say.

“Where am I supposed to sleep, mum?” Ron interjected, rather grumpily. Though that could just be grogginess from still being half asleep, it was hard to tell when Harry could barely make out his head, let alone his expression.

“You sleep on the cot the rest of the morning and then you’ll stay in Bill and Charlie’s old room once Bill and Fleur leave. I know the plan was for Harry to sleep there, but I think it’s best for him to stay closer to the ground.” 

At this, both Harry and Ron looked around confusedly, while the others nodded sagely like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. Harry wanted to say that it was fine, that he could stay on the cot tonight and in Bill and Charlie’s old room the few nights before they left for Grimmauld Place, but he was dizzy and his throat was sore, so he just let Mr Weasley half carry him to Ron’s bed where he promptly fell asleep.

The next time Harry woke up it must have been closer to noon and the room had been cleaned up, looking much tidier than it had been the night before. (Harry’s tidiness had never managed to fully balance out Ron’s messiness.)

He threw on some jeans, a T-shirt, and a flannel shirt left open over that, all of them overly large on his slight frame, before going down to the kitchen where Mrs Weasley — Molly, stood by the kitchen table with her arms elbow deep in a giant ceramic bowl.

“Ah, there you are, Harry. Wonderful, yes, lunch is just about ready.” Harry returned her smile.

“Is there anything I can help you with, Molly?”

“Oh no, everything is ready. The sandwiches are made and we have plenty of leftovers from yesterday too. I’m just getting a batch of rolls ready for supper later. Actually, you could prepare some tea.”

“Of course,” he replied, promptly fishing the tea leaves out of the cupboard and putting the kettle on the hob, using his wand to light it. “I’m sorry about this morning, by the way. I hope I didn’t completely ruin your sleep.”

“Harry dear, you have nothing to apologise for, it is not as if you did it on purpose. Though I would like to ward the room in the future, just to be on the safe side.”

Harry froze in the middle of reaching for the brass tea strainer hanging above the sink. “What do you mean? You think I might hurt someone?”

“Oh no, it’s just better to be safe than sorry,” she reiterated, though she didn’t look at him as she said it. “We had to ward Charlie’s room once, and move Bill in with Percy. Charlie, poor lad, had had a run in with a rather violent kelpie of all things, while visiting a relative — Aunt Muriel, you know — and kept having nightmares about it. Since he didn’t have full control over his magic yet it went a bit wild. It only lasted a month though.”

Harry wasn’t sure that made him feel much better. He was an adult wix, he was supposed to have full control of his magic by now, and he certainly had more magic than a young Charlie Weasley, which had to mean he could do more damage. Frankly, he wasn’t completely sure he believed her reassurances that it was nothing to worry about. He let it go though, locking it away for now, and instead busied himself with the tea, working around Molly easily enough. 

Before long they were all seated and ready for lunch; the Weasleys, the Grangers, and Harry.

Mr and Mrs Granger had stayed the night in a magical tent so they wouldn’t have to rely on anyone having to stay sober to Apparate them after the engagement party, and were leaving after dinner (knowing Molly), having agreed most generously to Mr Weasley Apparating them home so that he would have the chance to inspect their kitchen appliances. 

Charlie, meanwhile, was leaving for Romania almost directly after lunch, Bill and Fleur for Shell Cottage in the evening, whereas Percy was staying another couple of days before returning to his flat in London. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were staying another week before moving into Grimmauld Place. They made sure that they had some time before Harry and Ron were starting their Auror training, so that they could fix it up. They had already planned and studied how to do it, and would be starting on their respective bedrooms already the next morning so they’d be ready before they moved in.

Harry also had to visit Gringotts, to look through his assets. He was putting it off as long as possible. After all, the last time he was there they had stolen their dragon and severely damaged the building. Not to mention the goblins who died following their escape, due to Voldemort’s rage. Sure, had everything gone to plan there might have been less damage, and death, but he still felt responsible and wanted to make amends if he could. He was not looking forward to it though.

This was what he was contemplating when he noticed the looks Hermione and Ron were sending each other. They’d shoot glances at each other and at him, and had he not known them as well as he did he might not have noticed, but as it were — he did.

He kept it together, barely containing his eye rolls every time they glanced his way as his annoyance grew, until they were excused from the table and left for Ron’s room. When they were all inside and the door closed he turned abruptly, crossed his arms, and looked straight at them with a raised eyebrow.

“Well..? Are you two ready to spit it out? Or will you just keep looking at me like I might blow up at any second?” 

Hermione sighed and Ron had at least enough sense to look sheepish, but they didn’t actually speak right away. Instead they got comfortable on Ron’s bed while Harry stood looking at them expectantly until he couldn’t contain his eye roll much longer, at which point he figured he might as well go all out and click his tongue as he dropped himself down on the cot. If they needed him to be overdramatic, he could be overdramatic.

“It’s the nightmares, isn’t it? Don’t worry, I won’t yell or explode or whatever it is you two are worried I’ll do.”

They exchanged a look before Hermione, always the diplomat, spoke.

“Well, yes. In essence. We just want to make sure you’re alright. You’ve had nightmares before, but not usually accompanied by wild magic. It’s happened twice now.” She seemed to be hinting at something, but he wasn’t sure what.

“I don’t know, ‘Mione, but I don’t think it’s a big deal. Molly says they’ll ward the room, just to be safe, so it should be fine.”

“Yes, but if you’d try working on the nightmares themselves —“

“I’m not seeing a Mind Healer, ‘Mione. I know you mean well, and I’m happy that you two decided to see one, but it’s just not for me.”

It was hard to explain his fear that he might be insane. It had been a fear so long he wasn't even completely sure how it started. Freak hissed in his ear paired with a painful sense memory in his arm, but he shook it off, locked it away, added an extra lock, and stopped his knee’s rhythmical tapping against the blanket. 

“If it keeps happening we’ll ward my room at Grimmauld Place too, but I’m sure it’ll ease up soon enough. Molly mentioned having to do the same for Charlie once too. I asked her to teach me how.”

Hermione didn’t look convinced, but just then Molly called them all down to say goodbye to Charlie, and that was that.

)o(

Sunday 18 July 2010

The day before the trio moved into Grimmauld Place Harry was intercepted by Ginny on the landing outside Ron’s room, and more or less ordered to follow her outside.

They walked along the forest path in silence for a while, Ginny the picture of calm and Harry feeling more and more awkward and guilty the longer the silence went on, worrying his lip and glancing at her every now and then, until they came to a wooden bench and sat down.

The bench was placed at a beauty spot, with a view of the river and Ottery St Catchpole far below them, and the path continued past it further up and behind the hill to where Luna and her dad lived, Harry knew. Not that they lived there right now. Xenophilius was still in St Mungo’s, but he was doing much better, and Luna had eventually decided to stay at Hogwarts over the summer, instead of Molly’s Auntie Muriel.

“Ginny—,” Harry began, when she still didn’t speak and he couldn’t take the uncomfortable silence anymore, but was quickly cut off by a hand on his arm.

“It’s fine, Harry. I wanted to make you sweat a little. Petty of me, I know, but there it is. I realise we’re not the same. We aren’t, are we?” She looked at him, a little sad perhaps, but mostly determined. Harry shook his head.

“No, we’re not. I’m sorry… For avoiding you, that wasn’t fair. You have every right to be petty, I’ve been a bit of an arse to you, haven’t I?” She responded with a snort and a nod, but without looking at him. “I did miss you, Ginny. I really did, and I still do. But the part I miss is the friendship part. We did make great friends.”

She gave him a little wobbly laugh and a half-fond half-exasperated eye roll.

“We still do, you idiot. I’m still a little mad at you, but I realised quickly that you didn’t feel the same anymore, if you ever actually felt the same way I did. It’s alright, you’ve had a lot to figure out and not a lot of opportunity to do so. It also has to be alright for me to be angry and hurt. I’m okay now, I’ve accepted it and I still want you in my life. We’re family. But you owe me a pretty spectacular Yule present for my troubles.” He was pretty sure she was only half joking about the present, but he smiled at her anyway, relieved to still have her in his life.

“I will get right on it, and you have every right to be angry with me.”

They sat there enjoying the view a little longer, this time in a more comfortable silence, before Ginny bumped his shoulder with her own.

“So, you being gay, does that have something to do with us not being the same?” Harry looked at her in shock, and she shook her head at him. “Oh, Haz, I know you well enough.”

Harry took a deep breath and tried to gather his thoughts. He cleared his throat.

“Seems to me you might know me better than I know myself. I don’t actually know if I’m gay. I have no idea really. I’ve realised I’m not straight, but that’s as far as I’ve come. My aunt and uncle...” He swallowed hard before he managed to continue. He wasn’t good at this. Talking about his feelings was something he had never really done much of, and now that his feelings were all so mute and muddled it was even harder, but he owed her an explanation.

“They didn’t like anything that was outside of what they deemed normal, and being gay was definitely abnormal in their eyes. My uncle used to be quite vocal about it. I know they were wrong, they were wrong about most things, and I was never homophobic myself — hell, when Dean and Seamus got together I didn’t think anything of it except that I was happy for them —, but growing up with that kind of homophobia still made me suppress any inkling I might’ve had that I was anything but strictly heterosexual. I’m sorry I ended up hurting you because of it.”

Ginny held his hands before she replied. He hadn’t noticed they were shaking, which was starting to become something of a bad habit.

“I think it’s important that you explore that. Please don’t explore it with Charlie though, he’s my brother and it would be extremely weird.” 

Harry was sure his skin tone couldn’t hide his blush this time, but he gave her a nod and a sheepish smile that she seemed to find highly entertaining, judging by her smirk. Merlin, she was still trying to make him sweat. Fair enough...

“And since I forced your secret out of you I’ll tell you one of mine.” She waited until he met her eyes, and any trace of teasing amusement were gone from them, instead she looked supportive, understanding. “I’m bisexual. So you’re definitely not surrounded by straight people, if that’s what you think, even if staying so close to Ron and Hermione might make you feel like you are.” They both chuckled. “Being bent isn’t really a big deal in the Wixen World. I’ve spoken to Hermione about it — not about you, about me — so I know muggle society is less accepting of anything not heteronormative, so it’s understandable if you’ve been having a hard time dealing with it. Just know that you don’t have to worry about not being accepted here.”

Instead of replying, Harry nodded his head and gave her a grateful smile. She bumped his shoulder again and rose.

“Better get back. Mum’ll make a fuss if we don’t.”

“You’re probably right,” he laughed, and let her pull him up from the wooden bench. “Can I get a hug from my friend then?”

Her laugh was her usual hearty one as she threw her arms around him.

“You’re basically my brother, Haz. You can always get hugs.”

“Thank you,” he whispered into her hair, laughing a little more as the hug she gave him truly became bone-crushing in response. He’d almost forgotten that it wasn’t only her will that was strong. “Come stay at Grimmauld Place for a few days before term starts? I think we need all the help we can get to fix it up proper.”

“What do I get in return? My expertise is rather valuable, you know.” She grinned, looking every bit the mischievous Weasley she was.

“Okay, you pick something out and I’ll buy it.” He smiled and shook his head.

“Oh! I know! Let Hermione and me update your wardrobe! We can take Luna too, provided you don’t listen to any of her fashion advice, and make a day of it. We’ll do it before your birthday!”

She was suddenly very excited, and Harry didn’t have the heart to say no. He supposed it was about time he got clothes that actually fit and Ginny did actually understand fashion, even muggle fashion. He still made a show of hesitating before accepting it.

“Fine! But you better make me look good, Gin!”

“Don’t doubt my abilities, Harry,” she replied while waving a finger at him. He grinned back.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The rest of the walk back was spent discussing plans for Grimmauld Place and Ginny’s plans for the future.

~ ~

After supper, Ron gave Harry a look and motioned to the front door with his head.
When they were safely outdoors, Ron turned to him.

“Are you and Ginny...?”

Harry gave him an apologetic smile. He knew that while Ron had found his and Ginny’s relationship weird at first, he had wanted them to be together, and Harry hadn’t wanted to disappoint him. 

“We’re friends. Family really. I’m sorry though, that I wasn’t straight with her sooner.” He almost laughed at the unintended pun, but then he’d have to explain why, and despite Ginny’s assurances he didn’t feel quite ready for that yet. “I probably made things unnecessarily difficult for all of you.”

Ron scoffed.

“You’re pants at talking about your feelings. I’m not saying I wasn’t upset that you were avoiding her, she’s my sister, but it’s between you and her, and if she’s alright with it I have no right to do anything but accept it. Besides, it was obvious when you got back from your walk that whatever your talk resulted in it had been good for both of you. You looked more comfortable, you know? With each other and yourselves.” He turned away and started walking again.

Hermione had once said that Ron had the emotional range of a teaspoon, but he’d come a long way since then. Even Harry had to admit that going to a Mind Healer had done Ron good.

“And you’re right, you are family,” he added and threw his arm over Harry’s shoulders.

“Thanks, Ron,” he replied. He really was lucky to have them.

“Game of chess before bed, then?”

Harry narrowed his eyes at Ron in a mock glare.

“You just want an easy win, don’t you?”

Ron simply grinned in return.

~ ~

Five spectacular losses later, Harry lay in bed thinking about his talk with Ginny. He had been embarrassed when she told him not to ‘explore’ with Charlie, but he knew he wouldn’t have done that anyway. It wasn’t that he actually fancied Charlie. He was very good looking, tall and all muscle. Rugged in a different way than Bill, more broad shouldered than Ron and the twins. And Harry hadn’t known him well enough in the last 7 years to truly think of him like a brother, the way he thought of the rest of them. He knew the Weasleys were a good looking bunch really, in general. Even Percy, though he looked more ‘bookish’ and still awkward in his own body even now, wasn’t actually unattractive. His personality was though.

Anyway, Harry just hadn’t been ready for the amount of muscle on display during the rebuilding of Hogwarts, and not just from Charlie Weasley. He hadn’t even noticed it himself to begin with, but often his eyes would... wander.

He wondered if anyone else had noticed. Ginny clearly had, he was certain Luna had as well, and Hermione was too sharp not to have noticed. Ron could be surprisingly observant as well, though there hadn’t been any hint that he’d noticed. Charlie himself had clearly noticed, since he winked at Harry that one time. (Though he might’ve just noticed his reaction to Dean and Seamus.)

Blaise Zabini... well, he didn’t know the bloke at all. He was handsome, there was no denying that, and he did have a bit of a reputation for charming the pants off of anyone no matter their gender, so he didn’t think he’d actually noticed Harry’s eyes wandering over anyone’s muscles so much as being his usual charming hyper-sexual self. He had seemed to be close to Malfoy at school. Had they maybe been... but Malfoy had been with Pansy, hadn’t he? He could be bi though, Harry supposed.

The image of Malfoy and Zabini in bed together had him groaning in shame (and arousal, his brain supplied), and he rubbed his face with both his hands, doing his best not to think of it any longer. Locking it up, that’s what he had to do. Build a room for it in his mind and lock it up tight. That’s what he had to do. Then he had to sleep. 

Yes, he desperately needed to sleep.

)o(

They hadn’t been wrong about the amount of work necessary to put 12 Grimmauld Place in any semblance of order. However, they had managed to make two bedrooms and the kitchen more than habitable before they actually moved in and were working very efficiently with everything else. Harry was incredibly grateful for magic. The muggle way would have taken forever.

Ron and Hermione had insisted that Harry take over the master suite on the third floor, that it wouldn’t be good for him to stay in Sirius’ old room, and now that his en-suite bathroom was finished (and the Hippogriff stink was gone) he was happy he’d let them convince him. He had never had his own room before, and getting the chance to make it properly his meant a lot to him.

Ron and Hermione took a bedroom with an en-suite bathroom that would later be made into a guest room, since they were planning on buying their own place at some point after they got more settled in their careers. At least that was what they kept saying, but Harry had secretly decided that that room would always be theirs, and he had pushed them into making it exactly how they wanted it.

“We can just change it later,” he’d told them. 

Sirius’ and Regulus’ old rooms were only freshened up slightly and then warded shut. The house seemed keen on helping them out, and the day after the rooms were warded they had been moved to the top floor, switching them out for two other bedrooms with en-suite bathrooms. Harry had started communicating a little with Grimmauld Place much like he had with Hogwarts earlier that summer, and the house seemed happy to be lived in, happy that they wanted to make it a home.

Kreacher wasn’t happy about all the changes, unlike the house it was a bit too much too fast for the old house elf, but he was delighted that Harry kept his Master Regulus’ room safe and allowed him to take some of the heirlooms that weren’t unsafe down to his own room. He had been scandalised at first when Harry proposed giving him a bit more space than just the broiler room, but when Harry pointed out it would give him more space for the Black heirlooms and promised that he could still stay in the basement, he agreed.

He was, in fact, much more agreeable in general. He had been staying at Hogwarts over the summer, and the socialisation there in addition to Grimmauld Place being happier now had done wonders. He still muttered to himself and was generally a bit of a grump, but he kept shut about any pureblood fanaticism at least. Harry didn’t dare hope he’d actually lost it, though he found himself fond of the house elf despite himself. He had fought very bravely for them during the battle.

Hermione wasn’t pleased about Kreacher staying with them, but had to agree when Harry pointed out that he would never forgive them if they tried to free him. 

)o(

Monday 26 July, 2010

After a week at Grimmauld Place he couldn’t put off his trip to Gringotts anymore. For one thing he was in need of a withdrawal of galleons (and pounds) for his day of shopping with the girls, and for the other he feared that the longer he put it off the worse it would be.

Ron and Hermione had tried to convince him that they were as guilty as he was, Hermione pointing out that it had been she who used a Gouging Spell to help the dragon break them out, but Harry had learned a thing or two about goblins while dealing with Griphook and knew that it would be easier if he took the full blame — not only was he the Chosen One (though he grimaced every time he said those words), he was also the Potter Heir (an old family with longstanding business dealings with Gringotts) and was left the Black estates through Sirius’ will (another old family with longstanding business dealings with Gringotts), and because of the last two, plus his ‘Hero’s Reward’, he had the funds that might be necessary to actually make amends.

So Monday morning he walked up the steps to Gringotts and immediately after entering was stopped by two goblin guards brusquely asking him what the purpose of his visit was. He could see several curious eyes looking his way, wixen and goblin alike, so he took a deep steadying breath and replied as calmly as he could.

“I am here hoping to make amends as best I can, and continue doing business with you.”

Knowing the goblins, he was pretty sure continued business was making amends, or at the very least necessary for them to accept anything else. Another goblin walked through a set of doors behind the tellers to the right, and made his way towards Harry.

“I am Erragg, secretary to the High Chieftess. She will see you now.” 

At that he turned around and walked off again, without checking whether or not Harry followed. They walked through several corridors until they came to a beautifully decorated set of doors, which Erragg knocked on, and they promptly opened on their own.

The inside of the office was as beautifully decorated as the door, the furniture in style with the rest of Gringotts, fashioned mainly in white marble and bronze. Behind the large desk sat the most ancient-looking goblin Harry had ever seen, her long fingers full of rings, her wispy white hair in a neat bun, and wearing what appeared to be a white and gold pantsuit. It was easy to tell from her general demeanour that she was in charge, though otherwise she looked much like any other goblin he’d seen, her beady black eyes scrutinising Harry closely. He probably looked quite scruffy to them, in his oversized flannel shirt and poorly fitted jeans, but he hadn’t wanted to wear robes, considering how many goblins viewed wixes, and the only robes he had were his school robes and formal robes. At least his clothes were clean, he thought, while trying to appear more confident than he really was.

On the High Chieftess’ left side sat two more goblins, both smartly dressed in the standard black work suit most of the goblins wore at Gringotts, but with golden marks on the chest that Harry had never seen on any of the tellers. One of them also had on a golden choker, beautifully crafted. It was strange, he had never seen a goblin wearing something like it before.

“Harry Potter.” The High Chieftess’ voice was a rough squeak, as if she had smoked for centuries. Which she may have done, for all he knew. “I hear you accept responsibility for what happened here earlier this year. Sit down.” She gestured to the chair on front of the desk and he did as she asked. 

Goblins were hard to read, and generally stayed out of ‘wand-bearer’ business, but the war had hurt them too. Voldemort had taken over management of the bank, through the Ministry of Magic, and the end of Voldemort had meant that the goblins had the bank returned to them. Harry hoped that might mean they would be more inclined to excuse his actions, considering it had benefited them too.

“Thank you, High Chieftess. You are correct, of course, I do accept responsibility. It wasn’t greed that guided me, but my actions had severe consequences for you and that is on me.”

The High Chieftess considered him for a moment, her expression unreadable, before she gestured to the goblins on her left.

“These are goblins Bugnot, Head of Risk, and Divine Barluk, Head of Wills and Inheritance.” Divine Barluk was the goblin with the beautiful golden choker. Harry pondered the name. Or perhaps it was a title? He had never heard it used on anyone before, really. 

“We are, naturally, aware of you, Harry Potter. We know that you are a most unusual wix, one who takes loyalty seriously and who shows equal respect to others whether they are wand-bearers or not. We have heard of your friendship with the house elf Dobby, and about his grave.” She looked at him with intense black eyes. “Oh yes, Harry Potter, we have heard much about you.”

At the mention of Dobby, Harry felt a pang of grief and surprise. How did they know about the grave? Surely Griphook hadn’t had time to tell them anything before he died. Could Bill have..? Somehow he didn’t think so.

“Dobby died because he came to my rescue. It was only right to give him a proper burial. He was a good person, and an even better friend.”

“I see what we have heard is the truth.” This time it was the Head of Risk, Bugnot, who spoke. “Most unusual.”

Bugnot shared a look with the High Chieftess and she gave an almost imperceptible nod. Whatever had been shared between them, they seemed to agree on it. Harry wasn’t sure if ‘most unusual’ was good or bad, but he was rather hoping it was good. At least Griphook had agreed to help them after calling Harry’s actions ‘most unusual’. Of course, he had also tricked them.

“We will draw up a contract, Mr Potter,” the High Chieftess said suddenly, cutting off his thoughts. “I assume contributing to the cost of rebuilding Gringotts is acceptable to you, yes?”

“Yes, I would like that. Though I would also like to give a smaller sum of money to the families of those who died due to our break-in, should they have any.”

There was silence for a minute, all three goblins sitting quite still and looking at him, before the High Chieftess replied.

“... That could be arranged. But before all that we should go over your assets. There are of course the Potter vaults, the Black vaults, and the Gaunt vault, but we want to do an inheritance test to make sure.”

“My apologies, High Chieftess,” Harry interrupted her, too shocked to consider whether it was rude or not. “But you just said ‘vaults’ — plural — in reference to both the Potters and Blacks? I was under the impression that there was only one Potter vault and that I was not entitled to the Black vaults because I’m not a blood relative? And why the Gaunt vault?”

The High Chieftess held up her hand, and he was almost sure he could see amusement in her expression, though what she found so amusing he couldn’t tell.

“I see that you are confused. I fear a lot have been kept from you, and the ones mentioned are just the ones I know for sure. I suggest we do the test first, and explanations after. The document, Divine Barluk?”

Divine Barluk drew a piece of parchment from a briefcase and placed it on the desk in front of Harry.

“We will need a drop of blood within the circle in the upper right corner of the parchment. Here is a needle. Not to worry, it is perfectly safe.”

Harry accepted the needle, pricked his finger and let a drop of blood fall neatly within the circle. As the blood was absorbed (Harry couldn’t help thinking it looked just like when he’d dropped ink on the empty pages of Tom Riddle’s diary) writing appeared on the parchment, and the wound on his finger completely disappeared. The High Chieftess turned the parchment around so she could read through it before Harry had a chance to do it himself.

“I see,” was the only reaction he got for a while as she read through it. Then she looked at him over her spectacles, and Harry felt the need to push his own further up his nose. “I will let you look through it now and then we will discuss. I am sure you have questions.”

And questions he had.

The document stated his full name as ‘Harry James Black Potter’, his title as ‘Head of The Noble House of Potter, Head of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Head of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Peverell, Head of The Most Ancient and Revered House of Gryffindor, Head of The Most Ancient and Revered House of Slytherin, Conquering Heir to The Noble House of Gaunt’, and showed that he now had at least 8 vaults.

He looked up at the High Chieftess in shock. 

“I don’t understand... erm, I don’t understand any of it, to be honest.”

“Perhaps you should should start from the top, Lord Potter,” the High Chieftess offered, and Harry had to work not to let the title of ‘Lord’ distract from his actual questions.

“Well, my name, for one. I know I inherited property and the contents of the Black vault from my godfather, but that shouldn’t make me a Black, should it?”

“Ah, I see where the misunderstanding lays. It is true that he was called your godfather, but before the death of Lord and Lady Potter they performed a blood adoption. Meaning that he is actually your third parent rather than your godparent. Which is why you are the Head of both the House of Potter and the House of Black. And Head of the House of Peverell through the House of Potter.”

Harry was having a hard time wrapping his head around this news, so instead he ploughed through.

“And the other houses mentioned?”

“Ah, the House of Gryffindor and the House of Slytherin are both inherited through indirect family lines from all three of your parents, and the Family Magic of those two Houses have accepted you as their Head. Because you inherited the Gaunt vaults as a result of conquering the Dark Lord as a babe and he was the Heir rather than the Head, in accordance with the rather strange inheritance rules of the House of Gaunt, you are the Heir of that house. The Dark Lord was not accepted by the Family Magic of the House of Slytherin as the Head, so while he may have considered himself the Heir of Slytherin he was never officially recognised as such by the House of Slytherin. As the Head of these Houses you also have the right to keep the signet rings of them. If you wish, we will find them for you. The signet ring of the House of Peverell is, I am afraid to say, lost, but the rest are safe here at Gringotts.”

“Yeah... err, yes, I would like that very much, High Chieftess.”

The High Chieftess turned to her secretary and spoke in the guttural noises and vague shrieks typical of Gobbledygook, then turned back to Harry as Erragg left the office.

“We will arrange for the rings to be sent to your home.”

“Erm, the Potter vaults,” he asked once the door closed behind Erragg. “I thought there was only the one?” 

At this point, Harry felt more or less like he’d taken a bludger directly to the head while still looking for the snitch. It was a good thing he had so much experience with that particular scenario, and with keeping his focus in stressful situations in general, otherwise he would have passed out already, he was sure of it.

“The vault you have been withdrawing from since you turned eleven was set up by your parents to make sure your caretakers had money for your upbringing, and that you had money for your education and whatever else you needed throughout it, until you turned 17. Of course, when you did turn 17 you did not get the chance to claim your inheritance.”

Images of sprinting down a busy London street wearing dress robes flitted through Harry’s mind. Taking a break from being Undesirable No. 1 to visit Gringotts at that point would have been impossible, yes.

~ ~

When Harry returned to 12 Grimmauld Place he told Ron and Hermione everything that had occurred. The three of them were sitting on the floor of the sitting room, getting ready to plan some of the finer details of the room, and Ron and Hermione were almost as shocked as he had been about the blood adoption.

“How did we not know that Sirius was your adoptive father?” Hermione seemed almost angry. Harry wasn’t sure why until she continued. “Dumbledore must have known.” She was talking as if to herself. “And Sirius... He must have thought you already knew, otherwise he would surely have told you. Remus too. But how...?”

Here she trailed off, but Harry was painfully aware of the answer by then. He looked at her with a sad smile.

“Dumbledore, Hermione. He knew how to keep secrets and how to manipulate and plan ahead, you know that. Bloody hell, I learned more about him in the 6 months after he died than in the 6 years I’d known him. He was expecting me to die for the greater good, it wouldn’t do to give more reasons to live. He’d find a way to convince Sirius and Remus that I knew about the blood adoption and that it was best kept secret. I probably wasn’t in Sirius’ will. I wager there wasn’t a will at all. I inherited because I was his son, if not biologically then by blood — by magic.”

Throughout all this Ron had simply stared at them, his face the dictionary definition of total confusion, but at Harry’s response to Hermione anger turned his face a shade of puce vaguely reminiscent of Uncle Vernon.

“Fucking hell.”

“Thank you?” Harry replied with a bemused frown.

“No, I mean it! I know Dumbledore was a great wizard and all, and that you had a close relationship with him, but so much of what he did disgusts me.”

Harry and Hermione looked at him in shock. They had never heard Ron speak of Dumbledore like this, and the righteous anger on Harry’s behalf was admittedly heartwarming.

“Thanks, Ron,” he said as he inclined his head, gazing at his own shoes. 

He was wearing some proper footwear, for once, instead of his dirty old trainers. The only nice pair of shoes he had really. He supposed that shopping trip Ginny had demanded was rather necessary after all. Damn it.

“You’re right, I did have a close relationship with him, but I’ve known for a long time already that it was also very complicated. Hell, there are things I might never forgive him for even if he begged.” He looked up at his friends, a smile tugging at his lips. “But I have the two of you, and you always have my back.”

They smiled at each other for a few seconds before Hermione gave a big sniff and then Harry had his mouth full of soft curly hair as she threw her arms around the two of them, making Harry laugh as he hugged her back, giving Ron a pat on the back as well. Ron cleared his throat as Hermione drew back, wiping at her eyes.

“So, what about the rest, Harry? The consequences of our, erm, break-in...” 

“Oh!” He gave a little laugh. “Well, we agreed that it would make sense, or be more fun rather — the High Chieftess actually cackled when I suggested it — to give everything from Voldemort’s vault to them, to pay for reparations and a small sum to the families of the goblins he killed as punishment for our break-in. He had a fair bit, apparently from his followers from the first war, and the magic on the vault wouldn’t let him touch it when he returned. But I chose to pay for the funerals from my own vault. And don’t worry, I read through the contract very thoroughly. Also, seeing as I was already there, I started a charity fund to provide school supplies for Hogwarts age children who are orphaned or whose families might not be able to pay for them themselves for whatever reason. I’d like to start some kind of safe-house too, for children who aren’t safe in their own homes or are orphaned, but I wanted your help with setting that up, ‘Mione.”

At that, she threw herself at them once more.

Chapter Text

Friday 30 July 2010

The Friday following his visit to Gringotts found Harry doing the dishes by hand in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place after a splendid breakfast he himself had prepared. After avoiding cooking, too closely associated with painful memories from his time with the Dursleys, Molly had managed to coax him into helping her with more than making the tea or laying the table after the Battle, and he had now begun to properly enjoy cooking and baking again. Being able to sit down with people he loved to actually eat the food he’d prepared admittedly made a big difference.

Kreacher wasn’t necessarily too happy to have Harry encroaching upon his territory, but he’d accepted it for the time being, if begrudgingly so. Harry had let him choose most of the necessities for the kitchen, and that had certainly helped. Though as he dried one of the plates with a kitchen towel he thought that he should probably ask Andromeda for advice on how he could let Kreacher feel helpful without it being too much. The two of them had gotten close very quickly, and she was like a mix between a friend and a godmother. Like what he imagined an aunt should be like. She reminded him of Sirius a lot, except she was somewhat more mature.

So when Ginny came bustling through the fireplace in the sitting room Harry wasn’t there to see or hear it, and his mind had drifted so far that he nearly dropped the plate in his hands when Ginny first spoke to him from the kitchen door. Instead, one of the glasses on the kitchen counter shattered.

Ginny looked at the glass in shock before throwing a Reparo at it with her wand.

“I said, why are you doing that the muggle way? And did I really scare you so much that you just broke a glass in a fit of wild magic?”

Harry sighed and put away the plate he’d just dried. He hadn’t even noticed her entering the wards, he must have been completely out of it.

“Don’t tell anyone, but my magic appears to be a bit out of control at times. It seems to be worse when my mind drifts, somehow. I haven’t actually discussed it with anyone, but I’m pretty sure Hermione suspects. It’s nothing to worry about though. I think it’s connected with the wild magic I’ve had with my nightmares, and your mum says she’s sure that will work itself out soon enough.” 

Apparently, Ginny had become the person he told things he couldn’t tell anyone else. Not that he was complaining. He was keeping a lot of stuff locked away, maybe letting a couple things slip to someone he trusted, but who wouldn’t fuss, was the logical thing to do.

“So you’re trying not to use your magic? Don’t you think that will have the opposite effect?”

“No, not exactly. It’s just when handling breakables.” He smirked and she laughed. “So, why are you here so early, Ginny? I thought we were meeting at the Leaky, and not for another two hours?”

As Ginny walked into the kitchen and jumped up on the kitchen island they’d had installed, Harry leaned back on the counter opposite to watch her. She had always been so full of energy, so vibrant. All fire. Even fresh out of a devastating war she managed to have big dreams for her future and the will to follow through with them.

He envied that, he absolutely did, but it was also one of the reasons they never would have worked out, even if Harry wasn’t outrageously gay (as he now suspected he might be). He was still completely broken from the war, wasn’t even sure how he was alive or whether he should be at all, and the combination of them as a couple would surely have ended up destroying them both. He wouldn’t have been able to keep up his charade of dealing with stuff if she was too close for too long.

“I think it’s a good idea for you and me to go through your wardrobe. That way we can tell if there is anything at all you want to keep, and maybe if you have some ideas for how you’d like to dress. What style you’d like, you know?”

Harry nodded slowly, thinking it through before replying.

“That’s a good thought. Thanks. I am pretty open minded about style, I think. Maybe. I’m more aware of what I don’t like than what I do. I think?”

Ginny raised one eyebrow at this, but didn’t comment. Instead she waved her wand at the remaining dishes with a muttered spell to make them finish on their own (safe in the knowledge that the Grimmauld Place wards would hide this use of underage magic two weeks before her 17th birthday) before pushing him out of the kitchen so they could get started.

Half an hour later she was sitting in a pile of clothes and shaking her head in a melodramatic fashion as though presented with a tragedy of epic proportions.

“Good Godric, Haz. I don’t think I can allow you to keep any of this.”

They were in the master suite, on the floor of Harry’s large, but mostly empty, walk-in wardrobe.

“Oh, it’s not that bad. A few of the T-shirts are very comfortable and I do have two pairs of jeans that fit. And I am not getting rid of any Weasley jumpers.”

She scoffed.

“You’re welcome to keep mum’s knitted jumpers, Harry, but those jeans do not fit, they just don’t fall right down your cute little arse if you move in them without wearing a belt. The only way I’m letting you keep any of those T-shirts is if you swear to me you’ll only use them as night clothes, and I will let you keep one pair of those jeans. We will buy you better ones, ones that actually fit. And you can keep the joggers you’re wearing too.”

“Did you just call my arse cute?”

Ginny only shrugged in response and kept looking through clothes. Harry wasn’t sure whether to take it as a compliment or not, but he figured she meant well. It was a relief to have her with him while going through the clothes though, most of which were Dudley’s old castoffs and way too big for him. The two pairs of jeans he had found in Ron’s wardrobe before their Horcrux hunt; Ron had grown out of them and told him he could have them. They’d been too long for Harry, but Hermione had managed to adjust the length magically.

“Oh!” Ginny had clearly spotted something surprisingly delightful.

“What?” 

Harry was trying to choose between the two jeans, but now he looked up at Ginny. She was holding up Sirius’ leather jacket. At the sight he felt a dulled pang of grief and guilt, but even more than those he felt nostalgia and love. For some reason, knowing about the blood adoption had made it easier for him to remember Sirius without too much guilt, and his memories of Sirius were no longer completely locked away in the back of his mind. Well, not all of them.

“Was this...?” She looked at him warily, as if expecting him to burst out in tears, so he gave her an encouraging smile.

“Yeah, it was Sirius’. I’ve been wanting to use it. I love that jacket, but I felt like the rest of my wardrobe didn’t really... go with it, if you know what I mean. It’s not like I chose any of these clothes myself.”

“I just had the best idea! We could use this as a sort of focal point for the rest of your wardrobe. Buy clothes that would compliment it. We have to buy some more formal clothes as well, and you will need a proper winter wardrobe and workout clothes, but for the most part this will work well. I think this sort of grunge style will suit you too, especially with your hair being so long now. You’ll look a bit edgy and cool, in a cute sort of way. Does this fit you?” She held the jacket up. Harry ignored her comment about him being cute.

“Sirius was taller and broader than me, but it’s not too far off, I think. Hermione has adjusted the length of some of my trousers, but tailoring charms aren’t exactly her specialty, so I haven’t suggested she try her hand on the jacket. She made a right mess of it when she tried adjusting the waist of one of my trousers once.”

Ginny looked at him for a second and then nodded once, as if having made up her mind.

“How about I take this and your measurements back to the Burrow while you get ready to go out, and I’ll have mum fix it for you? She’s excellent with tailoring charms, and she knows how important this would be to you.”

“You’d do that? Thanks, Gin. For the help with the clothes in general as well. I don’t think I’d have managed to do it on my own, to be honest.”

“Hey, that’s what I’m here for. Merlin knows you can’t ask Ron for fashion advice. Besides, I’ve wanted to dress you up since I was 10.” She looked at the jacket and then back to Harry again, with a wide grin. “Now all you need is the motorbike.”

Harry laughed, almost startling himself. He couldn’t believe how easy it was to talk to Ginny about this stuff. Now that he could just be her friend, not having to worry so much about hurting her or forcing any attraction, it was easier to admit things to her. Especially because he knew she wouldn’t worry too much. She’d worry, but she wouldn’t destroy herself with it and she wouldn’t fuss. She never tried fixing him.

“Actually, I do have the motorbike. Don’t tell your mum yet, or Hermione, but Sirius showed me how to ride the bike and to fix it up. He was still letting Hagrid use it, but he’d said he wanted to give it to me when I was old enough, so he wanted me to know how it worked, and Hagrid gave it to me when we first went to Hogwarts to begin the restorations. It’s in the shed in the garden here now. Your dad helped me fix it over the summer.”

“That... is awesome! You have to let me ride it with you at some point!” Ginny looked the way she did when she was getting ready to play Quidditch: excited, happy, full of adrenaline.

Maybe that’s why he’d fancied himself in love with her. She looked the way he felt when he was flying. Like she lived for it, just as he had. The only other person he knew who loved flying as much was Malfoy. Of course, he knew pretty well by now that it also had to do with his yearning for family, for something ‘normal’, wanting to ‘properly belong’ with the Weasleys. Never having had a home or a real family he had craved it.

It was easier now that he understood it all better.

“As long as you don’t tell your mum. Are you staying here for the weekend?”

“I wanted to ask first, but yeah, if it’s okay.”

“It’s fine, we have two guest rooms we’ve fixed up now. And that way I can show you the bike tonight or tomorrow before dinner at the Burrow. We thought you might like to stay over after the birthday party. There won’t be that many people, Neville will be there and we’ll count it as a celebration for him too. We were thinking of going to a muggle club at some point, but we figured it would be nice for some of you to stay over so you can sober up. And yes, before you ask, we have stocked Hangover Potion. From Luna, of all people.”

“Then I will be sure to thank Luna when I inevitably inhale the potion on Sunday morning.”

~ ~

An hour later the only clothes left in his wardrobe, not counting the joggers and T-shirt he wore while they went through it, were a pair of jeans (Ginny had ended up choosing for him), two giant T-shirts (carefully folded and put away in a drawer labelled specifically for night clothes), several Weasley jumpers, and some underwear and socks (the least awful ones). Ginny had taken Sirius’ jacket and Harry’s measurements to the Burrow and Harry had packed up all the clothes to donate them before showering. He had thought about burning them, but he figured donating was a more sensible option. Except for a pair of disgusting socks Uncle Vernon had given him for Christmas once. Those he would be burning.

He changed into the only remaining pair of jeans, and added a Weasley jumper, green with a gold H on the front.

Ron and Hermione had been working in the library since morning, and they had agreed that Ron would visit Fred and George’s shop while Harry went shopping with the girls.

He wouldn’t really have minded having Ron with them, but he also had a feeling that it would be easier with just Ginny, Hermione, and Luna. Ginny knew he was gay, Luna probably knew too (she always knew stuff like that), and knowing Hermione she had probably suspected it for a while. He knew in his head that Ron wouldn’t treat him differently, but he was still worried about telling him, and Ron wouldn’t be of any help at a shopping spree anyway.

