The Interlude

Chapter 2: In Restless Dreams I Walk Alone

Harry couldn't sleep. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised, he'd slept for most of the past three days, the price he'd paid for Apparating with Ron, but he suspected that wasn't the reason for his insomnia. It just felt wrong to lie there on a cot in Ron's room in the Burrow with the bright Chudley Canon posters assailing his eyes whenever a firework from a nearby celebration lit up the room and the ghoul clanking away in the attic when Ron was still lying on a bed in Saint Mungo's.

Dully, Harry considered flooing back to Saint Mungo's to sit with Ron. It was only by the narrowest margins that he'd been convinced to leave in the first place. An entire pack of Healers lead by Mrs. Weasley had ordered Harry, Hermione, and Ginny off the premises, but they hadn't agreed until Ron suggested that they go as well. Hermione especially had looked rather offended at that, but she hadn't been able to argue when he said that they couldn't spend all their time in a hospital waiting for him. He'd even gone so far as to add that they'd all spent far too much time there already, which made Harry wonder if he was aware that the only reason the entire Weasley clan had been allowed to stay that first night was because the Healers hadn't thought Ron would live to see the next day. However, now that Ron's survival was all but guaranteed, they'd had to concede his point and abandon their unspoken plan to force the others to allow them to stay. Instead, they promised to return early the next day.

Ron was doing much better. In fact, after a day and a half with no relapses from Voldemort's curse, the Healers had finally restored some of the feeling to Ron's right arm. He'd spent that entire afternoon happily wiggling his tingling fingers. Still, after everything they'd been through together over the past year, searching for Horcruxes and the final battle, leaving Ron now felt a bit like abandonment to Harry and Hermione. Harry especially thought that he ought to be there. After all, that curse had been aimed at him.

Harry supposed that Hermione and Ginny were probably lying awake as well, pondering similar thoughts in the darkness, maybe even discussing them. He considered joining them, but he quickly rejected the idea, he couldn't imagine how his presence could possibly make things better for them. Even Harry didn't like his own company, he wasn't about to subject them to it.

After the year he'd had, Harry couldn't say he handled situations like this best alone, but he just couldn't go downstairs, couldn't face the moment when Hermione and Ginny backed him into a corner and asked about the length of time between when Voldemort cursed Ron and when Harry killed Voldemort.

A wave of guilt washed over Harry and he rolled onto his side, feeling physically sick. The Healers had said that, if Ron had been brought in sooner things would have been better for him. He might have made a full recovery by now, for all Harry knew. If he had made the opposite choice things would have been very different. Ron would be here, they might even be celebrating, drinking butterbeers and telling stories like a group of old war heroes. Now, the war might be over, but they had nothing to celebrate.

Harry closed his eyes and watched as the same ten seconds played in his head: Voldemort walking through a door into a lit room and Harry following. He cringed and bit his lip when he realized that he felt a stab of guilt, but no remorse. He forced his eyes open, tried to think of anything else, but the memory continued to haunt him, over and over, an endless cycle, following Voldemort through door after door.

In his dreams, Harry returned to Hogwarts, but it wasn't Hogwarts as he remembered it, or, rather, how he preferred to remember it. There was no scratching of quills against parchment, no voices of the professors echoing their lectures down the halls, no students complaining about tedious essays as they passed. No cackling poltergeist, no patter of House Elves walking barefoot on the stone floor. No snoring portraits or rustling ghosts. Nothing either living or dead was in the castle except for him and the voice. It seemed to come from everywhere at once, echoing hundreds of times around the castle, crying, screaming, pleading for help. Harry couldn't stand the screaming, so he raced around the castle, slipping on the chalky remains of ruined statues, trying to find the voice so he could give it whatever it needed and make it stop. He ran down one hall and up the next, searched every nook and cranny any map had ever known, but the voice eluded him. The more he had to listen to it, the more he thought he knew the voice, like a friend from long ago and far away, and if he could just get closer he'd be able to find out who it was, but the echoes never stopped. It was driving him mad.

