Disclaimer: Not my characters but my plot. Sort of.

Chapter 5

June 23rd

They moved Harry to St Mungo's with Ron and Hermione. Them and myself were the only survivors of the original army of that Final War. Ron and Hermione barely made it through but they eventually recovered. They spent three months in St Mungo's before finally returning home. They have not been the same since, but neither have I. I don't expect we will ever be the same again. We are all too traumatized. I spent only two weeks in St Mungo's as I was not too badly hurt physically. Most of those two weeks I spent in silence, staring out the window. I had no visitors as there was no one left to visit me. They gave me regular updates on Harry, who although was now fine physically, had not said a word or for that matter done anything at all since arriving.

The world was celebrating around us. I didn't care. I barely spoke, barely ate, barely did anything. When I was finally released I refused to speak to the press. I locked myself in my apartment, leaving only to visit St Mungo's. I sat for days by Harry's bedside, holding his hand and talking to him, longing to see something in those lifeless eyes. I never did. Ron and Hermione visited when they were released. We took turns sitting with him.

Time slipped by. We started spending less and less time by Harry's bedside. Life went on. Hermione became pregnant but miscarried. Apparently her body is still recovering and rejected the baby, or something like that. It hit both her and Ron hard. I still went every day to see Harry, but it became difficult as I had to work. I did not date. I couldn't bear to.

A year after the Final War they decided to release him into my care. I took him home with me and with help from the Ministry financially and a mediwitch who came in daily, I took over care of him. It wore me down but I kept at it and I still am. Four years later I still get up every day, feed him, shower him, talk to him… all with no response. I bought a muggle television for him to watch but I don' t think he sees it. I sit him up and he looks at it but never sees it. He has lost weight and his muscles are gone. He lies there, staring straight ahead, day after day. I feed him through a tube as he refuses to swallow. It breaks my heart.