Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is, unfortunately, not mine.
A/N: Hello, there! This is my first Eighth Year fan-fiction! It will, of course, be Drarry Slash! Fluff shall ensue! I am trying my hardest to stick to canon (asides from 19 years later bits)! I will update as frequently as possible! I expect this to be a long fiction, or at least generally, perhaps about twenty chapters though this one is shorter than I expect the rest to be! Please read, review and enjoy!

Summary: Sonder – n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own.

Harry thought he could finally be happy. The War was over, Hogwart's was repaired to its former glory and he and fourteen others were back for their Eighth Year...then how come he couldn't find it in him to smile? Why did he always carry The Tales of Beedle the Bard around with him and what was he hiding in his trunk? What did any of this have to do with Draco Malfoy?

Chapter One:
Dejected

Her slender fingers fell softly against his sweating skin, they feathered down his sides as he twitched away instinctively. She was gentle, to the point he was ticklish beneath her touch. Ginny pushed back, there was a determined glint in her eyes as she sauntered over to her four poster bed, sliding herself onto it as her fingers began to snap open the clasps of her Quidditch robes.

Harry swallowed the lump that was wedged between his Gryffindor pride and those vital fine motor skills. He knew what came next yet he had no idea what led him here; one moment they were arguing and then suddenly her lips were ravaging his own in a feverish fashion. As if she was attempting to get the result she needed through physical persuasion. Harry's sweaty palms quivered as they fumbled with his own robes, the light in the room seemed to become instantaneously hazy. Ginny was underneath him now, his glasses were left askew somewhere in the mess of heavy bedsheets; Harry noted they smelt almost sickeningly like Mrs Weasley and The Burrow. How did he get here now? His hands lying on either side of Ginny's head, her red hair cascaded down her neck - it was the exact same shade of Ron's, just another thought he had to shake from his head. 'Concentrate. Breathe. Ginny wants this...wants you. Now.' but his inner affirmations were anything but helpful.

There they were, naked with their bodies pressed against one another, Harry's blurred vision racked across her skin; small freckles were hidden in places he thought were impossible to have so many. When his eyes finally trailed down past her hips his mouth felt like a desert, completely arid.

Ginny's hands were performing ministrations, her brows were furrowed now and her eyes searched her boyfriend's perplexing features as he seemed to refuse to look anywhere but her face. She ran a hand up to his cheek, stroking it gently till he finally brought his widened, emerald eyes to look at her.

It was all that was needed.

Harry recoiled, as if it burnt, upon gazing down at the girl that resembled so much of his...Mother. He felt something churning in his belly, his hands cupped his shaking head, his eyes clasped shut as his elbows rested on his knees. Minutes passed with only the sound of fabric being pulled back over ashamed flesh and a few quieted sniffles. Harry was dressed, somehow, though he felt as though he had done so entirely with his eyes closed and in a daze.

He was at her door now, his hand found hers on the knob, his eyes were befuddled as they peered into her own, in throws of sorrow, choking back threatening tears. "Ginny, I..."

"Did you ever love me?" her voice was a hateful whisper - he had never been stung so much by mere words.

The hesitation he had to make in thought told them both everything they needed to know. "I do love you..." but the words seemed to fail their true meaning, they didn't quite meet his voice or eyes. She opened the door, he turned to leave with haunched shoulders. The door to the Seventh Year girl's dormitory slammed shut behind him, his final words resonating in the hollow staircase though it was a mere whisper.

His feet carried him without notice. Perhaps he was dreaming as he passed through the crowded Gryffindor Common Room almost unnoticed. What he would give to call it home again, but he couldn't. He was no longer a Gryffindor. He was House-less, along with the other Eighth Years whom he shared accommodations with. It didn't take long for him to appear on the Fifth Floor, not too far from the Room of Requirements, and to their own secret portrait hole built in the new Hogwart's, refurbished after the Final Battle, just for the fourteen returning students. He hated that place. It was dark, hollow, thrown together without a thought. It was modern, unlike the homier House's. The Common Room was small but at least had enough tables and chairs for each of them to privately study and more than enough seating area, as there weren't many of them. It was a cold, mauve colour scheme with only a few scattered portraits, all unmoving. Even the portrait hole wasn't like the rest of the Houses - it was stationary, spelled to open upon the password being said.

There were two sets of stairs, just like any other Common Room, that led one floor upwards to the Girls and Boys Dormitories. There were two sets of Boy's Dormitories as there were nine total. Harry was bunked with Michael Corner, Terry Boot, Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini. It hadn't been a horrible three months sharing a dormitory with them though it had been anything but pleasant. The entire experience of returning to Hogwart's, back to NEWT-level classes, was not in the least what Harry expected it to be. Neither was he the boy he expected to be after Voldemort was dealt with, at long last.

