Day One
It’s Neville, of all people, who tells them to go home. But, of course, it would be Neville if Harry thinks about it.
We’ve always been tied together, he thinks with almost a chuckle. It could have been Neville who had to spend a year searching for Horcruxes, and Harry could have stepped up to clean up the aftermath. But Voldemort chose him. He had died, and Neville lived. So, he thinks glumly, surveying the wreckage of Hogwarts, I suppose I can let him take care of it.
He waits in the courtyard, Hermione holding his hand. Bill and Arthur keep popping in and out, apparating everyone back home to the Burrow. No one pushed when he insisted he be last, except for Hermione, who said she’d stay with him.
A loud crack whips through the air.
“Alright, you two,” Arthur smiles at them. “Let’s get you home,”
Home. Harry winces, taking one final look at the remains of his real home behind him. He sighs, taking Bill’s arm. Home…
They appear in the Burrow’s garden, and the fresh air almost hurts. Hermione grabs his hand immediately, refusing to let go of him. Ron is waiting by the door, clearly anxious that they were out of sight. When they walk up, he places his arm around Harry’s shoulders, pulling him close.
“We’re going upstairs,” Ron says firmly to whoever is in the kitchen.
“I’ve already made a bed for Hermione in Ginny’s room,” Molly offers kindly. She’s already bustling around the stove, clearly prepared to manage everyone's grief the only way she knows.
“Mum,” Ron says. She studies the three of them for a minute.
“Feel free to move it,” she adds as if that’s what she meant to say all along. Harry knows tomorrow, she’ll try to change their minds.
He follows along numbly as they guide him upstairs, Ron leading, Hermione almost pushing. They deposit him in Ron’s room, and he stands in the middle, still numb to the world.
“Harry,” Hermione says gently. “You should shower,”
“I should-” his breath catches. “I-I don’t,” The room seems to spin and he feels like he’ll pass out. Ron steps up behind him, anchoring him against his chest.
“I got him,” he murmurs to her, and she nods, turning away before Harry can see her cry.
“I’m sorry,” Harry whispers as Ron guides him into the bathroom.
“Harry, look at me,” he insists, and he does because it’s Ron. They meet eyes, and he smiles at him… how can he smile? “I don’t want to hear that again, alright mate? You have nothing to be sorry for,”
“Okay,” he says hoarsely. Ron turns the water on, and the old creaky shower sputters to life, a sound he’s heard a hundred times. Harry tries to lift his arms, to shrug off his jacket, but his limbs feel like they don’t belong to him. “I- Ron, I can’t-”
“It’s okay,” he says softly. “Just- just tell me if you’re uncomfortable, okay?”
Harry nods, unsure what he means, but he’s too tired to care. Then, it's obvious as Ron maneuvers around him in the tiny bathroom, first tugging off his tattered jacket and then bending down to tug off the dirt-smeared sneakers. His socks are next, and for some reason, it makes him tighten. Ron looks up at him in panic, but Harry doesn’t say a word, so he continues.
“I can’t remember the last time I wasn't wearing shoes,” Harry murmurs, forcing himself to explain.
“Me either,” Ron sighs. “Even in the tent, I-” he chuckles. “I’d cast a waterproof charm on them, just in case we had to run,”
“Me too,” Harry whispers, grateful it wasn’t just him.
“We should go stand in the garden, barefoot,” he says as he tugs Harry’s shirt off. “When we’re ready,”
It’s such a wise idea, something that sounds so healthy and normal that it makes him stare at Ron in wonder. “Mione’s rubbing off on you,”
“‘Bout time I learned from that woman,” Then his hands are at Harry’s belt, and he knows it’s crossing a line, even for them, but it’s like his body has given up on him. He stares at the ceiling, feeling utterly humiliated, but then it’s over, and Ron’s pushing him into the water.
He steps under the stream, and even though they’ve been standing here, it’s cold, and he freaks. Flashes of the frozen pond pound against the inside of his skull.
“Whoah, whoah,” Ron yelps, tugging him back. He casts a charm on the water, setting it to steaming hot. “Ease yourself into it, Harry, it’s okay,”
He stares at the water, feeling like he’s staring down death again, even though he knows it will make him feel better. Ron sighs.
“Alright, hold on,”
“No- no,” Harry stammers as Ron strips his clothes off. “I can- I should try-”
“You did try,” Ron insists, stepping in the shower behind him and pulling the curtain closed. “And I mucked it up by forgetting to check the water. You know how this shower is,”
Harry stares at the ceiling again.
“Here, let me round,” Ron mutters, gently pushing Harry against the tile wall to step into the water. “We can stay here as long as you need, okay?”
“Okay,” Harry mutters, refusing to look at him. Ron starts to wash himself, his arms splashing water onto Harry as he scrubs his hair. He can’t lie that the tiny points of warmth feel nice, make him feel alive... And then it hits him. “Ron,” he chokes out.
“Yeah, mate?”
