Harry was staring at himself. Or rather,himselves. HE was surrounded by his own face. In fact, it seemed that an entire aisle of books had been devoted to him. One book, titled The Chosen One…?, displayed a photo of him grinning brightly during the Triwizard Tournament photo-shoot, while Harry Potter: A Life of Tragedy and Victory broadcast a more serious photo of Harry blinking thoughtfully on the cover.
Harry now regretted his decision to accompany Ron and Hermione to Diagon Alley more than ever. Seeing the disappointment of their faces this morning would have been one time too many for him to bear. So today, he had grudgingly flooed into the Leaky Cauldron where he was swarmed by wizards shaking his hand, and witches wiping their eyes, all the while admiring him through lidded glances.
“Harry! There you are!” Ron’s head whipped around the aisle. “Hermione’s paying her books so we can- bloody hell!” Ron stepped fully into the aisle and took in the sight of Harry’s face quietly observing him from every direction.
“Well… they should have at least given a whole aisle to someone who was easy to look at.” Ron chuckled, then stopped abruptly when Harry didn’t join in.
“Hermione’s probably ready to go by now,” muttered Harry, even though he knew full well that Hermione would have to be forced out of the bookstore by being carefully persuaded that there was a world worth experiencing outside the rows of literature.
Harry and Ron walked silently out of the aisle marked Harry Potter and made their way to the cashier.
“Ah, perfect. I’m just about finished,” smiled Hermione. She clutched a cauldron packed with books in one hand and handed her galleons to the salesclerk with the other. However, the salesclerk did nothing but stare unabashed at Harry, his eyes darting up automatically to his scar.
“Could I have my change please,” Hermione said coolly and held out her hand impatiently. The salesclerk jerked out of his daze and quickly handed her one sickle and three knuts.
“Have a nice day,” he stammered in a dreamy, automatic tone, his eyes following them until they were out of his store.
“The nerve of some people,” complained Hermione. “I mean, really! Who wants that kind of attention?”
“You think people care about what I want?” Harry snapped. Ron and Hermione exchanged uneasy glances that Harry mused were becoming all too frequent around him.
It was easy too, to notice out of the corner of his eye that they were gently, almost without thought, clasping hands and Ron was the one carrying Hermione’s cauldron.
“How was Teddy and Andromeda, Harry?” Hermione asked hesitantly. Harry sighed. He had purposefully avoided this subject ever since he had arrived back at Grimmauld Place two days ago after his visit with Teddy, in a harried and snappy mood.
“I don’t know. Andromeda was really stressed and Teddy- he was asleep,” Harry replied.
“Mum said that when Ginny visits he’s usually more than awake; downright annoying.” Ron said.
“Ginny? She visits him?” Harry demanded. Ron’s face paled.
“Er- yeah, every week,” he answered. He shifted the cauldron’s weight nervously. Hermione’s thumb slowly rubbed over his hand. Slowly, his shoulders physically relaxed.
The silence was awkward and deafening, their feet making sad pathetic taps on the cobblestone.
“Don’t you need to buy some more owl treats for Pig?” asked Hermione just as they were about to pass Eeylop’s Owl Emporium.
“Oh yeah. Thanks ‘Mione, almost forgot.” Ron dragged her by the hand into the shop; Harry grudgingly followed the couple inside.
It wasn’t as if after Hedwig died he had forgotten what owls were like, not at all. Rather, it was always a nerve shocking experience to walk into a room with so many eyes.
Not that he wasn’t used to people staring at him, but not with such a fierce conviction as the owls. Most people had trouble meeting his eyes.
Harry stared glumly at a considerably proud owl that gave him a disdainful look before turning its head under its wings. At least they weren’t interested in him.
He sighed inwardly.
He knew he was being childish, a baby, a cad even, but he never though he would miss it. The days before Voldemort was defeated. Not the hunt for the Horcruxes, or the constant battles and the fear. God, he would never miss that. But he missed Hogwarts. He missed his home, which for some odd reason he felt he had lost. He missed Quidditch and the Great Hall the way it used to be and Hagrid and even (though he would never admit it to Hermione) some of his classes.
But he couldn’t go back. Even if he thought there was something he could still learn, it was too… weird.
And the guilt, he couldn’t take the guilt, the stupid guilt. He’d never imagined it would get to him like this. That it would find its way in and latch on. That it would take over everything else like some sort of parasite.
What it really came down to though, was that he was ashamed of himself. And scared. Ashamed of his failure to save everyone and, of his failure to handle it like a man. Scared to look her in the eye and have her tell him no, that it was too much. Scared that she’d see him as some sort of monster.
He felt like a coward as he eyed the flutter of feathers and trailed a good ten feet away from the annoyingly okay couple in front of him.
