When November arrived, George seemed to have improved significantly thanks to therapy. He no longer hid in his room as much, nor did he spend hours sitting in the garden staring into the distance. He started using the shed to create who-knew-what. Ron nearly cried when they heard the first explosion in months.
"I swear I thought it would take years for him to recover."
"Without help, maybe."
"As awful as it sounds, I'm glad my mother doesn't know where we are and can't visit us. If she did, she'd be here every other day, and I know George gets stressed when she's constantly hovering over him."
"That's exactly why I didn't say anything," she smiled mischievously.
That, and because she didn't want her new and wonderful private home to turn into a hotel reception. A part of her would have preferred to be alone, even though that would have meant Ron and George were still living with their parents. She had only offered them her home because they were her friends, and she knew they were truly suffering. Still, she resented having to share her space again.
"You had gotten used to having your own space, a refuge just for yourself, and now it's being invaded again," Armand nodded. "I think you've realized that it weighs on you less than before because you were the one who offered your home. No one showed up uninvited, trampling over your boundaries."
"You're right. Besides, I know it's only temporary, but this has made me realize something… I need time alone with myself. One, maybe two years, where my space is just mine."
"And you'll have it. It's just a matter of deciding to be alone. No one can force you to live with someone or intrude on your home without your permission."
Just hearing it made her relax. He was right. She had opened the doors of her home, and she could also close them whenever she wanted. She wasn't going to, obviously, but she knew that once everyone was okay, she wouldn't share her home again until she found someone special she truly wanted to share it with.
At her usual biweekly appointment, the doctor examined her again.
"You're progressing faster than expected with the treatment. It's clear that physical exercise and some relaxation time have done you good," Dr. Baume smiled. "Your anaemia is gone, your vitamin D deficiency too, you've overcome malnutrition, and you've even grown eight centimetres since you started treatment. How do you feel?"
"So much better. I can tell I have more endurance and flexibility. Even my hair seems a lot less frizzy."
"Stress can affect your scalp and hair, you know? In any case, you can stop taking the potions for malnutrition and decalcification. The only thing left to treat is your nerves. Do your hands still tremble sometimes, or do you feel tingling in your fingers or limbs?"
"Sometimes. Mostly tingling in my fingertips."
"As expected. The Cruciatus Curse isn't called unforgivable for nothing. Still, I imagine in a month, maybe a month and a half, you'll be completely healed."
"From everything?"
"From everything."
Harika had to hold back tears of relief and happiness. After so long… she was finally about to recover. She had been vaccinated, her menstrual cycle was back to normal, she had treated her vision, and she had rid herself of scars and malnutrition, along with all its side effects. She had gained both weight and muscle by going to the gym, and now she was even 1.67 meters tall. She couldn't believe it. For years, the Dursleys had tried to kill her passively. They hadn't succeeded, but her health had never been comparable to Hermione's or anyone else's. It gave her immense satisfaction to know that, despite everything, she had managed to reverse the physical and mental damage inflicted by the Dursleys—whom she never planned to see again.
The first person to hear that she was in the final stretch of her treatment was Andromeda.
"Congratulations, Harika! I knew you'd make it," Andromeda smiled, giving her a strong hug. "I'm so happy you'll be putting all of this behind you soon."
"And so am I. You have no idea how much," she replied, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Every time I think about the past, it feels like another life."
"Your life has changed drastically in just five months. So many radical changes—it's no surprise you feel a little strange. Who would have told you six months ago that you'd be nearly 1.70 meters tall now, or that you'd have learned to swim, or that you'd have a completely Muggle hobby?"
"I know. It's crazy."
"And to think you once said you weren't good at the arts," Andromeda smiled, picking up one of the first photographs Harika had taken near her home in the Scottish Highlands.
"Did you know I bought some books to improve my photography? I've been trying out a few techniques. I'd love to see more places to photograph new things."
"Then why don't you? It's not like anyone is stopping you," Andromeda shrugged. "You have time, you're young, and you know how to protect yourself. You could travel around Europe if you wanted."
"Don't you think it would be dangerous? Not all Death Eaters have been captured."
"I know, but what's stopping you from tweaking your appearance a little so they don't recognize you? In fact, I thought you were already doing that to avoid being chased by your fans."
"Fans?" she asked in horror. "What do you mean?"
"Haven't you read the letters people send you here?" Andromeda asked, confused.
"Yes! But I thought it would stop!"
The truth was, Harika hadn't been replying to any letters. The people who donated to her did so directly through Gringotts, so she didn't know who they were. Many preferred to remain anonymous for various reasons. The letters from people thanking her for what she had done—she simply read them but didn't reply. She had no time or interest in writing handwritten responses to every person. And she didn't even own an owl. As for the letters from people who wished her ill or sent cursed mail, she handed those over to her lawyers to deal with, pressing charges against them. She had even received a couple of marriage proposals, which she burned—just in case.
