The one who said the war would end with Voldemort's death was a fucking idiot. His death merely marked the end of one phase and the beginning of another, even worse one. Harika had been very naïve to think that everything would improve, but the truth was that it didn't.
As soon as Voldemort turned to ashes and they managed to capture several Death Eaters alive to be brought to justice, the only thing she could do—because she had nothing else to do—was to look back at the castle. Her first home, destroyed. She gazed at the black columns of smoke, the broken walls, the injured people crying in both pain and joy. She wasn't particularly happy, despite having killed the murderer of her parents. When she entered the Great Hall and saw the line of bodies laid one after another, waiting to be tended to, her stomach turned, and a lump formed in her throat. For a moment, she had forgotten.
She walked slowly to where Fred, Remus, and Tonks lay, but on the way, she saw the corpses of other friends and acquaintances she hadn't noticed before, like Colin or Lavender. She stood there, frozen like a statue, her heart breaking all over again. She had to turn away to keep from vomiting or bursting into tears. She saw Mrs. Weasley silently crying beside Fred, holding his cold hand in hers while stroking his hair. And George... She would never forget his vacant expression, as though he weren't really there, as though he had died as well.
Harika had the bittersweet fortune of having lost her parents very young, of not having siblings, and of having known Sirius relatively little. She couldn't imagine what it would have been like to lose any of them if she had known them her whole life. It was simply unthinkable. For the first time, she felt like a stranger, surrounded by the Weasley family. Unlike her, Hermione didn't seem out of place, clinging tightly to Ron while Harika stood just behind the grieving family. She swallowed hard, turned around, and searched for a bathroom that was as intact as possible.
Only when she locked herself in a somewhat broken stall, behind a silencing charm, did she break down crying. She was overwhelmed. She cried for Dumbledore's manipulation and betrayal, for the dead children who had given their lives instead of being saved by the adults, for Fred who would never make her laugh again, for Remus and Tonks who had left behind their newborn son… She sobbed as she remembered her own near-death and how she had truly believed she was going to die.
In the days following that fateful day, the funerals began. Harika attended them all alongside the others, even though she was still emotionally drained. When Fred was finally buried, she realized she needed to let the family mourn him alone, so both Hermione and she disappeared for a few days to give them space. They went to Grimmauld Place, despite not being particularly eager, as it was the only place available.
"I prefer this to spending another night in that tent," she told Hermione. "If I have to step foot in that tent again, I'll go insane."
"I know, me too. We should start cleaning this place again," Hermione said with a sigh, gesturing to the Black family home. "I wouldn't want to stumble across any surprises."
And so, they began cleaning everything, this time using magic, to distract themselves. They both knew it was only temporary since Grimmauld Place wasn't very spacious. Hermione, quieter than usual, spent the idle moments lost in thought, while Harika tried not to think about anything. But the truth was, she had things she needed to think about.
A few weeks later, she received a letter from Gringotts. She had to enlist the help of Andromeda and Kingsley Shacklebolt to face them. As expected, the goblins weren't pleased.
"As you can understand, Miss Potter, we at least expect an explanation after you stole a dragon and destroyed half the bank," hissed a goblin she had never seen before. "We demand compensation for the damages!"
"It wouldn't have been necessary if Griphook hadn't betrayed us," she explained, calmer than she had expected to be. After the year and a half she'd had… the anger of a goblin was the least of her worries. "The deal was that I gave him the Sword of Gryffindor in exchange for the cup that was in the Lestrange vault. He didn't fully keep his end of the deal, so we had to do what we thought was necessary."
The goblin silently regarded her over his tiny glass spectacles. He looked very irritated and angry but also somewhat intrigued upon hearing her explanation. He raised an eyebrow before speaking again. Andromeda and Kingsley remained silent, ready to intervene only if needed.
"...Why did you want that cup?"
"It was a Horcrux of Voldemort."
Andromeda gasped in surprise, while the goblin recoiled with a disgusted expression. Kingsley, meanwhile, seemed not to know what she was talking about. She felt a pang of envy for his ignorance, to be honest.
"I see."
"I hope that, knowing this, Gringotts will be more... understanding," Andromeda said indignantly, her voice heated. "After all, if it were revealed what Gringotts has been safeguarding all this time, the bank's reputation wouldn't look so good."
