Chapter Text
Smoke.
There was so much smoke.
Harry coughed into the collar of his shirt, which he was using for covering his mouth and nose, to prevent breathing too much of the smoke in. Not that it was helping, the burn in the back of his throat and ashy taste in his mouth making him nauseous. But he pushed through, swallowing the bile raising in his throat down, making his throat hurt even more due to how parched he was. He needed to get somewhere, but he couldn’t remember where in that moment, but it was urgent, because if it wasn’t, there would be no reason for why he was pushing his way deeper into the building that was on fire, orange flames licking the walls and furniture everywhere around him, instead of running in the other direction, where he knew an emergency exit was.
The world around him bent, colours swirling and all of a sudden he was outside, looking at the building being eaten away by flames, while there were hands pulling him back, preventing him to run back inside in search of something he still couldn’t remember. His throat was sore, but he was still screaming, his aching muscles pushing and pushing against the people restraining him, adrenaline running through his veins, and everything he was taught, everything that was drilled into his head since he was a child, flew out the window because of the growing panic of knowing he was supposed to be saving something, but the hands on him were preventing him from doing it, and he couldn’t get them off-
And then there was sharp pain in his leg that he would’ve missed if he didn’t hate needles and knew exactly how they felt like. He looked down, his fighting stopping for just a second while his mind tried to make sense of it, and then everything went black.
--
Harry shot out of bed with a swallowed yell, his whole body covered in sweat and his hands shook when he brought them up to drag them over his face. His sheets were soaked, and he would have to change them in the evening, which brought a sigh out of him, because it was just another task he had to do in the pile of never-ending and always-repeating ones that came with living a normal, mundane life.
The nightmares weren’t as frequent as they were in the beginning, the memories of the night seven years ago when his life changed completely coming to haunt him only now and then, but if you asked his therapist, they have been gone for the last four years. He didn’t want to worry Poppy with a few dreams he got here and there, didn’t want to show her that maybe he wasn’t completely okay as he pretended he was, but he was doing just fine and honestly, he was tired of his brain being picked at, of being flayed open and exposed to his therapist that he knew shared his information with Dumbledore, the head of the Order of the Phoenix, a special task force in the British intelligence, assigned to dealing with secret threats.
He was tired of the questions about his upbringing, about the compound, and especially he was tired of the questions about what exactly he was so adamant to save he risked running into a burning building for. He had answered to all of those questions, gave them intel on everything he knew about the Death Eaters and how they worked, helped them with closing different branches across the globe, he did all of it, except answer to the last question. Because that was only for him. One last thing that was entirely his, not known by the other members of the Order, not taken away from him. And he wanted to keep it that way, because it was one thing from his past life, the only thing he had from his childhood, and he would be damned if it got taken away from him too.
He got out of bed, taking his clothes off and heading directly for the shower to scrub himself clean, because nights like these always made him feel like a layer of ash and smoke was sticking to his skin, making him rub his skin raw until the feeling got lesser. It never went away entirely, but he was able to breathe easier and get on with his day.
Once he got out of the shower, he finally checked the time on his phone, which showed him he had another hour before he needed to get to work. He knew sitting around in his small apartment would do him no good, only making him bring back memories and echoes of emotions from the dream, so he got dressed, grabbed his things and left for the café that was on the way to his work that sold the best raspberry and chocolate muffins. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but his therapist’s voice talking about healthy eating habits rang in his head, and after years of therapy and getting better, he was able to actually take her advice. So, he ordered the muffin and his go-to order of coffee with added milk and a ton of sugar to hide the actual taste of coffee, and sat down at the empty table.
He sipped his coffee while taking small bites of the muffin, because no matter how good it was, during his “not hungry” periods even his favourite foods became ash on his tongue, but they tasted just good enough for him to be able to swallow it. He knew that come dinner, he should be feeling okay again, and the episode should pass, so he knew missing one meal wouldn’t be a big deal, but he had promised everyone in his life he was doing better, and for that he needed to convince himself he was better.
