A Thousand Fibres

Part One : At Hogwarts

We cannot live only for ourselves. A thousand fibres connect us with our fellow men; and among those fibres, as sympathetic threads, our actions run as causes, and they come back to us as effects.

Herman Melville

Chapter One

At the end of his first year at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry Potter stopped Voldemort, the darkest wizard this side of Grindelwald, from reaching the Philosopher's Stone and coming back to power.

At the end of his second year, Harry slew a Basilik, and destroyed a diary created years before by the teenager who would become Voldemort - a diary used to possess Ginny Weasley so she could unleash the Basilik on the school.

At the end of his third year, Harry met Voldemort's servant, the man responsible for his parents' deaths, Peter Pettigrew, and by refusing to let two friends of his father kill Pettigrew, allowed him to escape and return to his master.

At the end of his fourth year, Voldemort abducted Harry and used his blood in a ritual in which the dark wizard regained his body, and the less said about that, the better.

At the end of his fifth year came the battle at the Ministry of Magic, and the less said about *that,* the better.

At the end of his sixth year, Death Eaters attacked the Hogwarts Express on its way back to London. For the first time, Harry killed in self defence, when Bellatrix decided to have some "fun" with him and Neville.

It had been a recurring theme of his years at Hogwarts, Harry sometimes thought. A slow building of the tension during the year, clues that not everything was right - that darkness was coming - culminating in an often cataclysmic battle, then a boring and painful summer with his relatives.

So it came as a surprise to everyone when Voldemort and his supporters launched a full blown attack on Hogsmeade, intent on killing Harry, not at the end of Harry's seventh year, but in December, ten days before Christmas.

As Harry had always vaguely felt it would, it all came down to a single combat. He and Voldemort duelled, Harry thinking frantically that his DADA lessons hadn't been enough, in the face of everything Voldemort threw at him : dismemberment spells, burning curses, Unforgivables.

Voldemort had found him in front of the Hog's Head. The rest of the Death Eaters were wreaking havoc in the village, and Harry, who had been near the pub, had decided to try to fire call the school so they could send the teachers. In the meantime, the rest of the students, as well as the shop owners, defended themselves against Voldemort's minions.

Ron and Hermione had stayed behind to help. So, Harry was alone when Voldemort appeared in front of him, Wormtail trailing after him. The duel began there.

By the time Dumbledore, the teachers, and several Order members arrived, Harry and Voldemort had run, ducked, hidden and strayed their way out of the main street of the village. There were no Death Eaters protecting their lord, busy as they were with the DA and the people of Hogsmeade. Peter was still there, though, cowering to avoid the curses Harry and Voldemort were throwing at each other.

Harry could hear curses shouted some distance behind him, screams of pain, impacts on the ground, but he was too busy trying to survive to pay much attention to what was happening on the battleground.

He was focused only on Voldemort, and Voldemort only on him. Neither of them noticed Dumbledore sneaking up behind Voldemort, raising his wand, and intoning a curse.

"Master!" Pettigrew screamed.

The green light was every bit was frightening as Harry remembered it.

Then, there was that awful pain in his head again. Occlumency could do nothing to stop Voldemort from possessing him at such a close range.

He could see Dumbledore staring at Voldemort's body on the ground, could feel his own lips moving, but could not understand what was being said. The only thing he was conscious of was the pain, and a few fragments of past conversations.

"He will have power the Dark Lord knows not."

"Your mother died to save you."

"An ancient magic of which he knows, which he despises, and which he has always, therefore, underestimated."

Dumbledore fired another curse, and Voldemort's body was engulfed in flames. The pain in Harry's head grew, as he tried to force Voldemort out.

"It was your heart that saved you."

He remembered the Ministry, and his grief for Sirius. It had been enough to make Voldemort flee. Harry focussed all his thoughts on Sirius and what he had felt when his godfather had fallen behind the veil.

Voldemort seemed to understand immediately what he was trying to do, and found another image in Harry's memories - Bellatrix, taunting him after Sirius's death. Harry then tried to recapture his feelings when Hagrid gave him a photo album full of pictures of his family. Voldemort retaliated by reminding Harry of his anger at the Dursleys, who had spent so many years lying to him about his heritage, about his parents, about his own worth.

