The Song of the Trees

Chapter Three: Confrontations

Harry Apparated in the tiny dark courtyard squeezed between four tall buildings, in one of the shabbiest areas of London. Rummaging in an inside pocket of his cloak for his bunch of keys, he raised his head out of habit to look at the closed shutters masking the windows of his small apartment, on the sixth floor.

The shutters were open.

Harry froze. The only person who knew the exact spell to unlock his door - though Harry preferred to use his keys, as he was eager not to be noticed using magic in the building - was Lance. He came to Harry's place when his own flat was so messy and the stench so strong he couldn't possibly live there. In that case he would hire a housekeeper to clean his flat - a feat that required two days of hard working - and would hang around at Harry's in the meantime.

But he would do absolutely nothing to keep Harry's apartment clean or welcoming. Opening the shutters, for instance.

Harry inserted his key in the lock of the heavy door leading into the building and turned it to the right. The electronic lock emitted a loud ticking sound and the door opened. Not even bothering to look at the old and wheezy lift, which had obviously broken down once more, he climbed the six floors on foot as silently as he could. When he arrived on the landing outside his flat, he noticed a ray of light filtering through the crack under the door. Muffled scraping sounds could be heard inside the flat, as if someone was moving the furniture.

Whoever they were, it was clear they didn't care being heard.

Harry clenched his hand around his keys to stifle their noisy clicking and put them back in his inside pocket. Silently drawing his wand from his belt - even though he was beginning to doubt he would need it - he swiftly moved to his door and unlocked it with a quick non-verbal spell. Then he seized the doorknob and opened the door wide in an abrupt action.

Someone was bent double in the middle of the small living room, their outline barely visible in the cloud of dust hanging in the air and bathed in the rare light flowing from the open windows. When the door opened, they jumped in shock with a high-pitched squeal and straightened up; a wand appeared from nowhere and a spell shot in Harry's direction with a bang. Harry blocked it and reflexively raised his own wand to disarm his opponent, when the stranger spoke in a shrill, familiar voice.

"Harry! You scared me, couldn't you be less brusque when you open the door?"

Harry lowered his wand, gaping in amazement at the girl glaring at him from the middle of his living room, her left hand clutching her heaving chest as she held her wand with her right.

"Hermione?" he said in disbelief.

"Of course, who did you think it was?" she snapped.

She stuffed her wand in the back pocket of her tattered jeans and brushed the dust off her knees. Harry then noticed she was wearing old and dirty clothes, and her bushy hair was hidden under a scarf.

"I'm not used to seeing you in that outfit," he pointed out as he put away his own wand.

"Well, I could hardly wear a dress to clean this mess, could I?" Hermione replied, wrinkling her nose in distaste as she gestured around the room.

Harry smiled. "Hermione Granger the housekeeper?" he said amusedly. He stepped over the heaps of the various things that had been gathered from the floor and piled up in front of the front door; Hermione watched him join her in the middle of the room with both hands on her hips.

"Don't you start," she warned, pointing a threatening finger at him. "Ron already laughs his empty head off every time I try to cook or clean my flat. I'm not even that bad, I'm getting better; I really am! And anyway, by the look of it -" she gestured around her again, "- you can hardly give me advice about housekeeping."

"I don't really live here," said Harry. "I just drop by from time to time, to change clothes and stuff; so I don't see why I should bother keeping the flat clean. Apart from me, Lance is the only one to come here and he's too lazy to move a finger when his life doesn't depend on it... How did you get in, by the way?"

"Oh, come on, Harry, your Locking Spell was so easy to break it was laughable," said Hermione, rolling her eyes. "I thought I had taught you better."

Harry smiled again, realising he hadn't had a real conversation with her in two years. It suddenly felt as if they were back at Hogwarts. She smiled back at him and an awkward silence fell between them. Harry was uncertain how to break it; it would sound too casual to propose a drink and speak as if those two years had never happened, but on the other hand he really didn't know how to say he had missed her. After all, he was the one who had been avoiding Hermione and Ron for the last two years.

The problem was solved when Hermione suddenly flung herself at him, throwing both arms around his neck and taking him completely unawares.

"Hermione... it's - it's okay, I'm here, I'm not going anywhere," he stammered, awkwardly stroking her scarf-covered head as she hugged him as if she wanted to choke him to death.

"Never," she sobbed, her face buried in his shoulder. "Never leave us alone for so long again."

"I promise," Harry murmured comfortingly.

This whole scene felt so familiar... He was taken aback to feel as if those two years had, indeed, never happened. As if he was seeing her for the first time after Voldemort's death. As if there had not been all those rumours about him. As if he wasn't - had never been - abnormal...

She was calming down a bit now. Her head resting on his shoulder, she mumbled: "We missed you..." in a barely audible whisper. Harry felt a lump in his throat.