Harry woke up fighting. It wasn't anything he'd meant to do; it was just a reaction, something he'd picked up after nearly a year of living constantly on his guard. Of course, it didn't help that his wand had already been in his hand at the time. Or, more accurately, Ron's wand. Harry hadn't been able to let go of it in three days: his hand was seized up around it. At any rate, he apologized to Ginny just as soon as he could, because Mr. Weasley had needed to come along and sort out the jinxes they'd used on each other first.

For his part, Mr. Weasley seemed rather relieved to find them the way he did: frozen solid and attempting to decide which jinx to try and counter first. Initially, Harry thought he was happy that they hadn't gotten carried away and done serious damage to each other, but it didn't take long to figure out what Mr. Weasley thought Harry and Ginny were up to when they didn't turn up for breakfast.

"What happened?" Mr. Weasley asked when they were half way down the stairs and the now dressed and wide awake Harry had finished apologizing to Ginny for the third time.

"We just kind of..." Ginny trailed off, glancing at Harry.

"...surprised each other," Harry finished for her. "Old habits."

"I suppose no lasting damage was done," Mr. Weasley replied, "but you're not of age yet, Ginny. You shouldn't be doing magic away from school."

Mr. Weasley's voice had taken on a rather weary tone when he said that and Harry couldn't help but wonder how many times they'd had this argument.

"It wasn't her fault," Harry finally cut in as they reached the base of the stairs, "it was an accident, but I attacked her first."

***************

Since Mrs. Weasley had stayed the night at Saint Mungo's with Ron, Fleur had offered to try her hand at making breakfast. Unfortunately, she didn't quite have a handle on the kitchen and most of the items on the table looked burned, foreign, or both. Fred and George had also offered to help, but, while they were passable chefs, it was difficult to predict what animal someone would turn into after eating their food. Thus, when Harry and Ginny sat down at the table, they followed Hermione's lead and stuck to the toast, which she silently informed them was safe.

A few minutes later, Fred and George finished their cooking and plopped down on either side of Harry.

"So, how's it feel not that you've defeated You-Know-Who," Fred asked happily.

It was one of the few times that Harry had ever been happy that someone asked him a question while he had food in his mouth. Trying to give himself as much time to think as possible, Harry started chewing very slowly and deliberately, but by the time he'd swallowed, taken a sip of pumpkin juice, and cleared his throat he still hadn't thought up a suitable response.

"I don't know, the same I guess."

"Come on, mate, you've got to do better than that," George replied, elbowing Harry gently. "The whole world wants to know, you can't tell them you feel the same."

I was true that Harry didn't feel the same, but it was much easier than trying to describe what was actually going through his mind at the moment. So many times he'd seen Voldemort disappear, broken and defeated, only to watch him come back even more powerful than before. It was almost too good to believe that the cycle had been broken. Overriding any happiness he supposed he should have been feeling was his worry and guilt about Ron, but the more he thought about it the more he realized that the prophecy had finally been fulfilled, and the relief surged up in him like a bubble, and thinking of that he finally found the right words.

"I feel free."

"Much better," Hermione replied.

Breakfast went by easily enough. Even though Fleur continually invited the others to try her dishes and Fred and George assailed Harry with reporter-like questions, nothing remarkable happened until Hermione was standing up to leave and an owl floated in the window, carrying a copy of the Daily Prophet. Mr. Weasley fished a Knut from his pocket and passed it to Hermione, and she paid the owl then returned to the table with the newspaper. She barely looked at the front page before slamming the paper down on the table and exclaiming, "Listen to this! 'Magical folk around the country rally to support the proposed Harry Potter Day.'"

"Someone wants to name a day after me?" Harry breathed, leaning over the table so he could read the newspaper upside down. "What for?"

"'What for,' he asks," Fred laughed.

"You did just kill the most powerful dark wizard in history," George added in a teacher-like voice.

"But that doesn't..." Harry stammered.

"Harry, this has been a long time coming," Mr. Weasley said quietly from the head of the table. "There were many who wanted to call November 1^st Harry Potter Day after you put a stop to You-know-who as a baby. It never became official because the Ministry couldn't get permission to use your name."

"I'll have to remember to thank the Dursleys if I ever see them again," Harry muttered. "That's one of the few favors they ever did me."

"Well, why shouldn't you have a day," Ginny asked. "You're a hero, and heroes get days named after them."