It went on for what felt like an eternity to Harry - he'd focus on something painful, like the guilt he had felt when Voldemort had used his blood to resurrect himself, or his lonely childhood. Voldemort would reciprocate by making him remember his anger during his fifth year, or his hatred for Bellatrix.

The pain was receding and returning in waves.

Harry thought about the Weasleys, offering him a family, and was reminded of Percy's letter to Ron. About Remus hugging him, after a bad Occlumency lesson with Snape - and Voldemort found the impressive collection of memories in which Snape derided him in class.

The pain began to diminish when Harry thought about his parents - were they waiting for him, on the other side? The image of Pettigrew, crawling on the ground, touching Harry's robes, reminded Harry of his blinding anger when he had learned what role the rat had played in the betrayal of his parents. The pain came back with a vengeance, and Harry thought frantically about the Mirror of Erised, showing him the family he had never known. His longing for a place to belong. His longing for peace, for the war to just be over.

The pain had been so intense that Harry didn't realise it was gone for several minutes. Then, he tried to move, and found himself on the ground. There were still battle sounds around him. He tried to rise, but everything was spinning.

Then, everything went black.

* * *

23 December

Harry had just spent two days starting at the ceiling of the hospital wing, and he was bored to tears. Bored out of his mind. Thoroughly fed up with the staring. His friends came see him whenever they could, of course, but Madam Pomfrey had imposed strict rules, and their visits were too few and far between for Harry's liking.

Not that he felt up to, say, playing Quidditch, yet. His Occlumency fight with Voldemort had drained him, and the sheer strength he had needed to use to push Voldemort back from his mind, to force the monster to let go of his last grasp on this world, had almost killed him.

He had spent several days in a coma. His throat was still raw from screaming. The headache still hadn't disappeared, though it was becoming less fierce, thank Merlin.

So, yes, okay, he could see why Madam Pomfrey didn't want him overexerting himself.

Still...

There was a world of difference between overexerting himself, and talking a few minutes with his friends. Wasn't there?

He sighed.

He wanted to see someone. To talk a little.

To catch up on the news. Had Fudge finally been forced to resign for gross incompetence? Had the few Death Eaters who had fled Hogsmeade after their master's death been caught? What was going to happen in the wizarding world now?

When the door opened, he sat up straighter in his bed, hoping for some conversation.

The words "careful what you wish for" crossed his mind when Dumbledore entered the hospital wing and headed to him, but he dismissed the thought. He and the Headmaster had had their differences, that much was true, and their relationship would never again be what it had been in Harry's first year, when he had watched the old man with wonder, finding in him the kind, compassionate, grand-fatherly figure he had sorely missed in his younger years.

He had actually asked the Headmaster, at the beginning of his sixth year, if that hadn't been a factor in his decision to leave Harry with the Dursleys. "Did you hope that I'd think of you like that?" he had asked. "The powerful wizard, who knew my parents, who got me out of Privet Drive? Did you want me to see you as my saviour? Did you think it would grant you my unwavering loyalty?"

The look of pain on Dumbledore's face had shamed Harry. He had truly wondered, and he now knew that the Headmaster was more adept at manipulation and plotting than he had thought, but such a reaction couldn't be faked. And Dumbledore had been truly hurt that Harry had wondered what his motives were. While part of Harry had felt gratified that the Headmaster had been hurt, another part had felt bad. And that part had won.

He didn't think Dumbledore was infallible anymore. He didn't think the man was all-knowing, all-powerful. And yes, Dumbledore didn't go out of his way to disabuse people of such notions. But Harry supposed this was the price to pay when you lead people. Dumbledore was, after all, a symbol. He was a sage, a rock to cling to when things got rough. He was someone the Ministry listened to for the most part. A leading figure of the fight against darkness. Something Harry had tried to avoid becoming. He had never asked the man if that role had been willingly assumed, or if it had been forced upon him. If he had once, like Harry, found the expectations too much to handle. He would ask, one day, he thought.

In the meantime, he smiled to the Headmaster. "Sir?"

"Ah, Harry. Good to see you awake."

Because it was tradition to complain when one was stuck in the hospital wing, Harry mumbled, "Wish I could say that it's good to be awake."

"But?"

