I just randomly got this idea, and since I simply couldn't shake it, here is the first chapter of what formed from it.

It has always been one of my biggest gripes with the series, just how badly it downplays the significance of the transpiring events on the mental well-being of all the protagonists, but mainly on Harry Potter. This mere child goes through more shit in 7 years, that most army veterans go through in their lives. He nearly dies several times, actually dies once, sees many of his friends and family die in front of him, and I could go on and on.

And yet, in canon, Harry simply trundles along, with no real consequences to his mental state apart from a slightly increased temper and some bad mood swings in his 7th year. As somebody who has worked in the Psychological Ward before, and dealt with people who have gone through 1/10 of what Harry goes through, that just didn't sit right with me. And thus, this idea was born...

He woke from the nightmare with a stifled gasp, his chest heaving and his breathing all over the place as he sat up in his bed. Fumbling to find his glasses on the nightstand next to the bed, he relaxed fractionally as his hand instead closed around the familiar shape of his wand, and he cast a quick Lumos, bathing the room in its pale light.

The task of finding his glasses now made somewhat easier, he quickly located them and put them on, the routine process being somewhat more difficult than usual due to the fact that his hands were shaking as if he had been locked in a freezer, his heart beating so fast he was afraid it was going to jump out of his chest.

A quick check of the clock sitting on the far wall revealed to him it was just a bit after one in the morning, and he couldn't help but groan tiredly at the fact that he would once again be getting no sleep. With the grip of the nightmare slowly releasing its hold on him, he pushed the blanket off of himself, leaving the bed and shortly thereafter his room as well.

The long and narrow hallways of number 12, Grimmauld Place, were somewhat eery even in the best of lights, but the place looked positively scary in the dark, the shadows retreating as Harry's Lumos cast its light on them. Harry, though, was unaffected, his racing mind so cluttered with other, much worse things that it couldn't even come up with the idea of being scared of the creepy house.

By the time he'd reached the large living room, his heart had calmed down somewhat, and his breathing was no longer resembling that of an asthma patient, but the heaviness in his heart remained. He took a quick detour in the kitchen, greedily drinking a cup of water before settling himself on the large Ottoman in the centre of the living room, his wand still held tightly in his right hand.

The nightmare hadn't even been one of the very bad ones, just the all too familiar one of his Godfather's death, of the look on his face as he fell through the veil… Harry cut that line of thought off, already feeling his pulse speed up again, the hollow pit in the centre of his stomach twisting and writhing.

"What is wrong with me…" He muttered to himself, dragging a hand down his tired face, and finding it wet when doing so. Oh, great, and now the Saviour of the Wizarding World was crying too. Just wonderful, he thought bitterly, almost expecting a Daily Prophet reporter to jump out of his fireplace and snap a photo of him, eyes red with tears and looking all pathetic.

Not knowing what else to do, but very much certain he was not going to be able to go back to sleep, Harry simply rested his head back against the headrest, looking to the side and out of the window overlooking the street, a single lamppost doing its best to bathe the night sky in its light. The street was otherwise deserted, as one would expect for this time of night, but Harry still found himself oddly entranced by the sight.

Being all introspective was more Hermione's thing, but Harry somewhat likened the sight in front of him to how he was feeling. He, all alone, against the darkness closing in all around, snuffling his light more and more as days passed.

It had been a bit over two weeks since he'd died, then came back to life and defeated the Dark Lord, but the whole thing still felt like it had only happened yesterday to Harry. He had resigned himself to his fate after seeing Snape's memories, and he was beyond ashamed to admit that he was even somewhat relieved to be done with it all, but despite his initial bravado, he felt very much terrified as Lord Voldemort pointed his wand at him, green light filling the clearing…

B-but the bastard was dead, he'd killed him, and now was time for him to live his life, finally free of the burden he was carrying. He was free.

Only, Harry didn't feel very free. In fact, the invisible shackles around his wrists and ankles had never felt heavier, and he was frankly starting to falter. If he was anything, then he felt he was a realist, and he knew he wasn't doing well. Understatement, really, he thought with a dry chuckle, his lips remaining in that locked frowning position that seemed so normal for them in recent times.

