"Buried, almost tangible secrets filled the space between them, and so, without a second to think, she closed it."
The scars of war opened more wounds than Harry Potter thought possible. As he returns to Hogwarts for his eighth and final year, he le...
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IT TOOK ANOTHER HOUR to finish packing even after using magic. Harry's brain was fuzzy and drifting aimlessly; he kept replaying the dream in his head over and over, seeing that pair of strikingly pale blue eyes stare into him and still feeling that aching frustration that he did not know who she was, and could not ask her all the questions tearing at his insides.
Finally, they were done, and Harry leaned against the wall, exhaustion fogging his mind again. This time, he was too tired to reminisce on his dream, and his mind was utterly blank.
Hermione resigned to a corner of Harry and Ron's room with a book she had found. It was a Muggle book, one Harry found the cover of to be interesting and had somehow made its way into his mess of school things. She had her nose buried into it, scanning each page with a hunger that had grown familiar to him over the years.
Harry decided not to bother her and instead went downstairs.
It had taken Harry and Hermione much more time to pack than Harry thought; Ron was dead asleep on the patched-up couch, drooling with his head rested in his hands. The window outside was dark and the moon was high in the sky.
Crookshanks was in as deep of a sleep as Ron. The cat must have found a place to rest after Ron had fallen asleep, for he was curled up between Ron's arms, purring contently.
He awoke at the sound of Harry's footsteps, and stretched its paws out before rubbing up on his legs. Harry scratched its ears half-heartedly. With a small huff of indignation, he darted past him and up the stairs, undoubtedly to find Hermione.
Ginny and Mrs. Weasley acknowledged him quietly, the latter giving Harry an overly warm smile.
"You packing for Hogwarts, Harry, dear?" asked Mrs. Weasley casually, as if it did not matter what he said, but he knew it meant the world to her.
"Yeah, I just finished," said Harry plainly. He nodded briefly at Ginny's suitcase on the floor, looking past Mrs. Weasley's bright, triumphant face. "How are we getting to the train tomorrow?"
"Dad's going to take us," explained Ginny. "You don't need a security escort anymore, do you?"
He shook his head, smiling. She was right; he was no longer fleeing from Voldemort's never-ending wrath. Harry no longer needed constant looking after. He was free.
Mrs. Weasley trotted over to Harry, dusting lint off the shoulder of his t-shirt.
"You'll have fun at school this year. I adored my seventh year, so did your parents."
Harry's heart gave an odd jerk. He had not heard about his parents since he saw their ghostly faces in the wake of the Resurrection Stone.
"This was their favourite year," said Mrs. Weasley with a nostalgic smile. "They finally got together this year. I remember half their year had bets on them."