"But I'm bored," he grumbled.

Dumbledore chuckled, looking at him with affection. "Ah, yes. I dare say you've seen enough of this room, yes?"

Harry nodded emphatically. "Yes."

"I don't think Madam Pomfrey plans to keep you here much longer."

"Good."

Dumbledore perched on the side of the bed. "How do you feel?" he asked, his face solemn.

Harry shrugged. "Fine. Tired."

"Yes. I suspect this will last a while."

"I know."

Dumbledore smiled. "I've said so before, but I think you were unconscious then. I'm very proud of you, Harry."

Harry marvelled that he was still able to bask in the man's praise. At the end of his fifth year, it had seemed impossible that Dumbledore's opinion would ever matter to him again. "Thanks," he whispered.

Dumbledore nodded. "I wanted... I didn't know when to tell you this. It is... bittersweet news, I'm afraid."

Harry swallowed. Curiously, Voldemort's death had revived his grief for Sirius. Had his godfather still been alive, he would have been free to move in with him, now. Sirius hadn't survived to see the demise of the man who had killed two of his best friends. Sirius would never again pat Harry on the shoulder, and plan pranks, and tell Harry to lighten up, that everything was going to be all right. "Pettigrew?" Harry said.

Dumbledore nodded. "He was caught yesterday and questioned under Veritaserum. Sirius's name has been exonerated." He plunged a hand in a pocket of his robes, and took out a rolled parchment, bearing a Ministry Seal. "His pardon."

Harry blinked to avoid crying, and took the parchment, not even bothering to read it. What could it say that he didn't already know? It was too little, too late.

Dumbledore and Harry stayed silent a moment, then Dumbledore said, "It was the last straw for our Minister."

He looked satisfied, and Harry looked up. "He resigned?"

"He didn't have a choice. He had already had a hard time explaining why it had taken him so long to believe you, when Voldemort returned. And why his Aurors were so ineffective against the Death Eaters. When the public learned that he had refused to listen to you and Sirius after he escaped, he didn't have much choice left. That an innocent man spent twelve years in Azkaban without a trial would have been bad enough. That the Minister tried to send him back there when there was a doubt about his innocence..."

Harry sighed. "Yeah."

"I wish it could have been more, my boy," Dumbledore said.

Again, Harry blinked back tears. "Me too."

"There are parties in the planning," Dumbledore said, either to give Harry a chance to compose himself, or to bring the conversation back to more pleasant topics.

"Really?" The attempt at interest was half hearted at best, but Harry couldn't bring himself to truly care.

"A huge one, here at Hogwarts. Everyone is welcome. And I believe the Weasleys will attend, and take you back to the Burrow with them afterwards."

That was good news, indeed, and Harry smiled a little.

"This time around, you will be able to enjoy the parties," Dumbledore said, and Harry repressed a flinch.

"Yeah," he said, trying not to think that last time, he had been dumped on his relatives' doorstep and left to his own devices for ten years.

Dumbledore hung his head. "I don't think I can ever adequately apologize," he said, for what felt like the hundredth time since the talk that had followed Sirius's death.

Harry shrugged. "That's okay," he said, shoving the Dursleys out of his mind. They weren't here; he would never see them again. He wasn't going to let them spoil the moment. A moment he had hoped so much would come - Voldemort dead, and himself, still alive.

Dumbledore hesitated a moment. "There will be journalists."

Harry sighed. "What do they know?"

"The only persons present when Voldemort died were the two of us, and Moody. Pettigrew had already fled. Moody isn't going to say anything. I think it would be prudent to..."

Harry bit his lip. "Gloss over some details?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Yes."

"I don't particularly want people to know he could possess me," Harry admitted. "They would never stop watching me - the Ministry, the other students. They already think I'm dangerous."

"I agree," Dumbledore said. "I think it would be best to say that I destroyed his body, and that he tried to flee it and possess you, in order to escape, using you as a vessel. That the same protection that had protected you as a baby worked again."

"In a way, it did," Harry said. "He weakened when I thought about my mum." For some reason, the memory brought tears to his eyes. His emotions were so raw since the battle that he had a hard time keeping them in control.

"Yes. As I said, your heart, Harry, is what saved you in the end - and all of us with you."

