Reparations
August 7th
The routines on the ranch were… comforting, really.
Harry had to wake up at six and take a two-minute shower before brushing his hair and his teeth. His first work rotation of the day was cleaning the ranch house with Trent and Spencer, something Harry didn't mind doing at all. If they didn't help clean, then they weren't allowed to eat breakfast.
So it was sort of just like the Dursley's house, except Harry hadn't missed a meal yet.
After breakfast, Harry either did ‘life skills' in small groups with the others, or they did ‘peer led therapy'. Peer led therapy seemed bloody pointless to Harry the first time. Was the Doctor really too busy to run a therapy group? Then, in their first meeting, Harry decided he liked it. It was nice, hearing other people talk about the things that Harry dealt with. It made him feel less alone, less unique.
Before lunch, everyone had to spend thirty minutes writing in their journal. Harry didn't particularly enjoy writing his thoughts or feelings in a book, anyone could pick it up and read it at any time, but it wasn't torture or anything.
After lunch, Harry spent two hours in the library with Regulus and an older bloke, Tony Stark. Tony was a bit of a laugh, he reminded Harry of Sirius - always trying to crack jokes, even while he might have been hurting on the inside. Regulus never talked to Harry during that time and Harry was pretty sure he avoided him outside of Harry's rotation with him.
Someone always had a meeting with Morris after that work rotation, so the rest of them either had smaller life skill groups or a group meeting, whichever one they didn't do in the morning. When they finished with that, Harry and Malfoy took their turn in the kitchen with Charlie.
Harry didn't mind cooking, it was even kind of fun to do with Charlie. Charlie was a great cook, he reminded Harry of Molly in that way, and they had a good time in the kitchen. Even Malfoy's sour face wasn't enough to make it too terrible of an hour.
They all ate dinner together before splitting up for their last rotation. That was when Harry had to go outside and take care of the animals with Taylor and Billy. Billy was a bit odd, he definitely cursed and scowled a lot, but Harry thought he secretly seemed to like taking care of the animals.
Harry wasn't very good with the animals, it was awkward. Harry had never milked a cow or ran horses before, but Taylor was patient with him and swore that Harry would get better at it with time.
At the end of the night, Harry and the others were allowed to have ‘personal time'. Some of the others that had been there longer had things they messed with during that time; music players, playing cards, books. Harry didn't have the ‘privilege of owning material possessions' yet, so he mostly chatted with the others.
It was easy to follow a routine, to be told when to wake up and when to eat meals. Harry didn't have to decide what to wear, he only had three outfits. Harry didn't have to choose what to eat, he didn't even have time in his day to think too much, it was comforting.
"You've got to be kidding," Sam said when Harry mentioned that he liked the routines. They had nothing to do other than watch the others have ‘personal time', so they'd been playing ‘rock, paper, scissors' to pass time.
"It's the routine that's going to make me go crazy," Sam said.
"Studies actually show individuals who have experienced significant trauma often develop rigid routines as a coping mechanism. Predictability provides a sense of control in an otherwise chaotic world. In fact, the brain's hippocampus, which is responsible for processing memories and emotions, can shrink due to prolonged stress, making familiarity and routine essential for emotional regulation."
Harry's paper hand froze in midair and he looked at Spencer, so did all of the others. Spencer didn't seem to mind the silence at first, but after a minute he looked up from his book. Spencer looked at Harry, then the others, and Harry could see him actually shrinking behind his book.
"Sorry," Spencer told Harry quickly. "I only meant that for some people, like us, routines can be comforting. It's why they're so rigidly followed in rehabilitation and residential centers."
"That's okay," Harry said just as fast. It didn't bother Harry, it was interesting to hear about why he liked the routine, even if Harry only understood about half of it. Spencer's habit of spouting off relevant facts reminded Harry of Hermione; it made him homesick, if only for his friends.
"So what's the psychological reason for why some people hate routines?" Sam asked Spencer, their game forgotten.
Spencer glanced around at the others, who were all watching him, and he lifted one of his shoulders in a shrug.
"Well, it depends on the individual's experiences, but people who grew up in unstable or abusive environments often associate routines with control, usually someone else's control. If a child's routine was dictated by an unpredictable or abusive authority figure, they might grow up equating structure with restriction or punishment. In those cases, rejecting routine becomes an act of autonomy, a way to reclaim personal freedom. It's not that they necessarily hate routine itself, but rather what it represented in their formative years."
