Story Summary: After the events of the war, all Harry wants to do is to forget. For everything to return to normal. But things never were normal for him, and the war left many marks on him not so easily forgotten. When he receives a surprising offer to return to Hogwarts in a continuing education program, Harry jumps at the chance, and despite his best efforts to deal with his problems alone, discovers along the way that quite often, two minds are greater than one.
A/N: This is primarily a story of healing. Just something I felt compelled to write and what I would have liked to follow the end of the novels. Complete AU after book 7 basically. There are some other pairings mentioned in passing, but Drarry is the focus. It's been a minute since I read the books, so apologies for any inconsistencies. Also, I do tend to be a rather sporadic writer these days, so I can't really promise regular updates. But this story is fully fledged out, even more so than most of my stories, so I'm anticipating there won't be any major problems with finishing this one. I would love if you would give it a shot!
After the Rain Falls
Chapter 1: Wither on the Vine
There was a bit of a honeymoon period, after the war ended. Harry had been so consistently tense for so long, that it felt like the weight of an entire mountain abruptly lifted off his shoulders. The strange constricting sensation in his chest released, and suddenly, he could live. It was such an unfamiliar feeling to him that Harry wasn't quite sure what to do with himself. He spent much of his time the following few days sitting and staring into space, unable to quite process that the war was truly…over. In retrospect, he should have relished in that time a bit more.
Because everything was better, until it wasn't.
It had taken all of two weeks for the world to start crashing down around him again. Awful nightmares, the worst he'd ever experienced, assaulted his mind each and every night. During the days he couldn't escape any of it, forced to sit through trial after trial as a witness to the events of the war. He spent hours looking into the eyes of those who hurt the ones he loved. Reporters flocked to him, cameras flashed their lights in his face. Everyone wanted a chance to speak with him, the so called hero of the war. And in no time at all, the tension returned. Tenfold.
He couldn't breathe.
All he wanted to do was hide away in the darkness, away from the rest of the world.
Then came the headaches. Like some kind of reckoning. A pointed reminder that though the war was technically over, it would never truly be over for him. They were vicious. Like a dagger was being repeatedly stabbed into his skull. And they hit randomly, often sending him to the ground in a foetal position as he gritted his teeth against the pain, without a hint of warning.
But it was the seizures that really caught him off guard.
The first one left him panting and shaking on the ground in his bedroom at the burrow. He hit his shoulder on the way down, unable to prevent his body from knocking into the dresser in the room. He wasn't sure how long it lasted. His mind lost all sense of time, all sense of anything apart from the complete and utter pain running through his limbs like the very blood in his veins was on fire. After it stopped, he gasped atop the ground before rolling onto his side with a groan. Sweat coated his skin, and he shakily pushed himself up against the nearest wall. It was exhausting trying to move, and he sat there trembling, half-heartedly listening to the many voices echoing about in the compact home.
He tried to keep it a secret. Hoped it was a one-time occurrence. The last thing he wanted was more attention. He just wanted to be normal, to stop worrying about all of it. But it was only so long before it happened again, and this time in front of his friends.
Several visits to the hospital later, after repeated sessions with various therapists and healers, and all he had to show for it was the line-up of potions on his dresser that did little to help with any of it.
The healers assumed it was a result of repeated exposure to the Cruciatus curse. That it had harmed him in ways that were unfixable as it had so many others. But Harry wasn't so sure. In fact, he was almost certain it was something more.
It had to be him.
Voldemort.
A trace of his horcrux, perhaps. Lingering, and messing with his mind. Of course it had changed him, altered something in him to the point of no repair. Surely a person couldn't carry around such a thing for so many years without it making its mark. The scar on his brow had faded to a silvery white over time, but it wasn't lost on him, how it throbbed along with the pounding of his head, or pulsed for several minutes in the wake of his seizures. Dark magic didn't just disappear, and after such prolonged exposure, it came as no surprise that it left behind lingering residual effects. He kept his opinions to himself, of course, lest he spend the rest of his days locked away on the fourth floor of St. Mungo's.
The only bit of respite was that he wasn't the only one deeply affected by the war. And he felt pretty damn guilty finding some solace in that.
