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The Boy Who Lived By Louise Charlton. Chapter 1: The Morning After the Night Before
Harry woke with a start. The bright sunlight, a mockery of the tragedy that had unfolded
the previous day, was blazing through the window into the dormitory. It was
almost midday, and Harry's extreme lack of sleep had been the only thing that had prevented him from waking earlier: his sleep had been disturbed
with images of Voldemort, and scenes of Dark Magic. But suddenly the events of the
previous day pounced on him. 'It's over,' he reminded himself firmly, out loud. He was all
alone in the dormitory: while it bore marks of war, the room itself was relatively intact.
Harry rose from his bed and made his way down the spiral stairs, through the
deserted Gryffindor common room, down the marble staircase, still with bits of banister and marble stair missing
and let the smell of food guide him to the Great Hall. McGonagall had previously restored the House
Tables, but on
entering the room now, he saw that they had been replaced by around a dozen round tables, each
housing families and groups. The set-up reminded him of the Yule Ball, as the tables were spread around
the outside of the room and the large space in the middle of the room had
become a make-shift hospital. Harry then noticed that there were many faces beaming
up at him, some familiar, some not so. 'And now, let us make a toast to Harry Potter,
the Boy Who Lived!' He looked up at the staff table, towards the familiar voice
and saw that McGonagall was raising her goblet in the air.
'Harry Potter!' the room chorused in union. Red-faced, Harry made his way towards a table in the corner, where there were eleven
familiar heads looking up at him:
those of Mr and Mrs Weasley, Bill, Fleur, Charlie, Percy, George, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and
Luna, who as always looked as if she found herself sitting at the table by
mistake.
Harry made for the empty seat between Ginny and Mrs Weasley. But just as Harry was
about to pull out his chair, he was apprehended by the outstretched hand of
Arthur Weasley. 'Great to see you, Harry!' he chimed. Percy, who had also risen from his
seat, nodded in agreement and grasped Harry's hand firmly in both of his, thanking him.
Harry was then drawn to another familiar voice, coming from across the table. 'Mate, that
stuff was seriously good yesterday. Freddie would've been proud.' Harry noticed a
definite underlying sadness in his once youthful face, and that small tears
were forming in the corners of his already red, puffy eyes. George gave Harry a weak
smile, something very different to the cheeky, confident one that Harry knew and loved.
George then turned away slightly and began wiping his eyes with his sleeve. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't
find the right words. To give George some time to compose himself, Harry took a sweep of the faces
around the room. On the table next to him sat Neville and his grandmother, who was repeatedly
reminding him of how brave and heroic he was, ('Just like your parents, Neville!
They'd be very proud!') and telling anyone who would listen how proud she was of her grandson.
Also on the table was Dean Thomas, very glad to be reunited with his friend Seamus Finnigan, who was
filling him in on all the news he had missed whilst his mother fussed over him continually. There
were others in the table:
Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnett, Katie Bell, Oliver Wood and Lee Jordan. Aberforth Dumbledore had joined them and appeared to be very
amused at Seamus' remarkable ability to blow things up. On the other tables were a
selection of people whom Harry knew and didn't know: presumably some were the parents
and family members of Hogwarts students who had provided reinforcements. Among the
familiar faces were Ernie Macmillian with a woman who could only be his mother due to their remarkable
likeness. Next to them were Hannah Abbott, Susan Bones, Parvati and Padma Patil and Terry
Boot, who was talking animatedly to Michael Corner, Anthony Goldstein and Cho Chang. Harry was then brought back
to the Weasley table by a gentle hand on his right shoulder.
'Harry, dear, you look starved! Come and eat some breakfast.' Mrs Weasley's kind voice came from somewhere behind him.
He then felt some pressure as she guided him to his seat opposite George.
Harry looked on helplessly. Mrs Weasley followed Harry's gaze and saw what was distressing him so. Small tears began to well up in her eyes too,
but she didn't look away or wipe her eyes. Instead, watery-eyed, she turned and looked Harry
directly in the eye. 'Harry, no-one blames you for what happened to Fred. It's thanks
that it's only Fred we're missing. Come on, eat up. You had an exhausting day yesterday!' And
with that, she directed his head down to look at the table. In front of him was a
plate loaded with breakfast. He suspected that Mrs Weasley had filled it up
for him and saved it from the prying paws of Ron, who had eyed it several times
already since Harry's arrival. Harry then remembered how hungry he was, and tucked in. He
ravenously devoured his meal, and enjoyed, for the first time since leaving The Burrow the previous summer, the feeling
of being full. * Soon after Harry's entrance to the Great Hall,
McGonagall announced that the usual Thestral-drawn carriages would be leaving
Hogwarts to arrive at Hogsmeade station, where the Hogwarts' Express would be leaving
for the final time at 3pm. As people slowly began
gathering their belongings, readying themselves for the outgoing journey, a buzz
of conversation filled the halls of Hogwarts. The entire Castle was teeming
with exclamations of freedom and victory. After Harry had finished breakfast and was
about to have a walk around the lake for old times' sake, a harassed-looking Madam
Pomfrey approached Harry, Ron and Hermione and dragged them to the centre
of the Great Hall, where she sat them down and addressed their various injuries. She was impressed
with the state of the fresh burns from their break-in of Gringotts, due to the Dittany applied.
