Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or anything of JK Rowling's.
After Voldemort
1
On the morning of September 12, the one-month anniversary of Voldemort's defeat, everything appeared relatively normal at breakfast in the Great Hall at Hogwarts. Ron, with bandages over his left eye and ear, shoveled food into his mouth, while Hermione read a large green book, and Harry played with his eggs and sausage. Neville listened to Ginny and Taline, another Gryffindor sixth year, discuss the Ravenclaws new seeker, a tanned, blond fourth year, Evan Tribeyek
The school year had started a couple of weeks ago. Voldemort had been killed that summer, August 12th by Harry. Most Deatheaters had died or been captured before school started. Or at least enough to make it sensible to reopen Hogwarts despite the loss of life in the student body and staff. McGonagall was Headmistress. Her hair was now grey, and her back no longer straight. She looked defeated, even though she had participated in the victory.
Not much was known about Voldemort's death. A month had passed, but all the public knew for sure was that Harry had indeed killed Voldemort. His body had been retrieved. Tonks, Dean Thomas and Peter Pettigrew were the only people who had been present in that clearing in the forbidden forest where the battle between Harry Potter and Voldemort took place. The three of them, four including Voldemort were dead, when Arthur Weasley stumbled upon the unconscious Harry Potter that fated evening. Harry had yet to reveal any details about the final battle. Rita Skeeter had tried more than once to ask, to obtain an interview but had no results except a wicked look of contempt from Hermione.
Hermione and Ron had of course noticed Harry's absent-minded behavior, and his haggard look. His face was thin and pale. His cheekbones stuck out abnormally. His mop of hair fell over vacant green eyes. Since the start of the school year, Harry had kept to himself. When in class, he stayed close to Ron, Hermione and Neville, but outside of class, he drifted away from people. He was often absent from the Gryffindor Common Room. Hermione noticed he skipped meals using excuses of going to the library, and yet, often forgot about his homework and got late marks. She had even spoken to McGonagall about Harry's hermetic behavior, but the Headmistress said the symptoms were common among a number of students, a kind of post-traumatic stress syndrome. It would pass. Time would heal all wounds. Hermione was highly affronted with this news. The idea that she had to stand by and watch her friend suffer, and there was nothing she could do to help was maddening. She had taken to reading up, discreetly, about anything to do with psychological damage. She transfigured the books into common textbooks about history. The last thing Harry needed was to think his friends thought he was crazy. Which he wasn't, corrected Hermione to herself, he just needed a little help.
Of course, they all had nightmares. Hermione had watched Lavender be tortured. Ron replayed the gruesome death of Michael Corner over in his head at night, as he lay unable to help, trapped under the fallen stones from Hagrid's hut. Neville often found himself staring out the window, wondering if Lavender and Parvati would still be there if he hadn't abandoned them to follow Bellatrix and ultimately kill her. They'd all seen someone die that day. Despite this common theme among the older classmen, who had fought the Deatheaters, Hermione felt Harry's symptoms were not like everyone else. She stared at him surreptitiously over her textbook as he mashed his eggs through the grooves in his fork. Neville jolted her out of her daydream.
"Shouldn't we leave for Potions?" he said standing up and shouldering his bag. "We don't need to be late again." Hermione, Ron and Harry rose and followed Neville out of the Great Hall. Seamus, unfortunately, was still under intensive care at St. Mungo's. He was, after all, re-growing his spine.
Harry glided into the seat next to Neville. Ron and Hermione sat together since they had officially started dating. Harry unrolled a spare sheet of parchment, but his pretense at class participation ended there. During the entire lesson, he did not pick up his quill. At times, his body tensed, and then slackened again. Despite attempts at concentration, he drifted off into the back of his mind.
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That evening, Harry wandered down the dark hall on the third floor as the clock struck ten. He extinguished the torches as he passed, preferring darkness. The light gave him a headache. He barely slept anymore. Instead, he divided his nights between lying in bed, staring at his curtains, flipping through the photo album Hagrid had given him so long ago, or walking the hallways of Hogwarts.
Tonight, he stopped at a large window and watched the black trees sway on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He stood still for a long time, undisturbed, not sleeping and not awake either. Finally, footsteps approached.
"Somebody's out of bed after hours," cooed a voice, pronouncing each syllable carefully, and slowly, a trait of Pansy Parkinson's posh Manchester accent.
"So it seems," replied the unmistakable drawl of Draco Malfoy.
"Oh Harry, it's you, your hair gave you away. Now, only prefects are allowed out of bed at this hour. I'm afraid we'll have to deduct points. Even the Wizard Savior should get his sleep," said Pansy as she placed a delicate hand on her hip and cocked her head.
Harry turned and looked at the two Slytherins with a tearstained face, and dead eyes. He didn't appear to recognize Pansy, or understand her reproof. He said nothing, and made no movement towards Gryffindor tower.
Draco almost gasped as he saw Harry's gaunt shadow of a body when he turned to face them. He looked monstrous. His eyes were sunken. His robes were askew. Until now, Draco hadn't noticed his thin frame, but Harry's collar bone seemed to almost pierce through his own flesh it was so defined and sharp. The rumors about Harry's mental health, the odd behavior in class, Draco had thought were embellished by Harry's fans, his pity posse, but now it seemed an understatement. Draco placed his hand on Pansy's arm and steered her away, leaving Harry's rake-like silhouette alone by the window.