After the trial in early September, where many people had to publicly apologize to her, retract publications, stop manufacturing products with her image, remove books with her name from stores, and pay her hefty fines, few dared to go against her. Now that she had a legal team working to protect her… idiots thought twice before trying anything. Especially after her lawyers hired a team of investigators to track down the criminals sending her cursed mail. Saying she was delighted to have hired a competent law firm would be an understatement.
The funny thing was, many people had gone bankrupt after using her name for years without permission. She honestly didn't care. They should have thought about it years ago or contacted her as soon as she set foot in Hogwarts. If they had, she might have agreed to let them use her image in exchange for a percentage. All the gold they returned to her—quadrupling her fortune—was turned into gold bars, protected under countless spells, and stored in a magical trunk that only she could open with a Parseltongue password, a drop of blood, and a touch of her magic. Yes, she had become very paranoid.
"I suppose spending so much time in the forest, being chased by Voldemort's idiots, had to take a toll," George joked tiredly when he saw that everything she withdrew from Gringotts, along with her belongings—even her fortune chest—was always stored in her bottomless bag, which she had learned to summon without her wand after countless attempts.
"Considering I spent years without a home of my own and the last few months running around with nothing but the clothes on my back, I don't want to be caught off guard."
"Caught off guard by what?"
"Anything," she shrugged.
"Could you convert part of your fortune into Muggle money?" said George.
"Muggle money is just paper. It has no value like gold."
It was clear that this was the last thing she planned to do. Andromeda was the one who occasionally exchanged some of his gold for Muggle money since everyone knew that if she showed up at the bank, they would give her much less than it was worth simply because of who she was. Yes, it was "arranged," but the goblins would never forget what she had done for as long as she lived.
By the time November arrived, she decided to spread her wings a little and start traveling to new places. As soon as she mentioned it to her friends and Andromeda, they all raised their voices in protest when they realized she didn't have a solid plan.
"But where will you stay while taking photographs in the wilderness?"
"And how will you travel? Do you have your Muggle identification?" asked Hermione.
"Besides, I can see your ankles with those pants. They've gotten too small for you," Andromeda told her. "You'll have to renew your entire wardrobe before going anywhere."
Harika groaned as she realized she was about to be dragged from store to store, just as Petunia had done with Dudley while she silently watched, buying far too many things. And indeed, that was exactly what happened. First, Andromeda took her to the Muggle world, where, accompanied by Hermione, they bought her everything a person could need for summer, winter, or in-between seasons. From loungewear to casual clothes, sportswear, outfits for going out, and more. She spent far more than she had expected. And as if that weren't enough, they then dragged her to the magical world in Paris so she could shop discreetly.
Having never set foot in the magical part of France before, she was in awe of what she saw. It was so different and so grand compared to the UK that Diagon Alley seemed almost mediocre in comparison.
"And in this colour," Andromeda told the seamstress. "What do you think, Harika?"
She observed the different coloured fabrics Andromeda was showing her and nodded. She wasn't a complete disaster, but she wasn't the most fashion-savvy person either. The various magical shoes, jackets, and a few dresses and robes Andromeda picked out seemed fine to her. Honestly, she wondered when she would even wear all of it. She had to convince Andromeda that she didn't need so many witch hats—she hadn't worn her Hogwarts hat in eight years, and she wasn't about to start now. Despite everything, she was going to return home with so many clothes that she'd have to magically expand her wardrobe.
"When was the last time you cut your hair?" asked Hermione, browsing the shops ahead of them. "There's a hair salon over there. I wouldn't mind stopping in for a trim myself."
"Now that you mention it, Hermione, I wouldn't mind either," said Andromeda, touching her long hair. "It's been almost a year since I last cut it."
Harika said nothing when she realized why. The truth was, getting a professional haircut wouldn't be a bad idea. The last time her hair had been cut—years ago—it had been an accident at the hands of Petunia. Naturally, it hadn't worked, since her hair had grown back overnight, but the trauma had lingered for a while. At Hogwarts, she had gotten used to wearing her hair in a ponytail or various braids just to avoid having to deal with it. Not only did it frizz up whenever she brushed it, but it tangled easily and was always messy. In fact, she couldn't recall a single day at school when she had worn her hair loose.
When she explained this to the hairdresser, the woman shook her head in horror.
"Curly hair cannot be brushed like straight hair. Never!" she scolded. "If you use a normal brush, all you'll do is make it frizz."
"So, what should I do?" she asked. She had no idea about any of this, but if it was true, it explained a lot.
