Chapter 1
Eight year wasn’t shaping up to be a good year, Harry thought sullenly at lunch.
Between Slughorn’s favouritism reaching new heights, seeing his own name mentioned in almost every paper he tried to read, and having Ginny seemingly attached to him at the hip, Harry now had to avoid flocks of thirteen-year-old girls asking for his autograph (and God knows what else) in the corridors.
The war was over, but one thing remained the same: Harry still hated his fame.
Didn’t people realise they could spend their time doing better things than sending him foods of all kinds and worshipping letters? Oh, and not to mention the marriage proposals from witches he’d never met... Harry appreciated the gesture, but it was getting a bit too much. Four months had passed since the end of the war, and the hero worship wasn’t ceasing. Who could blame him for becoming a little irritated?
Not for the first time, Harry asked himself why he had returned to Hogwarts instead of starting an Auror’s career. He should have expected this. He shouldn’t have listened to Hermione’s preaching. Harry could still hear the unspoken I-know-what’s-best-for-you when Hermione had said, “It’s going to be our last year at Hogwarts – give yourself a chance to enjoy it. You’ve said it yourself, Hogwarts is your home. Just let yourself be one of the students for once, not a hero.”
Harry slumped in his seat.
What did Hermione know, anyway? She didn’t get it. Nobody got it. He scowled at his mashed potatoes and continued to whack it with a fork.
He was just so frustrated... What were people still expecting of him? Harry wasn’t the Chosen One, at least not anymore. His job as the Boy-Who-Lived was done. He had the right to be just another student and live his life for himself.
Across from him, Ron and Hermione seemed to be playing footie under the table. Harry was very happy that they finally got together, but he suddenly lost his appetite. He put his plate away.
Strangely, Ginny wasn’t sitting beside him today. Harry felt oddly void of her presence. Looking around the Great Hall, he noticed that all Gryffindor seventh years were absent. He assumed they were probably held back in class... whatever class Ginny was having now. He hadn’t really tried to learn Ginny’s timetable, but he assumed some professors probably liked to delay their students, especially before lunch break. Snape used to do it frequently...
Harry sighed. Across the table, Ron pecked Hermione on the lips. Hermione blushed and smacked Ron’s arm. Harry found it in himself to smile at them.
Late in the evening on Tuesday, the Gryffindor common room was very nearly desolate.
A small group of fifth years (who appeared to have already been assigned a tough Astrology project) gave up at half past nine, and three gossiping girls from third year relocated to the dormitories. Ron had gone to sleep early citing tiredness from a long day, while some time later Seamus said he had “better things to do at night than sit around and talk”. Nobody asked what he meant.
Hermione said nothing as she ascended the stairs to the girls’ dormitory, however when Ginny’s back was turned, she winked at Harry and even gave him a rather mischievous smile. Harry suddenly felt anxious.
“Seems we’re finally alone,” said Ginny playfully, sitting beside him on the couch. “I thought they’d never leave!”
“Uh, yeah... Listen, Ginny, maybe I should –”
“Harry.” Harry closed his mouth, and Ginny shook her head at him. “Relax, Harry, will you? I know what you’re thinking, but I’m not going to tease you about those girls from first year again... Although you’ve got to admit the song they wrote for you was quite ingenious!”
Harry groaned, slightly more at ease. “Merlin, Gin, spare me already!... First year girls are terrifying!”
They shared a quiet laugh. Harry let himself relax. But then Ginny cleared her throat. “Yeah... Like I said, that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.” She paused, biting her bottom lip in what Harry knew was a gesture of uncertainty. “Harry... Look, I thought we could do something today... tonight. I mean, everyone else is already asleep – and even if someone was coming, we’re in a dark corner, so they wouldn’t see us. And we could cast that spell of yours, Muffliato, so we wouldn’t be heard either... I mean, so yeah, if you want to do something tonight... then I’d like that. Do you?”
There was an air of insecurity about her that took Harry by surprise. Usually Ginny was the bold, confident one. She was the one who had initiated their first kiss, and the one who had fervently insisted that they should continue their relationship after the war. Taking in Ginny’s flushed cheeks and fidgeting hands, Harry thought that this was the most vulnerable he had ever seen her.
It wasn’t like he hadn’t expected Ginny to suggest sex. It wasn’t a surprise that she finally asked, but Harry still didn’t quite know how to answer.
He found himself reaching out to put a strand of Ginny’s long hair behind her ear. “What did you want to do?” he asked stupidly, stalling.
