Part 13: Happy Ever After with Pronglet (The Living Well is the Best Revenge Prank)
25 th June 1995
Ron set aside the copy of the Daily Prophet on the picnic table and sighed at the headlines.
The Boy Who Lived to Save Us Again
Albus Dumbledore Dies in the Battle of Hogwarts
Harry was going to hate it. He was going to hate the adulation and the increased fame; the sycophants who wanted nothing but to say they were friends with The Harry Potter.
He considered the dream the dragon had given him of a Ron who had walked away from Harry at the beginning of the tournament – jealous and envious and stupid.
Ron blew out a breath.
He knew his flaws and he was working on them. He would never walk away from Harry.
He shook his head, swung around on the bench away from the house, and stared out at the Weasley back garden.
Home.
They'd come home after the battle, retreating into the Burrow and simply holding each other as a family; grateful to come through mostly uninjured and alive. But they'd been hurt.
Bill had wept on their mother's shoulder for long minutes; crying out his pain and grief at the loss of his partner. Ron had felt so helpless watching him. He wanted to take away his brother's pain; wanted to tell him that he was so grateful to Caroline for ensuring that his big brother had survived. He wished he could have been there; that he could have helped comfort Bill when it had happened but he'd been passed out in the Headmaster's office. He sighed again and rubbed his forehead tiredly.
The four students in the spell had woken up after the battle. They had waited anxiously waiting for the all clear – pulling George free of the bookcase and tending to him while they did. Then the alarm had sounded and the dragon had told them there was a bomb. But almost as soon as the alarm sounded it was all over. Harry saving them all, Ron thought tiredly.
George had ushered them out as soon as the door had unlocked and Ron had run to find his friends and his father…
The dragon was still awake. It would need four Heads of Houses to put her to sleep again and who knew when that would be? Dumbledore's death had thrown Hogwarts into turmoil although there was a brief note in the paper which announced Professor McGonagall had been appointed Headmistress. At least Sprout and Flitwick had come through unscathed but Snape was in some kind of coma and it wasn't looking good by all accounts.
He shook his head.
He couldn't see anyone returning to Hogwarts to close out the school year. The damage the invaders had wrought was extensive. The Quidditch pitch didn't have an intact stand on it.
"Ron?" His mother sidled up to him and sat down on the bench next to him. She gave a huff at the sight of the papers before she nudged his shoulder with her own. "You're up early."
"Couldn't sleep." Ron admitted gruffly. "I was thinking about Harry." His face crumpled. "He was so…he was so injured."
His Mum nodded slowly. He'd found out the night before that all the women who'd taken part in the ritual had seen events through Hermione's eyes so he knew she knew just how bad Harry had been; how broken he'd looked as Sirius had held him as though he was the most precious thing in the world.
"He's in the best place to get better and Sirius is with him." She said reassuringly.
"I know," tears prickled over Ron's eyes, "I just…I just wish he was here."
His Mum put an arm around him and he sank into her comforting embrace with just a smidgeon of shame as the tears leaked out and down his face.
"Harry will be back with us by the end of the week. He'll be healed and healthy and we'll all be there for him." She said comfortingly.
"I need to talk to him." Ron said. "I need to tell him…tell him about the dragon and…" he sighed, "what we had to agree so she'd help us." He mumbled the last part, knowing his Mum wouldn't like it.
"What?" Her voice was sharp. "What did you have to agree?" She sounded like she was ready to march down to the school and have it out with the dragon painting. He wouldn't put it past his Mum to do it either.
Ron swiped at his nose; she huffed and handed him a handkerchief. He blew his nose noisily before answering. "We had to agree to be bound to the school. I mean, not that we have to be there all the time but we'll have to live there eventually."
His Mum was quiet for a long moment. She sighed heavily. "I guess that's not so bad. Teaching's a respectable profession."
"I want to manage a Quidditch team!" Ron retorted before his brain caught up with his mouth and pointed out that he had sworn never to tell his mother his career ambitions. "And Harry would be my Seeker, you know?" He hastily added. His face fell. "Not that anyone will want to play where You-Know-Who died."
