August 2001
Hermione was in the lift with Miller, on her way to Kingsley's office.
"When I showed you how the alarms in the Department of Mysteries worked, I didn't expect you to use that information to disarm them," Miller said.
"I didn't disarm them," Hermione countered.
"No. You used one of the power crystals to set up a strong Stasis Charm around the twelve receptors, essentially rendering them useless while the Charm was in place. That's the closest you could get to disarming them."
"I needed time."
"For what?"
Hermione ignored him. "Don't pretend you didn't show me how those worked so I'd be able to work around them if I needed to one day."
Miller just smirked. Just then, the doors to the lift opened. Her boss was waiting a few paces ahead, wearing a frown. Hermione squared her shoulders. "Mr. Inman."
"Miss Granger. I'm very disappointed in you. I never expected—"
"Yes, Sir," she said, cutting him off. She wasn't in the mood for this speech again. "Is the Minister ready for us?"
He glared at her but didn't say anything else as he led the way to Kingsley's office. "Careful, Granger," Miller said under his breath.
She jutted her chin out and pulled her shoulders back, trying to display more confidence than she was feeling. If this was going to work, she had to stay strong. She could break down when she returned to her flat.
"Miss Granger," Kingsley's booming voice said from behind his desk. He didn't even bother to stand and greet her. She could tell he was angry. Not just from his slight, but by the set of his jaw.
"Leave us alone," Kingsley said, never taking his eyes off of Hermione. Miller and Inman let themselves out of his office while Hermione went to stand in front of Kingsley's desk.
"You may sit, Miss Granger."
She carefully took a seat in one of the green high-backed chairs in front of his desk. "Minister," she said politely.
Kingsley rolled his eyes and shoved a parchment across his desk. "Don't 'Minister' me. Here, sign this."
Hermione scooted her chair closer and bent over to scan the page that Kingsley had already signed. She knew what it was. It was a magical contract that would keep her from informing anyone else of what she'd seen in the portal. After verifying Kingsley hadn't added anything out of the ordinary to the contract, she picked up the quill he'd placed on top of the page and signed it. When she pushed it back to Kingsley, she noticed he already had a contract with Harry's signature at the bottom.
"You talked to Harry already?" she asked carefully.
"I did," Kingsley confirmed. "I met him in the atrium as soon as he arrived this morning."
Hermione nodded. She wondered if Harry had put up a fight about signing the contract. She should have thought to warn him, but there had been so much going on and she thought her Stasis Charm would last through lunch.
"After signing this, he resigned," Kingsley continued.
"Oh," Hermione said, eyes widening in surprise. Harry hadn't wasted any time, had he? A part of her hadn't expected him to actually go through with it. At least, not this quickly. Did that mean he was going to go through with everything else he'd committed to? Her heart leapt at the thought.
Focus, Hermione. You're not finished here.
"I've lost one of my brightest Unspeakables and my most promising Auror and it's not even nine," Kingsley said sharply.
"No. Not a great start to the day."
He snorted, then placed Hermione's contract onto the side of his desk, on top of Harry's. "I already have my staff out looking for Ginny Weasley and Ron Weasley. Is there anyone else you told?"
Hermione shook her head.
Kingsley sighed and leaned back in his chair as he fixed her with a stern glare. "You know this isn't standard practice."
"Yes. I know." Hermione straightened in her seat.
"You know that if you hadn't frozen the alarms that would have alerted us to an unauthorized use of the portal, we would have been there in minutes and Obliviated the two of you."
"Yes. I've heard that's the normal protocol."
"But you did freeze them, to give yourself time to tell more people, and probably to work out some elaborate system of timed letters and spells that would allow you to blackmail me if I threatened to Obliviate you. Perhaps an article sent to the Prophet about how I prevented the precious Chosen One from enjoying the few memories he has of his dead parents."
Hermione swallowed hard. "Correct."
Kingsley arched an eyebrow at her. "So, that's how you're going to play this? You're going to antagonize the Minister for Magic?"
"It appears so."
It hadn't occurred to Hermione until Pacifica that there was a very real possibility of her and Harry being Obliviated upon their return. She'd stayed up all night, staring up at the glass ceiling of the suite as she worked out a plan. She knew she could use the information Miller had given her about the protections in the Department of Mysteries to freeze the alarms. Then, it was a matter of using the extra time to put enough safeguards in place to remind herself about what had happened in the other dimension, even if Kingsley erased her memory.
