Hi I'm back! This is the first chapter, and it will be a bit longer than the Prologue. It's from Harry's point of view, but I will consider writing from a few other points of view as well. Please tell me your thoughts on this when you review. Thanks!

Disclaimer: Everything that you recognize is J. K. Rowling's. I'm just playing in her world.

Harry staggered. He had drunk more than he usually did; the day had been difficult. Mrs. Weasley had insisted that he come over for dinner, and Harry had been unable to refuse, especially since he had declined so many previous invitations. The dinner had been fine, if a little quiet; Mrs. Weasley's food was as excellent as ever. However, after dinner, Ron and Hermione had cornered him. He had taken to avoiding them recently; he knew Hermione had been wanting to talk to him, and she had been eyeing him worriedly during dinner. Harry was afraid that she would want him to talk about his feelings, or was about to badger him about the way he had been acting lately.

He had been correct. Once the three had sat down on Ron's bed, Hermione had started in right away.

"Harry," she said seriously, "Ron and I have been worried about you."

Harry shifted, "I'm fine, honestly," he protested. Of course, he wasn't, but that wasn't going to change, so there was no need to make such a big fuss about it.

"You don't look fine, Harry," said Hermione. "Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?"

In fact, Harry had. Just this morning, he had looked into the mirror after washing his face, and had received a shock. He'd lost weight, and his hair had lost its shine. The pallor of his face had only served to accentuate the darkness of the bags under his eyes. And his eyes…Harry had not been in the habit of noticing his eyes before, but they looked depressed and tired, the eyes of a stranger. Harry had been many things before, but defeated had not been one of them.

Harry had not been sleeping well lately. He had been having nightmares, and it seemed that he had built up a resistance to Dreamless Sleep Potion, because it hadn't worked for him for a while. In his dreams, he saw people dying, and he was powerless to save them. He saw them die…Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna…in some dreams, he had been captured by Voldemort, and been tortured with the Cruciatus. Harry had been unable to stop Voldemort when he had finally lifted his wand for the Avada Kedavra. It was at this point that Harry woke up, breathless and shaking, a cold sweat breaking out over his forehead. By far the worst, however, were the dreams that were true memories of the war. Over and over again, he'd been surrounded by Dementors, heard Hermione scream as Bellatrix tortured her, heard Dobby's last words, seen Snape looking at him as he died…

Hermione continued, breaking into his thoughts,

"It isn't healthy for you to continue this way!"

Harry sighed. Wearily, he waited for Hermione to continue. He knew she wouldn't give him a rest until she had said what was on her mind. Hermione waited for Harry to respond, then plunged right in when no response was forthcoming.

"I think you should find a job."

Harry looked up, startled.

"You can't go on moping forever, Harry, and I think that getting a job would give some purpose to your life. I know that you can't just forget the war, but maybe having a job would distract you."

Harry laughed bitterly, "I don't think that anything can make me forget the war, Hermione."

"That's a defeatist attitude!" she shot back, frustrated. "Harry, unless you want to get better, nothing's ever going to happen! You can't let the war affect the rest of your life!"

"So that's what you think? You think I want to feel guilty, and want to let the war affect me? I want to be kept up at night by the screams of the people Voldemort's killed? I can't forget! I tried!" Harry shouted, infuriated. He felt like lashing out at anything that he could reach. His heart was pounding and he was breathing heavily. He felt more than he'd felt in months. "The war's just one of those things that you can't forget! I've been affected permanently. There's no use trying to change something that I can't change!"

"But Harry," Hermione said timidly—she looked a bit guilty for pushing so far, "Isn't there something you want to do? Didn't you want to be an Auror after the war? Can't you apply now?"

Harry almost laughed. The brief spurt of anger was completely gone; all he felt now was fatigue. Didn't Hermione understand? Harry had done his duty; he had defeated Voldemort. But now, Harry was broken. He was too damaged by the war to live a normal life. He was crippled by regret, regret for the people he hadn't saved, the people he had put into danger and gotten killed. But even if he could have mustered up enough energy, becoming an Auror now after fighting Voldemort seemed like a joke.

All Harry wanted to do was to hide from the world and forget. The attention that Harry had been getting after he had defeated Voldemort was intolerable, even worse than when Harry had first entered the Wizarding World, and receiving their thanks and adulation just caused him to feel worse.

Ron spoke for the first time,

"Harry, I know you don't agree, but I reckon Hermione's right. I mean, it wouldn't hurt to just give it a try, would it?"

"It won't help, okay?" Harry said tiredly. "Just give it a rest, alright?"

Harry had gotten up, bidden Mrs. Weasley a hurried farewell, and left the Burrow. He soon found himself in The Duke Without a Head, the pub he had taken to frequenting. He ordered his usual whiskey, and remembered when he had first come here.

….

He had been dreading today. It was the day of Lupin and Tonks's funerals.