Ginny had terrific fashion sense, but Hermione could rein her in if she suggested something too outrageous and could keep track of what they needed, and Luna would know right away if Harry disliked something they suggested and would let the other two know outright without hurting anyone’s feelings. Those were the dynamics he needed for the occasion.

This time when Ginny came through the fireplace Harry was in the sitting room waiting for her.

When he looked up she was dusting ash off her red cardigan. With it she wore high waisted jeans and one of those short tops that looked like t-shirts but several sizes too small. Harry wasn’t well versed in fashion, but he was actually looking forward to learning more. It wasn’t like he had ever really had the chance to appreciate well put together outfits before.

“Hi, I’m all ready.” He put the book he’d been reading down on the coffee table, carefully marking the page as he did so.

“Great! Where’s Ron and Hermione?”

“In the library still, I’ll tell them you’re here.”

Before he could leave the sitting room Ginny stopped him.

“Hold on. Before we leave...” She reached into her tote bag and pulled out Sirius’ jacket. “Here. Try it on.”

She smiled softly at him as he put on the jacket. It fit perfectly. It still smelled faintly of Sirius too, of the cologne he had used. Harry still had it, it was in his bathroom cupboard. Remus had taken the jacket and the cologne, and a couple of other small things, and given them to Harry before he left for his sixth year at Hogwarts. Told him that Sirius would have wanted him to have it. Now that Harry knew, knew what Sirius had really been to him, it made more sense.

“Thank you, Gin. Really.” He swallowed around the lump in his throat before giving her a hug.

“Mum did all the work, you know, but... you’re welcome.”

“But you thought of it and I appreciate that.”

They held onto each other in silence for a moment before Harry felt Ginny take a deep breath.

“You stay here, I’ll go get the others.” 

She squeezed him tightly once before letting go of him and quickly leaving the room. Harry suspected he wasn’t the only one who missed Sirius. In a way, Ginny and Sirius had had very similar energies. Sure, Azkaban had dampened his overall mood, but he was still lively and mischievous, and the two of them (and Dora) had gotten along very well.

They’d agreed to meet Luna at the Leaky, because that way Ron could head out with them and they’d just split up when they got there. They hadn’t decided where to go yet. Harry had to get some robes, but he would mainly wear muggle clothes and buying those would take longer anyway. He knew he’d probably end up in the Prophet the next day, they would all have to be either glamoured, polyjuiced, or invisible to avoid it, but he was hoping that since it was quite early on a Friday they might at least avoid the worst crowds. Though it was the busiest time of year in Diagon Alley.

For Harry, flooing to the Leaky Cauldron meant almost face-planting the second he arrived, as he always did. He caught himself easily enough though, surprisingly so really, and tried to look around while brushing the ash off his clothes.

Flashes of pale blond hair caught his eye immediately, and his gut did some funny turns as he realised it was Luna and Draco Malfoy, of all people. They were talking quite pleasantly it seemed. Harry barely had a chance to take in the sight before Malfoy looked up and they locked eyes. For a second he couldn’t breathe, a thrill running down his spine and his magic fizzing, and then it was over. Malfoy looked away, said something to Luna, and gave her a peck on the cheek before leaving.

The door had only just closed behind him when the others arrived; Ron and Hermione hand in hand, Ginny barely materialising before flying over to Luna to hug her.

“Hello everyone. That’s a nice jacket, Harry, you look happy in it.”

Harry still felt off balance, having seen Malfoy in pleasant conversation with Luna, but decided to hold off on that topic, for now. He simply wasn’t sure how to feel about it, or his reaction. So he put it away, knowing he would be revisiting it, and instead gave Luna a hug.

“Thank you, Luna. It’s good to see you.”

“So, how should we do this?” Hermione asked.

“I think we should get the robes over and done with first. The longer we wait the more people will be out in Diagon, and most of my wardrobe will be muggle anyway. So my suggestion is that we walk Ron to the twins’ shop and then go to Twilfitt and Tatting’s, since most of the Hogwarts students getting uniforms will be going to Madam Malkin’s?”

“Sounds good to me, mate,” Ron responded with a wide grin, throwing an arm over Harry’s shoulders and messing up his hair. Harry grunted in fake annoyance and regathered his hair into a bun.

“Harry and I thought it would be a good idea to use the jacket as a focal point, for the style. He will also need all the essentials. We’ll let him choose his own underwear, but everything else must be run by us.” Ginny smiled too sweetly and looked around the group for any objections. Harry rolled his eyes.

“Fine — I am in your capable hands, ladies,” he told them with an overdramatic bow.

Robes turned out to be easy enough. Twilfitt and Tatting were awed when they spotted Harry (at this point he had completely given up hiding his scar, still working on successfully glamouring the damned thing, and with his hair in a bun it was rather on display), but at least professional enough to hold back and make sure they gave recommendations without overwhelming him. He ended up with a nice selection of robes, more than he had planned on buying, and a nice pair of dragon hide boots (made from a dragon who had been attacked by another and died because of it — Harry would never buy any made from dragons hunted for their hide after speaking to Charlie about it), and the order would be delivered by owl once the robes were finished.

With robes out of the way, they (Hermione) made a list of the necessities Harry needed and headed out to muggle London, making sure no reporters were on their tails as they left through the Leaky.

They mostly kept to the ‘not quite high end’ shops, especially for the essentials, but Harry did buy several very luxurious pants from some famous designer bloke and a nice muggle suit in a dark emerald colour form a really posh shop where he would have to return for another fitting (fittings really were easier in the Wixen World). 

Hermione had tried to make him try on some way too preppy looking outfits, but Luna told her, in that dreamy voice of hers, that Harry would probably be too uncomfortable in them. Hermione relented without too much fuss, and later stopped Ginny from trying to make him buy a salmon pink suit that would have looked absolutely ridiculous on him. He did let her talk him into buying a pair of red tight fitting tartan trousers though and they even managed to find a nice understated gold chain that he could wear his signet rings on. He had wondered how to wear them, considering he had never really worn rings before and they were rather large, as magical signet rings usually were. He’d merged the Gryffindor and Potter rings and the Slytherin and Black rings, but even if he merged all of them (as he’d been assured that he could) it would be a large ring. Maybe he could work up to it, alternate between wearing them on a chain and wearing them as one on his finger.

Harry ended up with a sort of edgy grunge look for the most part. Black, muted colours and jewel tones, skinny jeans or tight fitting trousers of different varieties, flannel shirts with various patterns (mostly plaid) and dress shirts, a few cardigans, hoodies and comfy jumpers that still fit with the whole grunge look. Combat boots and converse as well as a few nicer shoes.

“Your eyes and your arse are your best features, Haz, you need to play them up,” Ginny had said as way of explaining the need for jewel tones (and eyeliner, which he wasn’t sure he would actually wear, but had bought) and extra skinny jeans (“I know you have muscles, Harry, but you’re also skinny, and these show off that pert arse you have despite being so skinny”).

“Should he wear lipstick then?” Luna asked, gazing at a display of lipsticks of so many variations of red it was enough to make anyone dizzy. “He has a very cute pouty mouth.”

Harry hadn’t the chance to reply (though he suspected Luna was teasing him) before Ginny did.

“He does, doesn’t he? One of those perfectly kissable mouths that we women are all jealous of.”

“I am here, you know,” Harry pointed out, gesturing at himself with a sigh.

“But I think lipstick will be too much. Maybe some tinted lip balm though,” Ginny said as if Harry hadn’t said anything. Luna simply nodded, in complete agreement apparently, and moved on to the display of nail polish, where she signalled for Harry to join her. Probably knowing he was much more comfortable with the nail polish than lipstick, and he accepted it as an apology whether it was one or not.

All in all he was very happy with the outcome so far, and really had a new appreciation for fashion. He had even learned that what Ginny was wearing was called a crop top, and had declined her offer to buy him one. Maybe next time. He had ended up with tinted lip balm though, once he realised it didn’t actually change the colour of his lips that much.

They stopped for lunch at a small muggle café on a corner close to Oxford Street, called Toi & Moi, which he had no idea how he was supposed to pronounce. Was it French? He didn’t know, and there were no helpful hints anywhere either.

It looked quirky and inviting, a bunch of faux flowers taking up what little of the wall wasn’t window on one side of the corner space. They were lucky — it wasn’t too crowded and they easily found a nice table away from the entrance on the ground floor. Harry sat down so that he could look out one of the windows, observing the people walking around London, but also see the rest of the café, including the entrances.

“This place is really nice,” Ginny remarked as she looked around. She didn’t have much experience with fully muggle spaces, and had been excited by all the new things she’d seen.

They quickly ordered their food, Harry choosing the veggie breakfast with extra avocado (his taste for meat had rather dwindled after the Battle; he still ate it sometimes, just to be polite, but was pretty much a vegetarian at this point), and he surreptitiously threw up a Muffliato around them, one of the spells he could do wandlessly now. His magic may be out of control at times, but he didn’t seem to have any less of it. 

“Oh, that was a nice bit of magic, Harry,” Luna said the second the Muffliato was up, still looking at her menu despite already having ordered. Hermione and Ginny looked from Luna to Harry, clearly not having heard his mumbled spell or paid attention enough to feel it when he cast, and not even Luna seemed to have realised he’d done it wandlessly either.

“Er, thanks, Luna. I figured it was a good idea so we don’t have to worry about the statute or whatever.” He paused and looked around for a second before continuing. “And I had something I wanted to share with the group.”

He looked back at them, noticing that Hermione looked a little worried, and hurried to explain.

“It’s nothing bad, I just think it’s important to tell you, to say it out loud, and Ginny already knows — I think you knew before me, Gin — and I actually think you all know, but I still think I should say, you know, to have said out loud, so—”

Hermione cut off his rambling by taking his hand.

“Maybe just tell us?” 

She smiled at him and Harry took a deep breath to steady himself, then spoke directly to Hermione.

“I’m gay.”

Her smile widened and she squeezed his hand. “I did suspect it, yes.”

Harry looked over to Luna, who was gazing fondly at him.

“Oh, I’ve known for a long time, Harry.”

“Thank you, for being so nice about this. I appreciate it.”

“That’s nothing to thank us for, Harry,” Ginny said forcefully, “it’s basic respect. It shouldn’t even be necessary to come out like this. People don’t have to come out as straight, everyone just assumes you’re straight until proven otherwise. But I’ll say it aloud here, to ‘share with the group’, though everyone at this table already knows — I’m bi.” Ginny sat back in her chair, arms crossed, but she was smiling.

“And I’m pan,” Luna told them happily.

Hermione looked at each of them, hands in her lap, before she said, “I’ve always considered myself straight, but I’ve also never been interested in anyone but Ronald, so I don’t really know.”

“Not at all? Not even looked at a stranger and found them attractive?” Harry was surprised.

“Not the way I hear other people describe it, and not the way I find Ron attractive. More like how you can tell a painting is beautiful, but it doesn’t mean you want to snog it. Even with Viktor,” she blushed, but continued, ”I didn’t actually find him particularly attractive, I was just upset with Ron and thought I should give it a chance.”

Harry thought back and realised that he had found Viktor Krum attractive, even with his rather graceless gait on the ground.

“Sounds like you could be demisexual, Hermione. That’s okay, many people are.” Luna was looking at Hermione, who simply blinked back.

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“Me neither.” Harry raised his hand slightly as if in class.

“It generally means that you don’t find someone sexually attractive unless you already have an emotional connection with them”, Ginny told them.

“But I have emotional connections with many people and still don’t find them sexually attractive. Like Harry. Not that you’re not good looking, Harry, it’s just—”

“It’s fine, ‘Mione! I don’t find you sexually attractive either, you know, you’re practically my sister and I’m gay,” Harry rushed to assure her. 

“It’s more that having an emotional connection to someone means you can find them sexually attractive, not that one always follows the other. And in your case, the only time that emotional connection has lead to sexual attraction is with my darling brother,” Ginny said as she made a face, making them all laugh.

“Well, I think I have to look into that,” Hermione said once they stopped laughing. “Thank you for explaining it. I’m rather annoyed I hadn’t heard of it before, you would think it’d be mentioned in at least one of the books I’ve read.” She really did look put out over this failure of literature.

“You going to the library then?” Harry smirked at Hermione, making her slap his shoulder with a mock glare.

“Okay, so, what do we need to get next to make Harry the ultimate fit gay biker?” Ginny laughed when Harry wrinkled his nose and stuck his tongue out. “Actually, you should get tattoos,” she continued excitedly.

“I always wanted tattoos, even as a child. My relatives hated them, and I remember how weird I found that, because I thought they looked rather nice.” 

His body was marked by others, it would be nice to choose the marks himself for a change.

“There’s a tattoo parlour right across the road,” Luna said with her head cocked to one side, looking out the window. “You could do it right now.”

Ginny’s excitement appeared to grow, just as Hermione frowned in concern.

“I don’t think I could get one right now, you have to make an appointment, and I should probably do some research to make sure I get someone who knows what they’re doing. But yeah, I think I will actually do it. I’d like it to be something meaningful though.”

Hermione had perked up right away at the thought of Harry voluntarily doing research, and he suspected he would receive help on that front. In all likelihood, he would receive some books on being gay as well.

“If you’re a fit gay biker,” Luna started. “does that mean you have a bike?”

He looked over the table at Ginny, who just shrugged her shoulders and told him “you might as well tell them, Harry, I think we should buy some gear anyway”. So that’s what he did, he told them about Sirius’ bike. Hermione was, unsurprisingly, worried, but he explained that it was no less safe than a broom and he was actually a good driver. She wasn’t fully convinced, but Ginny cleverly chose that time to distract her.

“What are those things all the muggles are staring at?”

They all looked around and Harry noticed that most of the people around them were either looking at mobiles or talking into them. Hermione, naturally, took it upon herself to explain what they were.

“Those are mobile phones! Or, smartphones actually. Oh, I wish the Wixen World would adopt some muggle practices, like mobiles. They’re so useful, much easier to use for communication than owls.”

She went on explaining how telephones had been made mobile and then how many extra features were added on so that they were now more like small computers, at which point she had to explain what computers were. She had just begun explaining what the internet was when Harry thought it might be a good idea to stop her.

“‘Mione, we can explain more of it later, we can even show them if you want, but maybe we should get going now? We still have stuff to buy.”

“I suppose you’re right. It’s too bad mobile phones wouldn’t work at Hogwarts though,” she said wistfully as they all gathered their stuff. “Too much magic, you know. Interferes with the electronics,” she added to Ginny and Luna, who nodded without appearing to truly understand it.

They had shrunk down most of what they’d bought, and put it all into a single shopping bag, adding a Featherlight Charm for good measure. They’d figured that walking around shopping without any shopping bags would look weird to muggles.

“What more do I need, ‘Mione?” Harry asked once he’d paid for their food. Another thing he wished the Wixen World would adopt was definitely bank cards. He’d have to ask Bill about it.

“There’s winter clothes for one. Ginny mentioned some gear? We should also get more bath towels and bed linens for Grimmauld Place, but we should owl order those.”

“And proper toiletries for you, Harry, to compliment the hair potions we finally got you to use”, Ginny said as she thoroughly messed up his hair with her hands just like her brother had done a few hours earlier.

“You promise to make me look good and then you go and do this? Can I ever trust you again, Ginerva?” he said theatrically, making sure to hold his hands over his heart and look oh so hurt.

Ginny simply laughed as she linked arms with Luna and skipped out of the café, leaving Harry to struggle with gathering his hair back up in a bun before joining them.

~ ~

Late that night Harry was lying in his bed thinking through the day.

He was absolutely exhausted, of course, but it had been fun. Ginny had tricked him into buying some strangely patterned socks (light green and covered with small avocados, which was why he let himself be tricked into buying them — he loved avocados), Luna had helped him choose a selection of nail polish (they’d figured out that muggle nail polish actually held up better with protection spells than wixen ones, for whatever reason), Hermione had made sure that while his wardrobe now had more colour there wasn’t really anything that he felt he couldn’t wear. (Thinking about the salmon pink suit still made him giggle.)

They’d helped him put everything away too, using clever charms to make sure nothing would get covered in dust and that he’d always find what he was looking for.

They’d bought running gear as well as biking gear, because Ginny had told him she thought he would enjoy running for fun (a novelty for Harry) and that it was excellent exercise. According to her it felt almost like flying. Apparently she often ran the trails around the Burrow.

Harry was used to running a lot in his childhood, but that had been running away from other people who were chasing after him. Running just to enjoy the movements themselves or the place you ran through, that was something Harry didn’t really have any experience with at all. Luna, though admitting her running was more of the wild and free style of a child, had agreed with Ginny that Harry would like it.

“You have a love for the air,” Luna had said. And then she’d added, more quietly, as if more to herself than to Harry: “Just like Draco.”

The comment reminded Harry of what he’d seen at the Leaky Cauldron, how he’d seen Malfoy talking to Luna.

He hadn’t asked Luna about it. He would, at some point, but not now. The strange thing was that he hadn’t felt angry seeing Malfoy. He tried to examine his feelings and recognise any of the old anger he’d felt towards him, but he couldn’t find any trace of it. He’d felt... surprised. And curious, very curious. Though he’d always been curious, that wasn’t new so much as heightened. There was that delightful thrill down his spine, that was new.

Something about Malfoy had been different though. Something…

Suddenly Harry realised what it was. Malfoy had been wearing muggle clothes. That was what had been different. And when he left it hadn’t been towards Diagonal Alley, but into muggle London. How strange.

Yes, Harry was decidedly curious.

Chapter Text

Saturday 31 July 2010

The next morning Harry woke up yet again to a thoroughly trashed room. He had kept up warding his bedroom after moving to Grimmauld Place, which had turned out to be a good idea. So far it had not let up, and he woke up to a trashed room every few days. Nobody else had mentioned it though, so he figured the wards and silencing charms Molly had taught him were doing their job.

He made his way down to the kitchen where he found Hermione with a cup of tea in her hands and a stacks of books in front of her. She was still in her soft looking pyjamas, her dark brown hair in a rather messy bun on top of her head.

“Good morning. What’s all this?” He gestured to the piles of books.

“Good morning, Harry. I wanted to read up after what we spoke about at the café yesterday. I think Luna was right, you know — that I’m demisexual. And I got this one for you.” She pushed a book across the table at him when he sat down.

He picked it up and read the title. The Gay Wizard’s Guide to Sex. He blushed, but accepted it.

“I know it’s embarrassing, but it’s information you need and I know you wouldn’t have looked it up yourself.” She looked embarrassed herself, but determined to work through it.

“Thank you. That’s very thoughtful of you, Hermione. How on earth did you even dig up all this in such a short time?”

She shrugged as if it was no big deal and didn’t answer.

Harry was grateful, and Hermione was right too. He would have been too embarrassed to look it up himself. He wouldn’t even have known where to look. He highly doubted she had borrowed the book from the Hogwarts library. Instead of taking it upstairs right away he shrank it and put it in the pocket of his new jeans. They were much tighter than any of his old jeans, but they were still surprisingly comfortable. They actually fit him, like Ginny had said.

“Anyway, I’ll get started on breakfast.” He began moving to the kitchen counter, but had barely left the table when he was stopped.

“Wait!” Hermione jumped from the table and ran right at him, giving him a hug. “Happy birthday, Harry.” 

When she let him go they smiled at each other.

“There, now you can start breakfast. I’ll make tea. If I could I would help you with breakfast, but we both know you’re a much better cook than me. Merlin knows how, I’m much better at potions than you are.” She still looked affronted at the idea that there was something she couldn’t perfect if only she read enough. Her attempts in the kitchen had been memorable for their lack of success, if nothing else. Ron was a decent cook, surprisingly, but a lazy one.

When Ron and Ginny came walking into the kitchen, looking sluggish and barely awake, Hermione was back at the table, books cleared away and tea fixed, and Harry was finishing up four towers (or three — his own wasn’t exactly a tower) of American style pancakes. Molly had taught him how to cook with magic, but he still mostly used the muggle way.

Ron and Ginny sat down at the table, Ron next to Hermione, letting his forehead drop to her shoulder and her hand immediately found its way to his hair.

“How... are you two up so early and yet so chirpy?” Ginny had her arms folded on the table, resting her chin on her forearms, eyes closed and brows furrowed.

Harry laughed as he set the table with a nice assortment of jams, various fruits and berries, and the obligatory maple syrup, then sat down next to Ginny, who looked like she barely managed to lift her head as she put her arms around him.

“Happy birthday, Haz. Thanks for preparing your own birthday breakfast ‘n lettin’ me sleep in. I appreciate it.”

They all laughed at this, Ginny included (though hers was more of a snort as she let go of Harry), and Ron wished him a happy birthday too before they tucked in.

“So,” he started, as they were finishing up. “Who’s up for decorating for the party tonight? I’m making a cake, but other than that there’ll be snacks and beverages. Seamus is bringing firewhiskey, and I was thinking of mixing some drinks.”

“The three of us are decorating, and you, Harry, will do nothing more than making that cake. And those drinks.” Hermione looked pointedly at him across the kitchen table.

Harry raised his hands at her in surrender. It would be easier to just make the cake and then sneak in to help them decorate after that was done rather than trying to argue the point now.

Hermione was still eating. Harry had given them more pancakes than himself since he still didn’t have much of an appetite, but both Ron and Ginny had more or less inhaled their food. It was almost impressive. At least Ginny didn’t eat as messily as Ron did. Hermione had given him more than one displeased look as he spilled raspberry jam everywhere. Ginny ate fast, but she took normal sized bites and actually chewed a bit before swallowing. Harry had been a fast eater himself, mostly using a tactic of small quick bites (any mess would have been a big mistake at the Dursleys), but his lack of appetite since the Battle had slowed him down.

Ginny raised her hand as if in class.

“I propose that we hold off on getting ourselves ready for the party until after dinner at the Burrow. I do not think mum will like seeing what I’m wearing. Well, neither will my brothers, but I don’t care what they think, and if they try to say something I will hex them.”

She directed the last sentence at Ron, who looked like he’d swallowed something sour.

Hermione took his hand in an effort to get his attention.

“Ronald, she is her own person, she can dress however she wants.”

She then leaned in close and whispered something into his ear that made him blush so hard the colour of his ears rivalled that of his hair. Hermione smirked, clearly pleased with herself, as she slowly sat back in her chair and raised her wand to send the dirty dishes from the table to the sink with a flourish.

Ginny and Harry simply looked at each other with eyebrows raised.

~ ~

After a nice dinner at the Burrow, where he received presents from the Weasleys (a clock like the one at the Burrow but with pictures of himself, Ron, and Hermione) and Andromeda (a book about the practical uses of house magic and a promise to teach him how to communicate with the house more efficiently) — and got to cuddle his godson —, the trio and Ginny flooed back to Grimmauld Place. The twins would arrive later, having elected to get ready at their own flat above their shop.

Everything was in place, the drinks and snacks (and Harry’s cake) was under stasis on an antique console table in the sitting room. It was one of the rooms they had fully redecorated, and it was now both classy and cozy, with a mix of antique and retro furniture. They’d kept the walls light, the floor was a dark walnut, which left them more room to play with the colours of the furniture and everything else. The coffee table matched the floors, the sofa was a surprisingly comfortable antique and a dark emerald green, next to it was a big wingback chair in a nice ochre yellow with gold accents. There was an identical chair in the library as well as in Harry’s bedroom, and the bay windows in both the sitting room and the library were made into window seats and filled with pillows in complimenting shades of red, yellow, blues and greens, and a teal that was a feature in various rooms from the sitting room and library, to the kitchen, and the dining room that wasn’t finished yet, as well as Harry’s own bedroom.

“So,” Hermione started once she’d inspected the console table. “I’ve arranged it so that people can floo here through Fred and George’s floo rather than come through the front door, since nothing we’ve tried so far have worked on Walburga.” It was clear in both her voice and face that she took this as a personal offence.

“I really think we ought to have Bill look at it, love,” Ron told her gently. “He is the expert on curses, and if that painting isn’t a curse then I don’t know what is.” His attempt at calming down Hermione’s fury clearly worked as she laughed at his joke along with the rest of them.

“Yes,” she sighed, amusement still visible on her face. “I do believe you’re right. Maybe try floo calling him tomorrow.”

“Actually, I already asked him about it just now, before we left the Burrow.”

Hermione looked at Ron in surprise.

“That’s clever of you to remember, Ronald. I had completely forgotten about it while we were there.”

“Always the tone of surprise,” Ron replied as he pulled her into a kiss.

“Okay,” Ginny cut in. “So we should all go get ready, yeah? I know I have to.”

“Yes, let’s do that.” Hermione pulled away from Ron slightly and turned to leave, dragging Ron with her. Ginny and Harry followed them out of the sitting room.

“Harry, do you need help figuring out what to wear?” Ginny asked him as she reached the guest bedroom she was using. 

“No, that’s fine. You can just tell me to change if something looks off.” He shrugged.

“Oh, believe me, Haz, I will,” she replied with a gleeful smile. “And I will be ruthless.”

Harry rolled his eyes and gave her a light push. 

“Go change, Gin.”

“Fine, but seriously, let me know if you need help. And use the eyeliner!”

He nodded and she closed the door after giving him a little half wave.

He had showered and shaved before dinner, so he changed right into the clothes he’d chosen for the party. They’d let everyone know that they would be going to a muggle club later, and that those who wanted to join would have to wear muggle clothing. Muggle clothing were quite popular among young wixes now, so it should be fine. It was mostly the children of the blood supremacist families who hadn’t worn muggle clothing at all (at least not where their parents might have found out about it).

Harry had chosen to wear the tight fitting classic red tartan trousers Ginny had encouraged him to buy (“they make your arse look really nice, and I hear that’s quite important for a lot of gays as well as for me”), a wonderfully soft (and also tight fitting — though after a life of Dudley’s hand me downs everything felt tight fitting) black V neck T-shirt, and his dark brown dragon hide boots. The muggles wouldn’t know it was actual dragon hide anyway, they wouldn’t believe him if he told them to their faces.

With his now fairly long hair falling in soft curls around his face he didn’t look too bad. The glasses even looked more like a fashion statement than a statement to his poor eyesight. He had put his lordship rings on the silver chain they bought for them the day before, but decided not to wear them to the club. They were too important to him, he didn’t want to risk losing them, and he was worried he would remove them in a drunken stupor if he chose to wear them on his finger. 

He’d received them by special owl the day after his visit to Gringotts, and spent the entire day staring at them. The Potter lordship ring in gold with a pair of horns on a blue background and the Black lordship ring in silver with a black crow, the Gryffindor lordship ring red and gold and the Slytherin lordship ring green and silver. He had decided to keep his Gryffindor and Slytherin lordships on the down low, so he’d merged them so that they looked like they were just the Potter and Black lordship rings. He liked the sight of them together on the chain anyway, and thought they would look good with his outfit, but in the end he chose to just wear a patterned bracelet in a red that matched the trousers.

He combed through his hair and gathered it up in a messy bun that should be the right kind of artfully dishevelled before looking at himself in the tall mirror in his bedroom. He had seen himself with the trousers on before, but it was still a strange sight. He looked completely different. Other than underwear and his school robes he had never shopped for his own wardrobe before, and actually choosing his own clothes? 

Sure, the girls had made suggestions, but in the end it had been his choice what to buy yesterday. He hadn’t bought these trousers because Ginny made him. She’d seen that he wanted them, but felt too insecure about it, so she’d helped him convince himself that it was alright. And he didn’t look half bad. He’d be wearing his leather jacket when they went to the club, with a hefty Impervious on it to make sure no beer made its way onto it.

He took a moment to check the locks in his mind then braced his shoulders before leaving his room to ask Ginny to help him with the bloody eyeliner. 

~ ~

The party so far had been fun. 

Ginny’s outfit (a black fitted sleeveless dress that ended mid thigh, fishnet stockings, and low cut red boots) had indeed earned her a glare from Ron, until Hermione (who was wearing something similar to Ginny’s outfit, except her dress was black with yellow details and cut very low on her back, the stockings were more lace than fishnet, and she wore dark yellow heels) poked him in the ribs. 

The twins weren’t happy about their baby sister’s outfit, but they knew better than to say anything more than “you scrub up nice, sis” and pat her on the head. 

Harry had received comments on his outfit too, and they were all positive. Seamus had made some rather filthy remarks about his behind, and been promptly shut up by Dean. He and Neville had talked about wanting to get tattoos, and what kind of tattoos to get (Neville wanted the sword of Gryffindor on his wand arm and Harry thought it was a brilliant idea), and Lee recommended a magical tattoo parlour off the main street of Diagon Alley, where he had gotten his. Angelina sat on Fred’s lap and asked Ginny, Hermione, and Luna about the muggle places they went to to buy Harry’s clothes, and they all discussed the changes they had made to Grimmauld Place.

They’d also played a few drinking games instigated by the twins and were therefore already pleasantly tipsy by the time they made their way to the muggle club.

Harry had chosen a place that was close enough that they could walk to and fro, since Apparating while drunk was bad idea, and to avoid waking Walburga when leaving or returning, they had instead cleared enough of the garden and conservatory that they could leave by the hidden garden entrance through Harry’s study. It had been too difficult to have everyone arrive there for the party — if you didn’t know where it was it would be too hard to explain (it was Andromeda who had shown Harry the door the first time she visited the house), but this way would work perfectly since they were all leaving together. Harry had made sure to let Kreacher know to help anyone who might want to leave the club early and floo back, should that be necessary.

The Barfly in Camden was a popular club, with a bar on the ground floor and a live room on the first. They got lucky, as the line wasn’t terribly long when they arrived, so they didn’t have to wait long to get inside.

It was a nice place. Smaller than Harry had thought, but with a nice atmosphere. They decided to stay on the ground floor for a few rounds before going up to the live room. There’d be a live band playing soon, but they wanted to drink more before dancing.

Dean, Seamus, Lee, and Ron went to the bar to get the first round of beers as the rest got comfortable by their table. Harry sat with his back to the wall, between Ginny and Angelina. They’d surreptitiously shrunk their jackets and put them with most of their valuables in Hermione’s tiny (but magically extended) purse, which in turn was kept safe in Ron’s jeans pocket. Hermione even spelled it so that it wouldn’t fall out (or be stolen), just to be on the safe side. 

Neville mentioned their wands, and Harry learned that they all had magically hidden compartments for them in their clothes. Harry had made sure to add one to all his trousers, Neville and Dean had magical holsters on their belts (invisible to muggles), Luna had a simple long narrow wand pocket magically sown into her deep yellow floor length dress, and Angelina had a thigh holster. Harry had wanted one for years (either for his thigh or his forearm), so during the first round he asked her questions about where she’d gotten it. It was slightly more ornate than both Neville’s and Dean’s, and she told him she chose the design herself. The piece that went around her thigh had a row of tiny brooms and Harry had to smile at her dedication to Quidditch. He sat up and looked around.

“I just realised I’m most likely sitting between two of the best Quidditch players there is, and the BIQL* won’t know what hit them when both of these are out there. So,” he raised his pint. “Let’s toast to Ginny and Angelina — our soon-to-be Quidditch stars!”

“And to Harry — because it’s his bloody birthday!” Angelina added with a laugh.

“And to Neville — because it was his birthday yesterday!” Harry threw in.

“Cheers!”

They all raised their glasses, and took deep gulps.

“Is that what you plan on doing too then, Ginny? Play professionally?” Lee asked excitedly once they’d put down their drinks, leaning across the table to address his question directly at Ginny.

“Yeah, at least that’s what I want to.” She paused and looked uncharacteristically shy. “Actually, I’ve already been contacted by the Holyhead Harpies, they want to see how I do my last year at Hogwarts and then, if they’re happy with what they see, they want me to train with them. Two of their Chasers are retiring soon, so I might have a pretty good shot.”

The reaction was whooping and congratulations from everyone around the table. Harry gave her a hug.

“That’s amazing, Ginny! I know for sure you can do it though. Let me know if you want to train with me or anything, I’ll show you how the pros do it,” Angelina said as she leant over Harry to be able to see Ginny as she spoke to her.

“Thanks, I’d love that! I wish I’d be on the same team as you though.”

“Oh well, the Falcons are quite exclusive, I suppose,” she teased. “The Harpies are brilliant though, and if the retiring Chasers are who I think they are, they would be absolute fools not to take you on.”

“You should have gone into professional Quidditch, Harry,” said Lee. “You’d be an asset to any team in the BIQL! Much better than being an Auror, though I suppose the danger level is about the same.”

“No way,” argued Ron. “I am not letting the BIQL steal my Auror partner from me!”

“You don’t even know if you’ll be partnered up, Ron,” snorted George.

“Yeah, no way they’ll put Harry with you and let you walk out into the wild without Hermione to look after you,” Fred added, making the rest laugh.

“What are you doing then, Lee?” Harry asked, hoping to get the conversation off Aurors. He was still feeling sick to his stomach about becoming one, no matter how much Ron was looking forward to it. 

“Well, after the success that was Potterwatch,” Lee said, pausing to bow to the non-existent applause and grinning when everyone laughed and finally gave him a round of over the top theatrical applause. “I’ve been offered my own weekly show with the WWN**.”

There was a chorus of congratulations, George absolutely beaming at Lee and Fred giving him a pat on the back, both obviously unsurprised by the news but also fiercely proud of their friend.

They chatted a bit more about Quidditch and future plans as they drank, moving on to discussing the band as they moved on to round two of drinks. Harry had read up on them when they were looking for places to go, and they seemed to be an up and coming local prog-rock band with a good reputation and steadily growing fan base.

After their second round of beers they did a couple rounds of shots, so Harry was feeling pleasantly buzzed by the time they decided to leave their table for the dance floor. The band was already doing their thing, the crowd pumped up and enjoying the heavy bass. Harry wasn’t usually good with crowds or dancing, but a mixture of alcohol, blissful anonymity, and grounding music that he could really feel made him walk right into the crowd and lose himself to the rhythm.

He danced with his friends in groups and pairs, and made Ginny laugh (and cringe) by drunkenly telling her that she had been his girlfriend, but now he was her gayfriend.

A few rounds of dancing, shots, dancing, more shots, and more dancing later, Harry had some bloke grinding up behind him, large hands holding his hips as he swayed to the music. He looked around as surreptitiously as he could with the level of blood in his alcohol system, but he could only glimpse a few red heads in the crowd. The hands on his hips seemed to be leading him in the opposite direction of them. Before he knew what was happening he was swung around and pushed against a wall, his head hitting it with a sharp thud. He looked straight into a well defined chest. Merlin, this guy was tall. Or maybe Harry was just short.

The bloke pressed Harry against the wall, pushed his chin up and kissed him. The kiss was hard, it was domineering, and it was very different from his previous kisses. The hands were back on his hips, gripping them so hard there was no way he wouldn’t have bruises tomorrow. He gasped and grabbed onto the shirt in front of him as a knee made it between his, and a tongue lost no time in entering his mouth, searching it, Harry simply doing his best to follow. 

His mind was buzzing, blissfully empty, and he moaned into the kiss when a thigh was pressed against his quickly hardening cock, and the hands on his hips encouraged him to grind down. When he did he realised what he’d felt on his hip was actually the other bloke’s erection through his jeans.

They could have been there for seconds or years for all Harry knew, when he felt someone not too far away using magic and as the tall bloke all of a sudden let go of him Harry was pulled away and dragged off.

He didn’t fully understand what was happening until he was in the loo, fluorescent light sharp in his eyes, and he could see that it was Lee who had pulled him away.

“What—,” he started, his voice giving up as he tried to make sense of his surroundings.

“It looked like a situation that could’ve easily escalated beyond what was alright, and you were too drunk for that five shots ago, so I took the liberty to remove you from the situation.”

As Harry was trying to let the words make sense, Lee was collecting paper towels and running them under cold water before holding them out to Harry, who was leaning against one of the stalls.

“Here. Use them to wash your face and neck, it will sober you up a little.”

“Thanks,” Harry mumbled before doing as he was told, automatically removing his glasses briefly for better access. The cold paper towels felt good against his skin, and he could slowly feel himself barely starting to re-enter his own body. He was still drunk, everything was still unbalanced and he felt the buzz of alcohol in his system, but he could make out his surroundings. Worse than that, he realised that Lee had seen. Had seen Harry snogging a man. Or, being snogged by a man. Before he could even react to that realisation properly, Lee spoke up.

“If you’re starting to panic that I saw you with a bloke, you don’t have to worry about that, mate. I don’t care about that, and I’m bi, so I feel like it’d be a bit hypocritical of me, to be frank with you. What you should worry about are those bruises on your arm.”

Harry looked at his arms. On his left one he could see the beginning of a bruise forming. He hadn’t even noticed the bloke grabbing his arm, so he wondered how his hips would look like in the morning. Not that he really minded, he couldn’t pretend he hadn’t enjoyed the feeling of big hands gripping his hips like he might fly off if they didn’t hold on tight. Well, he couldn’t pretend to himself, but he could pretend to Lee.

“Well, that might look nasty in the morning.”

“Yeah, it might,” Lee agreed. “You can heal or glamour them though. I think I’ll help you home, Ginny and Luna were also mentioning going back shortly before I spotted you. Come on.”

He moved towards the door, but Harry grabbed his arm before he could reach it.

“Could you... erm, could you not say anything about what you saw?” He felt himself blushing.

Lee looked at him. It was odd to see him without a huge smile on his face. Not that Harry hadn’t seen him serious before, of course he had, but this occasion didn’t feel as serious as Lee’s face looked.

“I won’t, Harry,” he replied slowly. “About you being gay, which I realise is simply my own assumption, or about what I saw. You should be wary of situations like the one you were just in though. He was clearly targeting you because you were drunk and small enough that it would be easy for him to overpower you. Foolish, since he has no idea you’re a bloody powerful wix, but there you have it.”

“I am gay,” Harry said, ignoring what Lee had said after that. He could take care of himself. “Some people know, some don’t. I haven’t told the twins or Ron yet. Hermione, Ginny, and Luna know though.”

Lee looked at him for a bit before speaking again. “Right. Time to get you home. Come on.”

With that he pushed Harry out of the loo and over to where he could now see Luna and Ginny looking around anxiously. Ginny saw them while they were still a few meters away and gave Harry a look that he was still too drunk to interpret with any degree of accuracy.

“There you are, Harry. Fuck, you had me worried, I couldn’t find... you...” As she talked she had looked him over and even in the low light she’d caught the beginning of a bruise on his arm. She looked at Lee. “What happened?” Luna took Ginny’s hand, clearly feeling she needed some support. 

“Some drunk had grabbed his arm and he was too pissed to really register or fight back without magic. I caught it pretty quickly though, I think.” Lee looked at Harry as he said the last sentence, and Harry nodded at him before looking back at Ginny.

“I’m fine, Gin, I was just too out of it and he took me by surprise. Lee helped me out, everything’s alright. I’d like to go home though.” Ginny looked like she didn’t actually believe him, but nodded anyway.

“Okay, let’s go. Luna and I want to leave too. Ron and Hermione already went home. I got our stuff from Ron before they left though. Are you coming too, Lee?”

“Yeah, I’ll just say goodnight to the others. Did you get their stuff from Ron too?”

Ginny confirmed she had and Lee left to find the twins, their belongings in his pocket. Considering the twins’ height and hair colour Harry figured it wouldn’t take long.

They made it back to Grimmauld Place safely, Ginny throwing worried glances at Harry throughout and barely contributing to their Quidditch conversation. Lee was doing his best to keep the awkward silences as brief as possible, running through yesterday’s match between the Harpies and Magpies almost minute by minute, with very little help from Harry, who was still too drunk and out of it to do much besides putting one foot in front of the other.

When they entered the sitting room of Grimmauld Place, Lee gave Harry a pat on the back and muttered “remember what I said, yeah?” before disappearing through the floo with a phial of Luna’s hangover potion.

