I love fics that explore what Harry, Ron, and Hermione do after the war, but I've never written one before. Now that I finally have, I hope you enjoy it!

Any tips on writing Harry's post-war PTSD would be appreciated. I tried to be as respectful and accurate as possible, but I don't have PTSD and don't personally know anyone who does, so I'm open to suggestions from people who are more educated on the topic than I am.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

There are footsteps downstairs.

For half a second, Harry feels a flare of panic. Then he takes a deep breath, calming himself down. He's in Grimmauld Place, which still has almost every protection known to wizardkind. And chances are, the footsteps belong to Ron or Hermione. They've both moved in to Grimmauld Place with him, having invited themselves there instead of allowing Harry to invite them himself. "Flat prices are insane," Ron told Harry as he brought boxes of his things inside. "I can stay here for free."

"Who says I'm not making you pay rent?" Harry retorted, but he picked up a box of his own to carry in. Ron just grinned.

Hermione, meanwhile, simply began to insinuate herself into the house more and more and leave less and less. "The library is amazing," she told Harry one day when he found her in there. "Of course, many of the books are full of dark magic, but some of them show a side of history that Professor Binns never taught us. By the way, as the heir, would you mind telling that cabinet to let me inside? It says it opens only to the owner of Grimmauld Place." Soon, it became more likely to see Hermione inside Grimmauld Place than outside of it, and she somehow moved herself in without Harry really noticing.

It isn't that he minds them being there. Quite the opposite, actually. Harry loves having both Ron and Hermione with him, almost like they're still in school. But he does worry that he's holding them back. He's barely left the house for months now, while they go out all the time. Ron is looking into becoming an Auror, and Hermione is planning to go back to Hogwarts for her seventh year. Harry has been silently debating between the two ever since the announcement from the Ministry came out that those who fought in the Battle of Hogwarts could enter into Auror training without finishing their seventh year. On the one hand, Harry has wanted to become an Auror since fourth year. On the other hand, he'd love to go back to Hogwarts. But he can't help but worry that being an Auror will just be more of the same horrors he's been through for the past seven years, and Hogwarts might hold too many memories to ever be a safe place again.

What does it mean, Harry wonders, that Ron and Hermione are moving on with their lives already while he can't manage to even make a simple decision?

Sometimes, Harry feels as if the whole world is stifling him. Sometimes, he feels as if he's back in the Forbidden Forest, allowing Voldemort to kill him. Sometimes, he wakes up from a dream where everything went right and feels as if grief is crushing him when reality strikes again. Sometimes, he wonders if the war against Voldemort is something he's ever going to recover from.

The footsteps downstairs are moving up the stairs. There are two sets of them, Harry realizes. It must be both Ron and Hermione, then. Just to be safe, he grabs his wand, ready to spit curses if he has to.

There's a knock on the door, which relaxes him a bit, because no Death Eater he's ever met has knocked before entering. "Harry?" Hermione calls through the door. "Ron and I have something for you. It's downstairs."

Harry only relaxes the tiniest bit. Surprises, even the most well-meaning of them, can cause his heart rate to triple. "Don't worry," Ron calls in, as if he can read Harry's thoughts. "You'll love it. We promise."

Well, if Harry can't trust Ron and Hermione, then who in the world is there that he can trust?

Harry sticks his wand in his back pocket and steps out of the room. Ron and Hermione are watching him eagerly. Clearly, whatever surprise they've gotten for him is something they're excited about. "It's on the kitchen table," Hermione tells him, ushering him towards the stairs. "Come on, follow me." When Harry doesn't move, Hermione tucks her hand in his and begins to pull him down the stairs. Ron follows them, beaming.

Hermione doesn't drop Harry's hand until they're right in front of the kitchen door. While Harry watches with a strange mix of tension and bemusement, she and Ron push open the kitchen doors. "Surprise!" Hermione squeals.