Hedwig’s death still stung.
Half the time he had the weird feeling she was taking a letter to Sirius, who was just a long, long way away and soon he’d look up to se her tapping on a window with the oh-so familiar handwriting written on a scroll attached to her leg.
So he was grateful that, for the moment, he didn’t need an owl. Mostly everyone he’d want to write to in normal circumstances was busy putting back the pieces, and now seemed too new for him to want to write, for anyone to want to write to him.
It was odd actually. The first two weeks following the battle had been a swarm of post: well-wishers, reporters, the Ministry. And then, just as suddenly as they had come, they all vanished. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say they were giving him time.
He reached out absently to graze a small grey owl. At his touch it hooted softly and nipped his fingers, breaking him out of his reverie.
His hand stilled on the bird, and he glanced at it curiously. Its small round eyes gazed back, holding his stare. It hooted again, more loudly.
Harry found himself looking at the small sign under the bird, which read its breed, which was a boreal, and its price. He was still gazing at it, absentmindedly stroking its head lightly when Hermione’s voice broke through.
“Honestly Ron, just buy these. Pig’s an owl, he won’t know the difference, and these cost less.”
Harry could see the red tips of his best mate’s ears.
“I’ll buy whichever ones I want Hermione. I don’t need your opinion, thank you very much.”
“You’re such a prat.” Hermione threw her hands up in the air and stormed out of the shop.
Ron’s face flushed and he grabbed the treats, throwing a coin at the clerk, and tossing out a swear that was only slightly muffled by the indignant hooting of the owls. He followed Hermione out the door, Harry close behind.
He watched Hermione stalk her way through the alley, stopping every so often to make sure they were still in view of her. They made their way in a long awkward line, Hermione quite literally steaming, although her lips twitched occasionally. Ron with red ears and hands stuffed in his pockets, muttering to himself, and Harry fighting back a laugh, until they reached the shop.
A large sign in the center flashed an advertisement:
AND WE’RE GETTING CONCERNED…
All three smiled quite foolishly for a moment before pushing their way forward.
Hermione went first through the door, only to crash into something solid and go flying back into Ron, her nose and forehead a smarting red.
“Wha- What?” she gasped.
A loud hearty laugh found its way to them, followed by a familiar halo of red hair. George wiped his eyes. “You like it, Hermione?” It’s our- my new Hidden Doors. You just put it up on a door and go ahead and watch.”
Ron and Harry laughed with George at her face.
“Can you let us in, please?” Hermione said, crossing her arms over her chest.
George grinned and waved a hand, before turning. Tentatively, Hermione stretched a hand out into space before striding forward and following him, Harry and Ron tagging along.
Harry was instantly reminded why he loved this place so much. Stacks of Skiving Snackboxes lined the wall, advertising for the summer. Pygmy Puffs sat on the counter, one rolling around in a shocking shade of blue. Barrels of fake wands and boxes of fireworks were arranged creatively around shelves of products.
“Oy, Harry!” George called as Ron set the cauldron on the counter. “I was wondering if you could test something out for me.”
“Uhh-“ Harry shot Ron a look. Testing products for George was not the safest choice.
“Don’t worry,” George called. “This one’s safe.”
He tossed something vaguely in Harry’s direction and with all the agility of a seeker Harry caught it with ease. He grinned widely when he saw what he held. It was a small round ball that was white. Creatively painted on it was what only could be described as a cartoon version of Voldemort’s face.
“It’s a stress ball. I got the idea from one of the Muggle shops in the village. Trying squeezing it.” George beamed at Harry’s face.
Harry clutched the ball tightly and started slightly when it spoke in a ridiculously high voice. “Is that really the best you can do?”
“Nice,” he said, throwing it back at George, who caught it clumsily.
“This is just one thing. I’ve got a thousand more ideas. We’re going to have a whole Harry Potter vs. The Dark Lord line coming out.”
“I can’t wait,” Harry said dryly.
Hermione coughed in the corner. “We should go Harry,” she said tightly, “And let them work.”
Harry’s shoulders sagged slightly and he nodded. “Yeah,” He started towards the door, “Bye mates.”
Hermione was halfway through the door when, much to Harry’s surprise, she stopped and turned to dart forward and kiss Ron on the tip of his nose. “See you later, Ron,” she said softly before turning and flying out of the shop and into the street.
Harry’s smile at Ron’s crimson face stretched so far that it hurt, and as much as wanted to hear what George was about to say to his brother, he strode through the door after Hermione.
Out of the corner of his eye, or maybe even subconsciously, he saw the door of the office open, and a red wave of something that made his heart lurch uncomfortably. But he forced himself to let it go and walk away.