And so, Harika narrowly escaped unscathed. It was clear Gringotts didn't want it known what they had been protecting there for so long without realizing it, but at the same time, they couldn't let what had happened go unpunished. After several minutes of discussion, they agreed that Harika would withdraw everything that belonged to her within a week. She didn't mind. The gold in Gringotts wasn't invested in anything, so it wasn't generating income. She didn't care whether it stayed there or was removed.
She had 90% of her fortune, left by her parents and Sirius, converted into gold and silver bars for easier transportation. She also emptied Sirius's vault of all the books and other items she hadn't yet examined, even though years had passed since his death. On the advice of her companions, she purchased a bottomless satchel-style bag and a purse, both enchanted with every possible spell and charm—some of them illegal, on Andromeda's recommendation. After all, she was carrying her entire fortune. The last thing she wanted was to have it stolen.
That wasn't the last time she went back to Gringotts. Many people, deeply grateful for her killing Voldemort, sent her considerable sums of money and even other valuable items. Every few days, she received a letter from Gringotts to accept the gifts or inheritances within the one-week deadline they had agreed upon. She gave a good portion of the money to Andromeda, for Teddy, and to Hogwarts so they could repair the castle as soon as possible, but she kept what wasn't money. When McGonagall stopped accepting her donations, she kept the gold. With the inheritance from her parents and Sirius, she wouldn't need to work in her lifetime—or the next—if she spent the money wisely.
Still, once the Gringotts matters were settled, she was left with nothing but the tense monotony at Grimmauld Place. June arrived, bringing the news that Hogwarts' full restoration was expected by late August and that, if she wished, she could return to the castle to resume her studies. Hermione smiled, reminding her of her pre-war self as she read the letter.
"I'm glad Hogwarts will be back on its feet so quickly."
"Yeah…"
"Harika? What's wrong?"
"I don't know if I can set foot in Hogwarts again, Hermione," she admitted, swallowing the tears stuck in her throat. "Not after everything that happened there."
Hermione said nothing. She simply nodded. Her friend had fought beside her and had lost friends too, but she hadn't died on Hogwarts grounds. She hadn't seen Dumbledore's memory talking about her death as if it were a mere formality, something he had planned for years. She hadn't walked through the forest knowing she'd never see her loved ones again. She hadn't woken up feeling broken because she hadn't died. Sometimes, she envied Hermione's resolve. Even now, they both knew she would return to Hogwarts to properly finish her final year.
"You're going back to Hogwarts, aren't you?"
"Yes, but first I want to find my parents," Hermione confessed.
"Do you want me to help you?"
"…Ron offered," Hermione said, her expression somewhat guilty.
Harika blinked, realizing Hermione wanted to go with Ron, not her. It didn't surprise her. After so many years, they had finally taken the next step in their relationship. She understood their need to be together, alone, especially after the awful year they spent in a magical tent. Still, that didn't mean it didn't sting a little to hear it. The silence stretched too long. Hermione seemed to realize she wasn't very happy about what she'd just said because she started making excuses, but Harika didn't want her to invite her out of pity.
"You can come if you want. I just thought we could use some distance after—"
"Hermione," she interrupted, her voice sharper and more authoritative than she intended, "it's fine."
Hermione looked like she wanted to say something else, biting her lip, but once she saw Harika's determined expression, she gave up. Three days later, Hermione and Ron left for Australia after promising to contact her if anything happened or if they needed help. Harika, sinking into a depressive stupor, couldn't have cared less. In those three days, she realized life was moving on and that Hermione and Ron now had a life together where she didn't fit. She wasn't jealous because she loved them both as her best friends, but she felt… lonely. She felt a hole inside her she didn't know how to fill.
She spent her days cleaning the house until it was spotless. She made repairs with her magic, organized the rooms… but every now and then, she had to stop to cry. It was a depressive cycle she couldn't seem to break until one day Ginny showed up and dragged her to the Burrow.
"It's not good for you to spend so much time alone in there," Mrs. Weasley said.
Part of her was angry that someone thought they had the authority to tell her what to do. Another part was glad she mattered enough to the Weasleys for them to check on her. The atmosphere in the Weasley house was sombre, sad, melancholic… exactly what she needed to feel worse. Strangely, it was Fleur who noticed how bad she truly was. After lunch, she pulled her aside to speak privately.
"Harika," she called, her accent much softer than it had been years ago, "are you okay?"
"I guess. As much as one can be," she replied sarcastically, without much enthusiasm. "Why do you ask?"
"I think you should see a mental healer."
"A what?"
"It's like a psychologist, but in the magical world."
