Chapter Text
Harry woke up and stirred. He reached over to the side table and grabbed his glasses and watch. It was only six in the morning, but he’d just slept for about eighteen hours straight.
He’d needed that sleep. He sat up on the edge of the bed and stretched, working out the aches and kinks in his body. A twenty-four hour stretch that had included getting burned by golden treasures, escaping through a building on the back of a dragon, running from dementors and death eaters in Hogsmeade, sneaking into Hogwarts, fighting a battle, taking yet another avada kedavra, and battling some more had left Harry with stiff joints and painful muscles. Eighteen straight hours of near-motionless sleep hadn’t helped matters either.
Harry looked around. The Gryffindor boys’ dormitory was crowded. All the beds were filled, and several other beds had been conjured and held other sleeping figures. He’d been the first to fall asleep, and was shocked that he’d managed to sleep through everyone else coming in and conjuring beds and sleeping.
Ron was in his own bed, Hermione snuggled up against him. The next bed had Dean, then Seamus in his. Neville’s bed was the only empty one in the room. The conjured beds were situated in the middle of the room. The biggest bed held Molly and Arthur Weasley, with George on one side of them, Ginny on the other. Another bed had Percy and Charlie, another with Bill and Fleur. Padma and Parvati Patil were asleep in a small bed, holding hands. Harry had no idea how it came to be that all these people had chosen to sleep in this particular boys’ dormitory.
Harry stood quietly and was relieved to see a clean piled of robes and clothes at the foot of his bed. He picked them up and sniffed them. He recognized immediately the smell of the soap Kreacher used all those months ago when he, Ron, and Hermione had been living at 12 Grimmauld Place. He felt pang of affection for Kreacher in the pit of his stomach. He’d been thrilled last night to see the little elf coming out of the kitchen, so pleased to know he hadn’t met the same end as Dobby.
Harry grabbed his clothes and went into the boys’ bathroom. Neville was in there showering. He turned when he heard the door open. “Morning, Harry,” Neville said.
“Morning,” Harry mumbled.
The showers in the boys bathroom lined the walls, separated only by small partitions. Neville was in the far shower, and Harry took the one next to him and started the water. The water was warm and wonderful. As it ran over his back, Harry turned it even hotter and stood under the faucet and let the feeling of the grime of the previous day - two previous days, really - wash away. “Ahhh,” he couldn’t help but sigh.
“Feels good, eh?” Neville asked conversationally.
“You have no idea,” Harry answered, closing his eyes and enjoying the luxury of a hot shower. It took a moment to realize that was a stupid answer, because Neville of course did have an idea. He was doing the same thing Harry was. He was washing away not only the dirt and grime of the forest and the battle, he was trying to wash away all the pain, the death, and the sadness. Harry watched as the dirty water swirled down the drain, imagining his emotions being taken with it.
Harry opened his eyes and looked over at Neville, whose face was scarred and bruised. Neville’s chest and shoulder were covered in cuts and bruises as well. Harry looked down at his own body, also bruised and gashed in places, but also deep scars where the necklace had burned into his chest that night in the frozen pond, and yet another lightning-shaped scar in the center of his chest, courtesy of Voldemort’s second killing curse. “Sorry,” Harry said. “You know.”
Neville shrugged and smiled. He finished soaping up, while Harry began shampooing his hair and washing his own body. The house elves had seen to having the bathrooms fully stocked, which Harry was grateful for. After ten minutes, he felt as clean as he could remember feeling since Bill and Fleur’s wedding. He ran his fingers through his wet hair and shook out the water before grabbing a soft white towel and drying off. Oh god, he’d forgotten the simple pleasure of drying yourself after a shower with a nice warm clean towel. He buried his face in the towel for a moment, drinking in the feel.
After drying off, Harry slipped on a clean pair of boxers and joined Neville at the sinks where they shaved. Another thing Harry missed was the feeling of a really good shave. He and Ron had taken to using their wands to try and get a clean face, but it was never very good, and they’d ended up with five o’clock shadows more often than not.
“Just like old times,” Neville said.
