⧼ justice smith, cis male, he/him/his / white winter hymnal - the fleet foxes + when you inhale it hurts - when you exhale it stings. these are lungs that should not be pumping air in and out. this is a heart that should not be beating. ; the load you carry is heavy, yet you cannot put it down. you are atlas with the world upon your bowing shoulders and you cannot let yourself be fooled into letting go, no matter how close the sky is to crushing you. ; the boy who lived, they crow. the boy who died. the boy who cannot rest because the world, it seems, still needs you to wring blood and sweat and tears from. when will it end? when can you sleep?. ⧽ ━━ hey, isn’t that HARRY JAMES POTTER? i read a daily prophet article on their life, once ; the TWENTY-FOUR year old half blood WIZARD is a GRYFFINDOR alumnus believed dead until recently who has gone on to be a MARTYR / SYMBOL / UNEMPLOYED. i’ve heard that they were quite STUBBORN & UNCEASINGLY LOYAL, but i don’t know… they seem very EXHAUSTED & MACABRE, don’t they? odd that they’re reappearing only now, isn’t it? [ bee, 22, est, they/them ]
when you come back, it is not to the world you left. harry cannot be surprised, not really, but the way the world seems shifted just slightly in a different direction is unnerving. people he spoke to what feels like moments ago are GONE. friends have jobs, friends are in relationships, friends have completed schooling and moved on to bigger and better things. years have passed, and he is older, but it still sometimes feels like he is eighteen.
how do you fit in a world that has moved past you? there are the same worries that linger, the same exhaustion in the eyes of the people he knows all too well, but their faces have changed. his face has changed, and some morning harry doesn’t recognize the person in the mirror that stares back at him with his mother’s eyes. he knew that time was moving when he was there, gone, but it doesn’t stop it from feeling like the world has spun past him and now he is some relic of the past trapped on its surface.
the world moved on without you, and now you need to catch up. harry is floundering. he’s good at putting on a brave face, so most don’t realize it, but he feels as though he is one of the hogwarts ghosts, lingering in a place he isn’t meant to be. even with his friends it’s odd - they’ll mention someone they weren’t friends with before, or a place they never used to go, or a coworker harry has never heard the name of, and he’ll suddenly be reminded that he is not meant to be here. reintegrating into a society that named him martyr is difficult - maybe even insurmountable. will he ever feel like he belongs here, still? or will this feeling of unease linger over him for the rest of his life?
harry is exhausted from the moment he is told why he is here again. of course it can’t just end. is it wrong that he had hoped that someday, when they are old and grey, his friends would have passed through and taken his hand and told him with soft eyes and kind smiles that they had lived long, wonderful lives, and that it was time for him to rest now? he hadn’t wanted to go alone, not knowing if they were okay, but it had been his everlasting dream that hermione and ron would come through with faces changed by years and years of happiness. that is not what happened. harry cannot rest. there is still a fight to win, and it is - as always - happening because of him. maybe that’s the unending survivor’s guilt talking, but harry cannot help but feel ownership over the problems that have plagued the wizarding world since his birth. he had hoped they would fade with his memory, but that seems impossible.
is it surprising he thinks everyone will expect him to clean up this mess? harry does not ask if they do, merely squares his shoulders and clenches his jaw and anticipates the LOOKS, the whispers, the asking him with sympathetic eyes to take more on his plate. it’s how it has been since he was little. why would DEATH change that? harry doesn’t know if he wants to fight anymore - there is a thread of exhaustion woven through him so tightly it seems impossible to cut - but when has harry’s WANTS ever truly mattered in the long run? he had not wanted to die, not really, but he went willingly for the greater good. would he do it again? harry cannot say YES as firmly as he would like, and that thought is too great to linger on for long.