"No, thanks. That's the last thing I want—to tell my stuff to someone so the whole world can find out."
Fleur muttered something under her breath in French that Harika didn't understand. Then she let out a heavy sigh.
"I can recommend someone very good. My sister Gabrielle and I used his services during the tournament year. He's a Muggle-born wizard, a mental healer and psychologist, and he uses confidentiality contracts… unlike most of the idiots in this country," she added pointedly with a sneer.
Harika was quite surprised to hear about the confidentiality contract. That was one of her main concerns, considering she always seemed to end up on the front page of a newspaper.
"Can I think about it?"
"Oui. I'll give you his address and the nearest Floo portal so you can see him, if you wish."
"Thanks, Fleur."
That day, she returned to Grimmauld Place under the pretence that there weren't enough beds at the Burrow. She spent several days thinking about the psychologist, but when she broke down crying yet again over a random memory, she knew she needed help. She didn't want to keep feeling this way for the rest of her life, and she knew she had issues that had nothing to do with the war. It took her a lot of courage, but she had to do it because she wanted to feel better. Even if she didn't know if it would work, she was willing to try. That's how desperate she was.
That's how she started her therapy sessions with Armand the next day. Whatever he saw during that first consultation was enough for him to say she needed therapy twice a week, when the usual frequency was weekly or biweekly. She knew she wasn't okay, but it hurt to think her situation was worse than she had expected. He gave her a diluted potion to help her sleep better, without nightmares, and strongly recommended she visit a hospital to address any health issues she might have.
It took a couple of sessions to convince her to get a check-up because part of her thought she didn't have the right to seek medical help unless something really serious happened. Harika, who had never set foot in a hospital in her life except for the Hogwarts infirmary, ended up visiting a magical medical clinic, private, where they took clients' health—and especially their privacy—very seriously. Of course, since it was her psychologist's recommendation, it wasn't in the UK.
"How is this possible?" the doctor asked after completing her examination. "This is…! How did no one at Hogwarts notice you were malnourished? How is it possible you haven't received any vaccinations? This is an atrocity!"
Harika listened, her stomach churning, as the doctor talked about her injuries, scars, her incorrect eyeglass prescription… even her menstruation, which she had thought had been irregular, turned out to be affected by stress. Apparently, stress was more dangerous than she'd realized. It turned out her cycle wasn't irregular in the normal way but as a consequence of all the stress she'd been under since she started menstruating. She left with a box of potions, instructions on how and when to take them, several creams for her scars, and a potion to correct her vision issues, which, apparently, was common in the magical world. Yet, no one had ever thought to mention it to her. Now that she thought about it, when was the last time she had seen anyone in the magical world wearing glasses besides herself?
She spent a week feeling depressed after realizing how much she needed to fix, both physically and mentally. Armand, however, seemed pleased.
"It's a step in the right direction, Harika. You're showing the will to change for the better, and even though it'll take some time, in the end, it's what you need."
"I know, but I don't like thinking about everything I have to do. I'd rather just forget it."
"And I understand that, but we both know that's not possible."
"I know," she reiterated with a sigh.
In just a few days, she noticed the effects of the creams on her scars. The Muggle scars disappeared within a day, and the magical ones began fading gradually with the continued use of the ointments. Her vision also improved daily, though she knew it would take a few more weeks to fully rid herself of glasses. What she liked the least were the potions meant to combat the effects of her malnutrition. They upset her stomach so much that she was bedridden for hours and felt tingling in her limbs.
"It's normal. Your body is rapidly recovering many essential nutrients through magical means in a very short period. You need to recover from multiple deficiencies, anaemia, and even nerve damage caused by torture curses."
"How long will this treatment last?" she asked, exhausted and slightly dizzy.
"I'm afraid it's going to be a long journey. You've suffered malnutrition since you were almost two years old… not to mention everything else."
"But don't you have an estimated timeline?"
"I'm giving you the highest possible dose. Judging by your new bloodwork compared to the previous results… I'd say at least six months."
Harika let out a dry, ironic laugh. Six months of daily potions. Even though she hated it, she didn't want her health to deteriorate further, so she admitted defeat and kept taking everything prescribed to her. She also discussed her therapy sessions with Armand, and according to him, she had a long way to go to address everything wrong in her life, which was no small feat.
"You're dealing with post-traumatic stress disorder, survivor's guilt, and, frankly, a few other things," her psychologist admitted, proceeding to explain each condition. "It's normal, considering everything you've gone through in your life. It's treatable, of course, but it won't be an easy path."