He watched people rushing up and down the street through the front window of the café, a nice distraction to his jumbled thoughts, imagining where they needed to go, where they came from. It helped him calm down, relaxing his tight muscles in his shoulders, and by the time he left for work, he was back to his normal self.
He worked in the archives of The Order of the Phoenix’s headquarters, cataloguing and organizing case files. He got the job offer from Dumbledore himself, which was a blatant way of keeping Harry close due to his knowledge but not trusting him fully to let him join the force as an agent. Even after years of Harry proving to them that he was on their side and that his upbringing was classified as wrong and bad in his brain, they still thought he would go on a murder spree or something if he was let loose.
It bugged him, but he never complained, because he knew he was and always would be walking a thin line between the Order seeing him as their own and seeing him as their enemy. One wrong step and they would turn against him, so he kept his head down, did what he was told to and went on with his mundane life.
The vibrating of his phone in his right back pocket pulled him out of his thoughts, fingers freezing over the screen after he pulled it out and saw it was Ginny. He hadn’t been avoiding her per se, but with all of their friends and especially Molly hinting towards them making the next step in their relationship, he had pulled away a bit, the panic he felt at the idea of more making it difficult to be normal around her, and the origin of it… well, it wasn’t something Harry wanted to look to closely to.
They had started dating two years ago, when Harry finally caved into his friend’s persuasions of asking Ginny out. It hadn’t been a secret she had had a crush on Harry since he was rescued and put into the care of the Weasley family, the girl blushing and stammering around him for months until she got used to him being around. They did become close friends through the years, their mutual love for sports initially being what drew them together, but they also developed a strong bond through the time Harry spent at the Weasley’s. He only saw her as a friend during that time, but he knew she still fancied him, or at least that’s what everyone else was telling him all the time, while trying to convince him how good they could be together.
In the end it did the trick, because it made Harry think about them, see her in a different light, and suddenly, he thought, why not? So, he asked her out, and soon after they were dating. It all happened so fast, Harry didn’t know exactly when it went from going on dates to being a couple, the transition fast and smooth, but he didn’t mind it.
Their relationship was good, to Harry it was just like it was before they started dating, they just added a few things, like kissing and sex. Loving Ginny was easy, just like becoming friends had been, and after years of trying to find his footing after his world turned upside down, he finally felt settled and even happy.
But the idea of something more… it sent a wave of anxiety through his body, his muscles tensing and breathing quickening, wanting to run away from the topic. He blamed it on the fact that where he grew up, a value of marriage was non-existent. Even relationships were frowned upon unless they were purely physical, because they were a liability, something that made you vulnerable, which you could never afford to be.
He tried to convince himself it was only that, but in truth… It wasn’t the only thing from his past life stopping him from making the next move, even though he knew it was pointless, thinking about it years later, but he couldn’t stop. He would never be able to stop, it was tattooed into his skin with ink only he could see, running so deep it bled into his veins, consuming him whole. The pain of loss cut deep, and the yearning thrummed through his body, making him want to curl in a ball in a corner and forget about everything going on around him, getting lost in the memories and never coming back out of them. And that’s why he didn’t let himself think about it, shutting everything into a box and pushing it into the darkest corners of his mind, but every single time the box didn’t shut correctly, and everything came trickling back out until Harry repeated the process.
Again, and again, and again.
He declined the call before turning his phone off, not wanting to deal with Ginny after the nightmare and how weird he had been feeling since he woke up, and also knowing he was about to see her later in the afternoon at the Weasley’s, whatever she wanted could wait until then.
He climbed up the stairs in front of the Phoenix's building, looking up at the clear blue sky, where the building stood tall. It didn't all belong to the Order, shared with other branches of the military, but because the Order was the most famous one, the people started calling the whole building Phoenix, and not by its official name, which Harry didn’t even really remember.
