Painted Walls
Seated in front of Molly and Arthur, Harry stared blankly between the two.
Summer had begun to wilt, the chosen one spending most of it at the Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix with the Weasleys while the Burrow was being refurbished.
The walls were repainted that afternoon, the smell burning Harry’s nose. He had pitched in with Arthur and Molly, all still practically covered from head to toe in paint.
In just four days, he would be returning to for his eighth year of Hogwarts, a decision he struggled to make on his own. If Ron and Hermione weren’t joining him, he almost wouldn’t have decided to return.
Tea cups and a kettle had been placed in the middle of the table, a small tray of crumpets beside them. The couches were still draped in plastic covers to protect from the light blue paint, making them extremely uncomfortable.
Ron’s parents had asked Harry to join them for the day, while their son took his girlfriend out with their siblings. They said it was of urgent matter that they speak to him, and so he complied.
“Harry, dear, you know Arthur and I love you like our own,” Molly said sweetly, sipping a cup of tea.
“We know the war affected you greatly-“It affected everyone greatly, not just me,” Harry argued, a sort of defense mechanism clicking into place.
“We understand that, Harry. But we’re worried for you, we’ve been talking about options for how we can help,” Arthur says calmly, trying not to escalate the situation further.
“We think you should see a psychiatrist.”
What? They had to be joking. No way in hell. “I understand your concern,” Harry fibbed through gritted teeth, “but I’m not going to a psychiatrist.”
“Well if not a physiatrist, then at least see a mind healer,” Arthur suggested.
“Harry, we’re just trying to help,” Molly protested. Harry shot up from his seat, “No muggle psychiatrist would be able to listen to what I endured this past year, they would think I’ve gone mad. Bloody hell, I’d be sent to a psych ward!”
“Harry Potter, I will not tolerate this degradation of yourself, stop it at once,” Arthur rebutdtaled.
Harry sat back down on the uncomfortable couch once more, feeling a lump burn in his throat. His own makeshift family believes he’s broken, that he needs fixing.
It stung.
“Just consider it, sweetheart, we’re only trying to help,” Molly said sweetly, a sad smile on her lips.
Before the conversation could drive any further, Ron burst through the door. Into the room followed Hermione and the other Weasleys, all carrying shopping bags and laughing with each other.
“Mate, we got you something,” Ron smiled, sitting next to Harry on the couch. He pulled out a bag of chocolate frogs.
Harry thanked him lightly, before trudging up the stairs to his room. He needed sometime alone, he could barely get any of it with the amount of people in the small house.
He walked into the room Sirius once owned, it always stung to step through the doorway. He had begun packing for Hogwarts, yet refused to finish.
He stretched out on his bed, unable to shake away the conversation he’d just experienced. A psychiatrist? No way.
He wasn’t ready to return to Hogwarts, to see so many people he thought he could forget, to relieve so many memories.
A thought strolled into his mind, one he’d never imagined he’d be curious about. Was Draco Malfoy going to return to Hogwarts?
It was an odd question, and he wasn’t even sure why he was asking it. He didn’t even know if Draco was alive, the last he’d seen of him, he was running off with his mother. It was saddening to wonder what may have happened to him.
It didn’t seem likely for the Slytherin to return for eighth year, he was incredibly smart and was sure to get an excellent job in the wizarding world.
Harry couldn’t divulge into the thought any longer, being interrupted by a knock on his door. “Harry? It’s Hermione, may I come in?”
Harry unlocked the door, Hermione peering in. She seemed to be walking on eggshells, it bothered Harry. He knew he’d lost a good amount of his decency after the war, but he wished his friends would realize he still cared for them more than anything.
Hermione sat down next to Harry on the bed, a troubled expression on her face. “How are you feeling today?”
Harry shrugged, “As well as I can be, I suppose.” He watched her eyebrows furrow, not acccepting his response. She walked over to Harry’s suitcase, using her wand to help sort out the mess of clothes and other belongings.
His mouth spoke before he could stop himself, “Mione, do you think I’m broken?”
“Broken? Whatever do you mean,” She asked, turning over her shoulder with a protective scowl.
He didn’t want to explain his reasoning, yet once again his mouth betrayed him. “Molly and Arthur, they.. they think I need help, a psychiatrist, therapy of some sort.”
Hermione sighed, tilted her head while she thought. “I’m not sure Harry, I think it would definitely help, but it’s your decision.”
He wasn’t pleased with her response, but he wasn’t disappointed either. Hermione relinquished her attempt at helping Harry pack, instead walking over to him and wrapping her arms around him tightly.
The hug was almost too good to be true. Harry would never admit that physical touch was his one true weakness, the only thing that softened him up. He hugged her back, feeling a lump burn in his throat.
“Mione?” Ron yelled from downstairs. Hermione broke the embrace, peaking outside the doorway. “What is it, Ronald?”
“Just wondering where you were,” Ron teased with a cheeky smile. Harry watched as Hermione blushed, rolling her eyes.
By now, the redhead whisked up the stairs and entered Harry’s room, joining the two of them. He placed a kiss on Hermione’s temple, an arm around her waist.
Harry felt an empty pit in his stomach, his eyes darting to the ground. Of course he was happy to see Ron and Hermione so harmonized, after all their years of ignoring their feelings, it was such a relief when they got over their stubborn pride and admitted it to one another. But his mouth tasted of jealousy.
He had tried to salvage his relationship with Ginny after the war, but it had completely numbed him. She had understood, acting upon her secret feelings for Luna when the time was right. Harry was thankful for Ginny’s kindness, even after their past, yet something felt missing. He knew he wasn’t ready or even able to have a sort of connection or a relationship with anyone, and that was alright. He didn’t want one, at least he thought he didn’t. Yet something still felt off.
The evening whisked by, Harry eating little to no dinner as usual.