A Thousand Fibres

Chapter Two

The holidays flew by. Almost every day, the Daily Prophet reported the huge parties, the commemoration ceremonies and the gatherings that took place everywhere in Britain. Dumbledore had fire called to ask Harry if he wanted to attend some of these ceremonies. Harry didn't think he had managed to hide his horror at the thought. He was comfortable at the Burrow with his friends, and while he was glad to see that people were rejoicing, he had no intention of joining them. Joining them would mean having to answer questions, and he didn't feel up to that yet.

Mrs Weasley told him that spells had been placed on the Burrow, keeping owls from well wishers away - as well, Harry supposed, as owls from people who did *not* want to congratulate him on having freed the world from Voldemort. Not everyone had been opposed to him, after all.

"You'll probably be asked what you want to do with all those letters," Mrs Weasley said. "Once things settle down, that is."

"I guess ignoring them isn't going to be an option?" he asked hopefully. He sighed at her sympathetic look. "Yeah, I know."

Still, the days Harry spent at the Burrow, surrounded by his friends and by the people he considered his closest family, were the happiest he could remember in a while.

The Dursleys sent him an empty biscuit box, which arrived three days after Christmas. Harry supposed they must have found it hilarious. He merely wondered where their pettiness ended. He sent them a note thanking them for their "gift." He added in a post-script that he wouldn't come back at the end of the year, "the wizard who murdered my parents having been defeated. Just thought you would like to know, Aunt Petunia."

Hadn't the woman felt *anything* when she had learned that Voldemort had risen again? Nothing but fear for the two people in the world she seemed to love? Nothing at the thought that the monster who had killed her sister was back? To Harry, who had longed for a family for years, this indifference was unfathomable. Still, he refrained from insulting them, and thought that was a pretty big achievement under the circumstances.

* * *

Lupin joined the Weasleys on New Year's day and spent a while with Harry, talking about trivial things - after all the serious, emotional discussions they had had in the past, Harry enjoyed this opportunity to indulge in inane chit chat.

"I swear, Moody is getting worse by the day," Lupin was saying, as he and Harry drank a cup of hot chocolate in the kitchen.

Harry laughed. "What did he do now?"

"He may have serious reasons to be distrustful, but surely, grilling me for twenty minutes about my school years is pushing it?"

In a way, it was then that Harry truly realised that Voldemort was gone, that he needn't worry about life and death questions anymore.

He had had informal talks with Lupin before. But these talks had never been carefree. They had often followed or preceded a more serious discussion about the war, or about Harry's problems.

This single moment, when they could laugh about Moody's paranoia instead of adopting some of the man's habit for survival, was what drove it home.

"Harry? Is everything all right?" Lupin asked.

Harry nodded. "I just realised. It's over." When no reaction was forthcoming, he looked at the older man. "Isn't it?"

Lupin shook himself and wrapped Harry in a hug. "Yes, Harry, it's over."

Harry laughed shakily. "Sorry. I thought the parties would do the trick, you know. That I would see the people having fun, and it would..."

"Yes?"

"It didn't. I didn't understand why it hadn't."

"It's often the small things that make us see the larger picture," Lupin said.

They stayed like that a moment, until Fred (who was wearing one of Mrs Weasley's infamous home-made jumper with a huge 'F' on it), entered the kitchen, saw them, goggled and said in a suggestive tone, "Sorry to interrupt."

Lupin laughed.

Harry yelled, "Ew!" and stepped away from him.

Fred snickered. "I'll leave you to your forbidden love."

Harry blushed. The door closed on Fred, and Lupin smiled. "Okay?" he asked.

"Yeah. I just..." He trailed off.

"It'll take a while to adjust."

"No one else seems to have a problem," Harry pointed out.

Lupin shook his head. "Arthur watches over everyone as if they would all get hurt if he stopped being watchful. Molly rushed upstairs a few times, and I'm reasonably sure she was thanking Merlin that everyone is safe. I don't think you understand just how worried she was about you. Knowing what you had to do."

Harry stared at his hands.

"Ron, Hermione and Ginny seem ready to grab their wands at the slightest opportunity."

"I didn't notice all that," Harry said.

