Chapter Text
Peace. All around and within me. Slithering in and out with every steady breath. So steady, as it never was before. So light, as I have never felt it. I have nothing on my shoulders anymore, nothing and nobody to worry about, nothing and nobody to fear for, nothing and nobody to care about. Such a simple, wonderful nothingness. Peace of surrender. Peace of being a nobody. A true wonder, a miracle. My private heaven. And all it took was a few words. Unimaginable, and yet… Yet, saying them came easier than introducing myself to a stranger. All I had to do was to say just those words and to live through the dread of anticipation for the answer. And when the acceptance came… the peace came. Since that moment, nothing depended on me anymore. And the consequences of my choice were out of my hands. Left for others and their choices. All it took was to understand that not only was the decision mine, not only could I make a decision, but that my life was something I could decide about.
Your life counts.
Your happiness counts.
This was never your responsibility.
Choose for yourself.
Choose yourself.
Live for yourself.
Please, son, you don’t have to die.
We don’t want you to die.
We died so you could live.
We asked, and the Fate agreed.
Prophecy is no more; it will suffice if you choose to surrender.
And I did. And it sufficed… Mum said that I could live and be happy and that she wanted nothing more from me. Dad told me not to worry and that the world would set itself straight with or without me. That it always does. Sirius, damn, he just said to live a little. Or a lot. And his laughter was so contagious that I smile even now. Remus assured me that I would not have to apologize to anybody and that nothing would be my fault. Because consequences are just consequences, they will occur no matter the choice. Good and bad, every time, after every decision in my life. And everybody else will have to decide for themselves, and their choices will have consequences like mine.
You would not assume you are eligible to make their decisions, would you? So what kind of imbecile are you, allowing them to make yours?
That last snarky comment. Teary eyes of mum. Broad smiles on the other faces, hopeful, encouraging. That is what made me stop and think. To consider my options, as I now realize that I even have them.
And then I decided.
And the peace came to my mind.
It is so good that I can’t even move.
And I don’t have to. Not yet, at least.
~*~
The crowd roared as seven brooms circled the stadium at astonishing speed in an even, triumphant formation. Hands raised high above, the golden snitch fluttering in one, clouds of confetti glittering in such intensive light, tangling in the robes and hair of triumphant Montrose Magpies. And they landed high on the platform to climb one set of stairs, chattering excitedly, with broad smiles, pouring happiness on their way to claim the European Cup. More cheers and shouts of joy erupted, and flashes blinded the players as the Chairman handed the trophy to the captain. Hands were shaken, congratulations given, and Harry's heart jumped with pure, untamed happiness. Here he was, snitch in one hand, the other stretched and shook by who knows who exactly, strong hands patting his back. He could not precisely gather his messy thoughts, manipulated forwards from members of the International Confederation of Wizards Quidditch Committee, through the representation of the Norwegian government – quite sour, actually, under all of the congratulations, all the way to the British government representation and their guests. Those instead beaming with pride and glee. Most of them, anyway. The face of the Minister for Magic's expression was somewhat tame, though he was glad; there was no doubt about it. However, Harry was sure that red eyes in too young-looking face bore a tint of pure boredom. No, that it mattered to Harry, especially that there was someone whose eyes were far from bored. Far more excited and impressed, hiding a dirty and very promising gleam. And his hand Harry didn't shake, almost disappearing in the tight embrace.
“That was something,” Charlie’s breath was even hotter on Harry’s ear than he felt. “I wouldn’t do it better myself.”
“Cuz you would!”
Charlie only laughed in response, pressing an intense kiss on Harry’s lips. Short, trying not to get caught by any of the cameras, though Harry knew that chances for that were rather slim. And he didn’t care. Not anymore.
“Potter, changing rooms,” urged Cormac. “You’ll get him back in thirty, Weasley. Just cleaner and more presentable”.
“Without a confetti and all of that glitter in my hair, hopefully,” Harry freed himself from the embrace to join the rest of the team, followed by Charlie’s doubtful look. Well, he could hope to remove the festive decorations from his hair. Hope, however, was all he could have in this department.
~*~
Harry’s hair glittered through the evening, on all the pictures, and for a couple of days afterward. He left it everywhere, mainly on the pillows; hence, Charlie’s hair seemed to be on fire, so red and sparkly they were. The joke of that followed them even longer, all the way back to London. In theory, London was the place where both of them lived permanently. In practice, Charlie was a relatively rare guest, and Harry tried, really tried, to be there at the time as well. In theory, Harry lived in Grimmauld Place, and Charlie rented a small apartment. In practice, Harry hated Grimmauld, so if he could, he slept at Charlie’s. Or at the Burrow. Or anywhere else. Grimmauld was too grim, no matter the renovations, change of colors, bigger windows. He could do nothing to change the place in a way that suited him. Charlie’s place was way smaller, lacked essential furniture (primarily due to lack of space), and the spell in the shower needed to be readjusted every couple of days if they wanted to avoid freezing or severe burns. But who cares, right? It’s not like they genuinely lived there anyway.
