He smiled softly at Harry, though it didn't fully reach his eyes, as he reached out to grasp the door handle. "Take your time, I'll ward her off the best I can."
The door shut with a soft click and Harry finally allowed the painfully false smile he'd affixed to his face to drop. He gave the towel tower he'd previously been demolishing a half-hearted glance before sinking back onto his haunches with a heavy sigh. The Hallows weren't there. He could spend the rest of the evening upending laundry hampers and tearing apart bedrooms, but he would not find them anywhere in Gryffindor tower. And yet, a part of him, a small, niggling voice at the back of his head assured him that they weren't gone gone. They had not fallen into the hands of a ne'er do well wizard intent on enacting Voldemort's final vison. The Hallows were gone, but they hadn't been lost.
Gone but not lost. The thought left Harry disgruntled, he couldn't even trust his own mind to make sense anymore.
Despite having likely not been used since the beginning of the new year, the showerhead furthest from the door took less than three seconds before it was producing water hot enough to send clouds of steam billowing throughout the entire room. The torrent washed away the blood that stiffened his skin and the tension that bunched his muscle in a matter of minutes, but he remained under for a while longer. The heavy rush of water over his ears dampened the sounds of Hermione and Ron moving about in the room outside, for a moment, there was only him, not even his thoughts dared disturbed him.
But soon enough, too soon, he had to surrender the tranquil moment and shut the showerhead off, there was only so long Ron could keep Hermione at bay after all. One of the many towels displaced during his bid to find the gone but not lost Hallows was draped over his shoulders and used to gently pat at his torso. The ribboned flesh was sore, each pat of the towel irritated his tender skin, but it wasn't near as painful as it should have been, one cursory glance down revealed exactly why.
As if the water he'd showered in had been laced with dittany, the numerous shallow lacerations he'd inflicted upon himself had closed over. A fragile layer of skin had healed over them, leaving behind no sign but the silvery pink of fading scars, he was sure that in a few hours even those would be gone.
Was this a side-effect of finally being rid of Voldemort's accidental Horcrux? Now that it was no longer leeching off of his magic was he finally reaching his full potential? But no ordinary wizard had above average healing, not without liberal use of certain spells, potions, and salves. So did this stem from that long moment of pain? Had whatever inflicted him changed him deeper than he could see?
The thought sent disquiet shivering down Harry's spine as, suddenly, he no longer felt comfortable in his own skin. He was different, he had changed on a level that surpassed the superficiality of skin.
Facing his reflection in the slightly fogged mirror, there were differences, though none so radical to be noticed by anyone who wasn't as intimately familiar with his face as he was. His eyes were just a touch too wide, a shade too green, his skin had taken on a pallor that could only be described as deathly, and yet it bespoke of longevity, vitality. But the greatest change wasn't one that could be viewed by the naked eye, it was a feeling and yet it was almost tangible. A shroud that clung heavy to him like a viscous smoke, it reeked of darkness and death, but it didn't feel inherently evil. Not evil, but still not right because it wasn't him.
The longer he focused on the clinging aura, the more uncomfortable he became, and, as his discomfort grew, he slowly became aware of the voices once again plucking at the very edges of his consciousness.
"Stop." Harry knew, even as the word left his mouth, that it wouldn't have the same effect as it had the last time he had ordered the voices away. He lacked the energy and the fury required to truly compel them, though he was certain the latter would come in due time.
There was a soft knock at the door, jarring Harry from his distress long enough for him to lunge for the jogger's he'd tossed aside earlier and hastily shove them on. "Harry? It's been nearly an hour." Hermione was obviously trying to repress the worry in her voice, but faint strains of it still tainted her words. "Are you all right?"
"No-I mean, yeah. Yes." Harry cleared his throat nervously. "I'm just…I might need some help."
There was a pause, and then, "Can you unlock the door?"
Harry didn't even move, not a finger lifted, but the moment his eyes flickered over to the turned handle, it unlocked. He whimpered pitiably.
Hermione entered the restroom, Ron only a few steps behind her, and immediately focused her gaze on where Harry stood somewhat awkwardly before the row of sinks. She took in his still damp hair, his worn joggers, then settled on his bared chest.
"You healed yourself? You know I could have-"
"I didn't. This wasn't me." Harry winced at the near hysterical pitch to his voice. "Sorry, I'm feeling a bit out of sorts." He took a breath to steel himself. "Can you…can you hear that? Can you hear them?"
Both Hermione and Ron took a moment to stop and listen, for what they weren't sure, but whatever it was was clearly upsetting their friend and they were eager to put an end to it. But there was nothing, they couldn't hear anything but their own quiet breaths. Harry looked absolutely gutted when they told him so.
He looked around anxiously as he spoke between tremulous breaths. "I think I might be going mad." He knocked roughly on his temple. "Voices, I can hear voices. I want them to stop. I asked them to and then I told them too but they won't be quiet. They won't stop."
An involuntary noise of confused distress bubbled from the back of Hermione's throat. "What are they saying?"
Harry shook his head. "I can't understand them. They're too quiet, they're whispering."
Harry was clearly distressed, only a few wrong questions away from what could potentially be a panic attack, only incredible amounts of stubbornness had kept him this calm for so long. But then Hermione touched him, one hand on the side of his face and the other on the inside of his wrist, and his tentative control began to unravel.