The Order of the Phoenix got its fame primarily right after the First War, which ended a few years before Harry was born, because they were the ones making arrests of war criminals and political opponents that held leading roles in the opposition. They were efficient, quick, in a matter of months they established piece in a war-wrecked country and allowed it to prosper. Dumbledore was the leading man back then just as he still was, most known for his arrest of his apparent lover and war general of the losing side, Gellert Grindelwald.
Harry didn't know whether he was impressed with Dumbledore’s strength of putting away someone so dear to him for life, or suspicious if he actually meant that much to him and his affection was fabricated. Maybe a little bit of both, if he was honest. Because how could he do something like that to someone he cared about so deeply?
He nodded to the security at the door when he got inside, going through the detector and a pat down, before using his card to enter the elevator.
The Order held its space on the 11th and 12th floor, the archive and storage being on the latter and shared with two other departments that also held their own archives there, while everything else was on the 11th. They didn't need that much space, the group having only a handful of members, containing of a few field agents, data analysts and supervisors.
Harry stopped on the 11th floor, his routine subconscious after four years of working there. As soon as he got out, he could already hear Hermione's voice, most likely arguing with one of the other analysts about something Harry knew nothing about. It brought a smile on his face, a familiar sight quite welcome after the morning he had.
He stopped in the kitchen on the left from the elevator, filling to cups with coffee from the pot left on the counter, taking them with him to the desk that was assigned to Hermione when she started working for the Order two months after him.
"No, I am telling you, tracing is not going to work with this kind of-" he dropped the cup on the desk before his friend, cutting her rant off when she quickly turned her head towards him. A smile bloomed on her face, muscles relaxing, where before she was tense, eyebrows drawn together and a disapproving frown on her face. She stood up, pulling him into a quick hug, before sitting back down and lifting the coffee he brought.
"Ah, Harry, just what I needed. This case is going to take the last of my nerves, I'm afraid." He chuckled, by now familiar with the dramatics of his friend. He made eye contact with Sarah, the other analyst that Hermione was talking with, who rolled her eyes behind Hermione's back, a playful glint in her eyes. By now everyone was used to the way Hermione worked. Yes, she wanted perfection, was often trying to do a hundred things at once, was a bit of a control freak and wanted to make sure everyone else was working efficiently as well, but she was the best analyst they had for a reason. It was all paid off with quick and reliable data, which was most important. And in the end, she did help everyone else work better, and by now they were all working in sync. Which did mean that sometimes, they let her rant about whatever she needed to rant about concerning the recent project.
He stayed at her desk for the next fifteen minutes like always, catching up on new things going on in her life and avoiding answering her questions, finishing his coffee. After, he bid his goodbye and left for one floor higher, to his own "office".
He was the only one working in the Phoenix’s archive, which meant he had the whole room for himself. He preferred it, because it allowed him to work alone without any interference of others or insignificant small talk that he still sucked at.
He wasn't a very social person, growing up where he did, they didn't exactly put much emphasis on importance of human connection and being social, and some things, no matter how much he tried to get rid of them, stuck.
Being able to not put on a mask of social politeness through the whole eight hours every day he was at his job was a blessing. It's not like he couldn't do it, by now he had gotten the hang of it, albeit he was still a bit awkward at times, but at least the people around him didn't look at him weirdly or suspiciously because he did something wrong. But it was tiring, social interaction for the sole purpose of social interaction, so he gladly accepted the job, even if it was boring.
He craved the action of being a field agent, of doing something with himself, of never knowing what the next day would bring, but alas, he was stuck in the archives. At least he got the glimpse of the action in the reports he was filing.
--
The hours in the archive stretched on and on, seemingly never ending. Always doing the same thing, the repetitive motions got old on the second day he started working there. Looking through the files of different cases, it made him long to be a part of it, it made him long for things he knew he shouldn't want, knew were bad now, after he was rescued and learned just how wrong the things he was taught in his childhood were. But deep down, in the corners of his mind and soul where even he didn't allow himself to go to, the want was bubbling. The want of letting go of all the things he relearned, of trying to fit into the normal society, and go back to where he came from.
