The Aftermath

Authors Note: There are a lot of ways I could have handled my first foray into post-book 7 fiction – I won’t make a habit of using canon and since I did here, I hope you’re all prepared for our ship to not come to fruition. This is just me trying to salvage a little something out of the end. Maybe I’ll add to it a bit, maybe I won’t.

‘Bitterness will run you through,
If you’re in the way,
Love broken by the dragons wings,
Prayed for one bright thing,
Guess ill have to wait.’

Chapter 1: Break Her Down

Harry stared into the dark of night, thousands of tiny stars glimmering brightly overhead, casting short shadows across the Weasley’s back yard and across his languid frame. He’d been away from Hogwarts now for two months – gone was Voldemort, and the last of his henchman were being rounded up and shipped off to Azkaban, where they were doomed to spend the remainder of their days in painful misery. He knew many faces that ended up there and little remorse flitted from Harry’s conscious as he’d read the headlines in the Daily Prophet over the past weeks.

Hermione had been gone for the first several weeks following the end of their mission – she’d fled to to rescue her parents from their memory modified prison. She spoke longingly about the time they spent together after that, despite her parents’ initial infuriation at what she’d done.

Ron was basking in the glory that came of his survival – he spent much of his free time zooming around on his broom, light with the freedom that most of the wizarding world probably felt now.

He supposed he should feel that same sort of joy and lightness that had descended upon them all, but as he so often did, Harry’s thoughts fell to the darker results of the last year. He’d seen so many things, so much death, that he’d felt almost numb to it – he’d seen the bodies of Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks, resting lifelessly in the great hall and just like the death of Hedwig, Mad-Eye and Fred, Harry had quickly pushed them all to the back of his mind.

Unfortunately, those losses wouldn’t stay buried and he was now dealing with the repercussions of causing all these deaths. There was no lighthearted escape for him, there was only a calling to take responsibility for the life he’d lost. After all, in their deaths, a small part of Harry had died also and he no longer felt like the boy who’d cried and thrown a tantrum those years ago at the death of Sirius.

It had become common place; he’d become complacent and it made him closer to a Death Eater then he’d ever been. Compile that with his willingness to use the unforgivable curses on those who got in his way and Harry had completely lost track of himself in the last year – it was if he was looking back at someone he didn’t even recognize, controlling his movements, from on high, like a puppet.

No matter how he tried to justify his actions, it sounded like Grindelwald and Dumbledore. For the greater good.

Harry propped himself up on his shoulders from his place on the Weasleys back yard. The house behind him was quiet and dark; the only sound being a small breeze whistling through the hills and tree’s surrounding him. That is, until the pitter patter of feet headed in his direction – Harry had heard them enough to know it was Hermione. She’d made an effort of comforting him in the time since she’d arrived.

Harry leaned his head far back and saw Hermione, up-side down, looking at him with an obvious ‘what-are-you-doing’ look. He sat up properly and she took the silent invitation, sitting heavily next to him in her night gown. Her bushy hair worse then ever obscured much of her face, but the continued worry on her face was unmistakable.

‘What are you doing out here Harry? Especially at this hour?’ She asked, forgetting things like pleasantries.

He shrugged.

‘I couldn’t sleep.’

That wasn’t exactly untrue – he’d had trouble sleeping since they’d come to the Weasleys for an array of reasons. They both stopped talking and looked up at the sky once more – Harry realized he hadn’t been up there properly in a long while – the last time being on the back of a great blind dragon. It seemed funny how long ago his last flight on a Quidditch pitch seemed.

‘Its funny,’ Hermione whispered in the night.

Harry look at her inquiringly.

‘It’s funny,’ she started. ‘How things turn out, isn’t it?’

Harry thought perhaps she was picking his brain – it was true, if anyone had asked him a year or two before where he thought he’d be now, this wouldn’t have been his guess. Granted, his assumption would have been that he’d be buried six feet under a good portion of the time.

Would he have been alone, like he was now? Without any family? Without an ounce of happiness to carry him through the day?

‘It’s more sad then funny,’ Harry said, changing his mind.

Hermione sighed.

‘You’ve got a lot going for you yet Harry – everything you want will be yours eventually.’

‘Everything?’ Harry asked skeptically.

‘I suppose, depending…’ She turned and looked into his eyes. ‘Depending on what you want, yeah.’

Harry held her gaze for a moment before responding with the honest to god truth.

‘I don’t know what I want – I just want… something.’

The pair looked away from one another and sat in silence for perhaps twenty minutes. Harry’s brain was so frazzled at this point that he didn’t even bother to try and think – it was best for him if he just blanked it all away. Hermione finally broke the silence.

‘You always have me Harry, whether I fit into what you want or not.’

And before he could respond to her, she rose from her place, rested her hand softly on his head for a moment, and then turned back to Weasleys house at a half run. Harry watched her go, intensely confused by her sudden departure. But as he’d decided minutes before – maybe it was best to just blank it all away, so he could move on with his life.