Disclaimer: All credit goes to JK Rowling and her genius.

Harry wanted to cry, he really did. Barely a week had passed since the battle for Hogwart and he was already swarmed with a whole array of post-war complications - the errant ways Death Eaters for one, the rampant chaos of rebuilding the castle, the funerals and the constant media attention that seemed to follow his every move. Not a moment of peace. Indeed, he already was struggling with a whole new set of adversities and unforeseen challenges.

Like struggling to fit himself into the new, frilly set of dress robes Mrs Weasley had bought him for his first -he didn't even want to think it- speech to the press. It had taken days of coercion from Mr Weasley, Percy, Hermione and finally Kingsley himself, but he had finally agreed to address the media.

"The wizarding world wants to hear from you, Harry" the interim Minister had pointed out. "People are dying to hear what the Boy Who Lived has to say about his incredible triumph. We're not out of the woods yet, Harry. Voldemort may have been stopped but there is a ways to go. Hearing from you would give many some peace of mind. People want to know what you're doing."

Well, currently, the Boy Who Lived was stuck in the neck hole of his slightly-too-small robes, possibly about to strangle himself in the attempt to pull them on. Next to him, Ron was howling with laughter.

New and unforeseen challenges indeed.

"Harry, I don't s'pose you'd let me take a picture? Bill told me that the Daily

Prophet is paying good money for pictures of your day to day life. Y'know the public needs to meet the real Harry Potter."

Unable to reply from within the mess of lace and black silk, Harry stuck an arm out from the hem and made a one handed gesture that made caused Ron to laugh even harder.

With great effort, he managed to pull his head through the collar and straightened up slowly, glasses askew on his face. He straightened them and looked into the nearby mirror, immediately wishing he hadn't seen himself.

The dress robes, which according to Mr Weasley were a very honorable traditional garb worn by war heroes, were even worse than he imagined. Somehow managing to both too long on as well as too tight around the neck, Harry looked like he was swimming in lace. They were black and voluminous, completely drowning out his thin frame.

"They're like those quaint green uniforms worn by, uh, Muggle armies," Mr Weasley had told him. "After they kill loads of one another with those guns? And they congratulate each other afterward, don't they? They give speeches and medals to each other?"

Harry, who had certainly never thought of himself as anything like a "war hero", had been too overwhelmed to speak.

Of course, there was the matter of figuring out exactly what to say to the public. He had a horrible image of himself waddling up to the crowd in his robes and immediately being stunned by the flashing lights, still having no idea what to tell the reporters.

"Harry, there you are!" Hermione walked briskly into the room, carrying a small stack of white paper. "You're going on in less than an hour! Why aren't you dressed yet?"

"I'm trying-" he began but was cut off immediately by Ron.

"Hermione, do you need any help with anything?"

Harry sighed loudly. Ever since their kiss last week, Ron had been displaying a strange combination of embarrassing attentiveness and bravado. Apparently unable to decide how to speak to her, he took to following her around the Burrow and pestering her without actually bringing up the topic of their relationship. Unfortunately, in the chaos of the aftermath, she had yet to address the topic and this seemed to make Ron nearly hysterical with anticipation.

Charlie, who seemed to think that Ron had imagined the whole thing "under the pressure of war" took to relentlessly teasing him about her total calm in the face of near panic.

"Hey, mate, maybe in the confusion of the battle she thought you were Krum," he had suggested as they stood in the garden yesterday, trying to degnome the flowers.

"I dunno, maybe he just dazzled her with hitherto unsuspected skills and she's overwhelmed," Bill added.

"You mean she blocked out the horrible memory, poor girl," Ginny chimed in.

Harry had snorted with laughter but Ron had simply stood silently, his face flaming red until it nearly matched the color of his hair.

But now, it was days later and it had started driving Harry mad.

"Uh, no thanks Ron. I've gone ahead and prepared some cards for you, Harry. Just read them in order and you should be fine."

"Thanks a million, Hermione," he sighed in relief. "I really didn't know what I was going to say."

"You'll be fine," she repeated with a small smile "I've made sure that Rita Skeeter is banned from the event. Only two hundred reporters."

"Hang on, two hundred? Hermione, I thought this was going to be small!"

But before she could reply, the door burst open once again and Mrs Weasley strode in, looking slightly harassed.

"Kingsley's arrived, dear. You should come downstairs to meet him before the conference to talk things over."

"Er, why? Why is he here?" Harry asked, growing even more alarmed and hoping not to sound too rude. "I thought I was just going to give a speech alone?"

"Well, last minute, the Ministry decided that it would be a good show of solidarity if he spoke as well."

Harry's stomach sank.

"But Mrs. Weasley, I didn't know about this…"

"I know, dear," she sighed, absentmindedly adjusting the collar on Harry's robes. "But he just popped in now and I suppose there's no reason not to. I don't think it'll change matters much, he'll just put in a few words here and there. You should come downstairs soon. I just have to ask Arthur when the press is arriving, should be any minute now."

With that, she fluttered out of the room, leaving a perplexed silence in her wake.

"Blimey, Harry" Ron muttered. "Looks like this is getting pretty big."

Through the opened window, he could hear the rumble of voices rise as reporters started to arrive. Harry took a deep breath, stashing the note cards in the pockets of his robe.

He knew what was coming. From here on, there would be precious little time to rest. He had completed one arduous journey only to land on the doorstep of another- one that would, hopefully, last a lifetime.

Here it was at last- Harry Potter, finally free. No more Dark Lords looming over his head, no more prophecies or Horcruxes. No more counting the last days. From now on, Harry knew he not only had to face the world but also find a way to live in it.

The war was over. Now he had to start to heal. Rebuild.