And looking through the cases, some brought back memories, gave him flashbacks of his past life that got him stuck in his mind for minutes, maybe even hours, unable to do anything else but to remember.
Today was one of those; he was just sorting through the case files of an assassination of some foreign prime minister. It was a quick case, the assassin sloppy enough to let himself be caught by the cameras leaving the hotel where the victim was staying and also leaving behind some of his DNA. The minister fought back, scratching the killer, which made it entirely too easy for the Order to catch him. They even had his DNA on record, making them close the case within days, making the arrest only three days after the murder, since the attacker didn’t think to leave London at all.
Those were all beginner mistakes, every single one of them. It made Harry scoff, his upbringing making him not able to comprehend how anyone would be stupid enough to make those mistakes, especially all of them at once. How it didn’t come as self-explanatory to make sure you didn’t leave any trace of yourself behind, to make the kill as clean and quick as possible, to check where the cameras were before the kill, to be in and out before anyone realizes anything is wrong.
Harry was sitting in class, mind drifting from one thought to another while looking through the window. The professor was going on and on about the most common mistakes you could make while out on a job, like they hadn’t heard the same lecture a thousand times by this point.
There was a kick against his shin, making him turn his head around. And there was a boy, same age as him with a dangerous glint in his eyes. “You know, this is why you need to copy off me. Your attention span is atrocious.” It made Harry smile, that secretive smile, he tucked into the back of his hand. Before he could retort back though, there was another voice bursting their bubble.
“Potter, would you repeat what I have just said, since you clearly know the lesson?” Professor’s voice was cold, devoid of all emotions, and Harry knew he needed to answer correctly if he wanted to avoid the punishment. Even then, he might get it, since breaking the rules set by the superiors was strictly forbidden. And being on the receiving end of more than one of those punishments, he did try to avoid them as much as he could. But in the end, they were kids, even if they didn’t know it, and breaking rules here and there was a part of growing up.
Sweat gathered at the back of his neck, swallowing hard while his eyes flit across the board quickly, trying to find what was the last thing they talked about. He couldn’t find it and he was almost ready to admit defeat, when he heard a whispered “clean-up” from his right side.
He perked up, knowing that part of the lesson almost word for word, hearing it almost weekly since he could walk.
"You were talking about clean-up, sir. If we're trying to conceal a crime has ever happened, then we need to first dispose of the body in a manner that it will never be found. The best solution for this is dissolving the body in acid or sodium hydroxide, because in this way the body disappears and can never be found. But this takes time, which you don't always have, so you have to do something else. For example, you could bury the body, either whole or dismembered. But with this you risk for the body to be found at some point. There are more ways to dispose of a body, it all depends on your situation, what would be best for you, which we've studied them more in depth in Disposal 101.
Another thing you have to do is to make sure the crime scene is rid of any evidence. This means cleaning the surfaces, body fluids, camera feeds. That is why quick, clean killings are best, because they leave less to clean up.
Then there is making sure people don't report the person as missing. This is optional, but sometimes you want to make sure people don't dig too deep to try to find out what happen. This is mostly used in cases when you keep a person captive for longer periods of time.
This is the first option for cleaning up, the second one is when you want people to know about the killing. The steps are similar, except for the first one, which you skip in this case. You either leave the body where you made the killing, or you transport it to the place where you're meant to display it. The most important part is making sure you get rid of anything that could tie you to the case, like fingerprints, hair, camera recordings. Like I said, similar as in the first option.
Making the kills quickly and with as little of bodily fluids as possible is vital to making a successful assassination, with as little mistakes as possible, of course, preferably with none."
