It was noisy and fun in the car. Ginny talked incessantly about how she had learned new soup recipes, Fred and George boasted about another invention for another joke, and Mom kept turning around to pat me on the shoulder:
"You look very pale, son. You'll get a good rest and gain strength. How's your head? Madam Pomfrey wrote that you have a severe concussion."
"Mom, I'm fine." I grumble.
"And I ate my fill," Arthur winked. "According to the rumors, are we having a feast today?"
"The real thing," Molly smiled. "Everything is ready."
I looked out the window at the scenery rushing by and felt the tension of the school year leaving me with every kilometer. At home. He's finally home.
***
When we arrived at the house, I immediately felt a familiar smell: fried meat and something else, very familiar.
"It smells like home," I breathed, jumping to the ground.
Molly was already dragging us into the kitchen:
"Hurry up, it's getting cold!"
A huge frying pan of scrambled eggs and bacon was steaming on the table, next to it was a dish of golden chicken legs, a pile of fresh bread and a jug of pumpkin juice.
"This is"... Ron froze, staring at the scrambled eggs.
"Yes," Molly smiled. "Our laying hens. The first eggs. Quintus wasn't fooled-they started rushing just in time for your arrival."
I carefully picked up one egg and rolled it in my hands. It was warm, brown, with small specks.
"Ours," I whispered. "Your own."
"And the legs are from the last broiler slaughter", added Dad. "They were stored in the cellar under magical preservation charms. Especially for your return."
Ginny giggled:
"We've been saving them for a week."
The children sat down at the kitchen table. Everyone laughed. I helped myself to a huge portion of fried eggs and two golden-crusted chicken legs. The fragrance is intoxicating. The twins helped themselves to some smoked fish. And Percy is a beef steak.
"Thanks, Mom," I said softly, looking up at Mom.
She smiled and patted his hair:
"Eat, my dear. You're home."
I took a bite out of the leg - the meat was juicy and fragrant. Then he scooped up the scrambled eggs - the egg turned out to be exactly as he dreamed: the yolk was thin, the white was tender.
"Delicious!" I mumbled with my mouth full.
"Better than Hogwarts?" George squinted slyly. Fred was eating smoked trout with his eyes closed in pleasure.
"A hundred times!" I replied confidently. "Because it belongs to me. Homemade."
Dad picked up a mug of juice:
"To the return of our boys!"
"Hurrah!" everyone echoed.
I looked around the table: mom, dad, Ginny, the brothers-and felt warmth spreading inside. Not from the food, but from something more. From the family. From home. From the fact that everything is fine.
"Mom," I asked, finishing the last spoonful of scrambled eggs, "can I help with the laying hens tomorrow? I want to see what they're like."
"Of course, honey," Molly smiled. "They're waiting for you, too."
Epilogue 2 (on behalf of Harry)
Dursley House, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, summer 1992
Harry stood at the window of his room, looking out at the neatly manicured lawn. The door creaked behind her as Aunt Petunia entered. She had a stack of freshly ironed clothes in her hands.
Petunia stops, looks attentively at her nephew, who recently returned from a madhouse called the magic school.
"You look pale. And his eyes were dim... as if he hadn't had enough sleep."
Harry shuddered and looked up from the window.
"It's okay, Auntie. I'm just tired from the road."
Petunia puts the laundry on the bed, comes closer
"Dudley says he heard you screaming last night."
"Yes," he admitted. "It's a nightmare. Simply... I had a dream."
Petunia narrowed her eyes
"What exactly?"
Harry paused. To tell the truth - about the stone, about Voldemort, about how he almost died - was unthinkable. But he couldn't lie convincingly either.
"A snake," he blurted out. "I dreamed of a huge snake. She was... stalking someone."
My aunt frowned. She didn't believe it-or didn't fully believe it-but she didn't insist.
Instead, she took Molly's sweater from the chair, which Harry had thrown on the chair in the morning, and carefully put it away in the old closet that had been put in her nephew's room for his arrival.
"Eat normally. And go to bed early. If you scream again, Vernon will send you to a separate room in the attic." She turned to leave, but stopped at the door.
