The following day, they repeated the process, and Harry was one step closer to returning back to normal—a semblance of normalcy, at least. Nagini was no more.
Thankfully, there weren't any surprises, and everything went like before. It was even easier for Harry, knowing about the mental manipulations the soul piece would try to save itself.
"So, what's the plan?" Sirius asked, and Harry raised a tired eyebrow.
They were back in Greece, so Harry could enjoy some of that traditional cool coffee.
The place they were in was tucked along a narrow street in Athens, so the view wasn't that great, and the air reeked of cigarette smoke. Despite that, Harry found himself oddly enjoying the atmosphere.
"I'll just go ahead and tell him what will happen," he said with a shrug.
Sirius was staring at him, gobsmacked, but Harry couldn't bring himself to care. He was so tired of everything. He just wanted it all to end, and whether it'd be him or Tom under the earth in the end… well, that was of little consequence.
He looked at Fleur, who was doing her utmost best to take another sip from the coffee she got, a Fredo Espresso like Harry.
'Perhaps not of such little concequence,' he thought, a tiny smile gracing his lips.
Her eyes were still red from crying, a habit that had become customary during the nights.
"Mhm. I doubt he'll stay on the defensive when I tell him what's going to happen to both of us if we don't try to kill each other. I'll even give him Herpo's text for proof, though I doubt he'll need it. He probably knows by now what's happening, too," Harry said quietly and then tried to listen to the folk songs coming from a radio that hummed softly in the corner.
Fleur stopped her attempts and grabbed Harry's hand, intertwining their fingers.
"How sure are we that this plan of yours will work?" she asked. Harry felt her hand trembling slightly in his hold.
"Voldemort is smart; he'll know that the sooner he acts, the more in control of his magic he'll be. He also can't guarantee that I won't go into hiding and kill us both. I'll give him a place, and he'll come. He could try doing something underhanded, but if he's any confident in himself—like I believe him to be—he'll choose not to, hoping to kill me and continue the charade with Dumbledore as long as he can."
Harry's companions had nothing more to say.
Today was Monday, and by the next day, their lives could be changed forever. Whether that'd be for the better or worse was uncertain.
Harry flashed into what was supposed to be his dormitory this year and took a look around.
Seamus and Dean were in the shared bathroom, while Neville was just getting up.
"Oh, hey, Harry," he said casually, as if Harry suddenly appearing out of thin air was the most normal thing in the world.
"Good morning, Nev," he replied with a smile. "What's our first class?"
Neville looked at him incredulously. "Did you remember that you have classes too?"
Harry rolled his eyes.
"Come on, Nev. You know, I have some important stuff to take care of. And if you and Hermione need to know, I took and passed all of my O.W.L. exams," he said while helping his friend get up.
"Hermione is going to be so jealous," Neville said, and he couldn't help but laugh.
"You've grown taller," Harry couldn't help but comment as Neville stood straight. He wasn't as tall as him yet, but Harry was sure that he'd reach, if not surpass, him one day.
Neville quickly threw some clothes on and went to the bathroom.
Harry watched him disappear and then turned toward the door leading out to the Gryffindor common room.
He paused on the threshold, his hand brushing the familiar wood of the doorframe.
So many nights spent here—planning, worrying, laughing, grieving. This room had seen it all. And somehow, even after everything that had happened, Hogwarts still stood. Still carried on as if Britain wasn't on the brink of destruction. Places were magical like that.
He leaned his head back, eyes tracing the cracks in the ceiling. "Feels like a lifetime ago," he murmured.
When he stepped out, the room welcomed him with a strange mixture of warmth and emptiness.
The common room hadn't changed at all.
It still had the same deep-red armchairs gathered around the fire, the same scarlet-and-gold tapestries hanging slightly crooked on the walls, the same round windows that let in the pale morning light. Dust motes drifted through the air, catching the sunbeams like golden snow.
A few early risers sat scattered about, whispering over homework or laughing quietly about something trivial. If Oliver Wood were still in school, he'd definitely be amongst the few in the room, sitting quietly in some seat and thinking up new Quidditch strategies.
His eye caught a pair of first-years arguing over a chessboard near the corner, and the sight tugged unexpectedly at his chest.
For a moment, Harry imagined another figure sitting there—leaning forward, smirking in triumph as a knight smashed into its opponent.
Ron's laugh echoed faintly in his mind, too vivid, too real. The grin that always came before he realised he was about to win. The boasting that followed, Hermione's exasperated groan, and Harry's helpless laughter at them both.
But now the board was empty of that. There was no laughter and no red hair.
Then Harry shook his head, straightened his robes, and headed for the portrait hole, taking a glance at the room that had once been their world. It could very well be the last time he saw it.
'I guess I'll see Hermione over the breakfast table,' he thought. 'Thankfully, no one noticed my presence—except Neville, of course.'
He continued walking through the empty halls, a smile on his lips.
'I wonder if I can still make them feel awkward about being a couple.'
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Chapter 131: It's Finally Over