The nightmares hit nearly all of them. And the long lasting effects were varied and never good. Ron in particular showed signs of instability after wearing the locket, in addition to the previously unknown consequences of interacting with the brain in the Ministry of Magic. He was easily distracted, and occasionally slipped into a concerning daze that was difficult to break free from. He still joked around like normal, he was still Ron, just…a bit different than before. Like all of them were.
Hermione had fared better than most of them, but Harry knew she had her own worries, even if she didn't speak of them. George locked himself away from everyone each evening, spending time muttering away to a Fred that no longer stood at his side. And Mrs. Weasley could be found sobbing into her hands at any hour of the day. The Burrow was an anguished mess. Not a night went by without someone waking up to screams or cries.
Eventually, Harry chose to move back into Grimmauld place by himself. He just…needed to get away. The Weasleys needed time to heal, and his issues weren't helping them any. Perhaps it would have been good for him too, except for the fact that he felt terribly lonely trapped between the walls of his late godfather's home.
He spent many nights huddled into an old armchair, legs tucked up close to his body as he stared into the flames of his fireplace and imagined what it would be like if Sirius were still alive. If the war hadn't happened at all. If he'd grown up a normal child, in a world without Voldemort, free to truly appreciate all the wonders that being a wizard afforded him.
When the Hogwarts letter flew in through the chimney and swatted Harry in the face, he was surprised by the normalcy of it. Harry's fingers pressed against the familiar seal, and he held it in his hands almost carefully. It took him several minutes to convince himself to open it.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmistress: Minerva McGonagall
Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry's Mission to Learn and Rebuild. This specialized continuing education program offers previously enrolled students the chance to finish or expand upon their education, which may have been impacted by the events of the previous school years.
In addition to specialized courses, each returning student will have the opportunity to register in various extracurricular activities aimed at contributing to the restoration of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry grounds and surrounding areas.
Please find enclosed a list of potential course selections, in addition to any necessary books and equipment required for said courses. Enrolment in extracurricular activities will be available on site. Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 15 August.
Yours sincerely,
Horace Slughorn
Deputy Headmaster
Harry blinked at the parchment for quite some time, rereading the letter to make sure it was real. No matter how many times he pinched himself, it remained there within his hands.
He set the letter in his lap and considered it, letting his fingers rest atop the neat script. He had technically been absolved of the need to take his N.E.W.T.s, as had several of the students in his year. But the proposal was tempting. Even without a particular career direction in mind.
A return to Hogwarts. A chance to begin again.
To be honest, he wasn't ready to face the real world. Not yet. Hogwarts felt safe. It always had. He welcomed the opportunity to return to something…familiar. Something easy. He responded back the same day.
The entrance to Platform 9 ¾ was just the same as it always had been. Solid, inconspicuous, and very much in the middle of Platform nine and ten. Only this time, much like his first year attending Hogwarts, Harry wasn't entirely sure what he might find on the other side of it. How many students would opt to return? Would there be just as many as usual amongst the other years? Or would students seek out other schools in the wake of the war? Would people stare? Would they talk about him and whisper behind his back?
For half a second Harry considered turning away. Simply going back to his hideaway where he could continue to ignore the world around him. But then he shook his head and mentally chastised himself. He was a Gryffindor after all. He could handle this. Surely.
"Ready?" Hermione's voice sounded close to his ear, and he felt her hand at his back, not pushing, but rather guiding him to take the next step. Ron stood on his other side, lazily manoeuvring their trolley stacked high with luggage.
No, was Harry's immediate thought. He wasn't ready at all. Instead what came out was, "Ready as I'll ever be." And the three of them walked through the barrier together.
Harry winced as the sound of hustle and bustle met his ears. The train's horn whistled, signalling the countdown of time before embarking, and tons of would be students rushed about the platform as they readied to board. He staggered back, but both Ron and Hermione steadied him, waiting at his side as he stabilized his breathing.
It was a bit...overwhelming.
His eyes shifted left to right, gaze taking in the crowd of people. He watched as parents hugged their children, and friends greeted each other. It was just like old times. Thankfully, everyone seemed too preoccupied to notice their arrival, and he was grateful that they were able to move through the crowd without drawing much attention.
