Chapter 163: 6-1

The firewood, heated by the flames, crackled softly in the hearth. Sparks scattering glittering across the iron grate added a vivid splash of color to the warm-toned room. Just watching it warmed me to the core. This place was, to me, the ultimate symbol of cozy togetherness. Like that time when—even though you were a wanted man on the run—you still showed up here.

"Harry?"

"Come on over."

On the sofa, Hermione, with a blanket draped over her knees and a book as thick as a fist resting open upon it, looked up sleepily. At a nearby side table, Ron, who had been leaning over a wizard's chessboard, pinched an unruly Knight and waved it toward me like a puppet. —Strange, but the two of them relaxing in the Hogwarts common room were already fully grown adults. Ron was growing a beard, as if to compensate for his red hair that had begun to thin just like Father Arthur’s, while Hermione’s eyes, though still burning with fierce determination, showed the faint weariness of irresistible aging. Even so, for her real age, she looked remarkably youthful. —Strange as it was, at that moment, I didn't feel the strangeness at all.

"You look bloody exhausted, mate. I get it—Ginny's a real handful."

"Don't tease him, Ron. Harry, you really do look pale. Is something bothering you?"

I slid into the spot on the sofa they had naturally cleared for me. This atmosphere, this moment, these voices—so nostalgic.

—Nostalgic? Why on earth should I feel nostalgic about the two of them? The ache of nostalgia felt entirely out of place here.

"No, well... yeah... I'm—"

"Nah, I get it. Say no more, Harry. As your best mate, allow me to guess what's troubling the great Harry Potter himself. —Is it Albus? Hmmm, or maybe cheeky little Jim? Ah, I've got it! The tomboy princess finally brought a boyfriend home, didn't she? How about it? Hmm? No? Well then, it can only be one thing—secret marital troubles!"

"Ron!"

"Listen here, my dear brother-in-law... answering 'yes' to all of Ginny's silent sulks is the secret to a happy marriage."

"Ron. I told you not to make light of it."

"Ugh—stop it, honey. Don't imitate Mum. You're looking more and more like her these days. Especially around the eyes."

"Oh, yes, yes, exactly as you wish!"

"……Heh, haha."

Unable to hold it back, I doubled over and laughed. The goofball Ron and the sensible Hermione. No matter how old they got, the lighthearted banter between my married best friends melted away all the tension I had been holding. Relief washed over me. With their voices and their presence, the heavy sludge settled deep in my stomach seemed to dissolve into nothing. The weight I had carried, shouldered, clutched, wrapped up, and swallowed down for so long felt like something I could finally let go of—if only for right now.

"Getting old is no fun, is it?"

"Oi, that sounds far too much like an old codger, Harry. Look at us, we're energetic young lads!"

"That must be the difference between a Ministry bureaucrat and being self-employed, Mr. Middle-Aged-Man-Acting-Young."

"Even you say that... this is why I can't stand stiff, workaholic bureaucrats."

Hermione and I teamed up to throw Ron a skeptical glare as he grumbled. Ron pouted, scratching at his beard. In his sulking, his elbow knocked against a Pawn on the chessboard, which shrieked as it tumbled to the floor. Seeing that made me burst out laughing all over again.

"Looks like that helped clear your mind a bit."

"Parenting really is hard work, though. I feel it in my bones. Raising seven kids like Mum and Dad did is proper madness. Our Rose has been particularly cheeky lately—when I'm at home, it feels like I'm getting nagged by two Hermiones."

"Oh, Rose is a lovely girl! She takes wonderful care of Hugo."

"Hugo's just too terrified of his older sister to disobey her."

Recalling Hermione in our school days, I pictured Rose—who looked just like Hermione if her bushy brown hair were dyed red—and nodded in agreement. Strange. To think I could recall school-age Hermione so easily. And Ron, too, of course.

"So, Harry. What was actually troubling you? Was it really about raising the kids?"

"────"

Suddenly, under their gazes, the words caught in my throat. An unsettling wrongness that shouldn't exist. A question Harry Potter should never have to ask. My heart gave a sickening, painful thud.

Where... are my children?

"...No. No, it's not that. I'm—"

I lowered my head, unconsciously smoothing my forehead. It was smooth—no scar—and strands of red hair tangled between my fingers.

"I have to do... something terribly important. Something only I can do. I must be fully prepared. Only I can do this. And yet... I am lacking."

We had always walked this path together, the three of us. Harry Potter, lauded as a hero. The champion of righteousness who vanquished Voldemort single-handedly. The hope of the Wizarding World. The tragic boy who fought alone in solitude. —Nonsense. I always had the best friends by my side.