"And... if it's because of that school," she added more quietly, "Try to keep it to yourself. We live a different life here at home. We are ordinary people."
The door closed. Harry was left alone. He walked over to the bed and ran his hand over the ironed sheet. Her aunt's words sounded like an order: "Don't be a wizard. Don't remember. Don't feel it."
He sat down on the edge of the mattress and clenched his fists. The nightmares won't just go away. But now he knew he couldn't talk about them in this house.
*** A few days later
Every morning, Harry got up earlier than usual and went to the mailbox by the gate. He checked it twice a day, in the morning and in the evening, hoping to see a thick envelope with the Hogwarts coat of arms or at least the familiar handwriting of Ron or Hermione. But the drawer remained empty.
"Why don't they write?" Harry thought. "Maybe I did something wrong? Or did they just forget?"
He remembered the three of them sitting by the fireplace at Hogwarts, sharing stories, making plans for the summer. Ron promised to write every week, Hermione promised to write about life with her parents in Muggle London. She promised to send old textbooks from her school, where she studied.
And now he was sitting here, in a house where he wasn't welcome, and he felt loneliness squeezing his chest.
One evening, when Harry returned empty-handed from the mailbox, he noticed Aunt Petunia staring at him from the kitchen.
"Petunia, wiping her hands on her apron, says with displeasure."
"Is it empty again?"
Harry nodded, trying not to show how hurt he was.
"Yes. Neither from Ron, nor from Hermione."
Petunia thinks about it
"Are you sure they're not trying? Maybe something is preventing the emails from reaching you? All your crazy mail, there is no way to send it in the usual way, like all normal people do."
Harry shrugged his shoulders.
"I don't know. But they know I'm here. And they promised to write."
Petunia sighs.
"Wait here."
She went upstairs and returned a few minutes later, leafing through a thick telephone directory.
Petunia finally found Mr. and Mrs. Granger's dental clinic in it.
"I'll call Hermione's parents at work. By phone. They'll tell her you're waiting to hear from her. And they will ask you to answer the same way. Or at least send a letter."
Harry looked up in surprise.
"Will you... do it?"
Petunia strictly
"Yes. But only because it will save us from looking sad at dinner. And don't you dare tell Vernon about it.
Harry couldn't help but smile.
"Thank you, Aunt Petunia."
Petunia waves it away.
"Rubbish. I just don't want you hanging around the house with a face like you ate a lemon."
*** After week
Harry, as usual, went to the mailbox. This time there was an envelope there-thin, without magic seals, but with a neat handwriting that he recognized immediately.
He grabbed the letter, tore open the envelope, and eagerly read the lines.:
"Dear Harry,
I'm sorry I haven't written for so long! My parents and I went to the seaside, and then I lost your address. Just today, Mom said that a Mrs. Dursley called her at work and asked her to write to you- that's your aunt's last name, right?
I'm so glad you're okay! I'm doing well, I'm reading a lot of books about defense against the dark arts - I think we'll need it next year.
I'll try to write more often, now I know where to send emails.
With love,
Hermione,"
Harry laughed. He read the letter again, and then again. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he wasn't alone.
He ran into the kitchen, where Aunt Petunia was chopping vegetables for soup.
Harry holds out the letter.
"Look at this! She answered!"
Petunia reads quickly, nods
"Good. So we'll keep in touch like this."
Harry feels like he's bursting like a balloon with happiness.
"Thank you. Really, thanks. You didn't have to..."
Petunia interrupts her nephew
"Well, well, don't thank me. Just tell Hermione to warn you in advance if she decides to go somewhere. I don't want to have to guess every time whether you're alive or not."
Harry smiled.
"I will definitely tell you."
Petunia's voice is a little softer.
"And... maybe we can bake a pie tomorrow?" You will help. And then you'll write back to Hermione.
Harry is happy
"With pleasure!"
Petunia smiled slightly and returned to the vegetables. Harry stood next to him, feeling the weight of loneliness that had been weighing on him all this time gradually go away.