Chapter Text
A door snicked closed behind him. Dark. Overwhelmingly so. The entire place was dripping with shadow and mildew. In past the troll foot, senseless to Walburga’s shrieking. Whole body greasy with cooled sweat. Stepping through phantom dust that once rose as protection but lay now as dead as its namesake. Harry trailed the corridor, weary of the accusing, mummified faces of nameless elves, and started up the stairs.
Everything had been too long. Too long a week, burying the dead with no time for mourning, making lists of missing - friends and enemy alike. Hunting the straggling death eaters with ear pounding chases through the forest and harsh near splinching jumps from town to town. Too long a year, living rough, sleeping badly and eating worse. Running and screaming and losing. Too long a life, really, if he was honest with himself and mostly he’d rather not be. Too long trying to pretend he had a normal to return to.
There was no room for him; he should have worked that out by now. But then there was little Teddy Lupin, lying in Andromeda’s arms, so small, needing so much love - Harry barely dared look at him for fear of his waking nightmares breaking from his mind and blasting the small boy to wherever Remus and Tonks may be. He hated the part of himself that wondered if that might be kinder.
He had died. Willingly. With less hesitation than was probably healthy.
He turned into the nearest room, nose stuffed with dust and salt, collapsing on the mattress, and staring into the twisting nothing of night time.
Silence sang against his ears.
He closed his eyes.
Felt the leaves crumbling under his feet.
The branches above hushed the forest beneath whispering the way to the end, his loved ones, his lost ones, walked with him and among them were the others.
Fred, blown through the trees on a curse, now a wisp teasing him as Remus loped along at his side.
Tonks shaking her form off with every other step and Moody growling behind him.
Above on a silent breeze a white owl looped and curved.
Lavender, Colin, Sirius, his mum and dad, Cedric, faceless muggles and people Harry had only seen in pictures.
Somewhere something flashed green, he was flying, spinning, falling, he hit the ground, his hands faded into a similar wisp and he smiled, as translucent as his family. He was home.
' Where is Draco? Is he in the castle? '
Eyes flung open, blinking the exploding shapes in the darkness, heart hammering. He was soul weary and could not rest. He dragged himself back upright and cast lumos , letting it lead him down to the kitchen. Something warm to burn the chill of ghostly dreams from his blood. A pleading cast toward the fireplace and it crackled to life, gentle and quiet. Wand dropped on the table as he passed. Three mugs lay unwashed in the sink beneath where Harry braced himself against the porcelain.
His friends came to Grimmauld now and then, mostly to take a breather, he thought, sometimes to pester Harry into action, which was largely unsuccessful. Going outside wasn’t an option, the cameras and papers and thanks and congratulations were worse than any curse. A cruciatus would be gentler on him. Thank you, saviour, for killing for us! Flash . Thank you, golden boy, for killing yourself! Flash . Congratulations, chosen one, on losing those you love! Flash .
Harry stayed inside. So Hermione nagged him to work on the house instead, a project, to distract him, where Harry would rather burn the place to a shell.
“ Harry, you feel that way now but maybe you’ll want the memories one day.”
Harry huffed a laugh, mirthlessly, picturing Hermione’s hands-on-hips pout.
They were staying at the burrow, for now…Harry swallowed, squeezing his eyes tight against that intricate clock stuck ticking, hand forever frozen on Mortal Peril, he heaved, mouth flooding with saliva as he panted into the drain. Most thought that the Weasleys were chaos; mess and disorder from head to tail. Few understood how finely tuned and intricate their dynamic actually was. How thoroughly wrecked it was when a twin was reduced to a brother, odd to even and even to odd. Wrong . Off balance.
Arthur wouldn’t touch his shed. Molly rose late to breakfast and forgot about dinner. The remaining son still turned expectantly toward nothing and fell into the void each time.
Only Ginny endured loudly in a house full of phantoms. Away, alone, without.
She would turn her eyes on Harry, so wide and hopeful, as she had looked at him since he was eleven years old. Like he could fix it, heal it, make it right. The boy who lived and could make live . But he had shied away too, retreating to a house of gloom to breathe, not able to explain that all he knew was dying. His very fate had been an ending. He had nothing for her now.
He turned, sank to the ground, his back against the cupboards and watched through his table’s legs as the fire twisted and jumped. Drifting back to a rarely quiet common room, late at night as the day before blended into the next. Harry had enjoyed those moments, staring into the fireplace under the blanket of silent night. It had been soothing and the only time of day where being alone had not felt lonely.
Harry’s heavy head fell against his knees as he exhaled, quelling the heat clawing up his throat.
He hadn’t put the bloody kettle on. Just sat, waiting for nothing.
Merlin, he was tired.
He raised a hand muttering an Accio Wand and it shot from the table to his palm.
Seconds later something else smacked into his chest.
He blinked down at where it had fallen to his lap. He had forgotten about that.
Ten inches of hawthorn, darker than his mended holly and less supple.
Perhaps this could be the first item removed from the house.
He summoned letter parchment, scribbled out the Black seal and scrawled a quick note, wrapped the wand in it and vowed to send it first thing in the morning. For now, he slipped onto the tile, face pillowed on his hand as he watched the flames and waited for sleep or dawn, whichever came first.