Closest To Heaven That I'll Ever Be

7. Eliminating Night Terrors

I didn't go back to Hogwarts for my final year.

Technically, I didn't need to.

After everything that had happened, the Ministry made allowances for those of us whose education had been somewhat interrupted by the small inconvenience of a wizarding war.

And by somewhat interrupted, I mean we'd spent our final year being tortured by our teachers, hiding in secret rooms, living on the run, hunting pieces of Voldemort's soul and eventually participating in a battle that destroyed half the school.

Apparently even the Ministry couldn't reasonably expect us to sit NEWTs after that.

Those of us in my year who had fought during the Battle of Hogwarts were awarded our qualifications based on our previous academic records, practical abilities and contributions during the war.

Which meant I technically graduated with full NEWTs.

I wasn't going to complain.

There were a few students who chose to return anyway. Hermione, of course, was one of them.

I wasn't remotely surprised when I heard.

If Hogwarts had been reduced to a smoking crater with nothing left but a desk and half a textbook, Hermione Granger would probably have sat amongst the rubble demanding someone teach her Advanced Arithmancy.

That was Hermione.

Part of me admired her for going back. I couldn't. I considered it. For about three seconds.

Then I looked at the castle. And knew.

Hogwarts had once been my favourite place in the world. For seven years, those enormous stone walls had meant home. They had held almost every important memory of my childhood.

My first real friends. My first Christmas away from Grandfather. Late nights in the Gryffindor common room.

Sneaking into kitchens. Snowball fights. Quidditch matches. Potions lessons. Midnight conversations beneath blankets when Hermione and I were supposed to be sleeping.

Harry laughing so hard pumpkin juice came out his nose. Ron attempting to teach me chess and eventually declaring me a hopeless case. Hermione and me whispering until someone in the dormitory threw a pillow at us and told us to shut up.

There had been thousands of memories. Good ones. At least, I'd thought they were good.

That was the problem.

Now when I remembered them, something else was always there. A question.

Had I actually been happy? Or had I simply been grateful to be included?

Every memory seemed different when I looked at it properly. There was always Harry, Ron and Hermione. And then there was me. Sitting at the end of the table. Walking half a step behind them. Listening while they talked. Helping when they needed something. Being included when there was danger and somehow forgotten when there wasn't.

Things I had once dismissed as insignificant suddenly hurt. Plans I'd found out about last. Conversations I'd walked into halfway through. Jokes between the three of them that I didn't understand.

Birthdays they nearly forgot. Christmas presents I spent weeks choosing for them while mine were picked up at the last minute.

Times I'd been hurt and nobody noticed because Harry was hurt worse. Times I'd been frightened and swallowed it because Hermione was panicking. Times I'd been angry but kept quiet because Ron was already angry enough for all four of us.