Together at Last

He Apparatted directly onto the top step of number twelve and stared at the gleaming oak door in front of him. The silver serpents of knocker and door handle sparkled. He closed his eyes; he heard Sirius singing God Rest Ye Merry Hippogrifths; snatches of old arguments: “He’s not your son, Molly.” “He’s as good as.” He saw doxies swarming out of rotting drapes; Ron, Hermione, Ginny, the twins, Remus, Tonks, a piece of picture, a letter, a locket. “Ron, I’m gay.” “Harry, I love her.” He opened his eyes to find he had placed both hands flat on the door. He inhaled deeply, closed his eyes again briefly and reached out for the knocker. Before his hand reached it, the door swung open to reveal Kreacher in a deep bow.
“Master Harry, home at last.” The house elf straightened up as Harry entered the hall.
“Kreacher,” was all he could manage. Harry turned and looked at the bare wall where Mrs. Black had once hung screeching insults. A huge mirror in an antique frame now filled the space. He took another slow deep breath, trying to decide where he wanted to go first. Up. He slowly walked up the stairs, Kreacher close behind him. Harry noted Kreacher’s ancestors had been removed from the wall. On the first floor Kreacher hurried forward to open the drawing room door. Harry stepped through and stopped; he could still hear Molly Weasley crying in the corner, her family dead on the floor before her. He shook his head and looked first at the wall where once hung the ancient tapestry of the Black family tree. In its place, dozens of framed photographs covered the wall. He moved closer.
“Miss Hermione wanted to make sure Master Harry could see everything when he returned,” Kreacher said. He stepped in front of Harry and pointed to sections as he recited. “All of the family weddings; all of the babies first birthdays; the oath taking ceremonies for the Minister of Magic, the Headmistress of Hogwarts and the Ambassador to the Muggles; the opening of Weasley Wizarding Chess and the Wizarding History Museum.” Harry took a closer look at the History Museum. He thought the large stone manor house looked familiar, but then most of them did look the same. He looked back to Kreacher. “And Miss Hermione put this glass case here, Master Harry.” He pointed to the corner. Harry stepped to it and stopped. On one shelf, side-by-side lay a golden Snitch, the deluminator, The Tales of Beaddle the Bard, and a very familiar small, beaded woman’s evening bag.
He felt dizzy; he swayed; before he hit the floor, Kreacher had him on the couch. Harry registered the softness of the cushions and the faint smell of lavender. He kept his eyes closed as he heard Kreacher telling him he would be right back, he would make Master Harry a cup of tea. Memories attacked his mind again: “He gave you the deluminator because he knew you would want to come back;” the smell of a damp tent; Ron crying; Hermione crying; Hermione screaming in agony. Kreacher’s return brought him back to the present. He opened his eyes to find he was facing the wall opposite the picture gallery. A large collection of packages sat on the floor against this wall. “Kreacher, what are all those,” Harry asked.
“Master Harry’s gifts,” Kreacher answered. “And Kreacher’s too. Kreacher would not open any with out Master Harry in the house.”
“Gifts?”
“Master Harry’s Christmas gifts and birthday gifts from his family and friends for the last six years.”
“Family?” Harry barley croaked out, unable to imagine a world in which the Dursleys could have had such a change of opinion of him.
“The Weasleys are Master Harry’s family,” Kreacher answered with the same matter of fact tone he had used when speaking of number twelve as Harry’s home.
Harry finally hit his breaking point. His breakdown started with a tear, then a sniffle, then he was on the floor, curled in a ball, sobbing, gasping for breath, yelling. He felt Kreacher’s hands on him, heard the elf’s frightened voice, but couldn’t even speak to tell him to go away. He covered his head with his arms. As his energy left him he lay panting for breath, too exhausted to get off the floor. He stared at the pile of gifts for a moment, then closed his eyes again.
He hadn’t realized he had dozed until he felt strong arms lifting him into a sitting position. He opened his eyes and looked up at a long freckled nose and red hair. “Ron.” Harry shifted so he could wrap his arms around the solid reassuring form of his best friend and burry his face in Ron’s chest.
Ron held Harry tightly lightly stroking the back of is head. He felt Harry shaking in his arms. “I know, mate. We’ve all had days like this.” Harry felt Ron moving them both around, but had no energy to help. He gasped when he felt Ron stand with Harry still in his arms. “Shh,” Ron whispered. “You’re ok. We’re just going upstairs. Kreacher has started a warm bath for you.” Harry felt the steady sway as Ron climbed two more flights of stairs. “I’m going to put you down now.” And Harry felt the cool marble floor beneath him. He leaned his head back, keeping his eyes closed as he listened to Ron moving around. He heard the running water stop, then felt Ron’s hands on him, carefully undressing him. Once again he felt Ron lifting him off the floor, only this time Harry registered the fell of bare skin against his. He opened his eyes and looked at Ron. “The water’s nice and warm, Harry,” Ron reassured him. Harry felt Ron step into the tub and slowly lower them both into the soothing water; still, he couldn’t bring himself to move. Ron maneuvered them both, settling Harry between his out stretched legs. Ron leaned against the back of the big old-fashioned tub and pulled Harry to lie back against his chest. Harry sighed as he let his head drop back against Ron’s shoulder, as Ron wrapped Harry tightly in his long arms. He kept one arm around Harry’s chest while softly tracing small circles on Harry’s stomach with his other hand. Harry felt him take a deep breath and followed, pacing his breaths to Ron’s.
The two lay quietly for a while in the never cooling water until Ron began to speak softly in Harry’s ear. He spoke of their lives together, telling Harry the story of Harry and Ron from Ron’s perspective. “… and when you left, I think I had some idea of what you must have gone through in the tent after I left you and Hermione.” Ron’s voice had become rough with emotion. “She put on a brave act in public, got a job, but she was inconsolable in private. Cried her self to sleep most nights. All I could do was this.” He squeezed Harry. “And on nights when she would come home and find me just sitting in font of the fire place waiting for you, she would magic me up to the bathroom, run a bath and return the favor.” He kissed the top of Harry’s head as he regained his composure to resume. Now he told Harry the stories of everything he had missed, the events documented on the photograph wall. As Ron spoke, Harry felt himself relaxing. He wasn’t alone, never had been. He lifted his arms and wrapped them over Ron’s.
Finally, Ron’s tale ended. Harry felt Ron shifting around and was once again lifted in those strong arms. “Can you stand up for me,” Ron asked when they were out of the bathtub. Harry nodded. Ron set Harry’s feet on the floor, keeping one arm firmly around his waist. Ron then wrapped them both in an enormous bath towel and dried both their bodies. When he had finished, he scooped Harry up and carried him across the landing to the bedroom.
When Ron had them both settled under the down comforter, Harry spoke at last. “Thank you, Ron.” He took a breath to say more but stopped as it caught in his throat. He couldn’t cry anymore.
Ron felt the tremble go through Harry’s body and moved to spoon the smaller man, once more wrapping Harry in his arms. “Go to sleep. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”