"Dumbledore doesn't have a day," Harry replied. "I mean, I just did the last little bit and I wouldn't have even got there without...What I'm trying to say is, you were all there too, why don't you get days? Or Professor Lupin? He deserves a day. Professor Snape too, I suppose."

Hermione looked like she was about to continue the argument, but Fred jumped in first with another one.

"Wait, Snape?"

"We were there when Voldemort killed him," Harry explained, glad for the change of subject. "He used his last words to defend the Order."

"And you don't think he was just saying that because You-know-who was about to kill him," George pressed.

"Voldemort said he figured out Snape was betraying him ages ago," Hermione replied, cringing slightly. "He'd been using Snape to feed false information to the Order."

"But what about Dumbledore?" Ginny asked.

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "Neither of them said anything about him."

"Well, that's a few mysteries solved, at least," Mr. Weasley said, standing up. "If you've all finished we can get going."

Hermione and Ginny jumped to their feet, but Harry was a bit slower.

"I actually have something I wanted to give to Ron, but I forgot it upstairs," he said slowly.

"What is it?" Hermione asked.

"His wand," Harry replied, not quite meeting her eye.

"Oh," Hermione breathed. She looked like she had something more to say, but she bit it back.

"You can go on ahead," Harry continued. "I'll catch up."

Hermione and Ginny nodded and turned toward the fireplace and Harry made his way back up the stairs. In truth, Ron's wand was locked in his hand and his own was in his pocket. He felt a bit bad about lying to Hermione, but he honestly wanted to give Ron his wand back and therefore needed to find a place where no one would hear what he was about to do.

When Harry arrived back at Ron's room, he stretched his right arm out to his side and positioned the back of his hand against the corner of the door jam. He then moved his arm to that it was in front of him, and, bracing himself, swung his hand at the solid wood with all of his might. Three tries it took before he finally hit the right spot and his hand jerked open, releasing the wand, which clattered to the floor. Groaning in pain, Harry stooped to retrieve the wand, then stood up and surveyed the damage to his numb hand. A large welt was already rising and three purple marks indicated where his hand had impacted the door jam. As he experimentally wiggled his fingers, Harry wished that he'd gone with his first idea and asked Hermione to try casting Expelliarmus on him. Still, there seemed to be no lasting damage aside from the fact that he'd have to continue to keep his hand in his pocket until the bruises healed, so Harry slid Ron's wand into his pocket alongside his own and headed back down the stairs.

When Harry got back to the fireplace he found Mr. Weasley sitting on the sofa.

"You didn't have to wait for me," Harry said as he approached.

"Actually, I did," Mr. Weasley replied, getting to his feet. "Molly popped by this morning to warn me. It seems that a crowd of people has shown up in the lobby of Saint Mungo's. Aurors tried to disperse them, but most were smart enough to claim that they were suffering from some sort of ailment. One guess who they were hoping to see."

"Right," Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. "What about Hermione and Ginny, though? Anyone who wants to see me will probably bother them too."

"Relax," Mr. Weasley assured him. "I warned them before they left and Bill went with them. They'll be fine. We have to make sure the same is true for you. Neither the disillusionment charm nor your invisibility cloak will be much use in a crowd. Can you Apparate there?"

Harry shrugged, concentrated on a spot on the opposite side of the room, and twisted, but remained exactly where he was.

"'Fraid not," Harry sighed. He hadn't been able to since Apparating with Ron from Hogsmeade to Saint Mungo's

"It'll have to be Floo Powder, then," Mr. Weasley replied. "I'll go first and try to clear a space for you."

"Don't worry about it," Harry replied. "I guess this was bound to happen sooner or later. I couldn't avoid it forever."

"I'm sorry to have to agree with you," Mr. Weasley said, taking a pinch of Floo Powder. However, before throwing it in the fire he paused and turned back to Harry. "I don't think we've thanked you properly yet, for taking care of You-know-who..."

"That was just what happened," Harry stammered. "Kind of dumb luck, really."

"... and for rescuing Ron like you did," Mr. Weasley finished. "It was very selfless of you."

"He's my friend, I couldn't just..." Harry trailed off uncomfortably. "And besides, I owed him one. Still do, really."