Harry was breathing heavily by the end of his re-telling, words flying out of his mouth faster by the second, trying to avoid the detention not listening in class would have got him. Belatedly, he could feel everyone’s eyes on him, surprise clear in their widened eyes, clearly not expecting him to actually answer, especially not correctly.
Professor looked at him assessingly after he was done, then turning around and continuing with his lesson, not saying a word. He threw a relieved smile to his right; he knew this scene just confirmed the boy’s words, but he couldn’t help the wave of happiness that the eyeroll he got in response brought him. Their knees bumped under the table, and none of them moved their leg for the reminder of the class.
He did get detention in the end, but he wasn’t even mad about it, too busy thinking about the shadow of a smile he saw on the boy’s face when their legs were pressed together.
Harry came back to himself, head shaking to clear away the fog in his brain, eyes focusing back on the file in front of him.
This kill was definitely not clean. The guy stabbed him, for Christ’s sake, in his stomach, not even killing him quickly. It might have made sense if the killer were of the sadistic type, but looking through the interrogation transcripts, Harry could clearly see that was not the case. He confessed after only ten minutes, voice shaky and hands trembling.
But looking at the files, Harry’s disgust at the guy’s incompetent skills, and boredom turned into suspicion. If this was some random kill, a guy stabbing someone in the streets, or someone he was pissed at, he would get it. It would match his lack of skills, making it a possible crime of passion, but this, this was an assassination of a high priority person, albeit a shitty one.
It meant that the guy had the skills to avoid the minister’s security, to get inside the hotel and inside the victim’s hotel room unnoticed, he was able to do that while security stood outside the hotel, in the lobby and on the floor the minister was staying on. He was able to get out of the room without anyone noticing him, just for him to get caught by a camera while leaving the hotel, almost making it out being completely invisible. And he was able to do all of that, just for him to be so extremely shitty at killing him, he got caught almost immediately after?
It didn’t make sense to Harry, the warning bells blaring red in his head, fingers itching to research this further. But then Dumbledore’s voice rang in his head, the dismissive tone that told him to ‘stop digging deeper, sometimes things just happen in a certain way and there is no deeper meaning behind it. I understand where you’re coming from, hence your upbringing, but here, in this world, the normal world, things don’t have secret second meanings, people are not all double-faced. I know it takes some adjustments, but you don’t have to worry about it.’
It happened a lot in the beginning, when he was rescued from the compound. Watching the news on the television, he would see something, it could have been a murder story, an arrest of some businessman because of money laundering, and he would see something that didn’t add up, or it looked like it could lead to something bigger. He would call Dumbledore, asking him to meet and then explaining his findings, just for him to shut him down. And after a while, the words started to work. He pushed down that part of himself, started to ignore it, and by now, that voice almost never really spoke up again, or at least it whispered quietly enough to not be a bother.
So, he did what he had done numerous times before, he pushed that voice back, squashing it and trapping it in a sound-proof box. He was sure at least one of the investigators thought of it too, followed their suspicion and found out nothing of importance.
(He ignored the voice, sounding suspiciously too much like him, telling him how stupid law enforcement was, how easy it was to fool them, too.)
He closed the files to stop himself from doing something he shouldn’t, carrying them to their designated place. Then, he moved on, sorting through the rest of the files, nothing interesting coming up for the rest of the day.
--
When six o’clock finally rolled around and Harry was done in the archive for the day, he set off for the Weasley home immediately, changing his mind about stopping at his place first. He knew if he did, he would end up not going at all, his whole body slightly aching from the tiredness. All he wanted was to slip into his bed, wrapped tightly into his duvet, forgetting about the rest of the world and just rest. Turning his mind off, falling into a dreamless sleep. But he had missed the last two dinners, and he really couldn’t afford to miss it again, especially because some of the Order’s members were invited today and it would raise too many questions.
So, he made a rational decision for once, and decided he would go to the house directly from work, and preventing his bed to become too big of a temptation. He took the tube, his mind lost in thought like it had been the whole day, the travel to the Weasley’s done on autopilot, by now memorized in a way he could make it in his sleep, since he had done it so many times in the past seven years.