And the worst part of it all was the fact that he felt such a great relief for about half a day after Voldemort was no more, he could almost touch the normality and serenity, only for it to all come crashing down that very night, as he awoke drenched in sweat and screaming, Ron continuing to snore away next to him in their old dorm back at Hogwarts.

It seemed all of the things he had been repressing over the years were now making a vengeful comeback. It was easy to repress the sight of Cedric's dead body, of his Godfather's death, of… it was a long list, but it was easy to push them out of his mind, thinking that he needed to focus on defeating Voldemort and that he wouldn't be alive for long enough to feel the consequences of doing so later anyway.

But he'd survived, and with no parent killing terrorist to focus all his rage and anger on, with no clear goal to strive towards, Harry found all of those feelings flying back at him, like the world's most toxic boomerang. The fact that he had slept for maybe 30 hours in the past two weeks wasn't helping either, the constant headache he was currently suffering from feeling almost normal by now.

At first, right as the first of his terrible symptoms began to rear their ugly heads, Harry briefly considered asking for help, but he'd quickly decided against doing that. His blood family was by all extents and purposes gone, the last of the people he would call that killed in the final battle at Hogwarts, for which he felt at least partially responsible, considering their death could have been prevented had he just given himself up sooner.

The Weasleys were busy grieving the death of their brother and son, and there was no way Harry was going to interject himself and his problems into the anguish they had to have been feeling, so they were also out of the picture. He respected the remaining members of the Order greatly, cared for most of them even, but he certainly wasn't close enough to any of them to tell them about his issues. That really only left one person, the one he trusted most…

It was clear to him right away that out of all the people present at Hogwarts in the days after their victory, Hermione was the only one to figure out his smiles were fake, and that he was covering up the ache in his chest with sweet lies. Harry almost wanted to curse her perceptiveness to all things considering him, and he'd nearly cracked when she'd so kindly asked him if everything was okay.

But out of all the people that had been on his side in this war, she was the one he felt most indebted to. The only one to never leave his side, the only one to suffer through all the crap that being his best friend entailed. And now she was free, and Harry would never, ever, drag her down with him, not again. So, he lied and told her he was just fine.

He could tell she didn't believe him, but he was blessed with the fortune that Ron seemed emotionally fragile too, and as his girlfriend or whatever the two were by now, she seemed to make the decision to stand by Ron's side, to help him grieve the death of his brother. And with Hermione distracted, Harry had somehow gotten through the whole fanfare with nobody clocking on to the fact that he was one bad memory away from crumbling.

His decision to not spend the summer months at the Burrow, and to instead spend them here, alone, was not taken well either. Mrs Weasley had been apoplectic, Ron looked like he'd broken his favourite broom, and Hermione was looking at him with such worry that he got worried she was going to start crying. But he'd waved their concerns away, smiled past their worry, and reassured them that he was perfectly okay and just needed some space. He was getting disturbingly good at lying.

The Weasleys didn't visit him much over the past two weeks, and he understood them completely, knowing it had to have been horrible for them too, to lose such a close family member. He couldn't even comprehend what George was feeling…

He was visited once by both Pro- Headmistress McGonagall, and Acting Minister Shaklebolt, and was forced to listen to their well-meant, but utterly uninteresting pitches. You should return to Hogwarts, Harry, finish your education, blah blah blah… You would be getting the job as an Auror, Harry, there are still many Death Eaters out there to hunt down… Harry had to try very hard not to scoff at Kingsley's words, knowing he currently wouldn't beat a muggle in a duel…

But it was Hermione's visits that were the worst, each of the three she'd made during the past two weeks worse than the previous. Because unlike Minerva and Kingsley, Hermione knew him, and knew him very, very well. This meant that he had to try incredibly hard to appear fine, and by the increasingly desperate expression his best friend was wearing each visit, he knew she was onto him.

Sure, she probably didn't know exactly how bad it was, but while he could do a decent job of faking his smiles and good mood, his tired face revealed a crack in the façade. His eyes, too, had lost the spark they used to have, and Harry almost didn't dare even look in the mirror, afraid of how he must look.

He had shouted at her when she last came to visit, about a week ago. She was so kind and concerned, so worried over him, that he was brought dangerously close to breaking. So, to salvage the situation, he went on the offensive, berating the poor witch and practically kicking her out, not to mention saying to her that 'he didn't need her anymore'. She had not been back since.

