#and he is by any accounting WAY more sympathetic than dudley is

[greenerteacups]

I feel like there are definitely hints in canon that Tom basically makes use of the preexisting Pureblood Supremacy ideology as a means to gain influence and power with the old rich wizarding families, while he's really more interested in pushing the known boundaries of magic and becoming an immortal God king figure. However, he does seem to genuinely hate muggles... but I think that has less to do with him actually fully buying into pureblood supremacy (he's a half-blood himself raised within muggle culture) and more to do with him associating muggles with weakness, isolation and mundanity and mediocrity on a very personal level as an orphaned wizard growing up in deprivation amongst muggles who, understandably, find him extremely strange, off-putting and intimidating. It's not for no reason that Harry finds himself, uncomfortably, relating to young Tom... the difference is that Harry has the capacity to love and therefore to have mercy and forgive.... whereas Riddle entirely lacks empathy and compassion. ..

I also think it's interesting that he doesn't associate himself more with the Gaunt name... but then, it seems he particularly resents and despises the "weakness" of his mother, falling in love with a muggle, giving him up for adoption to muggles and, worse of all, dying. Perhaps he considers his mother's conduct even more embarrassing than his muggle name... Although, he does end up leaving it behind to become Lord Voldemort eventually, and it seems only Dumbledore dared call him Tom Riddle after that.

rad takes, my friend. I really like the idea of the core contrast between Harry and Riddle being *not* that Harry harbors any particular affection for muggles or the muggle world (it's my own headcanon that he dislikes it for Trauma Reasons) but that he has the empathy and forgiveness to love and fight for things that don't "deserve" it. he puts Vernon and Petunia in the wizarding equivalent of a refugee program, even though he's a grown adult, owes them absolutely nothing, and would be entirely justified in refusing to ever speak to them again. he shakes Dudley's hand!!

there's also something interesting there about how Harry grows up with Hermione, who is a constant reminder of something the muggle world did that was good — who reminds him that the muggle world is full of loving households and caring parents, and innocent children. that the muggle world isn't just Vernons and Petunias, but many Drs. Granger, too. I wonder whether a similar influence early in Tom's life could have created a meaningful change there. possibly not, but hey, my writing probably shows my hand as far as where I stand on that concept.

his final choice of name being entirely self-conceived does seem somehow significant to the whole Riddle/Gaunt debate, as well. Lord Voldemort isn't even really a proper name, it's a title — in the same way that "Lord Grantham" represents the Earl of Grantham, not some dude called John Grantham. there's also nothing for Voldemort to be lord of; he has no territorial holdings, and wizards don't seem to have a monarchy/nobility, so it's not like he's claiming membership to some specific social class. chances are, it's just a title for a title's sake, meant to elevate and depersonalize him as a godhead, and create greater distance between himself and his followers. feeling embarrassment at the Gaunt name makes sense in context, but I also wonder whether Tom doesn't find something disdainful in trying to claim respect simply because of his heritage, as well — it implies that the true source of greatness comes from something exterior to himself (in this case, Salazar Slytherin). after all, in Tom's mind, he's a greater wizard than Slytherin ever was. why let the dead take the credit?

[mooncleo]

and we recover slowly, my love, but surely

Fandom: Harry Potter 

Main Pairing: Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger/Harry Potter 

Description:  Ron, Harry, and Hermione live together after the war. It seems like the logical choice, and the next step into comfortable domesticity seems logical as well. They learn and they love and they heal and cope and live and it’s beautiful and painful and perfect. 

Words: 6,893

Edited: Literally not at all sorry guys 

Author’s Note: Good morning to everyone who did not ask!!! I’m gonna double post my fic for all of my two followers, whom I love and cherish very much 🥰🥰

I honestly was not expecting this fic to end up being ot3, that kinda took me by surprise. So did my 2k turning into almost 7k, that was a little bit of fun. 

I’m going to try to put in a read more, if I fail PLEASE tell me I don’t want anyone to have to scroll through everything. 

Read it on Ao3 here. 

… 

It was the cool quiet of the evenings that kept him from even entertaining the thought of returning to London. Nights at the Dursley’s had never been this calm, always filled with Aunt Petunia or Vernon’s yelling, Dudley’s taunts, or the rumbling of an empty stomach, sent to bed without a bite of the dinner that he helped to cook. 

