The first thing they did was get drunk.
Well. Not the first thing, but Harry didn't want to think about the grief and exhaustion roaring through his blood and settling in his bones. He didn't want to think about the destroyed statues and ripped up portraits. Didn't want to join in on the celebrations because yes, they won, but at what cost? They won, but what did they lose in the process?
Everything, his mind supplied for him. You lost everything.
Lupin, Tonks, Fred, Lavender, Colin, and all the other bodies he had yet to discover, lying in the Great Hall, frozen and lifeless. They’re all gone. Gone, for war and a battle and a fucking fight that they shouldn’t have had to worry about because they were kids. Remus and Tonks maybe not so much but they were young and had a kid and Lupin had managed to survive the first war, just not this one. He used up his one lucky card.
So, instead of thinking about this, Ron leads him down to the kitchens, Hermione next to him gripping his hand as if he might escape at any moment. She keeps glancing at him, a concerned expression on his face, but she doesn’t say anything. She simply squeezes his hand, and he does nothing.
He hasn’t slept in 2 days, the only sleep he’s gotten was right after the battle, but that was around a week ago and it’s only been snatches or power naps since then. He hasn’t even closed his eyes to try and sleep for two days, he knows if he lies down now, he’ll never sleep. The dreams and the memories of the battle have been flashing every time he closes his eyes so he doesn’t even want to try. He remembers thinking, right after the battle, that the grief will soon leave and in its place will come to the warmth and the happiness, because Voldemort is dead, shouldn’t that be enough?
But the warmth never comes, and he feels cold and empty, he still feels hollowed out. The closest thing he’s got to happiness is a muted satisfaction running through his veins every time he thinks of Voldemort’s body falling to the ground, and the Elder Wand flying into his hands.
They’ve reached the kitchen now, and once they step inside, Harry feels as if he’s experiencing Dumbledore’s death all over again. It’s completely empty. The shelves are a mess and the cabinets have been left open. The stove is covered in pots and pans and the house tables are strewn with sharp kitchen utensils, probably for some sort of armory. He’s never seen the kitchen this empty, devoid of the chatter of house-elves and sizzling from the stove.
He hates it.
“Maybe we should go,” Ron says hesitantly, looking uncomfortably at Harry, then back to the room.
Clenching his jaw, he lets go of Hermione’s hand. “We came down for firewhiskey, that’s what we’re going to get.”
He begins opening the cupboards and sweeping away the clutter on the countertops. This could be done with magic, but he doesn’t want to do any magic right now. He doesn’t think about the dead house-elves, about Dobby, about anything. He focuses on finding the firewhiskey that will numb him down until he doesn’t need to feel so much anymore.
After a beat, the other two join him and they search the kitchen in silence until Hermione calls out, “Found it!” in a joyous tone. Traipsing over, he finds a stash of firewhiskey bottles. They’re placed neatly in a wooden crate, side by side. He asks Ron to levitate it, and they leave the empty kitchen behind, shutting the portrait silently.
Harry doesn’t have a destination in mind, so he falls behind and waits for Hermione to take charge. She does so without a word, and for that he is grateful. She leads them past the Great Hall, up the steps, and towards the Gryffindor common room. Ron is concentrating on the crate of whiskey and Harry doesn’t feel up to talking, so the journey is completely silent. It’s strange, walking through the halls in silence, all alone. No students, no ghosts, no teachers patrolling the corridors. It’s just Harry, his beating heart that is uncomfortably loud in the quiet, and his two best friends.
He isn’t sure where the rest of his friends are. Ginny’s face comes to mind, his heart thuds louder at the thought of her and her wide grin, missing it like an ache in his chest. He hasn’t talked to her since the battle ended, the empty space where Fred should be has him feeling guilty and she’s been busy, cleaning the halls and gathering the bodies. She’s been helping and Harry has been feeling nothing but guilt and anger, accepting congratulations and removing himself from people as often as he can.
He knows Luna is most likely with Ginny, or with Ravenclaw house. Dean and Seamus were comforting Parvati the last he saw of them, handing her tea and rubbing her back as she mourned her best friend. Hagrid has been helping with cleanup and visiting with Grawp, he sees them out in the grounds. All the teachers have been keeping busy and thankfully none of them have tried to talk to him yet, he isn’t sure he can handle that. The rest of the Weasleys haven’t left the Hall, staying huddled together next to Fred’s body. Harry still has to go and visit them, he has to go visit everyone.