"Is Master feeling okay?" He jumped up at the unexpected voice, the Lumos flickering out and being replaced by a stunner-specific red glint, his wand now pointed directly at the wide-eyed house elf standing beside him. He'd realized that Kreacher certainly wasn't an enemy at the last possible second, the wand-tip slowly extinguishing. The elf didn't look too bothered by having nearly been stunned, still looking at Harry with large, concern-filled eyes.

"W-what?" He snapped at the elf, knowing he needed to end this quickly if he didn't want to be caught in a long and tiring argument.

"Are you feeling okay, Master?" Kreacher asked again, making Harry run a hand through his wild hair, trying desperately to stem his rising irritation with the elf.

"Yes, Kreacher, for the thousandth time, I'm fine. You can go, thanks." He said in as polite of a tone as he could muster, but he could feel his eye noticeably twitching and he realized his jaw was clenched so hard it hurt.

"Does Master want anything? A cup of tea perhaps?" Harry sighed at Kreacher's continued attempts, almost wishing the elf would call him a blood traitor again.

"No thanks, Kreacher. Leave me alone, please." He said, continuing as he saw Kreacher open his mouth again, "That's an order." That had the desired effect, as Kreacher bowed and popped out of place, leaving Harry once again alone. The hot and piercing feeling of shame sliced through him then, at the fact that he had just ordered Kreacher away… What would Dobby think of him now…

He stood up abruptly at that, walking on unsteady legs towards the window, leaning up against the windowsill and trying to clear his aching head. What was he doing… What are you doing! He screamed at himself, hitting his head against the glass, his eyes closed tightly and his fists clenched against his sides.

His self-imposed punishment was interrupted by the muffled sound of a siren, and he opened his eyes to look back out of the window. A few seconds later the sound of the siren was followed by the vehicle itself, one of the many London ambulances speeding by on its way to help a muggle, its blue and red lights flashing across Harry's face.

Blue and red, blue and red, red and blue, flashing, green… Green light flashing, followed then by a maniacal laugh. Harry turned around on the spot, his eyes widening to the size of saucers upon spotting the darkly dressed man standing in the corner of the room, his red eyes gleaming with excitement as he looked down upon his trembling form.

"T-that's impossible… Y-you're d-dead." Harry managed to get out over his constricting throat, the grip on his wand so tight he was afraid he'd break the recently repaired wood.

"Clearly not, Harry. What's wrong, you look like you've seen a ghost!" Lord Voldemort mocked gleefully; his thin white wand held loosely in his hand. Harry backed up against the window, his horror now absolute, his breathing coming out in quick, short gasps and his knees feeling wobbly.

"I-impossible." He repeated as if just repeating the same thing would make Voldemort disappear, but the Dark Lord simply took a step closer and out of the darkness, his red eyes glinting in the dark.

"Thought you killed me, Harry?" He mocked, "You did not, and never will."

"B-but I saw you die. You were dead." Harry whispered disbelievingly, pointing his shaking wand at the slowly approaching Dark Lord.

"I'm afraid you forgot a Horcrux, Harry." Voldemort said smiling widely, causing Harry to mouth off a silent 'no'.

"Yes, Harry. And I paid a quick visit to those blood-traitor Weasleys too, before coming here." If he was horrified before, then what Harry felt now was true, unaltered terror.

"W-what?"

"Yes, I had the greatest of pleasures in exterminating them all, but most of all that mudblood bitch." The terror quickly morphed into pure fury, running hot through his body until his brain finally unfroze itself and kickstarted his body into action.

"Stupefy, Bombarda!" He struck first, Voldemort deflecting his stunner with a casual flick of his wand before sidestepping his blasting curse, which continued on and struck the far side wall. Voldemort replied a second later, casting a silent spell that streaked across the room and penetrated Harry's strongest Protego like it was made from wet paper, the spell striking him in his right chest, blood immediately soaking through his shirt.

"Fuck you! Bombarda!" His second blasting curse was like ways easily sidestepped by the Dark Lord, and Harry knew he only had seconds before blood loss made him pass out. Knowing everybody he knew and cared about was now dead, his only thought was to take the Dark Lord out with him.

