Our story begins immediately after where the Deathly Hallows Ended, so the trio just finished talking to Dumbeldore's Portrait in the Headmaster's Office. All characters are JK Rowlings!
Harry led the way out of the Headmaster's Office and back down past the collapsed griffin. Ron and Hermione fell into step next to him, hand in hand, and they headed towards their unspoken destination. He barely noticed the debris scattered around the corridors, far too tired to appreciate the gravity of the destruction and only paused to think when they came to a stop before the portrait of the Fat Lady.
He glanced at his two friends and said simply, "I don't know the password, but can we go in?" The Fat Lady was in the midst of enjoying a hearty glass of whisky and her speech was slurred when she responded with "Potter! It's s-all yours! It's s-all over..." and the portrait swung open as the Fat Lady gigged widely. Harry led the way through the hole and took in the familiar cozy common room with the fire still blazing in front of the plush red armchairs and sofa like they had never left. He sank into the couch and felt Hermione sit next to him and Ron collapse on the other side of her.
"I can't believe it's over," Hermione whispered.
"I can't believe the three of us made it out alive," Ron added with his head resting on top of the couch cushion he was much too tall for. Hermione turned to face Harry, but saw that he had already drifted to sleep against the arm rest, not bothering to move from his seated position. Hermione smiled slightly to herself and turned to show Ron, but he had fallen asleep as easily as Harry, with his mouth wide open and softly snoring. Hermione laid her head against Ron's shoulder and curled her legs onto the couch next to her so that her foot was pressed gently against Harry's leg. Staring at the dancing flames, she focused on the feeling of the two warm bodies and her last thought before closing her own eyes was, we're alive.
"Ron? Harry? Her-" called Ginny as the portrait opened, but stopped as she saw the trio fast asleep. "Mum, they're in here sleeping." Mrs. Weasley's tear-stained face peered into the room before she clambered through the hole after her daughter and Bill followed.
"Well, they have been up for more than a day and half," Bill said, staring down at them before walking around his old common room.
"Yes, they clearly need the rest. I'll just leave them a little note so they know where we are. Ginny, dear," she said after summoning some parchment from a nearby table. "Please ask the Fat Lady not to let anyone in." Mrs. Weasley placed the note on the small wooden table next to Harry and took a shaky breath without moving her gaze away from the trio. Finally, she turned away from them and said, "Come on, let's let them sleep."
Harry felt his eyes open slowly and the aches return to his body. His hand gripped his newly mended wand out of habit, but he loosened his hold as he saw Ron and Hermione still asleep peacefully and thought we're still alive. He leaned forward and rubbed his face with his hands before noticing his skin was covered in a gray blend of dirt, dust, and blood. Standing with a groan, he turned towards the staircase and paused to read Mrs. Weasley's note.
He picked up the quill she had left on top of the parchment and quickly scrawled "I'm upstairs" before dropping the note into Hermione's lap where she couldn't miss it. He walked towards the back of the common room and felt every bone and muscle scream in protest, but he bit back any sound and painfully climbed the stairs. Pressing against the wooden door on the first landing he came to, he sat on the nearest bed, not caring that this was the first years' dorm.
"Kreacher!," he called into the empty room. With a small pop, the tiny figure appeared wearing a towel with the Hogwarts logo and the fake locket draped around his neck.
"Master Potter! I am so glad Master Potter is alive. He gave Kreacher quite the scare when they didn't come back from their adventure all those months ago. But, now Master Potter is here and he defeated-"
"Hey, Kreacker," he interrupted. "I'm going to take a shower, and while I'm in there can you clean these clothes?" he asked, gesturing to his dirt encrusted clothing.
"Certainly, Mister Potter. Anything else? Perhaps some food or pumpkin juice?"
"Yeah, that sounds good. But, bring enough for three, okay? And if you have time, can you clean Ron and Hermione's clothes too once they start showering?"
"Of course, Mister Potter." He bowed low and with a second pop disappeared. Harry slowly began to peel off his layers and laid them on the bed next to him before stumbling his way into the bathroom's shower where he allowed the warm water to drench him.