“Oh, you know... Snog a bit, make out...” She smiled at him coyly. “Maybe more. It was so hectic at home, we didn’t have any time for ourselves... And when there was a moment to spare, Mum was always suddenly there, or Ron, or... someone else. You know how it was.”
Harry huffed a laugh. “I think Molly was purposely trying to keep as apart.”
“Just like the summer before! I can’t believe Mum sometimes...”
“Yeah...”
“Yeah... So... Do you want to... do anything or...?”
Harry swallowed and adjusted his glasses. “Yeah, sure. We can snog...”
She just looked so hopeful... he couldn’t have refused her. And maybe, thought Harry, it would actually work out.
“I’m glad you’re here, Harry,” Ginny whispered, brushing her lips against his. “I’m glad you didn’t go to Auror training this year. It feels like we’ve been apart for ages already.”
She shifted on the couch and Harry mirrored her position, bringing a leg under himself so he could face her properly. Ginny put one hand on his neck and rested the other one on his thigh. Their faces were inches apart and Harry could smell mint on her breath. He wondered if his breath also smelled like toothbrush, or like the garlic soup he’d had earlier for dinner.
“I’m talking too much,” said Ginny wryly, and Harry realised he’d been staring. He wanted to say that no, he didn’t mind her talking, but Ginny was already pressing her lips to his and putting her tongue in his mouth. Harry willed himself to relax again. Maybe Ginny was right, after all. Maybe it was time to take a step forward...
Kissing Ginny was okay. She was passionate and dedicated, and he appreciated that she paid so much attention to what he liked or disliked. Even though he felt that she used a little too much tongue at times, Harry could sit there and kiss her for a long time. But then, he felt her hand sliding higher up his thigh, and the anxiety came back.
Ginny hadn’t been lying when she said it was hectic at The Burrow after the Final Battle. Having got back together in July, Harry and Ginny had barely exchanged kisses and some affectionate touches. He remembered very well that in most of those instances, it had been, once again, Ginny who took the initiative, and he was even more aware that his less temperamental nature was only partly at fault.
At the moment, Ginny was clearly becoming more eager, pressing her breasts against his chest and starting to unbutton his shirt. She was practically sitting in his lap, touching him and snogging... and Harry felt nothing. Or, actually, he was beginning to feel a little nauseous. What if she realised he wasn’t at all aroused? He didn’t want to hurt her feelings. But her hand was at his crotch now, and she pressed down... Harry couldn’t do it.
“What’s wrong?” Ginny asked breathily when he pulled away and gently dislodged her from his lap. “Harry, why did you stop?”
“Why – why did I stop?” repeated Harry, now a little angry. “You know why I stopped, you felt that I’m not even...!”
“Well, yeah, but –”
“It wasn’t even the first time, remember, that time in the broom closet... I just can’t – it’s never... I don’t know why...” He swallowed deeply and ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry.”
Sighing, Ginny took his other hand in hers and squeezed. “Harry, come on, calm down – it’s probably because you were nervous. That happens... Let me help you relax, I can make you feel good...”
“No, Ginny – it’s not that...”
“Not what? You weren’t nervous? Then why—”
“No, I – I don’t know. I just can’t do it anymore, Gin. It’s not your fault, it’s me who... I’m sorry.”
“Can’t do what? Why exactly are you sorry? Talk to me, Harry! What are you saying...?”
Harry took a deep breath and looked at her earnestly. “I’m saying - I'm saying that maybe we should stop going out. I – I mean, you’re kind, and beautiful, and a great friend... But... We’re not really working out, Gin...”
Ginny’s eyes were starting to water. She blinked rapidly a few times. “But... Harry, I lo–”
“Me too!” Harry cut in quickly. “I love you, Ginny, I do, I just... I don't know, not in that way, I guess... I tried, but - you’re my friend...”
“Then why did you keep... you were leading me on...”
“I know. I – I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry, Gin, you don’t deserve this... I don’t know what to say.”
They sat in uncomfortable silence, listening to the fire crackling in the fireplace. Harry definitely hadn’t expected this evening to turn out so dreadfully bad.
Then Ginny said something that made the conversation even worse.
“You’re gay, Harry, aren’t you?”
“What? No! Of course not, I...” They stared at each other. Harry looked away first. “I don’t know...”