WCS
ex - enemies - you know who you are. anyone harry didn’t get along with in school or even adults he had long-running animosity with! harry likely has been told that some people have shifted allegiances / that things have changes since after his death, and he is now extremely unsure who has made amends, who hasn’t, who holds what beliefs, who has served time and who hasn’t, etc. i’d love to play with the idea of harry trying to figure out who to trust and who not to trust.
da & order members - ooo boy, harry probably has Thoughts about this situation currently. he feels like it’s expected he’ll try and take command of the da, but honestly...isn’t really interested ; if people look to him he would probably try to step into it, and would be confused if people told him it wasn’t expected either. also probably not a big fan of the width of the schism between the two. harry remembers the order and da working together, even if it was tentatively, and always looked up to the order. the fact they don’t work together? whack to him, and he probably has strong words for people on both sides of the gap there.
new friends - people harry straight up never spoke to before. lbr, harry was a cliquey baby in school and had his group of friends and pretty rarely branched out from that, so i would love to see him finding new friends now that he’s back. people he doesn’t know much about to begin with, so it can’t be weird when they say stuff he doesn’t know about them now.
“Have you eaten?” Harry had stepped all of five inches into the house before Molly had her hands on her hips with the question halfway out of her mouth. A fond smile that had been reserved for her family ( Harry included, always ) appeared on her lips in contrast to her stance. He looks tired. she notes. He’ll stay over, then. As if it were a given, never a question or a scoff when it came to Harry. She’d sooner meet a dementor in an alley than let anything bad happen to him. “I have food in the other room, dear. And some tea if you’re up for that, the tea was meant for Arthur but he’s tinkling with another muggle object. Something about a CD? Merlin knows where he found the cursed thing anyway.”
@herisen
it’s HOME. it is in a way nearly nowhere else has been in harry’s life ; even if things are - SHIFTED, in ways. new sofa. different rug. quieter house. something that hasn’t changed, that he hopes will NEVER change, is molly stopping him while he’s still in the process of toeing off his shoes and hanging his jacket up just inside the door. “hi,” is what he replies with first, managing to abandon his shoes and come over to HUG molly. “food sounds great.” he had, indeed, eaten, but fending off molly weasley is something he simply doesn’t have the strength (or want) to do right now. “maybe a cd player? maybe i’ll see if i can lend a hand?”
George wasn’t quite sure when it would stop being STRANGE that HARRY POTTER was here – walking and talking and IMPOSSIBLY ALIVE. Death had always seemed like a finite end to things ( well, there were ghosts, but their existence was so other that George didn’t really know whether it counted as dead or alive ), but Harry, being HARRY, of course – had gone and proven even this to be a falsity.
“It’s awful, this year.” They tried not to dwell on Harry’s return too often – it was met with extremely MIXED emotions – joy, of course, at someone so close to family suddenly returning after years in the grave, but it was accompanied by a note of something else they couldn’t quite place – bitterness, perhaps, that it hadn’t been FRED who’d returned, but also a frustrating hint of HOPE that maybe whatever had happened to Harry could, one day, be replicated. “We’re usually treated like celebrities, given VIP access and all that – can’t say any of it was ever very interesting, but y’had to appreciate the thought.”
harry listens, fingers curled ‘round a cup of something he’d barely touched ; merlin knows several of his friends seem to be taking advantage of the free drinks and at least someone should stay alert. JUST IN CASE, something sibilant and war-weary hisses in the back of his head. harry knows the war is over - - - knows it ended A LONG WHILE AGO for everyone else, but sometimes, some days, it’s hard to remember. it’s like waking up in a wholly different world than the one you drifted off in. but he SMILES, tight-lipped, and nods.
“HEY, i’d consider it an accomplishment that you’ve already managed to piss him off so much,” he gives a one shouldered shrug and doesn’t let himself wonder when it changed from WE to YOU ; when he stopped counting himself among their number. it’s hard to slip back into place. he no longer fits in the space he left - not quite. not REALLY, it’s easier not to say it, though, and so he hasn’t.
ᴡʜᴏ : george weasley & open ( @startertms )
ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ : main atrium, ministry of magic
ᴡʜᴇɴ : august 18, 2021 – seventh annual ministry gala
In all honesty, George hadn’t quite expected the annual ministry shindig to go ahead this year – what, with the ( rather rude and uncalled for ) cancellation of Harry’s holiday just a few weeks ago, he’d been quite surprised to receive his annual invitation to the event in the mail. Truthfully, while many people seemed to clamour at the opportunity to attend ‘the event of the year’, for George, it was very much a take-it-or-leave-it sort of affair, attended mostly out of obligation than authentic excitement. They’d long chafed at the rigidity of the Ministry ( and especially so with this latest regime ), and the celebration often served as a haunting reminder of all that had been lost. People tended to fawn over the survivors of battle like heroes, though, even now, seven years on – George didn’t feel much like one.
