My main aim with this story was to make the characters truly deal with the aftermath of the war, and to twist the "Harry's falling in love after the Final Battle" trope. (And then the magical world-building in Paris and in Romania quickly got out of hands).

TW for implied/referenced panic attacks, loss of loved ones, nightmares and depression

Also please remember that even though I'm doing my best, I'm not an English native speaker.

Stay safe and enjoy!

Harry woke up with a start and a shrill ringing in his ears. On his right, an old alarm clock fixed up by Arthur Weasley was obnoxiously indicating six-thirty in the morning. He switched it off and groaned, then grabbed his glasses on the bedside table.

When the ceiling appeared distinctly, Harry moved the covers aside and got up, clad in bright orange pyjamas once in Ron's possession.

It wasn't a decent hour to wake up, he internally complained. His nights were endless until he fell asleep, rarely before three, then too short when he could finally rest because of the damn alarm clock waking him up at dawn. Of course, it was easier to be mad at it than at the real responsible of this sleep schedule, as Harry couldn't decently tell them what he secretly thought.

His heart started beating faster, and his breath caught in his throat. It was quite irrational that he chose to break down now, he remarked as if watching at his wreck of a body from afar. He had held on all those years, idolised for something he had no memory of whatsoever, abused by adults he was supposed to trust, scared of what the future had in store for him.

And now that he was finally free of his burden, he was having a fucking panic attack? Good job, Harry.

He was craving to state what he thought of their behaviour, of their joy, of their need for revival while he was dying inside.

Except that it was selfish to do so and deep down, he didn't want to hurt them. They already had to face their own demons.

He couldn't put on the same scale his pain and the Weasley's. Granted, his life hadn't been easy, but he had not lost a son nor a blood brother.

His guilt toward a family that had always backed him up was usually enough to keep his mind from spiralling, and he forbade himself to remember during the day, but with morning came lessened attention. Today already seemed worse than the previous days.

Struggling to ease his breathing, he was still sitting on the edge of the bed with his arms around his waist. He startled when someone opened the tiny bedroom's door without knocking. (Or maybe they had?)

Ron appeared on the doorstep wearing fresh clothes; his hair still damp from the shower.

A look at the clock. Seven o'clock. Dear Merlin, I've lost time.

"What're you doing, mate? You alright?"

The redhead made a face. Harry could guess why. He was usually the first to get up. It wasn't healthy for him to laze around in his pyjamas instead of being downstairs eating breakfast.

"I'm okay. I overslept. I just woke up!" He tried to say bashfully.

Ron's face relaxed.

"Oh, I see. Mister Potter wanted to lie in while us common folks were getting ready. Well done," he joked.

Harry forced a smile on his face. Since when couldn't he be spontaneous with his best friend anymore?

(If he took a step back, Harry would notice that he had spent his whole life faking, with every kind of people, for every kind of reason, the main one being that he was The Boy Who Lived, and had to act like a saviour.)

Ron left, and Harry hurried to get ready. He didn't want to be late and attract unwanted attention.

Molly welcomed him in the Burrow's kitchen with a brief hug, then turned around to watch as a greyish meal slowly poured itself into a bowl. They said that the cooking often suited the cook's mood, which was true in that case, but Harry was not complaining as it was still real food and not coming from a can.

Harry sat on the bench near Ron, who was busy devouring toasts. He was already taller than most of his siblings, but that didn't stop him from eating like a teenager. Hermione had even ceased to comment and usually ignored him. Speaking of, Harry didn't see her in the room. Distracted, he accepted a bowl of porridge from Molly.

"Where's Mione?"

"Already gone," Ron answered with his mouth full.

Harry didn't pry and dug into his breakfast.

Two weeks earlier, Hermione had eventually brought back her parents from Australia, even though she was convinced that it was selfish gesture when they were probably living peacefully in the Pacific Ocean, unaware of the war, the wizarding world, and their missing daughter. Still, it was harder than ever not to miss one's family in this time of peace, so Hermione had made up her mind.