That was also interesting, and a bit sad. Harry looked at Sam quickly to catch his reaction, but he only saw a muscle in Sam's jaw twitch as he glared at the empty corner of the room. Harry didn't think anyone was there because they were normal, and Morris said there were really specific criteria that got them accepted, so he wondered what happened to Sam to make him hate routines.
Aside from seeing the devil, which Sam didn't talk about but Harry heard him having whispered conversations with him at night.
"The Man controls the routine and only the rebels break free from it," Eddie muttered with his eyes closed and his head tipped back against the wall.
"Routine keeps people alive," Taylor said, smoothing over the comment Eddie made. "When you're in the service, you follow routines until it becomes muscle memory. It's how you stay alive in the field."
"I don't see how waking up at five am keeps you alive," Tony said. "You guys do know that wars are fought at nighttime too, right?"
"You're shitting me," Taylor said, sounding too surprised to be genuine. "The Iraqis always put their guns up when the sun set. You're telling me some people don't?"
"I know, right?" Tony nodded. "Those nighttime fighters are just animals."
Bucky, who never talked much that Harry heard, snorted lightly at Tony's joke. It didn't seem to soften Tony toward him at all, it actually looked like it pissed him off.
"Historically, battles were almost always held during the day," Spencer said. "It's only with the development of wartime technology that battles could be held during the night. Though," Spencer chuckled, "the Battle of Wauhatchie is a notable exception."
Spencer was grinning like he made a joke, nobody else grinned though so Harry laughed. Harry didn't have the faintest what Spencer was talking about, but he just reminded Harry too much of Hermione to not at least force a laugh.
Sam lifted his eyebrows at Harry and Harry shrugged lightly.
"Did you all fight in fucking wars?" Billy asked, looking through the room at each of them. "Did I miss the draft?"
Harry looked at the others too - Taylor was in a muggle war, Harry picked that up before when he said that he lost his leg in a war. Harry fought a war, Malfoy was in a war. Charlie… Harry stared hard at him and tried to remember what he did during the war.
Charlie glanced up from his book when he must have felt Harry staring and he grinned tiredly.
"I tried to get Kingsley to weaponize dragons," he told Harry, accurately guessing Harry's unasked question. "Then I spent a fair bit of time helping evacuate muggleborns."
"Oh, sorry," Harry said.
"I fought a war against demons," Sam said after a beat of silence. "I don't think it was a draft though."
"Demons?" Billy asked. "Is that bullshit psychology talk or do you mean actual demons like Suzie Sunday preaches about?"
Sam probably meant—
"Actual demons from hell," Sam said, much too casually. "I don't think it's really a war though, more like a lifelong fight."
That was… kind of brilliant, actually. Harry assumed when Sam said he wasn't a wizard that he was a normal bloke with some problems. But Harry had never even seen a demon before, he only ever read about them in a defense book Sirius bought him for Christmas one year.
"Which do you think is harder to kill," Malfoy asked Regulus abruptly, "the Dark Lord or a demon?"
Harry started to scowl, because demons never had—
"Demons don't have horcruxes, so I would wager that the Dark Lord is the more impressive kill," Regulus said. His eyes flickered to Harry's like a punch to the gut, he looked so much like Sirius.
"What a horcrux?" Spencer asked, his head swiveling as he looked between Malfoy and Regulus and Harry. "Harry?"
Regulus was still looking at Harry with Sirius's eyes and he died, he died in that cave. Sirius died in the veil, Regulus died in the cave. Why was Regulus alive with the Dark Mark exposed on his forearm and Sirius was gone?
"I need some air," Harry muttered, scrambling to his feet to get outside. Harry wasn't supposed to be outside by himself, he hadn't earned it yet, but if he sat in that room for another second he was going to be sick.
It kept circling in his head - Sirius's brother, RAB. Sirius mourned him, Harry finished the mission he started. When Harry had to give an account of the war, Harry called Regulus a hero, Harry demanded that Regulus Black be honored as a fighter against Voldemort for the war. His name was etched into the monument, right beside Sirius's.
And he wasn't dead, he didn't even age. Regulus Black should have been in his late thirties, but he looked Harry's age.
Harry scratched at his arms, raking his nails down his scars, and tried to use the pain to clear his mind. It didn't make any sense and Regulus wouldn't talk to Harry, he wouldn't explain anything.
"You're going to bleed and I don't think they have a nurse on staff."
