The Aftermath
Prologue: The Aftermath
Harry was floating. Lying on a dusty, old couch in Grimmauld Place, he just let himself drift, vaguely aware of the radio program playing quietly in the background. Since the end of the war, he often did this, just closing his eyes and letting himself go numb. He couldn’t fall asleep, he couldn’t dream, but he could drift.
The war ended four months ago now, and he had spent most of that time alone, much to Hermione’s chagrin. But it wasn’t as though he had much of a choice.
…
“Seven horcruxes…” Kingsley repeated, looking a bit sick. He was sitting at Dumbledore’s desk, looking more tired than Harry had ever seen him.
Harry stared blankly at Dumbledore’s portrait. The former headmaster appeared to be softly sleeping, but Harry didn’t know whether to believe that or not. He didn’t know what to believe anymore when it came to the old man. Shaking himself out of it, he rubbed his eyes and sighed.
“Yes.” He stated. That was the important part, he couldn’t bring himself to say anything more now, or maybe ever.
Kingsley leaned back in his chair, the normally stoic man completely shellshocked. “We..we almost didn’t…he wouldn’t have died, and nobody would have known why if you hadn’t..”
He cut himself off with a deep breath.
“I will have to consult the Department of Mysteries…”
“Not until the ministry has been overhauled, Kingsley.” Harry said, a hard edge to his voice despite his clear exhaustion, straightening slightly in his chair. “The ministry is corrupt and Voldemort being gone won’t change that overnight. This is not safe information in the ministry’s hands, not even the Department of Mysteries.”
“Yes… you are right, of course. I just need to think about how to proceed. People will want answers, but this is one I can’t give. You have to be careful, Harry. You will be asked about this more than anyone else.”
“I know.” Harry slumped back into his chair. He felt like a puppet with his string cut, in more ways than one. They lapsed into a tense silence. Harry staring at the desk and Kingsley just watching him, brows furrowed.
After a minute or so, Kingsley broke the silence, concern etched across his features. “Harry… Do you need anything? Have you seen a healer yet?”
“No need. I’m not hurt and Madam Pomphrey is busy enough.”
“Are you sure? When Hagrid carried you back, you looked..injured.”
Harry jumped out of his seat to suppress a flinch, and turned away from Kingsley. He began to walk towards the door.
“Let me know if you need anything else from me.” Harry said without turning around, and he stumbled out of the headmaster’s office, before pausing. Ron was with Hermione in the great hall. When he last saw them, they had their heads bent together, speaking in low voices about what was going to happen next. Ron had to stay with his family, help hold everyone together with Fred gone, and Hermione had to find her own parents. Harry had sat listening to them, not saying a word when Kinsgley had finally beckoned him over the day after the battle.
He stood still with indecision, before finally turning towards Gryffindor tower. Ron and Hermione had finally gotten their act together, and he didn’t need to be there as they made their plans for the future together. He was happy for them, but he felt distant now. Ever since the forest, he felt separate, wrong in his own skin, and he couldn’t tag along as they finally found what was right.
…
So he didn’t go with them. They argued and fought, but when Hermione left for Australia and Ron left for the Burrow, he stayed at Hogwarts. He pointed out that he could do more good at the school than anywhere else, and they had folded, with promises to write.
Tears ran down Hermione’s face as she flung her arms around him.
“Please take care of yourself.” She whispered as she hugged him, Ron just behind her.
“Don’t worry, Hermione. It’s Hogwarts, how much trouble can I get into here?” He joked, smile not quite reaching his eyes.
She rolled her eyes, chuckling wetly. Hermione took a step back and looked him over again.
“You should get away from here, Harry. Get away from all of this. You deserve it more than anyone.” She said softly.
He shrugged, not quite meeting her eyes. He knew he would have to leave. He wanted to. As the adrenaline was wearing off, he started to realize how haunted these walls were for him. But for now, he didn’t know where to go.
As if she could read his mind, Hermione leaned in and said, quiet enough so only they could hear it, “Maybe it's time to do something about that letter.”
Harry immediately tensed under her hands, unable to speak.
“No, Hermione…”
She didn’t respond, just looked at him. He couldn’t tell if that expression was exasperation or pity.
“Good bye for now, Harry.
For the first week, he helped to clear the rubble and rebuild the castle. His muscles ached, both with the strain and unhealed injuries that still littered his body, but it was grounding in a way. No one tried to approach him at first, too lost in their own grief or focused on the family and loved ones. So he was able to throw himself into clearing the stain of battle from the place he once thought of as home. But that didn’t last forever, once the initial shock wore off, attention turned back to the Boy Who Lived.
Reporters came in droves the minute the Daily Prophet was back up and running under the new ministry. At the first flash of a camera, he apparated to the one place he had left to go. Grimmauld.
And he stayed there, on a dusty old couch in the drawing room with the radio humming. He had visited the ministry a few times, less than willingly, and tried to visit some families of the fallen, but it seemed like anywhere he went, the attention he brought did more harm than good. So, he stayed alone. Well, with Kreacher, but mostly…alone.