She hadn't managed to free them entirely of the potent Obliviate spell she had used to protect them. Things were slightly getting better these past days tough. Her parents could now tell that they used to live in England with their daughter but thought she was dead, even though Hermione was standing in front of them. Just like the old days, she spent her time reading spell books, talking with Mediwizards in St Mungo and also reading muggle psychology books out of despair.

And so she wasn't seen at the Burrow often. Only Ginny, Molly and George were there full-time. The others just crossed paths, enslaved by their tight schedules.

"What are you doing today?"

Harry's head perked up. Ron had finished eating.

"Still in the Law Enforcement with Kingsley. There are more charges we need to discuss."

"Sounds more thrilling than to go through the shops' paperwork in Diagon Alley."

"Not cool."

Harry tried to convey some honesty into his voice so that his friend could feel some support.

"Well, it could never be worse than a double Potions, right?"

Harry gritted his teeth. He would have prefered Ron to mention Divination or Herbology, to name a few. Severus Snape's death was too fresh in his mind. The man had been horrible with him for seven years, that was a fact. And Harry had loathed him. Still, he was thankful for a least one thing: Snape had been straightforward with him – even if he hadn't managed to teach him anything about the fine art of Potions making.

And no matter how old he had appeared at times, he had been the same age as his parents, and his death strangely echoed with theirs. The Marauders were gone, and so was the vast majority of the people who knew them well.

Harry had not expected his mother and Snape to be so close when they were kids. His mother was always described as a lively young woman, sincere and loving, far away from the sour Potions Master.

Harry abruptly noticed that Ron was waiting for some reaction and managed a weak smile that was more of a face. Hopefully, Ron would put his behaviour on the early morning.

Harry excused himself from the table, left his bowl unfinished and went upstairs. He was sleeping in Bill's old bedroom – small but still more extensive than a cupboard – in front of Ron's. Ginny crossed the hallway to go to the bathroom and looked expectantly at Harry, who just scratched the base of his skull. They muttered quick hellos to each other and went on their separate way.

Harry had not used his stay at the Burrow as an opportunity to come closer to Ginny. He didn't want to, even the more when everybody expected him to. Ginny was like a sister, same for Hermione, yet he didn't have to share awkward glances with Hermione whenever they saw each other.

He hadn't talked to Ginny before they started acting like this. Either way, she understood his need for distance or she had her troubles to handle. It was awkward, but Harry was too tired to try and explain himself.

He took his jacket, knowing he was already late. Ginny was still in the bathroom; he'd brush his teeth later. He joined a waiting Ron in the living room, and they apparated to the Ministry of Magic.

[…]

In the aftermath of the Final Battle came the time for the trials.

Many Death Eaters had not made it through the Battle of Hogwarts, others were hiding, like Alecto and Amycus Carrow, and only a handful of them was imprisoned in Azkaban waiting for trial.

Harry had spent hours alongside Kingsley and officials of the Ministry to discuss the charges, appoint lawyers, and overall making sure that justice would be made based on actions.

Mulciber and Avery had been of limited use for Voldemort, and so their sentences were expected to be lighter than those of the inner circle, Nott Sr, Dolohov and the Lestrange brothers, Rabastan and Rodolphus. Yet no matter how long the sentence, five years or fifteen, none of them was likely to leave Azkaban on two feet.

Twelve defendants were judged in only eight days in a suffocating atmosphere, and two additional days were necessary for the Malfoy's.

Lucius Malfoy came within a hair's breadth of the Dementor's Kiss and was eventually sentenced to ten years. He presumably still had some allies in the Wizengamot. Like a good politician, he had managed to keep most of his misdeeds secret, to the point that only the use of Veritaserum was able to convince some judges. Even if he was never caught raiding a muggle village, like Nott Sr or Bellatrix Lestrange, he had taken part in significant battles, and people hadn't particularly appreciated his double-dealing.