It was like navigating a maze at times, dodging the children running about excitedly on the cement. He supposed there were many more than usual who were attending Hogwarts for the first time, perhaps having elected to forgo attending in the previous year. Their excitement was easy to see, and admittedly, a bit infectious. They were nearly to the loading area when a group of young students ran directly in front of him, nearly knocking Harry off his feet. He fell back slightly, losing his footing for a moment.
"Oop," Harry blurted, only to choke on his own voice as he stumbled into another body. One significantly taller than his own. Harry whipped his body around in surprise, and then two hands reached out and gripped at his shoulders, holding him in place. He looked up into the steely grey gaze of none other than Draco Malfoy.
Harry's throat nearly closed in.
Ron tensed at his side, and Hermione's fingers grasped at the back of his robes tightly.
The last time he'd seen him had been at the trials. Harry had testified and encouraged the pardoning of the Malfoys after witnessing the way Voldemort manipulated them, as well as their apparent defection near the end of the final battle.
Harry was a little surprised to see him, but perhaps he shouldn't have been. All of them were searching for the same thing. A chance to move on. A chance to forget. And though Ron was stiff at his side, and Hermione clearly anxious as her nails dug slightly into the skin of his back, they didn't react beyond that. None of them wanted to fight anymore.
They stood there in silence, not quite sure what to say, studying each other with unreadable gazes. Harry was struck with how tall Draco had become. Of course he had continued to grow in the past year. Harry had simply not had the chance to particularly notice it, though it was wildly apparent now that he stood so close to him. He looked better, too. Less stressed than the last time they had seen each other in the courtroom. There was the hint of exhaustion on his face, a weariness they all carried with them. But his hair was no longer gelled back, instead hanging loose over the side of his head, and it suited him. Made him appear less severe and more approachable.
As a first year walked by, Harry noticed the way they eyed Draco with trepidation. It was obvious he was feared. And it was unmistakable who he was. Much like Harry, Draco's face had been plastered all over the Daily Prophet for several weeks after the war.
"Potter," Draco uttered, gaze dipping slightly before returning to look at Harry directly.
"Malfoy."
Draco's hands dropped then from his shoulders, and he offered a slight nod, his hair falling slightly in front of his face, before walking beyond him towards the train.
Harry let out a breath of air he hadn't realized he was holding onto as he watched him leave, blond head unmistakable where he towered over the bulk of the crowd. He sensed more than he saw as Ron flopped his body over their trolley with a sigh, and then Hermione's voice sounded again at his side.
"It's going to be an interesting year."
The sorting ceremony was unusually long. Harry had been right. There was an influx of new students, several of whom had entirely missed what should have been their first year. He sat through it impatiently, but without complaint, grinning and clapping whenever a student was added to Gryffindor's ranks. He tried to ignore the awe filled stares often directed his way, as well as the hushed whispers that did little to hide the use of his name.
While the sorting hat took its time to decide on things, Harry peered around the Great Hall, taking note of other students in his year that had decided to return. It appeared that nearly everyone who was able had chosen to. He was happy to see Neville, and Luna, Seamus, and Dean. And he was intrigued by the surprising number of older Slytherins in attendance, noting that both Pansy Parkinson and Gregory Goyle sat on either side of Draco.
It was certainly a different energy than usual. There were no scowls or threatening stares, no taunting between the houses. At one point Draco turned to face him, offering little more than a raised eyebrow before returning his attention to the front of the room.
McGonagall introduced the teachers, presenting Professor Slughorn as her successor in Transfiguration, which made Harry curious, as no Potions Master was present among the rest of the staff. There were a few new teachers he had never met before, including a woman with a large hooded cloak named Professor Brindlemore, who had taken the cursed Defense Against the Dark Arts posting, as well as several familiar faces. Hagrid grinned and waved from his place at the head table, and Harry returned the sentiment.
When the food appeared in front of him, Harry dove in, and he was pleased to admit it was delicious as ever. The ghosts did their usual song and dance, and then Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way to Gryffindor Tower for an early night in. The dorms were the same as always, with additional beds to accommodate their numbers, and the common room was as warm and welcoming as he remembered. Almost everything was just as before. Everything apart from the seizure he had mid night that left him choking atop his bedding, and the echoing screams of students waking from nightmares at each and every passing moment. Harry spent several hours staring up at the bed frame above him, body too weak to move, wondering if the sound of his limbs struggling against his bedding had been heard by those around him, or if the cries echoing through the tower had masked it. He wondered if the other house dorms were the same.
