Chapter 1

The attic door wasn't locked, but it very well could have been. The only person who ever went in or out was the moody young man who resided behind said door. The young man used to be a moody teenager then became a less moody man and then an outrageously moodier man. These stages were brought on by various on goings in his life such as death, destruction, and acceptance. He was beginning to drive his friends beyond insanity.

Harry was lying on his bed, staring at the all too familiar sight of old wooden rafters. There were a total 17 oak rafters that had 3-20 knot holes in each one. He had counted, several times. Counting and recounting was the only thing Harry could do to take his troubled mind off the Hell he had caused. How many people had died in the war? How many families would have empty seats at the table? How many of his friends had died? These were being repeated by the mocking voices of the people he had helped murder. Another voice was saying, "You did this. It's your entire fault, Harry. Why did you drag your friends into it?" Etc. He knew the prematurely deceased weren't whispering in his ear, but he believed what 'they' said. It was throwing him into a spiraling vortex of depression that seemingly no one could pull him out of. This is the story of how his friends tried to do the seemingly impossible.

Mr. Weasley called him down to dinner just as he had called him to dinner everyday since the return of the family. Usually Harry ignored Mr. Weasley, trying not to remember the reason Arthur was calling him, trying to forget that he would never hear Molly's maternal voice ever again. But this time Harry was hungry. He begrudgingly got up and off his bed, steadying himself on the floorboard, his legs wobbly as Jell-o. He slowly made his way downstairs, leaning on the wall for stability, and was seen by the entire household for the first time that summer. Jaws dropped.

"Thank Gods!" Fred said. "He lives!" Leave it to a twin to try and lighten the mood. Everyone else was too shocked to speak. Stunned by his appearance and by his appearance. His hair was so tangled it looked like some animal had made a nest of it. A deadened, vacant look filled his formerly vivid green eyes. They were red from lack of sleep and tears. He looked scarily similar to Sirius right after he escaped. Right then every person sitting at that table decided that something had to be done.

Harry sat down without a word and filled his plate with a little bit of everything. Even collard greens that he was known for hating. It didn't matter. Nothing had any taste. That must have died with Mrs. Weasley. Nothing was the same. Nothing would ever be the same. Harry broke down once again. He immediately went back upstairs, not even touching the food he had heaped on his plate.

The silence at the dinner table continued. Finally, a very saddened and frustrated Ginny got up and took the plate up the stairs to the crying man's room.

Knock, knock, "Harry. It's Ginny. I brought your plate. Can I come in?" No answer. She took that as a yes and walked in. Harry was lying on his bed staring at the familiar sight of the rafters, a tear rolling down his blotched cheek. "I'll set it on the chair." She said in a steady voice as she set the plate down and started for the door. "You're gonna be alright eventually, Harry." And the door closed again.

"Poor Harry," Mr. Weasley sighed, "Just imagine what he must be going through having seen so much."

"Yeah, but I don't think that that's why he like that though," Ginny re-entered the room, "He's doing what he always has done. He blames himself for the death of everyone who fought on our side! It's ridiculous. He didn't make Mum join the Order! He didn't make any of us do anything. Holy shit, he's being selfish."

"Selfish?" Percy interjected. "He gave his childhood and his innocence so that the terror would stop. He has a right to be depressed."

"Oh yes and no one helped him at all. None of us were standing next to him the whole time."

"Hey! Don't you think you're being a little harsh?" Ron piped up, "He's been through Hell! Give him a break!" various noises of affirmation were heard. Ginny let out a sound of exasperation and went up to her room, muttering about how stupid people are.

"She can be so insensitive sometimes," Ron said.

"Maybe it is time for us to talk to him. Holding in all those emotions can't be healthy." Hermione said all-knowingly.

"Yes, but who's going to talk to him?" George asked. Everyone turned to stare at Ron and Hermione.

"I'll go." Hermione got up and headed up the stairs to the 'forbidden' attic.

Being the girl in the trio, as unordinary as Hermione is, she took on the role of the matron as well as the maiden. She kept them on track in school and tried to keep them, and herself, in line. To outsiders, Hermione seemed to be the tagalong nag who wouldn't leave Ron and Harry alone, but she was just as much their best friend as they were each other's, with the exception that she was a girl, and would listen and comfort them when needed. It was needed now, whether Harry knew it or not!

"Harry? It's 'Mione. Can I come in?" She wanted to ask before she let herself in.

There was no answer. She walked in and cautiously sat at the foot of the bed. "Harry? Are you okay?"

"Yes, Hermione," his voice dripping with sarcasm, "I'm just peachy! Lots of people died because of me and I'm just thrilled." He turned on his side.

"It's not your fault. People chose to join the cause. You never asked one of us to risk our lives by joining the Order." Hermione said as she tried to help her friend. "If I remember correctly, we didn't speak for a month because you forbid me to fight. Won't let some of those memories out. It isn't good to hold them in like you are. Please Harry! It's for your own good."

"No, Hermione." Harry sat up suddenly, "Many people died because they believed I would defeat Voldemort, and happiness would fill the world. Guess what? Many children are growing up like me now, an orphan. What happy times are they going to see? Parents will never see their daughter or son's laughing face again because their child fought and died. Mr. Weasley goes to sleep every night with no one by his side. They died because I didn't defeat him fast enough. Because I didn't do it alone. I'm going to save you and everyone else from what I saw because I didn't save those people." Harry sighed as tears of sadness and rage ran down his cheek. "Get out, Hermione. You will never understand." The door slammed closed after her.

Still seated at the table the redheads waited impatiently for a sign. This was their sign: SLAM! Stomp! Stomp! Stomp! SLAM!

"I'll go calm 'Mione down." Ron said tiredly.

"Guess that didn't go so well." Bill said leaning back in his chair.

"Nope." Charlie replied.

There was an awkward silence followed by a CRACK!

"Hey, Remus." Arthur called to his close friend. "Will you go up and talk to Harry?"

"That's why I came over. It's time he rejoined the world." And Remus too strode up the stairs to enter the land of the angst-y.