"I imagine that if we asked Ron about that he'd say the opposite is true," Mr. Weasley replied, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Molly loves you like one of her own, but she will maintain that being friends with you is a risky business. And I'll admit that she has a point, Ron's been in more tight spots than any of his brothers, even Fred and George."

"We don't go around looking for trouble," Harry said quickly. "It usually comes after us...er...me."

"I know," Mr. Weasley assured him. "And Molly does too; she just needs to be reminded sometimes. I, on the other hand, can't help but notice that no matter how many scrapes you get into, you and your friends always make it back alright."

"That's not true, sir."

"Well, maybe not in perfect health, but they make it back, and I think that has everything to do with you."

"I just do what I can."

"And you can do quite a bit," Mr. Weasley said, beaming. "You returned Cedric Diggory's body to his parents; you tried to rescue Sirius even though you thought You-know-who had him in his clutches."

Harry cringed. "That didn't exactly work out like I meant it to."

"You rescued Ginny from the Chamber of Secrets," Mr. Weasley continued.

"That isn't actually something I meant to do until I was actually doing it," Harry maintained.

"You Apparated with Ron to Saint Mungo's even though no one had ever done that before."

"I told you, I owed him."

"I say that the entire world owes you more than it will ever be able to give back," Mr. Weasley replied. "But I can't help feeling reassured that you think you still owe Ron something, because I know that you'll do anything you can for him."

"That would be true anyway.

"I guess I know that too," Mr. Weasley sighed. "But what I'm trying to say is, don't forget to take care of yourself too."

"Thanks," Harry said uncomfortably. "Er...shouldn't we be going?"

"Right," Mr. Weasley yelped. "I'll be off, then. Give me a few moments then come on through."

Harry nodded and watched Mr. Weasley toss some Floo Powder on the fire, shout "Saint Mungo's!" and disappear. Harry counted to ten, then grabbed a pinch of floo powder and followed.

By now Harry was used to Floo Powder as a mode of transportation, but he'd never quite gotten the hang of the dismount, something he lamented just as soon as he slid gracelessly out of the fireplace and onto the floor of the Saint Mungo's lobby and looked up to find at least a hundred people staring at him. Within seconds, the entire room went silent. Mr. Weasley offered Harry a hand and pulled him to his feet. Harry nervously pawed his bangs over his scar, but it was a lost cause.

Offering up an uncomfortable smile, Harry followed Mr. Weasley as he pushed his way through the mob to the lifts. People crowded around him, shouting for his attention, reaching toward him to shake his hand or touch his robes. Once, Harry felt a sharp tug on the back of his head and turned around to find a young witch making off with a tuft of his hair. Gradually people began shouting questions at him, but even if Harry had felt inclined to answer any of them he wouldn't have been able to, for they all blended together in the din.

Finally, they reached the wall and Mr. Weasley called a lift. While they waited for it to arrive, Harry found his attention drawn to a poster on the wall nearby. It contained two lists headed "Deceased" and "Recovering." As Harry stepped closer to read the names beneath he felt several flashbulbs going off around him and was fairly certain about what picture would be on the front page of the Daily Prophet the next morning, but at the moment he didn't care, this was the first chance he'd gotten to learn about the casualties of the war.

"Deceased:

You-Know-Who

Elphias Doge

Antonin Dolohov

Marcus Goyle

Fenrir Greyback

Hestia Jones

Bellatrix Lestrange

Remus Lupin

Alastor Moody

Anthony Nott

Severus Snape

Recovering:

Alecto Carrow

Amycus Carrow

Colin Creevey

Jacob Dawlish

Filius Flitwick

Maxwell Jugson

Rabastan Lestrange

Rodolphus Lestrange

Neville Longbottom

Walden McNair

Marius Mulciber

Peter Pettigrew

Sturgis Podmore

Augustus Rookwood

Alexandra Rosemerta

Cassandra Rosier

Kingsley Shacklebot

Septima Vector

Ronald Weasley"

Harry felt a bite of anger at seeing people like Professor Lupin and Mad-Eye Moody listing alongside the likes of Voldemort and Bellatrix Lestrange. It seemed almost cruel to list Aurors and Death Eaters together in death when each group had dedicated their lives to the eradication of the other. Maybe the Healers who compiled the list hadn't had time to determine sides and maybe now that the war was over it didn't matter anyway, but Harry couldn't help but wonder what Lupin would say about being listed just after Bellatrix Lestrange.