And finally, once Kingsley found out what she'd done, she'd either have to beg him or blackmail him to keep her and Harry's memories intact. She'd been ready to do both, but he seemed to have skipped over that part for her. She was relieved, since she hadn't been keen on threatening the Minister for Magic, though she would have done it, if she had to.
Kingsley sighed heavily. "I don't want to enter into a battle of wits, especially with someone as determined as you. Keep your memories. You and your friends have proven capable of keeping important secrets."
"Thank you, Sir," she said earnestly. "Harry deserves this. After all he gave us—all he sacrificed—everything he's endured—he deserves to remember—"
Kingsley held up a hand to silence her. "I've already agreed. And now—" he tapped the contract, "—you can't tell anyone else. Though, I imagine you only ever intended to tell Mr. and Miss Weasley." He sighed again and although he looked extremely exasperated, she sensed a hint of admiration in his eyes.
"If you'd played this differently, Miss Granger, I was ready to discuss other job options for you at the Ministry."
Hermione simply nodded. She knew after she executed her plan, any hope of working at the Ministry would be gone. She'd already crossed all those jobs out in the notebook back in the other world.
"Was it worth it?" he asked. "Losing your career for—what? Some memories?"
"It was worth it," she said immediately, the words coming out stronger than she'd intended.
He regarded her for several moments, then stood and reached out his hand. She stood up and shook it. "Very well. Good luck, Miss Granger."
She wasn't sure if he meant it ironically, but said, "Thank you," nonetheless.
Kingsley called Miller and Inman back in and instructed them to walk Hermione out of the Ministry after she'd had a chance to clear her desk.
Hermione met Ron in the hall, standing nervously outside Kingsley's office. His eyes widened when he saw her. She could tell he wanted to ask a hundred questions, but he was summoned into the office by Kingsley before he got a chance.
The lift back to the Department of Mysteries was awkward. A heavy silence hung between the three of them. The few people who joined them on the lift on the way down were decidedly uncomfortable—but that could have just been because they were Unspeakables.
As soon as they were back in the Department of Mysteries, Inman rushed off without so much as a goodbye to Hermione while Miller escorted her to her desk. It didn't take long for Hermione to clear it. She had hardly any personal effects. When she was finished, Miller walked her back up to the Atrium.
"What did you do?" he asked.
She was surprised Inman hadn't told him. Maybe he didn't want to give the other Unspeakables any ideas.
The contract she'd just signed prevented her from giving Miller any details. As she formed the thoughts in her mind, the magic from the contract made her sick. "I burned it down," she said eventually.
He nodded appreciatively. "And…? Did you discover anything?"
She grinned. "Yes and it—it destroyed my entire life."
"Hmm. Was it worth it?"
"I don't know, Miller," she said honestly.
They'd reached the exit. He held out his hand and she placed her badge into his open palm. Miller nudged her elbow. "Take care." He gave her a final nod, then was gone.
Hermione stood in the atrium, which was nearly empty, for several moments, looking at the fountain. This one was different from the one that had been here before. This one wasn't trying to make any statements. It was just a pretty fountain made up of hundreds of golden rods that looked like oversized wands, crisscrossing to make an artistic pattern.
She'd always liked this fountain and as she watched the jets of water, she realized it would be a long while until she saw it again. Hermione walked closer to it and once she confirmed no one was watching her, she tossed a knut into the water. It was common for Muggles to toss coins into fountains for luck and she'd been surprised to find that Wizards didn't do the same thing. It seemed the right thing to do now, sort of like a farewell gesture to the Ministry—a place she'd always had mixed feelings about. Plus, maybe she'd get a bit of luck. Lord knows she could use it.
She turned around and made her way to the exit that led to the Muggle world, fancying a walk. But when she emerged onto the pavement, pulling an umbrella out of her bag to shield herself from the rain, she had no idea where to go. She didn't have a plan. Not only that. She didn't have a job. Nothing to do to occupy her time. No regular source of income.
She also didn't have a fiancé and may have lost her surrogate wizarding family. What did that leave her with? A flat she may not be able to afford anymore, a clever cat, parents who still hadn't forgiven her for Obliviating them, and Harry. Her lips turned up slightly. Harry. How was he? Was he handling the loss of Lily and James okay? Had he broken up with Ginny last night, like he'd planned?