He never went to bed hungry anymore. It was one of his triggers, they found out one night when he’d spent all day working on one of his projects and forgotten to eat- laying in the dark with his stomach beginning to knaw on itself in protest had sent him spiralling nearly into a fully blown panic attack. The Dursley’s had fucked him up, for sure. 

It was not long that they’d been living together in their little cottage that Harry made a joke about cupboards and beds. It was bound to come up eventually, but he had hoped, somehow, to put the ensuing conversation off forever. 

Before they had even gotten into details, Hermione’s eyes had started to water in a way that made him, quite frankly, uncomfortable. “All these years, and we never even knew? You’ve gone home to them every summer! I knew they didn’t feed you very well, but God, Harry. I didn’t think it was this bad." 

He could tell that Ron felt the same way, but he’d never been particularly good at expressing it. Instead, Harry got twice the usual serving at dinner, and Ron’s grip was tight around him when they settled down to watch a movie later.

The next day at breakfast, Hermione brought it up again. She’d started by trying to convince him to file a court case against them. 

"It’s a serious case of child abuse, Harry. They were horrible to you, and they shouldn’t be able to get away with it.” That argument had not gone down well, as Harry had first denied that there was any child abuse involved, however horrible they’d been, and then added on that he had no idea where they’d ended up after the war. He also didn’t really ever want to see them again, though he left that part out. He had a feeling it might not help his case. 

“Well, you should at least go to therapy. It might help you process what they put you through.” She held up a finger when she saw him going to argue and said, “Listen, even if you don’t think the Dursley’s abused you, I still think you should go to therapy. Don’t pretend you haven’t stopped sleeping because of the nightmares, Harry Potter, so help me God. I know what you look like when you’re well-rested and this isn’t it. Those bags under your eyes could carry our groceries. Actually, I think we should all go. It’s not as though you’re the only one who went through a year on the run in addition to all the other fun trauma that comes with war." 

Ron was a little confused about what therapy was until they explained the concept to him and he shouted out, "Mind healers! Oh! Yeah, we have those.” This, thankfully, saved them from the ordeal of finding an either muggleborn or squib therapist so that they could talk about magic without being declared properly insane. 

Harry had been apprehensive about going to anyone who could claim to fix his mental issues- in part because he was half in denial about those mental issues to begin with. Yes, he had trouble sleeping most nights because of nightmares. Yes, he felt guilty about every single death that had happened during the war. Yes, the Dursley’s had treated him horribly for all of his life. But everyone had nightmares because of the war, those deaths really were his fault because they were all fighting for him, and the Dursley’s just hadn’t liked him that much on account of his parents. The hate was mutual, after all. 

It only took one session with his mind healer, Gertha, for him to begin to open up to the idea that maybe he was a little bit misguided. Gertha was an 80 year old witch with gray hair just beginning to pepper her bun, and she took no shit. Her age had given her the grace of being willing to properly fight him when he started to go into a spiral, and she had a dry wit that he appreciated. Halfway through the first time they met, he’d started talking about the war and how it was his fault. Her eagle-eyed stare had stopped him in his tracks, and he’d asked, “What?" 

"Boy, you are taking on far too much responsibility here. You think all those people died just for you? You think the war wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t been around? No! Voldemort was coming back, with or without you- he would have found a way. And just because you were the face of the war, that does not make you the war. A rallying point does not control those who gather around it, it simply exists as a marker, a way to say ‘we are here.’ Those people did not die just for you, you hear me? They were going to fight either way. People don’t like to lay down and give up when their loves and lives are threatened." 

At the time, he hadn’t believed a word she’d said, but he liked the way she said it. It wasn’t quite scolding, more disbelieving than anything else. She also had said that Voldemort was coming back with or without him, even without knowing about the horcruxes. He liked her wit and the easy way she had handled his self-pity. She reminded him a bit of Professor McGonagall, and that in and of itself was a recommendation to him. 

He went back the next week, because she had told him to and he liked her. He felt lucky that he found someone he liked right away, because both Ron and Hermione didn’t like the first Healers they talked to. Hermione had not liked the bright, peppy young witch who was apparently entirely too optimistic. "Her office was covered in little paper flowers, as though she didn’t deal with grown adults. As soon as I mentioned the war she started patronising about how she felt there surely must have been a better option than fighting, like maybe talking. First of all, did she do literally any research before I walked into the room? Honestly, what if I had been just a mite more fragile? Or Harry?" 