Harry shook his head. "But certainly, other people have a family they love, someone to protect - all these feelings Voldemort couldn't stand."

"Yes, but he couldn't have... He didn't merely control you at a distance. Thanks to the scar he gave you, Harry, he had the ability to... I think superimpose himself on you would be an adequate analogy."

Harry grimaced. "Gives, 'Getting into someone's head' a whole new meaning."

"Quite." Dumbledore took Harry's hand. "When his body was destroyed, he tried to use yours to escape, to live on. When you pushed him back, he became unable to jump to anyone else."

"How do we know his soul didn't survive? After all, he did survive his body's destruction before."

"I don't think it did, Harry. If it did, I don't think it would be coherent enough, to ever try anything else. After all this time dismissing emotions like compassion and love, seeing them as a weakness, I'm not surprised feeling them trough you was more than he could withstand."

Harry wasn't convinced.

"Think, Harry," Dumbledore said. "When you lost Sirius, you felt numb for a few weeks, then you began to feel again, and it hurt, didn't it?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Imagine having been through years of unfeeling, except for greed and thirst for power, and madness. Having all your emotions dumped on him would hurt even more, don't you think?"

"Can anyone really imagine that?" Harry asked.

"No, I don't think we can. So, Harry, I think that Voldemort's soul, for lack of a better term, was either destroyed by the shock, which is likely, or at the very least rendered insensible." Dumbledore looked at Harry gravely. "I was most worried about the effect on you. You were screaming when he finally...went."

Harry blushed slightly. "I feel fine," he said, not wanting to dwell on the pain. After the Ministry's battle, he had fervently hoped he would never feel anything like it again.

"For which we are all grateful."

"Yeah. Didn't... didn't anyone else hear?"

"Moody, apart from making sure we wouldn't be disturbed by Death Eaters while we were disposing of their master, cast a silencing charm around us. Everyone was too busy to watch us, and no one heard."

"You knew Voldemort was going to-"

"No, I didn't. I feared he might, and we all know how the Ministry deals with that kind of thing."

"Yeah," Harry said. He thought a moment, then asked, "What about the prophecy?"

"What about it?"

"Well, it stated that I had the power to destroy him."

"Yes."

"But if he hadn't tried to kill me, if he hadn't created a link between us-"

"Then, you probably couldn't have done anything more than we could have," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling.

"So, he caused his own defeat?"

"Prophecies are often obscure, Harry. Trying to determine what event caused what other event is often impossible. It happened as it did."

Harry shook his head, unconvinced. "Goes to prove you should never trust prophecies, doesn't it?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Divination is an obscure branch of magic."

"No kidding."

They talked some more, and Harry drifted off to sleep as the headmaster was telling him how Ron had yelled at Madam Pomfrey when she had refused to let him see Harry the night following the battle.

* * *

"Are you sure you're all right?" Hermione asked, for what felt like the ten thousandth time.

Once again, Harry reigned in his temper and answered, through gritted teeth, "Sure."

"Because we can-"

Harry snapped. "For God's sake, Hermione, I'm fine, I'm sure I'm fine, Madam Pomfrey wouldn't have let me out of her sight if I wasn't fine, I don't want to spend Christmas holed up in the bloody hospital wing, thank you very much, can we please go party now?" He was breathless when he stopped, Hermione was staring at him, wide-eyed, and Ron began to snigger.

"Come on, Hermione, you've been on his back since... er, *that* day."

Hermione blushed, and nodded. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. "I'm sorry, Harry. It's just..."

Harry didn't need her to continue. They had just had the fright of their lives when they had seen him in Hogsmeade, unconscious. He understood that, he really did. But he didn't want to dwell anymore on what had happened anymore.

Voldemort was dead - good riddance - and he knew the nightmares to come would be brutal. He'd had to grieve for his parents, for Sirius, for Cedric, all over again, in order to keep Voldemort out of his head. He'd had to remember his love for them, to make the monster suffer. The wounds were close to the surface again and he knew they'd take time to heal.

He needed the parties. He needed to see people in the streets, enjoying themselves, after living for three years in a climate of fear and tension, of constant alertness. He needed it to fully assimilate the fact that it was over, that he could begin to relax, that he could begin to focus solely on the problems of a seventeen year old boy. The NEWTs, for example. Not that Hermione would *ever,* *ever* know that he considered the NEWTs a welcome distraction.