He tried to focus on the simple task of scraping off all the grime from his hands, neck, and face. But his thoughts betrayed him and strayed to Remus. To Fred. To Tonks. And every time he forcefully stopped his straying mind and focused again on the soap in his hands. Once he was satisfied that he was relatively clean and no more pieces of the castle remained in his hair, he simply stood under the rain of water and hoped that it would wash away the pain.
His hopes were in vain, and the aches did not disappear, but if anything, worsened when he looked down. Around his forearm, he saw the two red punctures made by Nagini last Christmas now surrounded by other red marks and bruises. All the cuts didn't to worry him though since he was sure that Madam Pomfrey could heal those in seconds. What she could not fix, was the newest scar covering his chest.
Right below the indent from the Horcrux, Harry peered at the still tender scars enveloping his chest. Another strike of lightning marked his skni from the second time the Avada Kedavra curse hit him, but this time it stretched and spread into a bolt of lightning that had fractured. But what it really looked like to Harry as he stared at the tender marks was a shattered piece of glass.
He was shattered. He was broken.
He had lost too many and he had hurt too much.
Finally, he allowed himself to feel the pain that had threatened to envelope him for hours and he slid against the wet shower wall, not bothering to turn off the water. A tear slid slowly down his face and more followed until he let out desperate sobs. He heard movements around the bathroom and above him, but he found that he didn't care much. All he knew was that he didn't want to move. If he moved, he'd feel more pain. If he moved, he'd have to face the Weasleys and the loss of Fred. If he moved, he wouldn't see Remus or Tonks waiting for him. If he moved, he'd have to greet more people celebrating and more people mourning. If he moved, he'd have to be strong again. Because that's what everyone needed. They needed the Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One.
"Harry? You okay, mate?" Ron called into the bathroom tentatively, after who knows how long. Harry lifted his head from the shower wall and didn't respond. How could he respond? He was not okay, but still he couldn't decide what he was. "Harry?" He reached over and shut off the water and slowly got to his feet.
"I'm coming out," he said in a hollow voice. He heard the door shut and Harry stepped out of the shower to a pile of clean clothes waiting by the sink as well as a fluffy white towel. He dried himself off and pulled on his clothes, desperately trying not to look at himself in the mirror. He did not want to see the reminder of all that he had lost and all that he had suffered spread across his chest. So, he resolutely turned away from the bathroom and made his way into the dormitory.
He was greeted by Hermione and Ron both sitting on a bed, clean from their own evident showers. Hermione had pulled her hair into a messy ponytail and both were eating from a platter of sandwiches that rested between them.
"Harry! Kreacher brought some up for us," Hermione explained unnecessarily as Ron finished swallowing a large mouthful. Harry nodded, and suddenly felt his hunger eating away at his stomach. He made his way to the other side of the bed and shoved the bread into his mouth before sinking on top of the red blanket.
"How are you feeling, Harry?" asked Hermione as she wiped her own mouth with the poor first year's blanket.
"Fine," he lied. Hermione looked at him sternly and before she even had to open her mouth, he added "Okay, okay. Not great. Could be better." She nodded and quietly said "same."
"Could be worse, I suppose," Ron mused. Although he did not look too good either. His eyes were red and puffy and he clearly hadn't bothered to wash his hair.
"I suppose…" Harry managed to agree in between bites. The three drifted off into their own thoughts before they couldn't ignore the loud noises coming from below them any longer.
"That must be your family, Ron," Hermione answered Harry's unasked question. "I sent them patronus messages saying we were awake." Ron stood quickly and decisively walked out the door and down the stairs towards the rest of his family. Hermione stood too, but didn't move any further and instead looked at Harry who had not moved an inch.
"Why don't you come down with us, Harry?" she asked kindly.
"That's okay, you go ahead," he muttered. There was a small pause.
"It's not your fault, you know," Hermione said barely above a whisper as a tear slid down her cheek. "They won't blame you for Fred. Or for anyone." She sat right next to Harry and wrapped her arms around him, knowing full well that she had just voiced his very fears.
"Really," she insisted as they pulled apart. "Now, come on so they can tell you themselves since you still don't believe me." She pulled Harry up by the hand and led him to the door.