The silence that fell after he’d gone was heavy, and tense, and Harry did not have the mental capacity to deal with it at the moment, so instead he told Luna the bedroom next to Ginny’s was free if she wanted to stay the night, bid them both goodnight, and walked briskly up to his room. 

His mind was swimming. He felt vaguely panicky, and awkward, but also like he still couldn’t completely gather his thoughts. In a flash he remembered the feeling of a thigh between his own and strong hands on his hips, and groaned as he fell back on is bed. He was still half hard, and it was better to deal with it now rather than risk waking up tense and horny the next morning.

He kicked his boots off the side of the bed, removed his trousers, pants, jacket and T-shirt before throwing them onto the chair by his nightstand, and crawled under the blankets. He was usually neater than this, but he couldn’t be bothered at the moment.

He looked down at his hips and saw bruises on both sides, clearly made by hands. His cock twitched. He’d had no idea who the bloke was, couldn’t even tell if he’d been black or white or asian or what, just that he’d been tall, but he had enjoyed the feeling of what they’d done. The way his mind had blanked. Harry brushed his hand over his stomach and took himself in hand. The moment he touched his cock he let out a moan. He was already fully hard just from this.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

He began pulling himself off. Light at first, then harder and faster, adding a flick of his wrist every time his hand rushed over the head, pre-come easing the movement. He felt himself getting close and used his other hand to press against the bruises on his hip, making them light up in pain.

He was moaning near constantly now, his hand flying over his cock, almost too hard. Images of someone else’s hands on him flashed through his mind; a large pale hand with long fingers pulling him off, the other gripping his hip hard, and then he was seeing stars as he came with a low whimper.

He pulled himself through it and before he could even catch his breath properly he was asleep.

Chapter Text

Sunday 1 August, 2010

Harry woke up to a pounding head and a hand covered in dried cum.

He grimaced as he flexed his fingers. There would be no point doing a Scourgify now, though he gave it shot anyway. He would have to wash it off properly. His body felt like it was moving through thick syrup though, and just trying to sit up in bed brought on a wave of nausea, so he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to get to the en-suite to even attempt a shower without violently vomiting everywhere. 

He didn’t want to risk anyone coming to check on him either, considering he’d fallen asleep with his own spunk all over himself last night, and in his haste to get to his room he had forgotten to bring the hangover potion.

He supposed he could ask Kreacher to get it for him. Kreacher wouldn’t comment and wouldn’t say anything to anyone else if he happened to see something, and besides he could just ask him to put the potion on the nightstand and leave again right away. Yeah, that was probably the best idea.

He pulled the cover and quilt up to his chin, croaked out “Kreacher”, and promptly had a coughing fit that sent his head spinning and stomach threatening to empty itself all over his bed. Kreacher had appeared before he’d even finished his name, but seemed to be waiting for Harry to gather himself before doing anything.

“Master Harry called for Kreacher,” he said when Harry had regained some semblance of control over his own respiratory system.

“Yes, I was wondering if you could get me a phial of the hangover potion Luna brought yesterday,” he spoke quietly, clearing his throat in an attempt to rid him of the tickle before continuing. “And perhaps a cup of tea?”

“Kreacher will bring Master Harry his tea and young Master Draco’s potion,” Kreacher replied, sending Harry into another coughing fit when he exclaimed his surprise.

“Whose po—” Harry couldn’t seem to get through a single short sentence without coughing. He swallowed hard, cleared his throat, and tried again. “Whose,” he paused to avoid another coughing fit, the tickle still very much there, “potion?”

“Young Master Draco’s potion, Master Harry. The ones Miss Luna brings for Master Harry and his friends.” When Harry just blinked at him, Kreacher continued. “Kreacher will bring Master Harry the potion and his tea.” 

And with a pop he was gone, leaving Harry to speculate wildly. It was Malfoy’s hangover potion? Could that even be right? Why had he given it to them? And how did Kreacher even know? Could it be poisoned? No, he wouldn’t do that, that would be stupid and Malfoy was not stupid. Maybe Luna had simply bought them from him? Was that what they had been doing at the Leaky — conducting business? But who would kiss their customer’s cheek in goodbye? 

No, it didn’t make sense. 

Luna seemed to be in contact with Malfoy though. They had appeared to be having a very pleasant and friendly conversation at the Leaky, and Luna was the one who had told him about Malfoy asking to help rebuild Hogwarts as part of his probation, so she must be having regular contact with him. Whatever for though? She had been locked in the git’s cellar for months. Okay, so he was fairly certain that Malfoy hadn’t even been there himself most of that time (only during the winter and Easter hols) and it wasn’t like he had even wanted her locked up there. 

No, Harry had known for a long time now that Malfoy hadn’t actually wanted to be part in any of it, had realised his father was wrong by then.

Harry sighed heavily and threw himself back against his pillow, his sigh turning into a groan when the impact made explosions go off in his head and another wave of nausea threatening to turn his insides out.

A pop next to is bed made him look over. Kreacher had brought potion and tea, levitating both to his nightstand. 

Before doing anything else, Harry swallowed the hangover potion (that didn’t actually taste that bad; he’d heard the taste of hangover potion was almost as bad as the hangover itself, just over more quickly). It was bliss once it set in, and Harry quickly threw out his previous plan of having Kreacher leave right after delivering the potion. He sat up in bed, and settled in with his tea before continuing his questioning, this time without the thundering head or overwhelming nausea (though still trying to hide the traces of icky spunk on his right hand — so, tea in his left).

“Kreacher, how do you know that that was Malfoy’s potion?”

“Young Master Draco is a Black, Master Harry. Miss Narcissa’s son. Kreacher senses his magic on it.”

Harry had actually kind of forgotten that because Narcissa Malfoy was a Black that meant her son was a Black and might have visited Grimmauld Place before. It sounded like Kreacher had met him, that he knew his magical signature.

“Are you saying that Draco Malfoy made the hangover potion and you can tell from his magical signature?”

“Yes, Master Harry.”

Interesting. He wondered if someone’s magical signature was the same throughout their lives, or if it changed as you grew up or based on things that happened to you, but was still recognisable. He knew he could feel other people’s magic, much more so since the Battle, but perhaps he could hone the skill in a way. Recognise people by their magic like Kreacher seemed able to do. To do that he would have to start actively noticing people’s magic. 

He had felt someone using magic yesterday though, hadn’t he? And it had felt familiar. He’d thought it was Lee at the time, but it couldn’t have been. The spell had come from the opposite side, hadn’t it? Lee had grabbed his left wrist (trying to avoid the part of the forearm the tall bloke had been holding, he realised now), had come along the wall to his left, in fact. The spell had seemed to come from Harry’s right.

The spell must’ve hit the tall bloke. Making him let go of Harry’s arm so that Lee could pull him away. What a risk to take, hexing a muggle like that, just to make the guy let go of Harry. 

Which meant they had seen him being violently snogged against a wall. 

Oh no.

“Did Master Harry need anything else from Kreacher?” Harry jumped a bit and almost spilled his tea, but managed to catch himself just in time. He’d almost forgotten Kreacher was still there.

“Erm, no. That was all, Kreacher. Thank you... Actually!”

Kreacher looked like he had something he needed to get back too, and vaguely annoyed that he was being held up, but Harry was too curious now. It would be easier to ask Kreacher than Hermione anyway, it wasn’t like he could mention Malfoy to her. She’d probably say something, or imply something, and he wasn’t sure which one would be worse. 

“Is Malfoy’s... Draco Malfoy, that is.. Erm, is his magical signature the same as when he was a child?” Harry felt himself blush, but he wasn’t sure why. He was just curious about magical signatures, there was nothing to be embarrassed about. Kreacher seemed to contemplate Harry’s question before replying.

“The magic of a wix grows with them and can change if anything happens in the wix’s life, but the core of it is still the same, so Kreacher knows it is young Master Draco’s magic and that he has... grown up. Kreacher can tell a lot from someone’s magic.”

Harry wasn’t completely sure what he was referring to, whether he was implying something, but he accepted Kreacher’s answer anyway and hoped he hadn’t tried to say something about Harry’s wanking session with that last sentence. He also wondered about the careful wording he’d used, the pause before saying ‘grown up’, but he decided to let Kreacher go. Better not to annoy him too much before breakfast.

“Thank you, Kreacher.”

The house elf bowed and was gone with a pop.

Harry sighed as he leaned back on his pillows. Someone other than Lee had seen him being snogged. It wasn’t that he was worried about being gay, not anymore, but if this person was a wix they were likely someone who knew who he was, and if Harry was right that the magic had felt familiar, then he knew them. 

If it were any of the others he’d been there with it would be embarrassing, but okay, though he’d prefer to tell them himself that he was gay. If it wasn’t, if there was another wix at the bar apart from them, who had not only seen Harry, but had been worried enough about the situation they saw (though Harry still felt like Lee was exaggerating the danger he was in) that they hexed the tall bloke so he’d let go of Harry…

So that Lee could pull him away… 

Lee must’ve seen who it was. It was timed too perfectly for him not to have seen the wix using magic.

Right. Harry would have to find a moment to ask Lee about it. First he had to shower though. He downed the rest of his tea and walked over to his bathroom, perhaps his favourite room in the entire house. He was mightily pleased with how it had turned out. It resembled the Prefects’ bathroom at Hogwarts, except more private and lighter. The colour scheme was white and a slightly softer version of the teal of his bedroom, and it made the room very calming.

There was a large sunken bath with a number of taps of different varieties (though not as many as the one in the Prefects’ bathroom, that had simply not been practical), and the entire wall to the left — which was also the wall of his large shower — was an enchanted stained glass window depicting Hogwarts, complete with Hagrid’s hut and Buckbeak flying around, as though seen from the air. The enchanted window changed with the seasons, so at the moment it was a late summer scene, and Harry enjoyed the view as he turned on the rainfall shower head suspended from the ceiling.

Ginny and Hermione had recommended some hair and skin care potions for him and he’d borrowed Ron’s owl to order them right away. They had truly done wonders for Hermione’s hair just in the last months (much needed after their year long camping trip), and she had chosen the same smell Ginny had always used at Hogwarts. That flowery smell that he now knew was Narcissus.

So far Harry would say they were worth the price. He loved the smell he’d chosen, and for a kid who had only used the least expensive 3-in-1 stuff it was heaven to lather his hair with a potion for his specific hair type and with the delicious smell of almonds and honey (the pairing smelled almost like treacle tart, which was why he chose it in the first place after going through the samples).

He might not be able to take care of himself much, but at least he could take care of his hair and skin. 

~ ~

When Harry made it downstairs it turned out he was the last one up for a change. Ginny, Luna, and the twins had stayed over and were seated around the kitchen table with Ron and Hermione eating breakfast prepared by Kreacher. His own breakfast had been kept fresh for him.

He had to smile when he saw the plate. Kreacher had picked up on Harry’s aversion to meat and instead he got toast, scrambled eggs, fried tomatoes, and slices of avocado. He wouldn’t manage to eat all of it, he knew, but he appreciated it nonetheless.

“Good morning, little one,” Fred said as Harry sat down at the head of the table.

“Little one?” 

“Are you, or you not, tiny?” George responded, winking at Harry for good measure. Harry narrowed his eyes at them in a mock glare and pointed with his butter knife.

“Be careful, giants. I could destroy you.”

The twins simply smirked in response, and Harry couldn’t help but laugh a little himself.

“The hangover potion worked then?” Ron asked Harry. 

Hermione and Ginny had their heads together and were apparently deep in discussion about something or other and Luna seemed to be eating her breakfast while her mind was in a completely different place, though you could never really tell with Luna. Ginny looked like the hangover potion hadn’t worked as well for her as the rest of them; she looked slightly worried, actually.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever been so grateful for potions in my life.”

“Hear hear!” the twins exclaimed simultaneously as they raised their tea cups and clunked them together in a toast.

“Kreacher was grumbling about ‘lazy young ones’ keeping him from his cooking, but he still made sure to add avocado to your breakfast because he knows you like it,” Ron chuckled, and Harry gave a small laugh as well. He knew he had kept him from something, and Kreacher seemed to enjoy cooking, yet he still let Harry cook when he wanted to, so the old elf must have developed a soft spot for him. Harry was glad, honestly. He had developed a soft spot for Kreacher himself.

“Yeah, I could tell it was only politeness keeping him from telling me to fuck off and get my own bloody tea.” Harry ate a piece of avocado. He would eat all the avocado, it was too precious a commodity to waste.

“And yet he makes your tea just the way you like it.” Hermione had joined the conversation again. Giving him a look that somehow managed to contain all her fondness and exasperation for Harry as well as her general disdain of the way house elves were kept. Harry stealthily avoided saying something like ‘he knows his master’, and instead grinned and kept on eating.

“It’s good to see that you all made it home alright yesterday. I assume the others did as well?” he said after a while, directing the question at the twins, since they’d still been at the bar when he’d left. At least, he was fairly certain that Lee had said that only Ron and Hermione had left before them. His memory of the night was fairly clear despite how much he’d had to drink, but a few details were spotty.

“Yeah, we all came back at the same time actually,” Fred responded.

“Was surprised Neville stayed as long as he did,” George added. “He’s certainly grown into quite the party lion!”

“Yeah, he’s really grown into himself in general.” Harry laughed a little and made to leave the table. “Anyway, I think I’m gonna take the bike out for bit.”

“No, you are not.” Hermione sounded remarkably like McGonagall, and it made him freeze in his tracks.

“Why not?” He was confused. Hermione had seemed remarkably okay with the bike two days ago.

“Because there is no way your glasses are the right prescription for you, and you cannot go driving when you can barely see.”

Harry barely kept from rolling his eyes. “I can see, ‘Mione.”

Hermione looked at Ron and the twins, who were doing their best to avoid looking at both her and Harry.

“You three know I’m right about this. When we polyjuiced ourselves to look like Harry, you cannot tell me that you could actually make out much at all without the glasses, and the glasses we got had been charmed to fit the prescription of the wearer, not duplicated from his own muggle glasses and therefore with the prescription of the glasses he wears all the time.” 

They all reluctantly nodded and Hermione looked back at Harry again. 

“I’ve seen how much you squint even with your glasses on, and I got an appointment with an eye specialist at St Mungo’s. In my opinion you should do the full treatment, that way you don’t have to worry about glasses at all. You’re training to be an Auror soon, the glasses would only be in the way.”

“This is very out of the blue, Hermione,” he tried, but was cut off.

“It is not out of the blue at all, I’ve been telling you for years, and even more so in the last two months. I even told you that if you didn’t set it up, I would.”

When Harry looked away from her he was surprised to find that they all looked at him now, even Luna, for some reason all intent on making him do this all of a sudden, and he gave them all betrayed looks. He’d been wearing these glasses since he was seven, and it had never been a problem.

He refrained from simply responding ‘they weren’t in the way when I killed Voldemort’, he didn’t think that would actually help him. And he supposed she had a point. Maybe. Possibly. They could be in the way, and he wouldn’t be surprised if they were the wrong prescription. He had found them in the Dursleys’ attic and they had improved his vision and given him less headaches, so that had been enough for him.

“Fine,” he said, and did his best to sound petulant. They could make him do it, but they couldn’t make him be happy about it. “I’ll do it. When and where?”

Hermione looked way too pleased with herself. She pulled a piece of parchment out of her pocket and handed it to him.

“Here. The appointment is tomorrow, because I figured it was better to have it done sooner rather than later. That way you’ll only have one day to complain about not being allowed on your bike, so it’s all the better for the rest of us too.”

Of course she had planned this for today, when there would be more people on her side. Harry narrowed his eyes in a glare, then looked at the note.

“Healer Clutterbuck? I’m supposed to trust my eyes to someone with the surname Clutterbuck?”

“Healer Clutterbuck has a great reputation, Harry. I did check to make sure you’d get the best, and Charlie Clutterbuck is highly regarded as such, she apparently revolutionised the field. Now stop pouting.”

Harry held his hands up in surrender.

“Fine, fine. I’ll go. So instead of taking the bike out, I’ll go to the garden and see what I can do with it. I actually found a great book on magical landscaping in the library.”

“You sound like Hermione, mate,” Ron snorted, earning himself an elbow in the ribs from his fiancée and making the rest of the table laugh, effectively breaking the tension that had formed with Hermione’s demands and Harry’s annoyance.

There were two doors out to the garden; one from the drawing room and one from the study, both through the conservatory. Neither of the rooms, nor the conservatory, had been redone yet, but they had made a start on the study, so it was easier to get through there. However, Harry was stopped by a hand on his arm before he had made it halfway through the room. When he turned around he was met with Ginny’s worried frown. She jumped straight to the point, as usual.

“What really happened yesterday?”

“Yesterday? What do you mean?” He knew playing dumb was pointless, but right now it felt preferable to actually being honest. ‘A bloke snogged me so violently I apparently had to be rescued’ sounded terribly embarrassing.

Ginny was clearly unimpressed by his attempt at playing dumb. Does that mean I’m too smart to play dumb or not smart enough to pull it off, his mind supplied, absurdly. He shook the thought away and tried to focus on what Ginny was saying instead.

“Just because we’re not together anymore does not mean I don’t care about you and don’t worry when you show up with a bruised arm and looking completely out of it. Not just drunk, Harry, you looked like you weren’t present in any way, you looked drugged or something.”

“Look, Ginny, it wasn’t anything big. I was just hammered and this bloke was looking for a fight—“

“I do not believe you on the fight part. You did not look like you had been fighting. Just tell me, please? You know you can tell me anything.”

Ginny looked genuinely hurt that he was lying to her, and she was right, he’d told her things he hadn’t told anyone else and before telling anyone else. She wouldn’t judge him for what happened, he didn’t have to feel embarrassed.

“Fine, it wasn’t a fight,” he eventually admitted. “I was just embarrassed. This bloke had been dancing with me and manoeuvred me over to the wall to snog me up against it, and Lee thought it looked too violent, so he pulled me away. It wasn’t a big deal, honest. I hadn’t even noticed he’d been grabbing my arm at all until Lee pointed out the bruises.”

Ginny considered him for a second before replying.

“Alright. I believe you. But I must say that if Lee thought it looked so bad that he needed to step in it probably was. And if you were so out of it that you didn’t even notice he was grabbing your arm hard enough that he bruised you, then I’m inclined to agree.”

Harry didn’t mind the bruises, oddly enough. He knew better than to say that though. Or to mention the other bruises. The bruises on his hips were far worse than his arm, and he couldn’t help but think that the tall bloke must’ve somehow caught on to the fact that he liked that he was gripping him so forcefully.

Harry also knew better than to tell Ginny someone had hexed the guy. He was certain at this point that whatever wix had used magic on the muggle was not one from his party, otherwise Lee would’ve told him, and at the moment he was simply hoping that the fact that they had hexed him for Harry’s sake meant they wouldn’t out him to the Prophet or something. 

So instead, he changed the subject.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re right. Do you want to come help out in the garden, by the way? You could bring Luna too, if she wants to.”

Ginny hesitated, but seemed to accept that he wanted to let the whole thing go, and ended up nodding.

“I’ll go ask her, you go on ahead.” She made to leave, but then changed her mind and instead gave Harry a hug. “Don’t scare me like that, Haz. I was seriously worried when I saw the look on your face yesterday.”

Harry felt like an arse. He should’ve just told her right away, yesterday, instead of making her worry like this for no reason. 

“Yeah, ‘m sorry,” he mumbled into her hair.

“And I think you should tell Ron that you’re gay.”

“What?” He furrowed his brows and leaned back to look at her. “Why?”

“Because while he won’t hold that against you in any way he will feel bad that you didn’t tell him, and the longer you wait the more likely he’ll be to find out somewhere else. Think about it — I know, Luna knows, Hermione knows, and now Lee knows too. Tell him today. I don’t even know why you haven’t told him already. You know he’ll support you.” She shook him lightly by the shoulders while talking, as if she was trying to force him to see sense the way you’d wake someone up from a nightmare.

“I know, I’m not even sure myself why I’m so hesitant now. Honestly, he’s become way more laidback since.. everything that happened, so even I know he’ll accept it.”

Harry didn’t say ‘since the war’ or ‘starting therapy’, but it was clear that Ginny understood what he meant. She nodded in response, still holding onto his shoulders.

“Okay, so I promise I’ll tell him today. In the meantime, help me out with the garden? This book is all about working with the garden and what it wants. Might be complete tosh, but it sounds like the exact opposite of my aunt’s gardening, and that sounds bloody brilliant to me.”

He smiled when that succeeded in making her laugh.

“Fine, I’ll come help you out. I’ll get Luna too.” She punched his shoulder lightly before turning around, this time not stopping to tell him off some more.

~ ~

They actually ended up making real headway with the garden that day. Harry had forgotten how soothing gardening could be, and magical gardening was quite fun. It helped that the twins and Ron and Hermione also joined in.

They’d removed all the trash and Harry had done his best to do what the plants themselves wanted, like he’d done at Hogwarts. He didn’t know if plants were magical in the same way, but he did feel some kind of magic from them, and it did guide him. He’d never liked his aunt’s garden in Little Whinging. It had felt so confining, as if the plants were being held hostage within sharp borders, and he remembered apologising to the flowers more than once as a small child.

The result of their work that day was a garden that looked natural rather than wild, and Harry could almost see the finished garden in his mind. He wanted to ask Neville about some of the plants already there and about the possibility of adding a few more, so he asked Ron about borrowing Pig to send him a letter the same day.

While working on a flower bed a bit further away from the others, Luna came up to him and started helping. He’d thought about whether he should ask her about Malfoy or not, but seeing as the perfect opportunity was suddenly there he decided to use his Gryffindor courage and just bloody ask. 

“Luna?”

“Yes, Harry?” she replied without looking at him, still weeding, and Harry did the same.

“I was wondering. The potion— the hangover potion, I mean. Did you get it from Malfoy?”

“Yes, isn’t Draco’s hangover potion great?”

“Yes, it is. He was always good at potions—”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. You would know that better than me, Harry, all I know that he loves potions. But it was very nice of him to offer. Then again, he is very kind.”

That made Harry look at her at last.

“He is?”

“Of course he is, Harry. He’s always been kind to me, you know. Helped me out when I was imprisoned as well. Helped all of us when he could.”

This Harry had heard nothing about before, and he couldn’t help the curiosity that made him want to hear more.

“How did he help?”

“Oh, in whatever way he could, when he was there. He brought us food. They often forgot to feed us, you see. He charmed blankets invisible and gave them to us as well, wasn’t that clever? And he often spent time just talking to us. At night, mostly. I think he had trouble sleeping. He told me about his potions and I told him about the magical things I could see in the dungeon and how I wanted to study all sorts of creatures and beings.”

“I didn’t know. None of this was mentioned at his trial.”

“No, they wouldn’t let us speak. I tried, and so did Mr Ollivander, but they refused. They told me I was biased because we’re related.”

“You’re related?”

“Yes, we’re cousins, in a way. Fourth cousins twice removed. Draco told me not to worry about the trial, but I am rather sad about it. That I couldn’t stand up for him the way he deserved.” She turned to him then, for the first time during their conversation, and took his dirty hand in hers. “But I’m happy that you did. Thank you, Harry.” Then she kissed his cheek and went back to pulling up weeds with a gentleness that Harry had never seen from anyone.

They talked about Malfoy a little more, while weeding, since it seemed that Luna enjoyed talking about him. Strangely enough, Harry found he didn’t mind it either. Which was something he was keen not to look into further.

~ ~

Telling Ron about his sexuality proved to be ridiculously easy, if embarrassing. Harry had asked him if they could talk in the Master Suite that evening, and once there told him straight out that the reason he and Ginny weren’t together anymore was because he had realised he was gay. Ron went quiet for almost a full minute before responding to the confession, but when he did it took Harry by surprise.

“That makes sense, actually,” Ron said with his head cocked, eyeing, Harry, who was seated on his bed. “In a way I feel like I should’ve realised earlier. Thanks for telling me though.”

“What do you mean, ‘it makes sense’? I didn’t even know myself for the longest time!”

“Yeah, but you can be a bit oblivious and you haven’t exactly had time to chill and think about your own sexuality. And, I mean, I always thought you might be more interested in Cedric than Cho, and then there was your obsession with Malfoy—“

“That was completely platonic, and he was up to something”, Harry cut in, though he could feel himself blush. Ron raised his eyebrows and looked like he was fighting to keep from laughing, but seemed to decide to let it go.

“Well, I think it’s good that you’ve managed to figure yourself out. I assume Ginny knows, but who else does?”

Harry was grateful for the change of direction in the conversation. He was not ready to discuss any possible attraction to Malfoy of all people. Sure, he had always been curious about him, and he wasn’t bad looking, but that was as far as Harry was willing to go with that particular thought experiment for the moment.

“Yeah, Ginny knows. Hermione and Luna know too, they’d all guessed it. Lee found out yesterday.”

“Yesterday?”

“... Isnoggedablokeandhesaw.”

Ron blinked at him.

“It’s a good thing I speak ‘Harry Mumble’ fluently by now. So you snogged a bloke and he saw. Was the snogging nice?” Ron smirked and Harry couldn’t help smiling even as he rolled his eyes.

“Well, I am a good kisser.”

“I’ll take your word for it, mate.”

)o(

Monday 2 August, 2010

The next day’s appointment with Healer Clutterbuck went surprisingly well. Harry had worried that she would be fawning over him, but she was thankfully very professional. Perhaps it was a thing with highly competent people, that they were less likely to fawn? Harry didn’t know, but in any case he was pleased every time he didn’t have to sit through the idolisation, the crying, the sometimes violent gratefulness. Or, he shuddered, the touching.

Healer Clutterbuck was a tall white witch, possibly in her 50’s, with a deep soothing voice and brown hair set up in a neat bun reminiscent of Professor McGonagall. She checked his vision and then his glasses, and could confirm that they indeed were completely the wrong prescription for him. Harry was not looking forward to retelling that part when he got home, but he knew Hermione would ask and there would be no point in hiding the fact that she had yet again been right about something. Damn it.

“Right,” the Healer said after she had done all the necessary testing. “I recommend that we set up an appointment as soon as possible and that I do the permanent corrective spells for your eyes. Getting you new spectacles will take less time, but this treatment will be much more effective and you won’t have to wear spectacles at all.”

“It would be much easier. I suppose I’m just worried about going without the glasses. Not that they truly protect me in any way, they just sort of feel protective, if that makes sense?” Frankly he wasn’t sure it did make much sense, but the Healer seemed to understand what he was trying to say.

“It’s not uncommon at all to feel that way, and you are a very public figure too, so it’s not surprising that you feel like hiding your face behind your spectacles. Despite the fact that they are what many think of when they picture you.” He hadn’t considered that before, that he was hiding behind his glasses, but he supposed she wasn’t wrong. 

“What we could do,” she continued, “is to perform the corrective spells — we actually just had a cancellation for tomorrow, so we could do it then — and then put lenses without any prescription into your old spectacles, so that you could choose to use them in public whenever you feel more comfortable with that. Does that sound like a good plan to you?”

Harry thought about it for a moment before replying. It did sound like a good plan. He wouldn’t lose anything by doing it, he could use the glasses until he felt comfortable enough not to, starting out with leaving them off at home.

“I’ll do it. I would like to have my glasses available, at least in the beginning.”

“That’s fine. Then I’ll book you for an appointment tomorrow. Now, there are a few things you will have to keep in mind for after the procedure. You should have someone with you, because you will have to wear bandages around your eyes until the next day, so you will need help getting home and to make sure you’re alright the rest of the day. You will also have to use shading spells for a few days after, and don’t look directly into lights the first couple of days after taking off the bandages. Keep the lights in your home dimmed. If your eyes hurt after the bandages are off you need to come straight back here. Like with everything within healing magic, there is a chance that something could go wrong, but this procedure is considered very safe in most cases.”

Harry got a brochure with all the relevant information on it, including his appointment the next day, and since he was already outside he decided he needed to ask Lee Jordan about the club.

When Harry entered Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes in Diagonal Alley he was wearing a glamour — he’d changed the shape of his glasses and his nose, his eyes were a hazel brown and his hair a medium blonde, his skin lighter. His scar was for some reason ridiculously difficult to hide with a glamour, but he had finally managed to do it successfully, so he was completely incognito as he entered the shop.

He had to squeeze between groups of customers to find Lee. Angelina was behind the counter, and one of the twins were bent over some boxes next to her. Harry couldn’t tell which one since he couldn’t see their face (or ears), but judging by Angelina’s glances at the twin’s backside, and accompanying smirk, he’d guess it was Fred.

Figuring Lee was in the break room, Harry ascended the stairs and made his way behind a row of dungbombs shaped like various well known wixes — himself included. He had not been happy about the figures of himself at first, but when George told him they were dungbombs he’d found himself strangely okay with it. 

As he turned the corner he did see Lee. And George. In the doorway to the break room. Up against the door, in fact. 

Snogging.

Lee Jordan had George Weasley pressed up against the break room door, and they were snogging.

“Well,” Harry said loud enough that they would hear him, leaning sideways against the wall, deciding the occasion demanded for him to be a bit of a prick. “I don’t know what I expected to find behind these dungbombs, but it was not this.”

The pair of them had sprung apart the moment he spoke, and looked mortified. Harry had never in his life seen George Weasley blushing like that. He smirked and let the glamour drop.

“Harry, you bastard, you scared the crap out of me!” George was still leaning against the door, and now covered his face with his hands. He was chuckling though, so he seemed to be coping well enough. Lee had moved slightly away from George, and was now with his back to Harry, resting his forehead against the door, actually banging his head against it. Harry couldn’t help but laugh.

“Sorry, but this was an unexpected development that I must confess myself very happy about. So— when did this happen?” He gestured between them.

“If you must know,” Lee bit out, still banging his forehead against the door. “It happened just now.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at this. He was somehow more surprised that it had only just happened than he had been about it happening at all.

“Really? So you’ve confessed to each other, or...?”

He knew he was still being a bit of a prick, but he had a feeling they hadn’t actually talked about anything and might need a little push. Lee was not pleased. He glared at Harry over his shoulder.

“We haven’t.”

“Then you might want to do that. You both looked way too happy about this for it to not mean anything.” Lee gave Harry another glare, and Harry was even more convinced that this had been building for a long time, at least from Lee’s side. George was still leaning against the door with his hands over his face. “Do you need help telling each other how you feel? Or can I go down and come back in 10 minutes to talk to Lee, safe in the knowledge that you’ll actually confess to fancying each other and not simply avoid the topic?”

Lee banged his head against the door one more time and sighed.

“I will tell him, I won’t avoid it, you can come back in 10 minutes.”

“Very well. Don’t disappoint me, boys.” Harry smirked, threw up his glamour again and winked at them before going to look at some of the shop’s new products.

When he turned the corner again 10 minutes later, George and Lee were mostly where he’d left them, but they were also holding hands and smiling shyly.

“Aw, you’re so cute.”

George and Lee turned at the same time and gave him mock glares, but they weren’t exactly convincing when they were having trouble keeping the smiles off their faces. Harry removed his glamour.

“I’m sorry for walking in on your moment earlier, but once I did I was worried you would end up too embarrassed to talk it out properly. And I really do need to talk to Lee.”

“It’s fine. It was embarrassing, but you might be right that we would’ve avoided the topic altogether if you hadn’t forced the issue. We’ve been avoiding it for a few years.”

“A few years?” Lee snorted. “Speak for yourself, I’ve been avoiding it since we were 12.”

George’s blush rivalled the colour of his hair, it was very cute, and Harry felt the need to reveal some of his own issues.

“If it helps, I’m gay and Lee caught me snogging a bloke at the bar on Saturday. I hope that evens out the embarrassment?”

“Oh, I had no idea. Thanks though, for trying to ‘even out the embarrassment’.” George laughed a little before before continuing. “You needed to speak to Lee?”

“Yeah, could we use the break room?”

“Sure, sure. I’ll just head downstairs. Angelina is helping out between her training sessions, but she has to leave soon anyway, so I’ll go do my bit. Be responsible, all that lark.”

He was still holding hands with Lee, and as he made to leave Lee pulled him back by it and kissed him before letting go. 

“If you keep doing that I’ll never get any work done, Lee.” He sighed, though still smiling, before leaving.

Harry and Lee sat down by the table in the break room. It was a nice room, really. There was a kitchenette, the chairs around the table were comfortable, and there was a large cushy sofa in one corner. As a major investor, Harry had been there before, but they usually looked through business things in the office. The twins were keen on keeping Harry ‘actively informed’, as they called it.

“I’m guessing this has something to do with what happened Saturday?” Lee began.

“Yes, there was something about that night that I think you could help me with.” Lee nodded at him to continue. “Someone used magic on the bloke, and it was not you.”

“Really?”

Lee wasn’t even trying to sound convincingly surprised at this. Harry already knew someone had used magic, it was obvious. What he didn’t know was who.

“Yes. Lee, come on, you must have seen who it was. You grabbed me right away, there’s not way you didn’t see them.”

Lee seemed to think it through before giving his answer.

“Whoever hexed the bloke did the right thing, but no, I didn’t see them. Is it really important?”

Harry knew he was lying. Lee wasn’t being convincing, likely on purpose.

“I get it. You know, but you have reasons not to tell me. I’m not good at letting things go though, and the magic was familiar. It was someone I know.”

“Yes, it’s someone you know, but I don’t think they were supposed to be there and I’m not about to snitch on them. Anyway, they did good, let them keep their identity secret.”

Harry pursed his lips. He wasn’t happy about it, but he could understand Lee’s point. And, he could wait. He would find out, just not right now. So instead, he changed the subject.

“So,” he began, slowly letting a smirk overtake his face. “George Weasley, huh?”

Lee looked embarrassed, running his hands through his locks, but he smirked back.

“Yup. George Weasley.”

Chapter Text

The corrective spellwork on Harry’s eyes was nerve-racking.

Healer Clutterbuck was her usual professional self and clearly not worried whatsoever, but having a wand pointed directly into his eyes was not something Harry felt comfortable with. It also made him unnecessarily snarky. After Healer Clutterbuck reacted to his comment about finishing what Voldemort started by giving him a chiding look truly worthy of Minerva McGonagall, he decided his best course of action was shutting the fuck up.

Ron had chaperoned, and had also shut his mouth after the look Harry received from the Healer, doing his best not to laugh. He only half succeeded.

Once they were finished and Harry was effectively blind for the rest of the day, they returned to Grimmauld Place. Despite not having done much, Harry was exhausted when they got back. Kreacher had been instructed to help Harry around the house the rest of the day, making sure he ate, and to keep Grimmauld Place dimmed after helping to remove the bandages the next morning. 

Harry had been curious about why he needed the bandages, so Healer Clutterbuck explained to him that the spellwork would be working on its own for another 12 hours, and not only were the bandages infused with potions that would help the spellwork work faster and be less painful, the bandages would make it easier on his eyes in general because they wouldn’t have to adapt while trying to work out his surroundings. The use of Shading Charms the days after the bandages were off were to avoid straining his eyes after they’d undergone such an exhausting procedure.

He ended up spending most of the day in bed, simply because that was the easier option. He knew there were blind wixes (had even known a couple at Hogwarts) and naturally ways to adapt to having no vision, but he figured there wasn’t any point in him trying them out since he would have improved vision already the next day. Instead he decided he’d just work it out should he ever become blind. He had managed to get through a war with bad eyesight and glasses that apparently barely made a difference, so he‘d find a way.

Once the bandages were off and his eyes adapted to the dimmed light of his room he understood why Hermione hadn’t wanted to let it go. Even in the semi-darkness he could see details of his room that he had never before been able to see from his bed, glasses or not.

Kreacher insisted that Harry ate breakfast in his room the first morning without bandages, and that he was not allowed to cook anything the next two days. The rest of them could do nothing but go with it, and Harry thought Ron was quietly pleased that Harry Potter was being viciously pampered by his own ancient grumpy house elf. He’d caught him sniggering at dinner the same day while watching Kreacher berate Harry for not waiting until his food was the correct temperature before eating, and therefore burning his tongue when he ate a small roasted tomato.

So Harry had retaliated by sending a Stinging Hex at Ron’s side under the table. Like an adult.

)o(

Friday 13 August 2010

The first time Andromeda let Teddy visited Grimmauld Place with her was the Friday before Harry and Ron’s first day at the Auror Academy. Andromeda had visited on her own first, after discussing it with Harry a few times. She needed to feel for herself that it was different than it used to be before she dared bring her grandson there. Harry understood only too well. It hadn’t been Andromeda’s home growing up, but because it had been the home of the Head of the House of Black, he knew she must have had many bad memories from the old townhouse. 

During one of their talks (they had made a habit of drinking wine and talking about difficult subjects after Teddy was sound asleep after Harry’s visits) she confided in him that it was in the dining room of Grimmauld Place that she had made a last ditch attempt to have her family formally accept her engagement to Ted, only to be let down. Sirius had been the only one to speak up for her, and when she had stood to leave her family forever he had caught up with her by the door and told her that he was proud of her, and even hugged her. She also told Harry that she was certain he would have been punished for showing his support.

Andromeda had shared a lot about Sirius during their talks, especially after Harry had told her about the blood adoption. There was something about the atmosphere they created after Teddy was put to bed and they had glasses of wine in their hands that just made it easier to talk about these things, to talk about the people they missed and the things they had been through. Things neither of them spoke about to anyone else.

Andromeda told him about how clumsy her Dora had always been and Harry told her how Dora had tripped over the troll foot umbrella stand the first time he’d been to Grimmauld Place the summer before fifth year, and how he still had it because it reminded him of her. Andromeda had laughed and told him that umbrella stand had been a wedding gift for her Aunt Walburga and Uncle Orion from some foreign royalty and they had only kept it because they didn’t want to be rude to someone who were so powerful, so in a way she had always liked it. Sirius had agreed once, when she’d told him, and said it was because it showed how pathetic they were — they were so weak they were scared to throw out an ugly umbrella stand they got from people they had barely met and would never see again.

Harry and Andromeda usually ended up either crying or laughing together, but usually both.

When she brought Teddy to visit they still hadn’t managed to remove Walburga’s painting (though Hermione had managed to get rid of the spectre of Dumbledore quite easily, the painting had proved impervious to all her attempts and they were now waiting for Bill Weasley to have a free moment to look at it), so Harry decided to temporarily move the troll foot umbrella stand to the drawing room, by the door to the conservatory, and let Andy arrive by floo.

The conservatory had been in a sorry state when they moved in, and Harry was surprised to discover how large it actually was. Once they had cleaned out everything, made sure all the plants were safe (or that they themselves were safe from the plants) and that the structure itself was solid, they found that not only was it a large beautiful space, but they could open the entire length of it so that it felt like it was one with the rest of the garden. Harry had had a great time fixing it up and deciding where the plants that needed the extra warmth and protection should be placed. 

He had invited Neville to stay for a few days to help him out, since his own knowledge of magical plants was scarce, even after all the years he’d spent pretending to pay attention in Herbology. He had actually done quite well despite the lack of attention in any of his classes, and he often wondered whether he would’ve been a good student if it hadn’t been for the noseless megalomaniac trying to kill him during his school years.

Harry was looking forward to showing Andromeda the conservatory. It was one of the few parts of Grimmauld Place she seemed to have any positive memories of. The garden itself she had liked, though they had done some Dark rituals there, but she said the conservatory had felt somewhat free, so unlike the stifling atmosphere of the rest of the place. It could have been because Walburga hadn’t cared much for the conservatory, so she never minded the children running around in it, never scared that they would hurt the plants or themselves. She had no great love for either children or gardening. Instead the conservatory was tended to by two house elves. One of them had been Kreacher’s mother, if she remembered correctly.

So he was looking forward to showing her what the conservatory looked like now. You could access it through Victorian style French windows in both the drawing room (this had previously been “the Ladies’ Drawing Room”, according to some old papers Harry had found in one of his vaults) and the study. Both those rooms had now been completely redone, and Harry was happy about the results. They had also made a bedroom and a playroom for Teddy on the first floor. The bedroom with en-suite bathroom was directly below Harry’s Master Suite, and one of the magically enlarged guest bedrooms with enchanted windows had become his playroom. 