She needed to see him. Hermione started walking in the direction of Grimmauld Place but after two blocks, she forced herself to stop. Harry had just been through a lot. He'd lost his parents, lost his job, and broken up with Ginny. It may be best if he spent some time alone. If he needed her, he could Floo or send a Patronus. He knew she'd be there in an instant. But now, she should focus on herself. She'd spent so much time and energy worrying about other people, she never sat and considered what she wanted.
"You help everyone around you, never hesitating to sacrifice yourself so others can be happy. But when it comes to your own happiness, you don't fight. Why is that?"
"No idea, James," she said aloud. "Maybe it's time for me to figure that out." An elderly woman noticed her talking to herself and frowned at Hermione slightly. Hermione just shrugged and turned around, back in the direction of a coffee shop she'd discovered a few weeks ago that was attached to a quaint-looking bookstore.
Adrenaline coursed through her veins as she walked. She had no idea what she was doing. And it was… okay. Kinda. Sort of. Maybe. She was… managing. Honestly, it was everything she could do to keep from retching on the side of the road, but it was okay. She was okay.
It's not like she had nothing. She had the list of jobs Harry had made in her head and when she got back to her flat, she could recreate it from her memories. Then she could go through the list of jobs again and maybe this time, pick something she truly wanted instead of the job that someone else told her she should do.
It had taken her fourteen days to completely destroy her life. Now, it was time to see how long it would take her to put it back together.
After quitting his job, Harry returned home and climbed straight into bed, not bothering to remove anything but his shoes. He managed to sleep for a few hours and woke up just before noon, drenched in sweat. Well, that's what he got for sleeping in his robes. He peeled off his clothes and got in the shower, standing under the hot water so long, it turned cold.
Harry reached his hand out of the shower and grabbed his wand from the counter. He tapped the faucet to turn the water hot again, then forced his body to move and wash himself, reasoning he couldn't stand in the shower all day, no matter how nice it felt.
He resolved to keep himself busy for the rest of the day. Going room by room through the house, he collected all the items that belonged to Ginny, floating them into several boxes he'd set on the light blue sofa in the sitting room. She'd picked out the sofa and she may want to take that, too. He'd offer it to her, along with any items he'd missed the next time he saw her, though he had no idea when that would be.
He pushed the thought from his mind and continued going through the house, sending books, clothes, hair bobbles, blankets, and picture frames into the boxes downstairs. By the time he was finished, it was clear that Ginny had been behind everything in the house that made it cozy. Once the rooms were stripped of her items, they were barren and dark. Harry was reminded of the time they'd spent hiding here, during the war. He shivered slightly, then sent the memories to the back of his mind.
Next, he reviewed the inventory of his Potions stores. He was out of Dreamless Sleep, as he'd discovered the night before. He could also use several more bottles of Pepper-up Potion, another jar of Dittany, and more vials of Calming Draught.
Harry spent the next hour scouring through some of his old Potions books and listing out the ingredients he'd need to brew the potions himself. He usually just bought the potions already brewed from the Apothecary, which was more expensive, but he'd always valued his time more than his money. But now, he had nothing but time. And it would be nice brewing potions without the stress of Snape hovering over him or Hermione glaring at him for using Snape's book.
As he thought of Hermione, his heart clenched. How was she? Was she still with Ron? He suspected not. Ron had looked tired and sad at the Auror Offices earlier and Harry was pretty sure Ron wouldn't have stopped by and punched him just for falling in love with Hermione and kissing her a few times. She must have dumped him. And Ron blamed Harry, of course.
Harry blinked back tears and pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind, focusing back on the list of ingredients he needed to get from the Apothecary. He checked the time. Damn. It was later that he'd thought. The Apothecary would be closed soon. He'd also planned to go to the grocery store today, so he'd have food for Teddy.
Harry set the potions texts and notes to the side and plodded into the kitchen. He stood in front of the refrigerator, staring blankly at its limited contents for several moments before closing the door and leaning against the counter. He was officially out of energy. The idea of going through the food he had, determining what he needed, making a list, and going out and buying the items on the list was more than he could fathom. This was a bad sign. He'd always been the type to press-on, even when he felt like shit. But now—he just couldn't.