"I'm never going to get it!" Ron's frustrated voice ran in his ears as he dazedly began to walk through the Common Room, towards the dormitory stairs. Hermione sighed, patting her partner's hand on one of the work tables they were seated at, "Even with your help, 'Mione, Crinus Muto just doesn't make any-" his voice fell as he looked at the bushy-haired girls sudden change in expression. He followed her piercing gaze to their best friend who hung his head as he was ascending the staircase. They shared a concerned look before immediately abandoning their books and following after him.

When they entered the dormitory, Harry was standing tensed with his hands down at his sides, his fists clenched and shaking. Malfoy and zabini were standing with their own arms crossed, both were wands held tersely in their grasps. They were standing at the foot of Harry's bed, glaring icily at him, it seemed as though words had been quickly exchanged before Ron and Hermione had arrived. "You won't get in," Harry whispered, he sounded defeated, drained. He saw the small threat in the frustrated boy's before him but ignored it. What could they do? Harry was The-Boy-Who-Lived...Twice. A snivelling Malfoy and his crony were nothing to him. Everything was nothing to him.

Harry ignored all other presence's in the room and strode over to his bed, past Malfoy whose eyes were narrowing at him dangerously, they followed him until he lowered himself down on the made sheets. Harry lie on his back, he immediately reached for the book that always sat on his bedside table if it wasn't in his direct possession and opened it to the same page he always did; The Tale of the Three Brother's. But he wasn't reading. He was just allowing his eyes to skim the page slowly, attempting to pretend that everybody else's presence was lost to him.

"What are you playing at, Malfoy?" Ron hissed as Hermione bit her lip looking apprehensively at her friend lying so still.

Malfoy sneered at the redhead, "Nothing that concerns you, Weasel," he spat with that same cool ferocity he had for the past eight years. Eight years too long, in Hermione's opinion.

"My trunk," Harry said simply, his words were more like a mumbled breath, "They were trying to get into my trunk again,"

Ron found himself smirking at this, Hermione frowned - she hated that trunk -, "What? Can't stand that you're bested by Harry? Just get over it, ferret, you'll never get in,"

"Oh?" it was Zabini that spoke, he always sounded so sly, he advanced on Ron, his wand still in hand, "You say that like he lets you in, Weasley. But not even you, are good enough to see what's in the Golden Boy's trunk,"

Malfoy was peering over his shoulder at the dejected boy, lying motionlessly in his bed, legs crossed at the ankles and face mostly covered by his beloved children's book. He pursed his lips and placed his hand on Zabini's shoulder, gripping tightly as he placed his wand back into his cloak pocket. "Blaise," he merely said, before leading his way out the door as he muttered, "We won't get anywhere with that imbecilic lot in our way,"

Once the ex-Slytherin's had vacated, Hermione finally made her way over to Harry's bedside and sat down beside him, reaching her hand out to lower the book so his eyes would be forced to meet hers. They looked dead, nearly empty, clouded, those eyes unnerved her to no end. Ron was behind her now, his hand on the small of her back. "Harry..." she whispered softly, trying to melt away the apathy but it only seemed to harden his expression.

"Was it that bad?" Ron asked quietly, they had been present at the start of Ginny and his fight - which was mostly just Ginny yelling at Harry - but they had assumed as she rushed him up to her dormitory that things had been made up. Ron was never in the mood to particularly guess what his best friend was getting up to with his sister when they hid away up there, but he could be assured it wasn't fighting.

Harry slowly let his dull expression peel off Hermione's and to his inquiring friends, their worry etched so deeply into their faces. He attempted a comforting smile but it seemed to contort into a twisted frown which merely deepened their concern. "No, not really," he responded at last.

The couple before him shared another look before Hermione softly pressed on, "What happened?"

"I don't know," he cast a sideways glance about the room until he fell on his trunk. He dreaded the involvement mixed with pity in their eyes. "I think Gin's pretty upset,"

Ron took a step back, immediately torn. It was just another thing he hated about his best mate and his sister being an item; who was he supposed to help in times of need, was he really expected to choose a side to support? "What did you say? What did you do?" he asked, trying not to sound urgent.

Harry was frowning deeply now, his eyes still trained on his small, black trunk, "Nothing,"

"C'mon, she didn't talk herself into-"

"No, really Ron. Nothing. I think that's what upset her...at first, after Quidditch practice, I couldn't say it...now, I couldn't do..." he trailed off, a faint blush rose to his cheeks but with a frown still firmly in place it quickly dissipated before either could see it.

"Did you break up?"

Harry shook his head, his unruly fringe falling before his eyes with vision still blurred, his glasses were somewhere in between the sheets of his girlfriend's bed, "I don't think so. I think Gin's pretty upset though..."

