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There are people pulling at him, trying to get him to sit down and get looked over, but he doesn’t want to. It’s been a long couple of nights at the Ministry, and he just wants to go home, to the two most important people in his world. They’ve always been the two most important, and if the Healers can’t see that he just needs to be home right now, then so help him he’ll curse them until they leave him alone.
Harry breaks away from them; grunting as he slips through someone’s fingers and heads toward the exits. He’s too lightheaded to Apparate, but if he could just get to a fireplace, he’d be fine. He turns another corner when –
“Potter!” There’s a Healer waiting for him, eyes wide. “Mister Potter, sir, if you please come with me,”
“Look,” Harry says, running a hand through his hair. It’s longer than ever, and is falling out of the elastic he had pulled it back with hours ago. “I’m fine, I promise, okay? Everyone saw the fight go down - nobody on our side was badly hurt. I wasn’t hit by anything at all.” The Healer looks dubious, but he doesn’t give up, instead resorting to begging. “Please,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just want to go home. This was a really hard case for me.”
The Healer finally nods and steps aside. Harry smiles at her gratefully, and she gives him a conspiratorial “I'll hold them off,” before leaving.
Truth to be told, this had been a hard case for him. Nobody was hurt, but he was running on such little sleep that everything made him jump. Old battle reflexes, he guessed. Some poor young Improper Use of Magic Office intern had compared the wizard they were chasing to a Death Eater the other night, and Harry had nearly snapped. This was not a real Death Eater. Nothing could compare to a real Death Eater.
Today, though, when Harry and the other Aurors had been thrown right into the heat of the battle, he could see the resemblance. The flashing green lights, the bangs from a spell hitting its target – he’s been there before, on a much larger scale.
He just wanted to go home.
He makes it to a fireplace and grabs the Floo Powder, stepping inside like his life depended on it.
The moment he lands, he feels better. The soft light of the house the three of them share envelopes him, and he steps out, rubbing soot from his eyes. It’s well into the night already, but the house still manages to smell like freshly baked bread. Harry makes his way into the living room, his heart warming at the sight that greets him.
There’s a worn red armchair in the center of the room, bathed in calm yellow light from the reading lamp next to it. In it, two people sit, curled into each other. Ron’s arms are wrapped around Hermione, holding her upright as she dozes off on his shoulder. Her arms are wrapped loosely around Ron’s waist, and she’s practically sitting in his lap, her legs dangling off one armrest. As Harry watches, Ron brushes a stray strand of frizzy hair off her face, tucking it back into the ponytail holder with the utmost care.
Harry steps forward and the floorboards creak, announcing his presence. Ron looks up immediately, and gives Harry a lazy, soft smile. He untangles one of his arms and holds his hand out to Harry, who takes it and laces their fingers together.
“How did it go?” Ron whispers up at him. “Is it over, or are you only stopping by? We - ” Ron breaks off and sits up straighter. “Shit,” he curses loudly, “you’re bleeding.”
Harry brings up the hand that isn’t holding Ron’s to his forehead, and is only mildly shocked when his fingers come back red. “Oh, yeah. Might be in a couple of other places too, but I’m not hurt badly.”
Ron still looks upset, and between them, Hermione wakes, having been dislodged from her position due to Ron’s sudden movements. “What’s going on?” She takes in Harry’s state and is up immediately, all business. She cups Harry’s face in her hands, fingers light and careful. “What happened?”
Ron stands as well and together they lower Harry down into the warm chair. It still smells like them, and Harry’s eyes start to close against his will. He’s so tired.
“Ron, go get some rags and soak them in water,” Hermione says, and Ron nods mutely, disappearing back into the kitchen. Harry inwardly praises Hermione’s tact. She could have easily washed his face off with magic, but Ron was always the worrier and Hermione the doer, so giving him something to do away from the blood was a stroke of pure genius.
“You’re a genius,” Harry mumbles, eyes sliding open to look at her again. She just smiles, using her free hand to hold one of his and she kneels in front of him, wand drawn. “’S not that bad,” he slurs.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” she says softly, rubbing circles into his palm with her thumb. She performs a few diagnostic spells, and Harry notices that the corners of her mouth are turned down in worry despite her easy demeanor. Harry leans forward and kisses her on the forehead, his hand coming up to hold the back of her head.
“I’m fine,” he whispers.
Hermione glances at her wand. “Looks like you are.” She stands, and Harry misses the warmth of her hand immensely. She makes towards the kitchen, and catches Ron in the doorway.
“How is he?” Ron asks, voice strained. The rag in his hands drips onto the floor.
“He’s fine. Just banged up a bit, and tired.” Hermione grabs Ron’s arms in her hands, looking up at him. “Are you okay?”
“I – yeah.”
Hermione’s hands slide up Ron’s arms until she’s hugging him, and they stand like that for a moment, clinging to each other. If Hermione noticed the wet rag soaking through the back of her shirt, she doesn’t say anything.
Harry loves watching them like this, so intimate. It’s so different from the early half bickering half flirting they did at Hogwarts, and it makes him happy to see how age has changed that. Watching them together is one of his favorite pastimes. They laugh whenever he brings it up, but he knows they each feel the same about him and the other.
Finally, Hermione leans up, pressing her lips to Ron’s for a brief instant. “Let’s go.” The two of them turn back towards Harry, Ron’s hand on Hermione’s back, and they both sit in front of him, finally looking less worried.
Ron cleans off Harry’s face, running careful thumbs over the bridge of his nose and the shape of his lips. Harry leans into it, enjoying the sensation. Ron also had the good foresight to bring bruise salve, and that, combined with a few of Hermione’s careful spells, is enough to make Harry feel whole again.
They help him stand, Hermione running nails down his back and Ron placing his hand on Harry’s shoulder, warm and comforting. Harry moves away from them and takes a few steps towards the stairs, stopping when he realizes they aren’t following. He turns, eyebrows raised in question.
“You need to get some sleep, Harry. We’ll be up a little while.” Hermione smiles at him, caring and understanding.
Harry's throat constricts. That’s not right. He needs them. “Can you guys come up now? Please?” Embarrassed by how desperate he sounds, he tries to backpedal. “You were already half asleep when I came here, Hermione.”
He doesn’t fool them. They just nod and walk on either side of him, bumping shoulders throughout the thin staircase. They make it to the bedroom, and Hermione helps him out of his robes and into pajamas, while Ron pulls back the covers, humming something under his breath that reminds Harry of lazy days at the Burrow. Harry falls into the middle of the bed, feeling at ease for the first time in days. It’s weird. At work, he’s still Harry Potter, hero of the Wizarding World, someone so tough and strong. Here, he feels much smaller. It’s a feeling he enjoys.
Hermione climbs in to the left of him, lying almost on her front, draping an arm over Harry’s stomach and using his chest as a pillow. He brings up an arm, curling it protectively around her upper back.
Ron slides in on his other side, and three pairs of legs tangle together. He lies on his side, one arm above his head, shielding Harry from whatever his brain might conjure up. “Is tonight going to be a rough night?” Ron asks. He knows. They always know.
“Maybe,” Harry says. His eyes finally close.
“Either way, we’ll be right here,” Ron answers. They always are. Harry can feel his breath against his check as Ron presses his lips to his temple, staying close even after the kiss is over. He presses his nose into Harry's neck.
Harry can feel Ron's other arm come to rest on his middle. Ron wriggles around for a second until he finds Hermione's hand, intertwining their fingers.
With Hermione’s heartbeat on his right side and Ron’s breath on his left, Harry drifts off to sleep, finally feeling at home.