The Renaissance

AN: Well I'm back, at least for awhile, this story came about after I got into a rather heated discussion with my mother about Harry's childhood. Don't worry though, this should be a light hearted story and since I'm not working from an outline this time it probably won't be very long. Be prepared however, as this is AU, and I have elected to completely disregard huge chunks of both HBP and DH.

I hope you enjoy my foray into comedy.

--C

Prologue

It was over.

The battles had been fought, bad guys defeated and sadly, the dead had been buried and mourned. Now was the time a renaissance, a rebirth of Wizarding culture that wasn't tinged with old prejudices and fear.

It was a time for celebrating and rebuilding their heritage. It was a time for back-breaking work, joy and celebration.

It wasn't time for moping, guilt tripping, or the dark black pits of depression and self pity.

Unfortunately for the wizarding world their savior and hero was not just a victim of one such dark misery but all of them. But it was worse then that, because Mr. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Dark Wizard Slayer, Order of Merlin First Class awardee, and all around hero was hiding.

Hiding in his room in the dark, refusing to acknowledge owls, floo calls, or outraged knocks on the door. Hiding from the people he mistakenly thought he let down and the people who let him down. He hid from well wishers and manipulators, he even hid from friends old and new.

He just wanted to be alone to wrap his head around the new world he was living in. A world where he was an adult, and a hero, and expected to bring in a new era of change and peace, when all he wanted was a vacation in his nice dark room.

Once again though, Harry wasn't going to get the one thing that he really wanted, because Hermione Granger was tired of waiting, tired of answering questions about him from the press and the Ministry, tired of making food that never got eaten and tired of not having her friend anymore. This time when she knocked on the door if he didn't answer she was going in anyway to knock on his head.

*~*~*

"Harry?" Her voice was carefully modulated to hide how close to the edge she was; it wouldn't do to let him know that she was having a hard time too.

He didn't answer.

"Harry? If you don't answer me I'm coming in." This time she wasn't quite as nice.

She opened the door, ignoring the sting as she walked right through the ward on the door.

"Harry," she talked to the figure curled up near the window, a small frame and messy hair showed through the gloom of the room. "Hasn't this gone on long enough? You've been hiding for weeks, since the last funeral, the work isn't over yet. I know you've done more than anyone else alive but the is still so much left to do. Don't you understand that?"

"I understand." The voice was thick with tears and disuse. "But I don't have anything left. You are the only reason I've even stayed alive this long, let alone in Britain." He ran a thin hand through messy hair and he tried to put his thoughts in order. "Everyone but you has gone. My parents are dead, Sirius, Remus, and Tonks have also died, and the Weasley's have dead of their own to mourn. Ron hasn't even tried to see me."

Hermione tried to swallow her irritation. It was true, he had lost a lot but then, so had she, so had so many in the world. "Don't you think it's time that you stop crying and whining, and grow up? Bad things happened, all you can do is mourn for the lost, and then suck it up and solider on. That's how life as a grown up is."

Harry looked up at her, and she was staggered by the emptiness in his eyes. "Grow-up, Hermione? I've been a grown-up since I was a year old, I've never had the chance to be a child let alone a chance to 'grow up.'" He shook his head and walked slowly over to the dresser where his collections of potions sat.

Potions for pain, skin regeneration, stomach aches, dreamless sleep and bone strengtheners. Hidden in the back was the potion he had been contemplating for weeks. Draught of the Living Death might just be his only way to get some rest.

"Hermione, I've been forced to work as a slave by people who should have loved me, I've fought magical creatures, and psychopaths for years. Hell, I killed someone before I turned twelve. Where was my childhood? Where is my reward for splintering my soul? All I get is a brass medal and a list of new and impossible tasks. If I don't get a childhood, don't I at least deserve a vacation.?"

Hermione felt sick, she knew his life had been hard, she knew that he was older then he should be, but the desperate tone in his voice sent shivers down her spine in a whole new way.

"Harry, I don't--" her brain failed her, she didn't know how to help him. She had no insights or pep talks to give him, he was right, he deserved more then an award and more work.

That was when she noticed his potions just a moment too late. "Living death...? Harry, this is incredibly unstable when exposed to penny flower --"

Harry didn't hear her or he didn't care as he opened both his vacation and the headache potion and threw them into his mouth at the same time, completely forgetting about the the simple fact that the pickled newt eyes in the headache potion would destabilize the magic field generated by the penny flower in the Draught of the Living Death resulting in some sort of totally unpredictable magical accident. The last time the combo had been allowed together, a Wizarding potioneer in Italy watched a volcano devastate his homeland. This time, and in this incident the magical accident wasn't nearly as destructive, but it could be argued that is was as impressive as Mt. Vesuvius.

Because where a world weary and tired hero once stood in confrontation with his best friend, after the smoke cleared and the concussive booming stopped it became evident that in the place of our hero sat a chubby little boy with wispy black hair that still managed to look messy and crystal clear emerald eyes.

As for the best friend...

All she could say was "Crap."