Where it all Began
Victory wasn’t what Harry had imagined it would be.
The Battle of Hogwarts had ended with Voldemort’s body crumpled into dust and the echo of the Elder Wand's last spell still lingering in the air. The war was over. He had won. But it hadn’t brought peace, only silence.
The kind of silence that settled deep into the bones, cold and heavy. The kind of silence that followed screams.
He'd stood in the wreckage of a ruined castle surrounded by the bodies of those who had fought and fallen beside him: Fred, Remus, Tonks, Colin, so many others. Their names blurred together, a list that looped endlessly in his mind, written in grief and blood.
And when the celebrations began, Harry left.
Not with fanfare, not with farewells, just gone.
He disappeared from the magical world the way a ghost slips from a room. No one stopped him. No one knew where he went. He had nowhere in mind, no plan or destination. He simply knew he couldn't stay.
Oddly enough, he ended up where it all began.
Privet Drive.
The house had remained mostly unchanged, though unfamiliar in its emptiness. He didn’t expect comfort from its walls, but grief had a cruel way of making even bitter memories feel like shelter. He returned not out of affection but familiarity. And perhaps, in some part of his wounded heart, because he didn't know who he was without the war, without the prophecy, without the next battle looming ahead.
Time moved on, even if Harry didn’t.