𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐆𝐨

𝐗𝐈𝐗

"Are you okay, mate?" asked Ron.

Dinner droned on like History of Magic class, I slouched over my potatoes, moving them around with my fork in hopes of fooling Hermione into thinking that I was actually eating. Not that she was paying attention, Pansy Parkinson leaned over her, talking wildly in her ear.

Everyone in the Great Hall was buzzing with excitement, crowding around in groups at various tables, while I was dreading the memories to which I would wake up to tomorrow.

"Fine, Ron," I said dimly.

"Are you nervous about tomorrow?"

"I said I'm fine."

He smiled sadly, rubbing my right shoulder tenderly.

"Harry, if you ever need to talk–"

"Ron." I hoped my expression said exactly what I was thinking so that I didn't have to. I know I can talk to them—Ron especially—but I feared if I said anything then that would somehow make it even more real.

"I know, I know. You're fine," he mocked, "All I'm saying is that it was traumatic. You're parents died, Harry."

Yes. My parents died and everyone is celebrating.

I could picture it so clearly: kids crowding the streets, dressed as Zombies and Vampires and various animals, unsuspecting as they go from door to door, asking "trick or treat". Voldemort breaking into my house, murdering my parents and almost me and nobody even knew.

"– And then—oh, you won't believe this—that bitch tells me that she saw me snogging Susan Bones on the stairwell. She threatened to rat me out to Mcgonagall or, the Cat Lady as she called her–"

"Pansy–" Hermione tried to interrupt. I couldn't help but listen in on their conversation as I tried to ignore the sinking pit within me.

"Merlin's beard. That oil stain loves gossip," she went on. "She tried spreading rumours about Theo and Daphne too."

"Can you just–" Hermione scooted away from her, only for Pansy to follow.

"You know what I think?" she asked, "I think that we should snog right outside her portrait. Just to bug her."

"Oi. She's got a boyfriend, Parkinson!" Ron sneered.

Pansy copied his sneer, before tucking a strand of Ebony hair behind her ear as she looked back at Hermione, only for it to fall right back over her eye.

"Disgusting," he grumbled to me, "kissing girls."

"You kiss girls," I pointed out.

"Yeah, but Parkinson kissing girls."

"You'd rather she kissed boys?"

"I'd rather she stopped trying to kiss my girlfriend."

***

That night, I went to sleep before dusk, and hoped to Merlin and every other Wizard God that I would wake up on November first.

I didn't get to see when Draco retired in after his classes finished—if he did. I wasn't tired, I didn't even want to sleep.

I wanted to see my parents.

And they were there, in the forest, waiting for me. They looked as young and beautiful as ever, not one flaw in sight.

They smiled, showing their white teeth and my mother's dimples. My mother had on her little black cap and a red leather jacked that matched beautifully with her hair. My father, he wore a black overcoat and scarf, plus the glasses that looked so much like mine.