He ate two pickles and a handful of raisins for dinner, then shuffled back upstairs. Even though it was barely six o'clock, he climbed into bed, stripping down to his underwear this time. He turned the lamp off with his wand, placed his glasses on the bedside table, and stared up at the ceiling, lying completely motionless. He couldn't sleep—because he wasn't tired—but he also couldn't bring himself to do anything else. An hour later, his stomach growled, but he didn't have the energy to get out of bed and resolve the problem, so he ignored it. He was used to ignoring hunger.
At a loss for anything else to do, and eager to avoid the dark thoughts hovering at the edges of his mind, he started running through Quidditch plays in his head and replaying the most memorable matches he'd seen. When sleep hadn't come after another few hours, he reached into his drawer for the snitch Dumbledore had left for him.
Its wings had stopped fluttering last year and Harry had felt unusually sad about it. It was like losing an old friend. Which was ironic, since he'd lost so many real friends and family that the loss of an inanimate object shouldn't have mattered. But it did for some reason. Fuck, he was in a shit mood, wasn't he?
Harry cast a few floating lights around the room and began tossing the snitch up and down. He focused hard on the gold body of the snitch, the silver wings, and the reflection it was making on the ceiling as it floated up and down, anything but the darkness hovering at the edges of his consciousness.
The next morning, before Harry had a chance to wake properly and organize his mind, the thoughts he had been trying to avoid the day before hit him with the force of one of Ginny's Reductor Curses. He groaned as the thoughts of Ginny, Ron, Hermione, his parents, his job, and how utterly alone he was, caught up with him. That darkness he'd always associated with his early years with the Dursleys descended, immobilizing Harry in the bed.
After staring blankly at the wall for an hour and breathing heavily through the pain in his chest, he forced himself to get up and walk downstairs to the study. Harry pulled a piece of parchment off the desk and scribbled a quick note to Andromeda, saying he had come down with a cold and couldn't watch Teddy today, then he folded the page and turned toward the window.
Hermes, his owl, was asleep in his cage. Harry prepared an owl treat before reaching out and stroking the light brown feathers of the owl's head. Hermes's orange eyes opened wide, then he ruffled his feathers and tsked, but Harry cut off his show of frustration by placing the owl treat between his beak.
"I know you're annoyed, but I need you to deliver a letter." Harry tied the note to Hermes's leg as he chewed his owl treat, looking slightly mollified, but only just.
"I'm not completely alone," Harry said as he reached over Hermes to open the window. "I have you, don't I?"
Hermes let out a noncommittal hoot and flew out the window, not even sparing Harry a backward glance.
"Always a pleasure, Hermes," Harry said darkly, pulling the window closed, but leaving it cracked so Hermes could get back inside.
He sighed and lowered himself into the chair behind his desk. He and Hermes had never bonded in the same way he and Hedwig had. Hermione said once she thought it was because Harry had kept himself guarded around the owl, not wanting to get attached to another pet. Harry dropped his head in his hands and several tears escaped the corner of his eyes as he thought of Hermione. He wanted her. Needed her. She was the only person who understood what he was going through and probably the only person who would come if he called.
But he was currently sitting at his desk in his underwear, shivering in the cool air that never left this house, no matter how warm it was outside, while he cried after being snubbed by an owl. Maybe now wasn't the best time to call a witch he was trying to impress. Though, honestly, he and Hermione were so far past that. But still, he should try to get through this alone. He couldn't call Hermione over every time he felt sad.
Sad? This is so much worse than sad.
"Yeah, I know," Harry grumbled as he pulled himself to his feet and went back to his bed, burrowing under the warmth of his blankets.
The birds were starting to sing outside the window. He tried to focus on their song and allow the sweet melody to ease the ache in his chest. It didn't work. After lying there feeling sorry for himself for an indeterminable amount of time, Harry forced himself out of bed, into some clothes, and downstairs to the kitchen.
He ate two tomatoes, three slices of toast, and a jar of olives for breakfast (he desperately needed to go to the grocery store). Then, Harry grabbed the Daily Prophet that had been delivered earlier and went to the sitting room to read it. After scanning the pages and confirming he wasn't in any of the articles, he tossed it to the side and fell into a fitful sleep.
Harry was awoken by his own shouts an hour later. He'd had the same nightmare he'd had back on Hølen island, of Voldemort killing his parents. He panted as he ran through his mantra.
None of it is real. It's just your fucked up mind messing with you. He's gone. You've won. And your parents are safe...in another world. They're dead here, as you know.