"For starters, we'll trim your hair in a way that flatters both your face and your curls."
"The last time my hair was cut, it grew back overnight," she warned. "I don't know if this is a good idea."
"Really?" asked Hermione. Andromeda looked up from her magical magazine in astonishment.
"Maybe you inherited a trace of the Black family's Metamorphmagus abilities," Andromeda mused. "Now that I think about it… You're always the same shade of pale, no matter how long you spend in the sun."
"And I've never seen your hair grow longer or shorter," Hermione admitted. "It's always waist-length."
"Even so," the hairdresser interjected, "I'll give you a cut that lightens your hair and enhances your features. How about I keep the length the same?"
"That's fine."
The hairdresser started with a moisturizing and anti-frizz treatment before trimming her hair here and there. Harika wasn't sure what she was doing since the length remained the same, aside from the split ends she removed. By the time she was done, her hair no longer resembled a curtain hanging on either side of her face. Instead, it had shorter layers framing her features, and it had more volume. Even her facial structure appeared less elongated, revealing an oval-shaped face. Not to mention she now had some bangs—shorter strands on either side of her face that suited her perfectly. She hadn't even realized her hair had curls, and now she saw that it did—beautifully so.
"I love it!" she said after examining herself in the mirror.
"If you'd like, you can buy our shampoo and conditioner. These are the ones I used on you today."
Harika left with a new hairstyle and plenty of hair care products. Not even the shopping that followed could dampen her spirits.
"Look," Hermione said, nodding toward something. "Maybe you should get one."
Harika turned to see what she meant. She barely suppressed a groan. "A magical tent, Hermione? I'm sick of magical tents."
"I know, but if you're going to travel and photograph nature, don't expect to always find a hotel or a comfortable place to stay," her friend pointed out with her usual infuriating logic. "Unless you prefer a Muggle tent and a portable toilet."
"Ugh. Why do you always have to be right?" Harika sighed.
"Besides, you can get a bigger tent—one that suits your needs," Andromeda consoled her. "It'll be more expensive, but they last a lifetime. Think of it as an investment."
What convinced her most was realizing that some of these tents were the size of a house. It was incredible what magic could do. Inside one of them, she didn't feel as claustrophobic as she had in the past. She spent 1,000 Galleons on a two-story tent with three bedrooms, each with its own bathroom, a study/library upstairs, and downstairs, an extra bathroom, a kitchen with a pantry, a medium-sized living room, and a small laundry area. It was literally like her house—only smaller.
"Now this is camping in style," she told Hermione, who nearly had a heart attack at the price.
"At least this way, you won't have to spend money on hotels while traveling."
Shortly afterward, they returned home, exhausted but happy with their purchases. Her Muggle identification papers had to be arranged by her lawyers since, thanks to the Dursleys, she had no valid documentation. It took a week to get a birth certificate, an ID card, a passport, and everything else she needed. She wasn't planning on using Muggle transportation, but it was always good to have everything in order.
"You should open an international Muggle bank account and get a debit card," Hermione suggested. "That way, you wouldn't have to carry so much cash and could pay more easily in different countries."
"Is that what your parents did?"
"Of course, and it's what I did when I went to Australia."
The first time she travelled outside the country was the first weekend of November. Her idea was to visit the capitals of European countries every weekend, whenever she felt like it, take pictures of everything that caught her attention, and sleep in a tent in one of the national parks. As soon as she set foot in Dublin for the first time, using a Portkey she had bought at a magical travel shop, she couldn't help but smile. She spent both days exploring and taking photos. Being alone, visiting another country, was something she had never imagined, yet she loved it.
She felt nervous, excited, happy... It was a whirlwind of emotions she wasn't used to feeling so frequently. Her visits to the psychologist had made her realize that a part of her always thought things were going to go wrong because that had always been her experience. It had always been like that—until now. She didn't know how or when, but she had started learning to stand up for herself, something she had never done before. At Hogwarts and with the Dursleys, she had let them walk all over her out of ignorance and because she didn't want to destabilize her already precarious situation. What would have happened if, instead of keeping quiet, she had told people what she really thought sometimes? What if she had complained or reported the abuse she suffered at the hands of the Dursleys? If she had left Privet Drive instead of lowering her head and nodding when Dumbledore told her she had to live with the Dursleys every summer?
Now, looking back, she couldn't imagine herself accepting that kind of treatment from anyone—not even her own friends. Therapy had helped her discover her own worth, and she wasn't going to let anyone take advantage of her again. She intended to stand up for herself and her interests by any means necessary. That was why a simple trip to another country, even if only for two days, had been a turning point. Many people expected her to work at the Ministry, or return to Hogwarts, or stay in the country, or not complain about the things published about her in the newspapers. It had taken her 18 years to realize that she could tell them all to go to hell because now, they had no authority over her. She had done it. She was free.