His wife, Narcissa Malfoy, was sentenced to six months in Azkaban. She wasn't wearing the Mark and Harry revealed that she had let him escape during the Hogwarts' Battle. Harry didn't pity her; his only wish was for justice to be made. She didn't deserve the sentence of those who had willingly joined the Dark Lord; she just appeared to be married to one of his supporters. Nevertheless, she was deemed an accomplice of the atrocities committed under her roof.

(Harry shuddered at this point, remembering Hermione's screams, and wondered how he was supposed to stay sane until the end.)

Today, it was their only son's trial. Draco Malfoy was charged with association with the Dark Lord, with the murder of Albus Dumbledore and with complicity in raids against Muggles.

Harry was once again among the audience, not as himself but as the Saviour of the Wizarding World. He had spent more time in this room the past eight days than at the Burrow, that was so depressing.

If he hadn't testified at Lucius' trial, he was about to do it today. No one other than him knew that Draco Malfoy wasn't Albus Dumbledore's murderer. And even though there was no love lost between them, Harry believed that, more than ever, the judges required to be precise. The truth was more complex than the faded Mark on his forearm seemed to tell. Under other circumstances, perhaps Harry would have turned to be different. In the end, he and Draco were both teenagers who had been used by their side to win a war.

Harry still had no idea about what he was going to say. He had processed his arguments for days on end until they made sense, yet today his brain was foggy.

The trial began without him paying attention. Sitting upright on the wooden chair at the bottom of the row of seats, Draco was pale but emotionless.

The witnesses came to testify one after another. Lastly, someone called Harry. He thoughtfully went down the stairs until he was standing

a few metres away from his former nemesis and turned to face the members of the Wizengamot solemn in their crimson robes. Harry had to brush off his memories of this place when he was the one being accused.

"Please take your oath." A stern voice came from the tribune.

"I, Harry James Potter, swear on my magic and my honour as a wizard, to tell the truth, and help justice triumph."

The oath looked like the ones they had found for Dumbledore's Army. (Wrong timing, brain.)

"When have you met the defendant, Draco Lucius Malfoy?"

"We met during our first year at Hogwarts, seven years ago."

"Would you say that you possess information that could help the trial?"

"I do."

"Please state the facts."

Harry took a deep breath. The silence in the room was massive - which was weird considering there were almost a hundred people in addition to the judges.

"I wish to reveal that Draco Malfoy hasn't killed Albus Dumbledore."

He waited for the audience to calm down a bit before explaining himself.

"I understand your confusion. If not Draco, who else? Well, I was there that night when Albus Dumbledore fell from the Astronomy Tower."

Harry's voice was cold as he tried to banish the feelings from his story. He could not let go if he didn't want to break down in front of everyone.

"Draco had been ordered to kill the Headmaster. I guess it was a way for Voldemort to get rid of a powerful opponent without risking the lives of his most loyal followers. But you know, it's not easy to kill a man, even the more when you're eighteen, and he's a great wizard.

Harry knew what he was implying.

"Draco couldn't bring himself to do it. Severus Snape, who was there on behalf of the Dark Lord, cast the Avada Kedavra in his place."

Again the audience let go. If Harry had got the time, he would have defended Snape; but in all honesty, his former teacher couldn't probably care less about a posthumous tribute.

"He is not guilty of the crime you're accusing him of. And I don't think he had a choice whether or not to join the Deatheaters. Unless I am mistaken, Pureblood families aren't kind to their deviant members, and Voldemort didn't take "no" as an answer."

Harry could hear the whispers behind his back. Sirius and Regulus Black's ghosts came before his eyes. He blinked and then they were gone.

"To sum up, Mister Potter," the undersecretary said. "You are saying that, according to you, the only valid accusation is the complicity in raids against Muggle."

"Yes, it is."

She proceeded to write his statement on the parchment carefully and then Harry was sent off. When going back to his seat, he checked the blond's unchanged expression. Even though their situation was different, they were both trying to shield themselves.

