Summary: Though Hermione, Ron and Ginny would vehemently deny it, the current chaos threatening Hogwarts' existence was entirely their fault. Sure, trying to help Harry cope with the psychological aftermath of the Second War was nice of them, but there was a reason these Lions weren't in Ravenclaw. For according to common sense and occam's razor, overdosing the newly horcrux-less boy-who-lived on cheering potions could spell nothing but Apocalyptic doom. But surely that's melodramatic. Our favourite hero's wrackspurt-infected, hallucinogenic, Marauder side couldn't be worse than flinging an incendio at an Erumpent Horn, right? Right. Let's go with that.
A/N: This is absolutely canon compliant. I'm not even kidding–it completely is and could fit in between the last chapter and Epilogue of "Deathly Hallows".
With that being said, I don't know what possessed me to write this–even the wrackspurts don't usually drive me this batty! So. Post-war, what would happen if Harry's friends–with his best intentions in mind–kept him 'slightly' overdosed on cheering charms to help couple with the dire psychological effects of the aftermath? And what if, with the horcrux finally gone from his head, he discovered that his true personality was a bit more Marauderish than he had expected?
General Disclaimer: If I was Rowling there would have been at least one aftermath scene. But noooo, she had to skip ahead 19 years to a mega-happy-ending! Meh, fine. Whatevs. That just allows us fanfic writers to insert the missing angst and craziness.
42. Asking Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger "When's the wedding?" is only funny a few times.
96. I will not make fun of Hufflepuffs because their house colours make them look like bees.
Harry Potter yawned. Hmm, this blanket was cozy. As was the bed overall, for even just from its feel he could tell it wasn't anything like the dratted mattresses in the tent. Maybe this was why he felt like he was floating? Yeah, maybe. That should be it. Nothing to fear: just sleepiness and a nice bed.
He yawned again–and smiled.
This last one was why he sprung up in a panic, his eyes jerking open in surprise as fragments of memories crashed down on him in a hurried, incoherent mess. For though his mind reeled in confusion, he was pretty certain that he was not supposed to be happy. If there was one thing he had learned in his tumultuous life, it was that when things felt off one should hex first and ask questions later.
"No no no, Harry, calm down!" A worried voice shouted out.
"Mate, stay still." A pair of arms struggled to force him back down. "This was Hermione's plan, just trust her."
Hermione. The name triggered thoughts of bushy hair, intelligence and, yes, absolute trust through Harry's panic, and he slowly calmed down. Whatever was going on, if his bookworm friend was behind it than it was going to be fine. Even if the result did make his mind rather fuzzy and made him feel the need to inexplicably grin. Blasted facial features, how dare they betray him? Wait, why did he feel like he was supposed to be anything but happy? That didn't really make any sense either.
Harry rubbed his throbbing head as the argument between his friends finally washed over him, his thoughts slowly focusing back on his surroundings.
"-my plan?" Hermione was said incredulously.
Ron blinked. "What's wrong with that?"
"You make it sound like a nefarious plot!" Her hands waved widely in emphasis, almost hitting her boyfriend in the process.
"What?" Ron ducked, quickly stepping away from the bed and Hermione's rather dangerous limbs. "I just said 'plan'. There's nothing wrong with that!"
She looked at him testily. "It was your tone of voice. Honestly, Ronald."
But Harry wasn't really listening, and not even for why he typically tuned out his best friends' arguments. This time, his attention was drawn away by the cute little redhead who sat down on the blankets as Ron left. She was absently twisting the fabric this way and that, only pausing to take Harry's glasses off the bedside table and gently put them on his face. But then, it was back to the nervous braiding of the blankets.
Ginny had seen better days. Hair mused and dark shadows painted around her eyes, both oddly complimented the grimacing half-smile on her lips. Harry found her bed-head strangely endearing, and his thoughts managed to coalesce enough for him to wish to vanish the haggard expression from her otherwise lovely features. From her button nose to chocolate eyes–which really resembled treacle tart, now that he thought about it. He frowned: yeah, just like the dessert, so it should be 'treacle tart brown', right? Right. Sounds better than any chocolate anyway; Ron was barmy for liking cauldron cakes, and not even for the love potion/poison incident. Wait, no. Something felt off. No, his thoughts were going off again, which can't be good. Focus, he needed to focus. He had been thinking about...about Ginny's eyes? No wait, the shadows around them. That's it. Now those were definitely dark chocolate brown.