"Because you're so used to it."

"Oh."

"It'll get better. With time."

"Did it, last time?" Harry asked.

A flash of sadness flickered on Lupin's face, and Harry remembered. Last time, the man had been grieving the loss of his friends, and dealing with Sirius's apparent betrayal. He tried to imagine what he would feel like if he had lost Hermione, and Ron. Unable to even think about it, he stepped forward and hugged Lupin impulsively. "Sorry," he said.

The door opened, and Fred asked, "Are you fini - Oh, get a room, already!"

Lupin shook with laughter.

"Yipes," George voice added, and again, the door closed.

"Nothing can get these two down," Lupin marvelled.

Harry nodded, thinking that it was a good thing, under the circumstances.

* * *

The day before classes started, Harry took the Hogwarts Express with Ron, Hermione and Ginny.

Everyone seemed to want to talk to Harry, thank him for finishing Voldemort off, comment his speech at the feast, ask him what he planned to do with his life now, and what were Gryffindor's chances of winning the House cup, and would Dumbledore award him points for killing He-Who-Must-Not, er, that is, Voldemort?

By the time the train reached Hogwarts, Harry was ready to throw himself out the nearest window, and Ron was patting him on the back - Harry supposed it was meant to be comforting, but it just grated on his nerves.

"It'll all die down in a while," Hermione said.

Harry forced a smile. "Yeah."

"Soon, they'll revile you again," she added.

Harry snorted. "Thanks! You could always say the right thing!"

"Anytime," she said, patting his knee.

* * *

By the end of the first week of classes, the hubbub was finally beginning to die down - and then only because Harry had snapped at some of the people who had tried, once again, to make him tell the story of the Hogsmeade Battle.

At least, Potions class was sure to be familiar, Harry thought as he headed toward the dungeons. Snape had never considered him "special." Harry felt confident that it wouldn't change over something as trivial as the end of the war.

Sure enough, Gryffindor lost ten points within two minutes. Harry had been detained by an admirer who wanted to assure him of his indefectible loyalty and barely made it to the classroom in time.

"Loyal until the next hysteria crisis," he thought bitterly as he took his seat.

"Five points from Gryffindor for your tardiness, Mister Potter," Snape said.

Harry could have pointed out that he had entered the room literally on the teacher's heels, but six years of experience had taught him the futility of trying to argue with Snape.

"Yes, sir," he said instead.

"And five more points for your cheek," Snape added. "Being considered a hero by a horde of bleating sheep does not make you special, Mister Potter."

Harry sighed (inwardly, so as not to cost his House more points for breathing too loud) and braced himself.

The snide comments went on, and on, during class, from "Did your exploits drain whatever brain you had left from your head, Mister Potter?" to "Pathetic attempt at a concealing potion, Mister Potter."

Harry had to admit, the man knew how to hold a grudge.

"But, sir, his potion doesn't seem off," Neville said.

There was a long pause - no one moved, no one spoke, and those who had been looking down didn't raise their heads as the world stopped spinning for a few seconds.

Neville Longbottom, bane of the dungeons, favourite victim of Professor Snape, all years included, had spoken up. In defence of someone.

"Are you a Potions expert, Mister Longbottom?" Snape spat, his opinion on the matter clear. That Neville had earned an Exceed Expectations on his Potions OWLs and been allowed by Dumbledore to take the NEWTs class had rendered Snape even more vindictive.

"Well, no sir, but it looks like the book said it should."

No one breathed in the classroom. The incident in the Hogwarts Express, in their sixth year, had done a lot to rid Neville from his shyness, but Snape had remained his personal demon - his boggart. Harry was torn between admiration for Neville, irritation at the other boy's obstinacy, a strong and inexplicable urge to bang his head on the desk, and some joy at seeing someone stand up for him, doomed to failure as the attempt was.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for your presumption."

Neville opened his mouth. Harry caught his eyes and shook his head, silently begging the other boy to stop before Snape truly lost it.

Neville got the message, and Snape went on on his round, disparaging Gryffindor's students and praising Slytherins.

"Some things never change," Harry thought. Then he watched Neville, taking notes from the blackboard, and amended, "And then, some do."