"Hey! I resemble that remark!” A pillow found its way through the air in the direction of his face. 

“Don’t interrupt me when I’m ranting. Anyway, she was absolutely insane. 'Why did they have to fight?’ Because when another wizard throws a curse at you, you aren’t gonna just fucking stand there and take it! Good God, woman. I don’t know where she was during the war, but she clearly wasn’t paying any kind of attention to Britain. How did she even get her Healer’s license? Ridiculous.” Hermione took an angry sip of her tea and she and Harry both looked to Ron. 

“Yeah, mine wasn’t as bad as all that. I just didn’t really think he had the type of vibe I’m looking for. Kinda reminded me of my dad, actually. Not really what I wanted.” After sympathetic nods from the other two, Ron turned towards the TV. “What are we planning on tonight?" 

"Right! I forgot completely. The Princess Bride! The librarian was raving about it when I was checking it out, so hopefully it’ll be good.” As Ron was raised in a wizarding household, Harry hadn’t really had much of a childhood by way of movies, and Hermione’s parents had been very strict, the three of them had decided to work their way through iconic muggle films that they’d missed over the years. They’d all liked The Breakfast Club the week before, though they were postponing Star Wars from two weeks ago until they could get through the fight scenes without having semi-simultaneous panic attacks. 

The Princess Bride was a hit, and Hermione liked it enough that she put the VHS on her to-buy list. They wanted to build up their own collection of movies that they liked for rewatching purposes. Hermione had argued that going to the Blockbuster and renting a movie was much more cost effective that just buying all of them outright, since they were trying to get through at least a movie a week. The boys had decided not to argue, as she tended to be right about most things (and was also managing their finances). 

Three weeks later, Ron had found a mind healer he liked, and Hermione was still stuck. Ron never said much about the therapy sessions he went to, while Hermione preferred to rant after hers. “God, it’s like he wasn’t even listening! There has to be at least one healer out there that I can actually talk to with a modicum of intelligence." 

Ron and Harry traded glances. Harry’s look was quizzical, Ron’s was certain. It seemed that Harry would be the one to say it, then. ”'Mione, do you think that there’s a chance that maybe you’re having trouble finding a therapist because you don’t want to give any of them the chance to help?“ 

She was quiet for a moment. "I mean. I had considered it, but. Well. None of them- well. I suppose I may not have been entirely fair with all them. Although I stand by everything I’ve said." 

"Everything you’ve said? Your main complaint about the last one was that she wore a cardigan instead of doing warming charms on herself. You may want to rethink that, love.” Ron’s tone was gentle and amused. It was a good thing, because Harry was fairly certain she’d have bitten his head off if it’d been anything but. 

“Oh. Yes, well. Maybe a tad.” She coloured as she admitted it, and then added, “It was a truly hideous cardigan, though." 

"And warming charms are a rather simple.” Harry mimicked the arch way that Hermione said things of people she looked down on, a voice that only those close to her ever really got to hear. She never mocked people in polite company, but both Ron and Harry knew that she could be properly vicious when she felt like putting in effort. Ron laughed, and then Hermione did too, a second later. They descended into giggles for a few moments before subsiding. 

“Really, though. Your main complaints about her were her clothing, and not the soundness of her advice. Maybe try a second session with her, and see if it was a one off? If the only thing you could come up with was an ugly sweater then she must have been rather on the nose about everything else." 

"Hmmm. Maybe. She did seem reasonably intelligent, actually." 

The matter was concluded for the night, and they all went off to bed. After a night of rest, Hermione felt comfortable admitting that, looking back, it was rather obvious that she had been searching for faults as an excuse not to have to be vulnerable around people she didn’t know very well.

The solution to this, according to her mind healer, would be to get to know each other before starting. Hermione raved about how intelligent the woman was when she got home, and Ron and Harry once again traded glances. They didn’t say anything, but they were glad to have been able to help her find someone she actually liked. Neither was surprised that she was happy so quickly. It had been clear to them, before, that she was searching for faults. 

Their lives went on. Tuesdays became therapy days, and they’d all go out for ice cream afterwards. Eventually, Harry and Hermione ended up back in the workforce. Ron decided to stay home and take care of the house. (He referred to the two of them as his sugar parents, an idea that deeply offended Hermione. Harry thought it was hilarious.) 