He finally looks down from the ceiling. “I died,”
Ron’s eyes go wide. He hadn't told them yet what really happened. He let them think that he hadn’t actually died, that some magic had faked it. He hadn’t said much since he killed Voldemort, actually.
“What- you- Harry,” Ron splutters. “You actually died?”
Harry nods, once again feeling like he’s going to pass out. He tries to raise a hand to the wall to steady himself. Ron’s voice goes muffled. He knows he’s calling to him, but he can’t quite hear him.
Then there are arms around him and skin and warmth, and he zones back into reality. He doesn’t know if he’s crying or there’s just water pouring down his face. Ron holds him tight, and Harry can hear again.
“You’re alive,” Ron mutters. “Just focus on the water, yeah? You can feel the hot water, Harry, that means you’re alive,”
“Okay,” he chokes out in a sob.
“You’re alive,” Ron repeats, though this time it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself.
It takes a long time, longer than it should have, to finish. Ron let Harry slowly inch into the water before feeling like it was safe to scrub him down. It caused a fight in his brain, letting his best friend take care of him like this, but his body seemed to give him no other choice. It refuses to move an inch unless Ron guides him.
When they return to Ron’s room, Hermione is nowhere to be found, and Harry panics.
“She’s probably in Ginny’s bathroom,” Ron assures him, guiding Harry to sit on the bed. “We’re safe here. It’s okay,”
Harry nods, biting his lip. Ron pokes his head into the hall and murmurs something to someone passing by before returning to Harry’s side.
“Here,” Ron says, pulling one of his old jumpers over Harry’s head. One that Ron had long grown too tall for, but it still fits Harry’s smaller frame.
“I’m here,” Hermione gasps, rushing into the room, her hair tossed in a towel. “I thought I’d be done before-”
“It’s alright, love,” Ron says gently. “We just got done,”
Hermione raises an eyebrow at the word ‘we’ and Ron’s wet hair but says nothing. She just walks over to Harry and steps between his legs, pulling his head against her stomach. He takes in a long breath; she smells like cinnamon.
“Harry,” Ron says tentatively, shutting the door. Harry can hear him mutter their usual spells, which is just habit at this point. “I think you need to tell Hermione,”
“Tell me what?” she asks, looking between them concerned.
“I-” he takes a shaky breath. “I died ‘Mione, like actually-”
“I know,” she murmurs, pulling him in tighter. “I know you did,”
“You knew?” Ron asks her.
“I knew,” she says simply.
“Shit,” Ron grumbles. “I didn’t think- when you said- I just thought there was a chance and that he did, but then it was fine, and I thought that he hadn’t at all,”
“No,” Hermione says, with that same fond tone she used when Ron got the homework wrong. “No, for it to die… well, it had to be real this time,”
Harry looks at her in wonder. How had she known when he had no clue? No idea what would be required of him until moments before it happened?
“But how is he… I mean, he’s here,”
“I’m here,” Harry agrees, his voice muffled by Hermione’s shirt. “I- I don’t want to talk about it right now. But I will,”
“We know you will,” Hermione says softly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I think you need sleep,”
He glances over at his little camping cot, the one he always sleeps on here, and he can’t bear it.
“I don’t want-” he chokes. “Nightmares,”
“I’ll take care of it,” Hermione assures him. He looks up at her and can’t bear the heartbreak on her face. “I’ll take care of you,”
He nods, and she pulls him to his feet, passing him carefully to Ron. She transfigures Ron’s bed into one big enough for three, shrinking the camping cot to make room. She summons extra pillows and blankets before turning over the comforter and gesturing for Harry to lie down. Ron helps him into the middle of the bed while she digs around in her purse, looking for who knows what.
“Shit,” she mutters, and they both look at her in surprise. “All the potions spilled,”
“Mum should have some,” Ron sighs. “Three Dreamless Sleeps?”
“Yes, please,” Hermione sighs, smiling at him grateful. “And maybe a calming draught,” she adds, eyeing Harry’s anxious face.
“Harry,” Ron says firmly, looking him in the eye. “I’m going to get the potions, and then I’m coming straight back. Hermione is here. You’re safe,”
“You’re alright, love,” Hermione whispers, tucking under the sheets beside him. She pulls his head into her lap, stroking his wet hair as he watches the door like a hawk. There’s a crash of glass, making them both jump.
“I'M OKAY!” Ron’s voice bellows up the stairs. He appears a moment later, carrying several bottles and a plate of food. “Mum tried handing me more than I could carry.” He hands the bottles to Hermione to dish out before setting the plate on his bedside table.
“Oh,” Harry mutters. “I’ll scoot over so you can-”
But he’s cut off by Ron sliding in behind him, pulling the blankets over the three of them. Hermione hands him a potion, and he takes it, then another. The effect is immediate, making him drowsy and hazy.
They settle on either side of him. Hermione pulls him close to her chest, Ron scooting in until he’s pressed firmly against Harry’s back, their hands clasped over his side. He wants to ask them things, tell them things, but now’s not the time. Now he just sleeps.