Harry's POV

Harry wiped the palms' of his hands on his pants, his heart going a mile a minute. Are you kidding me. I've defeated the Dark Lord. I should not be this freaked out after talking to Draco Malfoy. He takes a deep breath, trying not to look too disheveled before he takes a step into his compartment.

"Oi! Harry, mate. Where've you been?" Ron practically shouted at Harry while kept shoving his mouth full with candy. From the other side of the tiny room, Hermione sighed and facepalmed.

"Ronald, must you scream at him with your mouth full? Honestly, who raised you?"

"You've met the person that raised me," Ron said, while still chewing. "And yes, I must shout. I'm excited Harry's finally back."

The young Potter boy chuckled and sat down next to his best friend. "I wasn't gone that long. Now quit eating all the candy and save some for the rest of us."

"What do you mean you weren't gone long?! I thought you had fallen down the toilet!"

Everyone groaned and shook their heads at Ron, who was still grinning and eating candy. It was nice. To be in this comfortable position again. Just like many times before.

Hermione's voice rang out. "So who do you think is going to be our new DADA teacher? I hope it's someone who will actually teach us and isn't a dark wizard or something." Harry pulls a face thinking about the past teachers they've had. Ron just turns to look at his girlfriend.

"C'mon 'Mione, you know you can't ask that. You probably just jinxed it. We're going to end up getting some weakass like Quirrel now because of you," Ron glared at the bushy haired girl.

"Oh calm down. That's not going to happen. Mcgonagall is headmistress now I doubt she's going to let someone that dangerous into the school. Besides, Quirrel was not a weakass. He was being manipulated by Voldemort."

"Fine, say what you want, but my point stands. I do not want a creep like him teaching us again."

Harry snorts. "No one's disagreeing with you Ron."

The conversation from that point decreased, until it was just a comfortable silence between the trio. Harry stared out the window, watching trees in the horizon speed by. He thought about all the other times he was in this exact position. 8 years. This will be my eighth year at Hogwarts. One more than normal. Well nothing about my time at Hogwarts is normal. Except nothing about this year will be normal. Thinking about how Dumbledore won't be there that year made tears spike in his eyes.

The amount of death he had felt, had touched, had been responsible for, physically hurt him. Every time he thought about one of the casualties from the war, his chest stung from guilt and hurt. He hated it. He just wanted it to be over, for everything to be okay. But apparently, just because Riddle was dead, doesn't mean everything goes back to the way it was. There was still a lot of healing to happen. Physically and mentally. Mainly mentally.

Everyone had said it wasn't his fault, Mrs. Weasley had said it wasn't his fault, but he still couldn't understand how she could look at him, after bringing the Weasleys' into the war, which ultimately led to Fred's death. I killed them. I killed them all. He took in a shaky breath. Sirius, Remus, Dobby, Hedwig, Dumbledore, Fred. I killed Ron's brother. His vision blurred. It's not fair. It should've been me. I was the one that caused all this pain. Why did other people have to die for me. It's not fair.

At that point, he was fully crying. He was no stranger to pain and tears. Back at the Dursleys', he'd often cry himself to sleep, silently in his cupboard. He had hated himself, he sometimes still does. The only difference now was that Harry hated himself, not because he was different, or a so called "freak", but because he had caused so much pain and destruction. To himself, to his friends, to complete strangers. The guilt ate him up inside. So many times, he had wished for it to stop, to just disappear. To be someone else. Anyone else. To not have the weight of the world on his shoulders. To just be a normal boy with normal parents with normal childhood. Just thinking about what could've been made him want to get away. Need to get away. I can't breathe

Harry sprung to his feet and quickly excused himself. His friends did nothing but give knowing looks. He sprinted to the bathroom, slammed the door shut, before sliding to the ground with sobs shaking his entire body. Why am I going back? What is there left for me? I destroyed Hogwarts. I destroyed my home. I don't deserve to go back. They deserve better. They all do. His mind screamed at him and pounded at him until he could barely breath. Pictures of the castle burning flashes in his mind. Everyone screaming, the walls falling down on them, flashes of green shooting across every hallway, people dropping as the light disappears. Harry started hyperventilating, trying hard to control his anxiety attack. In, Out. Breathe.

PTSD has shaken him to the core, just as it has with many others. Remember, I am not my emotions. It's okay to cry, especially after something so traumatizing. He chants the words his therapist keeps saying to him. It's okay. It's okay. He sucks in a deep breath and stands up. Letting out another quiet sob, he looks at himself in the mirror. Thin scar as visible as ever, hair messy and all over the place. Red, puffy eyes with a tear streaked face. A look he wore far too often now. Slowly moving his hand to turn on the tap, he takes off his glasses and washes his face, trying to cover up the fact that he had been crying. Suddenly, he heard voices outside. We must have arrived. He tried to clean himself up a little more, before he took a deep breath, and stepped out of the room, and silently said a prayer.

"I guess I'm stuck now. Time to move forward."