Harry lies in utter silence in his infirmary bed, staring into space. He wears his usual pyjamas, and he has two quilts drawn over him - despite this, he continues to shiver violently at the slightest of breezes, and he's aware that everything Madam Pomfrey has given him so far has probably had a heavy dose of Calming Draught in it. He'd stayed overnight in the infirmary after he'd dragged himself out of the Chamber of Secrets, and now that morning has come, Dumbledore has come to speak with him.

"Do you think we can talk, Harry?" Dumbledore asks.

"Mr Potter," Harry corrects him sharply, and he sees the disappointment on the old man's face, but he doesn't apologize. Dumbledore sits slowly in the chair beside Harry's bed, and Harry breathes in slowly as he carefully closes the curtains around Harry's bed. "Is it dead?"

"We believe the basilisk has fled into the Forbidden Forest," Dumbledore answers quietly, "Its eyes were completely destroyed, so it may die of its wounds soon enough. I'm afraid Dobby, the house elf, died during the encounter." Dumbledore phrases it so delicately. Encounter.

"He wasn't supposed to be there," Harry says. "He said- he's been-"

"During the summer," Dumbledore begins, "Dobby's master put a dark magical artefact in the hands of one of our first year students, with the intention that its effects be felt through Hogwarts. It was Dobby who caused the chaos at King's Cross station this year, in disenchanting the wall between platforms nine and ten. Inadvertently, he ensured that the diary was found, as each of the school trunks had to be brought to Hogwarts in smaller batches.

Not realizing this, it was Dobby who pulled you from the stairs in December. He believed that, were you injured sufficiently, you might be sent home. Professor Snape recognized his name when you mentioned it to him, and I managed to catch him aside the next time he attempted to hospitalize you, explaining that the artefact had been confiscated."

"But when you sent word that the Chamber of Secrets had been discovered to the governors, he heard," Harry says. "He knew. He didn't need to- He shouldn't have-" It plays again and again in Harry's mind, the sick, sharp noise of the elf's bones shattering under the teeth of the basilisk. It's not the same as seeing Quirrell burning under his hands: it plays over and over again in his mind, wrenching him with guilt upon guilt. Quirrell would have killed him, was harbouring Voldemort, but Dobby was trying to help him, just wanted to keep Harry safe. Harry didn't even know him. "Who was his master?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that, Mr Potter," Dumbledore says delicately, and Harry shifts under his bedsheets, pulling them more tightly around himself. There's a long silence, and Harry closes his eyes tightly, doing his best to ignore the headmaster beside him. He can't sleep - it's only five o'clock in the afteroon, despite Harry's utter exhaustion, and so he just lies there, eyes closed, body stiff.

"Open your eyes, Potter," Snape orders after an indeterminate amount of time, and he looks up, wondering what the Hell Snape is goign to say to him, but then he realizes he'd brought Hermione. She pulls the armchair close to the bed, sitting beside Harry, and without saying another word, Snape leaves the room. Harry's not going to talk back to him for a month. Harry's going to send him a bouquet of flowers. Harry has never felt as much gratitude for his head of house as he does in this moment.

He lies in silence for the longest time as Hermione looks down at him, her brown eyes full of tears, and there's another aching twinge in his belly. "Don't cry," Harry says, "I'm fine."

"You're as pale as parchment," Hermione retorts. "You're obviously not." Hermione scoots further forwards, and then she climbs onto the bed beside him, shoving him half a foot to the side and getting under the covers with him, but he doesn't mind. Harry sits up with her, leaning against the pillows, and they lie back against the wall for a while, shoulder to shoulder. "What happened?"

"Well," Harry says slowly, "Ginny caught me in the hall this morning..." He talks for what seems like hours, letting word upon word tumble clumsily out of his chapped lips, and Hermione just listens, sitting there next to him in bed - is this what having a sister feels like, Harry wonders? He knows that she's there, that she wouldn't dare leave him be right now, and gratitude surges through him as he just keeps talking and talking, until he's so exhausted he can't say anything more.

And then they just sit there in silence again, until Harry feels himself falling asleep against Hermione's shoulder.

---

The Hogwarts Express moves slowly out of Hogsmeade station, and Harry sits in silence as he waits for Hermione to come back from the bathroom. He'd changed into Muggle clothes that morning, not bothering to wear his Hogwarts robes for the carriage ride down to the station, but Hermione had worn them for propriety's sake.

Perching on her cage beside him, Hedwig leans in, and Harry lets her rub her head against his own, leaning into the touch. On Hermione's seat is a discarded copy of the Daily Prophet, displaying photographs of Lindon Sartorius and Cecilia Hayworth standing before the statue of Salazar Slytherin in the Chamber of Secrets.

Once the basilisk had fled the Chamber of Secrets, Dumbledore and McGonagall had sealed the pipeline it had used to flee into the forest, and with the basilisk gone, the historians had been free to explore the hall's depths at will. Thirty or so different academics had come to study the Chamber in the past few months, but Harry had felt no satisfaction at finding it. He'd felt even less when Lindon had insisted he take a three hundred Galleon reward for his assistance, though it had given him some small comfort to see Ginny Weasley's utter shock and delight when Lindon had presented her with a similar prize.

"Stop thinking about it," Hermione says as she comes into the carriage again, robes replaced with a blouse and a pair of jeans.

"I wish I could," Harry admits. "How long do you think his stint in Azkaban will be?"

"I don't know," Hermione says quietly, reaching out and petting Hedwig gently. "All those people that came forward and said that Lockhart had wiped people's memories..." She shakes her head, sitting across from him and frowning deeply. Lockhart's trial had started a few weeks ago, and Harry had testified against him in May, but details of his crimes had appearing in the Prophet since, each worse than the last.

"How many lives do you think he stole?" Harry asks, feeling sick at the very thought. "How many memories did he just wipe away?" He's going to be sentenced soon, Harry knows, and it can't come soon enough. Hermione looks at him, frowning so deeply that a little line appears on her forehead.

"Tell me what's in that parcel," Hermione says, changing the subject, and Harry looks down at the brown-paper wrapped package in his lap. It had come this morning, delivered by two eagle owls, and he strokes absent-mindedly over its wrapping.

"It's a tent," he answers, and she frowns at him. "A magical tent. Bedroom, bathroom, kitchen. Dumbledore won't let me leave the Dursleys, but I don't have to actually spend any time with them." Hermione gives a nod of her head, obviously approving of the idea, and Harry reaches up and into his trunk, pulling out an exploding snap set. He puts the tent in the corner, and the both of them sit cross-legged on the floor, setting out the cards between them. Harry had offered for Neville to come and sit in their carriage, but apparently Seamus, Ron and Dean needed a fourth player for some boardgame, and Neville was heading back to London with them.

After a little while, he asks in a conversational tone, "So, what do you think will go wrong next year?"

"Maybe you'll only get an A in Defence."

"Don't be unrealistic," Harry retorts, and Hermione begins to laugh. They laugh together, and Harry relaxes into it, embraces it. They're just two kids, taking the long way home, and until they reach King's Cross station, they can be completely and utterly normal for a while. Maybe they'll even put a record on.

He's going to embrace normality while it lasts.