Harry's concentration dropped for the remainder of the trial. He had done what he could to make sure the judge knew the truth. He didn't want to use the Saviour's card to pardon Malfoy; first of all, because the blond was too proud to owe him his freedom. Second of all, because Harry had taken an oath. He was to help justice triumph, not to make it himself.

Two long hours later, the judges came back to deliver their judgement.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy, regarding the charges against you, we sentence you to one year in Azkaban."

The audience let go of their frustration. Of course, people didn't agree with the sentence, for they didn't perceive the Malfoys well. As for Harry, he was quite relieved. One year near the Dementors was enough to go crazy, but Draco could have taken so much longer. The judges had listened to him. They had trust Potter-the-Saviour. Harry repressed a groan and took advantage of the ambient mess to escape without being seen. He didn't want to see his friends right now. He needed to go back to the Burrow before they did.

The depths of the Ministry seemed endless, a bit like Hogwarts' dungeons with less dampness. Speaking of which, Harry found himself in the street to be welcomed by a torrent of water. He apparated to the Burrow and crossed the soaked garden. Now even his socks were wet. His day couldn't get any worse.

[…]

"Harry, do you have a minute?"

The young man raised his head to meet Kingsley's piercing gaze. He had been chatting with Ron during their break, about the most useful spells to know as an Auror. (Ron was rather partial to the Jelly-fingers curse, and Harry wondered where he had learnt about that one.)

"Er, yes."

He smiled apologetically to Ron and got up to follow the Minister of Magic through the maze of corridors. They did not talk yet, and only the sound of their footsteps on the carpeted floor accompanied them.

Kingsley seemingly needed his help with something, and Harry could already assume that he wasn't going to like it. But he didn't have much choice anyway.

He took a seat in front of the Minister, himself seating behind his files-cluttered desk.

"How are you doing, Harry?"

Harry rolled his eyes. He was in Albus Dumbledore's office all over again, playing nice under the persistent gaze.

"I'm fine, thank you, Minister."

Was Kinglsey going to be straightforward or...?

"What's the matter today?"

"You do know that Hogwarts rebuilding is going fairly well."

Harry nodded. Hermione, who spent her time at the library for her researches, had talked about it.

"But?"

Kingsley's demeanour was suddenly paternalistic. Harry hated it because he felt like a first-year again.

"However, we need more mighty wizards and witches to help stabilise the protections before we can move on."

"I thought the castle was protecting itself," Harry said, sincerely amazed.

After all these years, he had finally read "Hogwarts: A History" - or at least some chapters of it. Hermione could be proud.

"Indeed, it has its defences as we have witnessed during the Battle. Each Headmaster has added their protections over the centuries, on top of the Founders' magic, put together thousands of years ago. Nevertheless, this web of magic has been perturbed during the Battle, and the Headmistress has not been in place long enough to restore on her own. Therefore we do need people like you to strengthen the web." The Minister explained slowly.

Harry did not understand half of it even if Kingsley had tried to make it clear. He kept staring at the wall without saying anything.

"You can see it as repairs of a piece of fabric with holes in it. The protections are made from a web of spells. If some are missing, if there's a hole, that's not too dangerous. However, if the damages are worse, then someone needs to do something to fix it before the web tear up."

What startled Harry the more was the parallel with the fabric. He didn't know how the wizards were repairing their clothes but if they were doing it with magic – he suddenly remembered Madam Malkin and her shop in Diagon Alley – how could Kingsley know about a muggle way? He frowned. His mind was digressing again. He should stop doing this, especially when he was in front of someone watching his every move.

"I get it. What I don't understand is why you want me to go there."

"Why not, Harry? You are a powerful wizard, and you could learn a thing or two."

The young man rolled his eyes. His anger went higher when Kingsley made a knowing look.

"Me fighting Voldemort doesn't mean I'm powerful," he said calmly. "I didn't even pass my N.E.W.T.s."

"You didn't have the time to sit for them. I'm positively sure you would pass without trouble."

It was infuriating how Kingsley always had an answer for everything.