“Next round on me!” announced Charlie loudly to all of the guests in the pub, who cheered a little bit too loudly to hear the rest. “For the Cup and the Montrose Magpies,” cheers intensified, completely jamming the rest of the sentence, not meant for them anyway, purred straight to Harry’s ear, followed by just a little too drunk kiss and a loud protest from the twins.
“You’re not leaving,”
“so stop it,”
“or we’ll make you,”
“and stick your butts to the chairs.”
“Oh, you would, wouldn’t you?” Harry laughed. “You should have come sooner; responsibility doesn’t suit you, you know?”
“Oh, but it does, Harrykins,”
“you should’ve seen how well composed we were when Malfoy,”
“accidentally, of course,” chipped in Fred,
“tripped and smashed in all of the gooey ingredients he just bought next door,” finished George.
“And here I hoped you’ve grown a little,” commented Charlie, feigning disappointment.
“Pot, kettle,” laughed the twins.
The evening had just started, at least for someone who was planning to drink through the night like an irresponsible adult they were. Some people joined them: a couple of Charlie’s friends, Lee Jordan, two of the Magpies’ chasers, Angus and Lachlan, and others that Harry liked. Some were missing the evening for one reason or another. Particularly one person that Harry wanted to see. And he suspected that it would not happen.
“Ron couldn’t come?” he asked finally, bringing slightly wry grimaces on twin faces.
“Wouldn’t,” corrected Fred.
“We asked him, not knowing that Hermione got another apprenticeship rejection,” George elaborated.
“Sucks,” muttered Harry, reaching for his glass. However, he smiled when Charlie elbowed him gently, silently scolding him for an emerging sense of guilt.
“Charlie is right. It has nothing to do with our Minister,” added Ginny, scorning. “It has nothing to do with Britain, actually. She applied somewhere in Scandinavia to learn from another all-mighty know-it-all of her sort. So Ron can’t say that it’s the Muggleborn discrimination or whatever. No, he was just pissed at Charlie for simply sitting a couple of chairs from Minister, and at you, for shaking his hand, and that you won, and that Cannons dropped out early, and he got dumped, and Mum is making him work all around the house, as he is ‘in between jobs’, again”.
"He still won't train for an Auror?" asked Charlie, not bothered by all the reasons for his youngest brother's whining.
"Oh, no," Ginny laughed, "He's acting as he's refusing the offer is the slap for the Ministry and the Minister. Like they care".
"They would surely prefer to have an eye on him," noticed Lachlan.
"Even if, so what?" Angus asked momentarily, lighting up the difference of opinions between both chasers. That called for an intervention, especially since Harry couldn't care less about politics, the Ministry, or even Ron's job.
"Darts?" he asked, standing up, bringing attention to himself and a lot of enthusiasm from the twins.
~*~
"Hey, Mum!" called Charlie, entering the Burrow through the back door, straight to the kitchen.
"Charlie, Harry, my dears, so good to see you both!" Molly Weasley stormed to the kitchen, broad smile on her face, arms spread to hug, that swallowed them, "Congratulations on your winning, Harry. We've listened on the wireless. Arthur was so excited! And you've managed it without a scratch," the last one she added with a slight amusement, although not without relief.
"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley…"
"Molly," she corrected, and Harry grinned.
"Molly, thank you, Molly. It's a shame Mr. Weasley couldn't come with Charlie".
"Oh, they have to work much, right now, in all of the Muggle-related departments, you know…" she frowned at Harry. "Don't give me that face, young man. We have told you time and time again that it is nothing you should worry about. You're too young, and I've said that from the beginning. Now, sit. Charlie, dear, what is that on your hand? Have you got yourself another burn? You know, Minerva mentioned that they will look for another…"
"I'm not taking the Care of Magical Creature post, Mum, I'm not interested…"
"Well, yes, but you are both barely home. You both have very…. exciting jobs, traveling a lot, but…"
Harry and Charlie exchanged amused glances, sitting on their usual seats, readying themselves to raise the joined defenses of their way of living against the overprotectiveness. They both enjoyed overprotectiveness to some level, at least, as both greeted the distraction of Arthur Weasley's arrival with joy. The fussing changed to the discussion on Muggle kitchen appliances and sponges, followed by the story of one clumsy dragon hatchling. It drifted from there even further to the upcoming World Cup and the forming of the English national team… to return to the original topic, as Molly started to lament yet another long absence. It was unfortunate that Harry mentioned that he and Charlie wouldn't see each other at the time anyway. That led to a long explanation about cooperation with New Zealand and why Charlie wanted and needed to go.
