"Buried, almost tangible secrets filled the space between them, and so, without a second to think, she closed it."
The scars of war opened more wounds than Harry Potter thought possible. As he returns to Hogwarts for his eighth and final year, he le...
A/N: hi! if you have any suggestions AT ALL, please let me know. they're the most helpful things on the planet and i really need them (writer's block, ugh.) if you see "Oona" instead of Annabelle, don't get confused. that was the original name for her, but it got changed since it didn't match her personality. if you have any questions or if anything doesn't make sense, PLEASE let me know and i'll fix it. you won't offend me and it'll help make this story better :) so in summary: enjoy, leave suggestions, and thank you for reading!
—————— days after a war
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HARRY POTTER WAS TIRED.
He was a man barely over the age of a boy. He had seen countless battles and suffered years of heartbreak that would shatter any man's mental state. Harry never allowed himself to stop; he kept plowing ahead. And now that the war was finally over, he was stuck in limbo.
Hermione Granger was scared.
She refused to show it, declined any help. She was scared. She rose each morning in a cold sweat. More than once, she yelled out for Ron, believing him to be dead, because her nightmares told her so. He was always at the ready with words of comfort, pulling her into his arms and never letting any reluctance show. He had become her rock.
Hermione was still scared. She poured over books of healing spells, memorized them so well she could recite them in her sleep. She researched how to comfort a person who was coping with grief. Though it was supposed to be for helping Harry, she was using this book as her own therapist. After all she memorized, despite the knowledge and Ron's constant comfort, Hermione was always scared.
Ron Weasley was drowning.
He was the one who had to make the jokes and keep his friends happy, but he was drowning. Everywhere around him, someone was hurting, and it was his job to help them. His mother constantly burst into tears; His brother, George, was inches away from breaking down everytime Ron saw him; Ginny, his younger sister, was staring at walls as if they held secrets she was trying to read; Harry, his best friend, was distant, his laugh forced and mirthless. Ron was trying to help them all, but he was drowning.
His girlfriend, Hermione, had terror in her eyes when she looked at him. He made it his duty to protect her. When she would wake up screaming, he would be waiting in another room to swoop in. Sometimes, it was because he needed it too. She had become his rock. He didn't have time to be his own.
Harry was alone.
Not many could say they had no family without thinking of one distant relative, one second cousin, even if they didn't talk to them. Harry Potter had absolutely none.
When he looked into the mirror where others would see how they inherited their grandfather's nose and their aunt's eye color, Harry only saw what he was told: Lily Potter's eyes, James Potter's hair. Yet there was no way of verifying this. It wasn't like he could see it for himself.