Harry smiled mildly. He and Neville had been the first of the Gryffindors to start shaving. Both needed it by the beginning of their fifth years. Seamus, nearly a year older than either of them, had hardly been able to control his jealousy. Now that Harry thought of it, he wasn’t even sure Seamus had been shaving by the end of sixth year. “Seamus ever start?” Harry asked.
Neville quirked a small smile at Harry, “Yeah. But I don’t think he needs to.”
Harry met Neville’s eyes in the mirror and they grinned at each other. They went back to shaving quietly, but Harry kept sneaking glances over at Neville. Either Neville had filled out in the last year, or Harry had never realized how fit his Gryffindor roommate was. He had broad shoulders, well-muscled arms and definition down his abdomen. By contrast, Harry felt small and scrawny. But then, Harry checked out his own reflection briefly, he was small and scrawny by almost anyone’s comparison. Nearly a full year of near-starvation had done nothing to bulk up Harry’s already lithe body.
Neville finished first, and wiped his face with a washcloth, then patted it dry with a towel. Harry glanced as Neville removed the towel from around his waist, and pulled on a pair of boxers. Harry was aware of his propensity to check out guys, and some days he could even convince himself it was just to imagine what it would be like to be as built as Neville, or as brawny as Charlie Weasley. But in his more honest moments, he knew what he was actually doing. By the time Neville turned around, Harry had turned his attention back to his own face and was just finishing his shave.
“How are you doing, Harry?” Neville asked quietly. “Really.”
Harry swallowed and locked eyes with Neville in the mirror. “I’m working very hard on getting clean and shaven, and trying to not think about the last couple days.”
Neville bit his lip, “You can’t ignore it.”
“I know,” Harry said. “Just...not right now. Once everyone wakes up I won’t be able to not think about it.”
Neville nodded in understanding. He pointed to Harry’s clothes, “Your elf came up last night to deliver clothes for you and Ron and Hermione. He yelled at all of us for talking too loudly. Said Master Harry needs his sleep.”
Harry snorted, “Well, I’m grateful for the clothes.”
“Dobby used to make sure we were all kept in clean clothes in the room of requirement. But one day he just wasn’t here anymore.” Neville frowned and shrugged, “I dunno what happened to him.”
Harry stared at Neville. He felt like he’d just taken a sucker-punch to the gut. All the work Harry had done that morning in carefully not thinking about anything that had happened was gone. “He died,” Harry croaked. “Dobby. He died saving us from Malfoy Manor.”
Neville looked horrified. “Merlin. I didn’t know. Harry, I’m sorry-”
“”S okay,” Harry murmured, trying to carefully modulate his voice. He was going to start crying, and he was breathing evenly to try to get that under control.
“No,” Neville said loudly. “No it’s not.” Neville turned and punched the wall, “Fucking Malfoy!” he shouted.
Harry was shocked. He had never heard Neville curse, never heard so much as a ‘damn’ come out of his mouth. But still, that reaction plus the reminder of Dobby finally sent Harry into tears. The dam burst and he couldn’t stop the hot tears from running down his face.
He sat down on a bench across from the showers. Neville looked contrite and sat next to him. “I’m sorry, Harry,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” Harry whispered, unsure if Neville could even hear him. The images from the day before - the bodies of Fred, and Tonks, and Remus, and Colin Creevy, waved in front of him. He saw Lavender Brown falling in slow motion, saw a werewolf attack her. It was stupid. It was so stupid that those people had to die. If he’d just been better, maybe been a little bit smarter at finding horcruxes, they’d still be here.
Harry buried his face in his hands. Neville sat down beside him and began to rub his back. After a couple minutes, Harry hiccupped, “Sorry.”
“No. Don’t ever say that. Don’t ever be sorry, Harry.” Neville continued to rub Harry’s back. It felt good, almost like a massage, and was comforting. “Fucking Malfoy,” he mumbled again.
“It wasn’t Malfoy,” Harry explained. “It was…” he drifted off. “It was Bellatrix LeStrange.”
Neville snorted. “Merlin. Of course it was. Bellatrix at Malfoy Manor. Isn’t that just perfect?”
Harry didn’t know what Neville meant, exactly, by that and didn’t ask. He concentrated more on getting his emotions in check. He hadn’t meant to start sobbing to Neville, hadn’t meant to start sobbing at all, really. “Sorry,” he said again.
