Chapter One: To Hell with Bygones

The battle ended eight months ago. Eight months of hell. It hadn't always been this way. In all honesty, it had started out wonderful…like a dream after all their trials. Only now the dream had morphed into a never-ending nightmare. But tonight, Harry thought to himself fiercely as he gathered Hermione's thin frame into him, tonight it ends.

After a few weeks of mourning at the Burrow with his red-haired surrogate family, and when all the funerals and nuptials were long past, Harry moved into Grimmauld Place. He tore out its insides with fervour, destroying anything that reminded him of its dark past. It gave him something useful to do and soothed his aching heart with what he imagined was peace, a feeling that was quite foreign to him. Every drop of sweat lifted his spirits, and he savoured the hard manual labour.

He worked alongside with Hermione and Ron, and a few tasteful suggestions from Ginny and Molly later, his new home was transformed. Harry tore down and burned all of the old portraits, except for Phineas, who was moved to Kingsley's office with much protest. After some careful thought and extensive research, Hermione cleverly warded the portrait of Sirius' mum into silence and they built a wall around her. The walls were painted in light, happy colours and the ugly light fixtures were removed and tossed into the rubbish pile with glee.

Kreacher's "room" was the only space in the house besides Sirius' bedroom that Harry had left untouched. They pulled down the elves' heads by the stairs and buried them in the yard, along with Kreacher. His worn body had been recovered from the war at the foot of the Great Hall.

Next were the heavy, smelly curtains. Harry had lived in the dark too long, and it was time for some light. As he wrenched them off of the giant windows, dusty warm sunshine flooded over his body. He closed his eyes, smiling. Grimmauld Place was really starting to look like a home despite all it had been to him before.

Everyone at the Burrow was still healing. Charlie left in his grief for the dragon reserves and Percy drowned himself with work. Arthur retired from the Ministry and became a bit of a recluse, constantly tinkering away in his shed. George boarded up the joke shop and moved back home, rarely talking to anyone. He laid on his bed and snapped in bad temper at loud noises.

Not more than a month after the war had ended, the entire crowd: Molly, Arthur, George, Percy, Ginny, Ron, Hermione, and even Bill and Fleur were gathered for a Burrow-worthy Sunday dinner when Ron and Hermione announced that they were moving into a small flat together, near Hogsmeade. Despite Molly's fretting, and George storming away from the supper table, the seemingly happy couple gathered up their few belongings to move.

The family clung to the news like oxygen, the only bit of happiness that had strayed across them since the end of the war. Harry helped them move their things into the new place a few weeks later and merrily waved goodbye.

He focused intensely on himself after that. Harry had never had much time to be alone or to worry about himself before. Suddenly, quiet moments were in plentiful supply. Bill helped him pilfer the rest of his gold and assets in Gringotts from under the nose of the goblins. Harry had received an official notice shortly after the final battle informing him that he was to be banned from the institution for life, never mind that fact that he had saved their greedy little hands to count out piles of gold and small hills of jewels for another day.

He kept a few outdated trunks from the attic of his house in the drawing room and filled them with his gold and trinkets. Bill helped him spell them to only open to members of his family. There was little else from his family vault aside from a few journals that had belonged to his mother, and his parent's engagement rings and wands that had somehow migrated back into the Potter vault. Harry wondered pensively in a quiet moment who had returned them: Dumbledore or Snape. He decided it must have been Dumbledore. Severus had proved himself to be an honourable man, but he was incurably selfish when it came to Harry's mother and never would have returned something as precious as her wand.

He began flying again; it was like stretching old wings that had forgotten how much they loved to soar. Harry flew everywhere, necessary or not. Down to the Hog's Head with Neville on Friday nights, and up to a certain red-headed girl's window in the Gryffindor tower on Saturdays. The castle had finally been deemed safe to hold students for another year. Kingsley offered him a job as an Auror and Harry began his training readily, eager to be doing something with his time. Hunting after rogue Death Eaters and their supporters was still just a distraction, as such antics are after tragedy and sorrow, but for Harry Potter, it was working.

He became quite close to Neville and they had many conversations Harry thought they should have had years ago. The night Harry told Neville he might have been the Boy Who Lived, they both drank too much Firewhisky. They sat in the corner with bottles in their hands and their arms around each other. Neville taught Harry funny wizarding bar songs. His favourite was a Celestina Warbeck parody called "Hot Smelly Stew". At some point in the middle of the night they drunkenly agreed to be each other's secret keepers and to start a potions business together. The potions business was quickly vetoed when they remembered that neither of them could brew anything that didn't resemble stewed old underpants.

A few months after the wizarding community's wounds stopped festering, Harry was surprised to hear that Hermione had opted not to return to Hogwarts. He wanted to have a word with her but he could never seem to find the right time to ask her why she, of all people, had not returned to her schooling. It was a choice so unlike her. It seemed the space between Harry and his best friends was growing into an abyss. Harry began to make excuses for them. He convinced himself he was trying to give them space as a couple, and that they all needed time on their own to heal. The void between became dangerous, large enough to fall into before he realized something was very wrong, and for once, it had nothing to do with him.

Ron and Hermione began to show up to fewer and fewer Sunday lunches. When Harry did see his friends, he noticed Hermione looked haggard and her eyes were shadowed. He was becoming increasingly concerned, but the time was never right. Harry kicked himself for this later. Then she announced she was pregnant. Everyone congratulated her and Molly started knitting that night. Harry didn't understand why Hermione looked so unhappy.

Ron had a nightcap too many in celebration that night and in his revelry passed out unceremoniously on the living room couch. Bill and Fleur had left with Victoire a few hours ago and Arthur snored contentedly in front of the fireplace. Harry stared over at Hermione with narrowed eyes, studying his friend shrewdly. He was starting to suspect that his friends were not telling him something very important. She caught his gaze and looked away quickly.

"I think I'll go home early," Hermione said with a strained smile. "Give me a fire-call in the morning to let me know when Ron is awake, will you, Molly?"

Molly, her face much more lined now that the war was over, nodded distractedly. She was staring at George, who had also drunken himself into oblivion.

Harry stood up as well. "Be right back," he mumbled to Molly, gently patting her on the shoulder. "Washroom." She didn't answer.

He went to the kitchen to find Hermione with a violently shaking hand on the back door.

"Hermione."

She turned to look at him. Her voice was high and false, as it often became when Hermione was stressed or afraid, "Oh hi Harry, I'll see you arou-

"-What the hell is going on?" Harry whispered fervently. "I know there is something wrong. Are you sick? Does Ron know?"

Hermione jumped and scuttled back in surprise, looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

"What-?" she squeaked. "Nothing! I'm pregnant, Harry. You get sick when you are pregnant!"

Harry narrowed his eyes at her. He was silent for a long time before he spoke again, a strange unsettled feeling growing in the pit of his stomach with every word he said aloud.

"We have known each other for eight years…Hermione Granger…eight years! I know you better than that," He tried to temper his voice with a little more gentleness as she tried to avoid making eye contact with him. "If you ever decide to quit keeping whatever it is that is making you so bloody miserable to yourself…I'm here for you…when you are ready to talk."

There was silence for a moment and Harry reddened, suddenly embarrassed at his outburst and afraid he had severely misjudged what was happening. Hermione looked like she was going to try to defend herself again but suddenly stopped and let out a breath almost painfully, as though it had been trapped inside of her. Then she nodded and left, shutting the door gently behind her.

Harry watched her through the window until she disapparated, wondering if picking up the pieces of their souls that the war had ripped from them was going to be his constant curse for saving the wizarding world.