"I wonder when their wedding is." Ginny said softly, tilting her head towards the vehemently arguing couple. "Hard to believe they're going out, hmm?"
Harry tried to agree. This failed miserably since his mind felt as though Luna Lovegood and a crowd of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks had trampled over it, and was only growing fuzzier by the second. Instead, he nodded in the affirmative.
Ginny blew out a breath of air. "Merlin, why can't those two stop so we can explain it to you?"
He thought for a moment to question what they had to explain, but was distracted by the way Ginny's red stained eyes almost exactly matched her hair. Thoughts drifting, he idly mused that it was good the same colour coordination couldn't happen to him. Well, unless the Weasley Twins decided to turn his hair green. Oh wait, just George now–that's right. Erm, shouldn't he be more upset about that? But all he could think about was pranks, stupid chocolate, and emerald green hair. Which he definitely didn't want. Crimson would be far better, nice and Gryffindor. No ugly Slytherin-y things here, no sir-ee...
Harry frowned. Or tried to, at least, but the grin was stubbornly persistent.
"Harry, Harry?" Ginny reached out and cupped his dazed face in her hands as the arguing couple finally stopped to look their way in concern. "I've already lost you, haven't I."
His smile turned into a sheepish one, but she didn't seem bothered. "It's part of the potion regiment that Hermione came up with, but I didn't realise it would effect you so quickly."
"What-potions?" Ah good, his mouth was finally working. But stiffly at that, and his voice sounded too jubilant to be his own. Yet once again this weird revelation didn't jar him as much as he thought it should. He wasn't really bothered in the least, to tell the truth.
While Ginny hesitated Hermione walked over to take up the explanation. The brunette sent Harry an overly reassuring smile. "Quite a few potions actually, as well as spells. Mainly–well, they're mainly memory-suppressants and cheering concoctions."
"It sounds worse than it is." Ron piped in hurriedly, looking at his friend as though he was about to explode. "Please don't kill us!"
"Don't be so overdramatic." Hermione scoffed even though her voice belied a hint of worry. "He doesn't have his wand, it can't be too bad."
Yes, Harry should definitely be upset, not least because they were talking about him like he wasn't in the room. Oh, and the potions and memory-suppressant stuff. A part of his mind knew that he should be sweltering mad, but the rest of him didn't particularly care. His thoughts seemed to prefer to just keep comparing Lion versus Snake colours, and trying to figure out if the Hufflepuffs really were bees in disguise. But what would that make the Ravens? Erm, Eagles? Well, some sort of flying creature at least. Maybe a penguin-wait, they don't fly. Unless you wingardium leviosa it, of course. Or take it up on a broomstick. Or an illegal magic carpet-and blimey, wouldn't it be fun to take one of those things out for a ride? Much better than a bloody thestral. Especially when it was actually bloody. Eww, that was just gross.
"You probably don't remember–you shouldn't remember if the spells are working–but after the Battle of Hogwarts you were, you were..." Ginny fiddled once more with the blanket, struggling to keep her gaze focused on Harry, "...the war wasn't over for you. In the last few months we've been trying to move on, but you couldn't. It was, it was clear something was wrong."
Ginny was having difficulty looking him in the eyes–or even breathing–as she continued. "You don't understand. I swear we didn't want to do this! It's only been a few months but you were so depressed and absolutely nothing we did was working." She gazed down, blinking back tears as Ron awkwardly patted her shoulder. "Nothing I did was working. You blamed yourself for everything and could only focus on finding that dratted ring. But you never even left the battle–you kept forcing us away, even Teddy. You even convinced St Mungo's that you were healthy and that we're just overprotective. Not like that was hard, stupid hero-worshipping healers.
"Then after last week–" but Ginny hesitated and her voice faltered before dying out completely. After a few sniffles she weakly continued to speak. "Never mind, you don't have to know. All that matters is that you're getting help now."
Harry could tell his girlfriend's smile was strained, but that didn't seem to put a dent on his sudden happiness or on his internal musings about how a penguin could fly. "So, why do I feel all weird and fuzzy?"
Ron coughed to stifle his snort. "Should be the side-effects. But, 'fuzzy'? Really?"
Hermione spared her boyfriend a sharp glare before turning back to Harry, her gaze instantly softening. "Yes, feeling a bit too euphoric is usual."