"Fuck," he swore. They were dead. The other James and Lily were alive out there, somewhere, but in this world, his parents were dead. The scenes running through his mind were Voldemort's own memories of the night he'd killed them and before—that had been bad enough. But now, he knew the people in the memories. Knew what they liked and disliked, had heard about their pasts, and could even imagine what they'd say if they were here right now.
That emptiness that had been with him his whole life was finally defined. It had a name, a face, a laugh. Before, it had been heavy, but invisible and now … that picture of what he was missing was so fucking clear. And it wasn't just a fantasy—his mind trying to figure out what could have been—it was fucking real. It was a real fucking life that someone else—someone who had suffered a hundredth of what he had—was living! How was that fucking fair?!
Where had he gone wrong? Clearly, he'd done something wrong in this world to piss off the "powers that be." But he'd tried so damn hard. Sure, he'd made mistakes. Lost his temper on his friends, took people for granted, used that Dark Curse against Malfoy. But mostly, he'd done alright. And still, he was punished while the other Harry got everything: a happy outcome to the war, his parents, Hermione, an easy job, and even Ron and Ginny as friends.
There were no outward expressions adequate to express his grief. Tears weren't enough. Not even close. So, he just laid there, motionless, as his soul wept. His insides were shattered—his heart torn and bleeding, with no promise of relief—but still, if he was given the chance in that moment to erase the trip and take the pain of knowing away, he wouldn't take it. He didn't know if he could hold the weight of this burden, but he wouldn't give it up for anything.
"It's not forgetting that heals, but remembering," his mum's voice echoed in his mind. "Even when it's hard, you have to face the past, the loss, the things your mind's trying to get you to forget."
And so, Harry remembered.
He began with Ginny. He remembered their first kiss and those few weeks of bliss in Sixth Year, when it felt like he'd been borrowing from someone else's life, a thought that held more meaning now than it ever had before. He remembered how desperately he'd clung to her after the war. How they couldn't keep their hands off each other and spent most of their time having sex during her breaks from school. It had been exactly what he needed: hot, distracting, and uncomplicated. He'd fooled himself into thinking all the fun they were having was enough to sustain a marriage. But he hadn't known any better. There was no one to tell him any better.
Hermione tried and you pushed her away.
There you go again, thinking about Hermione when you're supposed to be focusing on Ginny.
Harry forced himself to remember Ginny and some of his favorite memories of their time together, but his mind didn't stay there long. It pulled him to thoughts of Ron, next.
He remembered how hurt he'd looked in that moment before he'd punched Harry. He remembered his expression from the morning before at the Ministry, a mixture of anger and concern. He remembered when they first met on the train to the day Harry defeated Voldemort, and all the moments in between.
That year after school, which Harry didn't think he would have survived without Ron. Auror Training, countless visits to the pub, and the night Ron told Harry he was going to propose to Hermione. Harry had congratulated him and even gone to help Ron with the ring. He'd doubted whether Ron and Hermione were really right for each other, and had been blind to his own feelings. He was such an idiot. He could have avoided everyone so much pain if he'd only figured it out sooner.
Harry Summoned a blanket from the chair and curled up under it. Since he was already wrapped in a cocoon of depression and self-loathing, he decided to dredge up the old wounds too. He remembered Sirius, Lupin, Tonks, Dumbledore, and Fred.
Fuck. This was awful. What was he doing? He wiped his tears with the edge of the blanket. He didn't want to be this person, crippled by grief. Sobbing in a dark, depressing house as he remembered everything he'd lost. There was no way this was healthy. He should have forced himself to see Teddy, today. He didn't have the energy to play much, but he could have put on a Muggle film and held Teddy on his lap. He could have shed a few tears in the dark, then focused on Teddy's solid warmth for comfort. This—this was awful.
His mum had told him to remember. She said it was good. But remembering didn't seem to be helping. And now, he was just remembering Lily, which was worse than all the rest of it combined.
Since he'd returned from the other world, his mind had been reaching for memories from the past few weeks, but Harry kept pushing them away. Now, he let himself recall one of the days. He picked their visit to the Forgotten City, when his mum and Hermione had charmed the Fire Lizards.
But it felt off. The pleasure of remembering was lost without someone to remember it with. He needed Hermione. That had been his one hesitation with signing Kingsley's contract. He was worried he wouldn't be able to talk about what he saw in the portal, but Kingsley said the contract would only prevent him from speaking about it with anyone he hadn't already told. He could still discuss the trip with Hermione. The only problem was, she wasn't here, and he was starting to think he'd made it all up.
