chapter one
[ those late sleepless nights itched and itched and itched… ]
“Harry, you haven’t been responding to our owls. What’s going on?” Hermione asked, her voice quiet. They were in the middle of the Great Hall, adding some last touches to the spacious room. McGonagall (“Call me Minnie, Harry. We’re far beyond student and teacher.” “Of course - uh.. - Minnie.”) had called them in to help finish up the castle before the term started, and Harry, the guilt-ridden Gryffindor, came in not too soon after the floo call.
“Nothing’s going on, ‘Mione. I’ve just been busy.”
“Come on, Harry, I know you.”
He sighed, finished with the “Reparo!” used on a persistent hole. He turned to Hermione, his green eyes connecting with hazel ones. He looked over her face, looking at the small scar on her chin, then at her bronze cheekbones, and back to her eyes. He couldn’t find a reason to react how she wanted him to.
“Hermione, I’m okay. I’ve seriously been busy. You know I have been.” He kept looking at her, urging her to ask again. He knew she would. They always do.
“But Harry, you’re not-” She sighed with exasperation, turning her body to face him fully. “You’re not okay. You’re so much different now!”
He was different? He could have scoffed at that. Of course, he was bloody different, he murdered a man and hasn’t been the same since. Hell, he could be blamed for the death of many. That does things to people. He wasn’t going to even try to answer her. With a raised eyebrow aimed at her, he turned to go to the room that was off to the side near the front of the Hall. The room was once a cozy place, but it felt cold without the fire. Without the people. Without…
(Without the magic that danced and thrived and skirted around everyone who passed through the room to get a taste of the life it gave.)
“Harry,” she started again, following him into the room. “Please. I can’t keep doing this with you. Ron and I have been worried about you. We’re your friends. Please-”
“Merlin, Hermione, just drop it.” He snapped, a groan accompanying his words. He’s heard this tune before. He stood still, frowning a bit before adding on softly because he knew he needed to be nice, “I’m okay.”
She was going to fight the request, he could imagine her rising to the task, but she stopped. Curly hair bounced lightly as she returned to a standing position, back from the defensive form. With a heavy, heavy sigh, she nodded. “Okay, Harry. Just know we’re here for you.”
“I know, Hermione. I know.” He looked back at her, offering a smile to help reassure her. He gestured towards the lopsided sofa, ignoring the burn marks that covered most of it. “Help me out with this?”