Harry was still turning those thoughts over when there was a muffled ding nearby and Mr. Weasley pulled Harry onto the deserted lift then closed the door.

"Sorry about that," Mr. Weasley said as he pushed the button for the Fourth Floor.

"I didn't expect there to be so many," Harry said quietly.

"In the crowd?" Mr. Weasley asked. "I'm afraid there's plenty more where those came from."

"No, on the list," Harry replied. "There must have been thirty people hurt or dead."

"You probably don't want to hear this," Mr. Weasley said, "but we got lucky. It could have been much worse."

"If you say so," Harry sighed.

"That's the way wars work," Mr. Weasley replied. "People die."

"Mad-Eye Moody died," Harry said. "I had no idea."

"He fell defending the Entrance Hall," Mr. Weasley explained. "Bless him; it's probably how he preferred to go. Retirement never sat well with him."

"If you say so," Harry repeated.

"That list is actually incomplete," Mr. Weasley added. "I guess the Healers didn't think to include them, but a few people on both sides have gone missing. No one's been able to find Tonks, for example."

"Tonks is missing?" Harry stammered, as they stepped off the lift and made their way to Ron's room.

"As far as I know she hasn't reported back to the Ministry or the Order yet," Mr. Weasley explained. "But they haven't found her body, and you know how it is with Tonks..."

"They won't find her unless she wants to be found," Harry finished for him. "There was a lot more people involved in that battle than were on that list."

"Those were just the people the Healers have seen for injuries," Mr. Weasley explained. "The Ministry has a more complete tally."

"So the Death Eaters, then, how many were captured?" Harry asked, halting his progress down the hall and turning to face Mr. Weasley.

"Thirty five," Mr. Weasley replied. "That's in addition to the five who died and the ten who are still being treated."

"Fifty," Harry breathed. "But that can't possibly be all of them."

"Relax, Harry, it's not your responsibility," Mr. Weasley said placatingly. "The Aurors are looking for the rest of them and the Order is helping."

"I saw that list," Harry replied. "There's not much of either group left."

"Harry, you won our side its victory," Mr. Weasley said, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Let us take care of the rest."

Harry glared at him for a moment, then forced himself to back down.

"I'm sorry," Harry sighed. "Let's go see Ron."

"That took you long enough," Bill said when they stepped into Ron's room. "We thought you might have been carried off by that crowd, we were about to send a rescue party."

"We were just talking," Harry replied. "Did you see that list by the lifts?"

"We did," Bill sighed. "Pity about Lupin."

"Tonks is missing, too," Harry added.

Every face in the room fell, as Ron sat up straighter in bed an asked, "What list?"

He'd been there when Lupin's fate was sealed, but obviously hadn't seen the list, so the rest of them spent the next few minutes reciting the names on it for him.

"I suppose you've realized that wasn't everyone involved in the battle," Mr. Weasley said.

"What about Lucius Malfoy?" Hermione asked edgily. "Did he escape?"

Mr. Weasley shook his head. "Since he was already a convicted Death Eater and was captured inside of Hogwarts he didn't even stand trial before being thrown back in Azkaban."

"Thanks," Hermione said quietly.

"Oh! I almost forgot," Harry yelped, rummaging through his pocket. "I've been holding on to this for you, Ron." And Harry presented Ron with his wand.

An unreadable look passed between Ron and Hermione, but he accepted the wand happily and placed it on his bedside table.

They spent the morning asking Mr. Weasley all he remembered about the fates of the Aurors, Order members, and Death Eaters who were in the battle. This lasted until Hermione emitted a high pitched squeak from behind the copy of the Daily Prophet she'd brought from the Burrow.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked quickly.

"There's an article about Professor Lupin in here," Hermione explained. "I was just reading it, and-"

"What did they say about him?" Harry muttered darkly, cutting her off.

"They were remarkably civil, actually," Hermione replied, changing tracks. "They painted him as a war hero instead of as a werewolf. In fact, they hardly even mentioned that. The trouble is with his time of death."

"He died, what does the rest matter?" Harry sighed.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but this is important," Hermione said. "What time do you suppose it was when we left him there?"

