Warning (to prevent flames): One, this story is rated M for a reason. There will be pretty explicit man-sex. There will be swearing, violence, and blood. Furthermore, this is a pretty slow-paced story. This story is very thought out so it will not move quickly. If you don't like that, I'm warning you now, turn back. Do NOT flame me for the pace of this story. Do not tell me that it's not a Snarry because there's no Snape/Harry action in the first three chapters. Either be patient, or don't read it at all.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe, all familiar characters and plot lines belong solely to J.K. Rowling.

Also, all the chapter titles belong to Fun. and Jukebox the Ghost and their amazingly talented song lyricists.

For All You've Overcome

Harry Potter had a good life. It was not perfect, nor was it a dream come true, but it was good. Perhaps, as a child, he had hoped for more, for better. But as he aged and as the weight of the world continually rested itself on his shoulders, he learned that he must accept whatever peace he was given. And he was given a small amount. He knew that it could be better, that he could be better. If he really wanted it, he could have everything. But what use was it to have it all if he did not have that which he truly desired? All he wanted was some peace, and a few people in his life to share it with. He was granted that much. It was his peace. So he took it and protected it with his life.

He had a decent job, a baker in the small Wizarding town of Godric's Hollow. It was a humble and quiet living that suited him well after the war. He had considered joining the Aurors or becoming a Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor. But baking had always been a vice, and in the end, it was the least emotionally trying job he could have. He could not handle any more pain and despair, the walls in his head needed to remain standing. And, baking was easy. It was relaxing and, sure, the change of pace sometimes shocked him into post-traumatic stress, but it was better to go crazy every once and awhile than to be certifiably insane all the time. The job was nice and his customers were nice, and it was not glamorous or exciting, but Harry was okay with that. Sometimes he missed things about the war, the adrenaline and intensity, but he had his small peace. And he did not want to mess with that.

Mondays were his best days, the start of the week, hope for a new beginning. It was silly, to have so much hope, especially after all he had been through, but what did he have if he did not have hope? He hoped to put the trials of war behind him, trying to bake his sorrows into cookies and other delicious sweets. He hoped for peace of mind and a way to make people happy. But he could not bear to save lives anymore so he remained content with the smile a customer gave as he handed them their freshly baked danish. He hoped, and it was such a silly thing, but he was a silly person. And he hoped that other silly people would also hope for silly things. Because being silly and hopeful was better than being angry. He was tired of being angry. So he hoped because it was silly and because, every so often, it produced results.

He had hoped for a simpler life after his tragic childhood, and he had one. He had hoped for the world to recover for the death and destruction, and it seemed to do so more and more every day. Sometimes, all one needs is enough hope. Harry liked to believe that anyway.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter!"

It was a Monday and Harry was serving his early crowd. Marcus, an elderly wizard who was very wise, but obviously going senile, greeted him with a cheer only very old age could achieve. Harry liked Marcus. He was kind and gentle and seemed to always see the better side of things. To some, he was a smiling old fool, but for Harry he was an example of what he would want to be when he got to that age, a friendly old man with a sweet tooth. Sometimes he reminded him a bit of good old...But he did not think about that anymore...

"Good morning, Marcus," Harry responded as he finished preparing the butterscotch danish before handing it to the man. "Be careful, it's hot."

The warning was the same every morning, and Marcus always smiled and nodded and blew a wheezy breath over the steamy danish in an ineffective effort to cool it down. Then he would smile and wink at Harry and walk to his table in the corner where he would eat his breakfast and drink his tea and watch Harry with a thoughtful look on his face, though Harry did not know it.

Aside from his regulars, who were usually older men and women, Harry did not have much interaction with his customers. Sure, they were all aware of who he was; The Golden Boy, The Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, Defeater of Evil, and so on and so forth, but the novelty of his fame had worn off over the years. His quiet and simple life left little to the imagination so the Prophet and Witch Weekly had nothing to report of the once famous man for he lived an honest life. And it was honestly boring; to the public, at least. So, as the years rolled by, Harry Potter was a name for the history books and would go down in glory, but the man himself remained quiet and simple and the public had no attention span for that. It was a good thing. But on occasion, on the anniversary of Voldemort's death and when his more extraordinary friends were flashing smiles at him from the front page of the paper, he would miss it. He would miss his old life and his friends and he would miss how extraordinary the public had made him out to be.

Though, it was not completely lonely in Godric's Hollow. Recovering from the death of her parents and intent on becoming an author, Hermione Granger had joined Harry in his bakery, becoming his first and only employee. She could have pursued any career, become anything, but after the war and after the loss of her parents, she could not imagine doing something extraordinary. So, when Harry offered her the humble and quiet life, she took the opportunity. The two lived quietly together in their loft above the bakery. They lived as friends, though Witch Weekly had done a "scandalous" piece on their living arrangements. It had been the first Potter related story in four months, and had garnered much attention. But, when Harry came out of the closet, the rumour died and with it, Harry Potter's tabloid fame.

It had not been hard after the war, for Harry Potter to admit that he liked men. The curve of a woman's body, the softness of her skin, the supple lips and dainty hands had never held any appeal for him. He liked the chiseled hard chest of men, the wiry muscles and the scratch of stubble against his skin. He preferred rough and worn lips, sharp angles and rugged muscles. He preferred men, it was as simple as that. Or, at least, it should have been. It was simple to Harry for Harry was a simple person, perhaps even a bit naive. And, though he had matured over the years, he did not always understand everything. So when Ronald Weasley stopped talking to him after his coming out, Harry was at a loss. He had overestimated his best friend and underestimated the cruelty of human nature. He always had.