* * *

That evening, every Gryffindor in seventh year congratulated Neville.

"I don't understand," Neville said, blushing, as Dean and Seamus walked away. "I didn't, well, win the argument."

Hermione and Ron were sitting across Harry and him, their books taking all the space on the table between them. They were whispering and smiling at each other. Harry wished he could be as disgusted by the display as Ginny pretended to be.

Ron and Hermione had become a couple during sixth year. They had been self conscious around Harry at first, and Harry had felt a little useless in that new version of their little group. For a while, they had kept their distance, while they figured out where they fit in each other's lives. Now, Harry sometimes said laughingly, "They'll be the first ones to marry in our year. Assuming they don't kill each other first, naturally."

For now, Hermione and Ron were completely absorbed with each other, which allowed Neville and Harry to talk in peace.

"No one can win an argument with Snape, you know that," Harry said.

"Well, yes, but-"

"It was a very brave thing you did," Harry said, meaning it.

Like everyone else, he constantly underestimated Neville. Then, sometimes, Neville showed why the Hat had put him in a lion's house. Neville had, at fifteen, followed Harry into a place where he knew he would have to fight Death Eaters. Neville had stood up to Harry and his friends, Boy-Who-Lived or not, in their first year. Neville had struggled to keep up with the rest of the class for seven years without giving up.

Neville chose his battles, but fought them to the end.

"Not that brave," Neville said.

"Snape has ridiculed you every chance he got since our first year, and as a fellow victim from the man's wrath, I know what it takes to go back to the classroom and try to learn something."

"I only..." Neville gestured vaguely.

"Only stood up to the meanest teacher of the school," Harry finished, smiling.

Neville bit his lip. "I think I did it mostly for me," he admitted.

"And you think that makes it less courageous?" Harry asked.

Neville looked at him, surprised. "But..."

Harry checked that no one was listening. "Neville, I only killed Voldemort for me. That it saved the world and all that was an added bonus, and that's wonderful, don't get me wrong, but... In the end, it was him or me, and I chose me."

Neville was staring, wide eyed. "Really?"

"Really. Courage comes in many forms." A yawn dispelled the seriousness of the statement, and Harry stretched. "I'm beat," he said. He rose, Ron and Hermione still oblivious to what was happening around them. "I'm going to bed," he added.

Neville looked at the two lovers, and snickered. "Yeah. 'Night."

"You too."

* * *

He had a bad feeling.

Harry was playing exploding snap with Susan Bones, Colin and Neville, while Hermione and Ron patrolled the train, keeping an eye on the younger students. By luck, they had found a fairly deserted part of the train to sit. Most of the students had gathered in cramped quarters to talk about the upcoming holiday. Perhaps that was why Harry was edgy, he thought. It was a lot quieter than it usually was, near the driver's carriage.

Still, he couldn't shake that feeling of foreboding.

The train ride had been uneventful until now, but the students had seemed quieter than usual when they had boarded the train in Hogsmeade. Perhaps, Harry reflected, that also explained why they had all stayed in the carriages in the middle of the train, instead of taking up as much space as they could. Being together probably reassured them.

That was understandable. The Death Eaters had been restless all year, and even though Hogwarts was isolated, the Daily Prophet reported the attacks, and everyone read it at Hogwarts now. Information was important, they had all learned. You needed to know what was waiting for you outside to prepare for it.

"Constant vigilance, and all that," Ron often said.

At that point of Harry's thoughts, there was a deafening screeching noise, of metal against metal, and suddenly everything was spinning, luggage colliding with limbs, cards flying everywhere.

Then, darkness.

After an indefinite time, Harry woke up, startled by the silence. Hadn't there been screams, just a moment before? Then there was a voice, *her* voice, taunting. "That's how your parents lost their minds. Hadn't you wanted to know what it felt like?"

Harry opened his eyes. He couldn't recognise where he was, and he fought a feeling of panic. It took him a moment to realise that the reason everything seemed out of perspective was because the carriage had been turned upside down. Colin was sprawled on the roof, that was now the floor, his neck forming an unnatural angle with the rest of his body, his eyes open.