Still, they knew it would appear odd if they didn’t make an appearance – and while they didn’t particularly love the Ministry itself, the building was exquisite, and he would never be the type to pass up an opportunity for free food and drinks. So, he had donned his nicest suit ( completing the look with smiley-face cufflinks so as to not appear boring ), and rolled up to the event with a smile on his face and one of his best friends at his side ( ‘people had better notice our colour-coordinated outfits,’ he’d said, prepared to simply grin and bear it and maybe have some incidental fun.
“Is it just me,” He says to the nearest person in the vicinity of his table – where he has taken up residence with a pint in one hand and a cocktail in the other, “Or did these things used to be a lot more fun?” A pause, before they continue, “Weird atmosphere in here tonight. Then again, I can’t quite remember how many of these,” He holds up his drinks, “I’ve already had.”
there is APPARENTLY something different about tonight than the other ministry balls. harry has heard grumblings among his friends ; apparently they had better seats, private tours, all sorts of things. harry can’t say he’s too upset - being seated in the back means he can spot people coming and vanish into a crowd a bit easier than if he was front and center. when a familiar voice ( MISSING A PARTNER, ODD TO TURN AND JUST SEE ONE, JUST HEAR ONE LAUGH AND NO QUICK QUIP TACKED ONTO THE END OF THE SENTENCE LIKE SECOND NATURE ) harry turns to look at them with a...tentative smile.
he isn’t sure how to act around george alone anymore. not - not like this. not when fred could have come back, maybe. sometimes harry’s skin feels like an ill-fitting disguise ; sometimes his body feels as though it aches for the grave it ought to be in - and never so much as when he looks and george and expects fred at their shoulder. “that bad, huh?” he smiles faintly, “can’t say i’ve ever been to a ministry function that was much fun.”
what kind of uneasy existence is this ? harry will ALWAYS occupy a space that percy wishes fred would , and he knows it . there’ll always be a soft spot for the unruly child that wandered into the burrow , another one of ron’s friends that percy inevitably finds a HOME IN HIS HEART for , but it leaves a 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 taste on the backs of his teeth . it’s not one he can swallow , one that he can hide and they both sit with it , silent in that knowledge . it makes him SQUIRM , just a little . the rest of his drink burns , thrown back with reckless force / beckons for 𝙰𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁 , just to ease the itch under his skin .
“ she was good like that , yeah . still is . nearly ripped me a new one the other day . ” there’s the ghost of something MERRY at the curling corners of his mouth , not yet bitten down . always had a soft spot for mcgonagall’s 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 , her discipline ; in younger days , it was something to be admired and idolised . now , he just APPRECIATES the fact that she’s never changed . “ she’s a good one . ” he punctuates his thoughts by draining what’s left in his glass . he can’t recall exactly how many he’s had / does it matter ? “ 𝘩𝑜𝑔𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑠 , she’s never changing . ” she , like the institution is a lover he still craves in the 𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 rather than his own personal mausoleum , testament to the one failure he can never forgive . “ the rest of it , though ? s’hardly changed . not to me , anyway . same old , same old . six years , you’d be surprised how little actually shifts , changes , does fuckin’ . . . anything . tom still runs the leaky cauldron , old gary’s still falling asleep at last call . same shit , different eyes , i guess . ”
“your parents have a new rug, now.” he blurts it - a non-sequitur, seemingly, bursting from harry’s lips as he looks down at his drink rather than over at percy. “in the living room. well. i dunno how new it is, really, but i walked into the room and it was like someone had...changed something overnight, and i was the only one who noticed it.” his voice stays low and carries under the noise of the room as he downs a sip of his drink and turns his gaze to the back of the bar. “paint behind the bar at the leaky cauldron is a couple’a shades lighter than it was. same thing.” a shoulder hitches in an uneasy shrug and harry wonders if he’s making any sense now or if these words are as nonsensical as they feel coming from him. fingers leave the glass to touch the arm of his glasses. they’re new, too. a different shape. they hit the points behind his ears differently. “it’s like everything is just slightly off.”
it feels like he’s complaining and harry clams up a bit. stares at his drink. wonders what percy THINKS ; wonders what fred would FEEL were he here instead ; wonders if no one else will ever quite get this feeling of being terribly adrift, of drowning, of calling out in a room full of people who see nothing the matter at all. “it’s like everything’s changed. everyone’s got jobs now. and flats. everything everyone’s had six years t’get used to and i gotta just...get used to it all at once, i guess.” harry does not mention that percy is NOTHING like he remembers ; he doubts it would be well-received. the percy harry recalls would never have this conversation. the harry of then would never, either. the current harry, the one he is here and now, picks idly at the thread that holds the hem of his sleeve together and lets out a long and unsteady exhale. “sorry.”
