Drarry One Shots

Reasons Not to be Sad

Harry goes through some struggles, and figures out why its not always a bad thing to be sad. Every one is sad sometimes, right?

Post-war, eighth year.

~~~

Harry had an issue. As of late, he hadn't been...happy. Now, that was no way to live, was it?

Of course not. But...Harry couldn't help it. It felt...it felt like his life had been spiraling out of control for so long now, and he couldn't figure out what to do.

Voldemort was dead. That was always nice. But since his death...he couldn't...focus. The whole year had been spent mourning and rebuilding and celebrating and rejoicing in the Dark Lords death and Harry thought it was all spectacular. Seeing families smile, seeing them holding their loved ones tight and being together...

Harry wanted someone to hold. He had the Weasley's, who were the best family he had ever had, but...he didn't want to hold them as Ron held Ginny. He wanted someone to hold as Molly did Arthur, as Ron did Hermione, as Ginny did Luna, as George did Angelina....

He felt lost. Mcgonagall had offered him and several others an extra year of education, to make up for the lack of teaching that had happened the year previously. Many people had dubbed it the 'unofficial eighth year' of Hogwarts for the war survivors. He was set to leave for the train tomorrow. He didn't know how he was going to feel stepping into that castle again. He hadn't in several months now, when he noticed how restricted his chest would get when he walked near the place. 

But then he would leave, and he could breathe again. And then the relief stopped coming. It was constant. Harry didn't know what it was. Hermione had thought it was some sort of survivors guilt, or post traumatic stress disorder, or even acute stress disorder, but Harry wasn't sure he agreed. 

He thought it was depression. He felt..heavy. Like he had when the dementors would get a little too close. Not close enough to make him pass out, but for their presence to be noticeable. 

Harry didn't know how to cope with depression. So he had locked himself away and had religiously spent his free time cleaning Grimmauld place, which wasn't much easier to be in than Hogwarts but at least he had a home. 

But now it was time to go...and Harry didn't know if he was ready.

The train ride was quieter than he had every remembered it being. Not just from himself and those who had returned to make up for their education, such as Hermione or Neville, but the younger years as well. The sense of terror was almost...tangible, he felt. The anxiety, the fear, the suspicion of what it would be like. Harry felt his own hackles raising in his quiet cabin, feeling all the negative emotions in the air. He was already regretting his choice. 

But then they disembarked, and Harry boarded the carriages that carried many other horrified faces, staring at the emaciated horses for the first time. Harry almost cried then, watching younger years scream as they noticed the creatures, as he saw many solemn older students hesitantly pat a few on the mane.