“Harry, there you are!” Molly’s voice rang in his ears when she opened the door, the delicious smells of her cooking hitting his nose, making his stomach rumble with hunger and reminding him he hadn’t eaten anything since that morning.
“Oh, look at you, you must be hungry! Food is almost done; it will be just a second. The others are already in the kitchen.” She drew him in a tight hug like every single time since he met her. He needed quite some time to adjust to it in the beginning, not being used to casual touch of any kind, especially not one used to show affection or to give comfort. Truthfully, it made him feel the opposite, overwhelmed and uncomfortable, because he was not used to it, the touch of another being foreign to him. Even with Ginny, it took a lot of time for him to relax enough for them to be able to do anything, even just kissing, and he still was not completely comfortable with it. There had been only one person, whose touch never made him want to crawl into a hole and hide away for the rest of his life, one person whose touch he craved-
“Hi, Mrs Weasley, it smells amazing.” He cut off his mind from going down that road, a dangerous one. He let Molly usher him towards the kitchen, greeting everyone already there and sitting down at his usual spot at the table, between Ron and Ginny. He waved at Hermione sitting on the other side of Ron, who was in a heated conversation about something relating to football with the twins.
Hermione and Ron started dating a year ago, after months of painful pining. Or at least, it was painful for Harry, who had to listen to both of them complaining about the other. Sometimes it made him question whether trying this whole “normal life” was worth it. He definitely never had to deal with two idiots in love with each other, not knowing the other liked them back at the compound.
Then he turned to Ginny, leaning towards her and kissing her cheek, making her smile, her eyes crinkling. “Hey, sorry for not answering your call earlier, I was just getting to work. Was it anything important?” he remembered the call then, the one he ignored. It sent a painful pang through him, knowing he shouldn’t be ignoring his girlfriend and then lying about it as well. But the whole day had been weird, so he just added it to the pile of everything he had done wrong that day.
She shook her head, her hand sneaking onto his thigh and squeezing it twice. “Later,” she said, then removing her hand and turning back to the conversation she was having with Tonks before Harry interrupted. Only years of practice and the somewhat familiarity with her touch allowed Harry to not react outwardly to her causal touch he didn’t see coming.
Besides the whole Weasley family and Hermione, there were only Tonks and Kingsley from the Order already there. They fell into easy conversations, Harry happy to simply observe and listen, not actively participating in any of them. The sound of laughter and easy conversations lifted the weight off his chest that he didn’t even realize was there, making it easier to breathe and answer to the few questions that came his way. Maybe it was the right decision for Harry to come here, after all. (Oh, how was he going to regret that thought later, as if he jinxed himself with it.)
It was maybe half an hour later when he heard commotion at the front door, Molly welcoming the rest of the people invited. They came bustling into the dining room, Sirius first with Remus trailing not far behind, then Moody and Snape, and the last came Dumbledore. It was a rare occurrence for him to show up at one of these dinners, and it made Harry wary, an uncomfortable feeling settling in his stomach, a voice in the back of his head telling him there must be another reason for Dumbledore to be here. And when the man looked at Harry with that glint in his eyes that he had seen many times before, the voice whispered that the reason was probably had something to do with him.
“Now that everyone is finally here, we can finally eat. Come on now, dig in!” Molly brought the food from the kitchen, everyone reaching across the table for the things they wanted or asking someone to pass it to them. It was loud, a chaos, and after seven years, it was so familiar, it brought a small smile on Harry’s face. There was Molly, scolding one of the twins for trying to mess with someone’s food, the twins trying to confuse her which one was which. Sirius was stealing bites of food off Remus’ plate, the later pretending not to notice but sending fond looks towards Sirius after every time, seeing the proud smile on Sirius’ face. Ginny and Ron were bickering, Harry in between them not even slightly an obstacle for it, while Hermione was trying to get them to stop. It was so easy to just lose himself in it, zoning out, still hearing the voices around him, but not actually understanding what they were saying.