"Avada Kedavra!" The green-tinted spell left his wand and struck Voldemort in the middle of his chest, but to Harry's utter horror, the wizard simply shrugged it off, crackling in laughter as he spotted Harry's look of desperation.

All fight left him then, his wand falling from his grasp and his knees finally giving way, causing him to collapse up against the wall, smacking his head on the windowsill as he did so. The blood was now staining the entire front of his shirt, and he knew he was going to die. For real this time. With his breathing now so shallow and fast that he was barely even getting any air in his lungs, he felt his vision go black and then he knew no more…

…

…

"-aster?"

"Master, are you alright?!" Harry blinked open his eyes to the sight of big concerned eyes staring back at him. His entire body ached, and his head hurt worse than usual. It took him about a second longer for memories to start returning to him, and he couldn't even classify the sound he made upon remembering.

But as he pushed Kreacher away to look at where Lord Voldemort was previously standing, the Dark Lord was nowhere to be seen. He next looked down upon himself, his eyes widening further as they took in his sweat-drenched but very much white pyjama top. Feeling beyond confused, he scrambled to put his hand underneath his top and against his right breast, preparing to find a wound or even a scar there.

But there was nothing but smooth skin there.

"W-what… But…" He pushed himself up on his unsteady feet then, still unable to allow himself to believe the entire thing was just a bad dream. It had felt so real…

He took a quick step back as his eyes took in the living room, his heart stuttering in his chest. There were two massive holes in the wall on the opposite side of the room, as well as a smaller, still-smoking crater where his Killing curse had to have impacted. B-but if the damage was real, then…

"K-Kreacher!" He shouted at the flabbergasted-looking elf, "What… Where is… Voldemort was…" He couldn't quite explain what he'd seen, and the elf was by now looking at him with a look of pure confusion.

"Master?" He questioned, glancing worriedly at the damaged walls before looking back at him.

"Was… Was anybody here in the past few hours or so?" Harry, at last, managed an actual question, knowing the little elf would have known had the house's wards been breached.

"No, Master. Nobody was here Master, or Kreacher would know." Harry nodded numbly at that information, by now putting the two and two together. Great. Superb, even. He had lost it completely, he thought with rising panic. What he'd just experienced was no nightmare, and as a leading expert on nightmares, he felt qualified enough to state such a thing.

"I'm losing it." He muttered somewhat angrily, waving away Kreacher's attempt to help him before rising back to his feet, his hands immediately going out and grabbing to the wall as his vision spun. His head, too, felt like it was being hit with a hammer, and Harry briefly thought about letting the elf stun him back to sleep. But the unfolding nightmare wasn't yet over, as at that moment he heard a door slamming shut from the direction of the main entrance, followed by;

"Harry!? You here?!" His eyes widened at the sound of Hermione's voice, and he quickly looked at the worried elf.

"Why did you let her in?!" He whispered urgently, looking down upon himself and cringing at the state he was in, not to mention the utterly blasted living room wall.

"Miss Granger has the permission to enter freely, Master." Kreacher returned calmly, and Harry cursed himself for not changing that. It was only now that he noticed sunrays shining through the window, and he briefly wondered how long he was unconscious for.

"Harry!? Hello?" It sounded like she was just outside the room now, and Harry cursed under his breath as he tried to think of ways to make himself disappear. Maybe he could dispel the wards, or just force apparate through the-

"Harry! There you ar-" His escape planning was interrupted by Hermione rounding the corner, looking a combination of nervous and happy to see him, but that look soon morphed to clear worry as she took a long look first at him, and then at the state of the room.

Despite the fact that he wanted to disappear from where he was standing, seeing Hermione did lift a very large rock away from his heart. If she was here, then the… things he had seen had truly not happened, and all of the remaining people he cared for were okay. He wanted to run over to her so badly, but knew that wasn't a good idea, so he simply stayed rooted to the spot as she finished surveying him and his surroundings.

"What happened here, Harry? Were you attacked?!" Her voice rose by each word, and she went to grab her wand by the time she finished. Harry shook his head at that, cringing at the pain of doing so, but knowing he had to calm her down stat before she went into full-blown Hermione mode.