Coming to that conclusion made her cry. She cried with rage because it had taken her so long to be free, she cried with resentment because no one had helped her get there, she cried with relief because now no one could treat her like a puppet, and she cried with happiness because she had her whole life ahead of her to live as she pleased.
"You're realizing many things you hadn't thought about before, or didn't want to think about, and that stirs up old traumas," said Armand in another of their sessions. "It's normal. Are you still practicing Occlumency?"
"Every night."
"Keep at it. It's helping you a lot in regulating your emotions."
Harika nodded. The truth was, Occlumency was a very difficult art to learn. Not only because meditating was complicated considering the stress people felt in a modern society trying to fit in, but because it forced her to relive every memory. She started remembering things she thought she had forgotten, and most of them were not good experiences—especially those involving the Dursleys. Even so, her former mental pigsty was gone. She had created a replica of her home in her mind, where she gradually stored her memories, hiding them in cabinets and drawers. She still had a lot of memories to organize, but at least her mental house was protected by every type of Muggle and magical barrier she knew.
By the time December arrived, Dr. Baume officially discharged her, declaring her fully treated for all her ailments. To celebrate, Andromeda invited her over and prepared a cake with tea. Teddy, lying in his basket beside her, was awake but entertained with the magical musical toys they had bought him.
"Who would have thought how much you've changed in such a short time, right?" sighed Andromeda, somewhat nostalgic, observing her modern Muggle-style clothing combined with her black dragon-hide boots with laces and her silky, shiny curly hair. "If Sirius could see you… He'd be so happy with what you've achieved."
"I know. That makes me try even harder to succeed," she admitted.
"How are your studies going?"
"They're going well. Hermione helps me a lot. Since I keep up with her pace, I know I'm not falling behind."
"That's a good idea."
"By the way, Hermione told me that starting in January, they'll be offering an extracurricular course for those who want to become Animagi."
"I know. McGonagall has been offering it for years to seventh-year students," Andromeda smiled. "Are you interested?"
"Actually, yes. Both Sirius and my father were Animagi, so I'd like to try."
"Then, if I were you, I'd start preparing the potion now. The Hogwarts students who attempt to become Animagi usually spend all of December letting it ferment before beginning the transformation stage."
"Is there a book about the process?"
"Yes. In the books you took from Grimmauld Place, or from Sirius's belongings, you should find one called The Animagus Guide. I think that's the one he used—or at least, that's what he told Nymphadora."
So, what did she do for hours when she got home? She searched for that damn book. She carefully read through the steps, realizing that the entire process was long and tedious. To begin with, she needed a mandrake leaf that she had to keep in her mouth for an entire month, from full moon to full moon. The next full moon was in six days, so she decided to go for it. Luckily, the other ingredients, the moth chrysalis and the dew water, could be bought at the apothecary since they didn't require her to collect them herself.
However, if she lost or swallowed the mandrake leaf, she would have to start over. Her father's and godfather's book, though, was a gold mine. The margins were filled with dozens of notes to make the process easier, like casting a permanent sticking charm to keep the leaf attached to her palate so she wouldn't have to worry about it, or brewing the potion somewhere in the north where thunderstorms were frequent—like her home.
"Are you seriously going to do it?" Ron asked after hearing her talk about everything she needed.
"Why not? I might not succeed on the first try, but imagine if I do."
"Ugh. I think I'll pass, mate. With my luck, I'd turn into something stupid like a salmon or an anteater."
Harika and George snorted with laughter at that. George didn't seem very interested in trying either, though a part of her thought that if Fred had been there with them, he and George would have been the first to volunteer.
"I'm going to reopen the shop," George suddenly said. Ron and Harika fell silent. "I've been thinking about it… and I think it's what Fred would have wanted. Besides, I don't want all our hard work to go to waste, you know?"
"You've been paying the shop's rent all this time, haven't you?"
"Yeah. It's time to go back."
Harika didn't ask about the apartment he had shared with Fred, but Ron, when George went to bed, told her that their parents had taken all of Fred's things from the flat and stored them temporarily in one of their empty rooms.
"Apparently, he stopped paying for the place a couple of months ago," Ron said in a low voice. "He couldn't bring himself to go back and see Fred's things there."
"Honestly, maybe it's better if he moves somewhere else…"
After Christmas, George fully reopened the joke shop and found a flat near the Leaky Cauldron to move into. From what she heard from Ron and Ginny, he continued visiting Armand, even though he had regained some control over his life. Harika was truly glad he was doing better.