An inferi grabbed Harry's wrists and pulled on them, tried to pull him in the lake where RAB drowned. Harry didn't have his wand, he didn't have any fire, he was going to drown and return to life in twenty years with no explanation.
Then Harry was slapped, hard, and the shock and dull pain of that helped. The fog and Dumbledore's cries and the broken green bodies of the inferi slowly faded until Harry was staring at tired brown eyes.
"Are you with me?" Sam asked.
Harry looked down and saw that Sam had both of his wrists in one hand before he nodded slowly.
"Yeah," Harry breathed. "I'm fine."
The carefully stacked silver scars on Harry's arms were red and streaked with scratches from his own nails. One of them had a spot of blood, just a single blood drop, oozing from it.
"Thanks," Harry said when Sam let go of his wrist. Harry was spiraling, that was what Hermione called it. It felt like a spiral, like a dizzying trip downward that only ended in red.
"Don't mention it," Sam said. "Seriously, I might lose food for a week if they find out I hit you."
Harry touched his cheek where it was throbbing a bit; he pushed his finger against it and looked around. He'd been so fixated on Regulus that he didn't even notice how far he had walked, they were clear by the pasture behind the barn. Harry could see the cows looking at him with their big eyes, silently judging Harry and whispering their insults.
Get it together, freak.
"What's the deal with you and Regulus?" Sam asked after he leaned against the wooden fence. "I picked up the whole wizard connection thing, but I can't figure out the rest of it. Did you guys date or something? Get high together?"
Harry huffed a mirthless laugh and shifted around so he could lean against the fence beside him, out of the view of the cows. Harry could see the house like that, he could see someone standing on the porch, probably Billy judging by the stream of smoke.
"He's my godfather's brother," Harry said, hoping if he explained that it would somehow make sense. "He died, twenty years ago."
Sam whistled lowly. "He looks good for a dead guy."
"It's complicated," Harry hedged. "I don't even know what the truth of it is."
Maybe Sam didn't want to know, maybe he was only outside with Harry to be kind. He didn't say anything for a minute anyway, it was enough that he stood beside Harry while Harry tried to reason through it all.
"I died," Sam said quietly. "I sacrificed myself to trap Lucifer and I died. My soul spent an eternity in Hell with him and - and, you know, I remember it all. Every day of it. And when I try to forget, Lucifer pops up to remind me of it."
That… wow.
"Now I feel like a prat," Harry said lightly. "When I died, I just spent an hour in a train station."
Sam's head whipped to the side and his eyebrows were so high that Harry couldn't even see them. It was his look of surprise that made Harry grin a bit, it grew to a full smile when Sam grinned.
"So we both get complicated," Sam laughed. "And, you know, the good doctor told me that I'm supposed to be ‘building relationships with my peers'," Sam said, with the finger quotes. "I'm pretty sure there's nothing you can tell me that I haven't heard weirder."
Yeah, Harry thought that too until he saw Regulus Black.
"Alright, well, it's a long story anyway," Harry said. He breathed in slowly and tried to decide where it started as he exhaled. "There was this wizard, Voldemort…"
Harry didn't get into the hard details, he tried to keep it as emotionless as his auror reports had been. Harry didn't talk about how scared he'd been in the cave or how much the true locket hurt him. Harry mentioned Sirius as briefly as he could, leaving out how great it had been to have a family in him and what it felt like to lose him.
It still had Harry's insides twisted when he finished, only saying that Voldemort had died after the horcruxes were all destroyed.
"God damn," Sam swore. "I can't believe there was a whole magical war happening for years…"
"We didn't exactly advertise in the papers," Harry said wryly. "Bit of a secret, magic is."
Sam started to nod, then his eyes caught on a shadow and his brows twitched as he shook his head. It was Lucifer, probably, Harry wished he knew how to help Sam be rid of him.
"No, he couldn't have split his soul," Sam murmured, probably not to Harry. "A body with half of a soul still has to age."
Harry didn't even consider that Regulus, who discovered Voldemort's secret first, could have made his own horcrux. He was clearly intelligent enough, but Sam (or Lucifer?) was right, he should have aged.
"And Regulus won't tell you, because he and Draco were on Voldemort's side," Sam said, a good guess since Harry didn't tell him that. "Alright." Sam blinked and his eyes refocused on Harry while a small grin uncurled across his face.
It was almost a shy smile, something Harry didn't really associate with Sam. Sam was tall and confident and apparently spent an eternity having his soul tortured in Hell…
"I'll interrogate Regulus," Sam said, interrupting Harry's rather ill-timed thoughts.