"N-no, no, I was just… uh, doing some renovations. Yes! Renovations." He inwardly cringed at his own excuse, and judging by the narrowing of Hermione's eyes she had not bought his excuse either.

"By blasting holes into the wall?" She questioned with a raised eyebrow, crossing her arms in front of herself and giving him a patented 'I know you're hiding something' look. "And why are you all sweaty? In fact, you look horrible, have you even gotten any sleep?" She continued, the look of annoyance shifting into the worst possible one of them all, that of concern.

"Renovating is tough work." What the bloody hell was he even saying, he berated himself, hating everything about this situation. He hated that he had to lie to his best friend, he hated that Kreacher wouldn't leave him alone, he hated that he had clearly gone insane, and he hated himself- Woah, maybe not that far…

"Do you think me stupid, Harry?" Oh boy, now she was well and truly angry with him, and he initiatively backed up as she stepped closer. Her eyes widened and her mouth formed a shocked little 'o' as he did that, and the look on her face nearly shattered his well-built internal walls.

"Harry? A-are you afraid of me?" She asked in that voice that just oozed kindness, and he shook his head frantically, "N-no, of course not. I just… I just didn't expect to see you today, that's all." His desperate last gasp attempt to divert her attention somehow, almost inconceivably worked, and it was Hermione's turn to appear nervous.

"I…" She began uncertainly whilst looking pointedly at the floor, toeing the edge of his carpet with one socked foot, "I came here to apologize. For how I acted last time. I was out of line and I apologize." Alarms started blaring across his being at that, and had he been able to do so he would have laughed in her face.

She was apologizing to him. She, Hermione Granger, was apologizing to him, Harry Potter. She was apologising to him, for him yelling at her and then throwing her out for, and he really wasn't kidding here, no reason at all. He had been close to breaking and he scrambled to save the situation by verbally attacking her, and she was now apologizing to him. His internal rules could go to hell, he would not let this stand.

"Hermione, you have absolutely nothing to apologize for. Nothing, you hear me." He could tell she was caught off guard by the vehemence in his tone, and he couldn't believe she actually expected him to agree and accept her apology. "I should be the one apologizing to you. I overreacted, and I'm sorry."

"But you told me to leave you alone, and I kept pushing you. Had I just listened to you… I really didn't want to hurt you…" There were tears starting to gather in the corners of her eyes, and the alarms in his head turned into full-power air horns. She knew he couldn't handle crying women, damn her!

"You didn't hurt me, really, the whole thing was my own fault. I shouldn't have yelled at you, and I can't believe I kicked you out. You, of all people. I'm so sorry, Hermione." This had to have been the first truthful thing he'd told her or anybody else in the last two weeks, and it felt so good to not lie for once. To actually share what he was feeling.

He realized his mistake a moment later, as Hermione wiped at her tears with the cuff of her jumper, before moving forward. He knew that look in her eyes, knew that body language and he knew her well enough to guess she was going in for a hug. He could absolutely not allow her to hug him right now, under any circumstances.

On the list of 'rules' he'd made in his head during one of the many sleepless nights, 'not allowing himself to be hugged by anybody, but especially Hermione', ranked number one, right above 'do not talk about your emotions'. If she hugged him, really hugged him like she usually did, with all the love and care she put into those hugs, he would break and then everything would be ruined.

She would want to help him above everything, like she'd always done, and then he'd ruin her life more than he'd already had. Next, she'd speak to Ron, would probably get him into the 'helping Harry' plan too, and then they'd once more be wasting their time on his problems. Not happening, no chance, Ron and especially Hermione had done their jobs in helping him, and he would not involve them in his traumas again.

Thinking fast, he simply sidestepped her as she approached, acting as if he didn't see her intent or the look of crushed disappointment on her face as he did so, and walked towards the kitchen. He grabbed a cup of water and drank it in one swig, before filling a second glass and offering it to her.

"Want a drink?" He asked neutrally, ignoring the sad 'kicked puppy' look she was now wearing. As the silence between them stretched, he broke away from her intense gaze, looking instead through one of the newly made holes, through which he could now see the pantry.

"No, I'm good." She at last responded to his question, continuing as she saw he wasn't going to say anything else, "Harry?"

"Hm?"