"I - I'm sorry I was so distant, Hermione, it's just-"

"It's okay, don't apologize," she said thickly, releasing him and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "We knew you needed time and space and we weren't going to force our company on you. But I'm not saying we weren't worried sick about you. I almost expected you not to recognize me, to tell the truth. I'm so glad to see you again..."

Now she was beaming; her lips were stretched in that smile Harry knew well, a wide smile that showed her teeth and dug a dimple in her round cheeks.

"I'm glad to see you too," Harry answered awkwardly.

He was a bit lost in the sudden and furious battle that had awoken inside him when Hermione had hugged him: a mixture of joy, concern, regret and a few other violent emotions he couldn't clearly define. He had got out of the habit of feeling so many emotions at the same time; it was like waking up from a very long and deep sleep. For the second time in two days, he felt strangely alive again.

"Harry... Are you all right?" Hermione softly inquired.

Harry mentally shook himself and smiled to reassure her. Turning away from her in an attempt to escape the rush of emotions the sight of her provoked in him, he got rid of his travelling cloak and tossed it on a chair.

"I had decided to take up with Ron and you again, you know," he said apologetically. "Well, you must have guessed that from my letter. Only I didn't expect to find you in my apartment. Did you think I would try to avoid the confrontation at the last minute?" he asked, sitting on the couch - which was covered with clothes in various states of shabbiness and dirtiness - and clearing a space next to him so she could sit, too.

"If you mean the letter in which you speak about having dinner in Diagon Alley, I think it would have been more effective if you had actually sent it," said Hermione.

When he looked blankly at her, she took a scroll of parchment out of her pocket and showed it to him. "I found it on your desk."

Harry considered in disbelief the letter in Hermione's hand. "I - forgot to send it," he stated, feeling extremely stupid.

Hermione rolled her eyes again, though she was smiling. "I wonder how you managed to survive for two years without anybody to look after you," she muttered.

"Oh, you know - eating bread and cheese and giving the dirty linen to the dry cleaner's from time to time," Harry answered distractedly. "So, if you didn't get my letter, why did you come here? I mean, now, after two years...?"

"Professor McGonagall told me she had seen you," said Hermione. "She looked pretty worried about you, and she seemed to think you had had all the time and space you needed and that it was high time I'd start looking after you again. So here I am, in this filthy den of yours, cleaning and tidying."

She joined him on the couch and kicked off her shoes. She leaned back with a groan of relief, took off the scarf hiding her hair and combed the long bushy mane with her fingers.

"And believe me, that's pretty tiring," she sighed.

Harry stretched in the couch, feeling the weariness of a particularly intense day of training weighing his limbs - though he knew his tiredness was nothing compared to the state of complete exhaustion most of his fellow apprentices were probably in. It was another advantage of his "abnormality": though he was permanently suffering from immense mental fatigue that prevented him from feeling the slightest curiosity or interest, it took several days of hard physical efforts to really exhaust him.

Out of habit, he pulled out his wand and pointed it in the direction of the kitchen.

"Accio Firewhisky!" he said.

The kitchen door was ajar and was pushed open as a bottle slammed into it from the inside of the kitchen. The bottle flew into the living room and Harry caught it easily.

"Want some?" he asked Hermione as he uncorked it.

"No thanks," she said, her nose wrinkled in disgust once more. "You're drinking that thing?"

Harry nodded as he raised the bottle to his lips and took a long sip of the amber-coloured substance.

"Why?" he asked when he had put the bottle down, his voice slightly hoarse. "What's wrong with that?"

"Harry, this has to be the strongest alcohol in the whole wizarding world," she said severely.

"Not quite as strong as the Russian Lavavodka," Harry said in an unconcerned voice. "But I didn't think of bringing some from there. Ah well, I'll ask Lance, he owes me a few bottles and I bet he smuggled loads of that vodka into Great Britain."

"Who's that Lance?" Hermione inquired, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Harry shrugged. "Just a guy from work," he said. "Lance Colman."

"Colman?" Hermione repeated. "Slytherin, a year above us?"

"Possibly," said Harry, startled. "How do you know that? I had never heard his name before beginning Auror training."

"Oh, I put him in detention once because I had found him sprawled on the marble stairs, completely drunk," Hermione answered with an impatient wave of her hand, as if it was perfectly normal to find drunk teenagers sleeping on staircases. "I'm not surprised you're alcoholic if you hang around with Colman."

"I'm not alcoholic," said Harry, now a little annoyed. Why did she have to be so bossy?

Hermione snorted. "You don't even wince or squint when you gulp down that stuff," she said, jerking her chin towards the bottle in Harry's hand. "It should burn your throat, but no, you're so used to it you don't even feel it anymore."