He hasn’t talked to anyone except Ron and Hermione, this past week. People have approached him with tears in their eyes as they shake his hand, and he does his best to smile as he listens to their thank you’s. Most of Gryffindor house and all the older students who came back for the battle have already wished him congratulations and thumped him on the back for defeating Voldemort. It’s only ever been strangers or people he never really knew at Hogwarts. None of his fellow students have come to say hello, and he has a feeling that’s because of Ron and Hermione asking them not to.
He’ll visit tomorrow, Harry decides. He’ll sleep tonight, no matter what happens when he closes his eyes, and then tomorrow, he will talk to his friends and visit the Weasleys. He will do all of this tomorrow.
Right now, he’s walking into the common room and sitting on the floor and staring at the fireplace. It’s empty as well, but that doesn’t surprise him. Everyone is out, busy with cleanup, and reuniting loved ones. Everyone is out being useful.
Except for him.
This lovely train of thought is heading somewhere he’s been about a trillion times already, so he takes a deep breath and shuts his mind off. Accepting the offered bottle from Ron, he takes a swig, and the whiskey burns on the way down. Lifting their bottles at him in the form of a toast, his friends drink too. Hermione begins to talk about the cleaning progress and Ron joins in, but Harry only ever nods or hums in acknowledgment. Talking is on the list of things he doesn’t want to do, and that list is growing very long.
Their conversation cuts off as the portrait swings open and Ginny steps in. Harry hand freezes with the bottle halfway up to his mouth, and his mouth goes dry. She looks as beautiful as ever, but the fire in her eyes seems to have dimmed a little bit. There’s dust all over her face and her blazing red hair is tied back. Her eyes find him almost immediately, and he holds her gaze for a second before quickly turning his head.
Tomorrow, he reminds himself as he feels her eyes boring into the back of his head.
Eventually, she speaks. “Mum’s looking for you Ron, she says to meet her in the Great Hall.”
Ron looks at him, a silent question in his eyes. When he nods, Ron leaves, brushing Ginny’s shoulder as he walks out. After a few seconds, Hermione clears her throat and follows him out, leaving the two of them alone. He still hasn’t said anything, but he kicks the crate with his foot and she takes it as an offer to sit next to him. She drinks and Harry wonders if he should say something about her having butterbeer instead. He decides that there’s no point seeing as she just survived a war, and she would get mad and leave, which is something he doesn’t want.
Silence has never been a normal occurrence around them, he realizes. Even during those stolen moments out by the lake, the quiet was always filled by laughter or the sounds of students moving all around them. He thinks that maybe silence wouldn’t be such a bad thing, but right now, it is. It’s heavy and all-consuming, it’s a weight on his chest, pressuring him to say everything that’s going through his head. He doesn’t like it very much.
Luckily, it doesn’t last long. “I haven’t seen you.”
She says this without looking at him, her eyes fixed on a point above the fireplace.
“You’ve been busy,” He says, and he knows without her saying anything that this isn’t enough. “And I haven’t felt like talking to anyone.”
“That’s too bad,” She says. “Because you’re the only person I feel like talking to.”
And before he has the chance to respond, she’s out the door, a barely-there scent of flowers and Molly’s dinners in her wake.
He should go after her, but the guilt is weighing him down, pressing him into the floor and sinking into his skin. It’s his fault, all of it. His fault she never got to finish her sixth year, his fault she lost a brother and his fault she’ll never get the chance to live a normal life, his fault she’s covered in bruises, in burns, in memories that won’t leave and screams she can’t stop hearing. It’s his fault his fellow students are out there mourning their loved ones and scraping blood off the walls instead of celebrating the end of the term. Some students never made it past their seventh year, never got the chance to grow old and fall in love and he wants to scream at the unfairness of it all.
I never asked for this! He wants to shout from the top of the astronomy tower. I never asked for a prophecy, for the responsibility, I’m just a kid! I’m the same as all of you!
The whiskey isn’t doing its job, so he downs the last few drops and gathers the bottles on the table. He’ll clean them up after he gets some rest. Maybe some sleep will help sort out his thoughts, though he doubts it will. It’s not as if anyone’s been able to do that yet, barring Ron and Hermione and he doesn’t want to talk to them. The only person who’s ever come close to that is Ginny, and she’s out of the question.
So, sleep is his best and easiest option, and that’s always come fastest when he’s lying in his four-poster bed in the dormitory. Hoping against all hope that no one else will come up while he’s asleep, he walks up the stairs. The dorm is empty when he opens the door, and he makes quick work of getting ready for bed. He isn’t exactly sure what time it is, but judging from the sky outside it’s around 8 or 9. After a quick shower and changing into some of the clothes he had packed in his bag that is lying underneath his bed, he slips under the covers.