Hermione still looked a little peeved at his outburst, and he smiled at her reassuringly. "S'okay. Really. I know you were scared. But really, sincerely, I'm feeling fine."

"You look tired," she said, almost shyly.

"I feel tired, but Madam Pomfrey said it was likely to last for a few weeks. Nothing to worry about. That's exactly was she said, actually. And I'm not going to worry."

His rambling brought a smile to Hermione's lips.

Ron changed the subject, to Harry's relief. He needed some space. "The feast here will be huge. With every student who wants to stay. And their parents, if they want to come."

Harry sighed. "I know. Professor McGonagall asked me to give a speech." He made a face. He hated speaking to crowds.

"What did you say?" Ron asked, smirking.

"What do you think? I said, 'Thanks, but no thanks'."

Hermione shook her head. "Honestly. You think she's going to let you get away with it?"

"I should hope so."

Hermione's smirk matched Ron's for a while. "Harry, you just defeated Voldemort. They're going to want a speech. Get used to it, and prepare something fast, before they put you on the spot."

Harry glared at her, defiant. "I will not give a speech. And that's final."

* * *

A sea of faces looked at him, and while he couldn't see Hermione in the crowd, he just *knew* she was looking smug, probably wearing that "I-told-you-so" look that made her look so endearing - when it was directed at someone other than him, that is.

"Er. Well, I haven't prepared anything, so you'll forgive me if I make this brief," he improvised.

There were a few indulgent smiles here and there, and he swore to himself, once again, that he would never ignore Hermione's advice ever again.

"First, I'd like to say that I wouldn't be here without all the people who kept me alive all these years, Aurors, teachers, friends, and of course, the members of the Order."

He winced inwardly, wondering if he could sound more boring. It sounded like a TV award ceremony, he decided. He had watched enough of those as a kid.

This was going to be a long, long night, he thought, as he stumbled, searching for words.

* * *

"I can't believe they made me," he grumbled, as soon as Dumbledore stopped the torture and allowed him to go back to his friends. He collapsed into an empty seat between the twins, not even noticing that this put him in an ideal position, should they plan to pull a prank on him. Which went to say just how perturbed he was.

He cheeks were flaming, and he wanted to disappear under the table. Snape had smirked disdainfully all the time he was talking, but at least, Harry hadn't made any embarrassing faux-pas. He hoped.

And the people in attendance had applauded politely, glad to have heard him, unsure as he was.

"What did you expect?" Ron asked. "You're the hero of the hour, mate."

He groaned.

"Ah, don't worry," George, or Fred, said from his left.

"You'll always be little Harrykins to us!" Fred, or George, added from his right.

Harry smiled weakly. "Er, thanks, I think."

One of them patted him on the shoulder, and the other put a drink in his hand. Harry looked at Hermione, who shook her head adamantly. Mrs Weasley had watched the exchange, and yelled, "George! Fred! What are you trying to do to the poor boy?"

The twins looked as innocent as new-born babes, which settled it. They never looked innocent unless they were planning something. Harry put the drink down, while Mrs Weasley chastised the twins and the older Weasleys looked on with amusement.

Harry relaxed back in his chair, enjoying the show, as George, or Fred, tried to deny that they had planned anything.

"Honestly, Mum! This is our associate we're talking about," he said.

"Ah! As if that would stop you!" Mrs Weasley fumed. "Not *tonight* is all I ask."

"But any other day is fine," Bill threw in from his seat across Harry.

Harry snorted. "Yeah, well. I don't think she ever forgave me for giving them the funds to create their shop," he said quietly.

The twin that wasn't defending them against Mrs Weasley's tirade whispered, "We're grateful for three, man. In fact, we're grateful for ten." He poured another glass and handed it to Harry. "Prank free, this one," he said, sincerely.

At Harry's doubtful look, he said, seriously, "Honest."

Harry nodded, and drank.

The twin added, still in a whisper, "And, when you finish school, could you please come by the shop, so we can discuss... er, business opportunities."

Harry almost spat out a mouthful of punch. Bill laughed. Thankfully, Mrs Weasley was still talking, and hadn't noticed.