Harry didn't answer. Ignoring Hermione's disapproving sniff, he raised the bottle to his lips and drank again. The amber liquid felt warm in his throat and the strong smell of it was enveloping him. The alcohol was beginning to act, drowning his brain in a pleasant dizziness. Alcohol always had that quick effect on him, but it took more than a few gulps to get him drunk. He always was the one to carry Lance back to the flat after they had gone to some bar.

"I never really felt it, you know," he said slowly.

He felt Hermione stiffening next to him.

"Felt what?"

He turned his head to look at her. "The alcohol. It doesn't burn, it's just... warm."

Hermione took in a deep breath, without breaking eye contact.

"Harry," she said slowly, and very seriously, "I never really listened to the rumours going round about you - not that I heard them myself, mind. Ron is telling me about them when he goes out at night. He's heard the weirdest things about you... But then this morning, McGonagall told me a blood-chilling story. Something about you having inches-long splinters into your hand and not feeling it."

Harry glanced down and looked at his right hand. He had completely forgotten about that incident - it happened to him all the time after all. His skin had healed unnaturally fast; there was already no trace left on it except thin white scars. They would have completely disappeared by the following morning.

"And now you're telling me you never felt the taste of Firewhisky," Hermione went on. "Ron and I are both worried about you, Harry; I think - I think Ron was pretty hurt at first because you wouldn't tell us anything about yourself or Voldemort. But then we understood whatever happened was - was so terrible you had to get used to it before you talk to us. We just had to look at you to see it... you were always wandering alone, not speaking, not even noticing us when we were there..."

A heavy silence fell again. Harry kept his eyes fixed on the bottle he held, silently contemplating the simmering reflects dancing on the surface of the golden liquid. Then he felt Hermione's hand on his shoulder.

"My point is," she said gently, "whenever you want to talk about it, know we're there. We're there for you, Harry."

Harry was nervously biting his lip. When he had seen Cho earlier at St Mungo's, he had felt incomprehensibly cheerful. His encounter with her had brought back old memories from his years at Hogwarts, memories of the time when his greatest concern was the fact that Ron had had a go at Cho because she was supporting the Tornados... Usually when he thought about that time - though that didn't happen very often, as he always did his best to push those memories aside -, the awareness of his former happiness and of the futility of his teenage problems had thoroughly disgusted him. It somehow made his new state even more unbearable.

But not today... Today he had almost laughed aloud at Cho's obvious liking for melodrama. Remembering hadn't left that bitter taste in his mouth; quite the contrary, it was as if he had inhaled a puff of fresh air.

And now Hermione was stirring in him all those powerful emotions.

"Okay," he said suddenly.

"Okay what?" said Hermione, sounding a bit wary.

"Let's talk," Harry answered. "What do you want to know?"

Hermione abruptly stood up.

"We should go somewhere else," she said brusquely. "I told Ron to join me at the Leaky Cauldron, at eight thirty. You're coming?"

He nodded and stood up, too, putting on his travelling cloak while Hermione put her shoes back on and brushed the dust off her clothes. He took two steps towards the door but Hermione stopped him with an imperious gesture. Taking her wand, she waved it in his direction muttering: "Oustystench".

Nothing happened that Harry was aware of. Then he realised that his throat had gone horribly dry and that the smell of whisky floating around him had disappeared.

"You really stank," said Hermione defensively.

"And how come my throat's all dry?" said Harry quite hoarsely.

"I still have to get rid of the side-effect," Hermione answered with a smirk, as Harry Summoned a glass from the kitchen, filled it with water and drank it all in one gulp. "Apart from that, I'm rather proud of that little invention of mine."

Harry, who had swallowed half a litre of water by the time she'd reached the end of her sentence, decided not to argue and followed Hermione out of his flat and down the stairs.

***

The Leaky Cauldron was, as usual, crowded and noisy. Hermione dragged Harry behind her as she confidently forced her way through the throng of customers, mainly composed of Ministry workers who had just finished their day.

"Hello Tom," she said brightly to the old barman. "Can you find us a table?"

"Of course Miss Granger," answered Tom with a toothless grin. "Your usual table, in the corner. Is Mr. Weasley joining you tonight?"

"I hope so," said Hermione distractedly. People had started to shoot dark looks at her and Harry, hastily looking away when Harry met their eyes. A few wizards paid for their half-finished drinks and hurried out of the bar.

"What's their problem?" Hermione hissed.

"I really wonder," said Harry sarcastically.

Comprehension dawned on Hermione's face. She looked slowly from a witch's terrified face to Harry's stony expression and back again. Then before Harry had time to stop her, she sprang forward and firmly planted herself in front of the witch, who recoiled slightly, clutching her drink to her chest.