He'd remember to cast a two way silencing charm every night after.
Potions class was set bright and early, at 8:30 am, in the dungeons as per usual. Harry stumbled down the moving staircases with bleary eyes and wobbly legs, lucky not to misstep and fall as they moved. He tugged his cloak around his body and yanked at the strap of his book bag nervously, not sure how he felt about taking the subject by himself.
Hermione had chosen not to enrol in potions as she had already achieved suitable grades in previous years, and Ron simply had no interest. Harry wasn't sure what made him pick it. He supposed he felt a sort of obligation to put some effort into the subject in honour of Snape. And to be honest, it had been more enjoyable in sixth year without his looming presence; though he no longer had the man's textbook to rely on to improve his abysmal skillset.
His glasses slid down his nose slightly and Harry pushed them back into place as he found the correct room and slipped inside. It was somewhat barren, with several empty portraits lining the walls, and Harry supposed the subjects of them had been asked to avoid the room during lesson times. The desk at the front was empty, and oddly devoid of a chair, no sign of the new Professor in the room. There were students from all four houses in the class, all of them scattered at various tables throughout, talking in low voices.
He noticed Draco, sitting somewhat slouched to one side against the left wall, his right foot propped over his left knee. His limbs were especially lanky in appearance in that position, and his cloak hung haphazardly off his shoulders. Like the day before, his hair was loose around his face, and his eyes were closed as he awaited the start of class. Blaise Zabini was apparently napping, slouched over atop the table in the seat next to him. Harry fiddled with his book bag strap some more before choosing a seat near the back right corner, hoping to learn on his own away from the prying eyes of others.
He took some time laying out his supplies, glancing around a bit more for any sign of their Professor. The class filled as he waited, and then as the clock struck 8:30, the door slammed closed with a mysterious gust of wind. Harry jolted in his seat, before sitting a bit straighter, quill ready atop his parchment. He dipped it in preparation, only to splatter some droplets over his parchment when a pale face suddenly appeared in the centre of the largest frame at the front of the classroom.
Harry's mouth dropped open in surprise and his eyes opened as wide as dinner plates when he recognized the elongated pointy features of Severus Snape. The class erupted in rush whispers, everyone more than a little surprised to see the former potions master.
"Silence!" Snape sneered, his dark eyes narrowing as he peered down at them for a moment. "There will be no unnecessary chatter during lesson times. I will not bother with attendance. The effort you choose to put into this class will determine your grades." He swooped along the sides of the class, passing through the empty frames lining the walls. Harry could swear he felt the breeze as he passed him by, but surely that was impossible.
As Snape circled them all like a vulture eyeing its next meal, he continued his introductory spiel. "This class is a specialized study course, and as such, the bulk of your time here will be spent on experimental potions development. You will be assigned pairs for the year. In addition to weekly course work and routine practical exams, I shall expect all pairs to present a proposal for a new creation, ready for quarterly testing, and submitted to the ministry for approval by year's end. Should your potion be successful, you will receive top marks," Snape drawled.
Harry had all but given up on note taking, instead gaping at the front of the classroom, hands pressed flat against the table top, while Snape returned to the centre frame at the front, crossing his arms and lifting his head haughtily. "Think wisely about what you wish to develop. Consider the risks as well as the benefits. Your creation must be of considerable value to our world. Incomplete and unsatisfactory potions will receive a failing grade," Snape added, waiting for a second as the students processed everything he had said. "Your first class will be spent discussing options with your partner."
So much for working alone.
Harry gritted his teeth, quickly looking around the room as he considered his potential workmates. Michael Corner would be tolerable. His grades were decent, and he seemed relatively easy to get along with, so long as you did your part of the work. Hannah Abbott might be okay as well. Her grades weren't as great, and she got flustered easily, but she was friendly at least.
"I will now announce your partners for the year. Listen carefully as I will not be repeating myself," Snape droned, and then he began listing off sets of names in his distinctly monotone voice. "Zabini and Patil, Hopkins and Davis, Runcorn and Rivers."