WHAT IS HE APOLOGIZING FOR? ostensibly the rambling, the complaints ; realistically, more than he can even say. he jostles his glasses by pushing a hand beneath them to rub at exhausted eyes.
it only took a few hours of nonstop dancing for disaster to STRIKE, as an ambitious attempt from ginny to add a little something to their overall performance led to an almighty tearing sound, able to be heard over the upbeat you charmed the cauldron right out of me. once the horrifying realisation that the back of her dress ( flimsy as the costume fabric was ) had torn right down the back had set in, she was out of there like a shot - break card held high as she weaved through the nearest pairs, each step accompanied by a mortified fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck -
“merlin’s briefs, this isn’t happening. -” wand already retrieved from the leg holster she’d used to avoid having to carry a bag, the real struggle came once she had made her way off of the dancefloor. it wasn’t the privacy of the bathrooms she didn’t know her way to, but she kept a tight hold on the front of her dress as she twisted this way & that, trying to get a good enough view of the damage to cast some sort of repair spell over her own shoulder, and failing miserably, “fuck me. fuck! reparo- re- reparo- come on!”
“hey,” harry’s voice is quick and quiet as he approaches ginny from behind, doing his best to shield the tear from view with his body, “hey, hold on a second,” there’s a small smile audible in his voice as he draws his own wand. harry isn’t PARTICIPATING ( merlin knows that he’d make an utter fool of himself on the dancefloor ) but he had come to watch - it has been easy to spot ginny’s costume malfunction while watching the pairs continue their mad dancing towards the finish. “you’re missing it completely. let me?”
𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: the three broomstricks, hogsmeade.
𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: closed to @herisen.
cho walked around hogsmeade after visting her dad, wanting to steer clear of being home. a ploy that she had planned the second she heard her mother wanting to visit her. it was a way to avoid her, but also an excuse to see the one parent that she cared about. her feet grew sluggish, reluctant to get home before finding herself sitting behind the bar of the three broomsticks, already four beers in. too drowned in her own thoughts that she began to disassociate, to the point where she hadn’t realised she was sitting in a bar that was well overly populated for a thursday night. to the point where she hadn’t realised harry beside her until a shatter from the kitchen behind the bar made clamouring sounds. “ merlin, harry! ” cho yelped, hand gripping her chest as the other one abandoned the drink she was holding as it had spilled it all over her arm from her little jump scare. “ you scared the shit out of me. ”
-
it’s become an unnervingly common experience - accidentally startling people. maybe he should start wearing a BELL so people hear him coming. it doesn’t help with how GHOST-LIKE he feels, sometimes ; like he’s gone transparent and people do not notice him at first until they notice a chill in the air. harry scratches at the back of his neck and gives a sheepish laugh. “sorry, cho,” he winces, patting his pockets for something to offer her to wipe off her arm and coming up empty. he winds up leaning over the bar and grabbing a fistful of paper napkins to hold out to her, “should’ve cleared my throat or something. want some company?” to be WHOLLY HONEST, harry isn’t sure why he’s here. the flat felt...too quiet. halfway empty, maybe. he’d needed some air, to get out from the four walls and the feeling that maybe he doesn’t exist outside of them.