The playroom had an enchanted ceiling much like the one at Hogwarts, but while it changed from day to night, the days were always sunny and the nights were always clear. The walls were painted to look like a cartoon forest. They had removed the enchanted window altogether rather than refreshing the spellwork like they had done in the other guest bedrooms.

Both the bedroom and the playroom were made so that they could be easily changed as Teddy grew, suiting his needs and taste. They wouldn’t know yet whether or not he was fully a werewolf, since born werewolves were different than turned werewolves. If you were bitten, even if you were a baby when it happened, you turned. But if you were born from a werewolf parent and were fully a werewolf it would be like any other creature inheritance, and you wouldn’t turn until the first full moon after your 17th birthday. 

Since he started talking to Andromeda, Harry had learned a lot about werewolves. In fact, he had learned that a lot of what he thought he knew were simply myths about werewolves brought to the Wixen World from muggles. Usually through wixes raised by muggles, which explained a little of how Remus had seen himself, since his dad, a wix, had died early on and he’d been brought up by his mum, a muggle. 

So strangely enough it had been old muggle beliefs that had made it so difficult for lycanthropes to be accepted as part of wixen society. Where previously there had been laws in place to help lycanthropes and other creatures keep their rights, to keep all on equal footing, that had been shattered by muggle myths causing fear. And then some purebloods, of all people, had taken a liking to the laws some muggle societies had put in place because they feared these creatures and advocated for the laws within wixen society. They had purposefully ostracised lycanthropes and sanguinarians while marrying other creatures, like Veelas. It was barmy.

When Harry heard the ping from the floo in the sitting room he was in the study next door looking through another book he had found in the Black library. He realised he had been reading a lot lately, but that and the renovations had been great ways to distract him from himself. Frankly, he wasn’t sure what he would do once they were done renovating. He hoped the Auror Academy would prove a useful distraction if nothing else. He put the book aside, making sure to mark the page with one of the Nargle repelling bookmarks Luna had made for him, and went to greet his guests.

Andromeda looked less and less like Bellatrix the more Harry got to know her. Her dark hair was actually a dark brown rather than Bellatrix’s stark black, her silver-grey eyes (so like Sirius’) were still full of laughter despite everything, her skin showed that she wasn’t afraid of hard work outdoors, and her personality was both unrelenting and humble. She was a very young grandmother, of course, so it was strange to think of her as one.

She showed her worry and was direct, but she didn’t fuss and she didn’t poke or prod. She still had that mischievous spark in her eyes at times, the one Harry had seen in both Sirius and Dora as well. She was also not easily fooled. She could look at you all knowingly, yet without saying anything, until you decided to spill the truth all on your own.

All in all, she was a force to be reckoned with and he was proud to call her family.

“Hello Andy, and welcome. Should I take Teddy?”

Andromeda had been staring around her, child in one hand and baby bag in the other, barely noticing Harry in an attempt to take in the sitting room. It hadn’t been done when she had last visited, and Harry hadn’t finished the tapestry yet then either. Now, on the wall to the left of the fireplace, between two enchanted windows, was the Black family tapestry — redone. Including Sirius, Andromeda, Ted, Dora, Remus, and Teddy. Even Harry was there, as Sirius’ blood adopted son.

“Yes. Yes, please do.” Harry took Teddy, whose hair immediately turned black. “How did— how?” Andromeda was still looking at the tapestry.

“Well, the book you got me about communication with magical houses helped, and I’ve been going through the library and found several interesting books there too. One of which gave details about the magic behind the tapestry. There is actually more magic than you might think, and as the Head of the family I am ultimately the one who decides which parts of it are shown and which aren’t. The reason Walburga blasted off pictures rather than magically removing the person from the tree was because she couldn’t. And likely because she enjoyed the blasting. Orion stopped the tree from showing your marriage, and what resulted from it, but it was still there. The wedding was just as magically binding as any pureblood wedding, you told me that yourself. ‘Pureblood’ is merely an idea that some people choose to live by, but magic itself doesn’t recognise it as true. The magically important part of lineage is the family magicks, and as I and Tom Riddle are excellent examples of, you don’t need to be pureblood to have access to them.” 

He turned to look at the tapestry as well.

“So I tinkered with it, and the house helped. I had to move it, you see. It was easier to have the house move it than try to do something to the sticking charm. I discovered that when your aunt blasted someone off she only blasted off the top layer, in a way. The image was still there, in the magic underneath, so to get it to show was no problem. I also discovered that blood adoption was quite common. Did you know? The book about the tapestry had a whole chapter on it. Sirius didn’t have access to the tapestry when my blood adoption happened, and I think he wanted to chuck the whole thing out after he left Azkaban, but I also think he didn’t know he could make changes to it at all.”

“No, you’re probably right. He was initially raised as the Heir, but knowledge like that would not be given to him until after he reached adulthood, and he left before that. And I see you have removed the family motto as well.” Andromeda smiled at him now.

“Yeah, it didn’t feel right to have it there. It was probably wrong anyway, even by their own standards. I was curious about your uncle Alphard, by the way.” Harry gestured toward the image of a man who looked very much like an older Sirius Black. “Sirius told me once that he was probably blasted off the tree for giving Sirius a chunk of gold and a house in his will?”

“Oh,” Andy laughed. “That might have been the last straw, yes. But he also rejected blood purity in general. I think he realised early that Sirius shared both his views and sexuality, so he saw him as a younger version of himself, somehow.”

“Wait, what?” Harry snapped his head around so hard it almost hurt. Why had nobody told him this before? “Sirius was gay?”

Andy gave him a bemused look before nodding.

“Yes. I’m sorry, I thought you knew. I think we better sit down, because you should have already known this and I won’t keep it from you.”

They both sat down on the green sofa, Harry letting Teddy lie on his back in his lap, playing with a toy (one of those rings they were supposed to bite on) and also attempting to grab Harry’s nose with his fist. He was rather glad not to have his glasses now, and caught Teddy’s hand to place a kiss in the middle of it.

When Andy put her hand on his arm he looked up at her.

“I don’t know why nobody told you this, it could be that they were having a hard time explaining it or they thought you had enough to worry about, but no matter the reason I want you to know it’s okay if you feel hurt by it. It’s okay to be upset that you were kept out, even if you weren’t the only one and even if it wasn’t done on purpose. Now, I’ll be blunt about it. Before Sirius’ death he was in a relationship with Remus.”

“But—,” he spluttered, trying to comprehend what she had just told him. “But what about Dora?” 

Since he was talking to Andy more he had started calling Tonks ‘Dora’ for the most part, since that was what Andy called her and Andy was also a Tonks, so it would’ve been a bit odd in front of Andy otherwise. And she hadn’t minded being called ‘Dora’ by those close to her, except on specific days when it apparently felt too girly. He still mixed them up though, because it had been important to her. 

“That happened after Sirius died. Sirius and Remus were a couple before they even left Hogwarts. Remus told me once that he had been lucky, because he got to experience the love of his life twice. For such a pessimist as Remus Lupin was, it made me happy that he could think of it like that.” Andy gave him a soft smile, a smile that was both happy and sad.

“I wish they’d told me,” Harry almost whispered, looking at the tiny fingers holding onto his pinkie. “I wonder if that would have helped me understand my own sexuality a bit earlier too. Or at least help me understand earlier that it was alright. I would’ve supported them anyway. I hope they knew I would’ve.”

Andy took one of his hands in hers, using the other to gently gently stroke her grandson’s hair.

“I know, loulou. I know. I’m sure there are so many things they wanted to tell you and show you. I know that you want to give Teddy the world, and they both wanted the same thing for you, Harry. I’ve never seen Sirius as happy as when he looked at you, and the only time I’ve seen Remus as happy was when Teddy was born. And you look at Teddy the same way. That’s how I knew I could entrust you with his care.”

The only times Harry had managed to cry in the last few months had been in the company of Andy. The rest of the time, even though he felt sad, he couldn’t feel the feeling enough to actually cry, but with Andy it was easier. They cried together, and they were both silent criers. Harry had wondered before if she, like him, had had to cry silently, to make as little noise as possible. It was one of the ways he felt they were the same, and it had been easier to tell her some of the difficult parts of his childhood, because she had them too. Ron and Hermione couldn’t understand his childhood the way Andy could, and the way Harry now knew Sirius could’ve as well.

The two of them had become so close so quickly, in the way that only people bound by the same traumas could, and they had found in the other someone who could understand in silence, who could cry with them in silence, who could grieve with them in silence, and support them in silence.

So they held hands, Andy’s head resting on Harry’s shoulder, and cried silently while watching Teddy.

Eventually they got up so that Harry could show them around. When Harry insisted on holding Teddy, loving the feeling of his warm tiny body so close, Andy helped him into a self-wrapping baby carrier, so the baby was nestled against his chest and Harry had both arms free. Teddy was asleep before they even left the ground floor.

Harry decided to show Andy Teddy’s rooms first, since he planned to have afternoon tea in the conservatory.

Andy seemed pleasantly surprised by the bedroom (Harry had kept it somewhat modest, and told her that he wanted Teddy to decide some things for himself when he was old enough to do so), and actually gasped when they entered the playroom. It was like a childproof forest really. Harry had used real trees here and there along the walls, cleverly enchanted to look as though they grew out of the soft floor (green carpet, though magic had made it look and feel more like soft soft grass).

“I’m still working on getting a telly to work with the amount of magic here, but once I get there I’m planning on making an entertainment room, where I can have a telly, comfortable seating, board games both muggle and magical, that sort of thing. We’re also working on making one of the old magically enlarged guest bedrooms into a gym. Ron and I will most likely have personal workout routines once we’re at the Academy. I’ve started running too, but having a gym could make things easier when the weather is just too much.”

Andy had guessed he was less than keen on becoming an Auror, despite him barely even acknowledging it for himself, but she only raised an eyebrow at him when he mentioned the workout routine.

“An entertainment room sounds lovely. By the way, you said you’ve been reading a lot of the books in the library. Have you considered learning French?”

Harry refrained from rolling his eyes at the abrupt change of subject. He knew she wanted to convince him out of becoming an Auror, but she also knew that he didn’t want to talk about it, so instead found tiny ways like this to express her displeasure with his choice. It was almost cute really.

“Well, I’ve been using a translation spell for the French books, but I have actually considered it. Not sure how to go about it though. I know Sirius spoke French, and apparently my dad did too. It would be a nice way to feel closer to two of my three parents.” 

He smirked a little. Growing up an orphan (in practice) he still found it funny that he had three parents. Though in all honesty it felt like he had at least four. Remus had also felt like a parent. He wasn’t fussy, he’d take all the parental figures he could find.

Sometimes Harry marvelled at this bloke he had first thought was so cool and collected only to realise what a wonderful mess he had in fact been. Four parents — and he was fairly certain not one of them had actually been cool and collected. 

Remus had been a good friend of his mother even before she got together with his dad (while his dad was still a bit of a prat actually) and had told him that while she was academically brilliant and very kind, she had a real temper and her papers were never organised, and despite her usual grace she could suddenly just fall off chairs for no reason. She was also a messy and mostly unsuccessful cook. James had been good natured and organised though. He was the one to do all the cooking and even while at Hogwarts had made sure his friends ate their greens and drank enough water. Even when he’d been a bit of a prat he’d been mothering them all. He was the one who had taught Sirius how to cook too. He had apparently tried teaching Remus, but while Remus wasn’t disastrous in the kitchen he wasn’t exactly a good cook either.

“I could teach you French,” Andromeda offered. “I taught both Dora and Ted. It’s quite common in pureblood families to speak both English and French, so many of us originated there. Though your father also spoke Hindi, I believe.”

“I’d love for you to teach me! If you don’t mind, that is. I actually didn’t know my father spoke a third language. I’ve wondered, I know I’m half-Indian, but since I know so little about that part of my family I wasn’t sure how to find out. And if there is anything other than white and English on my mother’s side I doubt my aunt would ever admit to it.”

“There should be some information about it in the main Potter vault, if it’s anything like the Black vaults. They’re both old families with a lot of ancestral pride, though in fairly different ways. The Potters were pureblood, but they never held the same pureblood views as the Black family, for instance. They were upper class still, since they were both pureblood and wealthy after creating some important and popular potions at several instances through history. You know your grandfather created Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion? I suppose he had to, considering the typical Potter hair is famously wild.”

Harry had actually heard that, it was one of the ways he had been making money without knowing about it. He didn’t run the company obviously, but he was the majority shareholder, so he was getting a tidy sum from it anyway.

As they spoke they had made their way down to the drawing room. Harry could tell the second Andy noticed the troll-leg umbrella stand; her eyes widened and then she laughed delightfully.

“It’s usually by the front door,” Harry explained, “but I wanted you to see it, so I moved it here temporarily. Just until we get rid of that awful portrait and people can safely use the front door again.”

“That’s wonderful, thank you, Harry.” She had laughed, but before she turned away Harry could see her brushing away a stray tear.

“So, you ready to move outdoors?”

“Outdoors?” She looked back at him, and he grinned.

“Yeah, through the door?” He gestured at the French windows.

She reached out a hand to open them, and then looked back at Harry again, as if asking for permission.

“Go ahead.”

She had decided that she needed to open both doors, and when she did stared into the conservatory with her mouth almost open. Harry was sure that if it hadn’t been for the extensive training she had received while growing up, her jaw would have reached the floorboards.

Because the conservatory was beautiful, and Harry loved it. All the plants had enough space to grow freely, those in need of more ground to play had been given that and those in need of more shadow had been given that. Neville seemed to think some of it sounded quite arbitrary, but Harry had decided he wanted to go by instinct as much as possible, unless Neville had specific knowledge that it was bad for the plant. So far he hadn’t been told off, only given extra information about different uses for the plants and things like that.

The beams were covered in vines of different plants, and there were many hanging from the roof as well, in particular those who needed that extra light to thrive. 

The floors were a rather rustic terracotta, honeycomb tiles. The book Harry had been reading on magical gardening featured some example photos of magical Victorian conservatories, and he had taken a liking to one of the floor designs in the book, a pattern of a small bird in a slightly darker shade than the base colour of each tile. The conservatory itself was all white, which allowed you to change the interior between an explosion of colour or keep it simple. Harry was keeping it simple right now, but he was planning on adding more colours once they were closer to winter and the weather turned grey.

Most of the plants in the conservatory were greens, but there were a few flowers here and there as well. He had made one seating area intended for what he and Andy would be doing (afternoon tea) right by the french windows Andy had opened and one close to his study, intended as a reading nook. He’d bought another ochre yellow wingback chair and carved out the outer corner of the study side of the conservatory as his reading nook; with the chair placed so you could either look out into the garden or at the rest of the conservatory, and a small round side table in a lovely dark wood.

Harry had never thought he’d enjoy interior decorating, but here he was. He had surprised himself as much as everyone else.

He watched as Andy walked through the conservatory taking in all the details. Here and there she stopped and touched a plant or a pot. When she noticed the floor she bent down to look at it more closely.

“A crow?”

“Well, I’m not sure if it’s a crow specifically. I just saw the pattern in a book, and thought it looked nice. In the book the bird was completely black though, and the tile itself was a different colour, so I made some changes.” He shrugged.

Andy her head and looked at him, then smiled a little.

“The Black family crest. It has three crows.”

“Oh. Now that you point it out, they do look like them, I suppose. I’d totally forgotten about the crest.” He scratched his neck, sheepishly. Should he have chosen something else? Maybe it was even rude?

“I like how you change things that are traditional, Harry. You are a remarkable young man, I hope you know that. You could have chosen to burn this whole house to the ground, you could have renovated it with the sole intention of selling it off, and instead you lovingly made it a home. A proper home. You could have chosen to reject every part of the Black family name, instead you chose to keep it next to yours and live in it, and take something bad and make it good. I truly believe you’re getting the sweetest revenge on my aunt and uncle simply by taking their legacy of bigotry and changing it to something good, rather than cutting it off. Had you cut it off it would have remained evil forever. I’m very proud of you.”

Harry could feel his face heating up. Whatever reaction he had expected, it was not this. Frankly, he had never felt remarkable in his whole life. It wasn’t false modesty or anything, he just didn’t feel like anything he was celebrated for was particularly worth celebrating. But what he was doing with the house had been on purpose. He knew he could’ve bought another townhouse, or a flat or a cottage, but he felt like he could make Grimmauld Place his home. 

There was potential there, his godfather had grown up there and so had a man who gave his life in secret to help take Voldemort down, and he felt like there were parts of the House of Black that were good, and he wanted to help that take root and overshadow the disgusting parts. Not to hide that they had been there, but as a way to say ‘fuck you and what you stood for, you do not have sole claim on this family’. To make sure that those who had been removed from the family were the ones who were celebrated, were the most Black of the Blacks. That the stains on the family tree were those who had wholeheartedly believed in the family motto (the one that was much more recent than most Blacks had probably been aware of).

“Thank you.” Harry bit his lip. “I’m relieved that you approve, to be honest. I’ve been wondering if Sirius would have. I know he hated it here.”

“I think he would have loved it. He wanted to make this a home for you, but it was hard for him to do it on his own. He didn’t have the strong magical connection you have to the house, and he hated Kreacher, which made Kreacher hate him back. He would’ve supported you though, you can be sure of that. And if he had known even a little bit of what you were going through with your aunt and uncle he would’ve moved heaven and earth to get you out of that house no matter what Dumbledore said.”

Andy walked over to the seating area, afternoon tea already in place and under stasis, and began pouring tea for the both of them. Harry was proud of this area as well. A Victorian chaise lounge in mahogany and with cream coloured upholstery, two comfortable chairs in the same style on either side of it, and in the middle was a table in a dark cherry wood. Harry and Hermione had found it in a muggle secondhand shop, and after Harry had given it some much needed care it looked brand new. 

“In a way I’m happy that he never knew,” Harry confessed once he’d sat down in the chair closest to where Andy was sitting on the chaise lounge. The chairs were magnificently comfortable and he leant back as he stroked Teddy’s back through the fabric of the shawl. “He already felt bad for being sent to Azkaban, and that wasn’t even close to being his fault! Not that any of what happened at the Dursleys could be his fault either, but I’m sure he would find a way to feel guilty about it anyway.”

“Yes, you’re quite like him in that respect.” Andy carefully chose a cheese and pickle sandwich from the tray as she talked, but he could see the mirth dancing in her eyes. “You both have an extraordinary talent to both get into trouble and yet only feel guilt for things that are not even remotely your fault.”

Harry liked how Andromeda didn’t fawn over him and wasn’t afraid to be strict, but of course that meant that she didn’t pull her punches either. When Harry had first apologised for the death of her husband, daughter, and son-in-law she had asked him if he had been the one to kill them or if he supported the cause of who did. When he’d responded with a ‘no, but’ she had cut him off before he could get any further and told him that whatever nonsense he had made up in his head as his reason for culpability in their deaths he should just forget it right there and then, because it served no purpose to anyone, least of all the dead or bereft. “We have no use for your self-flagellation,” she’d said. 

He still felt guilty, but he tried to remember her words when the guilt became too overwhelming. Still, she did tease him about it. He appreciated that too, the lighthearted teasing took the seriousness out of it a little.

“I always tell people that I never went looking for trouble, trouble came looking for me.” Harry responded with faux haughtiness, as if proud of his troublemaking tendencies, though it was somewhat ruined by his giggling when Andy promptly tickled him under the knee — the only place he was ticklish and a place she knew he was ticklish because a three month old Teddy Lupin had managed to accidentally tickle him there while they were playing on the floor once and Harry had been wearing shorts. His giggles and squirming now woke up Teddy, who started giggling along with Harry, which in turn made Harry and Andy laugh even more.

“Here,” Andy said as she held out a cream cheese sandwich. “You can try giving him a little of this. Just tear off really small bites.”

“You sure? He hasn’t had solid foods yet, has he?” 

Harry was a natural worrier, he supposed. Andy had been patient in teaching him how to care for a baby, more patient than many others would be, in his opinion.

“I’m sure. I let him have a blob of cream cheese off my finger a couple of days ago and he seemed to like it, so it should be fine with the soft bread. We’ll start to move him onto solids in a couple of months, but there’s nothing wrong with letting him try a little soft solids before that.”

“In only a couple of months? Won’t that be too soon?” Again. Worrier.

“No, many start introducing at 4 months actually, but we’ll be waiting until he reaches 6. It’s not for nutrition’s sake, it’s simply to let him get used to the idea of it to start with. He will still be on formula for at least a year. Speaking of which.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a bottle. Harry got Teddy settled in his arms (how did muggles do this without magic to loosen or fasten the carrier shawl?) before he took the proffered bottle.

“So,” he started when Teddy was settled with the bottle, holding it together with Harry, his tiny nails scraping at it. They’d have to trim them soon. “There is one room I haven’t actually shown you yet, Andy.”

“Considering the size of this place I would assume there are many rooms you haven’t shown me,” she deadpanned.

Harry rolled his eyes. This woman. She had way too much fun teasing him. Sometimes it amazed him how this witch, who was a grandmother, could feel so much like a friend his own age. She’d thrown an entire bread roll at him once to get him to shut up. 

“I meant that there is a specific room I would like to show you, but I wanted to talk to you about it first.” She gestured for him to continue. “The room isn’t actually finished yet. We’ve done the main parts, and the en-suite is fully functioning, but we haven’t painted or furnished it. I would like for you to choose that for yourself.” Andy was quiet, so he didn’t stop talking.

“I’m not asking you to move in right now, but I do want you to know that you would be welcome to move in at any time and for however long you’d want to. Whether that is staying here a weekend here and there or moving in here tomorrow to stay your entire life. I know you have difficult memories from this place, and I would understand if you never wanted to set foot here ever again, but I also don’t like the thought of you alone, with or without Teddy, and I would love to have both of you here. And here you would have at least three other people to help out with Teddy, at least until Hermione and Ron decide to move out. And if you ever needed alone time you could just leave Teddy here without having to worry about moving all his stuff or anything—”

Throughout his ramblings Harry had been looking at Teddy rather than Andy, so he hadn’t seen how her face had taken on a soft smile as she looked at them. It wasn’t until a piece of bread hit his nose and made Teddy let go of his bottle to giggle that Harry looked up.

“You know, you can just tell me to stop talking, there’s no reason to throw food around.”

“I know, loulou, but your reaction to it is rather sweet.”

Maybe it was a Black family thing, Harry thought as an image of Sirius throwing a piece of bread at Dora at dinner once entered his mind. The thought made him smile.

“I meant what I said though. You don’t have to, but I would like you to.”

“Are you sure you’d want to have a crying baby and an old woman like me living here with you?”

“Andy, you might be a grandmother, but you’re hardly old.”

It was true. She hadn’t even been 20 when she had Dora and she had only turned 44 in March, which was nothing for a wix. She also looked young, the barely there traces of grey in her hair were only visible if actively looked for and the beginnings of crows feet around her eyes, that were more the result of stress and grief rather than age, were barely noticeable even up close. Harry knew Narcissa Malfoy was only a year younger than her, and she didn’t look a day over 30. Even Bellatrix, who had been the eldest, had looked much younger than 47 when she died, despite the madness and the years spent in Azkaban.

“Besides, you’re family.”

“And if you should get married?”

“Should that happen at some point in the future we can talk about it then, but I would still like to have you living here. And if I was set to marry someone who didn’t like that then I fear the wedding wouldn’t even take place, to be quite honest with you.”

She considered him for a while before giving him a slow nod.

“I will think about it. Thank you.”

“Great! Then I’ll show you your room after we’ve eaten and I’ve changed Teddy’s nappies, because the stench of them are a threat to all life in this conservatory, his own included.”

Chapter Text

Monday 16 August 2010

Harry and Ron’s first day as trainees were much like Harry had expected, though with a few notable exceptions. 

They’d started out with a few tests, physical and theoretical, to see where their talents lay and what needed to be worked on. Harry hadn’t yet left Grimmauld Place without his glasses, but now he sent a silent and reluctant ‘thank you’ to Hermione after he’d been perfectly safe to remove them before the physical tests and not have his vision suffer for it. His hair was long enough to put all of it up in a bun quite easily, so he didn’t have to worry about getting hair in his eyes either. 

After the tests, more than half the trainees had left, not having shown they had what it took to be there. Harry wondered about the large number of trainees, many of whom had honestly looked quite old and untrained for such a change of occupation. He knew both the requirements and training had been eased up since the ministry was desperately in need of more Aurors, but there were still requirements, and some of the attendees did not look physically fit enough, to be frank.

Those who were left received the results of their tests together with a timetable and a personal training schedule. Harry knew he was fast, he always had been, but that he could use more strength training, and his training schedule reflected this fact. He had told the instructors that he had recently taken up running each morning, and they told him to go easy on the days they had extra workout sessions, so he didn’t come in “completely cream crackered” (to quote Instructor Halliday).

In the beginning, most of their days would be spent training, either following their personal training schedules or having combat training of different varieties. They would have blocks of time dedicated to different parts of the law, the amount of which would increase throughout their year as trainees before they became junior Aurors, and their duel training would also start slow and pick up throughout the year. They wanted to focus on combat without using magic in the beginning, because they had found that many wixes relied on their wands too much. Therefore they wouldn’t have their magical testing yet, which included testing their wand more thoroughly than what was done when you entered the ministry.

It was important to have a proper wand that had full allegiance to you in a job like this. Using a wand that didn’t fully trust you meant whatever you did with it could be either weaker or even the complete opposite of what you wanted. Neville had been thought to have weak magic until he was given his own wand after fifth year rather than the family heirloom that didn’t belong to him and had done amazing things with it during the war. Thinking back to all the things Neville had done that year with the DA despite having a wand that wasn’t fully his always made Harry feel ridiculously proud of his friend.

Ron had had a similar problem, using a secondhand wand their first two years at Hogwarts. His hadn’t even been a family heirloom, and after spending their second year worried Ron would seriously harm himself with his broken wand, Harry pleaded self-defence to Molly and Arthur and begged them to let him pay for a new wand for Ron.

Harry was looking forward to the wand testing. He had been the master of several wands, had been saved by the fact that the wand pointed at his chest had seen him as its master and not wanted to harm him. And Malfoy’s wand... It had trusted him. He’d thought about that day in Malfoy Manor a lot, and he was still convinced that the fight Malfoy had put up had only been for show, just like Harry had told the Wizengamot at the trial.

He still had the Hawthorn wand. 

It was in a box in his nightstand drawer (next to the box containing the Elder Wand), and he hadn’t touched it since repairing his own, except to put it in the box. Kingsley had asked if the Ministry could have it, to showcase it, but he’d refused. It hadn’t felt right. It wasn’t his. And yet he hadn’t returned it either. He had meant to do it after the trial, but everything had been too much and he needed to get out of there. When Malfoy had completely ignored him at his mother’s trial he’d felt a petulant need to keep it a little longer. He would return it, of course. A wix’s first wand was a special thing, after all.

Other than the weird amount of wixes in their late 40’s (though it was hard to say with wixes) with a sudden wish to start a new career, what had taken Harry by surprise was Blaise Zabini among the trainees. He had been one of a group of upper year Slytherins (surprisingly including Pansy Parkinson) to leave the dungeons in order to fight against the Death Eaters, many of whom were their own family. Slytherins were often called cowards, but the amount of courage needed for them to turn against their own families like that, especially when the people they were fighting with didn’t even trust them, was unquestionable.

There were other familiar faces among the trainees too. Zacharias Smith and Dean Thomas seemed to be two other contemporaries of Harry who’d been invited to join without finishing their NEWTs. At one point, in the middle of one of Instructor Wiggins’ lengthy monologues on the importance of writing detailed reports, Harry turned to Ron and whispered “I wonder which of the instructors Smith shagged to be invited to the Academy”, making Ron laugh so hard he got yelled at by the sour instructor. Harry made sure to look perfectly innocent even when Ron glared at him afterwards.

The instructors were all in their 80’s or thereabouts and mostly done with field work. Many Aurors at that age were still perfectly fit for field work really, the longer lifespan made the retiring age of most Wixen careers higher, but some were taken out of active duty for different reasons. Leaving the field for an instructor job at the Academy was supposedly quite respectable. Most Aurors on active duty also had rotations as instructors, usually if they excelled in something specific they would spend up to a week with the trainees on it.

Before leaving for the day, Harry made his way over to where Zabini was leaning nonchalantly against a wall, a mask of bored indifference similar to the one Malfoy used to sport on his face. He wondered if it was a pureblood thing, a Slytherin thing, or a Malfoy thing that he had taught Zabini. Regardless, they would be training and working together, might as well get the awkward bit over with. He didn’t want the bloke to worry that Harry might hate him or something, so he walked right up to him with a smile and held out his hand.

“Hey, Zabini. I don’t think we’ve ever actually spoken before, but it’s nice to see you.”

Zabini looked at him, clearly taken by surprise, though he schooled his expression quickly enough and shook Harry’s hand.

“No, I suppose you’re right. Thank you, it’s good to see you too, Potter.”

The odd tension had some annoying part of Harry feeling like he was a character in an Agatha Christie novel. He was strangely tempted to say things like ‘jolly good’ and ‘I say!’, and describe Zabini as ‘a pukka sahib’ or some such nonsense. He squashed all those ridiculous urges and reminded himself that it was 2010 and he was no older than 19, so there was no reason to emulate Captain Hastings of all people.

“Oh, just call me Harry. We’ll see a lot of each other in the future I reckon, may as well get used to it.” He grinned at Zabini and got a tentative grin back.

“I suppose you’re right.” 

Harry looked at him expectantly until he took the hint and added a ‘Harry’, then he moved to lean against the wall next to him and stretched his arms above his head, his back arching into the stretch. It had been a nice workout. He put his hands in his pockets as soon as he was done stretching, and turned to give Zabini his attention again.

“So, have you always wanted to be an Auror, Blaise?”

Blaise had been looking him up and down, and Harry could feel himself blush once he realised what he was doing. Making Harry blush was quite an easy task, though he could often rely on his tan to at least partially hide it, especially in low lightning — however, the training facility was very well lit and he didn’t think he’d get away with blaming the flush on the workout. So instead he leaned into it, looked Blaise up and down as well, and then sending him an impish grin. Blaise seemed to be both surprised and amused. He turned to face Harry, leaning his shoulder against the wall and crossing his feet.

“I wanted to as a child, but for a long time I didn’t think it would be possible.”

“I saw you fighting, it’s no surprise to me that you received an invite.”

“I’m surprised you noticed my fighting, considering you were... preoccupied.”

“Oh, I was, but I notice more than people think. I know I have a reputation for being oblivious, and to some extent I am, I know that, but at heart I’m an observer, I suppose. You know, the kind of person who chooses a seat in the common room so that they can watch other people?”

He nodded. “I know what you mean.”

“Though, being who I am, I never really had much chance to be the observer in the Gryffindor common room. Or, I had to hide how closely I paid attention.” He hesitated for a moment, not sure how well received his next words would be. “By the way, are you still in contact with Pansy Parkinson by any chance?”

This time Blaise looked more than a little surprised.

“Pansy? Yes... Yes, I am. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I wanted to thank her. And apologise. I could just send her an owl, I suppose, but I don’t know where she is and I don’t think Ron’s owl could handle it if she was in France or something. Besides, I did sort of want to do it in person.”

“You want to thank her? You want to thank her? And apologise?” Blaise still seemed confused, so Harry took pity on him and gave him the whole explanation, hoping that would help.

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “It must have taken a lot of courage for her to go out there and fight against people she‘d known all her life, including her own father, and I know people were suspicious of her in particular after she’d offered me up to Voldemort, which would have made it even harder. Quite unfairly really, I didn’t hold it against her at all. Hell, I offered myself up just later that night anyway. She was terrified and acted on that fear for a few seconds. To manage to then rein in her fear enough to fight against her own family was extraordinary.” He chuckled. “She reminded me of a painting I’d seen of the Furies.”

“Apologies for my reaction, I suppose I just assumed you would still hate us. All of us.” Blaise looked more collected, though still somewhat confused. “I mean, we did treat you appallingly. I know Pansy was horrible to Granger, and Draco... well, he tried his best to be the little shit his father wanted him to be.”

“I never hated any of you. You laughed along, Blaise, but I can’t really remember you actually contributing to any of the bullying, at least not in front of us, and I think Parkinson and Malfoy were simply reflecting their families’ bigotry. I’m not completely sure why we were the targets, specifically, but I look forward to seeing what will become of you all if you get the chance to be better versions of yourselves and I hope you will get that chance. If not, I don’t know what the hell I even died for.” 

“...Still, I am sorry for my part in it.” 

“Thanks. It’s fine though,” Harry shrugged. While they spoke the room had slowly emptied. Ron had been busy talking over his training schedule with one of the instructors, but was now looking around for Harry. “Well, I look forward to training with you, Blaise. Oh! We should get coffee sometime! You, me, Ron, and Dean. Not Smith.”

With that he pushed himself off the wall and walked over the door where Ron was waiting for him, his hands still in his pockets. Turning around he saw that Blaise was looking at him, his head cocked, and still leaning against the wall where he had left him. Harry gave him a wink before leaving, just for the hell of it.

He wasn’t actually interested in Blaise, though he was undoubtedly fit, but a little flirting wouldn’t hurt. The idea of dating wizards scared him, honestly. Anyone he dated would do so with his whole hero thing in mind, and they would either wish to benefit from it or be easily fed up with the publicity that came with it, or be bored of him once they realised he wasn’t as interesting as he was made out to be. How would he even know if they wanted to be with him for him and not his fame? Not to mention he wasn’t even officially out yet, and even though he wasn’t hiding it from those closest to him anymore (he had told all the Weasleys and Andromeda as soon as Ron knew), he wasn’t quite ready yet for what would happen once the Prophet found out.

Carnage.

Probably.

Was that pessimistic of him? Oh well.

“What were you and Zabini talking about?” Ron asked him once they’d left the ministry and Disapparated. They were meeting Hermione at a delightful little Georgian restaurant they’d discovered near Grimmauld Place, called Iberia, since they had anticipated that none of them would feel up to cooking. Well, the two who could cook wouldn’t feel up to cooking. So Harry had given Kreacher the night off, saying they might as well take the opportunity to eat out instead of relying on Kreacher. Though he was fairly sure that Kreacher would either be cleaning the bathrooms or look through his family heirlooms.

“I wanted to make sure he knew he didn’t have to worry about me disliking him or whatever. I want to get along with him, and I don’t want anyone to use me staying away from him as an excuse to harass him either. He can stand up for himself, I’m not worried about that, but I would rather avoid the drama if I can. Though I’m sure Smith will find a reason to shit on him anyway. Never mind the fact that Blaise was fighting while Smith hid with the first years.”

“Blaise?”

“May as well use first names,” Harry shrugged. “Here we are.”

Iberia was a cosy restaurant serving traditional Georgian food, and with a good selection of wine from the area. Hermione had arrived before them and was already sitting at a table not far from the wall covered in wine bottles.

“How was your first day?” Hermione asked them once they were seated and the waiter had left, leaving plates of khachapuri behind; delicious flat bread with various fillings and sometimes toppings, usually cheese.

“As expected really,” Ron replied around a mouthful of cheesy Georgian flat bread, earning him an exasperated ‘Ronald, honestly’ from Hermione, who had been working on his table manners in the hopes that he’d improve before she left for Hogwarts. So far she hadn’t succeeded much, but Harry thought there was some improvement. Ron had managed to keep the food in his mouth.

“I thought there were a weird amount of people in like their 40’s there in the beginning. Most of them did not look as though they’d been training much in the last decade either. But by the end of the physical and theoretical tests less than half of us were left,” Harry supplied, as Ron was still chewing.

“Yes, that is rather odd, I suppose.”

“But the rest was good though.” Ron had managed to swallow his khachapuri. “We aced the physical tests, and did well on the theoretical tests as well. Oh, Dean was there, by the way, and Blaise Zabini. And Zacharias Smith, the tosser.

“How in Merlin’s name did that happen? He doesn’t even have his NEWTs?” Hermione looked scandalised.

“Harry suggested he shagged his way in,” Ron sniggered. “Harry suggested,” he stressed at Hermione’s disdainful look, at which point she directed it at Harry, who held his hands up in surrender.

“You have to admit it’s either that or bribery, and bribery is a much less funny reason.”

“You’re not wrong,” she admitted, though hesitantly. “I’d put my bet on bribery though, I can’t imagine anyone wanting a shag with him. He’s simply not good looking enough to make up for everything else.” She grimaced.

“I seem to remember you telling me you wished you had asked Smith to Slughorn’s Yule party rather than McLaggen during our sixth year,” Harry said with a smirk.

“You what??” Ron looked horrified at the suggestion.

“That was an indictment of McLaggen, not a compliment to Smith,” Hermione said, giving Harry a playful push, though she did laugh, and soon their attention was redirected by the waiter arriving with their meals.

Harry had ordered an ajapsandali (a dish similar to ratatouille) and a bottle of Mukuzani, a dry red wine, for the table. He’d discovered that he owned an extensive wine collection, one at Grimmauld Place and another at the Potter’s main family home and had decided he needed to learn more about it, so now he made a point of trying out more wines and asking waiters what they would recommend for the food. 

Harry was always nervous about ordering, never really having had the chance to do so growing up. The amount of choices always had his head spinning, and he was almost happy that he couldn’t make himself eat meat anymore, as it did narrow down his choices, even in London. Unless they went to a vegetarian place, and Indian restaurants always had a nice selection of vegetarian dishes. Iberia only had two vegetarian main courses, but they were both excellent.

He had yet to actually see the Potter family home, it was outside of London, on the south coast of England. He’d been surprised to learn that it wasn’t in Godric’s Hollow. The house in Godric’s Hollow, Potter Cottage, where Harry’s parents had lived, had been used as a family home too. A Potter ancestor, the one who had married the last Peverell, had met his wife in Godric’s Hollow and they lived in the spot where Potter Cottage stood (as had many since), but the main Potter family home was apparently close to a large forested area that the family had protected for centuries.

They had several other properties too, and not only in Britain. A holiday house in France, near Marseille, had been listed in his documents, and another one in India, close to a national park just outside of Mumbai. His grandmother Effie had grown up close by, according to some papers he’d found in one of his vaults. He wasn’t sure how she met his grandfather, but since the house was a Potter property he assumed they’d met there.

“Harry?”

He blinked and looked up at Hermione, who had tapped his hand with her finger to get his attention.

“Sorry? Was I off?”

“You were rather. Everything alright?”

“Oh, I’m fine. I was just thinking about the wine and then my mind wandered. Quite spectacularly too,” he chuckled. From Georgian wine to houses to India to how his paternal grandparents might have met. Not bad. He sipped his wine before tucking into his food again. Both the wine and the ajapsandali were delicious.

The rest of the meal was filled with talk of the food, of Teddy, of Harry and Ron’s timetables and training schedules, of Andy’s room, Ron and Hermione’s wedding, Hermione’s plans for her eighth year, and how to celebrate her birthday in September.

“It’s a Sunday, isn’t it?” Ron asked, looking at Hermione with furrowed brows, her hand in his on the table.

“Yes, it’s a Sunday.”

“Then Harry and I could come up to Hogsmeade the day before, celebrate with you, and I’ll stay with you until Sunday evening.” Ron perked up considerably, clearly looking forward to it already, and Harry suddenly realised that he must be feeling sad that Hermione would be away at Hogwarts for most of the coming year. 

They wouldn’t have their honeymoon until she’d graduated. Harry had offered to have a look at some of the properties he now owned in France, to see if they could be made habitable in time for their honeymoon. According to Kreacher, the Blacks’ chateau in southern France should be suitable with a little work. It had only really been used by the Blacks themselves, so it wasn’t as ridiculously pompous as some of the other Black properties. 

“That’s a wonderful idea, Ron. Thank you,” she gave him a kiss on the cheek, and Harry felt an uncomfortable pang of jealousy at the sight. 