"I lack knowledge. I lack power. I lack ingenuity. When all is said and done, I am forever inadequate."

I didn't stand alone. I didn't wave my wand alone. A heroic tale cannot be written alone. The story of Harry Potter could never be brought to a close by one person.

"I need your help."

Unable to clearly recall the faces of my family—and clinging to my partners to flee from a truth I didn't want to admit—I pleaded with them. The two exchanged a knowing glance, then gave me mischievous, childlike smirks.

"Ah, blimey. And here I thought you were finally crying out for us to run away with you. —We were all ready to scoop you up and bolt, you know."

"As if Harry would ever ask for that. Honestly, that’s what makes our best friend so infuriatingly himself."

The faces I loved chuckled together. There was no blame in their eyes. No pity. —Nor did they look down on me. Because Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger understood and loved Harry Potter for exactly who he was.

"So you choose that path, don't you, Harry?"

"To be blunt mate, that choice is going to be bloody brutal. Honestly, it feels a bit heartless, too."

I was struck speechless by those blue and brown eyes that sounded accusatory on the surface, yet forgave everything underneath. The ones who understood Harry Potter were always the hardest on him. Ron would affirm, Hermione would deny. That was how the unshakeable foundation of their trio stood firm. Ron’s offer to flee together had been utterly sincere—and Hermione’s belief that Harry wouldn't do so was equally genuine. Ah... I will surely regret this choice one day. But that's alright. That's fine. Because it is the proof that I cast aside the friends I hold most dear.

"So, what is it you need us to do?"

"Shall we head to the Library right now and raid every last book in the Restricted Section? I'll leave the deciphering to you, honey."

"Could you please not announce that you're dumping all the work on me right from the start, darling?"

Seeing them joke around as if it were just another ordinary day, I let out a deep breath. Calming my nerves, I revealed my plan to my best friends, who waited with expectant eyes.

"—So, in short, you want to adapt Dumbledore's spellwork."

Hermione, who had initially been tapping the cover of her closed book with childlike curiosity, now had perplexity etched between her brows. Her reaction was entirely natural. Even I knew I was asking for the impossible. Ron, who had been listening with half an ear, closed his eyes while shuffling the pieces back onto the chessboard. He had the look of someone who knew Hermione was about to tear my argument down with flawless logic.

"Harry, do you understand? That's practically equivalent to inventing a spell from scratch. And on top of that, you don't just want one. You want multiple ones simultaneously. Frankly speaking, maintaining such complex magic concurrently until your business is done... I can't see how anyone could have enough magical power for that. The only ones who could manage something like that would be... Dumbledore or Professor Snape. And those great masters are no longer with us."

It was pure, unadulterated logic. Which was why it stung so much. Left with no room to counter, I could only fall silent before the brilliant girl's reasoning. In that case—the next one to speak would be my other best friend.

"But it’s not completely impossible, is it? For now, let’s tackle them one by one. Er—the Age Line, was it? Surely the Minister for Magic wouldn't be inferior in knowledge to someone from the past... especially not you."

Ron flicked the squawking Knight with his finger and made a move. At her husband’s unhesitating assertion, Hermione’s ears slowly flushed red. We were being shown off to. A quick ahem from Mrs. Weasley to hide her embarrassment made Ron’s lanky frame shake with suppressed laughter. His fingers settled on a new piece.

"...Very well. At any rate, let's figure out a method starting with what we can do. Fortunately—we have plenty of time."

True to Hermione's words, time flowed leisurely in the common room after that. Ron continued to glare at the chessboard, while Hermione swapped book after book, filling parchment with ink like a dedicated researcher. As Hermione scribbled away with her quill, muttering "not like this, nor like that," and Ron pondered over his pieces, the two seemed in complete harmony despite their polar opposite attitudes. Watching my best friends in their familiar routines, I counted the crackles of the burning logs by ear alone. If only this time could last forever— I couldn't help but wish.

Clatter. The Black King fell, leaving only white pieces on the board. The man who had just delivered checkmate muttered:

"I was just thinking... doesn't this all boil down to combining them into one? Can't you do that, Hermione?"

The busily moving quill was placed down on the desk. Hermione's brown eyes widened with unshakeable anticipation as she stared at her husband.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, the main snag is that Harry’s body might not withstand casting multiple spells at once, right? So—the Age Line, the Extension Charm, the Shield Charms—we fuse all of them together and recreate it as a brand-new, single spell."

Silence. The quiet gap was stupidly shattered by a particularly loud crackle from the hearth. An orange glow cast heat across Ron’s right cheek, sharply highlighting his indescribable expression in light and shadow.

