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He can’t believe it’s actually over. After everything, after dying, it’s all finally done. He doesn’t have to fight anymore. Sure, there’s still some death eaters that escaped arrest and will need to be tracked down, but that’s a problem for the aurors, not Harry. No, Harry’s problems are through. Done. Gone. All he has to be is Just Harry, not a horcrux hunter or prophesied chosen one. Just Harry.
The weight on his shoulders that he’s carried since that dreaded Halloween night in 1981 somehow still feels heavier than it’s ever been. It makes no sense.
Harry lies in the wet grass, dew having long since fallen. He’s only a few yards from the Forbidden Forest but he can’t find it in himself to care. He literally died within those trees less than twenty-four hours ago, anything that comes out of the woods hunting him can be no worse than the battle he’s just faced. So, he lays back in the grass, hands clasped and resting on his stomach, and stares up at the stars twinkling down at him from the night sky. He can’t remember the last time he actually took the time to just stop and stare, find constellations or look for meteors passing by. It’s odd to just exist, not to be pulled in every direction under the sun.
He’s not sure how long he’s been laying here, maybe minutes, maybe hours. He just knows that he couldn’t stay in the castle any longer, surrounded by people simultaneously celebrating and grieving. He couldn’t walk past the Great Hall, full of bodies. Couldn’t risk catching a glimpse of Fred or Remus or Tonks. Lavender. Colin. He couldn’t have anyone else stop him and congratulate him on murdering the Dark Lord. Couldn’t have anyone else ask him about what needs to happen next. So as soon as the sun began to set, he snuck away from the grieving Weasleys and slipped out of the castle. A clear patch of grass on the other side of the Black Lake called to him and he collapsed, staring up at the sky.
Of course, his solitude couldn’t last forever. Footsteps sound, coming closer and closer. Harry doesn’t even acknowledge the newcomers as one settles into the grass on either side of him. There’s only two people who would lie in muddy grass with him with no questions asked. That’s the way they stay for some time, Ron on his left and Hermione on his right, all three staring up at the stars without a single word said between them. Distantly, there’s sounds coming from the still full castle. Fireworks had been set off earlier, upon the arrival of half of the wizarding population in the UK showing up to help with clean up and repairs after Lee Jordan put out a plea on the Wizarding Wireless. Apparently Potterwatch is good for something other than listing the names of the dead. Harry has the passing thought of if Lee and George will have a final show to list all those lost here in the battle at Hogwarts, if they would be forced to power through Fred’s name. Suddenly he hopes that they retire the radio station instead. Harry might actually be sick if he hears the names of all the people that came here to fight in his name and never made it back to their loved ones.
Eventually, Hermione is the one to break the silence. “There’s Leo.”
The simple statement gives Harry pause, drawing his attention away from his more morbid thoughts. He turns his head toward Hermione and takes note of Ron actually sitting up to look at her over Harry.
“Who?” Ron asks incredulously.
Hermione doesn’t look at either of them, pointing up at the sky instead. “The constellation, Leo.” She seems to trace an invisible line with her pointer finger. “The lion.”
Harry turns his attention toward the sky, trying to follow the direction his friend is indicating. Harry does not see a lion. Polka dots, more likely.
Ron falls back onto the grass with an audible thump. “Haven’t looked at the stars like this since the last time we were in Astronomy class.” He mutters.
The three of them fall back into easy silence, each staring up at the sky. Harry allows himself to sink further into the dewy grass, feeling safer with his friends on either side of him. He’s almost begun to drift off to sleep in the comfortable silence when Ron speaks again.
“We gonna talk about it?”
Harry, stupidly, decides to play dumb. “‘Bout what?”
Hermione gives a quiet scoff from his other side, rolling over in the grass to face him. He watches out the corner of his eye as she sticks her elbow in the mud to prop her head up. “All of it? Any of it?”
“Nothing to talk about.”
“You walked into the woods with no one at your back, willing to let Voldemort kill you!” Harry flinches at the shrillness of Hermione’s volume.
“You didn’t let anyone check you over. Are you sure you’re not hurt?” Ron’s voice is softer at least. Harry sees him mirroring Hermione’s position out of the corner of his left eye.
“I’m fine. I swear.” He says the words quickly, probably a bit too quickly if the twin scoffs on either side of him are anything to go by.
“I think it’s safe to say that you would say that same thing if your arm was barely attached to your body,” Ron says with a roll of his eyes.
“I think he would have said the same thing when his bones were vanished if he hadn’t been so shocked,” Hermione adds.
Ron guffaws, “Too right!”
Harry frowns, crossing his arms over his chest and refusing to look at either of his friends. “I am fine.”
“You’re a lot of things, Harry. I don’t believe ‘fine’ is one of them, but that’s okay. I don’t think any of us three are fine after the last year.”
“Seven years,” Ron corrects Hermione, prompting her to huff and roll back over onto her back to stare at the stars in disdain.
“Seven years,” She agrees.
Harry clears his throat, “I’m going to say probably the past sixteen years for me if we’re being honest.” His mind fortunately skips over the bare memories of his parents’ deaths, but unfortunately provides him a collage of scenes with his life at the Dursleys before Hogwarts.
“Yeah, mate. I’ll give you that,” Ron sighs, rolling back over as well.
It’s several minutes before Harry sighs, uncrossing his arms and allowing them to fall back into the grass.
“I’m not fine.”
Neither of his friends say anything, but Hermione rolls in the grass until she pressed firmly against his right side. A moment later, Ron is snuggly attached to his left side. They stay like that for a while before Hermione whispers, “Us either, Harry.”
“But that’s why we have each other.” Ron reaches down to twine his fingers with Harry’s, squeezing tightly. It’s grounding, letting Harry feel closer to being himself than he has since green light came hurtling toward him in that forest clearing. Hermione takes his other hand between both of hers.
“Together,” She whispers.
“Together,” Ron repeats.
Harry stares up at the stars. He thinks he might actually be able to make out that lion.
“Together.” His voice is raspy but the word feels like a promise.