Hey everyone! Sorry this is a bit late. It was actually finished yesterday morning but then I had an appendicitis scare and completely forgot to post it until now. I'm off to the clinic once this is posted- cross your fingers for not appendicitis!

**Word: Identity** This one is post-series as well (that seems to be popular with me lately). I always thought that it would be difficult for Harry to go on with his life after Voldemort died since his entire life before that had revolved around Voldemort. This drabble is taking a look at that idea. Enjoy!

From the moment I learnt that I shared a connection with Voldemort, I was determined to rid myself of it. I didn't want my identity to be created by his. When I finally destroyed the piece of his soul within me, I was sure that my life had finally taken a happy turn, that I would finally be able to be myself. And for a while, I was right. For a while I was just so relieved and so happy to not have my forehead constantly burning with pain, to not have to see flash after flash of death and torture, that I didn't even consider anything else. But all that changed one sunny Saturday afternoon in the backyard of 12 Grimmauld place.

I was lounging in a chair, reading a new quidditch book Ginny had leant me, when I noticed a small snake in the garden. I smiled and knelt down next to it. I told it that I wouldn't harm it and reached out my hand. Then something happened that was the last thing I expected.

It hissed and bit my finger.

I drew back my hand with a yelp and stared at the two small puncture wounds in shock. I had never been bitten by a snake before.

It hissed again and I noticed something else.

It was only hissing. I couldn't hear any words.

The realization struck me with the force of a lightning bolt.

I couldn't speak Parseltongue anymore.

I knelt, frozen next to the garden, as wave after wave of disbelief washed through me. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't process. The concept made no sense to me. Well, on the surface it did. Rationally, I knew that I should've realized I wouldn't be able to speak Parseltongue. That ability didn't run in my family; I'd gotten the power from the piece of Voldemort's soul within me. I'd always known that. Logically then, when that piece of his soul was gone, so should be any abilities that came with it, such as the power to speak to snakes.

Of course I couldn't speak Parseltongue.

But on a deeper level I just couldn't process the idea. I'd always been able to speak to snakes. It was something I'd taken for granted. Never a power that I'd particularly wanted, but something that just was, a part of me that I'd never questioned, never doubted. How was it possible for a piece of my identity to just disappear overnight?

For the next few weeks my life seemed to spiral. I stayed in the house and avoided as much human contact as I could. I needed some time to work things out with myself.

Suddenly, I began noticing quality after quality that I used to know about myself that now didn't appear to exist. My thoughts seemed duller, like they were missing the sharp intensity that used to go along with them. My moods never jumped with Voldemort's and my anger seemed to flare up less. Even my magic seemed weaker without his soul supplying its additional power.

There were other things too, things less related to his soul within me and more related to the lifestyle I had grown accustomed to with him hunting me. I would catch my muscles tightening, my adrenaline pumping, but there was never a trigger. My anxiety and fear was always present, but it couldn't find an outlet. I disapparated more than once at the sound of a mouse scurrying by. And the only goal I had ever had, that had always driven my every decision, was suddenly gone.

I didn't know what to do with myself. I didn't know who I was.

I'd always sworn that I was my own person, that my identity wasn't defined by my connection to Voldemort. But when that connection has been there since you can remember, when you've spent your whole life running from the same person, how can it not become a part of you? How do you let go of something you've never been without? How do you go on with a life you've never lived?

I had no answers for the questions. So instead I sat in the dark of my room and wrestled with my own soul.

Eventually my rescuer came in the form of the decrepit owl Errol. In his beak, he carried an invitation to a weekend at the Weasley's, written in Mrs. Weasley's familiar handwriting. I smiled and reread the letter four times, each time letting the joy and excitement creep up inside me. Those were two emotions Voldemort had never touched, that were the same with or without him. And I felt a little bit more like myself.

But really, it was only when I entered the Burrow's kitchen, when I saw the chaos of red hair and shouting voices, as I ducked a spell and was embraced by Mrs. Weasley who declared me 'peaky' and forced a sandwich into my hand, that I finally understood myself. Yes, there were many parts of my identity that had been determined by Voldemort, many things that had changed with his death. But the majority of my life, the happy parts, the parts that I wanted to live for, the parts that I wanted to be defined by, all came from me.

Many things had changed. But the best parts of my life were still the same.

Well, I hope you liked it! I still have no reviews though which makes me sad :(. If you have anything to say about these drabbles, I would love to hear it! Even a blank review is fine if you have nothing to say- just something to let me know you're reading is great! And, as always, I am taking word suggestions.

Also, I am going out of town next weekend for a wedding so next week's update is probably going to be a bit late. I'll aim to get it up for Monday or Tuesday. See you then! :D