Who: Harry & Ginny Where: the Leaky Cauldron room What: Wondering how to get home When: Evening Rating: Warning for cute COMPLETE
Harry stood on the balcony, his arms resting on the frail iron railing, looking out at the Diagon Alley side. It was hardly a balcony, barely enough room for one or two people, little more than a space between the window and the rail, but it was nice to have some fresh evening air in his face. It helped clear his head, which still even three weeks after the injury had a tendency to cloud easily.
At least he now had his wand, and all his other things. He was wearing his Auror's robes - he had flatly refused to let Ron waste any of their funds on a new wardrobe for him when his robes were perfectly subtle enough - in wizarding circles, anyway - once he had carefully removed the Auror's shield so that he was left with a simple black robe similar to his old Hogwarts one. The trousers and shirt he had worn underneath should not attract much attention, either. And after all, he had already swallowed the change of name Hermione had pushed on him, and the fact that they were all hiding away in the now cramped room.
It was not so much being in hiding that he disliked. It was not as though he hadn't been there before, but at least last time he had been doing something. Sometimes it had felt as though they weren't getting anywhere, and there had been more moments of hopelessness than he could have counted, but there had always been some plan, some goal, even if it was just the ultimate goal of somehow defeating Voldemort. Here and now there was no plan, for all Hermione's assurances that they would figure out a way to return, and even less chance of carrying out any plan they might come up with, and it chafed at him uncomfortably.
It was very well for Hermione to say they would eventually find a way. Eventually, in Harry's opinion was not good enough. They all had families to return to, people who would miss them, and it still wasn't clear just how many had come through time with them. He wondered often about Neville, especially, who he was sure would have found a way to contact them if he was able, by now, and he had certainly been in the room, on the other side of Harry to Ron. Luna, he thought, had been there too, not to mention Kingsley and half the other Weasleys. He still didn't remember well the event itself, but he remembered that much, after days of piecing it together from his jostled memory.
Harry himself did not have as much to return to as the others, it was true. His friends were here with him, after all. But there was his Godson to think of. It made his heart sink when he thought that he had skipped his last weekend visit with Teddy due to the increased press coverage of the executions. He hadn't wanted to subject the three year old boy to his constant gang of paparazzi followers, and Andromeda had agreed, but now he regretted it more than anything.
It was summer, but there was a chill in the air of an evening, and his lips and ears felt ruddy with cold. He rubbed them briefly and leaned over the small railing to see the people in Diagon Alley below, hurrying to finish their late shopping and return to the safety of their homes.