"...Er, did I just say something completely absurd?"

"Yes, absolutely insane. An utterly foolish, brainless idea. —And yet, your strokes of brilliance really are genius!"

Jolted by the impact, the quill flew into the air as Hermione slammed her hands on the desk and stood up. The ink-stained nib dropped onto the parchment, leaving a messy blot. But her eyes didn't even notice it. It was no longer needed.

"Alright, let's go with that! Leave it to me, Harry. I will definitely make this work!"

Her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, the brilliant witch bolted out of the common room. Her destination was obvious. Whenever she ran down the corridor with her face flushed with thirst for knowledge, there could only be one goal. —The Library. The men left behind stood stunned, enveloped once more by the fire's crackling snaps that sounded like silly nods of agreement.

"...You know, you're actually surprisingly suited to being a strategist."

"Is that really a compliment?"

When Hermione returned clutching as many reference materials as she could physically carry, her unyielding, crash-course spartan training began. It was an energetic time that brought back memories of preparing for the Triwizard Tournament or training with Dumbledore’s Army. There was no way it couldn't be fun. Three middle-aged friends gathered together, making merry like kids again despite their age.

"No, Harry. The wand movement goes like this. You're already working under the handicap of wandless magic, so if you fail, that skinny body of yours won't stand a chance!"

"You really have turned into a skin-and-bones little runt, haven't you, mate? If Ginny saw you like this, she'd go mad gathering every bit of food in the house to force-feed you. After all that—well, whatever."

Suddenly, Ron looked up at the wall clock. Without noticing, both the long and short hands were aligning straight up toward midnight. Huh... was that clock even ticking before?

"—It's almost time, isn't it? You have to wake up now, Harry. There's someone waiting for you."

"────"

This is the final touch. Tilting her chin up with proud confidence, Hermione flicked her wand. Incantations spoken in crisp fragments traced glowing circles toward the cabinet. The light fell to the ground, etching pattern-like symbols. Her signature Runes carved themselves into the floor.

"Watch closely. See how easy it is? —Though I suppose my bluffing is transparent, isn't it?"

Connecting the symbols, shrinking them down, and reshaping them into a single line marked the success of our newly invented spell. Dispelling the magic with a single wave of her wand, Hermione smiled with a face that looked almost ready to burst into tears. But she didn't cry. It was a magic I could never have brought to fruition on my own. It was a spell completed only because Ron and Hermione were here. —From here on out, I had to bring it into reality entirely alone.

"Thank you, Ron. Hermione."

"You're very welcome."

"Anytime, mate."

Arms far larger than those of the familiar Ron and Hermione wrapped around me together, pulling my fragile, slender body into a tight hug. It was unchanged—yet so deeply different.

"Just answer me one thing. Is all of this... happening inside my head?"

Ron and Hermione answered, their unwavering affection clouded just a touch by a tinge of loneliness.

"Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry."

The clock struck, signaling that time was up. I longed for them. I missed them so terribly. I loved them. I felt as though I would regret this. Regret the choice I made. Regret abandoning this place. I felt as though I might hesitate. I wanted to stay suspended in this warm dream forever and ever, just the three of us. I wanted to run away. To slumber and close my eyes. Because if I asked for it, the two of them would undoubtedly reach out and take my hand. —That was precisely why I chose.

The adult Hermione pressed her cheek against mine. The adult Ron pulled my shoulder close and tousled my hair into a mess. Hermione glared at him sharply before giving up and laughing. My dearest friends. The people I loved most. The ones Harry Potter could never do without. After sharing a long, warm embrace, their hands pulled away.

"Still, it's frustrating. It really is. Inside your head is the only place where we can do anything for you. Draco's stolen our role, hasn't he? Knowing him—he must be laughing his head off, saying 'Serves you right.'"

"And the fact that I can picture his face so easily makes it even more infuriating."

Seeing Ron curse with the smirk of a mischievous rascal despite being a grown adult, I laughed with my mouth wide open like a child. A breeze blew in from the entrance of the common room. The door stood open.

"Please... take care of Ginny—and my children."

"We will." "Leave it to us, mate."

I stepped forward. Waking up. The first thing I would see would surely be that dim, dead-end ceiling. And then... that bastard's infuriating face.

"Well then... goodbye, my best friends."

""Goodbye, Harry, our best friend.""

Waving with the casual air of seeing each other again tomorrow, I turned my back on that beloved warmth. I heard their voices. So I ran forward without looking back, narrowing my eyes against the cold, bleak light.

—The red hair suits you terribly well, too.

—And so do the hazel eyes, mate.

Farewell, Maria (Harry).