"He's not going to bite," said Hermione loudly.

Her voice echoed in the pub and all the conversations died away. All heads turned to look at them - the young witch, still clutching her drink and pale as a ghost as she fearfully looked up at Hermione, who had her hands on her hips, and Harry, petrified at the bar.

"He's my best friend from Hogwarts and I can assure you he never tried to murder me or hex me or whatever," Hermione went on pleasantly. "He'd better not try, anyway, he's got a good aim but he's not that good in charms and hexes, and don't get me started on his Transfiguration work -"

"Hermione," Harry began cautiously, "I think she got the point."

Hermione waved away his interruption and continued talking.

"Of course every time I said he should work more in Transfiguration, not to mention Potions, he would give me the 'to-each-one-their-abilities' rubbish, and say it was enough to be good at Quidditch. As if Quidditch mattered!"

"You know what your problem is, Hermione?" said a loud voice from the entrance of the pub, "You never understood a thing about Quidditch."

Harry and Hermione wheeled about to face Ron Weasley, who was casually pushing customers out of his way as he made to the bar.

"What's the big deal about Quidditch?" Hermione said impatiently; but Harry could have sworn he had seen the corners of her mouth twitch. "It's just a stupid game played on stupid flying broomsticks where you're very likely to end up at the Hospital Wing!"

"I never ended up at the Hospital Wing after a Quidditch match," said Ron defensively.

"Do you know how many times Harry nearly killed himself because he absolutely wanted to catch that stupid ball with wings?" Hermione shot at him, her voice rising even more. Apart from their argument, there was a ringing silence in the pub.

"The ball is called a Snitch, Hermione," Ron retorted impatiently. "And I would have thought you would be proud of Harry for risking his neck in winning Gryffindor the Quidditch Cup! He wasn't going to let some git like Malfoy win the game, was he? You're storming against Quidditch because you're just afraid of heights."

"I am not! I already played Quidditch with you!"

"She did," Harry interjected, wanting to be fair.

"Because you made her!" said Ron, throwing his hands up. "She wouldn't have climbed on a broomstick willingly, but you did your puppy eyes and she couldn't resist!"

"I never do puppy eyes!" Harry blurted out, feeling vaguely indignant at this accusation.

"He's got very beautiful eyes, though," a teenage witch whispered to her friend, a little too loudly. Harry looked at her in bewilderment and she flushed, but managed a shy smile in his direction.

"I suggest you get to the point, Hermione," Harry said quickly, tearing his gaze from the young witch and seeing Hermione was about to retort. "The pair of you can argue later."

"As if you - What? Oh, yes, you're right. It's not worth it anyway," Hermione said scornfully.

She resolutely turned her back on Ron to face the witch she had been talking to. The girl, who had undoubtedly felt relieved when Hermione's attention had been distracted by Ron's arrival, let out a pitiful squeal and recoiled again in her chair.

"My point is," Hermione said in an amiable voice, "there is no need to look at Harry like that. He's very polite and well mannered, the only problem is that he's very shy with girls. Now get up and say hello to him."

"Hermione, I don't think this is absolutely necess -" Harry began, shifting uncomfortably as the girl whimpered in fright and wishing he had never interrupted the argument.

"See?" said Hermione loudly. "So shy. Girls always have to do the first move with him. Now go, he doesn't dare speak first."

Some customers were laughing now, and most of the female population of the Leaky Cauldron was giggling uncontrollably, watching Harry from behind their lowered eyelashes - as Cho had done at St Mungo's. Harry's face was burning from embarrassment as the girl, scarlet herself and shaking all over, got to her feet and took a few staggering steps towards him.

"G-Good evening Mr. P-Potter," she stammered, twisting her hands in nervousness.

"Good evening," Harry answered awkwardly, "I, er, I'm sorry we have disturbed you..."

"No problem Mr. Potter," the girl squeaked in a voice as high-pitched as a house-elf's. "I'm sorry I was looking at you like that, it's just r-really upsetting to see you in the real life... It's not that I was scared or anything..."

Yeah right.

"That's okay," said Harry gently, forcing his lips into a smile.

The girl smiled back and stayed there, nervously shifting her weight from one foot to another and shooting anxious glances at Hermione.

"Very good," said the latter with an appreciative smile. "Now you may go back to your drink."

The poor girl mumbled a grateful "Thank you" and literally ran to her chair, where she collapsed and buried her face in her hands.

"End of the show!" Ron shouted unexpectedly, causing Harry to start. "You can start staring at something else, you're embarrassing us!"

With those words he firmly seized Hermione and Harry by the elbow and led them to a small table in a corner of the pub. Tom came to them within seconds, chuckling.