To avoid looking at him too long, Harry scanned the space. Susan was sitting, propped up against a wall, Petrified.

They were alone in the compartment. Well, alone, with Neville, and a raging psychopath, who had killed his godfather, and tortured the Longbottoms into insanity.

Typical.

"Ah, awake at last," Bellatrix said. She was standing right next to him, her wand trained on Neville, who was sprawled on the floor, tears streaming down his face. Harry tried to lean on an elbow, which proved to be a mistake, as she kicked him in the ribs. Hard. "I didn't tell you to move, now, did I?" she asked. "I'll lead you to my master soon." Her smile was frightening. Harry raised his eyes, met hers, and was surprised at the total lack of humanity in them. It wasn't as if he hadn't known she was deranged. But being here with her, alone with defenceless classmates, still disoriented - he suspected he had hit his head hard in the derail - drove it home. She was insane. Not just, "she was so very mad to join the Death Eaters" but "clinically unstable" insane.

And they were alone with her.

"For now, however, I'll teach you a little lesson," she said. "For what you did last year. There can be no forgiveness for failure to perform a spell."

Harry wanted to scream. No forgiveness? *She* had killed Sirius.

His eyes fell on Susan, and he made an effort to remain calm.

Shouting wouldn't accomplish anything.

"You defied the Dark Lord," she said, as if such a thing was unconceivable. She pointed her wand at Harry. "Crucio."

Harry woke up again later, aching all over. Neville's anguished screams blared out in the compartment. Harry briefly wondered what had happened, then it came back to him. Apparently, mixing the cruciatus with a concussion wasn't such a good idea, he thought wryly. And why the hell hadn't anyone come to the rescue, yet?

As if she had read his mind, Bellatrix said, "Well, we don't have much more time." Neville gave a half-sob.

Frantically, Harry looked around for his wand. He couldn't feel it in his back pocket. If Bellatrix had secured it, it would be very bad indeed. But if she had just put it aside...

Susan met his eyes, and she rolled her eyes, pointing as well was she could to her left. He saw them - four wands. Near Bellatrix's feet. One of them was snapped. Colin's, or Susan's. The other three seemed fine. If he could only reach them...

Bellatrix said to Neville, who was sobbing on the floor, "I'll let you ponder on that. Until next time." She rounded on Harry, and said, "My Lord said *he* was to play with you. Stupefy."

And, again, Harry fell into the darkness.

He woke up abruptly, and again, heard screams. What was taking so damn long for the cavalry to arrive? And - not that he was complaining - why was he still there, instead of with Voldemort?

He heard a hiss and turned his head, slowly. Neville was lying on the floor, holding his wand between two fingers. Harry realised he must have enervated him. Bellatrix was focussed on Susan, so Harry moved his hand, trying not to catch her peripheral vision, slowly, very slowly. He had his fingers on his wand when Bellatrix said, dangerously, "Did I give you permission to take that? Cru-"

Neville and Harry reacted fast, upon hearing the word. They both shouted "Expelliarmus!" at the same time, pointing their wands to Bellatrix. She flew backwards, and there was a sinister crack as she collided with the wall.

Her eyes expressed all her surprise, and she said, "How could you-" before slumping on the floor.

Harry awoke with a gasp. He could still, months later, hear the noise her bones had made when she had crashed against the wall.

He waited for his heart to stop thumping in his chest, and tried to catch his breath. His covers had been thrown off the bed, and his pyjamas and hair were sweaty and clung to his skin. He grimaced and felt around for his wand.

He heard a whispered, "Harry?" coming from Neville's bed.

"I'm fine," he said softly. His fingers found his wand, he pointed it at himself and muttered a cleaning spell.

"Yes?" Neville asked again.

"Yeah. Thanks."

He heard a rustle of fabric, and all was silence again.

He knew from experience that he wouldn't sleep anymore. He got out of bed, grabbed a book in the dark and exited the room.

In the common room, the fire sprang to life when he settled on the couch in front of it. Dobby always seemed to know when Harry's nightmares kept him up.

Harry glanced at the book he had taken.

His Potions textbook.

"Figures," he thought.

He set it aside, curled up on the couch, hugging his knees to his chest.