Staring at the curtain for a little bit, Harry forces his mind away from thoughts of the battle and of death eaters and students alike, littering the floors of his wonderful, beautiful school. He chooses instead, to think of those golden few weeks with Ginny, helping her revise for exams and kissing her goodbye before classes. The hours spent in the sunlight, laughing at everything she says, and the feel of her tracing patterns on his hand.
These memories are warm, these memories are untainted and bright, and he falls asleep with the sound of her laugh echoing in his ears.
-
It’s only a few weeks later, once they’ve all gone back to the Burrow and Ron and Hermione are off to Australia to return her parents' memories, does he see Ginny again. She’s lying out in the garden, her flaming red hair fanned out against the yellowing grass. She’s dressed in a white button-up and a pair of shorts. She has a calm expression on her face, her hands crisscrossed on top of her chest.
He gets a pang in his chest when he sees her and almost turns to go back inside. He never managed to talk to her, back at Hogwarts. He had spoken to everyone else, he had given hugs and received congratulations from every member of the Weasley family except her.
Funny, how he defeated Lord Voldemort, the darkest wizard of all time, yet he still can’t talk to Ginny Weasley.
Going back in the house is not an option though, because inside the house is Mrs. Weasley and her sad efforts at a smile. Going inside means the silence that echoes through the rooms, the absence of Fred and George’s explosions weighing on everyone. He stepped outside for some fresh air, regretting his decision to stay while Ron and Hermione retrieved her parents. He had decided to give them some time away from him, time away from his grief and exhaustion.
That empty, hollow feeling still hasn’t left, but it’s ebbed away into something easier to deal with. All he has to do is wrap it, crush it, shrink it into something he can place beside his ribs, something he can put away for later. He has not broken, and he will not break.
(Something in the back of his mind tells him that he broke a long time ago.)
The guilt was easier to manage once he left Hogwarts, the place he once called home, the one place where he wanted to stay forever. Harry doesn’t think that’s the same anymore. Now, every time he walks through the halls all he can think of is how badly everything got fucked up, how much they lost, and just how young they are. The weight of their responsibilities was too much for kids who hadn’t even finished school yet.
He was always meant for this. The weight of the world is something he got accustomed to carrying a long time ago.
But for everyone else, it’s new. They aren’t sure how to proceed, what to do when the war is over and the battle is won. Harry wishes he could help, but he isn’t sure either. War, battles, winning, that’s all it’s ever been, for him. He was taught how to win a duel and fight in a war more times than he can count, but what to do when the dust settles? When the thing you’ve been dreading most comes to a close and you find yourself, victorious, on the other side?
No one had ever bothered to tell him what to do then.
And getting drunk isn’t an option either, he doesn’t need Mrs. Weasley’s disappointed stares. Besides, the numbness he chases every time he picks up a bottle of firewhiskey stopped coming a long time ago, and he hasn’t been able to get it back no matter how many drinks he has.
He decided to get some fresh air, but that doesn’t seem like such a great idea now either.
But even if he is hurting and numb at the same time, even if he feels like a ship lost at sea, he is still Harry James Potter and that is what prompts him to move, and go sit next to Ginny.
She doesn't open her eyes, but her hand moves from her chest to grip his. She squeezes, and he squeezes back. He isn't sure what he wants to say, he isn't sure if he wants to say anything at all. Fortunately, the silence doesn't seem so heavy when he is around Ginny.
They sit like this for a while, Harry, with his legs stretching out next to hers, leaning back on his hands, and Ginny, still lying in the grass. The sun feels nice on his skin and with the feel of her hand in his, it almost feels as if he's back at Hogwarts, helping her study for her exams. He thinks he could sit like this forever if she would let him. Away from the grief and despair, away from the victory celebrations. Away from the rest of the world with just this red-haired girl by his side.
"Did you come looking for me or did you just need somewhere to escape from the house?" Ginny asks, opening her eyes and bringing her hand up to shield them from the sun.
"Er- Mostly just looking for an escape," He says awkwardly. It's strange. He hasn't felt awkward around her in a long time.
"So, what," She says, in an icy voice. It sounds to him as if she's trying to put up a front, something he's done a lot himself, so he decides not to call her out on it. "You were just planning on never speaking to me again, is that it?"
"I wanted to speak to you," He protests immediately because he always wants to speak to her. "I just didn't know how."
"It's not that difficult."