Lying on the table, looking just as pristine as it did the day Harry got it, is his Firebolt.

"How?" he breathes.

Hermione beams. "It wasn't easy," she replies. "We had to look around quite a bit. But this is your broom."

"It was a little beat up, but we had it polished," Ron adds. "It's in pristine condition, mate."

"Would you like to take it for a flight?" Hermione suggests.

Harry blinks at her. He hasn't flown a broom for over a year. The last time he rode on a broomstick was when he borrowed Madame Rosmerta's to get back to Hogwarts after finding the false Horcrux with Dumbledore. He hasn't flown on his Firebolt for even longer than that. The thought of taking a flight right now is, for a second, petrifying.

"It would be a bit of a waste if we got it back and you didn't even fly it," Ron remarks. Hermione elbows him, but Harry appreciates the candor.

"You've got a point," he replies. Before he can second guess himself, he grabs the Firebolt and walks to the door.

He hasn't gone out this door for nearly two weeks.

Ron and Hermione wait silently as Harry slowly, slowly turns the doorknob. It's only when he takes a deep breath of fresh air that he realizes how stale the air inside Grimmauld Place has become. Later, he resolves, he'll go around and open the windows. But for now, he steps out onto the yard.

There are charms around the entire property, yard included, that make people's eyes just… slide away from the property. Hermione put them up when they first moved in and people swarmed around the building, waiting for a glimpse of the famous Chosen One. "We could do with some privacy," she stated briskly, moving her wand in a sweeping gesture. For a second, the entire property seems to be encased in a bubble, then the effect disappears. The spell remains, however, and people stop coming. There are a few people walking down the street, but no one's eyes linger on the property. As long as Harry doesn't step over the property line, no one will notice him.

"How high up does the spell go?" he asks Hermione as he eyes the Firebolt with a trepidation he hasn't felt about a broomstick since he first rode one.

"Hmm." Hermione frowns slightly and looks up. "About as high as the building does. But after that point, you'll be high enough that people won't recognize you, even if they do see you."

Harry looks up too, feeling his heart twist. He doesn't think he's ever been this nervous about flying before. "If I go up that high."

"Go as high as you want," Hermione says soothingly.

"But honestly, with a broom that good, you'll probably want to go higher," Ron adds. Hermione elbows him again, but again, Harry appreciates the raw honesty. He thinks Ron understands that.

Carefully, tentatively, Harry swings his leg over the broom. He can feel it vibrating just slightly under him, like the Firebolt is eager to fly. He looks at Ron and Hermione, then he kicks off of the ground.

Harry had forgotten how wonderfully freeing flying could be. The wind tousles his hair as he soars up, up, up into the sky. He feels the urge to whoop loudly and gives in to it, letting the sounds of his joy fill the air.

The Firebolt is just as good a broom as it always was. It responds to the lightest touch and zooms through the sky at a speed that almost seems impossible. Harry whoops again as he begins to fly in lazy circles, still gaining altitude. It gets to the point where the cold of the air is almost uncomfortable, but Harry doesn't stop climbing.

When he looks down, the world below him looks like it's populated by ants. If he squints, he can make out two little specks in front of Grimmauld Place that he knows are Ron and Hermione. Feeling reckless, Harry points the Firebolt down in a steep dive, dropping faster and faster until he pulls up just in time to keep from crashing. Hermione looks startled, but Ron cheers.

"Still as good as it used to be?" Ron asks.

Harry nods. He's flushed and grinning. He hasn't felt this happy for quite some time now. Harry feels as if he flew fast enough that his troubles couldn't keep up, as if he's left them in the dust. He doesn't expect the feeling to last very long, but he's enjoying it as long as it's there.

"Are you happy?" Hermione asks tentatively.

"I am, actually," Harry replies. For a second, he thinks he sees a glint of tears in Hermione's eyes, but there's nothing there a moment later.

"Good," Hermione declares firmly, beaming at Harry. "Good."

And good it is.