𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞: 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐚𝐬𝐭

Grimmauld Place was as gloomy in the summer as it was in the winter.

Cold. Empty. Dead.

Ron and Mrs Weasley tried just about everything to get Harry to stay at the Burrow with them after the war. He had refused every time they brought it up.

"Oh, but Harry! You'll go crazy in that big empty house all by yourself!" they told him.

Needless to say, he wasn't a very good listener. And he told himself over and over that he was not going crazy.

If anything, he thought that the solitude made his mentality improve much more than it would have in the bustling motion of the Burrow. Besides, it wasn't long until he would be returning to Hogwarts to take his N.E.W.T.s.

It became of notice that the gloom of the House of Black reflected his own inner self quite well, and some small comfort could be found in that.

That, and the fact that Sirius once lived there. No matter how painful and traumatic it had been for the man, the house still reeked of his presence.

Nevertheless, the dullness was ever-present.

Anyone who set foot in the house, even for the first time, would be able to make out Harry's daily routine just from the state of the place.

Every one of the chairs were covered in a blanket of dust but one. Books were left untouched in rotted bookcases and cobwebs were wound everywhere that wasn't in the pathway from Sirius' room, to the kitchen, to the living room.

Most of his days were spent in Sirius' bed, either sleeping or wanting to be asleep, but not having anything to do about it. 

His life felt like a joke.

What was the miraculous Harry Potter good for if he wasn't saving the world from an evil psychotic maniac?

The answer was still yet to be found.

But, at Hogwarts, he knew that that didn't have to matter anymore. He didn't have to exist in silence. He could be whatever he wanted. Whomever he wanted. He had no responsibility but to show up to classes and absorb information. He had friends there, students and professors.

Best of all, there was no part of him that had to be scared or anxious to go back. He had no big threat to prepare himself for. Voldemort was merely a thing of the past.

He could simply let live.

𖦹𖦹𖦹

Harry didn't see Ron or Hermione on the Hogwarts Express. He found it strange, but it wasn't like they had communicated much over the summer, let alone set a meeting place on Platform 9 3/4.

As a matter of fact, Harry didn't really notice anyone at all. Maybe, he drove everyone away. That's why no one was with him.

So he sat alone. It was nice.

In the sights of a wet sky or the dryness of Harry's compartment, nothing seemed to matter anymore.

Nothing seemed to matter once he arrived at Hogwarts, either. He spoke to no one, no one spoke to him. Just a bunch of faceless people with no more purpose in his life than he had in theirs.

Voldemort was dead. His existence was over.

He didn't hear any of the words from Professor Mcgonagall, it didn't involve him, so he didn't need to care.

The Gryffindor common room was indistinguishable from the train and from the Great Hall. All alone, in a room full of people whose lives relied on his for so long.

He sat quietly, watching them play long, headache-inducing games of Wizard's Chess, reading through new and old textbooks, catching up on last minute homework.

No one noticed.

Harry didn't even notice.

Ron and Hermione still hadn't shown themselves since everyone had arrived. He wondered where they were hiding.

He assumed they were off in some musty broom closet with their tongues down each other's throats—if that was something the two even did together.

The night came along with its usual darkness, and so came the time where Harry wished he were someone different than himself.

He left the common room without being noticed. He didn't know what time curfew was, but he was Harry Bleeding Potter. Anyone who told him to go to bed could fuck their own arse into their brains for all he cared.

He wandered, he saw things, he left some things unseen. Either way, they were still there whether he paid attention to them or not.

Empty classrooms, vacant of their usual bustle. Hallways of mahogany wood that made everything smell like a sauna. Moving stairs and trick steps that took him wherever they wanted him to go.

He went up, he went down. He travelled the school as if it were for the very last time, making memories of things he would never see again.

No one was there, wherever he went.

Either way, with him or without him, Harry hoped they were happy. Safe and sound and happy.

Safe on earth.

Safe wherever people went after earth.

He imagined Fred would be happy anywhere. Perhaps Sirius and Remus as well, if they were lucky enough. His mum and his dad—he just hoped they were together, with each other.

Suddenly, just like that, Harry wasn't alone anymore.

A glimpse of white and pale skin, a flash of a billowing black cloak, stalking him like a crow under the gleam of dim moonlight.

They were many meters away from him, one end of a hallway to the other.

Harry would've liked to think that they felt just as see-through as he did. Like they too, had an imaginary Cloak of Invisibility wrapped around their shoulders. That was why they were out of the warmth of their bed. That was why they wandered the halls at midnight, only being invisible when they wanted to be.

But, alas...

"Potter."