"But it is. Because- Because I don't want to say the wrong thing or mess you up with all of my messed up shit. Because I don't even know what I'm doing anymore now that the war is won because I was never supposed to survive this anyway. Because everyone looks at me as if they expect me to be all happy and cheerful since I murdered Voldemort and ended the war but guess what! I'm not! And it's difficult because you were never meant to suffer, to lose people, and you did, and it's my fault so if I just stayed away and I-"
Harry cuts himself off when he feels tears spring up to his eyes and he immediately turns away. Rubbing furiously at his eyes, it doesn't even hit him that this is the first time he's cried since Voldemort's body hit the ground.
Ginny waits patiently for him to finish, then slowly takes a hold of his wrist to stop his movements. She doesn't say anything until he looks at her.
"You don't need to have it all figured out, you know," She says quietly. "No one expects you to."
He isn't sure why, but hearing her say that, these blunt words of assurance and comfort, causes something inside him to crack. He slumps forward, and she lifts herself up in time to catch him, bringing his head to rest on her shoulder. One of her hands is holding the side of his head, a steady force that is keeping him from sinking into the ground. The other is rubbing his back, constant, and safe.
He clutches the sides of her shirt and doesn't cry, but he breathes. He turns his head ever so slightly and presses a kiss to the inside of her wrist, which prompts her to kiss the top of his head, and Harry thinks: forget the rest of the world, forget everything, just let me lie here, with you.
Eventually, the position they're in grows uncomfortable and his legs begin to cramp up, so he sits back. Ginny is still watching him in a way that has him wishing she wouldn't. Not as if he's something fragile, but as if he's something strong. She's looking at him like she can see the universe in his eyes, and he feels as if his armor has been stripped away.
She continues to stare, and he says nothing until he realizes that it's probably time for him to break the silence, seeing as she's done it the past two times.
"No one ever told us what we're meant to do when the war is won, d'you realize that?"
She waits a moment before answering him. "Probably because they didn't expect us to win in the first place."
"Yeah, I suppose that's true."
"I just wish it wasn't so hard, you know?" She says abruptly, averting her gaze and staring up at the sky. "The nightmares, I'm used to, but everything else is new and I don't want it to be. I'm tired of this."
She's used to the nightmares. Harry wonders for a moment, then remembers her first year and the Chamber and realizes he's not the only one with battle scars dating back years. He's not the only one who's suffered, even before the war. A Christmas break spent shut up inside a room, comes to mind. ' Lucky you' and crossed arms, and Harry feels guilty all over again.
"I'm sorry," He says because he doesn't know what else. He is sorry, sorry for the nightmares that he always seems to forget about, sorry for the losses, and sorry for how tired she is.
She looks at him again. "Don't be sorry. You're not allowed to be sorry. This is not your fault."
He doesn't want to argue with her even though she's wrong, so he simply nods.
It's at that moment when Mr. Weasley comes outside to get Ginny, nodding at Harry before turning to go back inside. She threads their fingers together once more, tugging on his hand before letting go and following her dad.
Harry lies back in the grass, stretching out his arms and his legs, letting the sun cover every inch of his body, and closes his eyes.
He feels lighter, now. Not better. But lighter.
-
Harry can’t sleep, so he goes down to the kitchen and begins an attempt at hot cocoa. He never really figured out how to do it the magical way, and since he left his wand upstairs there isn’t any need to try. Moving as quietly as he can, he pours the milk into a clean pot he finds in the cupboard and lights the stove.
He’s taking out the chocolate powder when he hears footsteps on the stairs. He turns around, expecting Ron, with an explanation ready on his lips. Instead, he finds Ginny. She’s wearing a pair of old sweatpants that are way too big for her and what looks like Ron’s shirt. There are dark circles under her eyes, and her hands are clenched tightly in her shirt. Ignoring the table, she comes over and hops up onto the counter, right next to the sink.
They’ve spoken a few more times since that day in the garden last week, but never about anything serious. Mostly about Quidditch. She doesn’t look as if she’s been sleeping either, but he doesn’t want to press, so all he does is hold out a mug of hot chocolate for her to take and move to lean against the counter opposite her. He takes a sip after she does, and he’s happy to find he tastes good. Back at the Dursleys, he always had to make the hot chocolate on the winter days, before he was banished to his cupboard. He hasn’t had to make it in a long time, but it’s nice to see he’s still capable.
It’s perfectly quiet in the house, and the night sky is an inky black that he finds calming. This, more than anything, is what prompts him to speak.
“I looked for you,” He says quietly. “On the map. While we were out hunting for Horcruxes, I would take out the map and stare at your name. I wanted to make sure you were still there.”