He was so happy for his friends, they deserved the world honestly, and he had dragged them through hell, but that didn’t stop him wishing he could have what they had. Not to say their love had been easy, they had pined for years (more than a little annoying for their friends), and gone through a lot together, but they had been together throughout (almost) all of it and didn’t have to worry much about what people said about their relationship. They were so obviously meant to be together. And despite everything, Harry did wish for a love like that. The meant-to-be kind of love, the one that made two people a family, the one that meant normality and peace.

Hermione and the Weasleys had never been withholding of physical affection when it came to Harry, but that had really only made him realise how starved of physical affection he had really been and still was. It was never enough, in a way. He often found himself lying between his friends on the sofa, his legs across Ron’s lap and his head in Hermione’s, Harry and Hermione each with a book and Ron listening to the radio, because he needed the physical closeness.

Harry was still hoping to get a telly to work with the magic of the house, looking forward to spending time like that with his friends in front of it, and he was making headway. He’d bought mobile phones for himself and all his friends for Yule, an idea he’d gotten on his shopping trip with the girls, and had borrowed two old, but working, mobiles from Arthur to work with. The first one he’d managed to blow up, but before that he had seemed to be making progress. He’d made the shed in the garden of Grimmauld Place into a workspace, instead of only being storage space for his bike, and he kept all the phones out there. Some part of him couldn’t help worrying that he’d lose touch with his friends now, and he supposed that was part of what drove him to work on this.

“Harry?” This time it was Ron’s voice cutting through his thoughts.

“Sorry. What did you say?”

“I asked if it was okay with you if we head up to Hogsmeade on the 18th to meet Hermione at the Three Broomsticks? According to our timetables we have that Saturday off because there’s a seminar the week after. Then I can stay on until Sunday, since that’s her actual birthday.”

“Yeah, sounds great. Where will you be staying then? Hogwarts?”

“I’ll ask McGonagall,” Hermione responded for Ron, who had forked the rest of his chakhohbili into his mouth and was busy chewing blissfully around the no doubt delectably spiced chicken dish. “It would depend on the rooming arrangements for the eighth years. If we’re sharing rooms it would be easier to just rent one at the Three Broomsticks for the night.”

“I should hope so,” Harry responded with an impish grin. “Wouldn’t want to be your roommates when you bring your fiancée back to the room after almost three weeks apart.”

Hermione laughed as Ron blushed and almost choked on the wine he had just decided to take a sip of when Harry opened his mouth. For some reason, Ron was really shy when it came to sex sometimes, especially if it was unexpected.

“Careful, Harry,” Hermione said, still sniggering. “Or I will be forced to give you details. And we both know you don’t want that.”

Harry gave a theatrical shudder that had Ron join Hermione’s laughter.

“Fair enough. Change of subject then, I think. Dessert?”

“Oh, baklava, no doubt,” Ron responded immediately.

“Me too,” Hermione nodded, finishing the last of her lamb stew (chaqapuli).

“Me three, then,” Harry agreed. He’d tried the baklava last time and they were to die for.

“Can we get a medoki as well? That’s a type of cake, right? It says ‘honey cake’?” Ron had clearly latched on to the description on the menu. Honey and condensed milk? Yes please.

“They have a selection of some of the traditional desserts that we could get,” Hermione pointed to the option on her menu. “It has the medoki, sigareti, and pelamushi. We could get baklava as well, that way we get to try a little of everything.”

“We may as well,” Harry told them. “I will be buying more baklava to take home with us anyway.”

“Brilliant.” Ron said, a look of awe on his face, when the waiter arrived with their order. Harry had asked the waiter what beverage they would recommend pairing them with, and been told their Georgian brandy would pair well with the sweetness of the desserts. Harry was not disappointed. Not by the desserts, not by the brandy. The baklava was, as usual, heavenly, the medoki like biting into sweet clouds. The desserts were very sweet, as a whole, and the brandy cut through the sweetness, rounding it out. Especially with the medoki cake.

They decided to take not only baklava home with them, but also some sigareti and three pieces of medoki.

“We’ll be doing a lot of training, Hermione,” Ron had said when Hermione expressed concern that they were loading up on too much sugar. “Harry and I deserve it.”

~ ~

The next morning they learned why there had been untrained people in their 40’s trying their luck to get into the Auror Academy.

Harry mostly avoided the Prophet like the plague, but Hermione just told him it was important to know what your enemy was saying and fastidiously read the damn thing every day. That morning at breakfast she scoffed loudly after paying off the delivery owl and threw it down on the table next to Harry with an angry “read this”.

The headline stated “Harry Potter Acing Auror Academy Audition”, making Harry wonder if the journalist had been paid extra for alliteration. The cover photo was a picture of Harry, in profile, looking straight ahead, his expression attentive and serious. The article itself contained several more pictures of Harry, a few of them somehow taken during the tests they’d taken individually (and without the other trainees as audience), and somehow made it sound like Harry got the best scores. 

Sure, he’d done well, but Blaise had done better than him on most of the physical and theoretical tests, though barely, and yet wasn’t even mentioned, and Ron had done just as well as Harry on the physical tests, yet was only mentioned once.

He shook his head as he looked up at his friends.

“This is absolute rubbish. Then again, we already knew that. Someone needs to clean this rag up, honestly.”

Ron and Hermione shared an exasperated look with him and nodded in agreement, as he folded it and threw it further down the table.

He wondered how many other publications had sent their journalists to cover the tests, and whether any of them had bothered to be truthful on their coverage.

Somehow he doubted it.

)o(

Wednesday 1 September 2010

Harry had decided to wear one of his more ripped dark blue skinny jeans, a grungy old band t-shirt that must have belonged to Sirius (The Who, Harry had checked out their music and had liked it, so he didn’t feel like a total fake wearing it), his lordship rings on their chain (he wore them almost every day now, sometimes even on his finger), his leather jacket, and his hair gathered up in a messy bun, one small braid above each ear gathered up in the bun with the rest. He knew journalists would be waiting for him at King’s Cross, so he refused to wear his Auror trainee uniform or anything resembling a ‘proper’ outfit for their sake. Instead he’d gone the opposite route, topping the outfit off with a pair of green converse.

They were taking the floo directly to the platform and meeting the rest of the Weasleys there. Ron and Hermione had been more wrapped up in each other than usual for the last few days, and Harry didn’t blame them. Sure, they were meeting up in Hogsmeade in less than three weeks, but how long would it be until they saw each other after that? And after all, they hadn’t exactly spent much time apart in the last few years, especially this last one. 

Even with the time Ron hadn’t been there they’d spent so much time together that something as simple as sleeping in different rooms had been impossible in the beginning. 

The three of them had curled up together on Ron’s bed the first couple of weeks after the battle, Molly not saying a word about it whenever she found them in the mornings, Hermione and Ron curled around Harry, the three of them anchoring each other. It had been a slow move; first Harry moving to the mattress on the floor, though still ending up on the bed halfway through each night the first week, and then Hermione moving to Ginny’s room. 

They’d not actually talked about it, but had somehow agreed that they had to learn to sleep separately, especially with Ron and Hermione leaving for Australia. Even then they’d been away less than a fortnight, and Harry had felt their absence keenly. He was happy to have them with him at Grimmauld Place. Sure they were in different rooms on different floors, but it made the transition easier. Now Harry and Ron would have to do without Hermione’s wild bedhead and unappealing cooking skills until Yule, and he supposed it was good practice if nothing else. 

They would always be close, for Harry they were family, but he didn’t want to get in the way of their lives.

Ron and Hermione entered the kitchen hand in hand.

“We’re all ready.” Ron looked like he might cry. Actually, he looked like he already had. Hermione too.

“Great,” Harry directed his response to Ron before turning to Hermione. “I made lunch for you to eat on the train.”

“Thanks, mum,” she responded, her snark somewhat diminished by the tears threatening to spill from her eyes as she met his. He moved to hug her.

“You watch your mouth, young lady,” he said into her hair. It had the desired effect, making her laugh into his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head before letting go and gesturing to the stairs. 

Harry had done her hair for her that morning, giving her two large French braids that ended below her shoulder blades. That way, he’d told her, she wouldn’t have to worry about her hair getting into her eyes or anyone else’s. She’d given him a light push and rolled her eyes at him, but hadn’t kept back her laugh, so he considered it a win. It was also very pretty on her, though he liked how her wild curls usually framed her face.

When they arrived at Platform 9 3/4, the cameras were flashing before they’d even fully Apparated in, Harry right behind his friends. They simply ignored the journalists and their cameras as best they could, not saying a word to them at all. A guard appeared before the journalists could throw out too many way too invasive questions and made them move, as they were disturbing the students and their families. Though he wouldn’t be surprised if tomorrow’s Prophet read “Saviour Shook Into Sudden Stoic Silence” or something equally ridiculous.

It wasn’t hard to find the Weasleys in the sea of people. Fred and George were in the middle of the group of redheads, animatedly telling Ginny and Neville something that made the four of them laugh raucously and Molly put a hand to her hip to admonish them for it. Harry didn’t need to know what it was, the scene in front of him was simply too nice and familiar for him to care much about the specifics.

They all exchanged hugs once they made it over to the group, Molly asking all the students whether they’d remembered this and that, making sure they had all eaten breakfast. Ron gave her an eye roll while pointing out to her that there was no way Harry would’ve let them leave home without eating breakfast. Molly beamed at him at that and patted his cheek as she told him ‘good boy’.

Between Ron’s statement and her reaction he wasn’t sure whether to feel like the 40 something year old mother of two teenagers or a 5 year old who had successfully cleared up his toys. Not that he had any experience with either scenario.

As the conversation moved on Harry looked around the platform to see who else he could recognise from their year. He saw the Patil twins chatting with Lavender Brown a bit further down. Lavender wasn’t as obnoxiously giggly as she had been before the war, but he was pleased to see that she looked happy. She was laughing, the scars on her face pulling a bit. He had seen Bill talk to her after the Battle, when they had visited St Mungo’s. When she hadn’t turned at the next full moon she’d joined them at Hogwarts to help the rebuilding. She hadn’t seemed as happy then, and she had shied away from the rest of them in the beginning. 

Further down the platform he could see Blaise, Pansy Parkinson, and Malfoy. All impeccably dressed in robes, as usual. They were being careful, standing close together near the wall, Malfoy actually leaning on it. 

Harry wondered whether anyone had tried doing something to them, since they looked to be in defence mode. He hoped not. He would have to ask Hermione to keep an eye out. Though which one of them were actually going to Hogwarts he didn’t know. He knew Blaise wasn’t, since he was training with them. Harry had tried to make him join him and Ron for coffee, but so far he had seemed too wary to accept. He didn’t blame him, though he wished Blaise would understand that he could trust Harry and Ron not to hex him or whatever it was he was worried about. He had joined them for lunch a few times though, and they chatted easily enough while at the Academy.

So that left Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy. It could be both. If they felt they needed to protect each other it wouldn’t be strange if it were both. Before he could turn away from the group Malfoy looked up and locked eyes with him. Harry could feel his mouth dry up, his magic fizzing. Malfoy’s eyes had always been... intense. Storm clouds. Sometimes swirling mercury. Making him feel like he could easily get lost in them.

Someone tugged his arm and he turned to find Hermione looking at him, an understanding in her eyes that Harry himself did not understand at all. 

“We have to board now. You mentioned lunch?”

“Oh! Yeah. Yeah, I have it here.” He reached into his pocket for the lunchbox he had shrunk down. It was genius. It had separate compartments for different foods, which made it much more handy than a regular lunch box.

“I made enough for you to share, and I got you some sigareti and baklava from Iberia yesterday. Put them under stasis the second I was out of there, and they’d just made them, so they’re as fresh as they come.” He gave her the box and continued. “Now, remember to enjoy yourself as well, take breaks from studying. If I hear that you’re burying yourself in books I will come for you.”

She laughed and gave him the second ‘thanks, mum’ of the day.

He put his hands on her shoulders and gave her a mock glare. 

“Don’t be cheeky with me,” he told her, before pulling her into one last hug. “Love you, ‘Mione.” He gave her a tight squeeze before letting her go.

“Love you too, Harry,” she replied, cradling his face in her hands and smiling at him through her tears before saying another goodbye to her fiancée.

Harry then said his goodbyes to Ginny and Neville, hugging both of them, and then Luna, who turned up out of nowhere and threw herself at him in goodbye, so he spun her around a few times for good measure before letting her go.

“You should talk to him, you know,” she said with a smile before turning on her heels and swinging up onto the train. Harry looked after her with a bemused frown and tilted head.

Choosing to overlook her rather confusing advise, he walked over to where Ron stood, hands in his pockets, and stared longingly at the train as it prepared to leave. Hermione and the rest had clearly found a compartment, as her and Ginny’s heads appeared out of a window to yell goodbye. Harry and the remaining Weasleys waved at them as the train left the station, and they waved back until the train disappeared behind a bend.

Harry gave Ron a pat on the back and a sympathetic smile. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, the threw his arm over Harry’s shoulder. “I miss her already though.”

“Course you do,” Harry responded. “You haven’t been apart from one another a single day for months. It’s not for long though, and you know she’ll write. You better work on writing back too, otherwise she'll no doubt send you a Howler about it."

Ron threw his head back in a laugh. 

“I reckon you're right. She'll send it to the Ministry too, make sure to embarrass me proper. She can be a right devil, our Hermione,” he sighed.

“That she can,” Harry agreed.

They stayed on the platform another ten minutes talking to Molly, Arthur, and the twins before they all left for their respective workplaces. Harry and Ron had to return to Grimmauld Place first, to change into their trainee uniforms before going to the Academy.

September 1st was one of those days in the Wixen World where everyone started work late, unless they were Healers or something, so Harry and Ron didn’t have to be at the Academy before one o’clock, giving them ample time to change and eat the rest of the lunch Harry had prepared before going to King’s Cross.

Chapter Text

Saturday 18 September 2010

Harry was just about done with his magical outbursts. He’d thought that given time they would settle, but if anything they were getting worse. The days he didn’t wake up to a trashed room were now few and far between, and his magic misfiring had also started happening more. He had let Kreacher take over dish duty completely after he’d one morning managed to blow up all the dirty dishes rather than moving them to the sink as he was supposed to, all because he’d been too distracted by his own foul fucking mood.

He had started noticing more and more now that his mood was indeed a contributing factor, as even a feeling of slight annoyance cold make lights flicker at times, and in one memorable case had made all the tables at Fortescue’s shake because of a ridiculous article in the Prophet claiming that he and Ginny were engaged. Luckily he’d been glamoured for that particular Diagon trip with an equally glamoured Ron, thank the Founders.

The Daily Prophet reporter had used a picture that they must’ve captured by stalking him and Ginny out of The Leaky the last time they met for coffee before she went off to Hogwarts. Never mind that at the time the picture was taken they had been discussing a shared sort-of crush on a fourth year Ravenclaw boy during Harry’s third year at Hogwarts, something Harry had only realised when Ginny had described her own crush on the boy. Clearly the reporter had stayed outside, as the picture had been taken through the window and the article itself was devoid of any outing of Harry as gay.

Just the day before Harry had made the lights in the entire Ministry go out after hearing Zacharias Smith in the cafeteria brag about how the Head Auror was such a good friend of his father and had recognised Smith’s ‘considerable talent’ over the summer. 

Harry hadn’t had much to do with Head Auror Robards, but so far he had been less than impressed by the man, and if he was the reason Zacharias Smith had been invited to the Auror Academy then he was either a incompetent arse or a greedy one. Possibly both. Harry had again been glamoured, since he was forced to cross the atrium to get to the main cafeteria, and sat in a corner by himself, so he had gone unnoticed, but it still worried him.

At least he had managed to convince Blaise to have coffee with him and Ron a few times as well as lunch every other day, and they were getting on surprisingly well now. Small comforts.

But today he woke up yet again to a magically trashed room.

Fucking excellent.

At this point it wasn’t just connected to his nightmares. He still had plenty of them, but he couldn’t remember having had an actual nightmare this time. It had been a vivid dream, what he could remember of it, but not particularly bad. At least not enough to constitute a nightmare. 

He had been… looking for something. Something important. Not Horcrux important, but important. It was something that was his, something that belonged close to him. He had searched and searched, frustrated and worried he would never find it. He had been searching with his magic as much as his hands, could clearly remember the exact feeling of his magic reaching out around him; searching, searching.

Harry sighed as he sat up in bed and realised he wasn’t only waking up to a trashed room, but also a morning stiffie. Whatever, it would go down during his run. 

Grabbing his wand from underneath his pillow he started setting the room to rights before taking a quick trip to the loo. After washing his hands and face he got his running gear on. Running was now as much a part of his morning ablutions as showering, brushing his teeth, and putting on moisturiser, and he always did his running first. There was no point in showering before running. 

Ginny hadn’t been wrong when she’d said running (without fearing for your life) felt almost like flying, it really did, though he still preferred flying. 

Harry had discovered that the Potters owned a small cottage in Wales, on the coast in the outskirts of a national park, and the area around it was a perfect place to run. 

Apparating to just outside the cottage, Harry took a deep breath. The air was damp, surely after a heavy rain during the night, but fresh and clean. A few clouds were scattered across the early morning sky, but nothing to suggest the rain would return just yet. He was sure it would though. There was usually a light drizzle, though that could have something to do with his timing. Starting his runs around 6 AM each morning meant he was there before sunrise, and the nights weren’t quite finished with their rain.

So far he hadn’t met a single person during his runs, even outside the area the Potters must have warded against muggles, and the landscape was frequently breathtaking. Wide, and dramatic, and real, and he loved to watch the sunrise from various hilltops.

A couple of times he had brought his broom and gone flying instead of running. Once he even brought the bike. Shrunken down, of course, before Disapparating from Grimmauld Place, and he had kept to the roads rather than the trails where he ran. That had been brilliant, but he hadn’t done it again since the point was to exercise. He still hadn’t tried flying with the motorbike, though he supposed the area around the cottage would be the best place to do it. 

The cottage itself was made of stone and though modest in size, not really very small. Harry had fixed it up a little, after ascertaining that the structure itself was sound. It wasn’t much, but it was nice to know that he had a place like this to run off to should he need some time alone, and the simple functionality of the space and its furniture was something he appreciated. He had warded the place to the hilt too, adding to the wards already in place to make sure he stayed within his own property.

Once he returned to Grimmauld Place, his morning run helping to calm both him and his magic, he decided to enjoy a luxuriously long shower. 

Well, the decision was sort of made for him when he walked into the en-suite and realised his stiffie hadn’t actually gone down much. Or it had gone down and for some reason returned. He hadn’t been paying attention to it, to be quite honest. His mind had wandered aimlessly as he ran, as it usually did, and once he got back he was reminded of the weirdly vivid dream. It hadn’t been a sexual dream though, so why this was the result he wasn’t sure. A subconscious thing, perhaps? 

What he had thought about consciously was the part where he felt around with his magic, and wondering if that was something he could perhaps do. He made up his mind to look into it just as he entered his shower and reached for his hair potions as if his erection wasn’t at all begging for his attention.

He was, in a way, teasing himself on purpose. Not giving into his arousal right away, letting himself get frustrated. Winding himself up. Giving his hair and scalp all of his focus rather than his cock and arse. He was pretty sure he’d wanked more in the last four months than he had in the eighteen years before that, so thinking back, perhaps it wasn’t that weird that he hadn’t fully realised he was gay until his mind and body could relax enough to let him feel so horny he had to do something about it and discovered his thoughts didn’t stray to soft breasts or anything of the kind. 

Being thrown against a wall at a muggle club had only confirmed what he had already suspected; that he was absolutely a bottom. He supposed he should try out both, but from what he had learned from his own fantasies and the book Hermione had given him on his birthday he was at least primarily a bottom.

It had taken until two days after his birthday for his curiosity to overtake his embarrassment enough for him to fish the shrunken book out of his nightstand. Well, that and the fact that he was at this point so bloody curious that he knew he couldn’t wait another two days until he could use his eyes again. And he had learned a lot from that book. He hadn’t read through the entire thing that first night, but he’d made sure to read the most important parts. And look at the artistically rendered examples.

So once he allowed himself to reach slowly for his cock, still soaping himself up, he left one hand to loosely stroke the length while the other reached behind him. Muttering a wandless cleaning charm and conjuring lube, letting one finger circle the rim before carefully pushing through the tight opening. 

He only used the conjured lube while in the shower — it was goopy enough not to disappear completely in the water, but too goopy otherwise, really. He’d bought phials of lube from a place recommended in the book, and they worked better out of the water. He kept the hand on his cock loose and the finger in his arse shallow until adding the second one, sighing at the light stretch and burn. 

He loved that feeling. 

He allowed himself to go deeper, but kept the pace and grip the same until he could add a third finger. Then he let his hips move steadily between the fingers in his arse and the hand now tightly gripping his cock. Letting himself go, moans getting louder, until he was too far gone to maintain the rhythm and couldn’t stop himself thrusting wildly into his fist, the fingers in his arse pressing against the walls. 

Feeling the telltale tug in the pit of his stomach, his orgasm closing in on him quickly now, he closed his eyes and dropped his head back against the wall he’d been leaning on, an embarrassingly high pitched whine escaping him. When he came he almost fell, his knees already spent from running around the Welsh countryside, the world tilting slightly around him. 

Still panting heavily he opened his eyes and watched as the lights in the en-suite flickered lazily a few times. He sighed heavily and slid down the wall, letting both his hands fall away from his body as he did so. The idea that he probably looked like a thrown away rag doll of some sort had him snorting half-heartedly to himself, though it turned immediately into a groan as another thought came to him.

When they had warded his room they had only warded the bedroom itself, so he wouldn’t trash the dressing room or the en-suite and sauna, so there was a chance that he’d just messed with the lights of the entirety of Grimmauld Place except his bedroom. Not much he could do about it now, he supposed. At least Kreacher wouldn’t be likely to mention it, though he would undoubtedly know whose magic it was.

Harry dressed in his own clothes rather than his trainee uniform after leaving the shower, choosing a pair of black skinny jeans and a deliciously soft red flannel shirt, left open over his t-shirt, since it would most likely be too cold in the Scottish highlands for only his leather jacket, and then made his way down to the kitchen to get a start on breakfast. Harry had only let Kreacher deal with the dishes in exchange for himself being on breakfast duty, but he knew well enough that if he slept in for too long Kreacher would simply do it himself and be very smug about it too.

He cast a quick wandless tempus to check the time. 7:30. Ron wouldn’t be up in another an half hour at the very least. 

Where Harry preferred to get washed and dressed before breakfast, and rarely managed to fall asleep again after waking up from a nightmare (or weirdly vivid dreams searching for something unknown), Ron usually barely washed his hands and face before coming to the breakfast table in his pyjamas. Harry suspected it had to do with their upbringing.

He was used to being forced to make the food, never really allowed to eat it (so no breakfast unless he managed to sneak a piece while cooking), and had had to be awake and fully dressed when his aunt let him out of the cupboard, only allowed 5 minutes to wash himself before starting breakfast.

Ron was used to being fed. To get up, eat the food already laid out, then get dressed.

Molly and Arthur had raised all their children to wash their hands and faces before coming down for breakfast, and they made sure to have all of them help out with the rest of the day’s meals in some way, but never breakfast. It had thrown Harry off in the beginning. Especially when Molly had nearly forbidden him from helping out at all that first summer. He was not used to sitting at the breakfast table half asleep and in his nightclothes. 

Before Hogwarts he hadn’t ever really sat at a breakfast table at all. 

**

Three quarters of an hour later Harry had just bit into his avocado toast when Ron appeared in the kitchen door in blue and white striped pyjama bottoms and a Chudley Cannons t-shirt, his hair a rumpled mess.

“Morning,” he yawned, grabbing a plate and loading it with heaps of scrambled eggs and bacon, a few bits of toast, and beans to top it all off. Harry could almost hear Hermione’s admonishing voice telling Ron how he should really pay more attention to his diet, and had to hold back a laugh. The two of them had taken to mimic Hermione since she left for Hogwarts, but with his own mouth full of toast he doubted it would be very convincing.

Ron plopped down opposite Harry and tucked into his breakfast with gusto.

“This bacon is bloody delicious, mate.” He blissfully stuffed another piece of said bacon into his mouth. “Was that for my sake? I thought you didn’t eat meat anymore?”

Harry swallowed and smirked.

“It’s tofu bacon.”

“You’re not bloody serious.” Ron looked genuinely shocked. “It tastes just like the real deal. Actually, it’s even better than some of the bacon I’ve had.” He stuffed more bacon (or ‘facon’) into his mouth with a forkful of scrambled eggs.

“You’ve my permission to make this again,” he added, though Harry barely managed to make out the words as Ron had made no attempt to swallow before talking. 

“Thanks, I will. I want to find more traditional tofu dishes to make too though. It’s a staple food in many cultures, and I want to learn how they’d prepare it…” 

He took another bite of his toast while making a mental note to ask Hermione whether she or her mum had any ideas of where he’d be most likely to find good recipes, more traditional tofu recipes, not the westernised stuff. 

Both of Hermione’s parents were English born and raised, her paternal grandparents too, but her maternal grandfather had come from Nigeria to England through relatives in France (where he had first met his wife, also of Nigerian descent) as a teenage refugee and had taught his daughter several traditional dishes that he’d learned from his own grandmother. All of Hermione’s grandparents were dead now, but her parents had told Harry stories the few times they’d met, and he really enjoyed them. Perhaps it was because he himself had known so little about his own family history, but Harry loved hearing about other people’s families. And Hermione’s parents were really nice.

So while Hermione herself was a culinary disaster, her mother was a different story altogether. She was very proud of her traditional cooking, and might be able to give him some pointers.

“It’s still weird to be just the two of us for so long, without Hermione. Looking forward to seeing her later?”

“Absolutely,” Ron responded immediately. “It’s only been a couple of weeks, but I hate not being able to see her every day. It’s mad to think that she’s at Hogwarts and we’re not.”

“We did have the chance to go with her,” Harry pointed out.

“Yeah, but there really weren’t any point to us going, was there? We were invited to join the Academy without our NEWTs, so how would getting them even help us?” 

Ron didn’t even finish each mouthful before adding a new one. Even after all these years, Harry found his eating habits astonishing. He knew Hermione’s admonishments had nothing to do with any fear of Ron possibly gaining weight, frankly he didn’t think she’d mind all that much if he did, but rather that it couldn’t be good for him to inhale it the way he did, barely even chewing or breathing. 

And the lack of proper table manners, of course. Hermione’s parents were very warm and lovely people, but they took manners seriously.

Harry too had been a fast eater growing up, but he had eaten small bites quickly; knowing it could disappear any minute if he didn’t eat it fast enough, but also that it would disappear even quicker if he ate messily. The foods he managed to sneak into his cupboard (and, later on, his room) were all eaten slowly, in an attempt to make them last. 

These habits still stuck, in a way. He ate crisps, biscuits, things like that, so slowly it almost annoyed Ron. Harry still took small bites of his food, but he gave himself more time during meals now. Focusing on chewing. He was still struggling with a lack of appetite, but he did his best to eat and to enjoy the food.

“I suppose you’re right,” Harry replied, taking another measured bite of his toast to combat the tiny little burst of sadness in his chest.

If he was honest with himself, he wished he had gone back to Hogwarts. 

Not that he wasn’t enjoying the training, he had always enjoyed moving around, the feeling of freedom that accompanied it. He no longer had the obsessive need for constant movement that he used to have, the ever present feeling of being hunted (and actually being hunted) was mostly gone and the obsession had gone with it, but the training still helped clear his mind.

No, it was more the growing realisation that he wouldn’t only be fighting for his life, killing, destroying, just like he’d been forced to do most of his life, but that he would also be working with the Ministry. And a large part of him still did not trust the Ministry.

Sure, the current Minister for Magic was his friend Kingsley Shacklebolt, but the Ministry in general was still full of people who either willingly looked the other way when serious injustice was taking place or actively, in many cases gleefully, taking part in said injustice. He looked down at his hand where the silvery white words ‘I must not tell lies’ were easily visible against his tan skin. Dolores Umbridge was still with the Ministry, of course, and hadn’t faced any repercussions for the things she had done.

The lights above the kitchen table flickered warningly, and Ron cleared his throat.

“You alright?” He looked worriedly at Harry, going so far as to put his fork down, and Harry gave him a reassuring smile in return.

“I’m fine, just my mind wandering.”

Ron had a reputation for being dimwitted, for some inexplicable reason. Harry supposed it had to do with his lack of enthusiasm for homework and general lack of attention during classes at Hogwarts, but Ron was smart. He was a strategic thinker and surprisingly observant if he cared to be. Not observant in the way Hermione was, the way she could know what you were thinking, or the way Harry was, but in the way that he could pick up on tiny clues and add them up, the way he could analyse things and patiently wait for the right time to make a move. 

He’d be a good Auror. Much better than Harry could ever be, he was sure. 

This was the first time the light flickering happened like this, where it was immediately understandable that it was Harry’s doing just by looking at him, but Ron seemed to have suspected it was his doing since he’d come back from the cafeteria the day all the lights had gone out at the Ministry. As far as Harry knew he hadn’t mentioned his suspicions to anyone, including Hermione. At least Hermione hadn’t hinted at it in her letters yet. 

They continued eating their breakfast and talking about the upcoming trip to Hogsmeade a little while longer until Ron got up to make his way to his room to pack his overnight bag, and Harry went into his study to wrap Hermione’s birthday present. 

He’d decided to gift her an old book he’d discovered in the Black library (it seemed the House of Black never once threw out books, probably had no idea what they even had). It explained the legal systems of different magical communities all over the world. It was a highly interesting book, even for Harry, but he was sure she would get way more use of it than he would.

**

The plan was to meet Hermione at a new coffee shop that recently opened up in Hogsmeade, called The Witch’s Brew, then they’d walk around Hogsmeade for a bit before having dinner at The Three Broomsticks, where Ron and Hermione would be staying the night. 

They Apparated into Hogsmeade not far away from the coffee shop and made their way across the road to where Hermione stood waiting for them. Harry was glad he’d added the flannel shirt, as it was indeed rather chilly, a light rain adding to it.

The Witch’s Brew was the first place of its kind in Hogsmeade, which had previously only had The Three Broomsticks and the Hog’s Head. It looked nice; cosy, in a way. The atmosphere reminded Harry of Camden Market, the old house with its exposed brickwork a juxtaposition to the hip modern interior. The trio found a corner table by a window, his friends knowing perfectly well that Harry would prefer sitting there. He could see the space they were in from the bench, he could look out the window, and there was a giant plant next to the table, hiding him slightly. 

The Observer’s Seat, Hermione called it.

“This place is nice,” Ron said, looking around from his seat opposite Harry.

“Yeah, it’s already quite popular among the eighth years,” Hermione replied. “Because we’re all technically adults who were supposed to have graduated already, there are special rules for us. We have much more freedom, really. We’re allowed to go to Hogsmeade whenever we’d like and can stay out past curfew, although we have to ask permission to stay out overnight. A group of us came here last weekend, and some have even come here for lunch when possible. None of us were disappointed either, their espresso drinks are especially popular. It was nice to introduce them to those who hadn’t tried anything like it before, since they’re not common in the Wixen World.”

She spoke in a hurry, without taking a breath between each sentence, and Harry felt a burst of fondness at the realisation that she was excited they were there with her, that she could tell them everything face to face.

“What would you recommend then? I’m paying.” Harry reached for one of the small menus placed artistically on the middle of the table. It listed different espresso based drinks with various flavoured syrups and a few fancy mixes with their own names, several tea blends, milkshakes, juices, and soft drinks, etc. There was a small selection of eatables as well. Soups of the day (‘see sign’), sweet bakes of the day (‘see sign’), and sandwiches of the day (‘see sign’).

“Did you not notice the Treacle Tart Latte, Harry?” Hermione smirked at him, knowingly. 

It was no secret among their friends that he was a real slut for treacle, for anything caramel-like really. Well, nobody had actually called him a slut, but he knew what he was.

“Oh, brilliant. I’ll have that then. And you two?” 

He was already looking forward to his latte. He contemplated getting it with almond milk. It seemed they made their own almond milk and oat milk. That might be interesting. Drinking cow’s milk by itself, like he could remember Dudley doing growing up, wasn’t really a thing in the Wixen World, and many were lactose intolerant too.

“I’ll have the chai spice latte. And you, Ron?” She gave Ron a soft smile, so full of love that Harry was sure it could be felt across the room. A smile Ron easily returned.

“I’m not sure. Any recommendations, luv?” 

“I think you’ll like all of them, but they have a chocolate-coffee milkshake that is right up your alley.”

“Sounds brilliant.” They we’re still smiling at each other, though it had gone from softly loving to somewhat heated, both looking about 10 seconds away from jumping the other, to hell with the audience.

Harry cleared his throat loudly.

“You’re both very cute, and I appreciate you doing your best to keep your hands off of each other — Hermione climbing you like a tree on arrival notwithstanding, Ron — but could you perhaps wrap up the eye fucking and tell me what you’d like for me to order for us so I could go and do just that?”

He was grinning at them, the grin only widening at their embarrassment. Ron’s blushing face red enough to direct traffic, Hermione’s darker skin gaining more of a subtle powdery blush.

“I’ll have the chai spiced latte, with oat milk, and the chicken tikka sandwich,” Hermione said quietly, looking embarrassed yet still managing to glare at Harry, who just kept on grinning.

“I’ll have the milkshake Hermione mentioned,” Ron croaked, looking anywhere but at Harry. “And I’ll have a chicken tikka sandwich too.” Clearly just choosing whatever Hermione was eating, as he hadn’t actually looked at the signs or the display by the counter.

“Thank you,” Harry said as he got up, still grinning at them, thoroughly enjoying their embarrassment.

“Oh, and a sweet bake! Whatever kind!” Ron yelled after him, obviously just having noticed them on the menu.

Harry made his way to the counter, looking at the specials of the day and tried not to panic. They had a couple of vegetarian sandwiches and two of the three soups of the day were vegetarian; a lentil soup and a gazpacho. His panic settled quickly, since he wanted something warm and that made the choice rather limited, so he got the attention of the server, a rather fit bloke, tall and dark, who walked over to him with a bright smile; a notepad and Quick Quotes Quill trailing behind him. 

His eyebrows shot up as he got a good look at Harry, clearly recognising him (and doing that familiar dance up to his forehead with his eyes), but managed to keep his cool. Or at least he wasn’t bursting into tears or nervous shaking or painful hero worship. Yet. 

“Hello, how can I help you?” he asked in a charmingly Scottish accent.

“Hello,” he replied, managing a smile of his own. “I’d like to order a treacle tart latte with almond milk, a chai spice latte with oat milk, and a chocolate-coffee milkshake. I’d also like two chicken tikka sandwiches and the lentil soup.”

He looked down at the selection of pastries and cakes and decided he might as well get some for them all to share. He chose a brownie, a blueberry muffin, a piece of carrot cake, and a chocolate croissant, all on one large plate with three pastry forks. 

Order duly paid for, Harry thanked the server and made his way back to their table, the plate of baked goods and their lunches following behind him.

A quick glance told him Ron and Hermione had used their time alone well, though they’d made an effort to appear somewhat put together by the time Harry returned. He couldn’t help chuckling as he sat down though, it was still so obvious they’d been snogging, but he decided not to point it out.

“They’ll send the drinks over once they’re done.”

“Thanks, Harry.” Ron looked like he wanted to start with the cakes, but a quick glance over at Hermione apparently convinced him to reach for his sandwich instead.

“What do you have?” Hermione asked Harry, nodding at the soup he’d just had his first spoonful of.

“It’s a lentil soup and it’s bloody scrumptious. How are your sandwiches?”

It was scrumptious. The texture of the lentils and potatoes with the garlic croutons gave a nice mix of textures, the spices blending beautifully. The perfect warm treat for the chilly damp weather. Though they’d probably be having a heatwave next week, knowing the UK weather.

“‘S good,” Ron responded. He’d managed to swallow most of the food before speaking this time. Harry was impressed, but knew well that it was solely for Hermione’s benefit.

“It is,” she agreed. “Chicken can be so dry and bland, but this isn’t. They must’ve used magic to marinade this.” She studied her sandwich closely, as if she might be able to discern the cooking method based purely on sight and precious little knowledge of cooking.

“Not necessarily,” Harry replied with a shrug, then paused for a moment, thinking it through. “There are many ingenious ways to marinade without using magic, and many ways of using magic in cooking are really just using magic the same way muggles use machines. Like using a whisking spell rather than an electric mixer. Or in the case of marinading, using magic to suck the air out of a container rather than an electric vacuum sealer. Muggles were the ones to think up marinading this way, wixes just found a way to do it with magic instead. And it’s quite new in magical cooking. The Wixen World is far behind in many areas.”

While he spoke their beverages arrived, each drink in tall glasses on white coasters, and he decided he needed to taste it right away, though it wouldn’t exactly pair well with his soup. He let it stay on the table and simply used the straw. It was perfect, tasting like a liquid treacle tart with coffee, and he moaned before taking another sip, unable to help himself.

“You’re right there,” Hermione sighed, taking a sip of her own latte before speaking again. “Just something as basic as writing utensils. I mean, why are we still using quills rather than pens? Pens are so much more practical! We’re behind on so many things, both big and small. That’s part of what I want to do in the future. Help the Wixen World catch up, I mean. Kingsley offered me a place on a special board dedicated to crafting new laws and such. Restructuring the legal system, to begin with.”

“That’s amazing, ‘Mione!” Ron looked at her in awe.

“You’ll do great, I’m sure of it.” Harry smiled at her, thinking of his present and lifting his latte in her direction as if toasting her plans for the future.

“What’s that?” Hermione was looking down on the table in front of Harry.

When he looked down he saw there had been a piece of parchment placed between the glass and his coaster. He picked it up before putting his glass down again, and felt his face heat up.

The parchment had a phone number on it. A phone number and two words. ‘Ring me’. 
He bent around the large potted plant by their table and looked over towards the counter, where the server was drying off a glass, though clearly keeping an eye on their table as well. When he saw Harry looking he winked at him, and Harry quickly turned back to his friends.

“Well!” Hermione beamed at him. “He’s quite charming, isn’t he?”

“‘Mione!” Ron looked vaguely scandalised at the idea of this bloke picking up his friend and his fiancée calling him charming.

“Oh, pipe down, Ron,” she brushed him off. “I meant for Harry.”

“I won’t use this!” Harry cried, gesturing at the piece of parchment in front of him, just scandalised as Ron.

“A phone number. He must be muggleborn. Probably a landline.” She was blatantly ignoring him, leaning across the table to inspect the parchment. Harry rolled his eyes.

“Sorry, but I don’t fancy coming out to the Wixen World just to shag a groupie.” He grabbed the piece of parchment and pocketed it. He didn’t want to hurt the bloke by tearing it up in front of him. He usually took written propositions like this home and got rid of them there, but this was the first time he’d received one from a man. The first one using a phone number as well, they usually contained names and perhaps addresses. Apparition coordinates in some cases, from the more forward ones.

“You never know, he might be the one.”

Harry gave her a disbelieving look.

“He doesn’t even know me, he just knows that I’m Harry Potter. I don’t hold it against him, and at least he didn’t freak out after recognising me, but it’s not going to happen and you know that, ‘Mione.”

She didn’t look pleased, but it was clear she didn’t have any argument against him. Planning her wedding with a man she’d been in love with since she was 13 (at the latest) had made her a hopeless romantic in a way, she wanted to share her happiness. Which was sweet of her, but not necessarily realistic.

He didn’t point out that he wasn’t keen on losing his virginity for a one-night stand with a Harry Potter groupie only to have it smeared across the Prophet the next day. It might be cynical of him to think any wix who propositioned him would go to the papers with it, but he’d rather be safe than sorry.

“He’s not wrong, ‘Mione,” Ron backed him up, his face turning amused as he continued talking. “Don’t worry, luv, we’ve plenty of time to set Harry up once you’ve graduated. We’ll make it our lives’ work.” 