Harry had toyed with the idea of going on to become an auror like he’d thought he wanted when he was 15. It did not take him very long to decide that he’d only really come up with the idea in the first place because he’d supposed that his life’s purpose was fighting Voldemort, and the aurors could have given him a leg up in that. With as long as it had taken him to accept that his life had meaning beyond fighting and defeating a dark lord, he wasn’t going to give that up now. 

They ended up spending the entire evening brainstorming when he brought up wanting to get a job. Even if he was never going to be an auror, he was still starting to get restless with all the free time they’d accrued living off the map together. 

"You could be a- a- um, fuck, what’re they called. Bus driver!! That’s a job.” Hermione, rather drunk on her fourth glass of wine, had taken to suggesting whatever came to mind. 

“I don’t drive, I’m gay." 

"Mmmm, you’re just as bi as the rest of us, darling. I bet we could figure it out. Actually, you know what, we should probably get a car.” She was starting to light up the way she did when she had a goal, and Ron groaned loudly. 

“God, I forgot we never even learned to drive. Do we have to? I can apparate half-decently, and so can Harry. We could just practice and then not drive." 

At Hermione’s put-out look, Harry interjected. "I’ll put bus driver on the list, but I don’t know that we need to drive. Where are we going? Half the shit we eat we grow ourselves." 

"That’s right! It’s sus- sustains- no, oh my god, I’m drunk- sustainsabilities. Fuck, I can’t speak. Sustainabilities. Yup, it’s sustainable! We’re helping the environment.” Hermione had, at some point during their conversation, migrated sideways so that she was leaning almost entirely on Harry. 

“'Mione, you have to move. You gotta- lean on Ron, I have to pee.” She snorted and nuzzled slightly further into his chest. 

“Hmmm, you do that." 

A few seconds later, there were snores coming from her frame, and Harry looked over at Ron, who was shaking with silent laughter. "Don’t laugh, I have to pee! Help me move her." 

Harry pushed at Hermione’s shoulder, and she flopped a little bit onto the back of the couch. Ron doubled over in another round of giggles, and Harry hissed, "Ron, I swear to god- if I start laughing I’m gonna piss! You gotta- oh my god- help!" 

At this point, Harry had started laughing and tried to slip out from under his girlfriend. Instead of quietly moving her without waking her, she fell and glanced her head off the arm of the couch. A brief moment of panic ensued, in which Harry and Ron both tried to check on her at once, and only succeeded in bonking their heads together. 

Ron was gasping through peals of laughter as he grabbed onto Harry to avoid falling off the couch. "Oh- oh shit, oh fuck, oh my god. Is- is she- fuck- is she okay? Harry, you fucking idiot, check her head." 

"She’s fine, dipshit. Fuck, that could have been so bad, shit.” Harry had sobered for the moment that it took to remember the diagnostic spell to make sure that Hermione was actually okay, and upon confirmation he sank back into the humor of the situation. 

“Goddamnit, I can’t believe that happened. Good god.” He wiped his eyes and then got up to actually use the bathroom. 

“Don’t get a concussion in there, Harry, the last thing we need is two of them.” Ron called after him, and he responded with a one fingered salute in the general direction of his boyfriend. He heard Ron’s collapse against the couch as he closed the bathroom door. 

It was as he was staring at the green tiling on the bathroom floor that he found himself reflecting on the fact that if that had happened a few months ago, it would have gone much worse. Any injuries sustained by the three of them were largely blind territory that brought back horrible memories for the worst of the months after the war. It was remarkable that they could laugh through it, now. 

When he came out to stick his still slightly damp hands under Ron’s jumper, he found Ron and Hermione curled up together, softly snoring. He smiled and climbed onto their couch next to them, levitating a blanket over the three of them as he went. It was a good night. 

The next morning, he woke up first. They’d ended up tangled closer together in sleep, but he was still on the edge and managed to slip out to start breakfast and find the paracetamol for the three of them. 

Breakfast was quieter than usual, with lots of gestures and grunts when someone wanted something. Wine hangovers were no joke. Later in the day, they went out to the garden together to weed, and Hermione suggested gardening as a potential profession. Harry vetoed, with the reasoning that he got to do it enough at home. 

Ron bounced off that logic to suggest Quidditch, and they had the first of what would end up as their two final options. The other was working as a professor, which Harry took a full week to warm up to the idea of. 

“I don’t know, becoming a professor seems like kind of a big deal. First of all, you’re shaping students’ whole lives, and second of all wouldn’t I need, like, higher education?" 