He should have known that particular nightmare would come back to haunt him tonight. It had been hovering at the edge of his consciousness all evening, as Neville was being praised.

The first time he had killed - not "just" been indirectly responsible for a death.

The rest of that night never featured in his nightmares. It always stopped at Bellatrix's death.

The memories, however, didn't stop there.

Harry didn't need to check to see that Bellatrix was dead. Such immobility could only mean one thing.

He took off the body bind Bellatrix had cast on Susan. "Hey," he said softly.

Susan swallowed, sniffed.

"Do you know why we're still here?" Harry asked, handing her her wand.

"It hasn't been long, I think," Neville said. "Ten minutes at most."

Susan added, "And I heard battle sounds from outs-" Her eyes grew big, and she pointed her wand above Harry's shoulder. "Petrify!" she screamed. There was a bump, and Harry turned to see a Death Eater fall on the ground, his wand still in his hand.

He looked at him, then at Susan. "Thanks," he said.

She looked rather stunned herself. She nodded absently.

"Let's - " Harry said.

"- move," Neville finished with him, nodding earnestly.

They cast a body bind on the Death Eater, then Harry took his mask. When the others looked at him as if he had lost his mind, he said, "Just in case it's someone we don't know about, and he escapes." It was merely Avery, though.

They transfigured luggage into a ladder, cautiously avoiding looking in Colin's direction.

Once outside, they understood why help hadn't come yet. In every direction, Harry could see carriages upturned, broken glass and metal shards, students either running or lying on the ground. There were Death Eaters too, fighting with Aurors and Hogwarts teachers.

They were found by Professor Snape, only two minutes after their exit from the train. Snape opened his mouth, and even in his dazed state, Harry braced himself for the cutting remarks his teacher would certainly throw his way.

Snape, however, took one look at the three of them and closed his mouth. Harry deduced he must look as pathetic as he felt. His head was pounding viciously, his vision was blurry and his legs felt like rubber. Neville and Susan weren't in much better shape. The three were leaning on each other for support.

Snape had a Portkey to Hogwarts. They all put one finger on it and he said, "Sanctuary." They found themselves in the Headmaster's office. Harry bit back a wave of nausea - he hated Portkey travel in the best circumstances. This night didn't qualify as best circumstances. He stayed awake long enough to ask about Hermione and Ron, who hadn't been found yet. Then, the room began to spin.

He was vaguely aware of Snape's arms stopping his fall, then nothing.

He woke up two days later, to learn that Ron and Hermione had survived, that ten students had died, either in the crash or because of the Death Eaters. Harry had a hairline skull fracture, and the after effects of the cruciatus to contend with.

And new nightmares to add to his ever growing collection, of course.

Dumbledore had come see him, later in the day. "I know it is important for you, so I will tell you that, according to the Death Eaters we captured and questioned, you weren't the primary target of the attack," he had said.

Harry felt slightly better. He would have hated to learn that people had died just because Voldemort had wanted another go at him.

He and Dumbledore discussed the battle and its aftermath for a little while, then the Headmaster let him rest.

Two days later, a memorial service was held at Hogwarts, for the surviving students and their parents. Then, Harry got back to the Dursleys, for yet another summer of imprisonment.

Thinking back about it, he was fairly certain he had dreamed about Bellatrix every night of the summer.

* * *

When Hermione awoke Harry, the sun was rising.

"You slept here?" she asked, sounding like a concerned mother.

"Not all night," he said.

She nodded, and sat on the table in front of him. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"Old nightmares," he said, smiling.

"Bellatrix?"

He nodded.

"It changed you," she said.

"Did it?"

She looked sad. "You were more serious after that. More focussed."

Harry shrugged, not knowing what to say. When Hermione looked up, her face was set. "I'm glad it's all over," she said, leaning over and squeezing his arm.

"Me too."

"I'm glad you can have a normal life, now."

"Or as normal as Hogwarts can provide," he said jokingly.

"There is that..."

They both giggled.

"I should go upstairs," Harry said. "Try to sleep some more."

She nodded. "Yeah."

"Thank God for Saturdays," Harry added.

He felt her eyes following him as he made his way up the stairs.