"I don't know, I was a little too preoccupied to check my watch."

"It can't have been much later than ten at night," Ron replied, shooting Harry a look.

"That's what I thought," Hermione said. "But according to this article, a Healer said that he died around three in the morning."

"What?" Ron demanded, turning to paper toward him and reading the paragraph Hermione indicated.

"But that's just a guess," Harry stammered. "The Healers couldn't have gotten to him for hours after that."

"Healers have pretty accurate ways of telling these things," Ron replied, looking up from the paper. "They wouldn't have been off by five hours."

"Then it's the Prophet making things up again," Harry said desperately.

"It's a direct quote," Hermione replied sadly. "It's possible they misunderstood, but unlikely.

"But he died," Harry pleaded. "Pettigrew knocked him over the banister and we were there and he died."

"There were Death Eaters coming, Harry," Ron reminded him gently. "He wanted us to leave and we wouldn't. Maybe he just pretended to die so we'd go. We didn't exactly wait around to check."

"But that's five hours," Harry cried. "Five hours he was alone and dying and we should have been there for him."

"Stop it Harry!" Hermione shouted, tears running down her face. "He knew what he was doing."

"Besides," Ron pointed out, "we don't know that he was alone."

"Tonks?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Maybe," Hermione replied. "We'll ask her when we find her.

***************

They spent the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon in idle conversation. Fred, George, Bill, Charlie, Mr. Weasley, and the occasional Healer came and went while Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley remained with Ron.

Around mid afternoon they were joined by a kind looking Healer who interrupted a lovely conversation about sugar quills when she bustled to Ron's side, picked up his limp arm, and began moving it in all directions. As they backed away to give the Healer space, Harry and Ginny exchanged confused looks with Ron, while Hermione looked like she had at least a vague notion of what was going on, and Mrs. Weasley just looked worried.

A few minutes later, when the Healer was rotating his wrist, Ron suddenly yelped in pain and tried to squirm away.

"Take it easy, will you?" he exclaimed. "I've got to use that later."

"Exactly," the Healer replied without looking up from Ron's wrist, although she was a bit gentler as she continued her work.

From the way Ron's expression melted from pain and anger into something altogether more desperate, it couldn't have been plainer that he hadn't realized just how injured his arm was until that moment. With a sigh of surrender, he leaned back into his pillows and waited for the Healer to finished, occasionally tensing up when she found a tender position.

Harry, however, found himself unable to watch his friend like this and let himself into the hallway, where he leaned against the wall near Ron's door.

He had a vague idea of going to the washroom to splash some water on his face, then up to the tea room to get some drinks for everyone so it would look like he'd left on legitimate business, but before he got the chance he was accosted by a familiar voice.

"Alright, Harry?"

"Hi Colin," Harry replied, turning to face him.

Colin was walking with Dennis and a gentleman that could only be their father.

"What are you doing here?" Colin asked bluntly.

"Visiting Ron," Harry replied. "What about you? I thought I told you to stay in Hogsmeade during the battle."

"I did," Colin replied indignantly. "But there were the Dementors there. I got a..." he gestured at his temple. "Anyway, the Healers fixed me right up. Lucky you taught us how to cast a Patronus, huh."

"I guess so," Harry replied.

The conversation lapsed into a bit of a silence and Harry happened to glance at Mr. Creevey, though he was a bit too late in realizing what the man's cogs were clicking toward.

"You're Harry Potter!" Mr. Creevey blurted suddenly.

"Yes," Harry said quickly, wondering if misplaced hero worship was a genetic trait.

"It's an honor, sir," Mr. Creevey continued, reaching out to shake Harry's hand enthusiastically. Harry tried not to wince when the strong handshake compressed the bruises left from when he'd hit his hand on the door frame that morning. "Colin's told me so much about you."

"Did he?" Harry asked. After thinking about it for a few moments he decided that he shouldn't be as surprised about that as he felt.

"So, you were the one who took care of...of You-know-who," Mr. Creevey continued, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper when he mentioned Voldemort.

Harry nodded, marveling at how different his encounter was compared with the one he'd had that morning with the mob in the lobby. Maybe it was because Mr. Creevey was a Muggle and wasn't quite aware of just how bad Voldemort really was, but Harry much preferred this simple straightening out of facts to people fawning all over him.