"Oooh, good point, actually. I believe you would need to get a mastery in the subject that you want to teach, which you can obtain by apprenticing under an expert in the field. I think that was in Hogwarts: A History? It might have come from somewhere else, I’m not sure. As for the other thing, I’ve seen you with kids, Harry. You’re brilliant. I don’t know that you even really need to worry about that quarter." 

"Mate, it might be good for you to get a mastery, actually. They usually discuss them with seventh years at Hogwarts, so I don’t really know much about them. Charlie’s was how he got started in Romania, actually." 

"Huh. That makes a lot of sense, actually. I always wondered if wizards had an equivalent to college, but I was a bit busy worrying about the dark wizard trying to kill me for most of my life, so I never got the chance to look it up.” Harry had actually considered asking McGonagall about it during his consultation on his future, but they’d started talking about Defense Against the Dark Arts exams before he could mention it. 

“Harry, you should write McGonagall about it. She’s always looking for new teachers, and even if you don’t end up wanting to do it, she can give you advice on how to start looking for a mastery, which you’ll pretty much need for most jobs, anyway." 

With that, they’d settled the matter. He wrote to McGonagall, and she replied promptly with an invitation to her office to discuss it in person. 

McGonagall had taken Dumbldore’s old office. Harry had known that she would, as Headmistress, but it still shocked him a little to see the space decorated so differently. Minerva McGonagall was a practical woman, and as such had no need for random devices scattered about the room. He walls were lined with shelves full of books of many kinds, and her fire was roaring. She and Harry sat across from each other in matching armchairs that Harry swore must have had some kind of charm on them, because they were the most comfortable chairs he’d ever sat in. 

"Professor-” Harry started, and then stopped. He wasn’t quite certain how to go about this meeting, on unfamiliar territory. She wasn’t quite his teacher anymore, and he didn’t know how to approach that. 

“You can call me Minerva, Harry. You are no longer my student.” The way she said it was not unkind, but he still felt lightly chastised. “I believe you wanted to discuss how to proceed in finding a career in the wizarding world?" 

"Um. Yes. Well. Minerva- hmmm, yeah that tastes strange. Minerva, I’ve been thinking that it would be a good idea to get myself back out into the world, starting with a job. Ron, Hermione, and I have been fine in our cottage, but sometimes it- I just feel like it’s time. I’m getting a bit restless, I think." 

Minerva looked amused at his rambling. "I know how that feels. Did you know that after Elphinstone and I got married, I took a break from teaching?" 

"Really?” Harry was genuinely surprised, because he couldn’t really imagine Minerva as a house wife. 

“Yes, really. I took a year off to take care of our home and try my hand at being a stay at home wife. A year was about all I could stand, honestly. I ended up going back to teaching the following September, I was lucky enough that Albus had been unable to fill my position beyond a temporary professor. I loved our house and I loved spending time with my husband, but I found it difficult to be alone all day and trying to productively fill my days. I also missed my students with no small amount of fierceness." 

"I definitely know how that feels. We have plenty of things to do but it’s so easy to get distracted without the structure of school." 

"Hmm. Speaking of which, how much do you know about masteries, Harry? I know that you and your peers all missed our usual talks about them, but you are also living with one Hermione Granger, who I am sure knows a fair amount about them through the pure virtue of planning three years ahead at least at all times." 

Minerva said it with humor and fondness in her voice, and Harry chuckled. "You’re not wrong. I know that it’s a bit like muggle college, and that it’s essentially an apprenticeship? I am a little bit confused about what one would do if they got to their mastery and found out that they’d picked something that they actually don’t like as much as they thought they did- for muggles they would just change their major, but if you’re working with one specific person because of their expertise in the subject that you’ve chosen, what do you do?" 

"That’s a good point. Most students have at least an idea of what they want to do based on what classes they liked while they were in school, but many don’t. Towards the end of seventh year, we allow students to start trying out different concentrations. Many will start to work with teachers in subjects that they like to see if they like the subject as much as they think they do. If we don’t have anyone specializing in the subject that they are thinking of, we can, more often than not, find someone who is willing to allow them to tail their work for a week or so to see if that’s something they like. We encourage students to look into at least three different masteries so that they can fully explore their options. This helps most students decide where they’ll end up, but even if you get to where you want to be and then decide that it actually isn’t for you, it’s not nearly as difficult to try something new as it would seem." 