How was she doing? Had she really broken up with Ron? Was she okay? Why had she done it? Did she love Harry back? Should he call her? He wanted to call her so badly. He'd never felt so lonely and was questioning his ability to get through the rest of the day by himself. But he refrained.
If she came now, it would be to comfort him and once again, their relationship would be all about him. He didn't want to call her until he was in a state to give her comfort, for a change. And he certainly wasn't in that state now. Plus, it was possible she wouldn't even want to see him. Maybe she blamed him for the breakup. Ron certainly did.
An hour passed and he was still depressed and could feel it getting worse—could feel himself falling into a dark hole he was worried he wouldn't be able to get out of. He needed help. He needed Hermione. She was the only one who had seen him this bad. Well, no. There was one other person, but he wasn't an option. Harry dipped his head down and shed a few more tears, surprised he had any left.
Stop this! You've wallowed for too long. Get up!
Harry reached for his wand on the table. His hand was shaking as he tried to cast a Patronus. It was embarrassing how many times it took him to generate the silver stag. When he saw it, he nearly collapsed from the wave of longing and sorrow that crashed into him. It was his father. Exactly.
"I could use a friend," he said, his voice shaking with tears as he spoke to the stag. "And I—I suspect you could, too."
He waved his wand to send the Patronus away, falling back onto the couch and pulling the blanket back over his shoulders as he wondered how his plea for help would be received. They'd promised to always be friends and if that wasn't going to be the case, it was better to find it out earlier than later. He could add that to the long list of losses threatening to drown him.
There was a knock.
Harry ignored it.
Whoever was there knocked again, this time more insistently.
It didn't make any sense. Anyone on the short list of people able to make it through the wards and reach the doorstep of Grimmauld Place would usually let themselves inside. Harry pulled the blanket up around his arms, got to his feet, and shuffled toward the door. Surely, this wasn't in response to his Patronus. There was no way that—
"Fuck," he said once the door was open.
"Always the tone of surprise."
It was Ron. He was here, at Harry's house. And Harry couldn't be sure, but it didn't look like he was going to punch him again. Ron was dressed casually in jeans with a dark blue button-down shirt hanging open over a Weasley Wizard Wheezes t-shirt. He was holding up a six-pack of beer. "I drank my weight in Whiskey last night and am still feeling it—so I reckon we should stick to beer—if that's fine."
Harry simply nodded as he stepped backward, making room for Ron to come inside.
"Are you cold?" Ron asked, gesturing toward Harry's blanket.
"Uh, yeah," Harry said hoarsely.
They stood awkwardly in the entryway, each unsure what to say. It was Ron who eventually broke the silence. "Not sure why you look so shocked to see me. You're the one who sent the Patronus, after all."
By the way Harry was looking at Ron like he had suddenly sprouted tentacles, it was clear he hadn't expected him to come. Ron hadn't either. When the Patronus had showed up at George's flat, he'd been about to send it away before hearing its message. George had caught his arm and forced him to listen to Harry's broken voice. Ron had faltered, slightly, but still decided to stay away.
He wasn't ready. Maybe later, after a year or so, they could find a way to get past it. And that was a big maybe, depending on how much Harry groveled and whether things would work out between him and Hermione.
Ron had told George this, who nodded through the explanation, then said, "If you can't figure out how to be okay with this Harry and Hermione thing, you're going to lose them."
"It's my best friend and my fiancée!" Ron had argued. "He stole her!"
"I'm not saying I don't blame you," George had said. "You're within your rights to hate them and push them out of your life for good. Just—understand what that means. Is that what you really want?"
It wasn't what Ron wanted. He was so angry and hurt and fucking sad, but Harry was his best mate and what he'd done—it was so un-Harry-like. So Ron had decided to bury the emotions as best he could and come hear him out. He could always punch him again and leave, if he had to. But now that he'd seen Harry, he knew he wasn't going to hit him. It would be like kicking a baby niffler.
He was wearing a blanket like a cloak over pajama pants and a grey t-shirt. His hair was standing every which way, his glasses were dirty, there was a full day's growth of stubble darkening his face, and his eyes—those were the worst. His green irises were swimming with pain, framed by bright red veins from crying. And their color was closer to grey than green.
The wonderful Harry Potter, everyone, Ron thought bitterly. But he regretted the thought instantly. Fuck, if they only knew. One thing was clear, Hermione definitely hadn't been here.
