Harry Potter woke from slumber in a panic. Drenched in sweat, breathing heavily and shaking, it took him a minute to realize where he was. He was in his bed at Grimmauld Place. Still gasping, Harry lay back down on the pillow. He gazed at the ceiling, panting, for almost a whole minute before he suddenly rolled over in bed, buried his head in his pillow and screamed in anguish and frustration. Why did a single person have to witness so much death in one lifetime?
Reluctantly, he listed them in his head, as he had done so many times before. The list of people close to him who he had lost had now gotten so, so long. And it all revolved around one person, his mortal enemy, now vanquished at long last, Lord Voldemort. It had been the way the prophecy was foretold. First, of course, had been his parents. Murdered by Voldemort in Godrick's Hollow, his father James had died bravely fighting and his mother, Lily had begged that Harry's life be spared and that her life be taken in exchange. His mother died to save him and in doing so, gave Harry greater protection than anyone might have imagined.
Next had been Cedric Diggory, in the Tri-Wizard Tournament 13 years later. He too had been murdered on Voldemort's orders. Harry blamed himself massively for what had happened. He and Cedric had tied winning the tournament and both had tried to be the valiant one and allow the other to have the glory. In the end Harry suggested that they take the cup together, and Cedric's fate was sealed.
After that, a year later, had been Sirius. He had been murdered by Bellatrix Lestrange in the Ministry of Magic. Harry largely blamed Sirius' death on himself too, because it had been he who had been fooled by Voldemort's faked vision sent to his head. If he had only not gone to the Ministry in the first place, things might have been different. Harry punched his pillow angrily. How could he have been so stupid?! WHY didn't he try to contact Sirius through the mirror he had given Harry instead of rushing off to the Ministry like an idiot?
Then yet another year later had been Albus Dumbledore. Again, Harry felt he had been at fault at least in part. He had been rendered completely immobile by Dumbledore right before the wonderful man had been murdered by Severus Snape. Though Harry now knew that Dumbledore's death had been part of the plan all along, he still hated the fact that it had happened.
Finally, in his seventh year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the year which he had not attended, Hedwig had died from a stray killing curse from a Death Eater when they were trying to escape Number 12, Privet Drive. Mad-Eye Moody was killed by a Death Eater as well on that fateful flight. Later was Dobby; by a cruel twist of fate, a knife thrown by Bellatrix Lestrange managed to embed itself in his body when he helped Harry escape from Malfoy Manor.
Then in the battle at Hogwarts…Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes with a hand as he hung his head, a wave of depression washing over him anew. It was too painful to comprehend anymore. They had all done it for him. Given their lives just for a 18 year old boy? No. Thinking like that was too self-centered. They were fighting for a way of life…
Harry sat there with his thoughts for a bit more before he put on his glasses and looked over at the clock. It was 5:30 am. Moodily, he threw some clothes on and quietly walked downstairs. He didn't think more sleep would be possible. Harry looked around disgustedly as he dismounted the staircase. He hadn't wanted to return here, but there wasn't really anywhere else for him to go. The house had been left to him by Sirius, and he vehemently refused to return to the Dursleys or be a burden on any of his friends. He had tried valiantly to make Number 12, Grimmauld Place look more inviting with the help of Ron and Hermione and it did look better. All the hideous Elf heads were now gone from the hallway, and the revolting portrait of Sirius' mother, stubborn as it had been, had finally been removed, thanks to some fancy wandwork done by none other than Hermione. It looked much more like a house now. Harry still didn't like being there, though. There were just too many memories. Everything in the place reminded Harry of someone who wasn't around anymore, and yet, he still found himself unable to imagine not living there.
Sighing, Harry listlessly stumped out to the front stairs to watch the sun rise above the still morning air. Voldemort was dead, yes. The war was over. Harry had fulfilled his destiny so far. So why then was he still having nightmares of all his deceased friends?
As he sat down on the front step, a small tinge of light blue was just making its way into the murky midnight of the sky. He gave a small shiver as the cool twilight air whipped around his face in a small breeze.
"I guess I still need time," he murmured to himself sardonically. It had already been a little more than a month since he had last seen Hogwarts, and he still couldn't seem to pull himself out of his stupor. He supposed these things were still on his mind because of the slew of funerals he had been to since the battle.
The hardest one for Harry to attend was Fred Weasley's. It was very nearly unbearable for him, watching as Mrs. Weasley buried her head into Arthur Weasley's shoulder, unable to watch as the coffin bearing Fred was lowered into the ground. George stood stone-faced and dry-eyed, seemingly unable to accept it. Ginny stood nearby with Hermione and Ron, sobbing quietly into a tissue. Harry had wanted nothing more than to rush over to her and hold her close, but he hadn't been able to. He had never felt more guilty in all of his life.
And yet despite all that, there was still an immense hope that Harry still felt every so often, most recently a week before when he had held his godson, Ted for the first time. Ted had reached out with a tiny hand towards Harry's face and Harry was hard put to keep his composure as Ted tried to grab his glasses. He was such a little bundle of life and Harry was glad that, though orphaned like himself, Ted would never have to live with people like the Dursleys. It was a good thing too, he thought as he grinned at an image that popped into his head of Petunia Dursley reacting to Ted's hair turning flaming green.