But as Harry began to recall the details of their excursion, he felt oddly
numb and empty, as if the event was a lifetime ago. Once she was satisfied that
the trio would heal, Madam Pomfrey pulled Neville away from his grandmother to address his injuries.
Finally rid of fussing hands, Harry looked over and saw McGonagall appear at the door to call everyone into the Entrance Hall. He knew what he needed to do.
'Professor!' Harry called out to Professor McGonagall across the Entrance Hall.
'Yes, Potter?' McGonagall asked, looking up to see who had called.
'Can – Can I ask you something a moment?' Harry asked hesitantly.
'Certainly.' 'Away from here... it won't take a minute.' His words
seemed to fall out of his mouth; McGonagall always appeared to penetrate right through Harry with her fierce glare.
She curtly nodded and lead Harry to an empty classroom just along the corridor. 'What was it you wanted to ask me Potter?' McGonagall asked, promptly, after closing the door.
Harry hesitated a while and felt his face flush with embarrassment. The words he wanted to use formed in his mind, but he forced them away and changed the
subject quickly. 'It – It's about what's going to happen to Hogwarts now...' he mumbled, with his head bowed to the ground.
'Well, we'll all have a short rest, and then those who wish to can help with the repairs to get us all back on our feet. Just like the First War, many celebrations will be held in
your honour, Harry, to mark this glorious occasion. For years to come, we will always remember the day that you, once again, vanquished the most terrible Dark
Wizard to have ever lived.' 'No disrespect to anyone, Professor, but I really don't want people to celebrate me... I've had help, the whole
way through. Really, I'm nothing special.' 'Potter, we don't care if you had help or not, you brought
this terrible war to an end! Now stop being so modest and enjoy the celebrations.'
The conversation was now turning towards his initial thoughts.
'But I don't feel I can... So many people have died for me, I can't just live the rest of my life like nothing happened!' he burst out.
'Harry, they gave their lives to give us a better future. The way that you can honour their sacrifice is to make the most of that future, not mope around feeling guilty!'
'I know, Professor, I will, but for now I just need some time to myself, to deal with it all. Let me know when I can come and help with the repairs; I'll be at Grimmauld
Place. Is it possible to go straight there rather than get on the train?'
That was it; the words were out. They hung in the air like invisible toxic gas for what seemed like hours.
'I'll have a word with Kingsley' McGonagall began, breaking the silence. 'But for now, you'd best join the others in the Entrance Hall.'
'Thanks, Professor.' Harry replied. They emerged in the rather crowded Entrance Hall,
where everyone still at Hogwarts was now waiting to make the trip down to Hogsmeade station. From there, some would be Apparating home,
and the rest boarding the train. 'What was that about, mate?' Ron asked as Harry joined the group.
'Oh, just some general stuff about what's going to happen next.' Harry casually replied.
Whilst he may have satisfied Ron, who had now turned to talk to Charlie, Harry saw Hermione catch his eye briefly with a questioning look before turning
to talk to Ginny. But before Harry had even started to muse over this,
Kingsley grabbed Harry by the shoulder and pulled him aside.
'So, you wanna hide out for a while?' he asked Harry softly.
'Well, I don't really want to spend the next few weeks being molly-coddled and hero-worshipped, if that's what you mean' Harry replied,
feeling the need to justify himself to the Minister. 'Well, if that's what you really want, then you can use the
Floo Network from the Headmistress' office when the others head for Hogsmeade and go straight to Grimmauld Place.'
There was something soothing and reassuring about Kingsley's voice that gave Harry the impression that Kingsley knew how he was feeling right now.
'Thanks, Kingsley' was all Harry could manage. 'Anything for you, Harry Potter' came Kingsley's warm reply, with a wink in his eye.
* The carriages soon started arriving and people began filing through the double doors in groups.
Ahead of Harry, Mr and Mrs Weasley climbed into a carriage with Bill and Fleur. After Charlie, Percy, George and Lee Jordan had boarded the next one,
another Thestral trotted in Harry's direction, bringing the cart to a halt in front of the group.
Harry remained where he stood, staring into the distance as Ron, Hermione and Ginny climbed in.
'C'mon, Harry', Ron called out from the distance.
'Er, you guys go... I'll – I'll catch you up later' Harry replied, avoiding eye contact with Ginny. That will only make it worse, Harry reasoned to himself.
Harry hadn't noticed Hermione climb out of the carriage and make her way over to him until a blood-curdling scream filled the air.
Harry turned his head towards the source of the noise and found, to his astonishment, Hermione. She was looking straight at the Thestral, white-faced.
'What's wrong Herm- ARGH!' Ron began, but he too had stopped in his tracks on seeing the Thestral. Of course!, Harry thought.