"Good lord, that it a lot of information.” Minerva tilted her head slightly in acknowledgement. “So, if I start where I am now, without any weeks of tailing anyone and a bit beyond graduation, what do I do?" 

"Well, I might suggest taking remedial courses for the year that you missed, to start. It might help some with the boredom that you were talking about earlier, and you are a bright young man. I have no doubt that you will find you can complete the courses in far less time than it would take you to complete a full school year. We thought about offering students an option to complete an extra 'eighth’ year, but ultimately decided to keep Hogwarts at its usual seven years, and instead look into alternate options for them to finish. That September, most of our older students weren’t ready to return to the school anyway. War takes its tolls." 

"Isn’t that just ridiculously true? We were all wrecks for months, rather a bit. In the end Hermione pushed us to start going to therapy, and that helped loads. As for the completing the courses, I think that’s a good idea- I could probably do them with Hermione and Ron, Hermione’s been trying to figure out the logistics of finishing seventh year since it occurred to her that we never did, nevermind the fact that she’s performing spells of that level since fifth year." 

"I’ve been trying to remember that that is a letter I need to send out to everyone, though I keep forgetting. Even this far down the line, we’re still working through castle repairs and damages. There is always so much to do… well, that’s no excuse for slacking, regardless. I’ll have to add it to the list." 

She pulled out a piece of parchment from seemingly nowhere, and began to write on it with a quill also pulled from the ether. 

Harry was deservedly very impressed. "That was awesome, professor- what spell was that?" 

"I am no longer your professor, Harry. That is a useful little spell Filius taught me… " 

Their visit went on, with Minerva imparting far too much wisdom for Harry to ever be able to remember it all. They discussed a wide variety of topics, and McGonagall seriously considered all of the options that he had looked into, and was a particular fan of the quidditch idea. "Even if you don’t end up doing it as a career, it’s an excellent way to stay in shape. Far too many of my students simply stop playing when they decide on an office job, such a shame, and so much wasted potential as well." 

That particular comment sparked a long discussion about the merits of playing quidditch recreationally, which led to them talking about the professor’s league at the school. Harry was shocked that he hadn’t known about it as a student, had never heard it mentioned, and Minerva laughed at him for it. Apparently there were many secrets of the staff and school that students didn’t know about. 

When he left with several biscuits tucked away in a container for travel to bring to Ron and Hermione, he felt better. He was almost entirely decided on what to do for his apprenticeship, and he had a solid plan for his next few years. After the uncertainty of being on the run for a year combined with the certainty that he wouldn’t live past 17, it felt good to know what he was going to do, and additionally know that it had nothing to do with dark wizards. It was rare for him to be anything resembling normal. 

Ron and Hermione listened animatedly to his recollection of the meeting. Hermione was especially delighted to find that they’d have a way to complete their schooling, while Ron was relieved that it was from home. "Gotta be honest, I don’t want to go back to Hogwarts. It’s lovely, and in a special way it will always be home, but I think there are a tad too many memories lurking around corners for me to be completely comfortable there ever again." 

Harry nodded, though he wasn’t entirely certain he agreed. It was something he’d not considered, the memories contained within the school’s walls. Hogwarts was his home, and it likely would always be in his mind, the first place that he ever truly felt comfortable. But with how bad his PTSD had been, and still was on occasion, would he be able to live there? Walk its halls the way he had as a child? He wasn’t sure. 

They started their schooling a month, later, when it became widely available. The three of them were in some of the same core classes, as they’d always been, but they were all taking different paths and therefore most of the time they spent with papers spread out around them at the dinner table that they never ate at were for actual working, not talking. 

Ron was taking only what interested him, just enough courses to be able to get his degree. He tended to finish his work before the other three, and would go kiss the top of their heads as he got up to go start dinner. Hermione had taken as many courses as she could fit, as always. It was almost worse than third year, because the courses weren’t held in person. She had taken that to mean that if she could find the time for it in her personal schedule, she could fit it in. 

Ron and Harry had talked her down from taking all available courses. She’d ended up with a fairly large courseload regardless, but that was to be expected. 

Harry was, as ever, in the middle. He found himself with a courseload he was happy with, a few extra classes that he thought could be interesting, but not so many that he was constantly doing work. That worked out well for him, because he’d taken an herbology elective having to do with the growing of potions ingredients in the wild. It turned out that understanding the ingredients in a deeper sense than just their names was immensely helpful for potions. He’d never been doing better in a potions class without cheating, and he’d also begun to actually understand some of the notes Snape had left in the margins of the stolen book. 

