Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, or Harry Potter or Teen Wolf although it would be cool. Alas, I am not that awesome.
Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski
Beacon Hills
The footsteps informed him of the visitor long before the knock did. The irregular hyper footsteps of his best friend, how could he not recognise those? His friend was back again, this is how it went practically the whole summer. He would come over to his house, try to cheer him up. Try to get him to talk. Try to get him to do anything than what he was doing now, which was lie on his bed and stare at the wall.
He should be trying to move on with his life. He knew very well. He just couldn't. Everything, even the simplest task, seemed to cost so much effort.
The year had been torturous. He'd been under constant pressure, the lives of all the people he loved at stake. The persistent threat of losing his best friend growing bigger every day. He'd saved him in the end, but not everyone. He should have saved her, it was his task as true alpha. Why didn't he just save her?
A hesitant knock sounded. Scott stayed where he was. He didn't even grunt in response. He knew Stiles wouldn't need an invite to come in his room. Sure enough the door creaked open. Stiles walked in like any other day.
"I brought Star Wars." He announced.
"Don't wanna."
"Come on, you should have watched this ages ago. It's literally the best movie in the history of movies."
"Go away, Stiles."
"But Scott..."
"Go. Away."
The sheriff's son sputtered a moment before sitting down in his friend's desk chair and scowling at the back of said friend's laying form. A tense silence spread out between them. It was eventually an annoyed Stiles that broke it.
"Scott, please stop." The scowl dropped of his face, an exhausted Stiles surfacing simultaneously. He sighed heavily. "I know what you're going through is hard. You're not the only one experiencing the emptiness Allison left behind."
"You don't know how I feel." Scott growled dangerously.
"Look, I didn't have the same bond with Allison as you did. Okay, she was your first love and she and I were barely friends, but I've lost someone I loved before and I get that it's painful." No sound came from his werewolf friend. No movement.
He sighed again running a hand through his hair. "Scott, you're my best friend. My brother, remember? You're going through a hard time, I know. But the last year hasn't been really easy for me either." He stood up from the chair, the air feeling as though it weighed twice as much as it did that morning. "I would just really appreciate it if you would talk to me."
He waited, but still no response came.
Stiles opened the door.
Stepped through.
Closed it.
And was
Gone.
Harry Potter
London
The sky was pale. Clouds were as grey like any other day in England. He sat in a park in the middle of London, his refuge nowadays. It was a small abandoned patch of green, on top of it an old swing set and a dangerously close to collapsing climbing castle. No one was ever there. No one ever passed it. It was a wonder he even found it.
Everything about the park was old and scarred. Located in a criminal neighborhood, filled with litter and vandalized with graffiti. Everything old and abused. He would apparate there and sit down on the swing, which creaked in protest under his weight. Not that he weighed much, his appetite had left him. He tried looking for it, for the sake of his family and friends. He tried many times, but it has been three years now. He didn't think he would ever find it again.
Everyone noticed: Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Mrs. Weasley, even the swing set. All of them showed their concern in one way or another. With glances of worry, an inquiry in his diet, a little more on his plate every day, a little less creaking.
Ron and Hermione were still his best friends. After the seven years of struggle they went through, nothing and no one would do a good job in parting them. Except maybe himself.
The pair were still important to him, but both had their own problems to deal with. They had their own ghosts haunting their every conscious thought. As a couple they needed to support each other. He understood.
He had his own girlfriend, Ginny. He loved her. She loved him. But he couldn't get the support he needed from Ginny. She hadn't been there while they ran during their final year. She'd gained her own fair share of traumatizing experiences during that time, and it wasn't that she didn't understand how he felt. It were the memories that she didn't understand. She couldn't understand why certain sounds or images would transport him back to that time. Why a shriek could transport him back to the manor, why the sound of waves made him relive Dobby's death. The tiniest smell could make him experience it all over again, with at least the same amount of detail than before.
It never stopped. Never faded.
He knew he couldn't really blame Ginny for this. None of this was Ginny's fault. It was his. If he could just be stronger he wouldn't need her to understand. Ginny had been there as much as he'd been there for Ginny. She seemed to move on and ignore the battle scars. So did everyone else. Ron, Hermione, even Fred. He was the only one still acting like they never won the war.
He felt guilty for acting and feeling this way. It would bother him whenever he saw them, so instead he sought refuge in the abandoned park. Ginny's arms replaced by the swing's metal. Her lap replaced by the seat. Her voice by the creeks of protest.
AN: I really don't know yet how this is going to end up. I have a fague idea of where this is going to go but apart from that I haven't planned much. I hope you like it! (PLEASE REVIEW)