"Harry's the greatest wizard in the world," Dennis piped up, unfortunately managing to finish his statement before Mr. Creevey shushed him.

"It's true," Collin added, as though it was a simple truth that everyone ought to know.

"Quiet, the both of you," Mr. Creevey cried. "Can't you see you're embarrassing him?"

Harry self consciously brought a hand to his cheeks, as though he could feel what color they'd turned, though he was grateful to Mr. Creevey. Usually people didn't cotton on to the fact that the great Harry Potter could ever get embarrassed.

"We should be going then," Mr. Creevey continued. "Their mother will be wanting to see them."

Harry nodded his goodbye and turned away, but a few seconds later he heard Mr. Creevey whisper," Have the pair of you been doing that the entire time you've been at school? Blimey, it's a wonder his head hasn't exploded."

Harry smiled at their antics as he walked away. He didn't have a firm destination in mind, but he didn't want to go back to Ron's room until he was sure that the Healer had left so he wandered around the floor. This had been going on for several minutes by the time someone called, "Harry?"

Harry whirled around and found that he'd just passed an open door, so he backtracked and peeked inside.

"Neville! I didn't know you were here, are you alright?"

"Healers patched me up," Neville said with a shrug. "They said they'll probably let me go later today."

"That's great," Harry replied.

There was a few moments of silence before Neville ventured, "The Healers said you finished off You-know-who."

"I did," Harry replied, studying his hands so he wouldn't have to look Neville in the eye.

"It's good to hear it from you," Neville replied. "I asked a Healer about my parents. He said they're still the same."

"Oh," Harry sighed, wishing he wasn't the one Neville had chosen to talk to about this, but his Gran didn't seem to be around and this had obviously been weighing heavily on Neville's mind.

"Maybe I was stupid to think that when Bellatrix died..." Neville said, his voice shaky.

"Have you seen them?" Harry asked.

"Oh...no," Neville replied, as though the option hadn't occurred to him.

"Do you want to?" Harry offered.

"Well, yes, but I'm supposed to stay here," Neville stuttered.

"You said the Healers were about to let you go," Harry reminded him.

"Alright," Neville replied, swinging his legs over the side of his bed and getting up a bit tenderly, as though his ribs were paining him.

Together, they climbed the stairs to the Janus Thickey long-term ward and stepped inside. Several Healers looked up and gave Neville greetings as he and Harry made their way to the Longbottom's beds. Mr. Longbottom was struggling to assemble a six piece puzzle and Mrs. Longbottom was swaying back and forth while humming a strange, tuneless melody, but they both stopped and looked up at Neville as he approached, but that was the only sign of recognition they gave until Neville had reached the foot of their beds. Mrs. Longbottom reached into her pocket, pulled out a gum wrapper, and held it out for Neville.

Blinking rapidly, Neville took it, but a second later Mrs. Longbottom's entire demeanor changed. She gave out a chocked sort of squeak and leapt unsteadily towards Neville, then began grabbing desperately at his white hospital robes, tears running down her face.

"No, Mum," Neville said, realizing what had upset her. "I'm fine, see? I'm not hurt. Please don't cry."

But Mrs. Longbottom didn't seem to understand him, she just kept hugging him wildly and tugging at his robes as though she were trying to pull them off until two Healers came up and dragged her away. She continued to struggle against them until they forced her to take a potion, then she laid down without argument.

"Perhaps you'd better go," a sage looking Healer said to Neville and Harry. "Try coming back when you have your normal clothes on."

Neville seemed beyond words, so Harry agreed for him then guided him out of the ward.

"I'm sorry," Harry said when they were outside and Neville was leaning heavily against the wall. "I shouldn't have suggested...I should have known better."

"'S not your fault," Neville sniffed, his eyes watery. "I should have guessed that would happen."

"You can't have known," Harry assured him.

"It didn't do anything," Neville sighed. "When I dueled Bellatrix, when she died, it didn't help them."

"It might not have helped your parents," Harry replied, "but it helped someone."

"You sound like you've thought about that a lot," Neville said.

"Killing Voldemort didn't help my parents," Harry said with a shrug. "Come on, let's get you back downstairs before the Healers there start wondering what happened to you."