"I thought you would have called Hermione," Ron said, a slight edge in his tone.
"I haven't seen her since Thursday."
"Clearly," Ron snorted.
Harry just responded with a wounded look.
Ron sighed and rubbed his face with his palm. "We broke up. She broke up with me." He watched Harry for his reaction and was pleased to see that he looked legitimately surprised.
"I didn't know," Harry said softly.
"You ruined my life," Ron said simply.
"I ruined mine, too, if that makes you feel better."
"It does."
They stood in silence for a few moments, the awkwardness heavy in the air. Ron eventually spoke, since it was clear Harry was waiting for him to take the lead. "Can we go inside or are we going to drink here? This hall still gives me the creeps. I keep expecting Sirius's mum to start yelling."
"Yeah, er, okay." Harry led the way back to the sitting room. He went to the smaller, tan couch and began puffing the cushions before taking a seat. He finally took his blanket off and draped it over the edge of the couch which made him look slightly less pathetic, but only just.
There were boxes piled on the blue couch opposite and Ron guessed from the contents they were Ginny's things. He moved them onto the floor with his wand and took a seat. Ron grabbed a beer from the pack and opened it, then nodded for Harry to help himself.
Harry didn't notice the invitation. He was staring distantly at the fireplace. "I'm moving," he said after a few moments.
"Huh?"
Harry looked back at Ron. "You said the thing about Sirius's mum—it made me think of it. My dad—," he cut off and paused to take a breath, "—he said I should move. He said Sirius would hate the idea of me living here. And —he's probably right."
"I've been telling you that for years."
"Yeah," Harry replied weakly.
Ron sighed. "Here. Take a beer."
Harry got up and grabbed the bottle out of Ron's hand. As he was settling back on the couch, Ron said, "So you cut it off with Ginny, quit your job, and are going to move. You really are determined to destroy everything solid in your life, aren't you?"
"No," Harry replied. His voice was soft, but his eyes were alight with determination. "I wasn't trying to destroy this."
"Well you fucking did," Ron snapped. He breathed heavily through the pain in his chest. "I'm so fucking angry and all I want to do is curse you. You knew how bad this was. You, more than her, knew."
Harry looked miserable and Ron could tell by his look that he was remembering the locket, just as Ron was. But Harry didn't drop Ron's gaze. He seemed determined to face this.
Ron shook his head. "I hate this—I hate what you did—but—" he paused to sigh. "You're my best mate. You've never been selfish—ever—and—fuck!"
"I'm sorry," Harry whispered.
"I know." Ron set his drink down and pressed his face into his palms. They were cool from the beer bottle. "I feel like shit. I feel worthless and like a fucking idiot and you did that. And I knew there was something there. But I convinced myself she wanted me, like a fucking idiot. And you told me it was nothing."
"I wasn't lying. I didn't know."
"Did she know?"
Harry shook his head. He looked on the verge of tears. Ron picked up his beer and took a large gulp. "You broke this—into a million fucking pieces but it's not—destroyed."
There was a long silence, then Harry said, "You're not an idiot. And you're not worthless. I'm sorry I made you feel that way. You got me through so much in my life. You're my best friend and a much better friend than I deserve at the moment. I mean, look now. You're here, you came, and that's—that's huge."
Ron just snorted and waved dismissively. There was another silence. "So this isn't ... destroyed?" Harry asked.
"No," Ron breathed.
"So … fixable?" Harry's eyes were shining with tears.
"I reckon so. Wouldn't be here if I didn't think so."
Harry's lips turned up and he took a large swig of beer. Ron watched him blink back tears as he settled back onto the couch.
Harry looked closer to that terrified kid Ron had first seen at King's Cross Station, the skinny boy who didn't know how to get onto the platform, rather than the powerful teenager who had dueled You-Know-Who and won. He looked like that boy who was desperate to belong, fearing he was going to get thrown out and forced to go live with his aunt and uncle again, rather than the man who was revered by everyone in their world, who was constantly stopped on the street to stand for a photo or give an autograph.
"I've never seen you this bad."
"Yeah. I don't think I've ever been this bad," Harry admitted.
"What is it? Your parents?"
"Yeah." He looked down at the ground. "I think I'm paying the price of getting to spend the last few weeks with them."