"I should go talk with Ginny," Hermione said softly, immediately shaking her head as she saw Ron's mouth open from the corner of her eye, "Alone," she stood to leave, chastely kissing her boyfriend on the way out and casting a sad look at her friend, "I'll bring your glasses back, too, Harry," she added before she left.

Ron stood in an awkward silence for a moment as the dormitory door clicked shut, he eventually slid his way onto Harry's bed where Hermione had been seated. Harry was already occupying himself with The Tales of Beedle the Bard again, the redhead heaved and snatched the book from his friend, slamming it shut and putting it down on his dresser. Harry shot him a cold glare but didn't say a thing or move. He knew how much his constant need to reread and keep the book close to him was becoming such an annoyance to his best friends, even those not too close to him were becoming peeved by it as it had been that way for nearly six months. It was just like the trunk at the end of his bed. Spelled, cursed and locked and no matter what counter-spells, hexes or potion induced charms anybody tried it just wouldn't open. Whenever Harry opened it, and curious onlookers stared into its contents, all they could see were neat piles of clothes. Everybody knew for two reasons that wasn't what was in there; firstly, Harry never folded his clothes, just shoved or strewn them about places, and secondly, most of the times when he opened it he would retrieve a book or Dark Detector or something not akin to clothes at all. There was something in there. Something that irked everybody that knew about the trunk and just how well Harry had protected it. Just like The Tales of Beedle the Bard; there was something everybody was missing, lying beneath the used pages or between the lines and pictures.

"Malfoy's a right git," Ron finally said, he knew he couldn't offer much support in the relationship between Harry and Ginny out of fear of choosing sides.

Harry found the corners of his mouth barely pulling upwards to make a smirk, "Yeah, he is, isn't he?"

XXXXXXXXXX

Three hours earlier.

"Harry! JUST. LOOK. AT. ME!"

The Entrance Hall was silent now. Thankfully most students were at Hogsmeade or studying in their Common Rooms or the library. It was only Hermione and the entire Gryffindor Quidditch Team coming in from practice that had to bear witness to another spat between the Golden couple.

Harry dragged his hard gaze up from his shoes to his girlfriend's eyes, she looked so painfully assertive. As if she was trying to reach out with all her emotions through one look, as if it could make the distance in Harry close over. They both should know perfectly well that wasn't how it could work. "I'm sorry," Harry whispered. He always did that, always took the blame and always apologized for things he didn't quite understand he did wrong.

"No, no," Ginny had her arms crossed now, her foot was tapping on the ground. She was irate, at best, "What for?"

"What for?" Harry returned, he was lost. He had dragged him from his thoughts and suddenly he found himself, confusedly, here, between shouts and heated silences.

Ginny rolled her eyes, he could hear her grind her teeth, "What. Are. You. Apologizing. For?" she spat.

She was speaking in single word sentences. Harry swallowed; what had he done now to bring her to this amount of anger? Again? Twice now in the past week, Merlin knows how many times since term had begun back in September and it was nearing December now. Harry took his time, trying to recall everything that had just happened between the Quidditch Pitch and there. They were walking, she had her arm around him, she was speaking but he couldn't quite make out her words, he was thinking. Thinking about...three brother's. He was thinking about which brother he would most likely be. Which one would he want to be?

"For not listening," he finally quietly returned, Ginny's acute silence told him he had gotten it right. 'Good guess,' he darkly applauded himself mentally. "Gin, I'm really sorry, I've just got a lot on my mind and usually after coaching Quidditch I can't help but think about..." Harry sighed and looked around, most of the team had dispersed but slower than they usually would have, he could tell even as they were ascending the stairs to their respectful dormitories they were still trying to listen in, "...about them," he finished. Harry felt his gut wrench at the lie. He had used it so often over the past six months and it made him feel like an absolute terrible human being. He was using the memory of his late friends and family members, even of Sirius, as an excuse. But he couldn't relinquish his true thoughts. He couldn't let her know, nobody could.

Her expression was softening but she still stood in a defensive stance, "Y'know sometimes I think you forget that I lost people, too, Harry," she stepped closer to him, his masked expression never faltered from hers - she bore all emotion on her face, it unnerved him greatly.

Harry found his hands grasping hers, he found himself biting out a forced smile of comfort, "I know. I'm sorry, Gin,"

"And you forget there are still people here that rely on you," she made a gesture to herself and then a slight nod towards Ron and Hermione who were holding hands, awkwardly standing off to the side, "And Teddy..." the mention of the infant always pained Harry, Ginny knew it did and that's why whenever Harry made her upset she would only have to mutter his name to make him give in to whatever it was that she wanted; he would do anything to not talk about Teddy, his Godson.

"I know, I'm sorry, Gin," but Harry was the only one who knew that he wasn't.