AN: So this is my new story. It started as a side project but it seems to have taken on a life of it's own. I've only written the first five chapters for now but i promise their will be more, a lot more than i initially intended, you know how ones imagination can get carried away. Anyways for now here is the first chapter.

Warnings: No warnings just yet.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, I write this purely for fun, not money.

Chapter 1, Trauma

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, Hero of the Wizarding World, sat alone on a bench in front of the house of the only people he could really call family. It had taken a matter of days after the defeat of Voldemort for the temporary residents of Hogwarts to disperse and return to their homes with what was left of their families. The Weasleys, Harry and Hermione included, were one of the last to leave. Farewells were exchanged and just like that everyone was expected to move on.

But Harry couldn't move on. He had lost too much. He told himself that if he could at least think everything through, say goodbye to those he had lost, then he could get through this. The problem was he seemed incapable of thought. At the moment he felt numb, and the only image that surfaced to his mind when he tried to think about anything was a blinding white light, and Dumbledore. Why am I not with him? Harry asked himself. Why didn't he feel the pain that everyone around him was suffering from? Why was there no sense of relief? It was over after all, and he had done what he had set out to do, and now the wizarding world was free. For Harry there was no joy, no pain, no fear, nothing. He was completely devoid of emotion, and for now, he wanted to keep it that way.

Over the next couple of weeks Harry kept to himself. The Weasleys were grieving, and he had the smallest inclination that it was his fault. Whenever he saw Molly she would put on a smile for him, as he would for her, but they saw through each others masks. Arthur was a small comfort to his wife; he could tell when she needed to be alone or when she needed company. Bill had gone home to his own wife, and Charlie returned to Romania shortly after. Percy stayed for a little while, wanting to make up for lost time, and his family welcomed him home with open arms. He was one of the few people who could make Molly genuinely smile. George was a different matter entirely. He locked himself in his room, ate very little and spoke to no one.

Ron and Hermione also kept to themselves. Although they were celebrating their new found relationship, they didn't want to boast about what little happiness they had, it didn't seem right. Ginny was mostly quiet and usually found by her mothers' side, she had gained a new respect for her mother after the showdown against Bellatrix Lestrange; not only had she confronted the evil witch, she had won!

And so the days dragged on, everyone caught in their own stupor, until it came the time to attend the funerals. In a moment of complete selfishness Harry wished that he didn't have to go, but he knew deep down if anyone was expected to be there it was him. Those people had died fighting for the same cause he had, only they never had a second chance to come back. Not for the first time he wished he could have gone with them, that he could be with his parents, with Sirius and Remus, Dumbledore, Fred. Despite these thoughts Harry still couldn't bring himself to cry. To cry meant that you could feel something, and that was still lost to him. The dead did not feel, the dead did not cry.

The funerals came and went, Harry walking through them like the ghost he felt like. During this time he did make a little progress however. One evening, he was sitting with his two best friends in Ron's bedroom. They were still in their pyjamas despite the fact that it was after dinner and were reminiscing on old times. Although the memories were there Harry couldn't quite remember how he had felt at the time. He confessed this to the two people he trusted most, explaining his lack of emotion over the last month. They were both deeply concerned for their friend, and tried to be understanding and supportive. When they asked if there was anything they could do to help, Harry had simply said "Time, I guess I just need time."

Predictably, Hermione tried to solve Harry's problem in the same way she always did: she hit the books. She read everything she could find on post-traumatic stress disorder she could find, both magical and muggle, and for a while it seemed that Harry had been right, he just needed time. Then one day she found something that might just be the answer.

"The theory goes," she started to explain, "that if you look back on your past experiences, and try to see them from a different perspective, then you should be able to create new emotions, rather than try to retain your old ones." She wasn't completely sure it would work, but it was worth a try.

Harry agreed to try Hermione's "experiment" as he called it, not for his own benefit, but for hers. He might be unable to determine his own feelings but he could read Hermione like a book, and he didn't want to let her down any more than he guessed he already was. Every night as he lay in bed he would pick a memory and meditate on it, trying to look at it differently. Within a month he had realised that the cupboard under the stairs had not been scary, it had been safe, and although he had been a victim of his cousin's bullying, Dudley had been the victim of his own mother's overprotective nature. He knew now that if it had not been for his friends Harry would never have been able to achieve half the things he did at school. He'd always been proud of his brave and confident Gryffindor nature, but it was his friends who had made him believe in himself.

The biggest revelation came when he started to think about Ginny. Theirs had been a short romance, and Harry couldn't help but feel that they had been but children then. They weren't now. Of course he still liked her, but he wasn't sure he still liked her in that way. In fact now that he thought about it he wasn't entirely sure he had ever felt that way about anyone. Sure he had kissed Cho all those years ago, but it had been awkward and nothing about it had felt right. Then a thought occurred to him that he wasn't sure he wanted to understand at all; if he didn't like girls in that way, who did he like?

Every time Harry felt he had made progress he would sit down with Hermione and she would record it in a little notebook she always carried around with her. The writing disappeared the moment the ink touched the pages and she explained to him that only she could read it. Harry was grateful for her discretion with his problem, and he told her everything he had thought of during his meditations, well almost everything, and they would sit and discuss it for a while. Although he was growing a little more comfortable with his recent thoughts on his sexuality, he wasn't quite ready to tell her about that little discovery just yet.

