Head of Hogwarts

*Chapter 2*

Within the next three days, letters came swarming at my window from almost every student who attended Hogwarts. Hermione's was tear-stained and begged for me to visit the Burrow where they were all meeting that weekend to plan Hagrid's funeral. Neville and Luna wrote together, expressing their sincerest apologies and offering aid whenever it was needed. Even Malfoy wrote to me, his parchment coloured ash and the ink a venomous green, yet his words were far from venomous. Even though he had always detested Hagrid since our first year at Hogwarts, he shared some comforting words and even asked me to visit the Malfoy mansion for dinner at any point I was particularly struggling. But even with these words and apologies and thoughtful gestures... I still felt alone.

It was then, when I awoke on a particularly crisp Friday morning, still pale and grieving, that I decided it was time to visit the Burrow. As much as I wanted to be left to mourn alone, I had to offer as much help as I could in organising Hagrid's funeral; I felt like it was my duty as his friend. I made my bed (for, may I say, the first time in months) and threw out any food lingering in the cupboards and the fridge. I washed dirty clothes and bedclothes, I cleaned surfaces down, I washed up the mountain of dishes and mugs and cutlery, I even cleaned out Sirius' litter tray, and dusted the house altogether. Merlin knows how long I would be away, so it was best to sort everything out so I wouldn't have to struggle with the flat when I returned. Then, as the clock hit three, I packed: half-heartedly folded clothes, the stack of coins I had lying around for casual spending, robes, cauldron, books, the bundle of letters I had received since my return to England all attached by a piece of string, my Quidditch set, and spare spectacles... all into my old Hogwart's suitcase. I couldn't help but turn back one last time at my flat. It seemed so empty... Well, it was never really full anyway. Living with the Dursleys meant I was never used to the luxuries of abundance. Even so, it still hadn't quite felt like 'home'. No, home was where family was, and currently, at that moment in time, my family was at the Burrow. This was right, why was I even debating the idea? Chewing but never really eating. I had to do this. It would make me happy, wouldn't it?

Sirius took at least an hour to push into his cage. He hated that cage more than he hated bird baths. Even though he was one of the handsomest owls I had ever seen, he was still troublesome. Within the time it took to convince the damned bird to stay in his cage and midnight, I gave my FireBolt a thorough cleaning and prepping for the long journey ahead. Then, once the clock hit 00:00. I spelled my luggage to silently drift behind me as I locked the worn-down door and tiptoed my way to the garden. My stomach twisted. What if some of the neighbours were still awake? What if they looked out their window for just a second and noticed me flying about on a broomstick? Oh, wouldn't the Ministry be thrilled? Even so, I had to take the risk, and the Ministry had told wizards and witches across the nation that "if ever you are in need to fly, the best time to do it is midnight. Midnight is known for its magical superiority, even in the muggle world, so muggles will just assume it's some unearthly illusion, or that they are extremely tired".

Once in the tiny patch of yellowing grass that the landowners called "a garden", I pulled on my thickest cloak, allowing the hood to fall over my eyes and cast shadows across my face, strapped the luggage to the end of my broom, checked the windows one last time (no movement from what I could see)... and I was gone.

The air through off my hood and combed its invisible fingers through my hair, washing over my face like the ocean, inviting me in to its wintery embrace. It was breath taking, and refreshing all at once. The silhouettes of London's skyscrapers began to shrink, all the miniscule lights blazing violently. London's hidden spark was only visible at night. How magical. I climbed through the sky, the broomstick shaking as we broke through the clouds, the dark grey matter swirling an embrace around me, its weightless body dancing in the heavens. Between the rushes of wind in my ears, I could just pick up the adrenaline-filled screech of Sirius. He loved to fly. He loved adventure. That's why I named him after... My glasses misted and my hands lost all sense of feeling. I still felt safe, oddly; the Firebolt had never failed me; it had been there for me since my third year at Hogwarts, always saving me whenever I fell. My chin tilted back ever so slightly to the constellation above me, guiding me to the Burrow, the Weasleys', Ron... home. The burning silver of the sky seemed to form shapes, I first saw a ragged dog, it's eyes piercing and filled with mischief and curiosity. It was joined by a raven, a raven with an overly elongated beak and eyes of the softest black. Next was a phoenix, the stars acting as it's frame seemed to burn a blood-like scarlet, and it's eyes watery and full of wisdom. It held itself up and beat its enormous wing, the span of the city, with such authority and power. At the silent call, a bear cub, timid and fear etched into its black, beetle eyes, timidly strode towards the herd and nestled itself by the Phoenix's side.