“Ha ha,” Harry deadpanned. “Just for that—,” he continued as he reached for the tray of cakes, cradling it in his arms like a a child refusing to share his toys, accompanied by the appropriate expression for that same scenario. “You’re not getting any of this.”

Ron gasped theatrically, hand splayed on his chest, and gave Harry a mock hurt look. For a moment, he reminded Harry eerily of Petunia.

“How dare you, Harry James Black-Potter. I am shocked. Such rudeness!”

Hermione fell across the table laughing at his antics, and Harry couldn’t hold back his own smile at the sight of the two of them.

“You’re both awful. Come on then. Eat.” He threw pastry forks across the table at each of them before using his own to take a piece of the carrot cake and moaning. It was heavenly. Nicely spiced, walnuts giving the texture a boost, the acidity of the cream cheese frosting balancing the sweetness perfectly.

“Bloody hell, you’re right. This is brilliant.” Ron had helped himself to the carrot cake as well.

Hermione had chosen to start with the brownie.

“You need to try this one,” she pointed at the brownie with her fork. “It’s decadent. You’ll love it, Ron.”

Ron and Harry both went for the brownie as Hermione went for the carrot cake, and they all moaned around their mouthfuls. Hermione had been right, it was decadent. 

“Wow,” Harry breathed, his eyes closed. 

“Absolutely,” Ron agreed.

“I’d eat these until it killed me,” Hermione sighed, blissfully. “I’d die happy.”

Ron smiled fondly at her and kissed her temple, mumbling ‘cutie’.

Chapter Text

Saturday 18 September 2010

“So, how are things at Hogwarts?” Harry asked as he ripped off a piece of the croissant, figuring the pastry fork would only make it more difficult. This was one of many things he loved about magic. It meant that the croissant, despite the hours it had surely sat in the display case, still appeared fresh out of the oven. Still warm, pastry soft on the inside and crunchy and flaky on the outside, the chocolate filling deliciously runny.

“They’re good so far,” Hermione responded, taking a piece of the blueberry muffin. “Like I said, the rules are lax for us eighth years. It’s weird to feel like we’re not fully a part of the student body, and yet not ‘real adults’. It’s good to be back though. After Yule we’ll get the chance to apprentice part time in a chosen field, so I might be at the Ministry as part of that. I was thinking of asking to join the Department of Mysteries. Otherwise we have core classes with the seventh years, so I get to see Ginny quite often despite not sharing a common room anymore.” She directed the last sentence at Ron.

“Yeah, you mentioned that in one of your letters.” Ron replied, making his way through the blueberry muffin Hermione had started on while Harry took another bite of the brownie. “You have your own common room and dormitories in the west tower?”

“Yes. We’re a separate house, really. We get our own points competing for the House Cup and we have our own table in the Great Hall. No Quidditch though, but that’s just as well, I suspect. Time wise, I mean.”

Harry decided he had to try the blueberry muffin before it disappeared. He addressed Hermione without looking up from the piece he was trying to remove from the muffin without taking the entire thing with him.

“That must be strange though. You’ve been sitting at the same table for 6 years, some of you for 7, and now you’re having to sit elsewhere.” He finally managed to coax the piece of muffin off the rest of it and onto his pastry fork, with a triumphant little hum. It was delicious, unsurprisingly. The muffin wasn’t the least bit gummy, like they often were when left for too long or just made wrong, and every burst of blueberries was delightful. Harry might not have had much of an appetite the last few months, but he could still appreciate good food. 

“The first few days were very strange, yes. We were all getting used to the changes and each other. We’re sharing dormitories, two and three to a room, and McGonagall did her best to make sure nobody from the same house are sharing a room.”

“Who are you sharing with then?” He asked her. She shifted a little in her seat, as if uncomfortable, or maybe in anticipation.

“Padma Patil and Pansy Parkinson.” It was clear that Ron already knew this, as he didn’t look surprised at the news. Though he did look surprised at Harry’s subsequent lack of surprise.

“That’s nice. How are you getting on with them? Who else are sharing rooms?” 

Harry hadn’t known about it, of course, but he wasn’t exactly surprised that she was placed with Pansy Parkinson. McGonagall was probably counting on her sense of justice or something not allowing her to have a go at her, as well as making sure nobody else did either. Some people were still angry with her about suggesting giving up Harry, despite the fact that she fought for their side against some of her own family members, including her father and uncle. Like Harry had told Blaise, she didn’t deserve the distrust.

Hermione was clearly also surprised at his lack of reaction, but quickly pulled herself together and started counting on her fingers.

“There’s me, Padma, and Pansy. Parvati and Lavender are sharing with Daphne Greengrass. Seamus is sharing with Justin Finch-Fletchley. And Neville is sharing with Draco Malfoy and Ernie Macmillan.” 

She sounded casual, but Harry could tell she was observing him closely, especially when she broke the news that Draco Malfoy was at Hogwarts and rooming with Neville and Ernie Macmillan. He did his best to keep his face neutral. He was getting better and better at that now. He had too often worn his emotions on his sleeve at Hogwarts, but the last year had pushed him into stopping. He had already known how to keep his emotions to himself, really. He’d always hidden them as a child. Well, for the most part. He’d had a tendency to be cheeky, apparently. Though from Harry’s point of view it was just him rightly responding to his “family’s” vitriol with heavy sarcasm.

“There aren’t many of you then. How are you all getting along?” 

He kept his expression at only vaguely curious as he took another bite of the carrot cake, focusing more on the taste of the cake rather than anything else, and then looked up at Hermione. She didn’t look completely convinced, but he supposed that had more to do with her previous knowledge of Harry’s so-called ‘obsession’ with Malfoy rather than his ability to hide any traces of said obsession on his face.

Which didn’t mean there was an obsession.

Because there wasn’t.

Obviously.

“Surprisingly well, so far. Justin can still be a bit of an arse. I think they roomed him with Seamus because they knew Seamus could slap him down, as it were. Daphne Greengrass spends most her time by herself or with her younger sister. Astoria Greengrass, you know. She’s a Slytherin too, two years below us. Ernie is quiet, seems determined to focus on his studies. Malfoy and Pansy spend most of their time together, staying quiet for the most part. It’s early days yet though, I suppose we need time to get used to each other in a somewhat new context.”

Harry had nodded along as she was talking, not particularly surprised at any point, but still focusing on the cakes. He didn’t have much of an impression of either Greengrass sister, never having interacted with them, but he knew they were purebloods and raised quite conservatively.

“Isn’t Malfoy engaged to Astoria Greengrass?” Ron asked no one in particular.

“I’d find it extremely odd if he were,” Hermione replied in an almost drawl, looking like she knew something the other two didn’t. “Though I suppose there could have been an agreement between their families at some point.”

“Well, if he’s spending all his time with Pansy Parkinson it does sound odd,” Harry said as he stabbed the brownie a little harder than was strictly necessary. When he looked up, Hermione was shooting him a look as if to say ‘what. an. idiot’.

“What?” He frowned at her, feeling strangely defensive all of a sudden.

“Nothing.” She looked thoroughly unimpressed though, and he had no idea why. “He apologised, you know.”

“Who?” Ron looked as confused as Harry felt.

“Malfoy.”

Ron’s eyebrows shot up. All at once Harry was struggling to keep his face neutral at the onslaught of muddled emotions bubbling up unnecessarily. He couldn’t really tell what they even were.

“He said he’d wanted to apologise for a long time, but had decided he needed to do it in person,” she continued. “He apologised for everything, mentioning specifics and why it was wrong, and told me he understood if I could never forgive him, but that he wanted to apologise anyway.”

“What did you say?” Harry was surprised to hear his voice coming out as a mere whisper and cleared his throat.

“I told him I’d have to think about the forgiving part, but thanked him for having the guts to apologise,” she replied softly.

“Do you think you can?” Ron looked between Harry and Hermione. “Forgive Malfoy, I mean.”

Harry answered without really thinking.

“I already have.”

Ron looked back at him in shock, and Harry shrugged, deciding he may as well continue. He had thought about it a lot, after all. Especially after the trial, and after talking to Luna about it.

“I’m not saying I like the git or want to be friends with him or anything, and I can’t speak for the things he did to either of you, but Malfoy was a result of his upbringing and still he chose to do things actively against his own family, in particular his father, whom he had idolised his entire life.” 

He took a deep breath and attempted to gather his thoughts enough to continue. 

“He took the Mark under threat of his mother being tortured, did a shit job with the task he’d been given despite knowing that doing a shit job would very likely result in the death of himself and his parents, couldn’t make himself finish the main job in the end — not because he wasn’t physically or magically capable, but because he couldn’t bring himself to end a life, even one so close to death anyway — he rebelled where he could, he brought food and blankets to the people imprisoned in his home, his childhood home that had been taken over by an evil dark wizard who loved torturing everyone and especially his followers, he refused to identify us when we were captured and taken to the manor despite clearly recognising us all, he all but gave me his wand and made it possible for us to get away from there, he stopped Crabbe from killing me in the Room of Requirements, he threw me the Hawthorn wand during the battle, and these are just the things I know of.”

He looked up at Ron and Hermione, hoping they understood, before going on.

“He didn’t mention what he’d done for the prisoners at the manor at his trial, and neither Luna nor Mr Ollivander were allowed to testify for him. I’m sure he’s done more than what I just listed up. Actually, I’m fairly certain that the only reason I was allowed to testify was that the Wizengamot was convinced I would be speaking against him.” He chuckled darkly. “If that’s not fucked up, I don’t know what is.”

Silence followed Harry’s speech, his magic crackling over his skin and a few lights flickering behind Ron and Hermione. He wasn’t sure why he’d felt the need to defend Draco Malfoy to his friends, but he had. In a way he felt like they were similar. They had both been pushed into situations by the people they trusted, both had their choices taken away from them, both had to deal with things they were too young and inexperienced to handle. Even their rivalry felt forced onto them, looking back.

It was Ron who broke the silence.

“You’re right. He was an arrogant bully because he’d been taught that was what he should be. Though considering his testimony against his dad he doesn’t idolise him anymore.”

“He testified against his dad?” Harry had only attended Malfoy’s and his mother’s trial. Lucius’ trial had taken place after those, and Harry wasn’t even sure what the verdict had been.

“Yeah, he gave the court loads of evidence of his dad’s shady dealings as well as his crimes directly related to the war. Daddy was not happy. It was brilliant actually.” Ron looked quite pleased at the memory.

“It was a brave thing to do,” Hermione agreed. 

“How are the Slytherins doing in general then?” He decided to move the conversation onto a somewhat less emotionally taxing lane, not quite sure what to make of this new piece of information on Malfoy. “I’ve been worried about how the other Houses are treating them.”

“It’s been alright, for the most part. A few outliers doing their best to treat them like dirt, but I think the rest of us managed to shut it down before it could fester. Justin was being an arse to Malfoy the first day back, but Neville more or less told him to shut up and get over himself. Once he realised nobody were on his side he stopped.” 

She went for the brownie again, not much left of it at this point. Harry decided to aim for the last piece and got there just before Ron, sending him an impish grin before eating it and receiving a glare in return.

“I’m looking forward to seeing how things change,” Hermione continued once she’d swallowed her own piece of brownie, the atmosphere feeling much lighter now than just a moment earlier. 

“Professor McGonagall wants us eighth years to set an example for the younger students, to facilitate inter-house unity. I do love Gryffindor House, but you have to admit that the system has been set up to divide us from the start, especially Gryffindor and Slytherin. We’ve been told we should hate each other and so we have. I’ve spoken with Professor McGonagall about it too, and she agrees. She’s asked me to help her work out the best ways to smooth over the divide, says she needs the help of someone who can easily see it from the students point of view. I suggested that Pansy Parkinson joins us too.”

“You what?” Ron looked flabbergasted, almost dropping his milkshake.

“That’s a good idea, ‘Mione,” Harry told her truthfully. “The best way to fix the divide is to make sure the Slytherins are part of the process. Slytherins are too proud to accept anything they feel makes them charity cases, and actively including Slytherins in the planning process would make it much easier to get Slytherins on board.” He sent her a crooked smile before adding, “And showing the rest of the school that you and Pansy Parkinson can get along would likely do a lot to fix the problem all on its own.”

Hermione returned his smile. “My thoughts exactly.”

“Fuck,” Ron suddenly exclaimed, shaking his head a little. “Is it just me or are Slytherins as skittish as wounded animals? Here you are just trying to help them, but you have to approach it so bloody carefully because the people you’re doing your best to help don’t trust you and are too fucking proud to accept help anyway. Honestly, I’m so proud of you for not giving up on them, ‘Mione. The way you do your best to support people where they are, not taking any shit, but still showing like understanding and stuff, even when you’re met with distrust…” He grabbed both her hands in his and pulled at her so he could kiss on the forehead. “It’s remarkable, you’re absolutely remarkable.”

During his speech, Hermione had gone from looking shocked to confused to embarrassed yet moved by the heartfelt compliments.

“He’s not wrong, you are no doubt brilliant, ‘Mione,” Harry supplied. “And you could’ve easily turned bitter and resentful and refuse to help out, but you haven’t. And I’m proud of you too, of course.”

“You two,” she finally managed to say, still looking embarrassed, but smiling fondly back at the two of them before shaking her head. “What would I do without you?”

“You’d be bored to tears, darling,” Harry told her, sitting back in his chair to drink more of his latte. 

“I probably would, yeah,” she admitted.

“Oh, you know what you should suggest to McGonagall?” Harry asked her, suddenly excited as he remembered something he’d been thinking about after discussing lycanthropes with Andromeda.

“Adding Wixen Studies to the curriculum, and making it obligatory for those of us who are muggleraised, while making Muggle Studies obligatory for those raised within the Wixen World. It’s about cultural understanding. We’re all wixes, but just think about the amount of times something has seemed completely obvious to Ron and you and I’ve been left bewildered! It’s a clear example of how it’s not just important for wixes to learn about muggles. It’s like being left out of your own culture. Like, for 10 years of my life I had no access to my own culture, and then when I suddenly found out about this huge part of my identity there was no system in place to adequately teach me about it.”

Hermione was nodding along, clearly understanding all too well what he was saying.

“Of course it’s just as important for wixes born in the Wixen World to understand muggle culture so that they can understand why we react the way we do to some things,” he continued. “Because the consequences of this ignorance can be huge.” 

He paused a little before deciding to keep going with his rant.

“Did you know most of the stigma and laws against werewolves are based on muggle myths about lycanthropes rather than any factual information about them? This has been going on for so long. Even Remus, who was so fucking smart, was too influenced by these myths he grew up with about being a werewolf that he made it all that much harder on himself and his wolf, because he honestly thought he was a monster, and fuck, but that just breaks my heart.”

Harry stopped short as the lights began flickering, doing his best to calm himself and his magic. A magical outburst would not be a good idea right now. Hermione was looking around in confusion and he took the opportunity to send Ron a pleading look, begging him to keep quiet and somehow help gloss over what just happened.

“Must be an incoming storm or something,” Hermione mumbled, mostly to herself, by the look of it. Ron, the absolute gem, cleared his throat and easily agreed with her.

“Yeah, must be. Hopefully it doesn’t pass through here.” He said it casually, looking out the window as if he might see the storm coming through the light rain they’d had since they arrived.

“Anyway,” Ron continued. “You’re right, Harry. Even with the laws and everything, many pureblood families still retain a more factual view of lycanthropes. Even families like the Malfoys retained those old views on lycanthropes, and simply knew to use the biased myths about them to their advantage.” 

He leant forward and let his elbows rest on the table, eyebrows drawn down as if he’d had some thought he didn’t much like.

“The number of times mum and dad tried to tell Remus his hatred of his wolf was actually making it harder on himself. Especially when they were expecting Teddy. Mum told me this summer, after seeing Teddy and Andromeda at the engagement party, that he had straight up refused to believe them… The thing about werewolves is that the wolf has, in a way, always been there, even for bitten werewolves. Kinda in same way a Veela has always been a Veela, even before coming into their creature inheritance. It’s just an ancient primal part of them that the bite of a werewolf under the influence of the full moon forces to the surface. Calling to its kind, in a way. But the thing that drives werewolves to attack is usually that it’s been driven to madness, either by being confined in horrible conditions every full moon or by being hated and actively suppressed by its human. Usually both. Remember, it’s not a separate being, it’s a part of yourself and suppressing such a big part of yourself is destructive.”

Hermione and Harry were both listening with rapt attention to what Ron was telling them. Harry already knew most of it, Andromeda having told him about it before, but Ron was telling it surprisingly well.

“We talked about it at home a lot after Bill was attacked. I think it’s one of the reasons he’s doing so well, really. He doesn’t turn, because Greyback wasn’t fully turned, since it wasn’t during a full moon and all, but it did open the connection between Bill and his wolf. Greyback is a good example really...”

He paused and looked at them as if steeling himself for their reaction to what he was about to say. Harry could tell why when he continued, set on explaining his point, but also unable to hide the anger he felt towards Greyback.

“Well, a bad example too, but a good example of how accepting the wolf as a part of yourself means you have control even during a full moon. He could turn by his own will, at least halfway, even without a full moon, like he did during the battle and by the Astronomy Tower. Lycanthropes used to be able to turn whenever they wanted, always in control, though the pull of the full moon made the need to turn harder to resist. Greyback was a monster, but not because he was a lycanthrope. The same way Voldemort was monster, but not because he was a Slytherin, or because he was a wizard, or because he was.. I dunno... right handed, or whatever, but because he chose to be a monster.”

“I swear, mate,” Harry said once Ron stopped talking. “You’d make a much better History of Magic Professor than Binns.”

He had clearly taken Ron by surprise, judging by the guffawing he got in response, Hermione joining him.

“Thanks, mate,” he told Harry between bouts of laughter. “Though I can’t think of anyone possibly being a worse History of Magic Professor, honestly.”

“Seriously though,” Harry replied, happy that he’d managed to lighten up the mood somewhat. “That was a good way to explain it, and you’re right about Greyback. I wasn’t aware that lycanthropes used to be able to turn even without the full moon.”

It wasn’t that Harry couldn’t have serious conversations, but after all this time of things being Too Much and Too Dark, he felt like it was his responsibility in a way to make sure conversations were kept at least somewhat lighthearted. He just wasn’t ready to deal with some of the emotions and memories that might rise to the surface if they continued the downward spiral.

Sure, it wasn’t necessarily ‘healthy’, but he would keep them locked up in the back of his mind as long as he could. Which was hopefully forever.

“I didn’t really know any of it,” Hermione began. “Except the part about being a werewolf not making you a monster, naturally, but I went through everything I could find about werewolves in the Hogwarts library once I found out about Remus and nothing you just told me was in them. Many were clearly biased, and I ignored most of the information in them, but even the ones showing some support for lycanthropes still pictured them as rabid animals; sick and with no cure.”

She sounded just as upset with the fact that the library had let her down as with everything else, and Harry couldn’t help the fond smile that appeared on his face. Their Hermione; always at the library, always surrounded by books, personally offended if they didn’t provide her with the knowledge she was after.

“Did you check the Restricted Section?” Ron asked her, finishing off his milkshake and doing his best to get to the last of it, Harry sort of wanting to smack him just to make the grating sound of it stop.

“Not at the time, no. I did do a quick search after Bill was attacked, but I didn’t exactly have a lot of time to look. I could look again, we have access to the Restricted Section now. Why do you ask?”

“Well,” Ron, surprisingly, seemed to think his answer through before continuing. “I reckon there’s a bigger chance of finding more accurate information about it because, you know, a lot of the books there are much older than in the rest of the library. And what we’re looking for is the old knowledge, innit? Rather than the newer knowledge based on biased myths against werewolves.”

“That’s clever, Ron.” Hermione gazed at him as if she had newfound respect for his abilities. Ron, in turn, blushed and was clearly pleased with the praise, but still managed to give her a kiss and say ‘always the tone of surprise’. 

They stayed at The Witch’s Brew a little longer, brainstorming ideas for how to enforce inter-house unity and finding more and better information about magical creatures (as most families with creature blood tended to keep it private) while finishing their drinks, before making their way to Honeydukes to pick up a few essentials.

Harry picked up some miniatures treacle tarts (about as many as he could possibly carry and all the while thanking Merlin for the ability to shrink them before putting them in the satchel Hermione had bought him in a muggle secondhand shop), chocolate frogs, and sugar quills. He eyed a pack of liquorice wands before adding that as well. He wasn’t a big fan of liquorice, but enjoyed eating it once in a while, as long as he didn’t have too much.

When they got to the counter Harry dropped the content of Hermione and Ron’s baskets into his own.

“My treat,” he told them and moved to pay.

“Harry—,” Ron began, but Harry cut him off before he could go any further.

“You can pay next time we go to Fortescue’s, mate, let me get this one.”

Ron, luckily, acquiesced.

Harry almost scoffed, remembering Ron’s reaction to Slytherins being too proud to accept help or be viewed as charity cases. Harry would have gladly given the Weasleys his entire fortune if they’d let him, but they would have taken it as a great offence, so instead he did what he could to help them in other ways. Like making sure Ron got a proper wand after the antique he’d used had broken, saying it was for Harry’s own safety and asking Molly and Arthur together so that they couldn’t avoid it by saying they’d ask the other one. He might have played up his worry too.

Or like giving the twins his Triwizard Tournament money (or ‘investing in the company’, as they called it, not accepting it as a gift) and asking them to buy Ron proper dress robes and saying it was from them. Or gifting Arthur new tools when he’d offered to help fix Sirius’ old motorbike. Or giving Molly various ‘I found this and thought you’d like it’ gifts that he knew she needed (or would simply like), usually practical things that he could tie to something she did for him. Like a new set of nice baking bowls because he’d noticed the old ones looked about ready to cave in after years of Reparos and he couldn’t bear having to go without her wonderful baking even for a day. The Weasleys were doing better now though, because of the hero rewards they’d received.

Still, Harry enjoyed sharing his money now that he had any. He didn’t see why he should hoard his wealth. What good would that possibly do?

He’d made sure, once he knew where his money came from, that the people working for the Sleekeazy company had well paying jobs with proper benefits. He’d even visited them to see if there were any improvements needed. He found that when his grandfather sold nearly half of the company and left the daily running of the place to someone else he made several stipulations ensuring his worker’s rights, even adding that gold must be set aside to keep up the premises to ensure the worker’s health and whatnot. After all, they were working with potions, the fumes could do long term damage without a sound ventilation system, and even magical ventilation needed upgrades.

As the trio made their way to The Three Broomsticks, Harry told the other two about his talk with Andromeda, specifically what she’d told him about werewolves.

“Did you know that most lycanthropes are born rather than bitten? Well, not counting the last few decades. Greyback wasn’t really a friend to most werewolves, he’s made things much harder for them with his attempt to make an army of werewolves under his command by turning as many as he could, focusing on young ones, many of them muggles. He was counting on them having nobody to turn to once they’d turned. It’s like you said, Ron. He wasn’t a monster because he was a werewolf, he was a monster because he chose to be one. He was in control of his wolf even during the full moon, and he chose to actively hunt people. Turning probably didn’t even hurt him, it would be like turning as an animagus, Andy told me.”

“Yeah, there’s a lot about creatures and beings we don’t ever learn at Hogwarts,” Ron responded, holding Hermione’s hand while looking through his candy. “Even goblins, and we had a part goblin teacher, for crying out loud. There was always a bit of a bias against werewolves and vampires though, because they could choose to make someone into one and all. You can’t turn someone into a Veela, or a Dragonborn, or a Leprechaun. Though lycanthropes could only ever turn someone during full moons, originally to claim and turn their mates, although they didn’t have to actually turn them in order to claim them and would never do it without consent, and for vampires to turn someone into a vampire they have to feed their own blood to a person they’ve fed from as part of a ritual. It’s a form of blood magic, really, and creates a soul bond of sorts between creator and fledgling. Again, mostly used to turn a mate and considered a very serious thing. Vampires don’t just mate for life, after all.”

“Because they’re immortal?” Hermione asked.

“Immortal?” Ron looked at her in confusion. “No, they’re not immortal. That’s probably another muggle myth. They do live a long time though. They age very very slowly once they come into their inheritance. Or once they’re bitten, depending whether they’re born or turned.”

“But even before coming into their inheritance, they will have some traits, right?” Harry asked, thinking back to what Andromeda had told him.

“Yes, that’s common with all magical creatures who don’t get their full inheritance until they turn 17. They’re different from magical beings, such as goblins, giants, and centaurs, where if you’re the biological child of two parents who are goblins you’re 100% a goblin, whereas if you’re the biological child of one goblin and one human you’re half goblin and half human from birth. But with Dragonborns, Korrigans, Veelas, Fairies — though not Faes, those are important to keep separate —, or some types of nymphs, like Dryads or Nereids, when mixed with wixes, you’ll often see personality traits, physical traits, and magical traits, before they come into their inheritance. And some have traits without ever coming into a full inheritance, even if there haven’t been a full inheritance for generations. Like Fleur, though there was only the one generation without it. She never came into a full inheritance, but she has obvious Veela traits, like her looks, an affinity for fire magic, and.. er..”

“And allure,” Hermione finished, coldly. Ron had the decency to look sheepish when he nodded, and Harry was pleased to notice that they had almost reached The Three Broomsticks.

They were likely all thinking of Ron’s behaviour during their fourth year. Harry sometimes wondered why he hadn’t reacted the way Ron did. He’d reacted for a second during the World Cup, but he’d caught himself easily, and since that first time, when he’d been taken by surprise, they hadn’t seemed to affect him at all. He wondered briefly whether it could have something to do with his ability to throw off the Imperius Curse before reaching for the door to The Three Broomsticks and holding it open for his friends, hoping to hide behind them, just a little.

There weren’t many people there, a few sitting by the bar and a couple of tables taken up by smaller groups of people, and they got to their usual booth without anyone noticing them much, though one (clearly inebriated) bloke nearly fell off his chair when he saw Harry.

Once Harry had managed to decide what to eat, the lack of meatless options helping him out, and Ron had returned with their drinks after placing their order, Harry reached for the shrunken present in his satchel and unshrunk it with his wand after putting it down on the table.

“I know Ron plans to give you his present tomorrow, but I wanted to watch you open mine, so here.”

She took the offered present and smiled at him before ripping it open, gasping excitedly when she read the title.

“Is this what I think it is? Where did you find it?” Her eyes were shining, and she seemed to struggle not to read the whole thing immediately.

“Yes, it’s a book detailing the legal systems of different magical communities all around the world. It even mentioned some of what we talked about earlier, about lycanthropes. I found it in the Black library, but it sounds like a fairly objective source actually. The author talks specifically about the need to not let unfounded myths scare us into vilifying magical creatures and beings for no reason at one point. It seems it was written around the time many pureblood families began to actively play up the muggle myths about werewolves and vampires in particular, trying to have their legal rights taken away. Werewolves and vampires were staunchly against the beliefs about blood purity many of these same pureblood families held, and those families felt they needed to discredit them in any way.”

“I’m surprised the Blacks held on to something like that, or even bought it in the first place,” Ron replied, his warm butterbeer held firmly in both hands, just as their food arrived.

“It seems to be written by a Douglas Abbott,” Hermione told them, once the waiter had left, examining the book closely.

“Yes,” Harry replied, happy that he’d taken the time to both read the book and look into the author, so that he could tell Hermione something she didn’t already know. “One of Hannah’s ancestors. I checked, and the Abbott’s and Black’s are related. No surprise there, but Douglas Abbott was married to a Black, Janus Abbott née Black, and I’d assume it was Janus who gave the Black’s the book.” He laughed as he continued. “And I don’t think anything has ever been thrown out of the Black library.”

“I suppose you’re right there,” Hermione chuckled, and they all shifted their focus onto their food.

Harry had been pleased to find that that the menu had a vegetarian version of the Shepherd’s Pie, called a Gardener’s Pie, with lentils and courgettes instead of meat. Topped with a cheesy parsnip and potato mash, it was hearty and the perfect comfort food. He could tell they’d been generous with the thyme, and together with the cranberry jelly that had come with it, it made him sigh happily around his mouthful.

Harry and Hermione had gone through parts of the Grimmauld Place library together, finding the weirdest books you could imagine. When they renovated the library they removed absolutely all the books and put them in the attic, adding protective wards that made sure the air or humidity wouldn’t damage them, and then they’d looked through them and sorted them first by genre and then alphabetically within each genre in the new bookcases. But while finishing up the last of the study, Harry had discovered a second library behind a secret wall in the study. They had cleared it out and cleaned it up, making sure there were no curses lurking around, but they hadn’t really had much chance to look through it then, so Harry had only started on it after Hermione left for Hogwarts.

“It might have been kept in the secret library because of the views expressed, actually,” he told them, suddenly realising how it must have happened. Then he remembered something else he had found out about the Black’s and the Abbott’s and smiled to himself. “Did you know that the Black family motto wasn’t always ‘Toujours pur’?”

Ron and Hermione looked at him with raised eyebrows, clearly not knowing this.

“It used to be the same as the Abbott’s actually. Toujours pret. Always ready,” he added at Ron’s confused frown.

“Really!?” Hermione looked positively delighted. “That’s so much better!”

“Yeah, I’m thinking of legally changing it back officially. Should be simpler than trying to change it to a new one, and I find the old one fitting in a way. For the Black family we are now. And it would be a nice way to remember Moody too, the mad bastard.”

“Constant vigilance!” Ron exclaimed, mimicking Alastor Moody’s gruff voice, and making Harry and Hermione laugh.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea, Harry,” Hermione told him once their laugh had given way to individual reminiscing about Moody. “And thank you so much for the book, it’s perfect.”

“You’re welcome, and happy birthday tomorrow, Hermione.” He smiled at her.

She grabbed his hand. “I’ll hug you once there’s not a table between us.”

“You’re not allowed to read that book until I’ve left tomorrow, ‘Mione. I have plans,” Ron told her firmly, making her blush.

“Keep the details to yourself, thanks.” Harry warned them. He had no need to learn anything about his friends’ sex lives. Holy Hecate, that would be too weird. Ron and Hermione were his family, his brother and sister. Their casual intimacy was adorable, seeing them so happy made Harry happy, but anything beyond that would traumatise him.

Ron simply smirked and winked at him, making Harry respond with a look of pure horror as he reached for his drink. Hermione, blunt as ever, cut through their theatrics.

“You know how sex works, Harry.”

Harry nearly choked on his butterbeer, and could feel the way his face heat up, as Ron laughed heartily, though Harry could see that he was blushing too.

“I do, darling,” he drawled once he’d cleared his lungs of butterbeer. “That does not mean I want details of my friends’ sex lives.”

Hermione simply shrugged, a pleased little smile on her face. Harry narrowed his eyes at her.

“Let’s just eat, shall we?”

“Of course, darling,” she replied, the pleased smile still on her face.

The rest of the evening was spent remembering their days together at Hogwarts, the conversation kept lighthearted, for the most part, and when Harry returned to Grimmauld Place he felt happier than he had in a long time.

Chapter Text

Thursday 23 September 2010

When the crash came it was sudden and all at once. 

It was less than a week after Hermione’s birthday, and Harry and Ron were spending the week at a giant old house in the English countryside for a seminar with the rest of the Auror trainees. Spending that much time with Blaise had allowed him to open up to them fully, and they’d been spending all their downtime in a group of four fast friends — Harry, Ron, Blaise, and Dean.

At the opposite end of the scale was having to spend so much time with Zacharias Smith. He was driving Harry into an early grave, never shutting up about how “talented” he was, critical of every suggestion or idea put forward by anyone else, including the instructors. He’d complained about the quality of the food, the softness of his bed, having to share a room with the rest of the trainees and saying they were all snoring (fair enough, Ron did snore, but he was the only one apart from Smith himself), that they weren’t separated by gender. Calling it an outrage that they weren’t allowed to spend the nights in their own homes. Nobody were particularly impressed. Harry had spent most of his time doing his best to avoid him, and barely sleeping because he was too worried about his wild magic.

So when the asshole started going on about the “importance of Dementors” during one of their breaks in the old ballroom they used as a training room, Harry had snapped.

Smith had bemoaned the fact that the Ministry was even suggesting putting an end to the use of the Dementor’s Kiss as a form of punishment, instead insisting that it would be much better to use it more, not less, and Harry had stalked up to him and yelled at him furiously, eyes ablaze and magic swirling ominously. Telling him to shut up, that he was wrong, as usual, that he didn’t know what he was even talking about, that the Ministry shouldn’t use Dementors at all, that nobody deserved to be subjected to the torture of being confined with them constantly there, and more.

As he yelled the light had gone from flickering to going out completely, his magic formed into a harsh wind around Harry, slowly becoming a storm, and at the peak of it all, the glass — the windows, glasses, pitchers, glass in framed pictures, mirrors — it all broke, and so did Harry.

A gust of magic, like an explosion, blew everyone away from Harry, and once it all died down they found him unconscious on the floor.

)o(

Friday 24 September 2010

Harry woke up feeling like he’d been run over by the fucking Hogwarts Express. For a moment he couldn’t understand why, but then it all came back to him from one second to the next; the old house, the training, the feeling of his magic constantly trying to rush out of him, his mounting frustration with Smith, and how his restraint had simply snapped.

Through his eyelids he could see bright light, though he couldn’t gather the strength to open them yet, and around him he could hear muttered voices. He couldn’t quite hear what they were saying at first, but as they became clearer he recognised Ron and Hermione’s voices among them.

He groaned, and the voices were suddenly closer.

“Harry?” 

He could hear Hermione calling him, and he focused on getting control of his eyelids. Working on opening them until he could see a strip of bright light. He blinked, doing his best not to simply close his eyes against the onslaught of light. All of a sudden it dimmed, the change making it easer for him to keep his eyes open, though they still stung.

“We’ll brighten the lights slowly, so his eyes will have time to adapt,” a soft voice he didn’t recognise said from his left side, probably to Ron and Hermione.

Everything was blurry once he managed to open his eyes fully, and he had to blink hard a few times before he could see clearly. He was in St Mungo’s, that much was obvious. A private room, by the look of it. Clinically white, a window on the wall to his left the only thing to break the monotony of it, and even that was frosted. Ron and Hermione stood on his right, with Hermione closer to his head, looking like she had been crying, holding onto his arm as if she worried he might vanish if she let go of it. Ron was standing behind her, looking drawn and worried.

On the other side of him were two Healers, if their practical green robes were anything to go by. The voices he hadn’t recognised must have belonged to them then. He looked down his body. He was lying in a hospital bed, wearing a standard hospital gown and covered by a thin cotton blanket. 

He seemed to be in one piece, so that was a start.

“Hey,” he croaked, looking up at his friends. 

His throat was parched, and he gratefully drank from the straw the Healer closest to him held up against his mouth, though the feeling in his throat as he drank the water was forcefully reminding him of scorching summer days spent weeding Aunt Petunia’s garden with nothing but the water hose for sustenance.

“Hey, mate,” Ron sent him a worried smile. “You scared the crap out of us.”

“Sorry,” he said as the Healer set the water down and began waving her wand about in complicated patterns, clearly doing some diagnostic spells, judging by the magic he felt flushing through him.

He managed to move his left hand and laid it on top of one of Hermione’s, as both of hers were still gripping his right arm. She looked at him, tears falling down her cheeks.

“’m really sorry, ‘Mione.” He was slurring slightly, he noticed, annoyed at himself.

“You’re a right git, Harry Potter,” Hermione told him in a strained voice and brushed away the tears with one of her shaking hands. Ron was nodding in agreement with her, a sad smile on his face and looking like he might burst into tears as well.

“Sorry,” Harry told them again. It was all he could say really. He wasn’t even completely sure what had happened. He just hoped he hadn’t hurt anyone. He remembered well his anger over what Smith was spouting mixing with his grief and anguish at the thought of what Sirius had gone through, all of it quickly becoming too much and overwhelming him, and then it was like he was drowning, the air around him crackling with his magic, and then… 

Well, then everything suddenly went black.

“It could have ended quite badly, Mr Potter. Are you comfortable discussing this in front of your friends?”

It was one of the Healers who had addressed him, the one who had given him water and dimmed the lights. Or he assumed she had, since they’d been dimmed and she had been the one who said that they’d brighten them slowly to help his eyes adapt. She looked to be in her 30’s, her skin pale, with dark brown almond shaped eyes, and her straight light brown hair in a neat bun on the back of her head.

She held the glass of water out at him again, urging him to drink the rest of it. He nodded before taking the glass from her hands; he was still parched and shaky, but he could at least hold the glass well enough to drink from the straw. The other Healer was standing a little while away from them all, writing something down on a clipboard. Or whatever the wixen equivalent was called, as there was no actual clip on it that Harry could see.

“Very well, but remember that you can stop at any point if there is something you’re not comfortable talking about in front of them.” He ignored her. They’d find out anyway, so there was no point in keeping them out really, though he did appreciate the thought.

“Did anyone else get hurt? How long have I been here?” he asked once he’d managed to down nearly the whole glass, already wanting to leave.

“A little more than a day,” Ron replied. “It’s Friday evening now. And no, a few small scrapes and bruises at the most, no more than we’d already seen from the training. The gym mats all around the room did their job.”

“Do you remember what happened, Mr Potter?” the same Healer asked him. Clearly she was the one in charge. The other Healer, who looked to be about the same age as the one in charge or perhaps a little younger, with dark skin and black hair in a long braid, hadn’t said a word and was still standing in the background looking between the clipboard in her hands and the magical equipment that was clearly tracking him.

“I got into an argument and my magic got out of hand. Then it was like I was drowning and all of a sudden everything went dark.”

“And has your magic been out of control before? Not counting your childhood, naturally.”

She was checking some of the devices around him too now. Harry glanced over at his friends before replying. It was clear that they’d told the Healer about his wild magic the last few months, they both had that look that said they felt guilty for telling yet were also determined not to feel guilty about it. He sighed.

“Yes. It’s gradually gotten worse since the Battle.”

The Healer nodded and sat down on a chair next to the bed, one of those doctor’s stools that were just a saddle seat with wheels, that Harry had never seen used by wixes before. The Healer must be muggleborn or something, and had decided to buy her own chair.

“It seems, Mr Potter, that you have had an abrupt growth of your magical core.”

“Abrupt?” He frowned, confused. “Shouldn’t I have blown up right away then?”

She smiled a little before answering, which honestly annoyed him a great deal. “We say ‘abrupt’ because it happened much quicker than it usually would. Usually a wix’s magical core grows with the wix, over several years from the first onset of childhood magic until reaching the age of magical maturity at 17. The core can still grow after that, but it usually stays at much the same level, the wix simply learning to utilise their magic better.”

“So how did mine grow then? I’m 18,” he replied, feeling himself getting impatient and trying to calm down, knowing it wouldn’t help to get emotional.

“It looks as if something has actively hindered your core growth throughout your life, restricting it, and then at some point, possibly during the battle, it was removed in some way. I say it was restricted, but you were likely already a highly powerful wix anyway. I’d say you’re well on your way to being the most powerful wix in the world now. No doubt about it, based on your current level of magical power.”

He looked at Hermione and Ron, and it seemed they had come to the same conclusion he had. He might as well tell the Healer, it might help him get proper answers. And it wasn’t like either of the Healers could share it with anyone, they were under Oath, as far as he knew.

“I was a Horcrux.”

She looked positively horrified, clearly knowing what a Horcrux was, surprisingly enough. Perhaps not muggleborn then.

“Yeah. To keep it short, I was one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes. He destroyed the Horcrux in me himself during the Battle. Could that have been what was holding my magic back?”

She had jumped a little at his name, but managed to clear the horrified expression from her face, now looking only vaguely queasy, while the Healer still standing behind her looked between each of them in a mixture of worry and confusion.

“We don’t have any prior experience with human Horcruxes, as far as I’m aware a living Horcrux has never before been attempted, but I’d say that could absolutely hold your magical growth back. Though it could be anything really, even potions or spells used on you as a child.”