“that’d be nice.” for someone who spends so much time alone & enjoying it, memorial weekend brings out an incredibly different side to her. ginny’s not sure why ( or what it means ), but the promise of fresh air and time to clear her head is made a little brighter knowing she won’t be heading down there on her own. “i could do with the fresh air.” the cooling breeze. the time to gather herself together. it’s been some time, and maybe some things had changed, but one thing that’s remained the same - miraculously, incredibly, painfully the same - is her ability to do that, in his presence. harry will always feel like safety to her, and that should hurt more on this weekend of all weekends, but if she’s being honest… walking in step with him away from the castle is the most at ease she’s ever felt at one of these things, before. “we could try make it down for a round of madam rosmerta’s pub quiz-” she starts, because it’s the farthest thing from a heavy topic as she can get, though their even pace & a moment of reflection draws a quietly hopeful, “or we could take our time,” that sounds more like an admittance of wanting than it does suggestion.
in another lifetime harry would have breathed something relieved and sardonic to her with a smile that pricked up just one corner of his mouth ; when it had been the looming threat of the world and not the crushing facts of it that they were fleeing from. “great,” he nods, starting off from the castle and already veering a way that will loop them ‘round the grounds before heading off the right direction. legs ache with the need to MOVE. he had rarely RUN FROM THINGS in life - first life, he reminds himself, first go ‘round - but it is an itch he cannot manage to shake these days. hogwarts is the same, or close to it if he ignores the classrooms that have new professors housed within and the memorial and the new faces in the trophy-case photos. the grounds are the same. “i’m awful at trivia,” he says with a soft laugh that carries away on the breeze, a shoulder very gently jostling hers, “so unless you want to see me make a fool of myself, i think i’ll take the second option.” it’s a question veiled as a statement, a plea, a PLEASE DON’T MAKE ME HURRY TO THAT CROWD that harry is still proud enough to not truly say.
“ trust me , you got the EASY WAY OUT . ” he doesn’t mean for the unkind undercurrent to creep into tones , but he won’t STOP them . percy’s 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 one to sugarcoat the truth , and all honesty entails that harry was mourned / never had to mourn , never had to attend a younger brother’s 𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕 with a knot so TIGHT in the throat that it felt impossible to breathe around . guilt doesn’t sit like the world on his shoulders , atlas miserable under the weight of it . “ mcgonagall had the place fixed up quick . only took a couple of days . y’always forget just how much of a badass she is until she’s almost SINGLEHANDEDLY put hogwarts together . ” he shrugs , drains the rest of his drink before waving another over . “ six years . ” ( please don’t comment on how hollow , how pained the words come out . the hurt is so much deeper than his vocables . ) “ 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐲𝐞 , really . ”
it STINGS. harry knows ; he KNOWS there are people who died, other people, people he CARED ABOUT. he sees it in the eyes of half the people who know the truth and two-thirds of the ones who don’t. MOST OF THEM WISH SOMEONE ELSE HAD COME BACK. or not - that’s too harsh and he knows it - they don’t wish harry hadn’t, maybe, but they wish someone else had too. or that harry coming back hadn’t even been an option and it had just happened to be someone else. STILL ; it hurts to hear it so directly in percy’s voice. harry gives a taut nod and watches the bartender head over, gestures for one of whatever percy’s drinking, and resolutely doesn’t look over.
“i remembered every time she reamed ron and i out,” it’s an attempt at light-heartedness that sinks in the pit of his throat even as he says it, something too tight and unsure there. fingers fiddle ; he hasn’t known what to do with his HANDS since coming back, always uncomfortable with where they are. he swallows down EASY WAY OUT and LUCKY ONE and BOY WHO LIVED and doesn’t let himself think about the way he no longer knows how to LIVE. at least he is living. how selfish to not be THANKFUL. he doesn’t say how he didn’t know TIME - there. how every second felt like a year and every year a second, waiting, waiting, not wanting to board that train alone but not wanting to GO BACK. hands fiddle with the leg of his glasses and the uncomfortable press of them behind his ears ( something he cannot remember feeling before ) is a stark reminder. his glass is taken with silent thanks and he downs half the thing in a go without a single idea WHAT TO SAY to percy.