"Yeah."
She already knew it wouldn't be. Was there anything easy in her life? Still, Armand was a good psychologist. He explained things in a concise and understandable way, and he wasn't condescending. He was the one who made her question why she continued living in Grimmauld Place despite being able to sell the house and buy another, and he also made her reconsider if she truly understood as much about the magical world as she thought after seven years. He recommended hiring a good law firm to handle her legal affairs, such as preventing defamatory headlines in newspapers or stopping people from profiting off her name and image publicly without her permission.
In fact, that was something Dumbledore should have recommended to her years ago. Harika was starting to realize that Dumbledore hadn't been the most competent person in the world, despite holding him in high esteem for years. Maybe he hadn't mentioned any of this because he thought she wouldn't live for many more years? Who knows, but every time she thought about the headmaster, she felt more and more angry.
"I wondered when you'd seek out a good lawyer," Andromeda said when she visited her and Teddy. "I thought you were waiting to receive your inheritance when you came of age."
"No. It never even crossed my mind, but I need a good one."
"I can give you a few names if you'd like."
"Really? That would be a huge help. I don't even know where to start," she sighed.
"Are you okay?"
"No. I'm realizing I have no clue what I'm doing," she confessed, feeling overwhelmed. "Every time I take a step forward, I take two steps back the next day."
"Why do you say that?" Andromeda asked, her face full of sympathy.
She gave her a brief explanation of the potions she was taking to improve her health, her psychological issues, her growing desire to leave Grimmauld Place now that Armand had planted the idea in her mind, the fact that she hadn't completed her magical education—or her Muggle one—how she still didn't know many things about the magical world that were commonplace for others… She ended up crying from the stress. Andromeda hugged her for a long time.
"All of this has solutions. You're just too stressed and overwhelmed to see them now, but they exist. For starters, if you don't want to live in Grimmauld Place, sell it and buy something new that you like. We can find a real estate agency to handle the entire selling process, and in the meantime, you can stay here until you find a new home. As for your magical education, you can take the exams at the Ministry next year without having to attend Hogwarts. That's what a lot of people who study at home do, you know?"
"Really? I didn't know that," she said, surprised.
Although, now that she thought about it, it made a lot of sense. Considering the size and amount of space in the castle, it was obvious it was designed for far more people.
"Really. And you can even take exams for additional subjects. You can send a letter to the Department of Education to ask which subjects you can be examined in, what the exam schedules are, etc. Regarding your knowledge of the magical world, you can request the beginner's book pack for Muggle-borns at the bookstore. They should have made you buy one, even if your parents were wizards."
Harika left Andromeda's house feeling strangely lighter.
By the time July arrived, with Andromeda's help, she was able to hire a lawyer to sue the Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly, the authors who had used her name to write fantasy books, and the people who had used her image to sell products. According to her legal team, it was an easy case since no one had been granted permission, especially considering she had been a minor until recently. Grimmauld Place was emptied after she bought a magical trunk that could store everything she owned, and it was put up for sale.
To her surprise, she sold it for an enormous amount of gold. Not only were the magical barriers on the property worth a fortune, but it was a house in central London. Additionally, its numerous floors, combined with the fact that it had belonged to the Black family—and her—had exponentially increased its value. She was paid three times the amount of gold that the Potter vault had held the first time she opened it at Gringotts when she was 11.
The magical house she purchased in Unapool, Scotland, had only two floors, but it boasted a grand backyard and front yard, four bedrooms, three bathrooms, and magnificent views of a lake just a ten-minute walk away. Not to mention, it had no neighbours for miles. Moreover, it was far from cities and crowded areas, nestled in a forested and mountainous region. It cost her significantly less compared to what she had received from selling Grimmauld Place. She didn't need to hire a team to set up magical barriers, as the first thing she did, with Kingsley's help, was place it under the Fidelius Charm, making herself the Secret Keeper.
"I'm glad to hear that," Armand smiled. "The decisions you've made recently are very brave, and it's clear how much you've improved."
"Honestly, leaving Grimmauld Place felt like lifting a weight off my shoulders. Just like hiring those lawyers. I feel much more protected now."
"That's normal. You feel protected because you didn't have any legal protection before."
"I've also decided to take a sabbatical year to study at home and take the exams at the Ministry next year."
"That's amazing, Harika!"