Now that the funerals were over it was time for the death eater trials to begin. Harry wanted as little to do with any of it as possible, but there was one hearing he did want to attend, and if he could, perhaps speak at. He got his wish, and he managed to persuade the Wizengamot that Draco Malfoy had only taken the dark mark to protect his family. He also explained that if it hadn't been for his actions in the Manor, that is to say denying that he recognised Harry and his friends, then the war would have had a very different ending indeed. He spoke for Narcissa too, telling the court how she had lied to Voldemort about Harry's death in order to get into the castle.

Although Lucius hadn't been so lucky, they were both given minor sentences. Draco was given the equivalent of community service in which he had to help rebuild Hogwarts, and once there was not allowed to leave. His mother was free to go, however she would be monitored, and any communication with any ex death eaters would result in severe consequences.

At the end of August, letters arrived from Hogwarts, not just for Ginny and the Trio but for everyone. They were calls for volunteers to help with the Hogwarts rebuild. Molly and Arthur agreed instantly, as did Percy and Ginny. As much as Ron and Hermione wanted to help they had already made plans to travel to Australia to look for her parents. Harry now had a choice; he could go to Australia with his friends, or return to Hogwarts and help repair the damage he felt he had caused. The big question here being was he ready to face his past? He discussed the matter with his friends and they both agreed that it would help with his recovery if he went back to the castle, running off to another country would only make it worse, they had said.

There was just one member of the family who hadn't responded to the call for volunteers. The others really had seen very little of George and Ron had just about had enough. They were in the living room, Hermione, Harry, Ginny and himself, discussing this very fact. Ron was angry.

"He thinks he's the only one who's hurting!" he shouted a little too loudly. "Well he's not. We lost Fred too! He was our brother too! What gives him the right to act the way he has been?" No one answered, so he continued his rant. "Doesn't he realise he's making it worse? Doesn't he care how much mum misses him? She feels like she's lost the both of them!" Still seething he threw himself into the nearest armchair and glared at the others.

Hermione came over to him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You're right Ron," she said "But it's no use telling us, you need to tell that to him."

"He won't listen." he snapped back.

"Have you tried?"

"No, but he won't even open his door to me." There was a pause and then someone else spoke.

"I'll talk to him." It was Harry, and everyone turned to look at him surprised. Harry still barely spoke to anyone but Ron and Hermione, and hadn't once said anything to George the entire time they'd all been there. Hermione couldn't help but break into a smile.

"Yes, you should do that Harry, it'll be good for the both of you." she said enthusiastically.

Harry stood and stretched. "No time like the present then," and with that he left the room.

"Go away Ron!" George shouted when he heard the knock on his door.

"It's Harry," the voice said from the other side. The younger boy waited silently and then the door opened. "You look awful," he told the Weasley.

"You don't look so good yourself," George answered back. It was true. Harry was still far too skinny, and he was extremely pale which was only exaggerated by his unkept mess of black hair. Once in the room he looked around. It took a few moments to register that all the Weasleys Wizard Wheezes products had been packed away, and Fred's bed was unmade, presumably the way he had left it when he got the call to come to Hogwarts. George sat on his own bed and glared at the floor. He looked as though he had been crying.

"I heard Ron shouting," he said in explanation. Harry nodded. "He's right of course, I have been selfish, wallowing in my own misery, but I just can't bring myself to sit at the table without him, to lounge in the garden or," he choked back fresh tears and then continued. "I don't want to upset anyone I... I don't want to remind them of him." The last eight words were said so quietly that Harry almost didn't hear them. He didn't know what to say, so he sat down next to his miserable friend and laid a hand on his shoulder to show his support.

"You're not Fred," he said eventually. "You're George Weasley and you have a family who love and miss you." George looked at him with uncertainty, so he continued. "I'm not even going to pretend to understand what you're going through, but you can't hide forever. None of us can." George looked into Harry's eyes to see if he was telling the truth, and was shocked to find an empty, emotionless gaze. They sat in silent companionship for some time before Harry left him to his thoughts.

Dinner was always a big affair in the Weasley household, due to the usually large number of people and generally chaotic nature of said people. Today was no different. Ron was still angry from his earlier rant and Hermione and Ginny were both weary and annoyed from trying to calm him down. Percy was chatting rather too excitedly to his dad about ministry business and to top it all off there were loud noises coming from the kitchen where Molly was preparing their meal. Harry's head hurt from it all so he just sat there, trying to block it all out.

"Mind if I join you?" The voice came from the bottom of the stairs. Every head at the table turned round to find George standing there, and if you looked close enough you could see he wore a slight smile on his face.

"George!" his father called. "Of course you can join us, you should never have to ask." His tone was admonishing but gentle. George sat down next to Harry and leaned into him, whispering a thank you. Harry smiled.

Five minutes later Molly came bustling in, the bowls and plates of food were bobbing along behind her, and she took her seat at the head of the table. Harry noticed she was wearing one of her fake smiles again as she glanced around the table, but when she saw George she broke into the biggest grin she had worn in a long long time. She opened her mouth to say something but all that was managed was a chocked "George." Her son smiled back at her, tears beginning to well in his eyes, but he pushed them aside.

"Hi mum," he said, sounding more like his old self than he had in ages.

George's presence was the ice breaker the family needed. During their meal they laughed and chatted, all previous animosity forgotten, and for a brief moment it felt like things were back to normal. The others told George about the call for volunteers and he decided that he may as well go along, "It'll give me something to do other than sitting around moping all day," he joked. Everyone laughed and Harry thought it would be good to have someone's company other than his ex girlfriend and Percy. The whole family stayed up late that night, enjoying each others company, and for a brief moment it seemed that everything was going to be o.k.