Though many have attempted it, I've never felt like the aftermath of the war has been done justice. With all due respect for everyone else who has attempted to do so, here's my attempt at the mysterious 19-year gap in book seven.

To everyone who's followed me since All Mine, I just wanted to thank you, and assure you that there is no risk of story abandonment here. As always, I read every review, but responses are NOT guaranteed. If you're looking for one, I wholly encourage personal emails at . You are guaranteed a one-on-one conversation with me if you choose to do so.

Oh, and don't worry- this will be the shortest chapter.

And by the way, consider this my disclaimer.

…

Chapter One

"Harry?" she called out, padding silently through the deserted hallway. No answer. She tried again- he had not been heard from in weeks. He wasn't in the kitchen- 'master is ill', Kreacher had provided –nor was he on any of the lower floors.

Hermione found herself on the topmost landing, where she knew she would be close to finding him. "Harry?" she breathed against the door. No answer.

She laced the fingers of one hand around the silver handle, the palm of her other against the cold, unyielding wood. "Harry, open the door," a bit more firmly. Nothing, but she could feel his presence in the otherwise still room in front of her. "Please," she added, more softly, when the door remained in place.

Once again, she pressed, and the door swung inward slightly.

He wasn't anywhere to be seen, and when she entered, the door shut behind her. "Harry?" she barely breathed. There was a whimper. She timidly stepped toward the ornate wardrobe from whence it came.

He was curled up at the bottom, an overlarge leather jacket wrapped around his too thin, quaking form.

"Harry." His face was shinning with thick, warm tears. Hermione sat on the floor, next to where he crouched, and softly rubbed between his shoulder blades even after his poorly muffled sobs subsided.

They stayed that way until long after the sun sank beneath the horizon, the good weather of late mocking his pain.

"I'm sorry," he muttered after a long while, refusing to meet her eyes.

"Don't be…" her hand started to rub his back again.

"It's just… I mean… It smells like him in here…" his voice cracked, and he turned away.

"I know." Several long moments of relaxed silence- she breathed in deep, and judging by the musty smell, he had left his hide-away only to relieve himself in the past couple of days.

"Have you been eating?" she asked gently. A non-committal shrug came as a reply, and a pause. "When… when was your last shower?" He stiffened against her, and shifted away slightly.

"Come on…" she whispered, tugging on his elbow. "Come on; let's get you cleaned up…"

He allowed her to lift him to his feet, and he swayed with dizziness. "Okay, okay… I've got you…" She led him slowly out of Sirius' room and into the bathroom, sat him down on the chair by the door, and ran the tap.

His breathing was quick and shallow with exhaustion- his body protested every movement. When she finished filling the ancient bath tub, she came to him and lifted his arms to remove his shirt. His protests barely escaped his lips, and she had trouble restraining her surprise at his appearance.

She had known that he had been malnourished on their journey- they all had- but she hadn't expected this emaciated appearance. His robs were visible through his papery skin, his hips jutted out at odd angles, and when she removed his pants and underwear, his thighs were no thicker than her feminine wrists.

She steadied him as he hobbled across the tile, his weak, naked form depending on hers for movement. "I'm s-sorry…" he kept slurring through silent tears. "Sorry…"

"Shhh…." The vibrations from her voice, coupled with her soothing heartbeat, eased his quivering apologies as she lifted him into the tub. "I know, I know…."

He was in the warm water, slumped against the side, giving up his battle for modesty as she pressed a glass of cool water to his lips and massaged his throat with a lathery cloth. She wiped grime from his shoulders, face, back and chest. She ran shampoo through his hair, multiple times, and followed with conditioner. She took extra care as she cleaned the edges of the parallel cuts on his left forearm and right thigh.

She ran the water clear three times, and continued cleansing and comforting him until his breathing was even and his smell was but of soap.

"Better?" she asked.

"Tired." The following silence was interrupted only by the sudden rumble of his stomach.

"Hungry?"

There was a shrug, followed by a pause. Then, "I don't know… I guess."

"Well, then, let's get some food." She helped him out of the tub and into a large towel, then led him back to the room. "Clothes?" he nodded toward the wardrobe, eyes firmly on the ground. All of the clothes were clearly too big for him, and so she settled for too long jeans and an overlarge sweatshirt.

He was dressed and standing tall and clean-shaven. "Wait…" he muttered half-heartedly as she took the towel to his hair and ears.

"Glasses?"

"No."

"Food?"

"Not here."

"Okay."

They were at the front door. "Are you ready?" He shrugged, furrowed his eyebrows, averted his eyes, and mashed his lips together. His stance was stiff and defensive.

"Come on…" they stepped into the moonlight.

…

"Is your sandwich okay?" He shrugged.

"Harry…" he stared down at his plate. "Harry, I know this is hard-"

"No, you don't" His voice was soft yet clear, his eyes on the moon outside the window. "You don't know." He took his hands off the table and seemed to fold into himself, crossing his arms so his hands rested on his narrow hips and his shoulders rolled forward.

"I know that you're hurting. Harry, I saw-"

"Stop." He cut across sharply. They sat like that, uncomfortable for the first time. The waitress replaced their drinks. Hermione said 'thank you'. Harry left the gesture unacknowledged.

"You're hurt. The last few years were terrible. Nobody isn't hurt." There were several minutes of silence, her watching him intently, him gazing unseeingly out the window. Then-

"I can't go back. Not yet. I just… I can't."

"I know."