Harry decided not to mention Nagini. Considering she wasn’t human, he supposed it wouldn’t be a good comparison. Besides, he’d been a Horcrux a lot longer than her, so any damaging effects of being a living Horcrux would have happened to him before her anyway.

“But if the Horcrux was the thing holding his magic back, why did it take so long before the magical outbursts began? They only started with the nightmares, didn’t they? And only about a month after the Battle.” Ron directed the last part at Harry, who was impressed by how accurate he was. He must have been paying more attention than Harry had realised. Hermione looked suitably impressed too.

“Yeah, he’s right,” Harry told the Healer. “I’ve had nightmares for ages, they weren’t anything new, but about a month after the Battle we woke up to a trashed room. Or more like Ron woke up because something hit him and then saw that I was thrashing about on my bed, so he woke me up. After the second time it happened, three weeks later, his mother warded the room and when we moved to our new house we warded my room there.”

The Healer was nodding to show she understood.

“That’s quite normal. Would you say it didn’t have a steady growth as much as the growth seemed to steadily accelerate over time after its initial onset?”

Harry thought it through. She was right, it had gotten worse. In the beginning it was happening only sporadically, and now he was waking up to trashed rooms every morning, lights flickering if he was just slightly annoyed, glass breaking here and there.

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” He turned to Hermione. She was furrowing her brows, looking at him intently; curiosity, worry, and fury warring in her eyes. “Just since you left for Hogwarts it’s been getting a lot worse. I’m sorry for not telling you, I honestly thought it would settle on its own.”

“You should have told me, Harry. I’m assuming the lights flickering when we met up in Hogsmeade wasn’t an incoming storm?”

He shook his head, doing his best to look suitably apologetic.

She turned to Ron. “And you knew?”

Harry didn’t need to see her face, he could hear the hurt in her voice. He replied before Ron could. “That was me too, ‘Mione. He’d guessed and I begged him not to tell you anything.”

Ron shook his head, looking down.

“It wasn’t just you, mate,” he said while inspecting his shoes, then looked up at Hermione and continued speaking. “I thought it would settle too, I really did, but I also didn’t want to worry you when you were so far away. I’m sorry, ‘Mione, we should have told you. I should’ve told you.”

Hermione nodded once, slowly. “I’m still upset. With both of you. But we’ll talk about it later.” She turned to face the Healer. “Right now I want to know what can be done to help Harry.”

At some point during the talk the second Healer had received a message of some sort through the badge on their chest, and left the room as silently as possible.

The first Healer (who seemed to be the Healer in charge) meanwhile had quietly studied them, as if trying to figure out their relationship. She must have known that they were all friends and that Ron and Hermione were engaged, but perhaps she hadn’t expected them to be so close. Harry supposed not all friends were. Then again, not all friends had gone through what they had together.

Now she turned professional again before telling Hermione what she wanted to know.

“To begin with, Miss Granger, we want to keep him here for a few days to monitor his condition. That will make it easier for us to know how best to handle the situation. Meditation, focusing on working with his magic and controlling both his emotions and magic is a good place to start. Also staying away from high stress environments until his magic settles. It will settle, but knowing how to properly handle the growth until it does will make it a lot easier on him and his surroundings.”

Harry didn’t appreciate being talked about as if he wasn’t present, it made childhood memories that he was keeping locked up threaten to break out, but he didn’t dare say anything with Hermione’s current mood. His feelings on the matter still made themselves known when the lights, that had indeed slowly brightened, flickered in warning.

They all turned to him and he managed a sheepish smile. “Sorry. Please continue.”

Before they could continue though, the second Healer returned and addressed the Healer in charge.

“Healer Williams?”

Ah, so that was her name.

“Yes, Assistant Healer Almasi, what is it?”

Assistant Healer Almasi looked nervous. “Erm... There is a Mrs Tonks in the waiting room demanding to see Mr Potter. Says she’s family?”

Healer Williams turned to Harry. “Is this someone you would like to see, Mr Potter?”

Harry nodded, then turned to Hermione and Ron. “Maybe you should head home? You look tired, both of you. If Andy’s here alone, I’m guessing Teddy’s with Molly at the Burrow. Tell them I’m sorry for worrying everyone?”

Hermione didn’t look pleased, but accepted Harry’s masked request to talk to Andromeda in private.

“Alright. We’ll show Andromeda in on our way out. But we will be back tomorrow, Harry. I’m not going back to Hogwarts until Monday.”

“You’re not getting rid of either of us, Harry,” Ron added, looking pointedly at Harry. “And be warned, you know mum and the entire family will want to come see you.”

Harry grimaced, but it turned into a smile either way. It was good to have both Ron and Hermione there, despite the fuss. “Thank you, I love you both.” 

“We love you too, you tiny tosser,” Ron replied, making the rest of the trio grin at him and the two Healers share a look of utter bewilderment.

Harry received hugs from both his friends, Hermione even stroked his cheek briefly, before they walked out the door. He took it as a good sign, that Hermione wasn’t too angry with him, just worried.

Once they’d left he turned to the Healers.

“Healer Williams, Assistant Healer Almasi, could I talk to Andy alone? I’m afraid I’ve worried her awfully, and she is not afraid of causing a scene to make her displeasure known.” He smiled at them, showing that he was joking. Well, kind of joking. He had no doubt that Andy would have no qualms about causing a scene if it would benefit her in some way. Like embarrassing St Mungo’s until they let her see the injured godfather of her grandson. She was a Slytherin after all.

“That’s quite alright, Mr Potter,” Healer Williams assured him with a smile. “We’ll leave once she gets here.”

No sooner had she uttered the words before Andromeda walked into the room, looking regal and frankly terrifying. At least to anyone who didn’t know her. The Healers both looked concerned, but Harry gave them a reassuring smile and nodded for them to leave. Once they’d gone, and Andy was still standing by the door with a disdainful expression that Harry recognised as a facade, he sighed.

“I’m fine, Andy. Honest.”

Andy walked over to the chair Hermione had been using and sat down, then she took a deep breath that sounded more like a sob, her shoulders slumping probably as much as she ever allowed them to.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered. He really was sorry that he’d made his friends, his family, so worried. Especially when they had already lost so many. 

Andy looked at him, the protective mask she’d been wearing gone now. It was obvious the full day of worrying had taken its toll. She looked older than she usually did.

“Loulou.” She said it like an exasperated grandmother. Though he supposed that was exactly what she was. Her expression was pointed, but concerned, and Harry squirmed against the pillows. “Why on earth didn’t you talk to any of us about it?”

She had clearly put two and two together after talking to Molly and Ron.

“Tell me.”

And so Harry told her everything. When he told her about the argument with Smith the lights started flickering a bit, and he had to stop to calm down. Andy offered him her hand, and it helped him continue.

Once he was done, Andy nodded her head slowly a few times before speaking.

“I’m moving into Grimmauld Place with you.”

Harry could only stare at her, no sure he had truly heard her correctly.

“R-really?”

“Yes. I can help you with the meditation. I’m not a professional, but we were taught how to as children, while learning Occlumency, and I used that knowledge when my Dora was a child to help her control her metamorphmagus magic. Living with you will make it easier, I can make sure you practice properly.”

“Thanks, Andy.” He squeezed her hand, and she squeezed it back. “How’s Teddy doing?”

“I will allow the change of subject for now, Harry, but don’t think you can fool me as easily as you do Molly Weasley. The only reason it works on her is because she doesn’t believe you capable of any form of manipulation. Though that was an appalling attempt, I must say.” The words were harsh, but her lips quirked in amusement, letting him know she wasn’t too serious, and he laughed. Of course she’d noticed that he’d redirected Molly here and there.

“Teddy’s doing fine. He’s at the Burrow, I put him to sleep before coming here. He’s had red hair the entire day.” They both laughed. Teddy had started trying to mimic the hair colour of the people around him before he could even tell what colour their hair actually was, the result frequently being equal parts horrifying and hilarious.

“Now,” Andy started after they’d talked a little more about how perfectly lovely and fun Teddy was. “I’m sure you need to eat and get some proper sleep, and frankly so do I, so I’ll go back to the Burrow, but I’ll come by again tomorrow morning and we can talk to the Healers about the meditation. And I’ll ask the Weasleys to help me and Teddy move into Grimmauld Place over the weekend. Does that sound acceptable to you?”

“Yes, of course.” Harry huffed a laugh. “Thank you, Andy. I really appreciate it, you’ve no idea.”

She smiled and patted his hand before getting up to leave. 

)o(

Saturday 25 September 2010

The next morning Harry felt more like himself. He’d barely slept during the training seminar, too afraid that he’d trash the room, but the Healers had assured him that their modified Dreamless Sleep would keep his wild magic from spinning out of control during the night, and though waking up to a clinically tidy room wasn’t something he would usually be happy about, he was in this specific context.

Healer Williams entered his room as he was pushing away his half eaten breakfast and stood by the end of Harry’s bed with her arms crossed in front of her, but her face passive.

“Do you usually eat such a small amount of food, Mr Potter? I noticed you barely touched your supper last night.” 

Harry mentally grimaced.

“Please call me Harry. ‘Mr Potter’ makes me feel like I’m back at Hogwarts being reprimanded by Professor McGonagall.” He shuddered theatrically, making the Healer chuckle as she sat down on her Healer’s stool.

“Very well, but you didn’t answer my question, Harry.”

She looked less than impressed, but if he was too truthful it would end up a whole mess, so he shrugged, deciding on telling her a partial truth.

“Just don’t have much of an appetite, really. I’m used to making my own food. When can I go home? I will lose my mind if I’m supposed to do nothing but lie in bed for another day.”

“Another two days, actually.” He allowed himself a small pout and Healer Williams chuckled again. “You can go home on Monday. We need you to stay here and ‘do nothing’ so that we can properly monitor the situation with your magical core and make sure you don’t experience any ill effects from the wild magic.”

“But I’m fine. Better than,” he sighed, sounding pitiful. When Healer Williams didn’t look even a little convinced he looked up at her with wide innocent eyes. “Honest.”

She sighed heavily in response.

“We’ll see. You might be allowed to leave earlier, but not before we’ve made sure you’re alright and have solid plans for how to deal with the acute growth in magical power. Now, I understand that your—“, she looked down at her papers and then back up at him. “I’m sorry, what exactly is Mrs Tonks’ relation to you?”

“Oh, Andy. Well, we are blood related, though in a roundabout sort of way.” They hadn’t gone public with Sirius being his third parent exactly, but Harry wasn’t keeping it secret either. “Her cousin was my godfather, and he blood adopted me as well when I was a child, and she is also the grandmother of my godson, who is under our joint custody. Let’s call her my aunt, for simplicity’s sake.”

“Very well,” Healer Williams said as she took a deep breath, and Harry almost laughed at her obvious befuddlement, but managed to keep it down. He couldn’t blame her, he had often thought to himself ‘what even is my life’. “Your aunt, I believe, has shown willingness to guide you through the meditation needed to stay in control of your magic until it settles?”

Oh, he liked that. Thinking of Andy as his aunt. Now he might be able to not immediately associate the word ‘aunt’ with his mother’s sister and all her... antics. Yes, he would have to ask Andy if she would be comfortable with him referring to her as such. He supposed, had he grown up like he should have, with all his parents around him, he would’ve probably called her Aunt Andy from the start.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “She has experience and is a powerful wix herself. She’ll also move in with me, with my godson. We’d discussed that already, and it seems this whole thing helped her make up her mind and agree to do it.”

The Healer looked at him curiously.

“You, an 18 year old wizard, want your much older relative and infant godson to live with you?”

She sounded so honestly surprised that Harry couldn’t help but give a slightly bitter chuckle.

“Me,” he began to explain. “An 18 year old orphan, wants to keep the family I have close, including my orphaned godson and his grandmother, whom I am also related to, in my rather large house that could fit about a dozen families. Ron and Hermione live with me as well, you know. Besides, Andy might be in her 40’s, but she’s fun and great to talk to, and she’s not afraid to give me shit when I deserve it. I’m grateful to have her in my life.”

It was weird to be so honest, considering the fact that Harry had only met Healer Williams for the first time the day before, but something about her down to earth and calm personality made you want to be more open with her somehow. Probably a good thing as a Healer, he supposed.

“She’s in her 40’s?” Healer Williams asked incredulously and Harry shot her a grin.

“Doesn’t look it, does she?”

“No,” she conceded. “I was guessing maybe a couple years older than me. Mid 30’s. But, of course, determining a wix’s age isn’t easy, since our magical power affect how we age.”

“And you only got to see her overly worried and wearing her ‘disdainful Lady of the manor’ mask. Wait until you see her laugh, she looks 20. Speaking of Andy though, do you think you could have her sent straight here when she arrives? She said she would come in early on, and I’m hoping she’ll bring my godson. I feel like I haven’t seen him in ages.”

She smiled understandingly at him.

“I’ll make sure they let her in. There are only a few Healers allowed in this corridor — only me, Assistant Healer Almasi, and Assistant Healer Johnson, whom you’ll be meeting later today. Both for your sake and that of the rest of the patients and hospital staff. I’m afraid the Daily Prophet are aware you’re in here, though so far they don’t know exactly why.” Harry groaned and let his head drop back onto his pillow at the mention of the Prophet. “Your friend Miss Granger was extremely kind and helped us set up a connection between the Weasleys’ home and this corridor in a matter of minutes, which has helped keep the journalists out.”

Her smile was full of mirth, but Harry could tell she wasn’t just amused by Hermione’s organisational skills.

“She’s a force of nature,” Harry said with a smirk. Oh, he knew exactly what it was like to find oneself in the crossways of Hurricane Hermione.

“That she is. I was rather annoyed in the beginning, I must admit, but I was also impressed by the way she commanded the room. Even keeping the Weasleys in line, making sure they didn’t storm your room.”

“Oh. That reminds me.” He gave her a little grimace before continuing. “They will most likely attempt to storm the room again today. Could you make sure they only come in in pairs or something? I don’t know, say it’s so as not to overwhelm me or whatever, and to trust you as my Healer? Molly won’t accept it unless she’s been convinced that them all surrounding me might affect my health negatively. I love them all dearly, but the entirety of the Weasley clan in a small hospital room and with all their attention on me will affect my health negatively. Also, she’ll bring food — loads of it, I reckon — so there’s no need to worry about my low intake. I just hope she remembers I’m a vegetarian.”

“I will do my best, Mr Potter—“ He gave her a pointed look. “Harry,” she corrected herself. “Before I leave however I would like to ask you a few questions about your magic. Do you know when you first exhibited magic?”

“As a child?”

“Yes, as a child. Accidental magic.”

Harry thought it through for a minute before replying.

“I can’t be sure, but I do know that I repaired a crystal vase my cousin broke when I was around three and a half.”

He remembered the incident well, despite how young he’d been. Dudley had been chasing him around the living room while Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were outside for some reason, and knocked into the pedestal the vase of tulips were on. Dudley had given Harry a look that clearly conveyed his intention of blaming it on him before running outside, and Harry had been scared. He’d stared at the broken vase in pure terror, praying for it to fix itself — and then it had.

When Aunt Petunia had entered the living room Harry had been in the opposite corner of the living room from the vase — back in it’s place, unbroken, tulips neatly arranged — his back against the wall.

He couldn’t remember what anyone had said, but he remembered that the fact that the vase wasn’t broken did not mean he wasn’t punished.

“You repaired the vase? When you were three?” The Healer brought him back to the present.

“Yes. Like it hadn’t even been broken, it was in its place with the flowers and water and everything.”

Healer Williams looked surprised. Harry wasn’t sure why. He knew it hadn’t been a standard Reparo. That would’ve meant simply putting the vase back together, you would have to use additional spellwork to move the vase, the flowers, and the water back where it had all been. Then again it was accidental magic, and that usually worked differently.

“In that case I would suggest your first use of accidental magic was before the age of three, as these early signs of magic tend to be much smaller things, like vanishing your peas, breaking something small in anger or moving objects closer so as to reach them. Repairing things is highly unusual at that age in general.”

“Why?”

“Good question, Mr Po— Harry,” she said with a slight smile. “We’re not actually sure. We believe it is a mixture of the magic, specifically the intent of the magic, being more complex than a child at that age is usually capable of and that children simply don’t often care too much. The most common areas of accidental underage magic are vanishing, moving, or breaking — they are connected to our more basic and childish reactions. ‘I want this to be gone’ when you don’t want your peas, ‘I want this to be closer’ when the biscuit tin is too far away, and then the force of your magic breaking things when you’re struggling to keep your emotions under control. Normally, I’d say that a child would simply vanish the vase, to avoid the problem of having broken it.”

“Oh. It might be that I simply don’t remember, but most of the accidental magic I do remember doing as a child was either fixing things — like the vase, my hair once when my aunt cut it all off, my shoes — or removing myself from harmful situations. I once ended up in a tree to get away from a dog my uncle’s sister sent after me, and I once found myself on top of the roof of our school to get away from bullies. I did vanish the glass keeping a snake captive at the zoo once. Didn’t break it, just vanished it. I could also turn on the light in my... er... room, despite it having been broken. Although, I did, erm, blow up my uncle’s sister... once... and just before that I had broken the glass she was holding. I was 13 at the time though.”

The Healer had listened intently throughout Harry’s recollections without saying anything, a small frown on her face. When he mentioned blowing up Marge (he refused to call the foul woman his aunt anymore, he could barely bring himself to call Petunia and Vernon his aunt and uncle) the Healer’s eyebrows shot up, and she looked vaguely amused, he thought.

“You blew her up? She was the one who set a dog on you?”

“Yes, that was her. Blew her up like a balloon. The Ministry had to fetch her, she’d flown off. She was fine after. Still horrid, but fine.”

The Healer laughed.

“Just based on that I can’t help feeling she deserved it.” She looked at her wristwatch before standing up. “I’ll have to leave now, I have other patients to look in on, but I will be back after your aunt arrives, so that we can talk about the specifics of your treatment.”

“And then I can leave?” Harry asked hopefully, eagerness obvious in his voice.

“And then we’ll see,” Healer Williams replied, but he could see a smile tugging at her lips before she left.

Andromeda arrived a little more than an hour later, Teddy strapped to her chest under the deep blue cloak she wore.

She was shown in by Assistant Healer Johnson, a rather pale young wizard who looked vaguely annoyed at everything around him, whom Harry had finally met when he’d come in to take away the breakfast tray shortly after Healer Williams left, and had done so without even looking at Harry once. He wasn’t sure why he was being ignored, but he didn’t mind.

Andy sat down on the chair she’d used the day before after giving Harry a kiss on the cheek, stroking Teddy’s back when he squirmed a little.

“Well,” she said after looking him up and down. “You look much better than you did yesterday.”

“I feel better,” he replied quickly. “I should be fine to leave today.”

“Really?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Or are you charming the hospital staff to make them let you leave early?”

“Me!?” He looked at her with wide innocent eyes, his hand splayed theatrically over his chest. “I am heartbroken, I would never do such a thing, Auntie Andy.”

She guffawed, throwing her head back, and then had to pat and stroke Teddy’s back again when he made displeased noises in response. He smirked at her and held his hands out, gesturing for her to give Teddy over to him.

“You could’ve given Sirius a run for his money with your dramatics,” she said, as she got the baby carrier off.

“I learned from the best,” he replied, winking at Andy, and then he had a wide awake Teddy standing on his lap, blinking at him and blowing spit bubbles. He really was too cute.

“Hello, chérie,” he cooed at him, kissing his cheeks and then his nose and then his forehead, until Teddy was giggling happily. “By the way, Andy,” he said, eyes still on Teddy as he let him jump in his lap. “I’ve been telling the Healers that you’re my aunt. Hope that’s okay?”

“Really?”

Her voice sounded a little faint, and when he looked over at her her eyes were bright with tears.

“Are you okay?” he asked her, suddenly worried he might’ve overstepped.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she assured him with a smile, though a fairly wobbly one. “You just caught me rather off guard, and I was already close to being a blubbering mess at the sight of you and Teddy. Of course you can tell people I’m your aunt, I’m honoured you even thought of it.”

She conjured a handkerchief and dabbed daintily at her eyes. Harry sent her soft smile and got one in return.

“Anyway,” she started once she’d calmed herself down. “Back to you being too charming for your own good,” she gave him a pointed look and he replied with a sheepish grin. “Are you sure you should go home today?” 

Harry let Teddy sit in between his thighs, leaning his back against Harry’s chest, so he could play with Harry’s fingers. Every now and then he let the fingers “attack” him, tickling Teddy’s tummy or “biting” at him. Teddy was giggling, and every time Harry heard the wonderful sound he couldn’t help but smile. He loved this child, more than he had thought possible. In all honestly he would like to have a blood adoption done, but he wasn’t sure Andy would allow it. He didn’t want to do anything without her blessing, not where Teddy was concerned. 

It wasn’t because he wanted to take Teddy away from her or anything ridiculous like that — if he wanted sole custody, legally, he could probably get it without much trouble — what he wanted was to make sure that Teddy was considered a Black heir, and a Potter heir if he never had his own biological children. That magic would recognise him as such. Even if he had his own biological children in the future, and he knew that was possible (there were ways two wizards could have biological children, magic itself wanted to help), he considered Teddy his child. He didn’t want to take Remus’ place, he couldn’t, but Harry knew you could look to people as parents even where there was no blood relation. He also knew too well that a blood relation did not mean someone cared about you. That they were family.

Before he could answer Andy’s question, the door opened and Healer Williams walked in. Teddy’s hair, that had been black since he first heard Harry’s voice, turned a light brown to match the newcomer. Charmer, Harry thought fondly, as Healer Williams’ professional smile turned delighted.

“Well hello!” she said, mainly to Teddy. “Is this the godson I’ve heard about?”

“Yes.” Harry took one of Teddy’s hands and made him wave to her. “This is Teddy Lupin. He’s the charmer of the family.”

Andy scoffed, but it sounded more like a chuckle, since she couldn’t keep the smile off her face. Healer Williams laughed.

“Oh, so you’re all charmers then? And how old is Teddy?”

“Teddy is 5 months old, and growing up way too quickly,” Harry responded, kissing the mess of hair on his head.

“That’s what children do, loulou,” Andy told him.

“Oh, Andy, this is Healer Williams, she’s the Healer in charge.” He turned to Healer Williams before continuing. “And this is my aunt, Teddy’s grandmother, Andromeda Tonks, who will help me with the meditation.”

They shook hands and Healer Williams sat down on her usual seat. He briefly wondered if she had one in each patient’s room, or if she had a couple that she moved around with her.

“I thought it would be a good idea if we discussed the particulars of Harry’s treatment. I understand you have experience with meditation, Mrs Tonks?”

When the Healer called him by his first name Andy glanced over at him, and he kept his focus on Teddy, his face carefully neutral.

“Yes,” she replied, all politeness. “We were taught from quite a young age, and then I practiced it with my own daughter when she was a child and young teen. She was a metamorphmagus, like Teddy, and I thought it important that she should learn to control her magic properly. I did a great deal of research on meditation and metamorphmagus magic beforehand, naturally. I wanted to make sure I didn’t do it in a way that could harm or frighten her.”

Healer Williams nodded throughout the explanation, staying professional, and Harry was glad he’d mentioned that Teddy was an orphan, so there’d be no awkward questions about the boy’s mother.

“It’s good to hear that you have both knowledge and willingness to expand it. Your experience and the fact that Harry trusts you will make it a lot easier for him to learn, so I’m willing to give you free reins with the meditation. He will have to come by for a checkup once a month until his magic stabilises,” she now addressed both of them, “but he can leave tomorrow morning—“

Harry interrupted her with a groan, having hoped he’d be let out by the end of the day, making Teddy giggle and Andy shoot him a glare.

“He will, however,” Healer Williams continued a little over Harry’s complaints, “have to stay away from stressful environments until his magic settles, and take it easy the first week. Which means no running, Harry. Sorry, not the first week at least. Your body is still recovering from the burst of wild magic, you have to let it heal. You can do very light exercises, but nothing heavy. You will also have to take a break from the Auror Academy, and I want you to see a Mind Healer.”

“A Mind Healer?” he cried, and the lights began flickering. “What for? My magic is growing, I’m not insane!”

Andy put her hand over the one he was gripping the sheets with. The other held around Teddy where he sat between his legs, leaning back against Harry while playing with his own sock clad feet, taking the wild magic calmly, not caring at all that his godfather’s magic was trying to brew up a storm inside the hospital room.

“Harry, she’s not saying you’re ‘insane’, as you put it, but obviously she knows you’ve been through something traumatic, and that not having dealt with it properly can affect your magic. You told me yourself that you have nightmares.”

Harry swallowed and bit his lip, trying his best not to panic, to focus on the tiny body of Teddy so he didn’t lose control completely. The lights were still flickering, threatening to go out, but the wind calmed a little. 

“The wild magic began manifesting itself during your nightmares,” Healer Williams said softly. “I believe it’s a good idea to work on the underlying cause of these nightmares, to work through your lived experiences. We’re not suggesting having you committed, Harry, we’re suggesting that you see a specialist who can give you the tools you need to work through your emotions and move on.”

Harry looked pleadingly between the two women sitting on either side of his bed. He didn’t want this, but they weren’t wrong. He could see where they were coming from. He just hated it.

“Harry, it’s worth a shot and it won’t do any harm.” Andy was smiling soothingly at him, squeezing his hand. The wind slowly died down.

He nodded.

“Okay.”

His voice came out as a whisper, so he cleared his throat and tried again.

“Okay, I’ll give it a shot.”

Andy beamed at him and took his hand in both of hers. The flickering stopped and he managed a slightly painful smile of his own.

“That’s wonderful, Harry, I’m sure it will help you a great deal,” Healer Williams said as she stood. “I need to go do my rounds, but I will get the Mind Healer sorted as quickly as possible and make sure the other two Healers know you’ll be leaving tomorrow after breakfast.”

She stopped, still standing next to the bed, and smiled conspiratorially at Harry.

“Also, I got a call from Mrs Weasley. I gave her my opinion, as a Healer, and they will be here later today.”

He grinned at her despite the fear swirling in his gut. He still felt vulnerable and uncertain about the Mind Healer, but at least he was mostly recovered. Teddy reaching for his face so he could blow raspberries on his fingers was certainly helping.

“It was nice to meet you, Mrs Tonks.” Healer Williams held out her hand, and Andy accepted it with a beautiful smile, clearly pleased that they’d managed to talk Harry into agreement to the entirety of their treatment plan. Williams, in turn, looked a little pink, and Harry had to wonder if his Healer might have a small crush on his aunt.

“It was great meeting you too, Healer Williams,” Andy replied. “Thank you for doing you best for Harry, I know he can be a bit mischievous.”

“Oi!” Harry cried, sounding more offended than he really was.

Andy simply patted his cheek, and he narrowed his eyes at her in a mock glare before giving in and smirking at her instead.

Healer Williams turned towards Teddy. “And goodbye to you, little man,” she said with a small bow, and a smile that Teddy happily returned.

“Can you wave goodbye to the nice Healer, mon nonours?” Harry cooed at Teddy.

“‘Ours’? Why ‘ours’?” Healer Williams asked, though she clearly understood the word.

“Because Harry calls him ‘Teddy bear’,” Andy told her, a fond smile on her face as she looked at the two of them.

“That’s absolutely precious,” Williams responded. “Now I should go before I’m sucked in and decide I’d much rather play with the delightful baby.”

Harry and Andy laughed, and Healer Williams smiled at them all and waved to Teddy (who waved back with Harry’s help) before leaving.

As soon as the door had closed behind her Harry turned to Andy, eager to move away from any talk of Mind Healers. “So how is the moving going?”

“It’s going splendidly. I’ll be moved in by the end of the day, if all goes to plan. All the Weasleys are helping out, Bill was visiting with Fleur so they both offered to help. I suspect Fleur is just happy to have someone to speak French to, honestly. I told her I was teaching you, so be ready for that.”

He laughed. She’d only been teaching him for a month, but she seemed happy with his progress. And his pronunciation, which had surprised him. Maybe he had an affinity for languages because he was a parselmouth. He could always hope.

“Fleur is extraordinarily gifted, you know. Her magic is something to behold. She packed down my entire kitchen with one fell swish of her wand. I don’t know how powerful her core is, she doesn’t use wandless magic like you do, but it’s clear she has full control over what she has.”

Harry thought back to how she faced her dragon during the Triwizard Tournament. A dragon that under the best of circumstances it would take four wixes to immobilise had been put to sleep by her enchantment in an unknown place, surrounded by loud people, and while trying to protect her clutch. It hadn’t really occurred to him until much later how amazing that had been. He’d mentioned it to Charlie over the summer, and Charlie had gone all starry eyed and told him how her charms work had completely revolutionised how they worked with dragons. It had been very cute. Tall, broad, ruggedly handsome Charlie looking like a starry eyed teenager telling him about his favourite pop star.

The memory gave him a sudden idea, which he put away for the time being, determined to wait until he saw Fleur to bring it up. Hopefully she would be willing to help.

“The twins had their friend join us too. Lee Jordan? Nice young man, took it upon himself to entertain Teddy.”

Harry smiled at that. Lee was a nice young man. Him and George weren’t public about their relationship yet, somehow not really knowing whether they were in one or not. Harry had done as much as threaten Lee that if he didn’t do something quick to make it official, Harry would, and he would choose the worst possible moment to bring it up. Maybe he should get all the Weasleys into his room at once after all. Around Harry’s hospital bed sounded like as bad a time as any, really.

“I told Ronald and Hermione about the meditation, and they decided to set up one of the old guest bedrooms as a meditation room. They won’t finish it until you’re out and can have your say, but they thought it might help to have a room dedicated to it. I suggested we made it look a bit like the conservatory, what do you think? I know you like it there, you always seem calmer.”

“That sounds lovely, actually. I’ll give you free reins on that, if you want. It sounds like you have ideas.” 

He smiled at her, happy that she cared enough about him to even realise that he felt calmer in the conservatory. Other than his en-suite it was his favourite room. His kitchen was another favourite. Bronze details everywhere, the kitchen furniture all a nice teal, the countertops a lighter wood than that of the long table and chairs, the floors an even darker wood again. Cosy and dimmed, but not dark or dingy. The walls were a mellow blue and they’d used clever charms to add several small light sources in the ceiling along the walls and under the top cupboards, in addition to the large bronze chandelier over the table. They could switch off all the lights but the chandelier if they wanted a more intimate atmosphere at dinner.

“I do, my dear.” Andy replied, bringing Harry back from his musings about interior design. “And if you allow it I will get it done. It will be quick, Hermione already cleared it out. She’s used her anger and worry productively.” Harry grimaced, he’d forgotten how upset Hermione was. Andy gave him a soft smile. “Don’t worry, you will be meeting a much calmed down Hermione today.”

Teddy started fussing then, letting them know it was feeding time, and Harry took the bottle Andy offered him and let Teddy get comfortable in his arms with the bottle, as usual helping Harry hold it.

“So what have you done with your own furniture then?” he asked Andy once Teddy was calmly eating his lunch.

“I picked out a few select pieces to bring with me, since you’d said I could, and I switched the bed we’d decided on for Grimmauld Place with my own, but with the mattress you’d bought. I packed down most of the kitchen items for storage, seeing as Grimmauld Place already has everything. I brought over a few favourites though, the ones I know would be used. And I left a little, so that if I wanted to I could stay there for a few days without having to bring kitchenware. I brought a few decorative pieces and framed photos too.”

“Good. I want it to be your home too, it’s only right that you should get to put your mark on it as well. I don’t want you to feel like you’re living in my home. So if there is anything you want to change, tell me and we’ll work something out together. And I know that you have to be somewhat cautious about visitors because I’m, you know,” he shrugged, “but if you trust them enough to want them to visit I will be fine.”

“Thank you, Harry. I’ll still be careful though,” she said with a smile. “You should know that Molly and Kreacher have been arguing about who gets to cook for you once you’re allowed home.”

“Oh no.” He grimaced a little as he laughed. “That’s not good.”

“That house elf dotes on you. I swear, Kreacher loves you. I haven’t seen him this genuinely fond of anyone since Regulus. And Molly... you’d think you were her son the way she’s been going on about how you need to be fed.” Andy’s eyes were sparkling with glee.

“It was hard enough getting Kreacher to accept me using my own kitchen. I asked him once if he would like to eat at the table with us and he looked positively horrified. Mumbled something about how I must’ve hit my head and then just left.” Harry was laughing at the memory. He was still set on convincing Kreacher to join them at the table, but he knew it would take some time to get through to the house elf.

“Of course he would be horrified! Imagine the mere suggestion of such a thing in Aunt Walburga’s time!” Andy was laughing as well now, probably imagining just that.

They sat there a little longer, talking about this and that while Harry fed Teddy, until Teddy fell asleep in his arms. He helped Andy magically wrap the shawl around her so that Teddy could sleep against her chest before they left.

Harry got about an hour’s nap in before Assistant Healer Johnson woke him up by walking into the room. This time the Healer didn’t ignore him, but the second their eyes met he blushed furiously.

“I-I’m sorry, M-m-mr P-Potter, I w-wasn’t aware you w-were asleep. Your f-f-friends are here.”

Harry blinked. Was he shy about his stammer? Was that why he’d ignored Harry earlier? Or was he mortified that he’d woken up ‘the Harry Potter’ or something ridiculous like that?

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. You can let Ron and Hermione in.” He smiled and tried to sound as reassuring as he could, but the Healer just sputtered and left.

Ron and Hermione walked in less than a minute later. Andy had been right, Hermione was much calmer than she’d been the day before, though Harry knew that didn’t mean she wasn’t upset with him. She walked over to him and gave him a hug before sitting down, and Ron did the same.

“I spoke with Healer Williams when we arrived,” Hermione began, once she was seated. “And she told me you’ll be sent home tomorrow morning?”

Harry had told Healer Williams to just tell Ron and Hermione everything, because they’d find out anyway, so he assumed they also knew about the rest of it.

“Yes. I have to come by once a month for checkups until my magic settles, but as long as I follow the treatment plan and her other recommendations she said it would be fine to leave tomorrow morning after breakfast.”

“And you’ll be seeing a Mind Healer.” It wasn’t a question, and Harry had to stop himself from grimacing at the reminder. Frankly, she looked a bit smug, because she had of course tried to make him go see one ever since the Battle.

“Yes, I have agreed to that.” He wasn’t happy about it, but with Healer Williams and Andy giving him those worried we-care-about-you-please-let-us-help-you looks he couldn’t muster up the will to refuse them, and he just knew Andy had been about to use Teddy to convince him.

Hermione gave him a relieved smile. “I think it’ll be good for you, Harry. Really.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed. “I was sceptical at first, I’ll admit, but it’s really helped a lot.”

“I suppose’, Harry replied, noncommittally. “I heard you cleared out a room for my meditation?”

“Yes! Andromeda suggested we give it a similar feel to the conservatory, so we’re working on that. Fleur is helping me with the decorations while the rest of the Weasleys finish up Andromeda’s room. We arranged for them to keep working, and then when a pair of us is done here we let the next pair know. It’s much easier to travel between St Mungo’s and Grimmauld Place through the Burrow, than if we attempted to brave the public floos by the entrance. I think the journalists are still stationed out there. Which reminds me,” she reached into her purse and pulled out the Prophet. “Here. Thought you might like to read it. And laugh a bit.”

He took it from her and looked at the front page. 

Harry Potter injured during training, read the headline. They’d used one of the photos from the tests in August, and according to the article there had been an ‘incident’ during a seminar, which was true, and that it was believed to be the work of Death Eater sympathisers targeting Harry, which was a lie.

“I’m surprised they haven’t heard from Smith,” Harry admitted with a chuckle.

“The DMLE won’t let anyone who were there speak to the press about it. Or to anyone outside the DMLE, for that matter. Kingsley’s work, he put pressure on Robards. I’m the exception apparently, the rest had to take an Oath. Smith is not happy about it.” Ron, on the other hand, looked positively delighted.

“He was trying to tell people that it was attempted murder, the tosser! He was blown back like two metres into a bunch of gym mats, there wasn’t a scratch on the bugger. You were the only one who was hurt, really. A stray piece of glass caught Blaise’s cheek and one of the other trainees, Zhang, fell a bit awkwardly on her arm, but other than that no one got hurt. Meanwhile, you were unconscious, had somehow managed to get several cuts all over, and looked paler and greener than I’ve ever seen you.”

He looked sick just thinking about it and Harry was overcome by a fresh wave of guilt. Even after all these years he still wasn’t used to people worrying about him.

“I’m sorry,” he told them again.

“I know you thought it wasn’t a big deal, Harry,” Hermione told him, speaking softly. “You couldn’t have known this would happen. You usually have excellent control of your magic.” He swallowed and looked down. “I thought it was your wand.”

“What do you mean?” He looked at her confused. What did his wand have to do with it?

“Well, when you fixed it…,” she paused and sighed heavily. “It shouldn’t have worked.”

Harry was even more confused than before. His confusion must have been painfully obvious, because Hermione answered his unspoken ‘what the fuck are you on about’ as if he’d said it out loud. Or maybe he had said it out loud, what did he know.

“Wandmaking is a gift, Harry. Like Parselmouth and Legilimency. You can’t learn to speak Parseltongue, and you can’t learn Legilimency. So I figured the wand wasn’t actually fixed, and that it reacted badly when you weren’t focusing enough on your magic. I thought... I though the nightmares were something separate.” She sounded frustrated with herself now. “I didn’t make the connection.”

“I didn’t know that. That it was a gift. I just did it. I don’t even know if I used Reparo, now that I think about it.”

“I hadn’t even thought of it. I don’t think you did any of your wandless magic in front of her either, mate,” Ron added. “And the flickering lights only really started after she left for Hogwarts. With your wards we couldn’t tell how often your nightmares caused wild magic, but I was getting seriously worried that you weren’t sleeping at the training seminar. I’m guessing you were worried about the wild magic, considering the close quarters?” 

Harry nodded.

“I didn’t even know you could do wandless magic, Harry!” Hermione sounded like she was trying to sound upset, but her excitement was getting in the way.

“I tried it after your engagement party.” Harry grinned. He was quite proud of that. He’d worked on a range of spells. Mostly basic spells like Nox and Lumos in the beginning, but now he could do several spells wandlessly. He was not about to tell them about the cleaning spell and lubrication spell he used for masturbation, but they’d taken some practice before he dared use them on his body without a wand.

“I don’t think you even realised you were doing it the first time you turned off the kitchen lights wandlessly and wordlessly in front of me.” Ron was grinning back at him, clearly proud of him as well. “And there I was gaping at you like an idiot.”

“Oh.” He blinked, remembering the evening Ron was talking about. “I thought you were just thinking about food.” They’d decided to eat their supper in the sitting room, by the fire, and play chess. Harry had nearly managed to beat him.

“Well, that too,” Ron replied with a chuckle. “I heard you have to take it easy until your magic settles, by the way?”

“Yeah. I can do light exercise, but Healer Williams won’t even let me run, at least not the first week. Sounds ridiculous to me, I’d think it would help settle my magic, if anything.” He could hear himself pouting, but he didn’t mind. It was Ron and Hermione, they were used to him pouting.

“And you have to take a break from the Auror Academy?” Hermione asked. He nodded.

“Shame,” Ron said. “I hope they don’t hold you back because of it, that would be unfair.”

Harry didn’t reply, just gave a noncommittal shrug. He wasn’t too worried about being held back. It wasn’t like he particularly wanted to be there at all. He’d only gone in the first place because that was what everyone expected of him and he had no idea what else he was supposed to do with his life. And Ron had been so excited about it, about them being Auror partners.

“That reminds me,” Hermione said suddenly. “I spoke to Kingsley yesterday to make sure we could get through the floo here, and he asked me to tell you to contact him once you were home so that you could have a meeting about how to ‘handle the situation’. His words.”

“Fair enough. I’ll owl him tomorrow. If I can borrow Pig?” He directed the last part to Ron, who snorted and nodded as if that should have been obvious.