"Quite impressive, Miss Granger," he said appreciatively as he rubbed the wooden surface with a handful of his apron. "Good evening Mr. Weasley, I haven't seen you in two weeks, have you found a pub you liked better than the old Leaky Cauldron?"

"Wouldn't cheat on you like that, Tom, who do you think I am?" Ron replied in mock indignation.

Tom bowed with a wide smile before turning to Harry.

"Ah... Mr. Potter... I haven't seen you lately either. It's a shame; it's such a pleasure for me to serve such a great wizard. I enjoy so much telling my customers how I received you here for the first time. It was seven years ago, you had blown up your aunt and fled to the Leaky Cauldron."

"And do your customers like hearing that story?" Harry asked before he could stop himself. "Or do they try to convince you I was planning to murder you at the time by sucking all the blood out of you?"

Tom blinked once or twice, giving Harry the time to realise how aggressive he had sounded. But before he could apologize for his rudeness, Tom's smile was back on his wrinkled face and he said:

"Those who don't like hearing my stories aren't my customers for very long, Mr. Potter. And those who spread nasty rumours about you would be better to leave my pub before I slip them a drink laced with something funny...," Tom's toothless smile widened. "An old barman is allowed to make such mistakes, after all."

"Thank you Tom," said Hermione firmly. Tom bowed again and retreated.

"See Harry?" Hermione said with a smile. "You're not alone."

Harry nodded, unable to find something to say.

"I'm glad to see you again, mate," said Ron suddenly. "It's been a long time. How was Siberia?"

"Cold, unwelcoming and boring," Harry answered. "I'm glad to be back as well. I - I intended to see the pair of you as soon as possible..."

He swallowed and stared down at his hands, spread on the table in front of him. He could still see thin white lines, forming words on the back of his right hand.

I must not tell lies.

"I've got to tell you something," he murmured.

"We're listening," said Ron.

Harry began to speak.

Ron's and Hermione's eyes grew round and wide as he went on. Hermione gasped audibly several times, and Ron's face was getting darker and darker as Harry told them about his run in the Forest, blinded by pain and chased by four Death Eaters; three of which never came out of the Forest.

"- And so three of the four curses were lifted; the fourth Death Eater left the forest and I hid there for several days."

There was a few seconds' silence.

"We don't know who the fourth Death Eater was," Ron said. "I didn't see the face, it was hidden under the hood. Well, I was lying on the ground and insulting the Death Eater who was busy hexing me, so I didn't pay much attention to anything else, but I still saw that maniac running after you after he or she cursed you. I really hoped whoever it was would meet Grawp," he added with an ugly look on his face.

"By the way, how did the Lestranges and Nott get killed?" Hermione asked.

"Let's think," said Ron with a mock thoughtful look on his face. "What dwells in that Forest? We have a wide choice between Aragog's little family, Hagrid's kid brother, Firenze's nice little friends and possibly a hundred of other amiable creatures. I can't see how they didn't manage to survive in a place inhabited by such charming people -"

"It was the trees," Harry said brusquely.

Ron blinked several times. "The trees?" he repeated faintly.

Harry nodded. Now there was no turning back.

"There is a place, deep in the Forest, where the trees are much - much more conscious than in the rest of the Forest. I stumbled in that place when I was running in front of the Death Eaters and they followed me in. I wasn't thinking straight, I was too busy trying to escape the Cruciatus Curses, but I still was able to feel the - hostility. The trees were furious we had broken in. They let me in, though; they even let me stay there for a couple of days after the Death Eaters were killed.

"After they died, leaving me there, I was lying on the ground and I was hearing a sound like - like a breeze in the leaves, but I couldn't feel the breeze. It sounded like an old song. I should have gone mad with the pain, but that sound was soothing..."

Hermione and Ron were completely silent and watched him with a thunderstruck expression. Harry suddenly feared they wouldn't believe him.

"Look, I know it's crazy," he said in an urgent whisper, "but that's what happened. That's all I can remember. That's the only thing that can explain why I haven't gone mad. That - that song the trees were singing... it kept me sane."

Ron had still the same shocked expression. Hermione looked as if she was struggling to put together the pieces of a very difficult jigsaw.

"So the trees were on your side," she said slowly.

"You could say that, yes," said Harry wearily.

"The trees caused the Death Eaters' deaths?"

"Yes," said Harry. He unconsciously gripped hard the edge of the table. "It was - horrible. I had just crossed a river with some difficulty, and they were on the other shore, shouting after me. I collapsed on the shore where I had arrived, because I was completely exhausted and I just couldn't run anymore. Then Bellatrix entered the river to come after me, and a gigantic willow just - grabbed her from behind - and the branches started to envelop her whole body, squeezing her - and she was shrieking in pain, and other trees seized the other Death Eaters... And there was laughing in the air, cruel and clear laughing..."