His Mum hummed. "Maybe you can organise a game when the pitch is repaired and reclaim the space back."
Ron nodded. That actually sounded like a good idea. "You don't mind?" He asked. "About the Quidditch?"
"All I've ever wanted is for you all to grow up healthy and happy." His Mum said firmly.
He'd dispute that since he remembered the colossal row she and Charlie had had when he'd told her about Romania, not to mention the blow-out over Bill and Egypt, but he figured silence was the better part of valour.
His Mum tousled his hair. "Besides, Quidditch Manager will be a good job for you before you end up teaching. It'll allow you to travel and see something of the world before you end up back at the school."
Ron was truthfully rendered speechless.
"Now," bustled his mother getting up from the bench, "I'd best see to breakfast and check the twins haven't decided to take George's ear off in the middle of the night so they match again."
It was a possibility; Ron had overheard them talking about it before he'd fallen into his own bed.
"Do I have time to write to Hermione and Neville?" Ron asked, getting up himself to follow her inside.
"If you're quick. It's just bacon butties this morning." His Mum agreed, a hint of a question in her tone.
Ron shrugged. "Harry will go mental if I don't check on Hermione and Neville said something about the alliance getting together to go over what happened and make sure everyone's taken care of."
His Mum caught his arm as they reached the back door and Ron thought he saw the shadow of someone retreating back into the house. "Ron," she held his gaze forcefully, "we're very, very proud of you."
Ron felt his face go bright red but he accepted the words with a nod.
His Mum smiled at him and pushed him gently in the direction of the stairs. "Give my best to Hermione and let Neville know he's always welcome here."
Ron nodded again and took off for the stairs. He had letters to write and things to care of to make it easier for Harry when he returned. And, Ron thought with anticipation, a Quidditch match to organise.
o-O-o
Time Bubble – 30 th June 1995
Harry looked out on the beautiful valley through the window without truly seeing it. He was pressed up against the window pane, the glass was cold against his skin and it helped anchor him into reality. He'd been in a healing coma for three days, bedridden for two more, and the healers had only just allowed him to get up. He still felt exhausted; sore.
He should have died.
He had been at ground zero when Crouch exploded. He had felt the heat and the force; had felt the pain rip through him. He was sure he had died.
There had been a moment – white all around him and the sense of his Mum and Dad, of Death – and then he had been on the ground and Sirius had been there…
"Harry."
As though he had conjured him into being with the thought of him, Sirius was suddenly there. He hadn't left him until that morning…hadn't left him…
Guilt suffused him again. He hadn't known about the tether; hadn't realised what he'd done. He couldn't regret it. It had kept Sirius alive; kept him alive. He wouldn't ever lose Sirius. So, he couldn't regret it but he had done it unknowingly, and without Sirius's consent – and for that he was apologetic (and thank Merlin Death didn't see it as some kind of usurping and forced him into promising his first born son or last remaining descendent as a champion).
"Cold?" Sirius asked softly.
Harry shrugged.
Noshi had somehow managed to finagle Sirius away a couple of hours before – probably to a mind healer since the instance he'd been left alone, Healer Fay had arrived in Harry's room. The painting he'd started was unfinished on the easel. He'd lost interest only a few minutes after he'd started and he really, really wasn't interested in talking.
He hadn't talked since he'd woken up.
Sirius wrapped a thin cotton robe around Harry's shoulders and helped Harry manoeuvre his arms into it as though he was a small child. "There." He rubbed Harry's upper arms, warming them. "Why don't you come and sit over by the fireplace and I'll start a fire."
Harry let Sirius help him off the window seat. He still felt shaky, like a new-born colt trying to find his legs. He leaned heavily on his father until he was safely ensconced on the comfy sofa. Dobby popped in – he'd arrived with an insistent Hedwig within hours of Sirius and Harry's arrival apparently. Harry was comforted by their familiar presence. Sirius wrapped the blanket Dobby provided around Harry's pyjama-clad legs while the elf got a blaze going.