I’M SORRY IT WAS ME. I KNOW YOU WISH IT WAS FRED. I DO, TOO. I DO, TOO. I DO, TOO. it would be a frankly pitiful thing to say and harry does not know this percy and cannot gauge how he would respond. “it’s the only thing that mostly looks the same.” he swallows the burn of alcohol and years missed. QUICKER THAN FALLING ASLEEP, he can still hear sirius’ voice saying, and wonders if he had been telling the truth. “hogwarts.”
tucked neatly between familiar frames , there’s COMFORT in the way the 𝑐𝑟𝑜𝑤𝑛 of her head connects with ron’s shoulder and her arm brushes against harry’s as he settles . “ you skipped the books ? ” there’s 𝚏𝚊𝚞𝚡 - 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚎 in rising tone but the grin carved HIGH says much to the contrary . “ merlin , harry , borrow my copies . ” it’s like the pair of them exist to rile her up , and she’s half a mind to snatch 𝐏𝐎𝐏𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐍 out of ron’s hand . “ fishing guy ?? don’t disrespect finnick odair like that ! ” ( @herisen ! )
“why would we read them when we can get YOU to explain the plot to us?” harry’s aiming to tease, voice just a little too guileless to be anything other than prodding. “not that i don’t LOVE the commentary on what’s different in the books and movies,” he pokes hermione’s side and bats lazily at ron’s hand as he takes some of the popcorn - though he won’t ACTUALLY try and stop the theft. “is it going on my list of POP CULTURE CATCH UP, then? i thought we were done with homework.” harry laughs and shakes his head, “RIGHT, finnick odair. cool golden bracelet, yeah?” ( @spelltorn )
“god, time does slip fast,” gabrielle sighed. a blink of an eye and they were here, seven years past the war. and still its effects lingered, leaving them all stuck in a limbo where both staying and moving on seemed impossible. she rolled her eyes at harry, raising her eyebrows at his faded shirt. “that shirt is probably older than i am,” she said, always finding opportunity to pick at the other’s age, despite them being just a few years apart.
“hmm,” gabrielle pretended to be deep in thought. “deal! now let’s go, your new wardrobe is waiting for you,”
he splutters, looking down at the shirt. “how old do you think i am? fifty?” a fair enough question ; he’s been GONE for what felt, to him, like both one day and one thousand years. harry shakes his head with a laugh and holds an arm out in a vague go ahead gesture. “lead the way, then. i bet you’ve already got a dozen shops in mind.” the only one he can think of off the top of his head is madame malkins, which - if he were to admit it - sort of proves gabrielle’s point.
maybe he does need a wardrobe refresh. maybe it will make him feel a little more tangible.
“ s’all good , it’s just you . ” and here’s the thing : harry was ( and , really , still is ) nothing more than a PAINFUL AFTERTHOUGHT in the patchwork 𝘁𝗮𝗽𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗿𝘆 of the things percy aches about . each memorial rolls around & he wants to tear his tongue out , a BLEEDING MESS of fredfredfred . the years pass in the blink of an eye and the memory has never faded , every bit as vivid / every bit as 𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 to bring him to his KNEES . as harry slides into the barstool beside him , percy is reminded only of the brother he lost that didn’t get the chance to come back . it’s hard not to feel a little resentful . “ s’pose this is all too WEIRD to you , huh ? your first 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐝 . ”
“yeah.” there’s an awkward, prominent space on the memorial that has been magically altered, a gap where the name HARRY JAMES POTTER once sat that is gone now that he did not die. it almost stings. it makes him want to shout I DID, I DID, I DID. harry knows why they cannot let people know that he was gone, truly, for so long. that he came back. it would cause an uproar - a clamor of people hounding for their war dead to come back. there is already a glimmer in the eyes of some ; harry doesn’t want it extending to others. “i keep thinking there’s no way they fixed everything up so soon and then - remembering.” that it had been years. that it had been nearly as long as harry had known them all, time spent repairing and making a memorial and mourning. fingers tap at the bar for a moment and he shrugs. “feels like both one and a million years ago.” his voice is pitched down, quiet, careful as he glances about just once for listening ears and prying eyes.
𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 : the three broomsticks . relatively late at night .
𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚜 : open .
𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍 : @startertms .
