The Golden Snitch

Irish Whiskey and Firesides

'How has you first week back been, Harry?'

'Bloody awful,' he muttered.

'Has it been as bad as you expected?'

'Different,' he was in a bad mood. He wasn't coping so well.

'In what way, Harry?'

He scowled at the endless patience of the therapist. 'Every time I walk down a corridor, everyone wants a piece of me. They all want to talk to me, to tell me their stories, to thank me for some unknown damn reason. I don't want to be some bloody hero. I just want to be Harry. Just Harry.'

'Are you keeping up with your book?'

'Yes.'

'And is it helping?'

'Yes. Mostly.'

'And the exercising?'

'Yes, I think it's keeping me sane. It's certainly a welcome relief to be able to dip out of Hogwarts life and into muggle anonymity.'

'How about the moments of panic, have they subsided?'

'I'd one moment, the worst so far. It was the first night when the rest of the school was entering the Great Hall, before the sorting. Minerva's arranged the tables differently, there's eight shorter tables and its done by year now. We're at the back but, of course, everyone has to get past us. We were there first to avoid a spectacle of arriving but it still meant everyone was staring when they traipsed past. There was a host of whispering, it was like a constant rustling that was building in my ears. Then one of the new first years stopped and pointed at me and said it out loud, for everyone to hear; "There he is, that's Harry Potter!". The rustling noise seemed to become deafening and I felt like everyone was staring. After that, there was no hiding. Ron shooed the kid away for the Sorting but by then I wanted to run from the hall. I could feel the panic rising. I was trying to ground myself but it wasn't working.'

'What stopped it?'

'Draco Malfoy.'

'Draco Malfoy? How?'

'He just looked at me. He held my gaze and I saw that he understood. He began to breathe for me, if that makes sense. I could see his chest rising and falling so I followed suit. Then Hermione put her hand on my arm and squeezed it. And Luna leant across the table and took hold of my other hand. And Neville was on my other side, he began to count slowly, in time with Draco's breathing. They brought me back. My friends helped me.'

There was a silence as the tears welled in Harry's eyes. His bottom lip quivered and he squeezed his eyes shut as he felt his chest constrict. The tightness seemed to rise from the pit of his stomach up to his heart and he clutched his arms around himself, hugging tightly as the quiver in his lips spread into his lower jaw.

'My friends helped me,' he repeated.

Neither spoke as Harry bowed his head and the tears came. It was the first time, the first time since the war had ended, the first time since he had seen his friends' bodies laid out in the Great Hall, since Voldemort had died, since the funerals. The tears came at last and he sobbed, he let go and truly sobbed, feeling like he would never stop.

*****

For the second time in as many days he wrote 'silver-grey eyes' in his book.

Having seen Harry struggling, it was almost as if he had given the small group of eighth years permission to open up about their own struggles. That night, Seamus cracked open a bottle of Irish Whiskey that he'd somehow smuggled in, and they sat around the fireside, taking it in turns to swig from the bottle and discuss the war and the personal baggage it carried. Only sixteen of them had returned: Harry, Ron, Hermione, Seamus, Dean, Neville, Hannah, Luna, Padma and Parvati Patil, Ernie MacMillan, Terry Boot, Susan Bones, Blaise, Pansy, and Draco. They squeezed round, piling between the three large sofas, the floor cushions and bean bags or on the floor at people's feet. It was an incredibly tactile situation and the warmth of their neighbours brought comfort. Draco was the only one not to partake in the general conversations. Harry noticed that he kept himself apart. He was far thinner now that the Glamour had gone, revealing the true image, and he kept his arms carefully covered to hide the Dark Mark on his forearm. There were distinct dark circles under his eyes and his cheeks looked sunken. Despite his detachment, he listened in, occasionally partaking in the drink which was certainly taking effect around the circle.