harry.exe has stopped working ━ hp x tmr | lv

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BY POPULAR DAMAND, THE FINAL CHAPTER IS HERE! (ain't none of you left me in peace, smh)

LISTEN UP, bitches, queers and my non binary hoes, this is not a happy ending and i never planned for one 😎 well, at lest not for the first book--

anyways, cONTINUE

Chapter Thirty: 

Harry gets better, eventually. He forgets about the ocean (much like he forgets about everything else that upsets him) and spends his holidays lazing around grimmauld place. He sleeps in the oddest of places, too. Like the space behind the loveseat in the parlour room, the corner chair in the library and once even on the dining table. 

At one point, Sirius just looks at him over the rim of his cuppa and says, "Harry, I love you, but with the hair changing, courting thing with Voldymorts and now your transformation into a cat…" he trails off and sighs, "I think I'm going to have a stroke if you add another insane oddity into your arsenal." 

Harry rolls his eyes. "I'm not changing into a cat," he says, "and neither is there any courting going on." 

"Again," Sirius sets his cup of tea down, "I love you, prongslet, but Godric, are you delusional." 

Harry isn't delusional, thank you very much. He says the very same thing to his familiars that night and all three of them – Nimmy, Verde and Hedwig – can't seem to make eye contact with him at all. 

Which is odd, because Harry's not delusional. Sure, he forgets things and sometimes says things that don't make sense and make him seem insane, but he's not delusional. 

Just to be sure, Harry scribbles a letter to Hermione, a simple, 'am I delusional?' and sends Hedwig off with it. 

When morning comes, Harry's awoken by Hedwig dropping off a return letter beside his head on the pillow. He rubs his eyes tiredly with the back of his hands and rips through the seal of the parchment. Inside, in Hermione's neat handwriting, is written, 'if this is about the courting, then yes. If it's about anything else, I'll be needing details to be sure.' 

There's a picture attached and Harry smiles softly, seeing Hermione enjoying Paris. 'Hope to see you soon,' is written above it and Harry feels warmth flood his chest. 

"Maybe," Harry murmurs to himself, "if I can get myself to go outside." 

Placing the letter and picture onto his bedside table, Harry goes through his morning routine. He takes a hot shower – hot enough that his skin turns red; he wants to get used to the burn in case he ends up in hell. Which, if he thinks about it, is quite possible. (Death be damned if he gets in his way of dying. Again.) 

He brushes his teeth and manages to get his hair as presentable as possible, which is an olympic sport at this rate. Harry's worried his hair will never be tamed. He manages to dress himself into a hoodie and some dark jeans and calls it a day. It's not like he's going outside, there's no need to dress himself up nicely. 

When he's downstairs in the kitchen, he starts on breakfast. Once, he'd woken up to the smell of eggs burning and when he'd gone down to check, he found Sirius frowning down at charred eggs. Ever since then, Harry's made it his mission to make breakfast everyday, just so that he never, ever has to eat anything that Sirius makes. 

"Morning, pup," Sirius greets, slinking up behind Harry to cage him against the counter. His voice is low and gravelly and it sends tingles running up and down Harry's spine. 

"Morning, Siri," he says, quietly. 

Sirius hums and drops a kiss into Harry's messy hair. "M'hungry," the older male murmurs, "What's for breakfast?"