"Sirius... Snape... Dumbledore... Hagrid..." The tears stung like nettles as they fell from my eyes, running down my frozen cheeks and trailing behind me as I soared through the atmosphere. Even though they were only stars... They weren't at the same time. They were too real. Too full of life. A part of me yearned to leave this suffering world and join them. A part of me yearned to be freed from the shackles of responsibility and death. A part of me yearned for answers, how should I feel? What should I do with my life now Voldemort was dead? Did my life have any meaning now that the prophesy was fulfilled?

After five hours and forty three minutes of consistent flying (you could feel every minute of it from your butt to your neck), the sun began to climb over the rolling hills of gold and luscious green. It felt so alien to see so much vegetation when I was so used to living in a concrete jungle. And there, standing with the strength of a mouse, yet the pride of a lion, the Burrow. Its many roofs glowed watery blue and fiery hazel. It was enchanting. The windows glistened and the grass and trees glowed with an emerald light, purer and more beautiful than any emerald embedded in the depths of the planet. I was home.

The broom, ducking and diving with exhaustion (much to Sirius' disliking), stumbled forward and crashed to the ground, just low enough for nothing to break, whether that be luggage or bone. It was still early, I didn't want to awaken anyone; they were just as tired and heartbroken as I was. But it didn't seem to matter. As I bundled my suitcase, cage and broom in my arms, they all went flying back and my arms were soon filling with a crying Hermione. Her wild hair seemed to breathe in the breeze and I could just make out her shoulders shaking, even through the dense layer of violet bed-robe.

"I told you he'd come!" Ron bellowed with joy, jogging towards us. He thumped me affectionately on the back and delicately peeled Hermione off my fatigued corpse. Her nose was wrinkled up and she just stared at me, tears and happiness streamed from her eyes and down her rosy cheeks. Her face was more bronze than usual and streaks of blond interlocked with the usual hazelnut colour of her hair. That was three years in France depicted in one beautiful girl.

"I was so worried! Oh, Harry! I'm so glad you're back. I knew what you were like and feared the worst... I thought you might be locked up in London, never leaving that blasted flat, or flying straight for Hogwarts to take revenge... Oh, I'm so glad you're back!" She started to cry again and tackled me once more, her voice shaking shamelessly as I regained some balance. Cradling her until the tears stopped flowing; I released Hermione from the most comforting hug I could muster. She stepped back, her sleeve covering her quivering lip as she examined me from top to bottom. It had been too long.

She wasn't the only one analysing me, Ron had his eyes fixed on every part of my slumped form. I wasn't quite sure why, he was the one who had changed so much, after all! His strawberry blond hair had been gelled messily, locks of gold sticking out at every angle. It seemed that he hadn't shaved in a while; he had a scraggly four o'clock shadow cupping a set jaw. He looked the twenty years old that he was. I could even identify muscle shaping the long-sleeved, navy blue t-shirt that covered him, tightly fitting to reveal his figure. I felt skinny and weak compared to this Ron, this Ron that looked ready to take life by the horns and ride it to a brilliant future. I felt worthless, unambitious, and like a man who had been stamped on by life as it took off with its favourites. But I didn't show this. I had just come home, Hagrid had died, and this was a touching reunion, I wasn't going to ruin it during the first ten minutes.

Ron's thin mouth curled at the corner, pushing his cheek up, and his broad, ink-stained hands grasped mine, one after the other.

"Good to have you home, mate."