“Stop,” Neville ordered him. “Don’t be sorry. Cry if you want to. Merlin knows I spent enough time crying this year.”
It made Harry feel better to hear that. To know that, despite feeling so alone in his mission (Ron and Hermione’s presence notwithstanding), that other people were out there, fighting and working on the side of good and crying over it helped him feel better. “Yeah?” he asked.
Neville nodded, his hands now working entirely over Harry’s back, giving him a deep massage that made Harry want to collapse it felt so glorious. It felt so good, he could barely concentrate on the faces of the dead. “Where’d you learn to do this?” he asked.
Neville laughed softly. “It was something we’d do for each other this past year. In the room of requirement. Tension was high and….this helped.”
“God,” Harry murmured, closing his eyes into it. “You know the Room is ruined, right?”
Neville stopped massaging. “What?” he asked fiercely. “ What?” he repeated.
Harry turned around. “Goyle set off Fiendfyre. It took the whole room down, and Goyle with it.”
“No.” Neville said firmly. “No, no, no. That room isn’t gone. It can’t be.”
“I saw it Neville. I don’t think it can come back from Fiendfyre,” Harry explained.
Neville looked furious and stood up quickly, “Let’s go. You need to show me.”
“All right,” Harry agreed. He and Neville pulled their clothes on and left the bathroom. Everyone in the dormitory was still asleep, so they tiptoed quietly through, down the stairs and through the common room. The fat lady’s portrait had been blasted off the wall, leaving a gaping hole.
The entire castle was quiet. Harry felt as though he and Neville were the only people awake. The destruction was incredible. Large chunks of the castle walls were missing, showing a gorgeous spring day. The rising sun was glinting off the lake, and flowers were beginning to pop out around Hagrid’s hut. Harry and Neville climbed to the seventh floor.
This floor had taken a brunt of the force. The floor was rubbly and even missing in some spots. Harry and Neville had to climb over knocked down pillars and jumbles of knights. He feared that they would knock loose a piece of building and find a body underneath, but they managed to make it to the hallway without encountering another person - living or dead.
The door to the room of requirement was still there, and as Harry and Neville approached it, the heat from the inferno on the other side was radiating out. Neville placed his hands against the door. Harry looked at him, worried. But Neville appeared calm.
“Let’s clear some space,” he said, pointing his wand at the floor and moving rubble to the side. Harry pitched in, and after a few minutes, they had a space of about ten feet in front of the door. “Let me work on this,” Neville said.
Harry nodded and stepped back. He watched as Neville screwed up his face in concentration and stared at the door. He took a deep breath, and began to pace slowly in front of the door. The look on his face slowly changed from intense concentration to a relaxed state. He continued to march in front of the wall, and Harry realized that Neville was in an almost trance-like state. It was an amazing thing to watch, Neville being so magically connected to the room.
Sure enough, after a few passes, the large stone door that held off the Fiendfyre-engulfed room, slowly disappeared. Another few passes later and a new door appeared. This one wooden and painted bright red with a large brass lion doorknocker. Neville shook his head, and came out of his trance. He placed his hands to the door and looked at Harry. “It’s cool.”
Harry set his hand next to Neville’s and was shocked to feel the cool smooth wood. He could tell, before the door was even opened, that there was no fire burning behind it.
Neville grasped the handle and pushed. He and Harry entered the room. Harry didn’t know what Neville was concentrating on, but the room had morphed into a small square with a stone floor and a stone fireplace along one wall, two white marble statues of nude male forms on either side. Much of the room was taken up by a large, luxurious four-poster bed.
“Er…” Neville drifted off, his face had turned bright red. “Right. So I guess the room still works.”
Harry glanced around, and said quickly. “Yeah.” He wasn’t thinking about the decor, so much. He was thinking that this was a good sign; if the Room of Requirement was so easy to fix, there was hope for the rest of the wizarding world. He sat down on the bed and gathered his emotions.
“You alright?” Neville asked.
“I’m just…” Harry drifted off. “I’m really pleased about the room.”
Neville smiled and sat next to Harry. “Me too.”
They sat in companionable silence for a few moments before Harry looked at Neville and smiled, “Let’s go start work on the rest of the castle.”