Hermione had it right - Harry really would find a million things to think of if it meant avoiding some of his other thoughts. Of course, not avoiding those thoughts were what put Harry on the ranch, so Hermione was down by one.
"You can't interrogate him," Harry said. "He won't even talk to me, I'm not sure he'll tell you what happened, no offense."
"Dude." Sam's smile didn't waver for a second, it only grew more confident. "I'm really good at getting information from people." The smile turned into half of a smirk, "I got you to tell me about your war, didn't I?"
Sam had a point there - so he was up by at least one.
Harry didn't expect Sam to take Harry's need for answers like a personal challenge, but that's what Sam did. It helped that Regulus was his buddy, so he couldn't avoid Sam as effectively as he did Harry.
Harry focused on his own routine the next morning, he even felt a little more energized after talking with Sam late into the night. They tried to include Eddie and Bucky in their conversation since they had all earned beds in a bedroom they shared.
Bucky didn't talk though and Eddie had a strange habit of spacing out in the middle of a sentence ever since his first night with Doctor Morris. It was easier to talk with Sam, who had encountered much more of the magical world than Harry thought a muggle could have.
It was nice to have someone to talk with who didn't make Harry think of fire or death, someone who wasn't convicted to Azkaban for crimes that Harry himself had been forgiven for committing.
Harry was starting to think that maybe Kingsley had it right, maybe Harry did need some time away from everything to get his head on straight. Harry could follow the routines, get to know the others more, maybe leave and feel like a whole new person.
It sounded mental, but Harry had heard crazier things.
The night after Harry and Sam talked was the first night in probably years that Harry didn't have a nightmare. Harry managed to sleep through the whole night without potions or a drink. It made him almost giddy and he was quick to mention it in his session with Doctor Morris the next day.
"That's wonderful!" Morris cried, beaming proudly at Harry. "You would be amazed, Harry, how much good fresh air and physical work can be for many of my clients. When your body is dysregulated on sleep, other systems become dysregulated as well. A night of natural sleep can make a man feel like a new person."
"That's how I feel," Harry said. "Sort of more like myself - or more like who I used to be? I dunno. I just feel good today."
"I couldn't be happier," Morris said. "I gathered that you were a rather introverted soul before, how do you think you've handled being made to constantly interact with others?"
"Fine, I think," Harry said. "I, er - I dunno if they mind me or not, but most of them are fine."
"Who would you say is the exception to that statement?"
That was easy —
"Malfoy," Harry said. "We didn't really get on in school and, well… we never really had to talk before. So it's a bit odd."
"Is it difficult being around Draco because you feel guilty?" Morris asked. Harry wasn't sure that was exactly it, but he pushed more. "Albus offered second chances and you never offered Draco a first chance," he said. "You had to know the severe state of fear and stress he lived in, but you did nothing to help him. You stood idly by while Draco was abused, not unlike how others did you as a child."
Harry had to swallow when his eyes stung, because he was right, wasn't he? Harry saw Malfoy being forced to torture others, he saw him being tortured. Harry would probably never forget Malfoy on the night when Dumbledore died, crying because Voldemort was going to kill his mum if he didn't kill Dumbledore.
Dumbledore offered Malfoy a chance then, his protection. Harry… Harry just thought that if he ended Voldemort, it would save Malfoy the same way it would Harry.
"You see yourself as a hero, but your heroics are limited," Morris said. "Did you feel he didn't deserve your help? Did you let a schoolboy's rivalry neglect a young man in need of help?"
"I don't know," Harry whispered thickly, burning inside from shame. It all - it all happened so fast, all of it. The war lasted for years but it seemed to have passed by in quick flashes, moments where decisions had to be made in an instant.
"Draco was sentenced to Azkaban for crimes that you yourself committed," Morris went on while Harry fought the urge to cover his ears. "Did it make you happy to see him locked away in the place where your own godfather spent years unfairly? Did it feel like a victory? You left him there, Harry, a child! You left him just as others left your godfather! Sirius died, did you hope Draco would die as well?"
Harry shook his head when his voice failed him. It wasn't like that, it wasn't. Hermione spoke at Malfoy's trial, she spoke on behalf of Harry since he couldn't make himself go. Hermione told the court what Malfoy did, the small moments of rebellion where he helped Harry.
It wasn't Harry's fault he was convicted, that couldn't rest on Harry's shoulders. It - he…
"I could have done more," Harry admitted, a shameful and miserable admission. While Harry had been busy falling apart, Malfoy had been sent to Azkaban.
