Everything Remains

Chapter 1: The Fog has Lifted

Harry awakens in the dim light of his bedroom. The morning mist has settled and the sun's rays are slowly creeping into the short slats of window available at 12 Grimmauld Place. He officially moved in full time after the ending of the Battle of Hogwarts. 
Being here was slow torture. Every room, every nook and cranny, reminded him of Sirius. Of Lupin. Of everyone that he has lost. His life was nothing short of traumatic; a domino effect of loss and pain. But being used to loss did not make it any easier to cope with. 

Harry rubs his eyes before putting on his glasses and calling out for Hedwig to bring him the paper. 
A habit that he hasn't yet broken. 
Sighing slowly, Harry gets out of bed and enters the bathroom adjoining his room. 
Since moving in, he hadn't done much to the house. No decorating, no lightening it up, not even removing some of the charms that the Order had put into place. Anything that reminded him of his family was worth keeping, no matter how dreary or dark. 

Harry looks into the mirror at his solemn, darkened eyes. Nightmares plagued most nights, leaving him with permanent dark circles and a defeated look on his face. Now that he wasn't running for his life, looking around every corner, his brain and body had time to adjust to the realities. He was deeply traumatized and hurt, and the few months since the end of the war has not even been near close enough to help heal through time. 

Harry begged Ron and Hermione to stay with him over the summer, keep him company. And while they did visit, they couldn't stay for long periods of time. Hermione was trying to restore her parents' memories, and Ron was dealing with his own grief of losing his brother. They all are feeling broken, devastated at what the war took from them. What Voldemort and his followers took from them year, after year, after year, after year. 

Harry had considered obliviating it all. Of creating a secret pensive to store these heartbreaking memories. And once it was full, destroying it, not caring what happened to him afterwards. But he knew that he couldn't do it. Erasing it all would mean erasing the good parts too. The time when him and Ron met each other on the train and shared 10 pounds of sweets. The time they saved Hermione from the troll. The hundreds, if not thousands, of times that they have been there for him. Letting him sob, letting him scream and destroy things, letting him be a human being when he felt as if that wasn't even an option. 
It would erase everything good and leave him a shell of a person. 
So instead, Harry has to carry this weight with him. The realizations of how much he has struggled in the past 18 years of his life were an ever-present burden, filling his shoes with lead and his heart with poison. 

Harry splashed some water on his face and slowly got ready for the day. Despite whatever he was feeling, he knew he had to keep moving forward. Today was the day he could return to Hogwarts for his final school year with his friends. Well, what is left of them anyways. 
The trio had opted to return, having missed their entire last year due to hunting horcruxes. 
Harry wondered if he could finally have a somewhat "normal" year after everything is done. The castle repaired, the death eaters in Azkaban or dead, and Voldemort nothing more than a whispering on the wind. 
Would he finally be able to just be a student? To let go of the eyes on the back of his head? The constant vigilance, ready to attack at any moment? To finally feel safe without having to take his safety into his own hands? 

Harry returns to the bedroom, putting the last few necessities into his school trunk and clicking it shut. Black hair disheveled, green eyes blackened with stress, skinnier than ever, Harry does not feel great about his appearance and what people will say when he returns. It doesn't matter that he is the savior of the wizarding world, it never has. People will still throw jabs, make up rumors, and cast an invisible bullseye on his back. 
Rolling his trunk and other luggage down the few flights of stairs, Harry stops to look in on Sirius' old room. It was too difficult for him to sleep in there, so he typically avoids it. But he could really use his presence, his aura for comfort today. Standing in the room, breathing in the familiar scent that followed Sirius, a blend of sandalwood and musk, put his mind at ease. He can do this. He can face some of these people again, face the castle again. It is what Sirius and his parents would have wanted.