Her eyes grow soft. She takes another sip and swings her legs once before she responds. “It was about the diary,” She clarifies at the look on his face. “The nightmare, it was about my first year.”
“The things you did, or just the Chamber itself?”
“Both, I think.” She finishes her drink and places the mug in the sink, then sighs. “I don’t know. I just feel so stupid, being affected by something that happened so long ago.”
“It was only 5 years. That’s not that long.”
“But the war and everything, that’s so recent.”
“Doesn’t mean you’re just going to forget the Chamber. Nothing that happened this year is going to cancel out what happened earlier.”
She opens her mouth to say something else, but he beats her to it. “I still have nightmares about the graveyard. And Sirius dying. But that doesn’t mean I’m stupid. It just means I’m human.”
She raises an eyebrow, and his cheeks go warm. “That’s a nice speech Mr. Picture of Mental Stability.”
“Most of that was ‘mione, actually, and Ron,” He laughs, and it feels nice. This is nice. The hot cocoa, the empty kitchen, the quiet house.
“Yeah, I expected as much.”
The guilt isn’t as present anymore, and some days he feels as if it’s gone away completely when he looks at Ginny. At the determination in her tired eyes, at the scars littering her arms. She’s not okay, and neither is he. But he knows that blaming himself will do no good, and so instead, he will do his best to help her heal herself.
Because deep down, Harry knows, that no matter how much he wishes it was not the case, he cannot put her back together. The only one who can do that is Ginny herself. And so, he will help. He will clean their mugs and step into the space between her legs. He will lean in and stop a breath away from her lips, he will look into her eyes and find the answer he’s looking for, and then, then he will kiss her.
He will kiss her and kiss her and kiss her, and she will kiss him back, and for a moment, for several moments, everything will be perfect. Her hands are resting on his shoulders, his hands are framing her face, and oh, he’s missed this. He’s missed her, the feel of her lips, the smell of her hair, and her soft skin.
“That was nice,” She whispers when she pulls away, keeping their foreheads pressed together.
“Yeah,” He says, matching her tone. “I missed that. I’ve missed you.”
It doesn’t really make sense, she’s been here this whole time, but somehow, she understands. She always does. She smiles, and Harry can’t help but move forward and press their lips together, one more time.
-
“I go back to Hogwarts next week.”
They’re sitting in the fields next to the Burrow, Ginny’s head in his lap. Ron and Hermione are out for a walk, and Harry has an inkling that they really just wanted some alone time before Hermione goes back to school, but he can’t really bring himself to care.
The three of them have been doing a lot of talking lately, and Harry finds it nice. Sitting in Ron’s room, laughing, crying, discussing the future or discussing the past. He’d forgotten what it felt like to be completely at ease, the only thing they have to worry about is whether or not Mrs. Weasley will come in and shout at them for skiving off chores.
The nightmares are still there, and he still can’t sleep some nights, but Hermione says that’s to be expected. There are bad days, days where he can’t seem to rid himself of the feeling in his chest, consuming his lungs. Days where his mind replays scenes from the battle over and over.
But there are good days, too. Days filled with laughter as he races Ron and Ginny on broomsticks, days where he dances around the kitchen as he spins Hermione around, distracting her from whatever she’s worried about right now. Days like this, lying out in the sun with Ginny. The good cancels out the bad, he thinks. And that’s what matters.
“Are you excited?”
“Not really,” She admits, reaching up and fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. “But it’s my last year, and Mum really wants me to go, so I will.”
“Well, it’ll only be about 3 months, then you can come to see me again, and we all know that’s what you’re really excited for,” He grins, laughing when she reaches up to take his glasses in retaliation.
She doesn’t deny it though, and the warmth in Harry’s chest grows by about 90 percent. He leans down to brush their lips together, and when he pulls back, he’s surprised when Ginny follows him up. She adjusts her body so she’s resting completely in his lap, her legs on either side of him and her hands in his hair. His hands come to rest on her waist automatically, but he can’t help but look around for his friends.
She laughs at the cautious look on his face. “You and I both know they’ve gone for a snog, don’t you think it’s about time we took advantage of this opportunity?”
He has no reason to argue, so he kisses her again, lying back until his back is pressed against the grass, and her chest is pressed against his. She tastes like the carrot cake they had earlier and smells like treacle tart. She smiles against his lips and Harry thinks that this is what peace is supposed to be.
Ginny Weasley, warm summer breezes and laughter ringing out through the tall grass.
Peace.