I hope our story has a happier ending

it's a normal thing to feel like this

Aunt Andy picks them up at the train station, Sirius at the castle helping Remus finish packing everything he needs from his classroom for the summer (they'd offered to floo them home, but it seemed wrong to miss out on their last ride on the train).

And then they sleep—for nearly a week, she and Harry both lock themselves in his room and do nothing but sleep, and stare at the wall, and play muggle tv in the background that neither of them is actually paying attention to.

They're in and out of depression naps—which they've had before, but never accompanied by this level of sheer overworked physical exhaustion as the toll the year has taken finally hits.

Occasionally, Harry wakes to find Hermione snoring at his side; snuggles closer protectively, as though he can protect her from the horrors of the world, even though he knows better than to think he can protect anyone from anything.

As time passes, they begin to feel guilt at their listlessness, but they can't bring themselves to do anything else, too overcome with the sheer exhaustion and hopelessness there hadn't been time to process all year, on top of the decade of trauma they'll be forever attempting to work through.

/

Harry opens his clenched fist at the dinner table one night, dropping what he and Dumbledore had retrieved to the table with a clatter.

Remus frowns at the familiar locket. "But we already—" he sniffs, brows drawing together with confusion. "There's no dark magic residue. It's a fake?"

"Yes," Hermione confirms, teeth worrying at her bottom lip. "Harry says all the precautions were up, protective enchantments intact—everything pointed to it being the real deal until he opened it and found the note addressed to Voldemort, from a follower that had turned. We know from Kreacher how it happened, of course, but..."

Harry frowns nervously as he pushes the metal relic towards his father. "There's a note. He—well, you read it."

A heavy swallow, and Sirius accepts it, thumb gently stroking the signoff. "Such a prat," he mutters, though his voice is thick. "He always wrote initials instead of his name, since we were—since we were kids." A sniff as he blinks back complicated tears. "Thought it was pretentious for ages, but—then one day I realized it was his way of distancing himself from the Black name, as much as such a thing was possible for him. Separating himself from the blood supremacist legacy." He shakes his head, feeling his chest tighten. "And I still never realized till he was gone."

"He didn't want you to, Pads," Remus reminds him gently. "He hid it well because that was the goal. An inside man's worth lies in their ability to be convincing. You did nothing wrong, and your brother knew you loved him."

Sirius nods, rubbing at his eyes. "I want to keep the note—proudest I've ever been of him. But—the locket itself we should give to Kreacher, since we have to destroy the real one. He—he'd like to have something of Reg's, and it's what the fucker would've wanted."

Hermione's heart swells with pride, and Remus moves to summon the house elf in question as Sirius heads towards their chambers, to barricade himself long enough to process the emotions.

"So we still have no idea where to find the other two," Hermione murmurs pragmatically, brows knit with worry. "And knowing now that the locations have been so bizarrely different, attempting to find them will be difficult."

"We'll have to look into his family more too." Harry's finger traces along his scar unconsciously, a nervous habit he'd picked up years ago when it began to burn. "The ring and the locket have both been at non-magical sites connected to his past. Even with the memories, I feel like there's so much we don't know..."