They talked for a while longer. When she left the session, Harika realized that therapy was working. Even the potions she took to reverse her malnutrition and nutrient deficiencies no longer made her feel as dizzy. She no longer needed glasses, and her magical scars were almost invisible to the human eye. The most stubborn ones—the older scars, like the curse scar on her forehead or the basilisk fang wound—still needed treatment with ointments, but she had been assured they would fade in a few weeks.
It was incredible to think about what she could achieve with money—and magic. Nobody had ever mentioned these ointments to her because they were expensive, but it angered her to think that they existed and no one had even bothered to ask why she wasn't using them.
The nightmares, though less frequent, were still recurring. It was Andromeda again who gave her an extra idea to combat them.
"Occlumency?" she groaned in dismay. "I'm terrible at it!"
"You're not terrible. You had a terrible tutor and Voldemort in your head. Anyone would struggle to maintain mental barriers under such stress," Andromeda said firmly. "I can teach you if you'd like."
"You know Occlumency?" she blinked in surprise.
"Of course! I might have been disowned, but I'm still a Black, and I was taught all kinds of things."
"Alright then."
That's how she started private Occlumency lessons with Andromeda, who was furious when Harika explained how Snape had taught her to build mental barriers. Essentially, Snape had only "tested" her barriers to see if they held up against an attack, but since he hadn't explained how to create a barrier, it was impossible to block any mental intrusion because her barriers were non-existent.
"That bastard! If he weren't already dead, I'd kill him myself," Andromeda hissed with a violent expression Harika had never seen before. "He couldn't have been more useless and incompetent."
Harika wasn't surprised to learn that Snape hadn't properly taught her Occlumency. After all, he had also been a terrible Potions teacher despite being a skilled potioneer. One thing was making potions; another was teaching how to make them. Andromeda, on the other hand, was patient and knowledgeable. She taught Harika several tricks for meditation until it became clear that silence didn't work for her. Andromeda gave her a cassette with nature sounds to help her focus and enter a meditative state.
It took days of practice, but by August—after a brief eighteenth birthday celebration at the Weasleys'—Harika finally managed to delve into her mind. As expected, it was a mess with no defences. Luckily, she had plenty of time to work on it.
"The idea is to build a mental palace with all kinds of defences. The more you have and the more creative they are, the better. Every time you access a memory, it will be like stepping into it," Andromeda explained. "That's why Occlumency is so hard to learn; you must face everything you've experienced—the good and the bad."
"It's going to take me a long time to put everything in order," she groaned with a weary sigh.
"The more you work on your barriers, the less time it will take. That's why it's usually taught to children early on—to make it easier for them to build these mental protections and to help them control their emotions more easily."
"Huh. Is that why so many pureblood children seem… like adults trapped in children's bodies?"
"Exactly," Andromeda laughed. "By adulthood, it's not as noticeable, but it's evident during adolescence. That said, Occlumency is useful for many things—like memorizing faster, recalling everything you've experienced perfectly, protecting your mind from intrusions, constantly exercising your magic, and regulating mood swings to avoid… irrational behaviours, among other things."
Harika rolled her eyes, realizing once again how many advantages wizards had that they kept quiet about to maintain the status quo. With Occlumency, exams must have been much easier for purebloods, considering they could remember what they studied more easily. She wished someone had told her about it before her fifth year.
Still, she had started learning how to protect her mind, so she made it a habit to meditate every night to work on her mental barriers. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to enter her mind after everything she had suffered at the hands of Voldemort and Snape.
When Hermione and Ron returned from Australia in mid-August, Harika had another appointment with her doctor.
"You're officially scar-free. Congratulations," Dr. Baume confirmed with a smile. They had grown close after so many visits. "You can stop using the ointment."
"And the potions for malnutrition?"
"You've improved tremendously, but you still can't stop taking them," she avoided sighing at Harika's disheartened look, "but they don't make you nauseous anymore, do they?"
"Only occasionally. Now I just get itchy all over."
"That's normal. As for everything else…" she checked her documents. "You've gained weight as planned, and I see you've grown three centimetres."
Harika beamed at the news. She was no longer 159 cm tall—she had reached 162 cm! Incredible!
"Do you think I'll grow any taller?"
"Most likely. By the end of your treatment, you'll need a new wardrobe to avoid showing your ankles," the doctor laughed, glancing at the sliver of skin peeking out above Harika's sneakers.
She smiled again, realizing it was true. She had grown!