“You really should get your own owl, Harry.” Hermione sad cautiously, and when Harry hunched in on himself and opened his mouth to tell her no she continued quickly, stopping him. “I know you’re still torn up about Hedwig, but you need an owl. At least promise to meet me in Diagon and look? It would be nice to spend a day just the two of us, I’m sure Professor McGonagall would allow it. Please?”

Harry sighed, but acquiesced.

“I’ll think about the owl. A day in Diagon with just the two of us sounds nice though. We’d better use glamours. I’ve been working on mine actually, I can put it on and take it off wandlessly now.”

“That’s wonderful, Harry!” This time Hermione let her excitement out fully, her relief only intensifying it.

“Excuse me, what will I be doing while my best mate and my fiancé go gallivanting through Diagon Alley?” Ron interrupted with mock offence.

“Work,” Harry and Hermione responded in unison, then high-fived.

Ron rolled his eyes at their antics, and they smirked at each other.

“Anyway,” Harry began, feeling a change of subject was in order, just in case Hermione decided to list all her arguments for why he needed another owl. “How are things at Hogwarts?”

“Oh, they’re wonderful. Pansy agreed to help out with the possible changes to promote inter-house unity. I admit I was surprised she agreed to it so readily, but she said she wanted the next generation of Slytherins to feel like they belonged at Hogwarts as much as the other students, while also ensuring that they didn’t think they were better than anyone else. If she could contribute to that work then she would. She’s quite fun, actually. I think you’d like her, Harry. Her sense of humour is a lot like yours.”

Harry raised both his brows.

“I’m not so sure about that, but maybe. I’ll try to keep it in mind should I have a chance to get to know her and she’s willing though.” Her doubted it. Pansy Parkinson had never liked him, as far as he knew. Just because she’d decided to fight for his side didn’t mean that had changed. He couldn’t blame her for her thoughtless cry to have him captured, it was obviously the result of fear, but he was sure she still disliked him as a person. He was still trying to figure out a way to apologise for her for how the rest of the school had treated her for it. 

Ron and Hermione stayed for another half an hour before leaving, Hermione warning him that Molly would be bringing enough food to feed the entire British and Irish Wixen World, and Ron telling him again what a shame it was that he wouldn’t see him at the Academy for a while.

The rest of the day went by in a blur of redheads. Molly really had brought enough food to feed the entire British and Irish Wixen World, and once she left Harry asked Assistant Healer Johnson to hand out most of it to the staff. The shy Healer barely managed to look at him, but did agree to share it with his colleagues.

When Fred and George came by and Fred needed the loo, Harry got the opportunity to ask George about Lee. George blushed magnificently and told him they were working on it. Lee had finally asked him out, and Harry was honestly happy for them. It was about time too. 

Ginny jumped him the second she was through the door, giving him a hug one moment and then shoving him back the next, telling him in no uncertain terms what an idiot he was for not taking changes in his magic seriously. Lee, the poor bugger, stood awkwardly behind her as this went on, but relaxed when Ginny sat back on the bed and told him she’d been allowed home for the weekend together with Hermione and that they’d been really worried about him.

“I feel better knowing that you’ll have adult supervision though, now that Andromeda is moving in.”

“Adult supervision?” he’d cried indignantly. “You do realise I am an adult, Ginevra?”

“Oh, you know what I mean,” was her rather nonchalant reply, shrugging like it was no big deal.

Before they left he managed to give Lee a wink and tell him he’d heard he’d finally asked George out. Lee gave him a sheepish smile, but nodded in affirmation, and all in all he looked really rather smug about it.

“Good,” Harry replied before Lee walked out the door behind Ginny.

Bill and Fleur came by as well, Fleur kissing both his cheeks twice and blabbering on in French.

“Fleur, I’ve only been learning French for a month. Go easy on me?” he said with a chuckle, and Fleur smiled at him.

“I will speak Français to you every time we meet, ‘Arry. That way, you learn quicker.”

Her English had improved a lot in the last years, but she was still obviously French.

“Merci beaucoup, Fleur.”

She beamed at him, clearly pleased that he was speaking French.

“I wanted to ask you something, actually. It’s a secret though, so neither of you are allowed to say anything to anyone.” 

He looked between Bill and Fleur, both of whom nodded, Bill’s expression alight with curiosity while Fleur hid her own behind her gentle smile. It was interesting how different families (or was it perhaps the difference in country?) had different ways of hiding their true emotions. Fleur’s mask wasn’t the same as the pureblood mask of the Malfoys, for example. 

“I’ve bought mobile phones for Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Luna for Yule, and for myself, but I’m having a hard time figuring out how to keep the electronics in them working when surrounded by magic. I know you’re super talented at charms, Fleur, do you have any ideas?”

She preened very slightly at the compliment, but took a moment to seriously consider his words before replying. “I don’t know, but we can try. I will help you, of course, and together we will figure something out.”

“Great! Thanks, Fleur, really.”

“And while you two do that,” Bill interrupted, “I will work on getting rid of Walburga Black’s portrait.”

“If that isn’t noble work then I don’t know what is,” Harry replied solemnly.

Once all the Weasleys had made sure for themselves that Harry was in one piece, he ate some of the sandwiches Molly had made for him. She’d filled them with avocados (of course), various vegetables, eggs in different variations, fried mushrooms, hummus, etc. 

Harry ate one with hummus and vegetables and another with mashed avocados and fried mushrooms. They were delicious, naturally, like everything Molly made. She had tried to push him to eat meat in the beginning, but once she understood why he couldn’t make himself touch it she made sure she made completely vegetarian meals for him.

Exhausted by the amount of socialisation and stomach too full for comfort, he decided he might as well try to sleep. He had nothing to do and if he stayed awake he would die of boredom. He should’ve asked someone to bring him books.

Fuck.

No point now, he’d be out in the morning anyway. 

Chapter Text

Sunday 26 September 2010

It wasn’t until lunch was barely touched eaten that Harry could get ready to leave. Hermione had brought him a change of clothes, she and Ron having agreed that they would collect him and bring him home.

Healer Williams, Assistant Healer Almasi, and Assistant Healer Johnson were all there to say goodbye. Healer Williams had reminded him to be careful and avoid stress, to not go on runs until she told him he could (an amendment to her previous ‘one week of no runs’ that Harry was less than thrilled about), and to come back in a month. She’d kept him after breakfast, insisting on running various tests.

He thanked them all for their help, promised to be back in a month, and assured Healer Williams that there was no way Andromeda would let him skive off, which earned him a laugh.

Healer Williams and Harry shook hands, and then Harry, Ron, and Hermione was off.

Once they landed at the Burrow Hermione turned to Harry with a smirk.

“I think he has a crush on you.”

Harry furrowed his brows and glanced at Ron, who looked just as confused as Harry.

“Who?”

He had no idea who she was talking about. Hermione rolled her eyes at him.

“The Assistant Healer, of course. Who else could I be talking about?”

Harry gave her a disbelieving look.

“That’s ridiculous. What on earth makes you think so?”

“It was obvious, Harry,” she assured him. “He was blushing the entire time, he couldn’t look at you, but also couldn’t stop himself from looking. He was sneaking looks at you and biting his lip before looking away quickly, and he was doing this the whole time we were there.”

“He’s just shy about his stammering,” Harry explained.

“He doesn’t have a stammer.” 

“Sure he does,” Harry assured her.

Hermione looked over at Ron, who shrugged. Then she looked back at Harry.

“He didn’t stammer at all while talking to us. Had a rather nice voice actually. Remember, Ron?”

“I can’t remember any stammer, but I can’t say I much noticed his voice either,” Ron told them. “Shouldn’t we get going?”

“Yes, I suppose we should.” Hermione turned back to Harry before continuing. “They’re all there, they wanted to welcome you home. Kreacher is preparing dinner for later, and Molly have set up the dining room. If you’re too tired, just let us know. You know they’ll understand.”

Harry appreciated her concern, she was generally more perceptive of his need to be alone at times, being a single child herself she could understand it better, it seemed. Not that their circumstances had been very similar, but still.

“Thanks, ‘Mione. I’m alright though. If I think it might become too much I’ll let you know. Promise.”

She nodded and turned around.

Harry had barely landed at Grimmauld Place before he was pulled into a hug.

“It’s so good to have you back, Harry dear,” Molly said as she held him tightly. He smiled into her hair as he hugged her back.

“Thank you again for the food, Molly. I shared it with some of the Healers too, and they loved it.”

“Good boy,” she said as she drew back. “But you still need some feeding.”

They mostly stayed in the sitting room, drinking tea and chatting until dinner was announced a few hours later, but Harry managed to nip into his study to send off a quick letter to Kingsley with Andy’s owl Perseus before he was taken up to look at Andy’s finished bedroom and was then told that the meditation room was finished, but would be kept as a surprise until the following day.

The dining room was decorated to look like an extension of the kitchen, the dark teal that was used in nearly every room was on the walls rather than the furniture, and a bronze chandelier just like the one above the kitchen table hung over the dining room table. They’d added several spots of light to make sure it wasn’t too dark, but the large windows did a lot of heavy lifting, providing the room with a great deal of natural light. 

The table was set for 12, and Molly showed him to his place at the head of the table. Teddy had been fed and put to bed already.

Kreacher really had gone all out. He’d prepared a traditional roast dinner, with a seitan roast, of all things. Harry wondered where he’d even found the recipe for that. He hadn’t attempted anything with seitan himself yet, but after tasting the roast he decided he had to ask Kreacher to teach him how to make it.

The rest of the dinner was a bit of a blur. Once pudding was served (treacle tart, to Harry’s great pleasure) Hermione placed a hand on his arm and leaned in to speak quietly in his ear.

“Are you alright? You can take your pudding up to your room, you know. You don’t have to say anything, I can explain. You look about 10 seconds away from passing out, even with that treacle tart in front of you.”

He nodded and sent her a grateful smile before getting up, bringing his tart with him.

Hermione hadn’t been wrong, he was dead on his feet. For all his assurances that he felt as good as new, he was honestly fatigued. His body felt like a dead battery and was taking a long time to recharge. He stopped by Teddy’s room to look at his sleeping face in the crib. When he slept his hair was usually a sandy brown colour, like Remus. Though just because it was the hair colour he sported when sleeping didn’t mean it was his ‘natural hair colour. Harry had learned from Andy that with Metamorphmagi there was really no such thing. Hair and eye colour were two features that changed already from birth, and it wasn’t usually a conscious thing in the beginning either.

Lying down on his own bed was wonderful. The hospital bed wasn’t bad, sure, but his own bed was the real deal. A gift to himself after a life of bad sleeping arrangements.

His head felt full of cotton wool though. All of him felt full of cotton wool. His emotions too far away to reach again. He wanted to feel grateful for what the Weasleys were doing for him, he was grateful, but he couldn’t feel grateful. He was happy, but he couldn’t feel the happiness.

It was strange. He felt strange.

He only hoped it would be a little easier in the morning. After all, he’d been feeling like this for a long time, but the intensity had varied. For the most part he could feel that the feelings were there, he just had trouble feeling them properly. He could laugh when something was funny, he could appreciate food and the company of friends. He could feel his love for Teddy, and he wondered if the feeling would completely overwhelm him if he managed to remove the cotton wool. 

It was already so strong.

)o(

Monday 27 September 2010

He woke up the next morning still fully clothed, but someone (Kreacher, most likely) had moved him under the sheets. He sat up and looked around.

His room was trashed.

He sighed and fished his wand out of his jeans pocket so he could set the room to rights, then he lied back down, allowing himself ten minutes of dozing before leaving the bed for a shower.

Standing in the shower, letting the warm water run down his body, soothed him. He stayed there a long time, revelling in the feeling of the water hitting his skin, the smell of his hair and skincare potions, the feel of the hair potion and his fingers running through his hair, the sound of running water surrounding him. When he left the shower he was a bit dazed, but he also felt a little more like himself. Like he could face the rest of the house without making them worried about the state of his mind. He smiled sardonically at his own reflection in the mirror of his dressing room, then turned away from it to get dressed.

He chose his favourite black skinny jeans and one of the band t-shirts that had belonged to Sirius (Queen this time, one of Harry’s absolute favourites), throwing on a green plaid flannel shirt open on top and rolling up the sleeves. Whoever had moved him under the covers of his bed had taken the signet rings from around his neck and put them on the nightstand, so he reached for them and put them back on. He was relieved that he’d left them at home before going to the training seminar. They would probably have been fine, but it wasn’t guaranteed, and he’d been thankful for Ron for remembering to bring them to him at St Mungo’s. They were important to him.

Down in the kitchen Andromeda was eating breakfast with Teddy strapped to a cute wooden high chair that Harry had bought him. The backrest was a cartoon bear. He kissed Andy on the cheek and Teddy on the head, mumbling a ‘good morning’ to Andy and a ‘bonjour, mon nonours’ to Teddy, before sitting down and accepting a cup of tea from Kreacher with a smile and a ‘thank you’.

“Good morning, loulou. There are two letters for you,” Andy told him, gesturing at the two envelopes lying closer to the middle of the table.

Harry took the letters off the table and studied the envelopes. One was from the Ministry, probably an answer to the letter Harry had sent out yesterday. The other one had St Mungo’s seal, a wand and a bone in a cross. He opened that one first, curious about it’s contents.

It wasn’t much, a couple of lines saying he had an appointment with a mind healer called Vivian Dullman Wednesday morning. Dullman... Not a good start. No, that wasn’t fair. Healer Clutterbuck had a really weird fucking surname, but had turned out to be both professional and talented. In fact, she had made him trust her very quickly.

He reached for the letter from the Ministry next, ripping it open.
Kingsley had agreed to see him the next day, suggesting they have a lunch meeting at his office. Good... good. He wasn’t sure what he was even going to say to Kingsley, but... he didn’t think he could go back. 

He shook his head to get rid of any thoughts about that, deciding that it wasn’t worth worrying about it just now. Instead he turned to Andromeda.

“What’s the plan then? Are we starting the meditation today?”

She smiled at him from across the table.

“I figured we may as well. Unless you’re too tired?”

She looked at him, and he made an effort to pull himself together before shooting her a reassuring smile.

“No, I’m fine, Andy. I’d like to start today if that’s alright. If the room’s actually ready?” He looked around the kitchen with a frown before continuing. “Hermione said it would be a surprise for today. Where are they?”

Andy smiled mischievously.

“I believe they are making sure they spend time together as a couple before Hermione has to leave for Hogwarts again.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up as he mouthed ‘oh’. Then he smirked.

“Well, then we better not disturb them… for the time being.”

He held out his tea cup and Andy toasted with him.

They say there for another hour, Kreacher making Harry breakfast and nagging him to eat more, watching Teddy playing with a selection of toys, drinking a few more cups of tea, before Ron and Hermione walked through the kitchen door.

Once they looked up at Harry and Andromeda’s knowing smirks they both blushed. Whatever they’d done they had the good sense to show a healthy dose of catholic guilt, as his Uncle Vernon would’ve put it.

Harry grimaced a little. He hated when things like that just popped up in his mind, like a weird association game. Like when he was told he should see a Mind Healer and he panicked, and his magic with him, at the onslaught of yelling in his head. ‘Freak’, and ‘boy’, and ‘people like you belong in the loony bin or in prison’. He shook himself out of it before it could overwhelm him, tightening the locks on the doors in his mind.

After Ron and Hermione had had their breakfast they all went up to the meditation room, and Harry gasped as Hermione opened the door.

He’d known what they were modelling it after, and still it took his breath away. It was one of the magically enlarged bedrooms on the first floor with an enchanted window, and instead of fixing the old enchanted window they had removed it altogether and made almost the entire ceiling into a large enchanted skylight. Hermione told him that it was Fleur’s work, and that it showed the actual sky as it was right now. If it rained they would hear rain hit the window. 

The middle of the room was like a meadow, the floor incredibly soft and made to look like moss, not much different from what he’d done with Teddy’s playroom, but closer to the walls there were moss covered stones between the plants and trees, some of the stones looked to have runes or something carved into them. Even the trees were covered in moss.

And the room was full of plants. When he stood in the middle of the ‘meadow’ it was like someone had carved out a space in the middle of a magical forest full of gnarly trees where he could be safe from the elements. He could even hear the forest sounds. The whispers of the trees, the vague sounds of animals in the distance... He turned to Hermione.

“Is that a brook I hear?”

She smiled happily at him.

“The room is silenced, no sound in or out, but Fleur added some ingenious enchantment that gave the room the sounds of a forest. A real forest. The window too, it’s the sky from that forest. Not all the plants in here would be found in there, but we decided it would be fine to take some creative liberties with it.”

“This is amazing. I can’t believe you did all this.”

He was still looking around, a small smile tugging on his lips, already feeling calmer.

“Andromeda chose the forest,” Hermione told him and he looked at her with furrowed brows.

“Chose the forest?” He wasn’t sure what she really meant.

It was Andy who answered his question.

“I wanted to make it feel like a forest, because the conservatory does have that feel to it in a way. Then Fleur had all her brilliant ideas, and I realised I knew the perfect forest for what she was proposing. A forest I had been in, that was privately owned and therefore wasn’t likely to be visited by people who could be tangled up in the spellwork, and that I thought you would like. It’s a part of Wistman’s Woods in Dartmoor. The entirety of it is magical, but the most magical part of it is privately upheld and closed off from muggles, in particular. Fleur’s enchantments sends a mirage, in a way, of both sight and sound.”

Harry had closed his eyes, focusing on the sounds. He couldn’t feel the earth magic he suspected he could have had he actually been in the middle of the real forest, but he could hear whispers from the trees through the mirage.

“Oaks,” he mumbled, his eyes still closed.

“What?” Hermione asked

“Oaks. The gnarly ones. And holly. And hawthorn. And hazel.” He was still mumbling.

“How can you tell? You’re not even looking?” Ron asked then.

“They told me,” Harry answered without thinking. Then he blinked a few times as if coming back to himself and added with a sheepish smile, “or maybe I’m just good at guessing.”

He turned and looked at them.

“Thank you, this is wonderful.”

“Harry,” Andy started quietly. “This forest is under the protection of the Potters. It’s part of your inheritance.”

Harry smiled at Andy, who was holding a mesmerised Teddy in her arms.

“Thank you, Andy. I think I’d like to visit the real deal sometime.” He looked around the room once more. “So, how are you thinking we’ll do this meditation thing then?”

“I’d like to start off meditating together here every other day to start with, so I can guide you through it, and the days we don’t meditate together I want you to do so on your own before going to bed. We will start tonight, unless you have any objections.”

“No objections,” Harry responded lightly as he took Teddy from her arms, and they all made their way back out of the room, though part part of Harry really just wanted to stay in there.

After dinner with all the Weasleys (except Charlie and Percy) was over, they had said goodbye to Ginny and Hermione before they flooed back to Hogwarts, and Teddy was put to sleep; Andy and Harry went to the meditation room together.

Andy had told him he should wear clothes he found comfortable, so he put on a soft pair of joggers and a simple t-shirt and made his way there. Andy was waiting for him when he entered the room, sitting in the middle of the ‘meadow’ next to a tea tray, and wearing a simple muggle dress rather than robes. Her marriage to a muggleborn wix meant she often wore muggle clothes, but her go-to outfits were usually robes.

“Come sit, Harry.”

She spoke softly, and he sat down in front of her, mirroring her position.

“To begin with, you should know that meditation is not one thing. It’s a family of techniques that differ based on what you’re after. You may think that this is different than anything you’ve done before, but not all meditation require keeping still. When you do your runs or you fly, you might find that it does something with your mind, helps you handle emotions or thoughts, or to focus. Essentially you have meditated before, this is just a new way for you to do it, and with a specific goal in mind.”

He nodded that he understood. She was right. He had even been worried that not running would make it harder for him to control his wild magic.

“What we will be doing is refocusing. Teaching you to focus on your magic and how it works, how it changes and how you can control it. To do that you will have to learn how to let thoughts and feelings go, to efficiently hold on to the focus on your magic. Once we get somewhere with that we can work on other things as well, if you want, but this is what is important to help you manage the growth of your magical core, so it doesn’t overwhelm you.”

She reached for the tea tray next to her and poured tea into two small ceramic cups without handles.

“Every time before we start I want you to drink a cup of green tea. It’s both because it’s good for you, and because the ritual of it will help prepare you for the meditation. You will do this also on the days we don’t meet here, Kreacher knows how to prepare it. I know you prefer your tea with milk and sugar, but you will drink this as is. It’s sencha, you do not have milk in green tea. There’s peppermint in it though, so there is some sweetness.”

He did his best not to laugh at her indignation from the mere thought that he might try to add milk to a green tea.

“Are you sitting comfortably?”

He shifted his crossed legs a bit, so that they were bent, but not underneath him, so as not to cut off any blood supply, then checked to see if anything felt uncomfortable, and nodded when he found nothing did. Andy nodded back and handed him his tea before taking her own.

“We will take small sips and let ourselves breathe and relax. Remember, there is no need to rush anything. Focus on the taste of the tea in your mouth.”

He did as she said, following her lead on when to drink to make sure he wouldn’t rush. He could feel himself relax into the situation, even with the less than sweet tea. It wasn’t bitter though, and Andy had been right about the peppermint.

Once they were done with the tea and had breathed a little while focusing on the aftertaste, Andy slowly set their tea away.

“Close your eyes,” Andy said softly, and Harry followed her instructions.

“Focus on the way your body moves with your breath. How your chest rises and falls. If you find your mind wandering simply refocus on the movements of your body.”

Andy was talking softly and slowly, almost melodically.

Harry didn’t know how long they sat like that. He struggled with his mind wandering a lot in the beginning, but as they kept going he found it became easier.

At some point, Andy started talking again.

“Slowly slowly move your focus from the movement of your body with your breathing and further back, to where your magical core is, where your magic begins. Try to locate it, along your spine, and see if you can feel the pulse of it.”

He moved his focus further back into his body, like she said. He knew, technically, where the magical core was, but he had never actually attempted to feel it like he was now. Once he found it it was like catching a butterfly as a child. The fluttering of wings in your hands and the wonder at seeing the thing so close. He could feel the flutter and pulse of his magical core. It was a bit emotional, in fact, as he could suddenly feel his own magic so acutely all over himself. He could feel how it was all over him, all through his body and around him.

“Try not to get overwhelmed. Keep your focus on the core itself, and, just like previously with your body’s movement as you breathe, focus on the pulsing of it. If you feel your mind wander, move your focus back to the pulsing.”

Andy was still speaking softly and slowly, and Harry slowly refocused his mind from the overwhelming feel of his own magic back to the pulse of his magical core.

Again he couldn’t have said how long they’d stayed like that when Andy spoke once more in that melodiously slow and soft voice.

“Slowly slowly notice how your body moves with your breathing—,” she started, pausing for a bit to let Harry register and follow her voice before continuing.

“Notice the feel of the ground underneath your body.”

The soft moss was comfortable to sit on.

“Notice the smells around you.”

Earth, grass, plants, flowers.

“Notice the sounds around you.”

The brook, rustling, whispers of... something.

“Feel your way up your body from your feet—, to your knees—, to your hips—, up your spine—, to the top of your head—, down each side of your head and over to your shoulders—, down both arms to your elbows—, to your wrists—, and your fingertips.”

“Start moving your fingers.”

He moved his fingers in a wave motion.

“Move your toes.”

He did.

“Roll your shoulders once forward and once backwards.”

He could feel his shoulders cracking as he did so. He had always been very flexible, but somehow his body still cracked and popped a lot. ‘Snap, crackle, and pop’ Hermione used to say when he stretched out his body in the mornings during their hunt.

“Take a deep breath in—, and out—.”

He felt deliciously boneless.

“And when you feel ready, open your eyes slowly.”

He waited a few breaths before he slowly opened his eyes, blinking a little for everything to come into focus.

They just sat for a bit, and then Andy slowly reached for the tea tray again and filled the cups, giving one to Harry.

“Same as when we started, small sips.”

Once they’d drunk their tea this time, Andy started moving her body, changing her position, and gesturing for Harry to do the same.

Then she gave him a smile.

“What do you think?”

He considered the question before answering.

“It was difficult not to let my mind wander in the beginning, because I’m used to letting it, but I managed for the most part. Once I actually felt my magical core I suddenly felt all of my magic in and around me and got a bit overwhelmed, so it was good that you helped guide me back to focusing on the core.”

Andy nodded as he talked, looking pensive.

“You might be sensitive to magic, that would explain why, once you were focusing on it, it became overwhelming so easily. Most wixes have to work a bit more to notice their magic around them. How is your magic feeling now?”

He let himself feel it. Once he’d been asked to focus on it it was hard to not notice it. He had felt his magic on his skin and fingertips before, and recognised what it was, and felt it when casting, but now he realised what the itching he had been feeling with the magic on his skin for months had been. It was basically growing pain. Or growing itch.

“I can feel it really well now that I know what it is. It feels calm though. I’m used to feeling magic from other people and places. Especially after the battle. Throughout the summer I could feel Hogwarts’ magic more and more. I used to touch the walls, feeling how the castle healed.”

“So, sensitive and intuitive.” She smiled at him. “And your body, how do you feel?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been less tense in my entire life,” he replied promptly, almost surprised that such a thing was possible.

“That’s good to hear,” Andy laughed.

Harry realised she wasn’t just assessing how he’d reacted to the meditation, but also winding him down from it. Bringing him slowly back to reality, in a way.

“In the beginning, I want you to only practice on keeping your focus on how your body moves as you breathe when you do it on your own, practice keeping your focus as long as you can. But don’t focus on controlling your breathing, just let yourself breathe naturally, and if you struggle, don’t get impatient and keep doing it for too long. No more that half an hour at most is necessary for your private meditation, so if you get frustrated that your mind wanders, remind yourself that you can try again tomorrow and then put it away. Sound good?” 

He nodded, knowing that he had always been a bit impatient when it came to learning new things, wanting to master it right away. Andy had seen it with smaller things like changing nappies or learning household spells, but he sometimes wondered if Remus had told her about his impatience when learning to cast his Patronus.

Before going to bed that night, Harry went to check on Teddy. Just to look at him. His sleeping face, so peaceful and so reminiscent of Remus that it hurt. In the beginning Harry had swung wildly between finding it too painful to look at him and finding it too painful to look away. Getting to know Teddy had made it easier, teaching him to see Teddy himself rather than his parents, and to be happy that he existed. Incredibly happy. He really meant it when he said he wanted to give him the world.

He bent over the crib and kissed Teddy on the forehead, making sure he didn’t wake him.

Then he went to bed.

)o(

Tuesday 28 September 2010

Harry was full of nerves before his meeting with Kingsley. Just in case, he wore a slightly more professional outfit than he usually would have. Choosing a pair of dark jeans without artful tears and a black shirt under a red and super soft jumper (might as well play up his Gryffindor pride). He kept the blue nail polish he’d put on the day before though. The nail polish helped keep him from biting his nails, he’d found. Or at least he’d stopped biting them after he began using nail polish. His nails were looking healthier and healthier by the week as a result.

Kingsley had made sure he could use the private floo directly into his office, so he didn’t have to go through the atrium. That would’ve been a great way to be mobbed, especially so soon after the incident that had put him in the hospital.

Although Harry had a lot of things he wanted to say to Kingsley, he wasn’t sure what exactly he should. He was sure he would be asked about the incident during the training seminar, and Harry was fine with that, he had questions of his own — about the topic of the argument for one thing, and he needed to hear Kingsley’s answers to decide once and for all what he would do.

When Harry stepped out of the grate in the Minister for Magic’a office, mumbling a wandless cleaning charm to get rid of the ash, Kingsley stepped around his large mahogany desk and walked towards Harry with a big smile and an outstretched hand, which Harry happily shook.

“Harry! It’s good to see you, we were all worried about you, you know.” Kingsley’s deep baritone could be felt through his hand as they shook, and after they had let go Harry got a powerful pat on the back for good measure, almost sending him face first to the floor.

“Good to see you too, Kingsley. And there was nothing to really worry about, though being aware of what was happening to me will help a lot going forward.”

Kingsley walked back around his desk and gestured to the chair in front of it as he sat back in his own. Harry nodded in thanks and sat down.

“Yes,” Kingsley continued once they were both seated. “I understood from what you had Ronald tell me that the pace and volume of the growth is rather unusual, and especially considering your age, and that resulted in your wild magic?”

“To put it simply, yes. My magic had grown so rapidly that when I was aggravated during a discussion it simply exploded. Some blasted the rest of the trainees to the mats, but most of the pressure was on my own body, and that as well as the use of so much magic hit me rather badly. There was no real damage, apart from a few scrapes, my body was simply overwhelmed.”

He explained it as clinically as he could, trying not to think about how he could’ve hurt the other trainees and their instructors. Kingsley looked at him warily.

“I understand the discussion was with Zacharias Smith, another trainee?”

Harry had wondered if he would bring it up, and how long it would take. Not long then.

“That is correct,” he responded shortly, keeping his face blank on purpose. It was not his job to make this easier for the Minister or the Ministry. Smith shouldn’t even be a trainee.

“And that the topic of said discussion was regarding Ministry practices, specifically the use of Dementors?” 

Harry could tell he was uncomfortable, but endeavoured to let him sit in it.

“That is correct,” he repeated. He wondered how Kingsley would play this conversation. So far he had started out attacking directly and then moved to doing it indirectly.

“And what are your opinions on the subject?”

Harry gave him a wry smile. If Kingsley really wanted to hear them, then he would.

“It is my opinion that there is no good reason to use Dementors. Not one that holds up morally. It is my opinion that the use of Dementors as a form of punishment, whether it’s a Dementor’s Kiss or simply their presence, is in direct opposition to everything we stand for. At least it is in direct opposition to everything I stand for. It is my opinion that any wix who find enjoyment in torturing another being — and keeping someone locked up with Dementors is torture — shouldn’t be in a position where they could potentially do so. It is my opinion that we are morally obligated to treat these prisoners better than they would treat us, and to find options beside prison in all but the most severe cases. It is my opinion that ministry employees should not be exempt from the laws simply because the damage they did were part of the jobs they had happily carried out under an illegal takeover of the ministry. It is my opinion that when someone has revealed that they would do their best to use the laws to hurt people as much as possible no matter the political leanings of the people in charge, they will not get a pardon and their job back at the end of the war they gleefully took part in bringing about. It is my opinion that any ministry employee who abuses their position to torture underage children should be barred from holding a position where any such actions are remotely possible. It is my opinion that trials should be fair and that all those who are accused have the right to counsel and to put forward their own witnesses. It is my opinion that children used as pawns by the adults in their lives in a war they have no control over are shown leniency and offered help, rather than being met with hatred and distrust.”

Harry’s voice had grown gradually more bitter throughout his speech, and now he sighed heavily.

“I have many opinions, Minister Shacklebolt. Are you sure you want to hear them all?”

Kingsley had looked slightly taken aback in the beginning, and then more and more uncomfortable as Harry kept talking. Now he cleared his throat before replying, looking down at his desk rather than at Harry.

“I suppose it’s only natural that you have strong opinions on these topics. Where Dementors are concerned, we have put forth a bill that would make the use of a Dementor’s Kiss illegal—.”

“Locking people up in a building so full of misery it gave birth to these beings haunting it should still be considered far from acceptable in any civilised society,” Harry cut him off. “Just because you’re removing the very tip of the misery iceberg — and only after already having used said tip over the summer, I might add — does not make the remaining 99% of the iceberg acceptable.”

“We are working on it, Harry. I hope we can get to a point where it will be a matter of course that Dementors are not to be used, but as it is—“

Harry cut him off again.

“I am aware that most of the ministry is corrupt, Kingsley, believe me. Otherwise there would be no way for Dolores Umbridge to keep her job without any repercussions whatsoever, not to mention the fact that Zacharias Smith is even allowed to become an Auror, let alone invited to do so without his NEWTs.”

“There is no way for me to remove Dolores Umbridge under the current laws, I’m afraid, but I will of course do my best to change that. As for Mr Smith, he was recommended by Head Auror Robards. I wasn’t aware there were any reasons not to invite him.”

Harry knew Hermione would make sure something was done with Umbridge, but the way the ministry was now made him feel sick. It was just the way it always had been, and most of the ministry workers were unlikely to want to change it. After all, they had all gotten to where they were because of the horrendously corrupt system.

“Were any checks done at all? Because I’m fairly certain Robards was paid quite well to get Smith an invitation to the Academy.”

Kingsley sat up in his chair in shock.

“Are you suggesting the Head Auror was bribed? That is a serious accusation, Harry. One you shouldn’t make lightly.”

“I’m not making it lightly at all. What did Robards tell you about Smith?”

Kingsley blinked a few times, but answered the question.

“He told me that Mr Smith is a talented young wizard who had good grades throughout school, that he was an exemplary Hufflepuff — descendant of Helga Hufflepuff herself, in fact —, that he had been part of Dumbledore’s Army and fought with the DA during the battle.”

Harry couldn’t help it, he threw his head back and laughed. Guffawed, really. As he calmed down he shook his head, though still laughing incredulously.

“Apologies for my rudeness, but had you asked literally anyone you would have known that that was bollocks. I can’t say much about his grades, but he was rather mediocre both in class and during the time he was indeed in the DA. He only joined the DA because he wanted to hear me talk about Cedric Diggory’s death, and the only reason he stayed was because he didn’t want to be left out. He was an arse the entire time. The last I or anyone else in the DA saw of him during the battle was when he shoved first year students out of the way as they were being taken to safety and he felt his own safety was more important than theirs. He is the least Hufflepuff Hufflepuff I have ever met. I can only guess that he was put there by default because he didn’t fit into any of the other houses either.”

The lights flickered dangerously as he talked and he had to stop to pull himself together. Kingsley had looked shocked, but Harry continued anyway. He may not have planned what to say, but he had thought enough about all of it that he knew his own opinions.

“I’ll tell you who should have received an invitation instead, Minister. Draco Malfoy.”

Had anyone come in just then they would have assumed Harry had told Kingsley that he had personally broken every broomstick of his own favourite Quidditch team. Shocked and confused on so many levels. Harry nodded.

“Yes, I am serious, Kingsley. There is a lot you don’t know about him, and a lot I’ve only learned since his trial. Did you know he wasn’t allowed to call any witnesses for his defence? Not even that, people who wanted to speak up for him were refused. The only reason I was allowed into the courtroom was because the entire Wizengamot assumed I would be speaking against him. Meanwhile, Dean Thomas and Luna Lovegood were told they couldn’t speak in his defence, making the mistake of telling the Wizengamot that that was what they planned to do. Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson were simply avoided and kept out of the courtroom. And Malfoy was denied counsel, and so had no way of contacting anyone who might wish to speak for him. And yet, he didn’t tell the court any of the good things he had done. He had to agree with the things I had said, because I had already said them, but otherwise he kept quiet.”

Kingsley cleared his throat again and leant forward on his desk, looking at Harry as if he hadn’t heard him properly and needed to have it explained again.

“Draco Malfoy did things to help the war efforts of the Light side without even trying to capitalise on it? Lucius Malfoy’s son?”

Harry felt annoyed. He knew it made sense for people to think that Malfoy was just like Lucius, considering he had emulated him as much as possible when he was younger, but that simply wasn’t the entire story. People didn’t work like that. The war had changed them all. Why would Malfoy, who had been thrown into the middle of it, be any different?

“Draco Malfoy is not his father, Kingsley. Good Godric, he even testified against him! Since the trials I have spoken with several people. Luna and Dean have told me about how he helped them while they were held as prisoners in his home. He risked a lot to bring them food and blankets, and to heal them when they’d been hurt. Luna is very fond of him, and he even brewed hangover potion for my birthday and had Luna bring it over. They even tasted good. He always was good at potions.”

Harry paused shortly while wondering if that was what Malfoy wanted to do after Hogwarts, to work with potions. He shook his head and continued to make his point.

“Several students who were at Hogwarts last year told me that Malfoy, after several poor attempts at following the Carrow’s orders to Crucio other students, instead told them to fake it when they had to do it in front of other people and at other times he would tell those who were with him to let him deal with them alone because he ‘wanted to practice’ and then had them yell a little before telling them to run. He directed more than one muggleborn to the Room of Requirement. And before the incident at the training seminar, I spoke with Blaise Zabini about it all.”

He swallowed hard, and took a few breaths before he was sure it was safe to continue. Kingsley was now listening with rapt attention, soaking up every word.

“Malfoy had overheard Crabbe telling Goyle they should find me and kill me, and immediately told Blaise and Parkinson that he couldn’t let them, that he needed to find a way to stop them and that he would rather fight his father than be locked up in the dungeon while the rest of the school risked their lives. That he was done blindly following orders that made no sense. Blaise and Parkinson weren’t the only ones who heard, apparently. It lead to a discussion among the older Slytherins and in the end most of them decided they agreed. Being an ‘exemplary’ Slytherin, to borrow your word, Malfoy didn’t throw himself head first into battle.”

Harry had to smile a little at the thought.

“He positioned himself to Crabbe and Goyle as needing to bring me to Voldemort to help out his family. He stopped Crabbe when he tried to kill me, saying that Voldemort wanted to do it himself. Which was true, to be fair. Tom wouldn’t have been happy with them if they’d done it. Once we’d gotten Malfoy and Goyle out of the Fiendfyre he apparently joined the battle right away. One of the death eaters exploded parts of the wall as we moved through the castle, it could’ve killed any of us. I’m frankly not sure how it didn’t. Someone threw a Protego or something, I think it was Hermione, but I can’t be sure. According to Blaise, he saw Malfoy coming down right behind us, already fully meshed in the battle. That was when I noticed the Slytherins. I must admit I didn’t fully register it until later, my mind was somewhat preoccupied.”

Kingsley was silent for a long time after that. Harry didn’t blame him, he hadn’t even realised Malfoy was as active during the battle as he clearly had been, and every new piece of information had taken him a long time to come to terms with. Trying to fit each piece into the puzzle that Draco Malfoy had always been, and somehow changing the picture completely again and again.

After the silence had gone on for too long, he decided to add a few extra points to make the difference between Smith and Malfoy even clearer.

“Malfoy is also second only to Hermione in almost all subjects, except in Potions where he was top of the class, and he was the only one to really give me a run for my money in DADA and on the Quidditch field. He’s a talented dueller, and academically brilliant. And the fact that I am the one telling you this should tell you just how true it is. I have absolutely no reason to embellish his achievements.”

Kingsley took a deep breath, as if to steady himself.

“Are you suggesting I invite Draco Malfoy to become an Auror, Harry?”

“I’m suggesting that if you get the chance to hire him as anything you better do so, because if you don’t it will be your loss and I will find out.”

“Hiring a death eater will not go over well.”

The lights flickered again and Harry did his best to get control of his magic against the sudden wave of annoyance.

“I have already told you. Draco Malfoy is no more a death eater than I am.”

Kingsley threw up his arms, in a show of surrender.

“I know, and I agree, but to the rest of the wixen world he is.”

“Both Malfoy and I have been used and let down by a growing list of adults who should have helped us. I hope you won’t add yourself to that list, Minister.”

He rose from the chair then and made to leave.

“Harry, we haven’t yet discussed how to organise the rest of your Auror training.”

Harry turned to face the Minister.

“That’s okay, Kingsley. I won’t be returning to the Auror Academy.”

“You can’t be serious!” He looked like he had been slapped.

“If you manage to fix the ministry I might come back at some point, but until then I don’t think I can work here in good conscience.” He started towards the floo once again, and continued speaking with his back to the desk. “I hope you and Collette will come for dinner before the holidays, Kingsley. It’s been too long and I have Andromeda and Teddy living with me now, I’m sure they’d like to meet you.”

Kingsley was sitting with his mouth open behind his desk. Not bad, rendering the Minister for Magic speechless.

Harry grabbed a handful of floo powder and threw it into the fire, before looking back once more.

“I mean it, Kingsley. Please stop by. I’ll have Kreacher make his seitan roast.”

Then he turned to the green flames and said clearly ‘Number Twelve Grimmauld Place”, before stepping through with a last wave.