It didn't hurt, thank Merlin it didn't hurt, and yet the alternative was (debatably) just as bad. Harry's vision flickered out and the pleasant humidity that lingered after his long shower was swept away by a sharp, dry cold that froze the marrow in his bones. He was no longer in the bathroom, somehow that simple touch had transported him to a room. Dark and so tiny he couldn't stretch unless he lay diagonally on the floor, head in one corner and feet in the opposing one. His lungs rattled wetly, filled with the condensation that went down with each breath and his entire body trembled pitiably. He could hear others in the rooms (cells?) around him. Some were weeping, some were screaming, but they all fell silent when there was a dull rattle followed by the sudden plunge in the already arctic temperatures. Death was coming.
The room around him exploded. There was a shriek of surprise and Harry was suddenly doused in a geyser of water, yanking him free from whatever nightmare he'd been trapped in. All around him, chaos raged, the pipes that connected to the sinks, the toilets, and even the showers had burst, sending water in powerful arcs all around. Ron spluttered and cursed as he attempted to run from the bathroom but only managed to skid across the slippery stone and collapse against the sink where he promptly got a faceful of water. But both Hermione and Harry remained still, staring at each other with wide, fearful eyes.
She was the first to speak, barely audible over the roar of broken pipes. "What was that?"
Harry shook his head. She had seen it too, he hadn't been the only one to experience that horror. "I'm going mad."
When he turned to leave, Hermione's hands remained clutched to her chest, she didn't try to touch him again
He left the dorms, he left the tower, he left the castle. Harry wanted to be alone, he wanted to be away, so he went to the forest. It was involuntary, his body was on autopilot, his feet carried him of their own accord through the double doors, across the grounds, past Hagrid's hut. He didn't particularly want to return to the place where he nearly died, and yet when he slunk into the treeline he felt one tiny knot in the clusterfuck that was his nerves loosen infinitesimally.
A morbid sense of curiosity led him back to the scene of the crime, the clearing where Voldemort's Death Eaters had watched and jeered and cheered as he died. It looked so different in the fading light of early evening, it looked normal, completely unlike any place he would venture to willingly hand his life over. Though he wasn't entirely sure what he'd expected coming here, Voldemort was dead, his Death Eaters gone, this was, once again, just a clearing, just a forest, and he was just a boy. Or at least he should be. He wanted to be.
"So this is where it happened."
Harry flinched violently at the sudden intrusion to his not-so-happy place. Luna had appeared, silent and as ethereal as a forest nymph; her bare feet, the dirt crowning her cheekbones, and the way she clung to the trunk of the tree nearest him only lent credence to the image.
The young Ravenclaw's eyes were just as pale and disconcerting as they'd always been, but there was a darkness to them that reminded Harry that Luna had been a prisoner of Voldemort's forces only a few short weeks ago. She unapologetically used their unsettling force to fix him in place. "This is where they met."
Harry's head bent sharply to the left and his brows crowded together. "Voldemort and I?" He nodded, unsure how Luna could know that this was the exact place where Voldemort's end had begun, but he'd long since come to accept that, sometimes, she just knew. "Yes, this is where we met."
"Not you and the dark lord. Your Heart. It's whole again."
"I don't understand."
Luna hummed sweetly, her bare feet disturbed not a single fallen leaf as she crept closer. "That's all right, you have time."
A smile coaxed its way across Harry's mouth. "I do. Don't I? I've got all the time in the world now." That had never been a notion he'd had the chance to consider, having time to do what he pleased, it was daunting, but in the best way possible.
"All the time in the worlds," was Luna's characteristically odd agreement. "Is it strange having them in you? Can you feel them?"
"Er." Harry couldn't help but run a nervous, searching hand over his torso. "What exactly do you think is inside me?"
"Your Heart."
"My heart? Well of course I can feel it, though only when I'm paying close attention. Can't you?"
"Well, I don't have any."
"Any? You don't have a heart?" Harry sighed, forcibly stopping his confused queries before he made things worse. "Luna, dear, I love your strangeness, you know I do, but can you, just for one second, say something that makes sense?"
"Your Heart."
This time Harry could practically see the capitalization she put on the second word.
"In uniting the three pieces, you made them yours."
Slowly, the muddles puzzle pieces she spoke slotted into place. "The Hallows?"
Luna rolled her eyes as if it were obvious. It wasn't. "Yes, the Hallows. They're yours, aren't they?"
Harry hesitated to respond, unwilling to confirm or deny the assumption, though with Luna that likely made very little difference.
"They changed you though."
Very little difference at all. But if she knew something, anything, maybe it would be okay to unofficially confirm it. "Can you see what they did to me?" He subconsciously rubbed at his left pectoral, one of the places that inexplicable pain had taken especial delight in tearing into.
"They fixed you." An excited gleam momentarily chased away the shadows in Luna's gaze. "They let you see, hear, feel."
Harry matched her enthusiasm with what he was beginning to feel was perpetual bewilderment. "See what?"
"Everything."
The frame of Harry's glasses received a sharp prod. "Doesn't feel like it."
"No." Luna shook her head, fondly exasperated, but still near glowing with delight. "It goes deeper than that. Past what the normal eye can see. But you can't fear them, you have to accept them, embrace them, otherwise all you'll see ever see is the horror in death, not the beauty and the peace."
"Death?" Harry frowned unhappily. "Mine?"
Luna laughed despite the morbid turn the conversation had abruptly taken. "Everyone's but."
Harry didn't particularly like the sound of that, but something told him he would get nothing more concrete from her. "How do you know so much?"
A serene smile overtook Luna's entire face. "Haven't you heard? I'm odd."