They got through their class work and watched movies and made tea and went for walks and before they knew it, the holiday season was upon them. Their classes all had breaks for Christmas, and they took full advantage of that time. 

"What d'you think we should get Molly this year?” Harry through the question out from his position on the couch, draped across Ron and Hermione’s laps. 

“That’s gotta be some sign of adulthood, having to give your parents Christmas gifts.” Ron’s fingers paused their carding through his hair as he digested the question, and then he resumed. “I bet she’d like some of that cleaner we saw the other day, the one that changes scent." 

"Oooooh, good point. I was thinking maybe some new knitting patterns, actually- I found a bunch in the clearance section in the bookshop we went to the other day.” Hermione started diligently scribbling on the parchment in front of her under the “parents” section of her well-organized christmas shopping/gift ideas list. She turned to her boys to say something more, but as she opened her mouth the tinny sound o a timer going off filled the room “That;s your turn done then, Harry. Scoot." 

"Awww, but I’m so comfortable, 'Mione.” Harry pleaded to Hermione’s uncaring eyes as he heaved himself upwards out of Ron’s lap. Ron scooted down the couch to take Hermione’s place as she laid down to replace Harry. 

“Mhmmm. Well, it’s my turn to be comfortable.” Harry’s fingers found their way to her hair as her quill and parchment floated in the air by her head. “Alright, where was I? Okay. Ummmm, right! Under Molly, I want: "knitting needles, pattern books, and scent changing cleaning spray." 

The quill started scratching across the page as Hermione explained, "The other day over tea she mentioned to me that she hadn’t a good way to organize her needles, and usually has so many projects going that half the time she doesn’t know which ones are already in use and which aren’t. I think we should get her a new set so that she can have doubles AND an organizing system. I’m sure if we look hard enough we can find a case that has an extension charm on it, or we can do one ourselves." 

Ron looked down at Hermione with a smile on his face. "Brilliant. Alright, who’s next?" 

Harry glanced at the parchment hanging in the air to see which space was blank. "Looks like we don’t have anything for Ginny, which should be easy enough. She was complaining about her broom the other day, but I know she likes the model too well to want a new one. I was thinking a broom servicing kit?”

The evening went on like that, and they eventually had at least a rough sketch of what they would be looking for when they went out to do Christmas shopping. They found a fair amount of the things actually on the list, and were able to get suitable substitutes where they couldn’t. 

Their Christmas plans were this: they spent Christmas Eve at Hermione’s aunt’s house. She explained to them that her mother’s siblings had a rotation going, and that next year the three of them would likely be required to come to her parents’ aid with hosting. Her family was surprisingly large, and she told them that they tended not to gather for anything other than holidays. She never talked about them because there weren’t any other wizards in the family. 

They found out that this was not actually true on Christmas Eve, when Ron walked in on one of the cousins changing her kid’s diaper with a spell. It was a rather awkward conversation, while Ron tried to explain that he was a wizard and she tried to obliviate him. Eventually, the truth came out: her cousins were American, and hadn’t been particularly affected by the war. They, in all honesty, had been remarking to each other all night that Harry looked oddly familiar to them, but had been unable to parse out exactly what it was. 

They ended up setting up a lunch date for all of them for later that week before they apparated back to Minnesota. The cousins were very excited to find that there was another wizard in the family, and Hermione was similarly vibrating. 

“I can’t believe, all this time, and I didn’t even know! I knew it would make sense that some of my relatives would be magical, but I didn’t think it would actually happen. I obviously wasn’t going to sniff around and risk them finding out just to see if they really were muggles or not. Oh my goodness, this is amazing. I wonder what schooling looks like in America? I mean, I know the basic principles, of course, but I would love specifics. It’s such a big country, and Ilvermorny is the main school that we hear of, but I’m certain they wouldn’t have travelled that far just for school, that doesn’t make sense, does it?" 

”'Mione, we’re having lunch with them later this week. I’m sure they’ll be happy enough to answer your questions. We certainly don’t know the answers.“ 

Ron nodded as he hoisted the backpack holding their gifts in it higher on his shoulders. They were walking to the closest apparition point. According to Harry, who was using google maps, they were about 5 minutes away. 