"Oi, Harry… Didn't know you're visiting today…"
"Nice to see you too, Ron," Charlie greeted his reluctant brother. Harry followed his lead, mainly to assure Charlie that Ron's behavior did not bother him. Alas, he could not do much about the stiff atmosphere that followed. Ron was only that much from scorning and whining, which led to uncomfortable silence and an early departure. Charlie and Harry left together, apparating to Grimmauld Place, causing Harry to frown.
"Away with that," Charlie kissed his frowned forehead, "You're leaving tomorrow, and as far as I remember, we were planning to have some fun…"
If Charlie was planning on saying anything else, he couldn't, his lips shut down by Harry's own. They have, indeed, planned on having fun. And Kreacher could pack his stuff. He would insist that Harry couldn't do it properly even if his life depended on it. Harry didn't care. Kreacher could do whatever he wanted with his clothes. All of them. Including those that they left on their way to the bedroom.
~*~
In his trunk, Harry found a stack of letters. Kreacher neatly packed them with a stack of parchments, envelopes, wax, and what else Kreacher deemed necessary for "young lords' correspondence." Harry leafed through the letters, only glancing at whether anything was interesting, pulled one or three of the stacks, and dropped the rest back to the trunk. He didn't even wonder why Kreacher thought them essential or worth reading. He came here to play quidditch and couldn't care less for England and English business.
~*~
The World Cup was better than Harry’s dreams. Sure, he missed Charlie, and he knew that Charlie missed him. Charlie had his Antipodean Opaleye and other dragon tamers, and Harry had Quidditch and his team. It’s not like they were exclusive (just as long as Molly Wesley doesn’t know – everything is fine), considering that there were often months of letters only, and Harry truly wanted to live a little. Although, there was not much time for anything like that. Harry spends most of his day on the broom, training and having fun—a lot of it. While high in the air, he felt joy so pure and deep that he could laugh just because. And it never ended.
They crashed Peru in the First Round, winning 450 to 60. Laughable. The Quarterfinals were a close match that lasted hours, resulting in their win over Germany by merely 10 points! The afterparty was wild. Not that Harry remembered the second half of the night. Exhausted, he definitely overestimated his drinking abilities. And then came something that got Harry extremely excited. It is more than the World Cup or the Finals itself. In the Semifinals, they were to play against Bulgaria. And that was a challenge. There were a lot of good seekers, of course. But none of them are as good as Wiktor Krum. Meeting with him before the game was not a good idea, as the captain would skin Harry alive, so Harry waited. Impatiently.
And he was not the only one, as Harry caught Wiktor’s eye as soon as they were on the pitch. He saw a glimpse of the same excitement, anticipation, and rush. Of course, Wiktor Krum knew perfectly well that Harry was not an average seeker. And he probably lived through the same disappointment as Harry when they didn’t get to play against each other during the European Cup. It also looked like they both had the same fun and thrill because the other seeker often smiled broadly at Harry during the match. They dived twice; it was so fast and risky each time that the crowd paused silently. First, Harry noticed a sudden change in the direction of Wiktor’s flight and followed, looking after the Snitch somewhere ahead of the other seeker. There was no snitch. Not this time. Only the speed, the wind, and the grass underneath their fingers. And it was so exhilarating that Harry just had to do it again, this time – by his initiative. He was tempted to do it again, though then he spotted it.
The Snitch. It was hovering high above the Bulgarian loops. As such, they both rushed. First, from the opposite sides of the pitch, later arm in arm, and then, in concentration and thrill, Harry even forgot to laugh. The Snitch was closer and closer with each second. Hands stretched, brooms pushed to their limits… the roar of the audience was deafening as Harry clasped his fingers on the Snitch, simultaneously feeling Wiktor’s hand on his own. Merlin, he really was lucky! And happier than ever in his life. The other seeker was also grinning madly, equally excited, no matter their loss. After all, they’ve got the Cup twice in a row, in 1994 and 1998.