After finishing with the food, they all moved to the living room, younger adults settling mostly on the floor while others took up the couch and the armchairs. The conversations continued to flow, but movements didn’t stop, someone always getting up to go to the bathroom, for a smoke break or to look for something. Harry was sitting by the fireplace, across from the couch, with Ginny leaning against him on his right. It was peaceful, comfortable.
Of course, that was when the questions started. Because Harry just couldn’t catch a break.
“So, Harry, have you popped the question already?” it was Sirius who asked about it first, a sly smirk on his face when he turned towards him to ask the question. And suddenly, all of the calmness and relaxation evaporated from his body, muscles pulling tight and his mouth drying. He knew sooner or later they would start up with this topic again, but he fruitlessly hoped that for just one night, they would forget about. But no such luck.
“Oh, come on Sirius, don’t put him in the spotlight like that, especially with Ginny right there,” Hermione chastised him, making a spark of warmth in Harry’s chest at her coming to his defence, but looking at her, he saw the interested spark in her eyes, the curiosity burning inside her. The whole room suddenly seemed very interested in the conversation, or more precisely, in Harry’s answer. Other’s conversations died down, heads turning towards him, smirks on their faces as their eyes bounced between Harry and Ginny.
“Oh, umm, I-” he stammered, hands sweating and face heating up, the topic always making him panic, but with so many eyes suddenly on him, being the centre of attention, it made him even more anxious, throat closing up and his stomach turning, the delicious food from the dinner before wanting to make a reappearance.
“Come on, guys, don’t pressure him, he’s going to do it in his own time, when it will be the right time for him.” A hand grabbed his, making it drop the hem of his sweater he had been unconsciously picking at, unravelling a loose string. It was Ginny that came at his defence this time, making him look up at her in shock, not expecting it. Before now, she had always stayed silent, cheeks slightly red but otherwise she pretended she wasn’t paying attention to the conversation.
Her defence almost made him calm down a bit, making him think she wasn’t expecting anything soon, but the look on her face stopped him. She was blushing, redness spreading from her cheeks down her neck, and when their eyes met, hers were shy, flitting between his eyes and her lap. It was such a stark difference to how she usually carried herself, loud and confident, never one to shy away; it was so foreign to Harry, his brain needed a few seconds to realize he wasn’t mistaking it.
The others started talking over each other, giving their own opinions on the matter and seemingly forgetting Harry hadn’t answered yet. Molly’s “Oh, don’t worry, I know he will do it soon, I tell you,” was met with a lot of agreements, everyone agreeing that he will do the “right thing”. Harry didn’t know how to feel about the way everyone saw him at the moment. Sure, since he had been fifteen, thrust into this new world, all he did was follow what others told him to do, to be, trying to fit in, but he thought they would at least see a bit of the uncomfortableness he felt inside and let him breathe for a second.
“He is a good lad, all things considered, of course he will do it right.”
The comment came from Moody, everyone nodding along, adding their own views on him, and they were too preoccupied to see Harry wince. Because to them, there was nothing wrong with the comment, because Harry would always be an outsider, no matter how hard he tried to show them he changed, that he belonged. Yes, they treated him as family, friend, but there would always be a part of them that was wary of him, no matter how much they denied it. The part that would made them turn around on him at the smallest hint of doubt about his intentions. Harry had come to terms with it, with the fact he will never be one of them fully, that he would have to fight for his place every day for the rest of his life, and most of the time he was fine with it. But these kind of reminders, off-hand comments people made without even thinking, these left a sour taste in his mouth.
Luckily, in the time it took Harry to get out of his head about the comment, the others had moved the conversation on some other topic. It made him breathe a little easier, but the knowledge he didn’t actually answer any of their questions, made him anticipate the conversation turning back to him with every spoken word.