Harry closed his eyes and distractedly rubbed his lightening-shaped scar. The memory was sickening. Hermione leaned across the table and put a hand on his.

"Harry, don't tell us anything else. Especially not here. Don't tell anybody about the trees, right?"

"What?" said Harry, his eyes jerking open in shock. "Why? First you tell me I need to talk to somebody, second you ask me to keep everything to myself -"

"Did you understand what I did when we came into the pub?" Hermione asked, speaking over him. "When I started talking to that girl who acted as if you were Voldemort himself?"

"I was too taken aback by your little show to question your reasons," said Harry rather dryly. "But now you mention it, I hope you had a good reason for embarrassing me like that in front of everybody."

"I was showing everybody you were normal, Harry!" Hermione hissed. "For all those people you were a dark creature sneaking in the night and plotting Merlin knows what horrors. Now they see you as we know you: our best friend, who was still at Hogwarts a mere two years ago! A normal twenty-year-old, with his flaws and his strengths, like every single customer of Tom's! You just need to be demystified, Harry. The mystery around you sustains the rumours going round."

"I don't give a damn about those rumours, most of them are absolutely ludicrous -"

"I don't think you understand the situation," said Ron in a low voice. "Most wizards are scared of you. The Heads of some Departments at the Ministry hate you and fear you as well. I can tell, I'm working for one of those gits."

Ron was working at the Accidental Magic Reversal Department.

"They're looking for a reason to lock you up in Azkaban for good, and it'll be more easily done if the whole wizarding community is convinced you're dangerous," Ron went on. "Better put as many people as possible on your side, don't you think?"

Harry sighed, admitting defeat. "All right, I got it. Thanks for what you've done, then."

"You're welcome. It was fun," Ron answered with a broad grin.

"Anyway, I was saying you shouldn't speak about trees singing and killing in the Leaky Cauldron," Hermione said, lowering her voice so that Ron and Harry had to bend forward to hear her. "That is just too weird. Too scary."

"But you believe me, don't you?" Harry murmured.

"Of course we do, we trust you," Ron said gruffly. "Even if you didn't seem to be aware of that, these past years. Now we're on speaking terms again, you wouldn't mind dropping by at home from time to time, would you? Mum is so worried about you, I don't have a moment of peace when I am at home. Always asking me if I've seen you lately. Twelve times a day!"

"Oh... well, sorry," said Harry sheepishly. "How is everyone in your family?"

"Okay, I guess," said Ron, but he suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Yes, everyone's fine."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "And Ginny?"

Ron squirmed in his seat. "She misses you, I think... she's not very demonstrative..."

"She wanted to talk to you, but we convinced her not to bump into your life for the time being," said Hermione softly.

Harry nodded. "You did well," he said. "I really wouldn't have known what to tell her. What - what does she want from me, exactly?"

Ron and Hermione exchanged a furtive look, then Ron shrugged. "You'll have to ask her," he said.

Ron rose and flung his cloak around his shoulders.

"Right - it's not that I'm not enjoying your company, but I escaped duty this afternoon at the only condition I would be in the night team. So I'll leave you here, I've got a whole night of obeying the thick-skulled pit-bull I have for a boss to look forward to. O joy," he moaned, rolling his eyes. "See you soon, both of you."

They said their goodbyes and Ron left. At once Tom hurried to their table and leaned forward with a shrewd expression on his face.

"So, Miss Granger? Did he propose?" he asked hungrily.

"Not yet, Tom," answered Hermione with a small smile. "When he does, you'll be the first to know. I promise."

Tom left with another wink. Harry and Hermione rose and put their cloaks back on.

"Talking about marriage, already?" Harry asked with a smirk.

Hermione blushed slightly, but she didn't seem displeased.

"Kind of. We never actually talked about it, but with the Weasley brothers' heavy hints every time they find Ron and me in the same room..." She rolled her eyes. "Subtlety is really not their main characteristic, is it?" she sighed.

"And Ron, what does he say?"

"Nothing!" Hermione cried out, throwing her hands up in mock frustration. "Absolutely nothing! He's acting as if he didn't realise that everybody's expecting him to propose to me! It's driving me completely mad; we're bickering even more than before!"

"I'm glad I don't have to stand between the pair of you anymore, then," Harry said.

They stepped out of the Leaky Cauldron and stood still for a moment in the darkening street. Harry hesitantly turned to Hermione.

"If - If he does say something about it, in the end... let me know, right?"

Hermione beamed at him. "Of course, what do you think?" she said, half-laughing. "And you'll be best man."

Then, before he had time to recover from what she had just said, she hugged him for the second time that day.

"Take care of yourself," she whispered in his ear. Releasing him, she Disapparated.