spine slumped in uniquely artless fashion , percy makes quite the 𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 : curls in DISARRAY , bleary - eyed . too - small sweater has a hole near the hem that he hasn’t looked twice at ( ONCE UPON A TIME , its mere existence would’ve sent him into a tailspin ) . the day wears 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 , evident in the tilt of his shoulders when they steady to down another shot & to wave the bartender over for another . an appearance at his elbow SHAKES him to the core , of course . “ fucking hell , ” curse slips out all too easily , eyes widening as he adjusts to the idea of 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 , “ a little warning next time . can’t just be SNEAKING up on people these days , y’know ? ”
harry has scarcely spoken to PERCY WEASLEY since - coming back. it makes him feel guilty to admit that he doesn’t know how to talk to the person who stands in the space one harry once knew ought to occupy. PERCY WEASLEY is not the same person he was six years ago - not even close - and harry doesn’t know how to handle that. how to talk to him. everyone is DIFFERENT, of course they are, but this? percy is wholly different. these worn sweaters and messy hair are the sort of thing percy would tut at harry about at the breakfast table in the past ; harry doesn’t startle when percy jumps at the tough on his elbow. “sorry,” it’s instant and just a little unsure, “should’ve said something.” he shuffles to the seat beside percy, giving a wide enough berth so he doesn’t jostle or touch the other man.
it didn’t feel like memorial weekend, and ginny had been through enough of them to have certain expectations. it wasn’t a case of it feeling any better than usual - the combined grief was still as suffocating as it ever was, and no quidditch game or guest quarter novelty could make THAT any easier to navigate. she had signed some brooms for the deflated and victorious teams, tittered with her weekend roommates over some innane gossip they were unpacking more thoughtfully than their bags and recited her part of the remembrance speech over and over, in her mind, until she had it perfect. she had even made the trek down to the stone memorial all on her own, just to see fred’s name before the sun had set & evening feast began. she had done all the things she was meant to, and the normality of these awful, typical things should have done something, but she just couldn’t shake the unnamed feeling that had settled in her bones and promised to stay.
there was nothing for it, really. once the friday feast concluded, ginny was one of the first to rise & head upstairs, not to sleep, but to grab her heavy coat. she didn’t shrug it on until she was heading down the carved stone steps of the entrance hall, past the students and the weekend guests who were heading the other direction. the large doors were open wide to the freedom of the expansive lawns & cool night air and ginny, for all her desperation to just get out of the castle, gave enough pause before them to draw a companion. “i was thinking of getting a drink at the three broomsticks,” her confidence wanes. it didn’t matter how long it had been since she graduated - she would always feel a student within these walls. she almost puts word to the foolish ponder of whether she’s allowed, and instead manages, with renewed hope, “would you like to come?”
he’s been OFF all weekend. harry knows it ; he’s pretty sure most of the people he’s spoken to know it, if they’ve been looking AT HIM and not at HARRY JAMES POTTER WHO DID NOT DIE. it’s hard to reminisce about the good times when the last thing he remembers of the castle is ruin and terror shadowing the rubble. most everyone else has been back since - for memorial weekends or family member’s quidditch games. harry hasn’t - the memory of turning has back on the smoldering remains of a place he had called home and walking towards death is the most fresh. the halls should be in ruins ; they should be being rebuilt, and he should be helping. instead there is a spot on the memorial wall that used to have his name on it until recently. “ - a drink sounds great,” he agrees, voice quiet. what SOUNDS GREAT is getting away from the castle for a while. “mind taking the long way? i could do with a walk.”
“i know you were dead for two years and everything.” gabrielle started, eyes looking harry up and down. “but that doesn’t give you an excuse to dress like that,” she said, picking at harry’s shirt. retail therapy was her number one go-to whenever she was feeling, well basically anything, and it was her mission to force everyone to consider it too.
“we are going shopping. if it’s a terrible experience and you hate me after i promise i’ll buy you some drinks.”
‘i think it was more like six,” harry honestly is still a little fuzzy on the details. if anything, the fact gabrielle is a fully formed adult person is a testament to the fact it was more than two, at least. he looks down at his shirt, which harry is fairly certain was his pre-death, and it shows. there’s some slogan printed across it that is faded beyond reading in some places. “what’s wrong with my shirt?” faux confusion plays across his face but it’s smeared by amusement. he knows what’s wrong with his shirt.
“if i don’t hate you afterwards, i’ll buy the drinks. sounds like a pretty good deal.”