It was too much.
Dread had been filling his stomach since the conversation started, and it had become too much. He needed to leave, and now that they finally moved to different topics, he gave a mumbled excuse to Ginny, standing up and saying goodbye to the rest of them. He almost bolted out of the living room, trying to get away as fast as possible. And he almost made it out, shoes back on and one hand almost grasping the handle, when a voice stopped him.
Fuck, not now, come on.
He held in the sigh that wanted to leave his mouth as he turned around, not wanting to show Dumbledore he wasn’t happy to be stopped like this. The older man offered him a small smile, his eyes holding the familiar sparkle in them. But the look he was giving him was still calculating as Dumbledore took him in, looking for what, Harry could only guess.
“How have you been, Harry, I haven’t seen you in some time. But I have heard from Poppy you have been doing quite well, like you have been the past few years,” Harry couldn’t mask the grimace at the words completely, the reminder of his lack of privacy making his anger spike, coupled with a tinge of despair, but he pushed them down, not wanting to give away anything that would make the other man rethink his words.
“Yeah, been good, nothing special. It has been a slow few months.” He didn’t want to make the conversation longer than it needed to be; all he wanted was to leave. He kept himself short, hoping it would be enough for Dumbledore.
“Yes, but that is not necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes is good we take it slow, focus on ourselves. Especially someone like you, considering where you came from, it is important for you to be able to settle, get adjusted. And in the past seven years, you have really improved and adapted to a world that was completely new to you. You should be proud.”
Then, his eyes turned sadder as his gaze faded, as if he was stuck on a memory replaying in his head. “Unfortunately, the way a person is raised affects them for the rest of their life, meaning the adapting and learning how to live successfully in this world will be a life-long learning journey. But if you continue as you have been, which I am certain you will, you have nothing to worry about.” And now his eyes, again bright and present, looked at him imploringly, trying to get Harry to understand the real meaning behind his words. Which, after so long, he understood as soon as he had said it.
It had been years of comments about having to keep following Dumbledore’s words blindly, veiled behind words of praise about his ‘improvement’. What the man was telling him this time, was that marrying Ginny would be the next thing he should do if he didn’t want people to start doubting him. Which, if he didn’t follow Dumbledore’s words, would most likely happen soon after, since everyone listened to the man as if he were a god, following him blindly. One small comment, and every single person in the house would turn against him. He really didn’t need a reminder.
After the whole fiasco in the living room, the last thing he wanted to think about was Ginny and the proposal. So, he simply nodded, smiling tightly and quietly mumbling out a “Yes, I know, I am trying.”
“Ah, well, I don’t want to hold you back, you have been on your way home when I stopped you. I really am happy to see you flourish, Harry, you should know,” with that he left Harry by the front door, going back towards the voices coming from the living room. Instead of leaving, Harry was stuck at the door for the next five minutes, the words making him war with his emotions. There was the anger, anguish and sadness, the voice inside of him screaming for recognition, for people to realize how much he had changed, how much he had been proving himself and it was never enough. He was never enough, no matter how he much he tried to be. And then there was that need for acceptance, which was the product of Dumbledore’s teachings for years, of him saving Harry and giving him a chance at a new life. When he was thrust into the new world, knowing he would never go back to the compound, he knew he would have to adapt if he wanted to have a life. And after years of coldness and strictness, a smile and kind words brought out the child that was never allowed that warmth from deep inside his chest, making him vulnerable. Making him want to do everything the man said just to keep that kindness.
He didn’t know what he wanted to do, what would be the right move for him. And everyone else’s opinions didn’t help either.
After those five minutes, he forcefully shook himself, shutting the Dumbledore’s words and the panic and the questions into a box, left to deal with at some other time. He left the house in favour of the dark night, his chest finally able to breathe in fully after hours of struggling to get even a bit of oxygen in.
Later, in the safety of his own room, he realized he never did find out what Ginny wanted to talk about in that phone call.