Harry heaved a deep sigh, smiling to himself. He felt incredibly alive; was the remedy for his illness that simple? Did he just need to see his friends to heal?

Harry took his keys from his inside pocket and held them in his hand. They felt neither cold nor warm. He clenched his hand tightly around them, until the metal dig into his flesh. He opened his fist; there were red marks on his skin, but he felt no pain. Not even a slight twinge.

He sighed again, cursing himself for getting his hopes up so quickly. Shaking his head in disappointment, he Disapparated.

***

He was climbing the stairs leading to his apartment, his head bowed, immersed in his thoughts. As he reached the landing of the sixth floor, he found out the already eventful day had a few surprises left in store for him.

His front door was ajar, and voices were coming from his living room.

He stood on the threshold and quietly pushed the door, widening slightly the opening. The voices grew louder and clearer.

"- listen, I have absolutely no reason to believe you're a friend of Harry's. I let you in, which is already immensely generous from me, now stop bothering me and sit down. You're making me tired just by looking at you."

Harry recognized Lance's voice. Reassured, he entered the apartment and slammed the door shut behind him.

Lance was sprawled on the couch; his shirt and shoes were off and he had a bottle in his hand. He turned his head with a grimace when the door slammed - Lance had developed an absolute hatred for violent noises due to his almost permanent hangover - and upon recognising Harry he raised his bottle to greet him.

"Hey Potter!" he drawled. "There is somebody here for you..."

He gestured vaguely in the direction of the window. Harry's eyes followed his gesture and his smile abruptly slipped off his face as he recognized the person standing there with her arms crossed over her chest.

"Ginny?" he said feebly.

A heavy silence fell in the living room. Harry watched the thin apparition standing in the middle of the filthy, dusty room. Her sleeveless shirt and her short skirt showed her long, thin members; she had let her red hair down and the fiery locks framed her white-skinned face. She looked perfect, and extraordinarily out of place in the sinister surroundings.

Ginny Weasley had been staring at him hungrily; when he didn't move or say anything else, she said with a slight smile:

"Are we going to look at each other until one of us drops dead?"

Harry pulled himself together. "What are you doing here?" he asked in a barely audible whisper.

Ginny uncrossed her arms and put her hands on her hips.

"Maybe it would be easier for us to talk if your friend was smart enough to leave us," she said, jerking her chin in Lance's direction.

Lance raised his eyebrows at her.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Ginny," he began.

"Weasley to you," Ginny spat disgustedly.

"Miss Weasley," Lance went on with a smirk. "Now I remember you. You were the Gryffindor champion of the Bat-Bogey Hex at school, weren't you?"

"I'm still pretty good at it," said Ginny threateningly, as her hand moved slyly to her pocket.

"Lance, please go to the bedroom," said Harry curtly. "And take your vodka with you."

"Sure, I wouldn't leave the vodka here," Lance snorted. "Have fun with your redhead, Harry."

With those words he laboriously extricated himself from the couch and dragged his feet to the bedroom.

Ginny watched the door shutting behind Lance's retreating back with a mixture of disgust and disdain.

"Where did you dig up that drunkard?" she asked Harry, shaking her head with an expression of utter disbelief.

"Lance is an Auror apprentice, as I am," Harry said briefly. He turned away from Ginny and pulled his robes over his head. Just in his sleeveless shirt and trousers, he collapsed on the couch and grabbed the bottle of Firewhisky he had opened earlier.

Ginny moved closer to him and sat on the edge of the couch.

"That definitively looks like a single man's place," she commented, looking all around her.

"Ginny," Harry said brusquely, "please get to the point."

Her eyes snapped in his direction, and her gaze was distinctly cooler - though Harry could tell she was also hurt by his abruptness.

"You're a rude asshole, do you know that?" she said lightly, as if she wasn't really affected by his words. "Can I have some?" she added with a pointed look at the bottle. Harry nodded.

"Help yourself," he said, giving her the bottle.

To his great surprise, she didn't conjure a glass but lifted the bottle to her lips without bending her wrist and took a long sip. Her eyes closed as she gulped down the alcohol and her whole body shivered.

"It's strong," she murmured as she lowered the bottle, her eyes still closed. She gave Harry the bottle back, which he took without a word as he watched her licking her lips in delight.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" Ginny asked pleasantly. "Is it the first time you see a woman drinking Firewhisky?"

"You seem rather used to drinking," Harry said with half a shrug, corking the bottle. "It surprised me, that's all."

"Yeah, as if you knew me well," muttered Ginny, leaning back in the couch.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked in an even voice.

"You bloody well know what it's supposed to mean," she said, sounding now quite impatient. "You've been avoiding me for the past two years, so don't act as if you knew what I'm used to doing or not doing."

Harry fell silent.