"You never once worried about what Draco had to go through," Morris said, sounding so terribly disappointed in Harry. "You weren't a hero, Harry, you were selfish. You still are."
Was he? Harry heard about his flaws a million times in his life, sometimes he read about them in the news. Nobody ever called Harry selfish, but they never had the whole story either.
"Say it now," Morris said. Harry didn't understand what he was asking, his fingernails were desperately digging in his arms to find purchase, pain, anything to remind Harry where he was.
"‘I'm not a hero'," Morris said, his eyes rightfully disgusted with Harry. "‘I'm selfish'."
Harry had to dig his nails in as far as they could go, until he felt the warm blood pooling, before he could make himself say it.
"I'm not a hero. I'm selfish."
"Again," Morris demanded.
"I'm not a hero. I'm selfish."
"Say it until you believe it, Harry. Say it until you feel the weight of it inside. You have to feel the weight to break free. Say it again."
"I'm not a hero." Harry's voice hitched and Morris's disappointment in him was hidden by blurred vision. "I'm selfish," he said. "I'm not a hero, I'm selfish."
Harry's voice broke at some point and there was a weight on him, pinning him down in place, suffocating him. Harry wasn't a hero, he wasn't. How many people did Harry let down? How many people were still suffering because of Harry's sickening selfishness?
"Shh, it's okay." Morris sat beside Harry and let Harry fall into him, sobbing out his apologies.
"I know," Morris murmured, rubbing Harry's back when Harry needed it, didn't deserve it. "I think you'd do anything to make it up to him, wouldn't you, Harry?"
Make it up to him? How? How could Harry make up what Draco went through?
Harry was nodding though, desperate to do just that. If there was anything Morris thought Harry could do, he'd do it. Harry didn't want to be selfish, he didn't want to be someone who stood silently to the side while others suffered.
"Normally, I would wait to introduce a client to a program of my own invention, but I think you're ready," Morris said. "Do you feel ready, Harry? Ready to take the next step toward reparations?"
"Anything," Harry swore. "Please, I'll do it. Whatever it is."
If Harry had to hit his knees and beg Draco for forgiveness, he would. What was Harry's price when he caused so much suffering? Harry didn't want to be a selfish person, he didn't.
"Come along then," Morris said. He had to help Harry stand when his legs shook, but Harry tried to get ahold of himself on their way out of the office.
Reparations sounded good, like something Hermione would tell Harry to do.
"You have to do the right thing, Harry," she would say. "You need to make reparations."
Harry tried to clear his mind, plan what he was going to say. ‘Sorry' didn't seem like enough, not after what Harry did. Morris didn't take Harry downstairs to the others anyway, he took him into the third room on the top floor.
At first, all Harry could see was white. There weren't any windows, the lights seemed to be built in the ceiling. Harry spun around when the door clicked shut behind him and Morris was gone.
"Doctor Morris?" Harry went to open the door, to see where the doctor went, but there wasn't a handle for him to grab. It was completely smooth, there wasn't anywhere that Harry could grab onto.
There was a crackle in the air, static like a telly had, and then Doctor Morris's voice filled the room.
"I know you want to be good," Morris said, his words bouncing around the room and filling all the spaces. "You want to be a good man, Harry, someone who deserves the accolades he was given by people who don't know him. Right?"
"Right," Harry said quickly, spinning around and trying to find Morris's voice in all the white.
"This is the first step toward that," Morris told him. "The next twenty-four hours are going to be difficult, but I believe that you're ready. You're strong enough, Harry, I believe in you."
"I am," Harry said gratefully, forcing his body to relax. Harry was strong enough. If being alone for twenty-four hours was all he had to do to start being someone selfless, someone who didn't put others through misery, he could do it.
"I'm so proud of you, Harry," Morris said. "I'll be back in twenty-four hours."
Harry breathed slowly and decided to sit, to try the breathing techniques that Trent taught him before. In, out… slowly… in and out…
Twenty-four hours alone was nothing, Harry could do that. Harry would stay calm, think about anyone else he let down, be ready to make things right when he left the room.
And then the lights dimmed and suddenly Harry could see his own breath in the chilly room… the room that became cold enough to cut Harry to the quick, to have him reaching automatically for a wand he didn't have.
When he needed to, Harry couldn't even think of any happy memories, he could only curl up and remind himself that he only had to go through one day of agony, Draco did many more than that.