𝖇𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖘𝖊 𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖇𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝖙𝖔 smother down the awe thatʻs welling up in his chest , unbidden . itʻs not every day that you start conversations with someone who was presumed DEAD for years ( and what a revelation his return was / the phoenix rising from the flame once more ) . how do you talk to a dead men walking ? the answer is apparently to pretend like theyʻre in school once more . ❝ well , you know me . i just canʻt help wanting to be in the spotlight , ❞ he parries . his mouth quirks up into a smirk , dripping with the carefully practiced arrogance that he wore so nicely , as he tilts his head at potter . ❝ then again , you would know all about that , wouldnʻt you ? ❞
❝ oh , i couldnʻt miss the event of the season . this was the prophesied death , wasnʻt it ? ❞ the smirk grows into an outright grin at the memory . not that he took any particular joy in the other boyʻs death . it all felt a little surreal with the man standing in front of him now . ❝ there were tears through the whole thing . really plucked on the heartstrings , ❞ blaise said , matter-of-fact . the stray thought of ❛ shame it all turned out to be a waste in the end ❜ went unspoken . his eyes rove over the other man , eyebrow arching as potter takes his sip . ❝ donʻt skip out on your heartfelt speech on my account . besides - ❞ he reaches out to wrap his fingers around harryʻs , pulling the full cup of firewhiskey to his mouth . he takes a sip from harryʻs own hand before letting go and sparing him a smile . ❝ i think i can manage . ❞
harry rolls his eyes behind the lenses of his new and still uncomfortable glasses at the preening and peacocking of his old schoolfellow. “RIGHT, wanting to be the center of attention. that’s me!” harry grins a sickening sweet grin, “hauling my dead friend’s body back from hell and having people photograph it was GRAND.” he punctuates the false cheer with another deep sip of his stinging drink. it’s FINE! he’s fine, it’s great, this is great. funerals and shit are great. harry gives a slightly dramatic AHHH! after finishing his gulp and punctuates it with a smile.
“FUNERAL OF THE CENTURY, i suppose.” harry forgets he’s supposedly never died ; it was supposedly an empty casket ; he was supposedly hidden away somewhere safe and quiet and ALIVE for six years. harry isn’t a stranger to lying, but the weight of this one is suffocating. “ron better’ve given a fucking mint eulogy or i’m gonna kick his ass.” it’s more CANDID than harry could have ever pictured herself being with blaise, but harry does not think he’d ever had more than two drinks in himself while around blaise before. eyes track the motion of the cup being pulled up to blaise’s mouth and harry blinks. ALRIGHT THEN. why not? this might as well happen. “wouldn’t be HEARTFELT, i don’t think. unless you’ve got fond memories of divination.”
𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑: closed to @herisen.
𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: shrieking shack hill, hogsmeade.
grief made cho uncomfortable. she experienced death a little too often for someone her age and she wasn’t sure why, but all she could think of in this right moment was cedric. it was almost amusing, that after all these years, after the war, and the deaths that came with it — cho would have found a way to move on. but funerals always made cho uncomfortable. so unbearably uncomfortable. which is why she opted for sitting alone in the fire pit, finding more company in the free alcohol this bonfire was providing than most. hazel hues remained focused on the fire pit before her as she swirled the sherry in her cup. her focus was interrupted by a shadow that she thought looked like it was withdrawing, so she turned. “ oh, harry. ” cho greeted, a little timidly at that before straightening herself up and gesturing a hand towards the empty space beside her. cho couldn’t help but feel a little guilty whenever she was in close proximity to harry, thinking she could’ve done a better job at keeping in contact with him. surely, he could use a friend these days. at least cho knew she could. “ how are you holding up tonight? can i get you something to drink? ”
he’d THOUGHT it was cho. how odd, to recognize someone by the shape of the back of their head alone. were harry a smidge more sober he might opine on it mentally ; might recall the amount of time he spent watching cedric&cho ( a duo like that, inseperable, then ) and then just cho. there’s still some pull there. something connects the two of them. harry isn’t poetic enough to put it to words that do it justice. “hey, cho,” harry smiles and lets himself drop bonelessly into the space beside her, body a little too loose from the drinks he’s had. it’s the only way he’s gonna make it through the night. JUST BACK FROM THE DEAD AND MORE DEATH ON ITS HEELS - harry didn’t really like trelawney and he doesn’t think that’s any secret. he was awful at divination and the woman had seemed on a personal mission to frighten harry with ill portents at every turn, so he thinks he’s justified, but it’s still TERRIBLY AWKWARD. “i’m GRAND,” his cup is halfway empty and it is not the first. he peers down into it and shakes his head before having to tilt his head up to keep new glasses from sliding down his nose and off his face, “how about you. you were - you liked divination, right?”