Victory just started the night. Celebrations were far from official, though much more extensive than after the Quarterfinals. Jules, the team captain, booked lunge in the biggest magical club in Madrid and invited no less than everyone. Before they left, Jules gave them only that much time to change into something more appropriate, and Harry glanced at the growing pile of letters, which he gladly ignored, no matter the seals. It was victory time. In Spain. What could go on in England that he would care about? Less than nothing.
Harry never visited a place like this one. A basement with a high ceiling, supported by many stone pillars and plenty of private lounges on both sides of the room. Some of them under the balcony, some – on them. Their designated space was above the bar, just opposite the stage, crowded with soft leather chairs and sofas. It didn’t take long for tables to fill with snacks and glasses and just a bit longer for the alcohol to kick in. After that, they just got lost in the celebration and genuine happiness. When Bulgarians joined, Harry almost jumped to Wiktor Krum, excited again, handing him a full glass and a huge grin.
“That! Was! Awesome!” he shouted through the music, amusing the other seeker with the zeal. “We have to do it again! It was just pure luck that I was a split second ahead. I want a rematch!”
“When sober,” laughed Krum, downing his drink, “Now you would fall before mounting your broom.”
“Sure! But I would not fall after mounting it,” Harry smiled even wider, grasping his hand. “Come, dance with me.”
~*~
The following day, Harry woke up with a groan to the persistent tapping. His head hurt, thrumming, his whole body ached everywhere, and the thirst… and the tapping.
“Kreacher…” he moaned. “Water…”
“Water, Master Harry,” responded the elf almost immediately. “Water and potions. Is Kreacher opening a window for the owl?”
“Thank you… You’re the best elf there is, Kreacher,” murmured Harry, lifting himself just as much to drink both the water and the potions. Oh, that made his head spin…
“Kreacher is bringing letters, Master Harry. Is Kreacher bringing more potions and more water for the Masters guest?”
“Please… But fuck the letters, Kreacher, it’s too early…”
“Is Master wanting coffee?
“Yes, please…” he moaned into the pillow as the elf disappeared with the pop, and the silence returned, allowing Harry to wait for the pain to disappear.
“You’re the sunshine in the morning…” came the amused comment from the other side of the bed.
“Shut up…” Despite that, Harry chuckled into the pillow before turning to face Wiktor Krum with his crooked nose and dark eyes. Those two features usually made him look sharp and enhanced the general perception of surliness, although Harry’s experience was just the opposite. Wiktor was typically friendly and polite, and yesterday's game made him beam with happiness. And in the evening, the surliness was nowhere to be seen. Even now, his expression was gentle and warm, and as Harry’s thoughts got free of the headache, his eyes wandered to Wiktor’s lips and lower to soft bruises left just a couple of hours ago by Harry himself.
Pop!
"Kreacher is bringing water, and coffee, and potions."
"Thank you, Kreacher…"
Harry reached out to grab his coffee as the elf handed the rest to Wiktor.
"Master Harry is needing a shower," Kreacher grumpily stated, causing Harry to laugh. "Master Harry is reading the letters, and Master Harry is needing new clothes. Kreacher is bringing some from home and taking old ones. Master Harry must look worthily or is bringing shame to the House of Black".
"Yes, Mum".
"Master Harry is not laughing at Kreacher." The elf clicked his fingers, and an almost empty cup disappeared from Harry's hands.
"Kreacher!" Harry protested, "Fine! But I want a new coffee and a blueberry cone for breakfast".
That caused Wiktor to chuckle quietly, although Kreacher seemed satisfied before disappearing again, this time with most of Harry's clothes. Especially those from the previous evening.
"Wanna join me?" Harry looked back at Wiktor, smiling again.
"I don't know that… your elf could just come back, and I will end up wherever your unfinished coffee is".
"He's a dick sometimes, but he loves his Master Harry. I'm very lovable, you know? He would never throw you out. He even brought you potions. He likes you!"
"He looks rather murderous," Wiktor noticed, sitting up to close the distance between them, "like he would enjoy stealing toys from children."
"Don't worry, he won't steal you…"
~*~
They won the World Cup. The Final was fascinating, and Harry had to avoid catching the snitch three times, as it would result in them losing the game anyway. Everything changed after the unfortunate accident that got rid of the best Japanese chaser. Then he waited just a little, playing around their… quite decent seeker, and caught the snitch when they had 30 points over the other team. That led to another session of handshaking, gratulations, and flashing cameras. It also led Harry to hear the sentence he did not expect. From the source that in his new life, a happy life, was limited to saying “Congratulations, Mr. Potter” after those more critical games.
“Be so kind to read your letters, Harry,” the Minister asked politely. Red eyes stern, lacking any boredom this time.