Harry nibbled on his lower lip as the class slowly got paired off, mentally taking note of the few names left as more and more groups were listed. He swallowed nervously, picking up his quill and playing with the feather at its end.
"Abbott and Smith, Malfoy and Potter-,"
Harry froze, his fingers tensing as his body went cold.
No. Absolutely not.
Harry stared at the front in disbelief. It was so clichéd that Harry had to roll his eyes. Surely Snape's portrait was messing with him. He glared at it before glancing towards Draco warily as the rest of the pairs moved and reshuffled their belongings throughout the classroom.
Draco turned his head to the side, staring behind him, his narrow-eyed gaze meeting Harry's with visible disdain. He was clearly just as annoyed by the announcement as Harry. But to Harry's surprise, Draco rolled his eyes before standing and gathering up his items, making his way to the back of the room to slap his bag down atop the table next to him. Harry stiffened slightly, and couldn't bring himself to look at Draco. He sat facing the front of the room, barely present as discussions picked up amongst the other groups of students. Harry mindlessly doodled with the quill in his hand, scratching over the same scribbled circle repetitively on his parchment and Draco resumed his previous stance, crossing his arms and closing his eyes as he sat next to Harry in silence.
Ten minutes into class, and after Harry's entire parchment had been riddled with misshapen circles, Snape appeared suddenly in the portrait on the wall right beside him.
"Potter! Malfoy!" He snarled, and Harry jolted, knocking his jar of ink over in surprise. He scrambled to clean it up, while Snape peered down at him with an unmistakable sneer perfectly depicted in thick brush strokes.
"If you're not going to work on your assignment the least you can do is be productive," Snape insisted. "I expect ten batches of dreamless sleep ready from the both of you by the end of class."
"Eh?!" Harry exclaimed, fingers fully coated in black ink, and Draco threw his head back and let out a long drawn out sigh.
"Snape's portrait is just as insufferable as he ever was," Harry blurted as he collapsed into a lounge chair in the Gryffindor Common Room. He let his book bag slide from his hands to the floor, and slouched back into the seat with a groan.
Hermione peered at him over the top of a massive tome, clearly already studying ahead for one of her many subjects. Harry leaned forward to read the title, A Complete History of Arithmancy: Key Events and their Relationship with Numerology, and then he grimaced and shook his head before sitting back.
"Oh! I heard he was the Potions Professor this year. What's that like?" Hermione asked, quickly returning her attention to the tome.
"Bloody awful," Harry groaned. "He paired me with Malfoy."
Hermione looked up at him again, this time lowering the book to her lap. She offered him a sympathetic smile. "Was it really that bad? Did he say something to you?"
"Not a word, actually," Harry said, and he looked up at the ceiling curiously. Even after the two of them had begun brewing the dreamless sleep potions Draco had been silent. Harry had even nearly stirred the potion eight times instead of seven, but Draco had merely grabbed his wrist in a vice like grip to stop him, startling him out of his daze. Harry had removed the wooden spoon and flushed vividly; muttering a hasty 'thank you' and receiving a slight head shake in return.
"Pansy is in my Arithmancy class," Hermione mentioned. She turned the page in her book, and then tapped her fingers against it. "Actually, she was…pleasant. I had no idea she shared the same disdain for Divination as I do. She agrees that Arithmancy is a much more refined method of foretelling." She looked off to the side, clearly lost in thought for a moment. "It's odd isn't it," she eventually added.
"It is. But…, I don't mind it either."
At that moment the portrait at the entrance swung open and Ron walked in looking rather bemused. His hair was a mess, standing up all over the place with leaves stuck between the strands, and his robes were covered in dirt.
"Where on earth have you been?" Hermione asked, looking at him from head to toe with barely concealed disgust.
"Herbology with Hufflepuff," Ron muttered, and he sat on the edge of Hermione's chair and leaned over for a kiss. She grimaced but conceded before shoving him away.
"And how was that?"
"Fine. Neville is super helpful. We mostly did review," Ron said. "Oh and, prepping topsoil for upcoming classes," he added, finally looking down at his soiled robes. Ron chuckled lightly, and then looked up at them with a lopsided grin. "It's good to be back."
And despite the misfortune of his first class, Harry was inclined to agree.
A/N: Thanks for checking out the first chapter! If you're interested in more I'd love to know.