"Defend yourself at least!" Ginny said, sitting bolt upright and glaring at him. "Don't hide behind your silence again. I thought you were braver than this, Harry!"

"I can return you the compliment," said Harry, in a voice so harsh he surprised even himself. "We haven't talked for two years, so don't you act as if you knew what I'd do or not do."

Ginny's eyes flashed dangerously.

"You know what I can't stand with you?" she shot at him. "The way you're wallowing in self-pity every time something bad happens to you. I can't see what you like in it - but you do seem to feel a kind of sadistic pleasure in hearing all the rumours going round about you. That's exactly what you did when you thought you were being possessed by Voldemort. You hid and you delighted in your own loneliness. You're the martyr, aren't you, Harry?"

Harry was oddly calm. He should have been furious, he should have been yelling at her; but no. He had snapped out of the sort of state of grace he had been in since he had seen Hermione and Ron. Now he was back in his former personality - cold, indifferent, unfeeling.

"You know nothing," he stated. "You can't draw conclusions that quickly."

"Then talk to me!" she exclaimed, drawing closer to him. "Don't leave me in the dark! I want to understand!"

He looked at her. Her face was alight with hope; she hadn't changed since his sixth year, she was still witty, brave and daring Ginny Weasley. The Ginny Weasley who had decided to be happy in spite of everything - in spite of the war, the losses and the wounds. She had defied death and danger, she had laughed in the Death Eaters' faces, she had been as strong as the grown-up members of the Order. And thanks to that, she had come unharmed out of the war. She had won the war in every possible way.

And that was why she would never understand what was wrong with him; because he, Harry, had lost the war. He had changed, he had been harmed, he was no longer the teenager she had always known.

"Don't you care about me?" she asked, her voice steady despite the sudden brightness of her brown eyes.

Harry shook his head. "I care about you, but I can't tell you."

She drew in a shuddering breath.

"I love you, Harry."

"No," said Harry softly, "you love someone who died two years ago."

"Don't say that. I love you, I know I do, and I know you've been upset by the events of the war. Harry, you wouldn't be in the state you're in now if you hadn't closed your heart to your friends - and to me. It's time you should go on with your life, do you hear me? You have a chance to lead a normal life now, in spite of all you've been through. You have to fight!"

Harry didn't say anything. He was just looking at her - she was beautiful, speaking animatedly, her face flushed and her eyes bright with fervour.

She stopped talking and her hands fell to her sides.

"I love you," she repeated, "and I've waited two years for you. I can't stand it anymore. Please, tell me you're coming back to me, tell me you're going to fight. I miss you horribly."

Harry shifted his position on the couch so that he was facing her completely.

"Ginny," he said calmly, "you need to stop waiting for me. The war caused a damage too severe for me to ever consider being with you again -"

"The war didn't only affect you!" she said violently. "Do you listen to yourself? You're talking as if you were the only one who had suffered from it! I went through it all as well!"

"You're stronger than me," said Harry, his tone colder. "You won your war. I lost mine. You can do as if nothing had happened, you can go on with your life; I can't. My life, I already had it, and believe me you were a wonderful part of it. Maybe one day I will get over all - all that. But not now. Now I'm not ready."

Ginny lowered her eyes and stared at her hands for a few seconds. Then she spoke quietly, coldly, and her words rang through the darkening living room.

"If you couldn't get over it in two years, even for me, there are only two possibilities. Either you will never be able to get over it, or you don't care enough about me to do it for me. Either case, I lose you."

She slowly rose, without looking at him, and picked her jacket from the back of a wobbly chair. Harry watched her as she put it on and walked to the door. Just before getting out of the flat, she looked back.

"I love you Harry," she whispered, and this time Harry could hear the tears in her voice. "But I can't wait for you all my life. I'm sorry."

Harry didn't look up when the door slammed behind Ginny.

After a few minutes he heard the bedroom door opening with a creak and Lance's approaching footsteps. Then Lance let himself fall on the couch next to him. He observed Harry's face for a few minutes, before wordlessly handling him the bottle of vodka.

Harry accepted it and drank a long gulp of the burning liquid. His head began to swim again; he waited until the effect of the alcohol subsided, then he abruptly stood up and reached under the couch for his Invisibility Cloak.

"Going for your nocturnal walk?" Lance asked.

"As usual," Harry answered briskly, disappearing under the Cloak.

"I'll leave the door open for you."

"Thanks. See you tomorrow."

Harry strode across the room and went down the six floors. The refreshing wind caressed his face as he stepped in the small courtyard. He contemplated for a moment the stars shining above his head before Disapparating.

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

A/N: Wow. Quite long, this one. Too long, maybe? I know I seem to be taking my time, but those chapters are necessary - even if they do seem a bit slow. So please, be patient. Thank you for reading, please review!