'It was Dobby' Harry said. Ron's expression was blank, but Hermione's was understanding.
'We – we saw him die' she stated simply, a small tear trickling down her face. 'They're Thestrals, aren't they' she added.
Harry nodded and looked at Hermione for a moment, willing her to understand. She was no legilimens,
but it appeared she understood him, as she took a few steps forward and hugged Harry tightly.
'Look after Ginny for me, please' Harry muttered on release. 'And tell her I love her' he added.
Harry watched as Hermione turned around and found Ron, who was standing a little way away, stretching out his hand for her.
Once she was within his grasp, he pulled her into a tight embrace and lead her back to the carriage, insisting on opening the door for her and helped her climb in the
carriage before him. *
Harry remained where he was, absent-mindedly watching the rest of the survivors climb into the carriages
in group, oblivious to the Thestrals whilst their losses were still surreal. In
many ways, Harry envied them, yet
he knew all too well the pain that they still had to go through. The summer air was still,
and Harry felt the warmth of the sun on his face, mocking him: the pleasant weather seemed
so cruel in the midst of his grief. He watched the silhouette of the scarlet steam train that he had
first boarded all those years ago disappear into the distance and the last of the smoke vanish into the air
before turning away, heavy-hearted, and heading back into the Castle. His journey to the Head's office was almost
mechanical, but
on his way he was met with reminders of the devastation of the recent Battle and
everyone who had died for him. He was the victor of the Second Wizarding War, and yet he felt like a failure, looking at the bodies
of Fred, Remus, Tonks, Colin, Dobby, Dumbledore, and countless others in his mind's
eye. They were the real heroes, Harry thought.
Harry had now passed the stone gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office and ascended the
stairs, standing in the same spot that Professors Dumbledore and Snape had once stood. He looked around for the Floo powder, and found some sitting in a ceramic
pot by the fireplace. Harry took a deep breath as he grabbed a handful of Floo Powder, remembering
with a shudder his accidental trip to Borgin and Burke's all those years ago.
At the time, it had been terrifying, but now all those Dark items meant something completely different to him,
bringing back terrible memories of inferi, death and all of the events that had followed during his
recent Horcrux hunt. Fighting off the shiver that had recently developed, Harry brought himself back to the
present. Due to his sweaty hands, the Floo powder stuck to his hand slightly as he threw it in the fire,
but the green flames soon roared into action. Harry stepped into the fireplace and
shouted clearly 'Grimmauld Place!' *
Meanwhile, on the Hogwarts Express, only a few carriages were occupied; each large group was packed into a single
carriage, sharing the victory. Except for one person. Alone in a carriage to herself was a small red-haired figure, curled
up in the corner,
her knees drawn up to her chin with her head resting on the cold glass of the window.
Her steady breath left its mark on the gradually cooling window, and the only movement that she made was occasional blinking.
She wasn't sobbing: the tears slowly slid down her freckly face with no change in her breathing pattern. She made no attempt to
wipe the tears away, just letting them travel down her cheek uninterrupted. Even in sorrow, she was incredibly beautiful.
Suddenly, the door to the carriage slid open, but the figure wasn't even startled. The visitor strode across the carriage to the girl in the corner, a concerned look in her kind expression.
'Ginny, are you ok?' Hermione asked softly. 'We're nearly at King's Cross and you've not moved since Hogsmeade.' For a few seconds, she remained motionless.
She then blinked slowly and wiped away the tears, some of which had now reached her jaw.
Then she lifted her head from the window and sat up, slowly retracting her knees from her chin.
Ginny looked up at Hermione. Her bright brown eyes, whilst still startlingly warm, were red and puffy, filled with new tears, and showed a deep sadness.
'I just d-don't get it... why can't he stay? It's not like he's the only one who's lost someone!'
Ginny's hoarse voice had a hint of indignation. The old Ginny was still there, hiding in her sadness.
'It's just his way of coping' Hermione reasoned, putting a hand on Ginny's arm to comfort her.
'He d-didn't even say goodbye!' she exclaimed, new tears now falling thick and fast. Hermione pulled her into a tight hug and felt how cold her arm was, having been leaning against the train window.
For a few minutes, the girls remained in the embrace, Ginny's tears falling into Hermione's shoulder.
Then the door to the compartment slid back and another ginger figure came in.
The girls pulled apart with the sound of Ron's voice. 'There you are, Hermione. I wish you'd tell me where you're going instead of just disappearing like that.
I was worried.' He then looked at Ginny and asked 'What's up with you?' 'As you can see, Ronald, Ginny is upset. I just came to help.'
Hermione informed him, her voice without tone or expression. 'Was it Harry?' he asked Ginny.
'Yeah' she replied. Did he ever get a hint? 'That slimeball! I need to have words with him!'
Ron's eyes slid out of focus for a moment, during which he balled up his fists and his face contorted with rage.
He then relaxed his hands and face and, having made his decision, he concluded 'when we get back to The Burrow, I'll send him a Howler.'