Harry took another drink from his beer, then looked up at Ron. "I didn't know. I didn't tell her—I—didn't want—" He paused. "Hermione," he began again. "I didn't tell her to break up with you. I—I do love her—I figured that out but I—I just wanted her to pick who she wanted. I'm sorry. I really am."
"She wants you," Ron said roughly.
A flash of hope crossed Harry's face. "I don't think—she never said."
Ron lifted an eyebrow in question.
"I told her how I felt and we agreed to defer the conversation until we returned. She never said she loved me back and I—I really didn't know she'd just come back and break up with you. I was planning to tell you first and apologize and—I am so sorry."
Ron's expression hardened. "You kissed her three times."
"Yeah," Harry said as a warm flush crept up his neck. "But it was only at the beginning of the trip. Once there were feelings, I stopped. I never meant to break anything between you."
"But you can't deny you wanted this to happen," Ron pressed. "You love her. You want to be with her. And this— this has been there the whole time—hasn't it?" Ron could feel that fire building in his chest again.
"Maybe," Harry admitted, "but I didn't know. Honestly, I didn't. And I—I think she should be happy. If she'd stayed with you, I would have figured out how to be fine with that."
"And now?"
Harry shrugged. "I love her. Desperately, completely. If at the end of this she wants me, I'm not going to push her away."
Harry's eyes were fierce and determined. Ron was struggling to keep his temper in check. Harry was choosing Hermione over him. And she'd already chosen Harry over Ron. It fucking hurt, being passed over by his two best friends. But he hadn't missed the change in Harry's demeanor.
For the first time tonight, he looked like his normal, strong self, willing to fight for what he thought was right. Hermione sparked that in him. And there was logic to his statement, even though it fucking hurt. Hermione should choose. If Ron really loved her, he should let her choose and find a way to accept her decision.
And if he was being completely honest, he was relieved. The thought of canceling their wedding plans was like a weight being lifted off his shoulders. That wasn't a great sign, was it?
He heard George's voice again. "If you can't figure out how to be okay with this Harry and Hermione thing, you're going to lose them."
Then he thought of what Harry had said about his parents. "I think I'm paying the price of getting to spend the last few weeks with them."
There was a price to loving people. Especially if one of those people was Harry fucking Potter. There was a considerable amount of pain that came with being Harry Potter's best friend. The pangs of jealousy and feelings of inadequacy, which would only be amplified if Harry ended up with Hermione. But Ron thought it might be worth it.
He was the best person Ron knew. He pushed Ron to be better, without even realizing it. First, by choosing Ron as a best mate and then, by constantly expecting Ron to perform as he would in any given situation. And now, Harry had made it clear what he would do. So, in that moment, Ron decided that he wanted to keep Harry in his life, even if it fucking hurt. He took a drink, then made a peace offering. "I'd be lying if I said we didn't have problems. I kept waiting for her to tell me how to fix them, but that was wrong. I shouldn't have been relying on her that much."
Harry just nodded, at a loss of what to say. He thought Ron had been about to punch him again and now… this? Maybe they were going to be okay. Relief flooded through him for the first time that day. He finished off the rest of his beer and went to grab another from the pack.
"How's Ginny?" Harry asked after he'd returned to the couch.
"She's staying at the Burrow, but I haven't seen her. She'll be fine, though."
"I hope so. She was really angry."
"Did she hit you with anything?"
"No hexes. Just a slap. It was nothing compared to that punch."
Ron let out a small laugh. They were quiet for a few moments but unlike their previous silences, this one wasn't uncomfortable. "Why did you quit?" Ron asked after several moments.
"It's kind of a long story."
Ron shrugged. "We have time."
"Yeah. Okay."
Harry told him about the trip to the Veil and his conversation with his dad afterward. "Do you think it was the same for you?" Harry asked at the end. "Did you become an Auror to try to avenge Fred's death? Or do you really like it?"
"I joined because you did."
"Oh."
Ron smiled. "You didn't know that?"
"I never really thought about it."
Ron snorted, then placed his empty beer bottle on the table. He laid back on the couch and looked up at the ceiling. "So, it sounds like the Auror thing is done. What are we going to do next?"
He looked at Harry and almost laughed when he saw the goofy grin on his face. He felt a rush of pride. Harry had been a shattered mess when Ron had arrived and now, he looked like a living person again. "No idea," Harry said brightly. "I'm sure we'll figure something out."
"Always do," Ron agreed.