"And by the way, I know you want to use me as a symbol. You're going to tell them that everything's fine since the Saviour of the Wizarding World is invested in the rebuilding, blah blah." He said, dryly, forgetting who he was talking to.

"Who do you take me for, Harry? Are you aware that you're accusing me of manipulation? We are not using you to earn money or win the next elections."

Harry looked elsewhere. Kingsley was taking it personally.

"You're helping them having faith. You're appeasing the strain and the pain."

"The cause may be noble, but that doesn't change the facts. That's still prostitution of my image."

At another time, Harry would have been pleased to see Kingsley lose his composure. For now, he couldn't bring himself to enjoy a small victory like this. He focused on the conversation and where it would lead him.

"Sometimes I'm under the feeling that you don't trust me."

Harry almost huffed.

"If I didn't trust you, I wouldn't be here. I'm just having trouble believing that people could get better after seeing me when I want to be miles away from here."

He felt slightly better after confessing this, even though Kingsley wasn't the person he had dreamt telling this to.

"I know it's not easy for you; I am not blind." The Minister said. "This period is double-edged. We're sharing a unique joy because the war has ended for good, which doesn't stop us from thinking about all the sacrifices we made to get there."

And God knew Harry did his part.

"It's normal to be lost now, to feel like you don't have a goal anymore. You spent your entire life with the war at your side."

Harry stopped listening to Kingsley's full of good intentions speech. He was mad at him for reading his feelings so well. Was he like an open book? And by the way, the lack of goal wasn't his biggest problem. He was struggling far more with his hero status and general anxiety.

Kingsley was discoursing, and Harry didn't hear a single word, gazing into space. When the man noticed, he sighed audibly and stroke his cheek slowly with his palm. Harry didn't blink an eye.

The Minister was at a loss. Nobody knew how to act around the boy – the young adult – because he kept pushing everyone away.

Of course, numerous families had suffered during several generations, and there had been lots of orphans, but orphans purchased by both a prophecy and a dark lord weren't so usual. Kingsley couldn't help but reckon that Harry felt alone in his grief and unique position.

If at first, he had thought that Harry was a carefree kid with a strong taste for Quidditch and tricks, he had changed his mind when officially meeting him two years before at Square Grimmauld. He had thought that he was amazingly mature for his age - when he wasn't spending his energy disregarding what the adults told him, which possessed a reasoning of its own. Harry wasn't ignoring them to be insolent; he did it because he deemed having gauged the situation better. He wasn't just a trouble-maker; he had heavy pressure on his shoulders. The gravity on his face when he was deep in thoughts had only worsened with time.

Kingsley was torn in two by his moral responsibility (taking care of Harry now that his parental figures were gone) and his duty as a Prime Minister (using Harry as a symbol to help the people). He had lots of pressure on his own too.

Though Harry appeared wary of both options, Kinglsey still had to make a decision. He clapped his hands, and the young man came to himself, a tired look on his face.

"I'm going to offer you a compromise," Kingsley announced.

Harry laid back on his chair, sceptical.

"You won't convince me that you're not powerful. You were presumably the only one able to end Voldemort's reign, but still, you could have died instead of succeeding, which means you are stronger. So I'm asking again."

As Kingsley waited for some sign from him to continue, Harry nodded slowly.

"And to attest that I'm asking your help concerning your power and not your fame, I am not going to tell people that you're going at Hogwarts."

Harry opened his eyes wide, and Kingsley almost smiled. Finally, he was making him react.

"You... I..." He began, lost in his thoughts. "I'm honoured that you're deeming me able to do that, but honestly, I don't see how this is going to help you." He added uncertainly.

Kingsley was astonished by the sudden change of direction. Harry had been entirely reluctant to be a symbol for the cause, and now he was worried about not being useful enough? Was he so disturbed? This situation was deeply unsettling.

"I wish you'd believe me, Harry. I have faith in your abilities, and even if I would have prefered advertising your presence there, I'm vowing to respect your needs." He said calmly.