It had not ended well between him and Ron. The fight had been explosive, and the aftermath was a mess. It took months of bargaining and pleading and negotiation before Harry gave up. Their friendship was over. It was over; that was the hardest part for Harry to understand. How could the one person who stood by him through Voldemort and giant snakes and hordes of spiders give up on him because of something like his sexuality? It was a long while before Harry recovered from that, and when he did, Hermione was waiting for him with open arms and a promise not to ever leave Harry's side. He was touched, but also taught not to trust anyone. Trusting people only seemed to cause him trouble. He had trusted Dumbledore and the man had been lying to him for years (though Harry had forgiven him, it still did not ease the sting). He had trusted Moody-who-was-really-Barty-Crouch-Jr. and was almost killed because of it. He had trusted...many people and each of them disappointed him more than the last. After Ron, he could not trust Hermione, not completely anyway. Even after three years, he still wondered if she was a step away from running back to Ron and leaving Harry in the dust.

The rest of the Weasleys had mixed reactions. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had been disappointed, but only because his sexuality meant he would not marry Ginny and, consequently, not have her children. Arthur, after a tense silence, had joked about Harry dating one of the Weasley boys. Fred and George had immediately begun to flirt with Harry. At first he thought they were joking, but after awhile, he realized that the two were very serious in their attraction to him. Bill and Charlie had laughed and told Harry that they had always known. Ginny had taken the news in stride and smiled at him. Three months later she was happily dating Neville Longbottom; something that shocked everyone. And their lives went on.

After all was said and done, it was only Ron who left Harry. But, to Harry, it had felt like an entire part of himself had gone missing. He still wrote letters that he would never send to his former best friend. Sometimes they would be long and expressive, angry and accusing. Others would be short and sad, depressing apologies that held no truth because what could Harry apologize for? Yet, being who he was, he tried to blame himself. He really did. Because if it was his fault then he could say sorry and fix it. But what was his fault? His natural inclination? How could that be construed as a fault? It was Ron's fault and, somehow, that was harder to accept.

"You're thinking about Ron again," Hermione's voice interrupted Harry's brooding thoughts.

"Am not," he said defensively.

"Yes you are," she argued. "I know because you always get that sad, angry look on your face when you think about him."

Harry did not bother denying it. Instead, he changed the subject.

"You're late, morning rush is already over."

It was true, early morning was the most hectic time of day, only rivaled by lunch hour.

"Yes," she sighed loftily, "sorry about that. Remus and I got a bit caught up this morning."

"Please leave out the details." Harry joked, wiping down the front counter as the mid-morning customers began to file in.

"Oh shut it," she growled, blushing fiercely. "What about you? I haven't seen the twins around lately."

It was Harry's turn to blush.

"Would you shut up about them?"

"You're the one who went on and on about how amazing they were, how good they made you feel-"

"It was one time, 'Mione."

"..."

"Okay, two times...or three...Alright, it happened quite a few times but they were...flings. And I'm done with them."

"Why? Did they do something? I swear, if they hurt you-"

"No, no, it's nothing like that, it's just... well, I might have met someone."

Harry mumbled the last two words in an embarrassed rush, almost certain Hermione would not have been able to hear.

"What?"

"I said I might've...met someone."

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"You. Met someone."

"Mmh."

Hermione smiled widely and Harry could see the arsenal of questions building up in her head.

"Excuse me," a cute redheaded customer interrupted from the other side of the counter before Hermione could get any words out. Harry thanked whatever deity was out there for helping him dodge that bullet and began to serve the few mid-morning customers. As mid-morning faded into afternoon, the lunch rush started and Harry was able to avoid Hermione's piercing gaze as he distracted himself with serving his many customers.

But soon enough it was closing time and as they ushered the last customers out the shop, Harry knew he was in for a serious interrogation.

"So what's his name?" was the first of what would be many questions Hermione asked over dinner that night.

"Jesse," Harry answered. "He's a wizard from France...well, originally from England but he moved to France when he was twelve."

"Ah, a French boy, how debonaire, Harry."

He chuckled, but when he met Hermione's eyes, there was something serious brewing in them. He knew what question was coming and he had hoped it would come much later in the conversation.

"So... are you sure about this?" she asked, holding Harry's gaze.

"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You know why."

"Hermione, it's been years-"

"And the last time you tried to be in relationship since what happened with-"

"What happened then, happened, Hermione. I've spent the last five years trying to get over it. So would you be so kind as to stop bringing it up?"

There was a tense silence.

"I'm just saying, Harry," Hermione said tersely. "The last time you tried this, it didn't end well."

"I know." Harry sighed. "Trust me, I know. But I can't hide myself away because of one bad experience. And I'll be damned if I let what happened...back then determine how I live the rest of my life."

"I get that Harry, but I don't want to see you-"

"Hermione, let's just turn on the telly, eat some dessert, and go to bed, okay?"

Hermione looked affronted, but knew better than to argue.

That night as they lay side by side on their futon (because Harry had trouble sleeping alone), he sighed defeatedly. It seemed that no matter how much peace he got, there was still a past knocking at his backdoor. He closed his eyes, tightly, too tightly to be comfortable. He forced his past into the recesses of his mind, gulping back tears and a pain too heavy to tolerate. He felt Hermione grasp his hand and he let out a shaky breath. He curled into her warmth and shut his eyes. He would face everything in the morning, he told himself. That was what he always told himself.

A/N: Chapter Title from the song I Wanna Be The One by Fun. /watch?v=APNJSP-lqmM