Ginny nodded and roughly wiped her eyes. “I knew it,” she whispered. “You never seemed excited to do anything but kiss, and you don’t even like to look at my breasts.” When Harry turned to her with wide eyes, she snorted without much humour. “I’m not stupid, Harry. I notice things.”
“Ginny, I’m so sorry...”
“Not your fault, I suppose,” mumbled Ginny. “Though I wish you had told me earlier instead of... Anyway, I have to go. I’m tired...”
“Ginny...”
“It’s fine. I’m fine. Goodnight, Harry.”
Ginny left, but Harry didn’t move for a long time.
As a way to help the returning students recover in the aftermath of the war, Headmistress McGonagall decided that everybody had to go through an obligatory check-up by Madame Pomfrey.
Harry, who barely a day following the Battle of Hogwarts had been carted off to St Mungo’s for examination, didn’t personally think he needed any further medical assessment. However, he knew there were some students (the younger ones in particular) who were still reliving those events. He knew it would be a long time before Hogwarts, and the Wizarding Britain on the whole, fully recuperate. Although Harry had got through relatively healthy, he was still unable to eat a full meal without feeling like he would throw up and his nights were haunted by nightmares.
Harry had put it off for as long as he could, but the check-up was mandatory. For that reason, on the fourteenth of September, which was the last day of the time designated by Professor McGonagall, Harry left the Gryffindor common room and dragged himself to the infirmary.
Madam Pomfrey clucked her tongue when he shuffled into the room. “Well, it’s about time, Potter. Why didn’t you come to see me sooner? You’re one of the last students left to be examined.”
“Uh, I was just..."
“Oh, no matter, forget I asked,” said Madam Pomfrey as she waved her wand at one of the beds, causing the white sheet atop it to straighten itself. “You children are all the same... Probably thought you’re perfectly well and decided you don’t need any treatment, am I right?”
Looking away, Harry fidgeted with his sleeve. “Er...”
Madam Pomfrey eyed him with disapproval. “Well, at least you’re finally here, so let’s not waste any more time. Go on, sit on the bed, Potter, and take off your robes and shoes.”
As Harry walked over to the nearest bed and disrobed, Madam Pomfrey closed the curtains around the bed with her wand.
“How are you feeling? Do you suffer from nausea, migraine, stomach aches, or any other aches?”
Harry shrugged, putting his robe beside him. “Not really. I feel fine.”
Madam Pomfrey continued to swish her wand, this time in Harry’s general direction. Harry supposed the strange, colourful markings that kept appearing around his body were meant to let the matron diagnose him.
“Any sprains the healers at St Mungo’s failed to notice, or injuries they paid special attention to? Oozing cuts? Bad scarring? Swelling?”
“Er, no, not really.”
“Nonetheless, I’d like you to take off your shirt. I am aware that you like to conceal your injuries, don’t think I’m not... Go on, no need to be shy.”
Harry was in the process of unbuttoning his shirt when a pale, orange-coloured aura enveloped him. “What does this orange colour mean?” he asked.
“That you are quite underweight. Five feet six, and not even eight stone... Sadly, you’re one of many students whose metabolism has been affected by the recent happenings. Then again, you’ve always been too thin... How are your eating and sleeping habits, Potter?”
“Okay, I reckon,” said Harry. Madam Pomfrey looked at him in a way that was rather terrifying. “...Maybe I should eat a little more,” he admitted with a sheepish shrug. “And I have nightmares sometimes, but I haven’t got trouble falling asleep.”
“You should definitely gain a few pounds. You don’t necessarily have to force yourself to eat a big dinner, but make sure your breakfast is fulfilling and healthy. Eat fruit between the meals... It would also be a good idea to have your friends know you’ve got an eating disorder... their support may really help.”
“Yeah, Hermione is already grilling me about it all the time...”
“As she should... Oh, this looks nasty..." Madam Pomfrey was talking about the oval-shaped scar he had got during the encounter with Nagini in Bathilda Bagshot's house. Harry remembered perfectly the moment the Salazar's locket seared his skin just over his heart. "I'm assuming they weren't able to remove this scar at St Mungo's?" the matron asked.
Harry nodded his head. "The Healer said it's impossible to do away with a scar of this sort."
"And I'm afraid they were telling the truth..." admitted Madam Pomfrey. "Only a truly horrific amount of Dark magic could have caused this... And it is by far too late for scar removal spells... No potion in this world would work, either..."
"Oh, that's fine, really," said Harry. "I'm just glad I don't have anything on my forehead anymore..."