A nervous laugh answered his statement, and then a whispered:

"Forever a disappointment, right?"

He understood that he wasn't mean to hear that when Harry raised his head to look at him.

"I'll help," he announced.

Kingsley put the worrisome sentence in the corner of his head for the moment. Instead of asking questions which would anger him, he smiled gratefully.

"Thank you. When do you think you could leave?"

Harry shrugged.

"When you need me to. I don't have any schedule here."

"Very well. I'll send you an owl at the Burrow with the details in a few days if that's fine."

"Okay."

They stood up and shook hands over the desk.

"Take care of yourself, Harry."

"Will do. See you later, Minister."

Harry left the office without turning back, and Kingsley let himself fall back into his chair, suddenly exhausted. Who was he talking about, when he mentioned the disappointment? As displeasing as it was, Kingsley was tending toward believing Harry was talking about himself.

Was it the source of the problem? He didn't think he had superior abilities and saw himself as a loser? That was absurd. Even if he had never believed Harry was narcissistic, Kingsley had never considered this extreme.

He wished that the stay at Hogwarts would help him overcome whatever trouble he was experiencing at the moment.

[…]

Harry was gazing at the bottom of his empty bowl in the Burrow's kitchen when a sudden noise made him come to his senses. Apparently, it wasn't the first occurrence of the sound since Ginny rushed from the living-room, her red hair swaying on her shoulders. She opened the window in front of Harry and let a brownish owl enter the kitchen. It landed next to Harry's bowl on the wooden table and rubbed its head on Harry's palm with a content look when the young man gave it a quick caress and freed it from its message.

When the touch ended, it smoothed its feathers before leaving from where it had come. Ginny had not moved. She closed the window and after a brief hesitation, sat in front of Harry. If he saw her turmoil, he didn't dare to ask her to leave him alone.

He unfolded the message. It was short, Kingsley wasn't one for endless sentences in letters, which was curious when one knew him in person. When Harry put the paper back on the table to rub his eyes with a bored look, Ginny could not take it anymore.

"Bad news?"

Now he needed to comfort her.

"Not really. It's just... Kingsley is asking me to go to Hogwarts for a while."

"And you're not happy about it?" She asked with caution.

She seemed puzzled. Harry could easily guess why. It was no secret that he had considered Hogwarts as his home.

"That's not it. Well... I don't want to meet people these days, you know?" He confessed.

She sent him a comforting look.

"There's no shame about that, Harry. But if you don't want to talk, people will respect that."

For a second, her spontaneity and simplicity made him believe that it could be that easy.

"Are you going to be there for a while?"

"Kingsley says that it's only a matter of weeks. I imagine it'll depend on how everyone will be able to work together."

Ginny seemed lost, and Harry remembered he hadn't talked about the reason he was going to Hogwarts in the first place.

"We're going to fix the protections of the castle."

"Oh, amazing!"

"It's supposed to be teamwork, but I don't know who else will be there" He added.

"Don't worry; I'm sure it will be fine. And then surely he'll let you take a rest, won't he? You look exhausted."

Harry managed a weak front smile.

"I'll think to ask him for some vacations, good idea."

He stood up to put his bowl in the sink and went upstairs with the letter after saying bye to Ginny.

Once in his little room where the morning sun was revealing all the dust on the furniture, he lay on the bed and looked at the ceiling. He did not know if he was pleased to go back to Hogwarts. Kingsley had said that he should not worry about his privacy there - he had even repeated it in a post-scriptum in his short letter. Still, the prospect of spending time away from the Burrow and the Ministry, where he was always wearing a mask, was not as comforting as it should have been. He just felt empty, not even missing something; more like numb, which was sadly not keeping his ruthless dreams away at night.

By the way, Ron was probably going to feel a bit envious since Harry would return to Hogwarts when he was stuck doing paperwork at the Ministry. Harry didn't know what was best. Honestly, he didn't feel that happy to go. But they would worry if he told them that. He could pretend to be overjoyed, but that would make Ron envious.