Sirius sat down next to him. He was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt; leather flip-flops on his feet. His hair was down. He looked as tired as Harry felt. Guilt swamped him again. He knew Sirius was worried about him.
"Healer Fay said you didn't want to talk." Sirius said quietly, brushing a strand of hair away from Harry's face.
Harry shook his head. He curled into Sirius and Sirius wrapped an arm around him tightly. There were tears pressing up against the back of Harry's eyes, clogging up his throat, and he couldn't…he couldn't…
He'd killed Voldemort.
He'd taken a life. And yes, it had been fated and necessary and it had even been weirdly in a way self-defence, but at the end of the day he'd still killed Tom Marvolo Riddle.
He felt monstrous.
He felt relieved.
Relieved it was all over. Relieved that because Tom was dead, Harry could live. Finally. He could live.
Unlike so many others.
Benjamin Nott; a Death Eater who had given up his life to give his son a better future.
Caro; bright beautiful Caro who was smart and funny and who had helped him train; who had helped him defeat Voldemort.
Cedric; his friend who had helped him through the tournament, who knew its trials and challenges in a way only the four of them who had faced Voldemort's tasks could know. They'd been looking forward to playing Quidditch against each other; looking forward to being friends without the weight of the tournament and politics. Harry was going to miss him.
Dumbledore.
God.
Dumbledore.
He was responsible for the Headmaster's death.
Hot tears ran down his face.
Sirius held Harry as he wept out his grief and Harry pressed tightly into the cocoon of Sirius's embrace; listened to the reassuring beat of Sirius's heart underneath his ear, the comfort of his breathing.
The Headmaster had given up his life so Harry could live; so Sirius could live. And Harry couldn't, couldn't feel any regret for finding a third way; for keeping his promise to Regulus; for standing up for Sirius. But he felt guilty because his choice had led to a death; because when all was said and done, he wouldn't change it; he would always choose Sirius alive and well.
And there was a true sense of loss; mourning for a wizard who had been something of a mentor, a grandfatherly figure who Harry could remember with affection for all Dumbledore's mistakes and flaws.
He also knew he should be bothered about what was happening back in England; the guilty tug of responsibility nagged at him.
There was so much he didn't know about what had happened. He had no idea if Snape had lived or died; had no idea if Hogwarts was still open; how everyone was dealing with the aftermath.
He knew the alliance needed them. They had taken losses and hurts. There would be visible and invisible scars for those who had stood beside him.
Theo who had lost a father.
Bill who had lost a partner.
Neville.
His godbrother would need a friend in the aftermath of learning about Hannah. And they would need to deal with the problem of Hannah – and Merlin Harry couldn't quite believe that it had been Hannah who had betrayed them…
He knew the House of Black needed them.
Lucius lived. There was enough of a sense of him still in the family magic to know that. But he could sense the turmoil in the House; the concern they had for him and for Sirius. He couldn't even think about Hermione…
The storm of weeping passed and Harry felt his eyes grow heavy; his head ached dully. Lethargy descended like a smothering blanket.
Sirius stroked a hand through his hair and Harry leaned into the touch.
"Listen to me, Pronglet." Sirius whispered softly. "You've been through a lot – more than anyone should have to go through and you…you were brave and courageous and merciful. I'm so very, very proud of you, Harry."
Harry let the rush of warmth at Sirius's words steal over him.
"You don't worry about anything. You'll talk when you're ready and we'll deal with the rest when you're ready. Just…just focus on healing. That's all you need to do right now; heal." Sirius murmured.
Harry's hands clutched at Sirius's t-shirt, holding onto him.
"I'm not going anywhere, Pronglet." Sirius promised roughly. "I'm here and I'm not going anywhere."
It comforted Harry; eased the worry and fear that lurked within him that he hadn't been quick enough, strong enough; that Sirius had died and it was all a dream.
He listened to Sirius's heartbeat and drifted to sleep.