"I promised myself I wouldn't push and nag you anymore since you clearly don't like it when I do that." No way was he going to be that lucky, he thought, snapping his head around to look back at her. She seemed beyond uncertain, as if her brain was fighting her own instincts, her hands twisting nervously into the hem of her Gryffindor hoodie.

"So, I won't do that anymore. But I'm going to ask you one more time, and I want you to look me in the eyes as you answer. Are you truly okay, Harry?" Her question made him gulp nervously, and his hands suddenly felt clammy. This was it, he thought, just one more lie and then his mission would be a success. He could do this, just look her in her eyes and lie. Easy peasy.

"And it's okay if you're not, Harry, truly." She continued in a gentle, kind tone, probably seeing his momentary hesitation for what it was, "I'm here for you. I can help you if you want me to." She would probably never know it, but that was the worst thing she could have possibly said, and it was enough to push Harry into action. He met her eyes and did his best to put on the most genuine expression he could muster, even making sure he crinkled the corners of his eyes.

"I'm a bit under the weather due to all the funerals and stuff, but I'm truly okay, Hermione." He held his breath at what would be her reaction, deciding to further sell his lie as she remained silent, "You should worry about Ron more, Hermione. He's just lost his brother. He needs you." It was a low blow, but it wasn't like that was a complete lie, was it? He was worried about Ron too.

"Yeah, he did, but he has his family. Plus, you also lost seve-"

"I'm fine, Hermione. Really. I suppose I can just deal with such stuff better." He interrupted her with yet another lie, and Merlin did he feel awful about lying to her. It felt even worse than with any other person since she never lied to him. A part of why they always got along so nicely, why they were each other's best friends, was that they had always been honest with one another. So, lying to her like this felt like an ultimate betrayal, and Harry hated himself for it.

"Okay…" It seemed like she released a heavy breath with the simple world, her shoulders dropping and her expression faltering for a brief moment. Harry, too, released a heavy, but less noticeable breath, knowing he had fooled her at least momentarily. And considering what she'd walked in on, that was a seriously impressive feat.

"But you'll tell me if you ever do feel down, yeah? You'll let me help, right?"

"Of course, Hermione. But the Dark wanker is gone now, I'm free. I've never felt better." He knew he'd made a mistake when the last part came out sounding bitter, and he cursed himself as he saw her eyes narrow once more. Idiot, he berated himself, you should have just stopped after the first sentence. Moron.

"You promise?"

"I promise, Hermione." Merlin, the shame he was feeling right now was going to kill him, or at least that was how it felt as he did his best to send her a realistic-looking smile.

"Okay. I, uhm, Mrs Weasley has told me to invite you to breakfast. Do you want to come? Please?" She looked so desperate for him to agree that he nearly answered with a 'yes' out of habit, but his fourth rule clearly stated 'do not leave this house'.

"Sorry, not today, Hermione, I still need to finish… renovating." It was clear she tried not to let the disappointment show, but was failing miserably. Please, Hermione, just leave.

"Do you want my help? I'm not that hungry anyway."

"No, me and Kreacher have got it under control. Thanks for offering though." That was as clear of a dismissal as he could muster, and he could see her try and find any reason to prolong their conversation, but finding none.

"Okay, well… Good luck with… the renovations…" The awkwardness was palpable as she slowly walked towards the front door, "I guess I'll… visit you tomorrow, then?"

"No!" His exclamation seemed to shock both of them, and Harry hurried to salvage the situation, "I mean, you can't. I'm… visiting Kingsley tomorrow. I won't be home." Yet another lie, but by now Harry was in too deep to backpedal. This time she didn't even try to hide the disappointment on her face, and she seemed to be waiting around the front door for ages, probably hoping he was going to suggest a different time for when she could visit.

"Goodbye, Hermione. Say hello to Ron and the rest of the Weasleys for me."

"Y-yeah. Take care, Harry." And then she was gone, and Harry was left staring at the door for what felt like ages, that familiar hollow feeling in his chest growing until he couldn't breathe right. He wanted nothing more than to run after her, to admit that he desperately needed help… but he wouldn't do that. He was Harry Potter, and just like his Aunt Petunia had once ordered him, he would suck up his feelings and suffer alone and in silence.