He was too tired to keep speculating about it now, to the extent that he thought for a while about leaving early to avoid talking to anybody. He quickly discarded the idea though, for it would have consequences. Hermione and Ron were perfectly able to corner him once he would be there, and he didn't want that either.

He resolved to announce the news when he would see them, with his current mood, and deal with it as it came.

His day came down to wander into his room, the mind clouded from all sort of things. He wasn't hungry when Molly called for lunch, and he stayed upstairs. When he finally went out around five in the afternoon to take a walk in the garden, he met George, apparently returning from a run outside. The redhead acknowledged him with a nod and went away swiftly. Harry listened to his footsteps on the stairs before leaving the house.

This was the first time this week that he'd seen him. It wasn't unexpected since he seldom left his room. He had yelled at his mother when she had tried to force him to come down for dinner once, and now nobody dared to disturb him. Everyone was leaving him be.

Harry had no idea what twinship truly meant, other than a link beyond everything. To lose one's twin, to lose half of one's soul... Imagining the feeling, his chest hurt, and even if it was painful, it relieved him to feel something, instead of intellectualising the concept of angst.

He sat behind the house and witnessed the setting sun while trying to cheer up. He heard everyone come back one after the other, but he didn't move. It was completely dark outside when he resolved to face his family of choice.

He entered by the living room's door. Hermione was the first to spot him as she was sitting on the couch with a book in her hands.

"Oh, Harry!"

She smiled fondly, put her book away and stood up to embrace him. He let her and kissed her cheek. Only then did he notice her red-rimmed eyes.

"Did you have a good day?" She asked after sitting back on the couch.

Harry shrugged; he didn't know.

"It could have been worse," he decided to answer.

He had resolved not to embellish his feelings tonight.

"What about you?"

Hermione lowered her gaze for a second and smiled wistfully. Harry feared she was about to cry.

"There are days like today when you wonder if you're not fighting a lost cause."

That wasn't Hermione-like at all and Harry started to worry. Had something critical happened, or was it the exhaustion putting her into this state of nerves? He came to sit beside her and put an arm around her shaking shoulders.

"Tell me what's wrong, Mione."

She leaned her head in the crook of his neck and sighed.

"Tell me what's fine... I've tried every spell, every potion, and even hypnosis! And it appears that nobody in history has ever tried nor managed to give their memories back to Muggles!" She said bitterly.

"Which state are they in?"

"Oh, they love me, that's for sure. But they don't know I'm their daughter."

Her voice broke in the end, and Harry felt her beginning to cry without a sound. Not knowing how to comfort her with actual words, he settled for holding her and stroking her hair softly. Ron came into the room and exchanged a discouraging look with Harry. He sat into an armchair in front of them and began to small-talk with his friend in the most natural way possible at the moment. Ron had considerably gained in maturity and tactfulness since their years at Hogwarts.

When Molly called everyone for dinner, Hermione had stopped crying. She wiped her nose and eyes on her sleeve, which usually would have made the boys laugh since she was always saying they couldn't behave to save their lives.

Around the table that night sat Arthur, Molly, Ginny, Hermione, Ron and Harry. It was a bit more lively than usual, no doubt thanks to the father who was recounting stories of the Ministry. Harry surprised himself by thinking that he would miss them during his trip to Scotland. Hermione came back every night when she was spending her days in the castle's library, but Harry didn't like taking the Floo so he would minimise his trips.

When Molly stood up to retrieve a cake for dessert, Harry told them about his upcoming trip, approved by Ginny's smile in front of him. He couldn't remember why he had been dreading the announcement because they all were respectful about it; Hermione really proud and Ron just a tiny bit envious.

Dinner ended in a good mood, no one commenting on Hermione's red eyes or George's absence.

They had changed. The war had changed them.

Thank you for reading. Your support means a lot.

On the 25 chapters count I've planned, 19 are already written, but only 14 in English, and I still need to spell-check them. I'll post them as soon as I can.