Giving him one last scrutinising look, Madam Pomfrey finally hid her wand back in her robes. “You may put your clothes back on. Wait here for a moment, though, I’m going to give you some Potion for Dreamless Sleep for the nightmares... It won’t rid you of them, but hopefully by the time you run out of one bottle, your sleep will be more peaceful. If not, come to me and I will think of something else.”
“Of course... Thank you,” said Harry gratefully. Now that he was here, he regretted not having come to Madam Pomfrey sooner – if he had, it would have probably saved him several sleepless nights.
As the matron strode off towards her office, Harry sat down on the bed and buttoned up his shirt, lost in thoughts. He nearly shot out of his skin when the door to the infirmary burst open and Draco Malfoy entered, looking sullen.
“Oh, it’s you,” Malfoy muttered upon seeing Harry. He had stopped in his tracks. “So let’s hear it, then – what ails you this time, Potter?”
Malfoy had a wide box full of what looked like small, green golf balls in his hands. Harry suppressed his curiosity and didn’t ask him what it was.
“Nothing,” he said instead. “Mandatory check-up. Not that it’s any of your business, Malfoy.”
“Whatever. Where’s Pomfrey?”
Harry rolled his eyes at the demand, but before he could say anything, the matron swept back into the infirmary.
“I’m here, Malfoy, and it’s Madam Pomfrey to you. What is it you wanted?”
Not seeming chastised, Malfoy jerked his chin at the box he was holding. “Hagrid told me to bring you this. It’s –”
“Bowtruckle eggs, of course...” The matron swished her wand at the eggs, and a bluish glow surrounded them. “Yes, yes, very good... Perfect for the Calming Draught, Professor Slughorn should be pleased...” Madam Pomfrey continued murmuring as her gaze slid over to one of the beds with curtains closed. “The first years especially still haven’t recovered from the war. Poor children... All that bloodshed, the aggression against Muggleborns... and now against the young Slytherins... Good old Hagrid, if it wasn’t for his Bowtruckles, I would have to wait weeks before St Mungo’s could sent some of their reserves...”
Standing in the middle of the room, Malfoy looked impatient. “Yeah, well, so where should I drop this? In your office or...?”
“Drop it?” repeated Madam Pomfrey in a shrilly voice. “Heavens forbid! Bowtruckle eggs are very delicate, as you must very well know by now. Place them on that shelf, carefully.”
Malfoy put the box on the tall shelf Madam Pomfrey pointed at, and he dusted off his hands. Harry wondered why he hadn’t just levitated the box instead of physically carrying it.
The matron was still shaking her head in a critical fashion when she said, “When you see Hagrid again, do ask him if he could collect some armadillo bile, too, Malfoy. Professor Slughorn will need it to brew more Pepper Up potion... there seems to be a flu outbreak among Ravenclaw third years. At this time of the year, too...”
To Harry’s surprise, instead of protesting, Malfoy merely shrugged and nodded. “If that’s all...” he said, already turning away to leave.
“Yes, yes, you’re free... Be more careful if you’re going back to the wyverns, though... I don’t want to see you here again with mangled fingers. Devil Birds, indeed...”
Despite Malfoy abruptly turning his head away, Harry noticed that his pale face pinked. “Yeah, yeah, whatever... interfering harpy,” muttered Malfoy as he stalked out.
Madam Pomfrey either hadn’t heard the insult, or pretended not to have heard. “Very defensive boy, that one.” She tutted before turning her gaze to Harry. “Especially when you are involved, Potter.”
Harry looked away from the door that had closed behind Malfoy. “He’s a git when anyone’s involved. What are wyverns?”
“Oh, Hagrid’s newly acquired pets,” said Madam Pomfrey with a dark expression. “I might overlook the fact that it’s a dragonhybrid we’re talking about, except Hagrid has got them untrained! Let him introduce the beasts to children and we can only wait for an accident to happen. What is Minerva thinking?” the matron grumbled to herself while she examined the Bowtruckle eggs Malfoy had brought. Then she apparently remembered Harry was still there. “What are you waiting for, Potter? Shoo! Go eat a decent meal instead of loitering here.”
“Er, you were supposed to give me some Dreamless Sleep potion, m’am... For the nightmares...”
Madam Pomfrey blinked at him before she realised she’d been holding the small bottle in her hand this whole time. “Well, why didn’t you say so sooner?”
Harry left the infirmary feeling somewhat lighter and more at peace.