"No no no." Harry shook his head, waving his hands as his mouth suddenly felt much freer than usual. Ah, that was more like it. "It's not like euphoria. Well, not only. It's like, like, like diving on a broomstick-or no, like on a dragon! Wait, that's it. That's so it. A dragon would work perfectly! It's big enough for a penguin and for a rider, and is only a bit fiery 'n stuff. D'ya think Charlie could loan me one? Or we can find Gringotts', that'd be cool. Now we just need a penguin. Who have flippers and no arms. How weird."
His friends exchanged a highly worried glance, even though Ron fought back a laugh.
"Hermione," Ginny said slowly, "how strong were those spells?"
The brunette blushed. "I thought it might be better to, erm, slightly overdo it. Harry doesn't mind being a bit happier, right?"
But Harry was busy waving his hands in front of his eyes, entranced by the sight. Ron didn't bother hiding his snort. "'A bit'? He's high on cheering charms. Is that even possible?"
"In combination with the potions," Hermione bit her lip guiltily, "yes, it's possible."
Harry finally looked up, blinking at them with extremely wide emerald eyes. "What're you talking about?"
"Nothing, don't worry about it." Ginny said reassuringly, patting his knee. "Hermione just got overzealous and the potions are sinking in. All is, well, all is sort of going to plan. Maybe, err..."
"Ah, right then." Harry nodded and promptly forgot about it. The other three stared at him as he nonchalantly looked out the window and started humming, a grin plastered on his face.
"Merlin, it's weird to see him like this." Ron spoke quietly. "Not even just out of his mind, which is creepy enough, but-"
"-happy. I know." Hermione said just as softly. "Why did you think I wanted to overdo the charms?"
They fell back to a peaceful silence, only punctured by Harry's giddy hums.
"When he's back to normal, he's going to kill us." Ron said finally. "Very slowly and brutally by using us for target practice. But at least we'll get excellent blackmail material out of this. I mean, how'd he even get to 'penguins' anyway?"
The girls looked at him sharply.
"Ron," Hermione hissed, "he's your best friend! This might be saving him from commi-from having a, a mental breakdown or whatnot, and you're concerned about blackmail?"
Ginny glared at her brother as he stumbled away from the angry witches. "Don't bother worrying about what Harry might do. He'll have to resurrect you once I'm through!"
Harry looked up at them curiously. "Who do I have to resurrect? Didn't I already do that?"
His three friends flinched, anger dwindling away.
"You, you don't have to do anything." Ron said shakily. "But don't say that sort of thing so lightly, okay?"
Harry innocently tilted his head to the side, making his bangs fall away from his faded lightning bolt scar. "Say what?"
"Nothing." Ginny said in a strangled voice. "Nothing at all. Ron's just-just sensitive to mentions of death."
Harry blinked, his smile diminishing slightly. "Ah, Fred. Right. Sorry 'bout that."
His friends' eyes widened and flickered to the boy-who-lived-again's chest, worries spiralling through their minds.
"No problem." Ron struggled out, failing to block the image of his deceased brother lying in the Great Hall, and of his brother in all but blood, slumped pale and still in Hagrid's arms.
A/N: Much like my 'Hallowed Time Twists' story, this wee tale will be overflowing with simultaneous crack and angst. BWAHAHAH! Dear wizarding god, how I adore writing high!Harry.
Every character but poor, poor delusional Harry will be canon. See, my original premise was: can I write a serious post-war fic where everyone is in their different stages of grieving? But then I remembered, wait a sec, Harry sucks at grieving. He is absolutely, mind-boggingly terrible at it. He suppresses all of his emotions until they burst out in an explosive fury!
...which was when I realised I had a problem.
So then I had another think. If Harry reacted so badly to Sirius' death, what in Merlin's name would happen to him after the trauma and bloodbath of the seventh book? 'Huh,' I thought, 'wouldn't it be utterly entertaining to make Harry have a nervous breakdown?' But that was too directly angsty for me so I decided to skip over the Golden Boy's PTSD mental drama to the aftermath, with his friends willing to do anything to make sure Harry wouldn't leave them again. Even if that meant keeping the Boy Wonder in a doped-out state and dealing with the fallout of his insanity.
And if all that means I have an excuse to write a post-war, high!Harry version of '150 Things I Can't Do In Hogwarts', so be it. Oh, and of course this story won't be filled with "Hitchhiker's Guide", Monty Python, and 'A Very Potter Musical/Sequel' references. Obviously not. Perish the thought.