"Turn left here. For tonight we should just focus on trying to get ourselves home, I think. Did we end up finishing the wrapping for tomorrow?" 

"Oh shit, I forgot, actually. We ran out of wrapping paper. We only have a few left, but still. Should we find a Tesco and stop in? It’s not too late, is it?" 

"They’re open til 10.” Ron stopped walking for a moment to consult his watch on the time, which read out 9:37 p.m. 

“Alright, let’s go then." 

The tesco had one roll of wrapping paper with lumberjack Santa Claus’s dancing across it with axes. They were not literally dancing of course- there was a Tesco in London with a wizard section where they might have found something similar, but they hadn’t the time to go to it. 

The next day, George refolded his "hot santa claus” wrapping paper into a hat and wore it all through dinner. Molly was too happy that he was smiling to scold him about it, although she did have to excuse herself at one point. When Harry came in to check on her, she was crying lightly into a handkerchief. 

“Oh, don’t worry about me, dear. I’ll be alright- he just- oh, for the love of- he looks very much like his brother.” She blew her nose and took a deep breath. A weak smile graced her face as she looked up at Harry. “It’s hard, still. It’s been getting better, but- well, I didn’t think they could even survive without each other. I used to look at the two of them, always together, always finishing each other’s sentences, and think, god, they’re just like my brother’s, and oh, thank goodness they’ll never have to be apart. I just- I just wish I’d been right.” Her voice broke a little bit on the last word, and she started dabbing at her eyes again. 

“I know. I remember in school, they were always together. No one thought they should ever be apart, but. I don’t know. George is doing- not well, but- he’s surviving. That’s all we can ask of him. That’s all we can ask of any of us, really. I think he’s being happy in Fred’s memory, instead of in spite of it, you know?" 

"Oh, I know, dear, I know. It’s just difficult. I’ll get over myself, I just needed a moment. I love seeing him smile again, it’s like Fred’s back, just for a little. Fetch me a glass of water?" 

Harry nodded and swiftly vacated the room. Even after all his therapy, he was still shit with emotions. He found Arthur and informed him of the situation, sending him back to his wife with the water she requested. He knew that was the right decision when he saw Molly again, tears dried, laughing at something Arthur was saying. Her arm was laced through his, a glass of wine in her hand as she leaned against him on the couch. 

He took a minute to reflect that he rarely saw Molly so relaxed, and especially not since the war. He was glad that they’d healed enough at this point that they could, at the very least, enjoy Christmas. His musing were interrupted when Ron came up to him from behind and hugged him. "We’re going to play pick-up, you’re on my team. Ginny’s pissed about it, come on." 

He turned into his boyfriend with a smile on his face and give him a peck. "Excellent, let’s go crush her." 

Ginny, who was training to be a professional quidditch player, soundly kicked their asses. George and Bill helped too. 

As punishment for losing, Ron, Harry, and Charlie went skinny dipping into the pond on the property, but ended up just getting everyone else wet until they all went swimming together, whooping and laughing. 

It was a good night, and Harry woke up sandwiched between Ron and Hermione. He was content to lay there and wait for them to wake up, listening to their breathing and looking at the rise and fall of their chests. They were here, and they’d made it through- he hadn’t thought they would. In the deepest recesses of his mind, he’d done out the math and he had been so certain that they wouldn’t make it through the war all together- something would have to give. Thank god he was wrong, pseudo death or no. He wanted to be nowhere else than where he was, listening to the Weasley household wake up on a Christmas morning. 

They all got up eventually, slowly stumbling their way into the kitchen as the lure of coffee and sausages called to them. Mrs. Weasley seemed happy to have all of her birds back in the nest. Percy kissed her cheek as he left for work, the only one who hadn’t been able to get the day off. The rest of them sat down to eat. 

Overall, it was one of the best Christmases he’d had in a long time, one of the few that he’d truly been able to enjoy. It was reminiscent of some of his first Christmases at Hogwarts, the first ones that he’d ever known what it was like to get presents that weren’t hand-me-downs or worthless garbage. 

He thought about that feeling of being new to a world of literal magic, and the fact that the most magical part of it all had been that he’d had an out, that he’d been able to get far away from the Dursleys for 9 months. He liked this feeling better. Contentedly settled into his skin, with a wide and bright future set out in front of him. He couldn’t help but think that just maybe, there was nowhere better to be.