Harry shook his head, amused.

This was going to be fun, he thought, as dinner appeared on the tables.

* * *

"So, are you having fun?" Hermione asked, her hands around Harry's neck, as they danced among other couples.

Well, dancing was a bit generous, Harry thought. They were spinning in circles together. Slowly.

"Yeah," he said, unconvinced.

She smiled gently. "You seemed more enthusiastic a few hours ago."

He shrugged. "I'm not sure what I was expecting," he admitted.

Hermione looked around them. "They all seem pretty calm, around here," she said. "I'm sure that outside, people are hysterical with relief and are making fools of themselves."

"Your point being?"

She smiled. "That I'm not sure *anyone* realises it's over yet. It's only been a few days, after all. I read papers, about last time. The parties, the fireworks, the joy people felt. I think they were mostly venting. As they are now. I think they'll only realise that it's really safe later."

"Then why aren't people here ecstatic?"

"Because many of them were in the Order, or work at the Ministry, and they're exhausted. The ones who aren't don't dare be too overt here."

That made some kind of sense, Harry supposed. He did feel like he was missing something, though. He felt as if he had been cheated of something. Hermione must have felt this.

"It's not just you," she repeated. "It's such a huge adjustment. It's kind of funny in a way."

"Funny?"

"Okay, not funny so much as interesting. That way people were so quick to become paranoid again, trying to protect themselves. And how long it takes them to make the reverse adjustment. I mean, years later, they still don't say Voldemort's name."

He had never thought about it, but it made some kind of sense.

It still felt vaguely unfair, that he couldn't truly relax, but he would have to make do, he thought.

Then, to his relief, the song ended, and Ron came to claim back his girlfriend. Harry went back to his table, begging off the next few songs, using tiredness as an excuse to sit back and watch. As he observed people, he came to the conclusion that Hermione was right. People seemed tense and jumpy, still, and Harry wondered how long it would take for them to adjust.

* * *

Hours later, the entire Weasley clan, minus Percy, but with Hermione and Harry, stumbled through the fireplace of the Burrow, some landing more gracefully than the others.

Floo travel would definitely never be his favourite method of transport, Harry thought, picking himself up off the floor, under the amused gazes of the twins.

"Not a word," Harry grumbled good naturedly.

"Yes, Oh Saviour Of All That Is Good," a twin intoned.

"We wouldn't want to incur your wrath, Oh Blessed Protector Of This World And All The Others," the other one added.

"Not as catchy as Boy-Who-Lived," Bill said laughing. "Think you'll be stuck with that one for a while."

Harry bit his lip, torn between laughter and panic. Really, the deference some people treated him with was becoming a bit much. It was as if he was made of glass, or as if everything he said was The Truth. He couldn't wait for life to resume its normal course.

And he also couldn't wait to collapse into a bed. He may have been discharged from Madam Pomfrey's care, but he still tired easily, and the feast had been sumptuous, long and exhausting. He could barely stand at the end, and he didn't think it was only due to the twins' "additions" to the supposedly alcohol free punch. "Prank-free," Fred had explained at some point, with Mrs Weasley safely out of earshot, "doesn't mean alcohol-free, or fun-free." Harry hoped Ron and Hermione had prevented him from making a fool of himself in front of the press, but given the way the two swayed right now, he wouldn't bet on that.

"Please, don't let there be pictures," he thought.

Charlie, the last Weasley to Floo back, promptly collapsed in a chair. "That was some party," he said.

Mrs Weasley smiled at the exhausted people crowding her house. "But we had waited long enough for such a party," she said, her eyes filling with tears.

Most men seemed at a loss, but Harry still remembered the form her Boggart at taken at Grimmauld Place, before the war really began. "It'll be a miracle if we all come through this," she had said. But all the Weasleys were still there, exasperating her, and Harry, too, was grateful that his favourite family was intact. Even though Percy still hadn't manifested any interest in coming home, the family had survived, and Harry thought fiercely that at least they were safe now.

Arthur walked to Molly and took her in his arms, motioning for the children to make themselves scarce. They went upstairs, Ron leading Harry to his room, under the roof. Harry slipped under the covers without discussion. He fell asleep before his head had even hit the pillow.