All who remained of the Order were there, but it only made the absence of those who had fallen more conspicuous. Dumbledore, Fred, Mad-eye…even Snape. The Weasleys were all there, somber-faced. Hermione leaned against Ron, who had his arm around her shoulders. Tears were streaming down her face. Harry stood next to them, feeling isolated. Ron and Hermione both tried their best to include him, but there was an intimacy between them that Harry could not share. He could see it in the way Hermione fit in the curve of Ron's arms, in the way that Ron and Hermione seemed to forget everything around them when they looked into each other's eyes. That's the way it should be, Harry thought fiercely to himself, but he still felt left out. Ginny searched his face out, but he avoided her eyes. He was not whole—he had too much baggage from the war, and felt inadequate.

The first few weeks after Harry defeated Voldemort, he had felt free, unburdened from his duty at last. He and Ginny had gotten back together, and comforted each, rejoicing that they had won the war. However, as everybody else had slowly recovered and started rebuilding their lives, Harry had sunk into a depression. Ginny faithfully stuck by him, but Harry knew he was a burden on her. Ginny deserved better than to be tied to him, damaged as he was.

Harry looked at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. He couldn't but feel a great sense of guilt whenever he saw them. Being close to their family had put them all in danger. Mr. Weasley had nearly been killed, George had lost his ear, and Fred had been killed. It had been a terrible way to repay all their kindness to him. It almost made it worse that they didn't blame him. Harry remembered Mrs. Weasley's boggart—her greatest fear had been that her whole family wouldn't get through the war. And then, Fred had died.

A flash of lime green caught Harry's eye. He glanced over to see Andromeda Tonks holding his baby godson, Teddy Lupin. It had been decided that Andromeda would raise Teddy—she was his grandmother after all, and Harry was still too young. Not that I'd be much use to him, Harry thought darkly. What could he offer Teddy? What kind of role-model was he? An example of how war could destroy a person? No, Teddy was better off with his grandmother, who could get past the loss of her daughter, and care for her grandson as he should be cared for. Lupin had entrusted his son to him, like James had entrusted Harry to Sirius. Sirius had died for Harry. Harry was a pathetic excuse for a godfather.

After the burial was over, Harry left quickly, avoiding all those who might try to talk with him. He didn't feel like talking to anybody. It was that night that he'd begun to drink.

….

Harry stumbled along. He still had enough judgement to know that it would not be a good idea to apparate while drunk; he would probably end up splinching himself. He had drunk more than usual; however, he still hadn't drowned his emotions. Harry abruptly wondered what his parents would think if they saw him now. Would they be angry? Ashamed? Would they understand what he was going through?

Harry was struck with an idea. He would visit his parents' graves at Godric's Hollow. The problem was how he would get there. He had spent all his muggle money, so taking a taxi was out, and he definitely didn't want to take the Knight Bus with Stan and Ernie staring at his scar the whole time. Besides, the rough jerking motion of the bus always made him sick. However, the idea of visiting his parents' graves had taken a strong hold of him. Harry decided to risk apparating. He had apparated before when he had been slightly inebriated; it was probably alright now too.

Harry took a deep breath and turned. He felt the air turning solid, and the breath was squeezed out of him. Suddenly, there was an intense sensation of pain. He had arrived, and he was bleeding. There was burning, raw spot in his right arm. He must have splinched himself after all. Harry put his hand over the wound, but it was too large; he couldn't stop all the blood. Blood gushed through his fingers and out under his palm. Harry could feel himself growing faint. He realized that he was losing a lot of blood, and if he lost much longer, he would die.

Harry didn't care much for life, but he wasn't ready to give up quite yet, at least not at this point. He looked around to see if there was anybody who could help him. But who would be out at this time of night? Vaguely, Harry noticed that he had apparated onto somebody's front porch. It was his only chance. With effort, he stood up, and rang the doorbell. He listened for footsteps, and he heard them, heading toward the door. If only they would get there on time! Harry swayed, and then, he saw the doorknob turn. Yellow light streamed out of the house as the door opened, and Harry, who had lost a lot of blood by now, collapsed. He dimly heard voices say,

"Who are you?" this was a man's voice, strangely familiar.

"Look, he's hurt!" a woman's.

"It doesn't matter who he is," said another man, "He's too hurt to do us any harm anyway. If we don't do something soon, he's going to die."

"Hurry," said the woman, urgently.

Harry was pulled into the house, but he didn't notice. The last thought that he had before he succumbed to unconsciousness was the glimpse he had had of the people standing in the doorway. They had looked strangely familiar, a woman with red hair and green eyes, and another, with messy black hair and glasses. There was something about them, Harry was sure he had seen them before…but Harry didn't remember, and soon surrendered to the blackness.

And that's the 1st Chapter! Don't worry, now that I've gotten down the angst, stuff can start to happen. Harry will finally meet his parents! I want to explore how they will react to each other, taking into account their various personalities as JKR has written them. Please review!

~Inula helenium