Everything is J.K. Rowlings. I only claim the plot. Everything else is hers, all the characters and the magic, all of it. Please let me know what you think though, I encourage feedback of all kinds, just be nice about it!

So I know it starts off kinda slow. I've also never written a fanfic about the original Harry Potter characters, usually it's about the next generation. So it is a new genre for me. Also, this is happening directly after the Battle of Hogwarts, everything is canon compliant up until after the battle. So, the characters will be dealing with post-war emotions, guilt, sadness, suffering and various coping mechanisms. I'm not saying I support all these mechanisms. I just know that they are ways that people utilize dealing with grief. So yeah, it's not going to be a really light and relatively happy story. Which is also a first for me. But give it a shot, like I said, it starts slow and not a lot of dialogue at the beginning because it is catching the reader up to speed kinda. Just...let me know what you think.

Chapter One

Waking in a cold sweat, Harry bolted upright in his bed. Another nightmare. He couldn't close his eyes and not have a nightmare it seemed. It had been five days since the last of the funerals. Three weeks since so many had fought and died at the Battle of Hogwarts. Sure, Harry had triumphed over Voldemort but was the cost to be his sanity? He had yet to sleep more than two hours at most during the night since the battle, and it wasn't exactly a restful sleep. His guilt ate at him consistently. Currently he was at the Burrow. Ron slept beside him, from the looks of it his best friends sleep wasn't much better than his own.

Rubbing a hand across his face, he tossed off the covers, grabbed his glasses and made his way out of the room. He wandered down the stairs until he came to the kitchen. The house was silent, well not really silent. He could hear Mrs. Weasley's faint sobs and Hermione and Ginny's whimpering cries as a result of their nightmares. But it was still early in the morning and no one had braved coming downstairs yet. Fixing himself some tea, he cast an extra glance over his shoulder to make sure no one was really around before adding a dash or two of Firewhiskey to the cup. Maybe the alcohol would help him sleep? It was something he had asked himself two weeks ago when he first tried it. It hadn't helped then and he doubted it would help now but that didn't stop him from still pretending.

With a sigh, Harry collapsed into one of the chairs. Taking a sip of the liquid he had created he coughed at the burn from the whiskey but that didn't stop him from taking another sip, forcing himself to deal with the burn as if it was a repentance.

Drinking his whiskey tea, Harry unwillingly allowed his mind to cast back to everything that had happened. Everywhere he looked he saw broken families. At every funeral, because he had forced himself to attend every single one, he saw the broken hearts and the broken spirits. They had won the war. That was supposed to mean they were free of pain and sorrow. But no, even after war suffering still followed them all. It trailed behind them like a shadow.

There was a creak on the stair floorboards which caused Harry to jump and draw his wand without a second thought. Holding his breath he waited for another sound, his heart thudded in his chest. Another creak. He was poised and tense, hexes and curses dancing on his tongue, waiting for the intruder to reveal them self. They did. It was Hermione.

Seeing him poised to fight, hidden in the shadows of the night, with his wand aimed at her caused the woman to blink in alarm and reach for her own. They both must have come to their senses at the same time because once they both had their wands at each other they blinked and the spell was lifted. Recognizing each other and realizes the lack of threat they sheathed their wands.

"Sorry...I-I wasn't thinking. I just heard a noise…." Harry became, his voice rough.

"It's fine. I should have made myself known," she whispered. Hermione moved towards the table quietly, stealthily walking on the balls of her feet as though she expected to duck and dive at a moment's notice. Claiming a chair directly across from him, Harry silently offered her a cup of tea. She nodded and he poured her a mug though he refrained from adding in the whiskey to her cup.

The two sat silently, nursing their cups. Hermione had been Harry's rock the past few weeks just as he had been hers.

After the war, Harry had sought out Ginny only to find that while he had been gone she hadn't waited for him like he thought she would. He didn't blame her really, he probably wouldn't have waited from himself either. Still it hurt, seeing her in the arms of another. In the arms of Ernie Macmillan. However, he knew that the year at Hogwarts hadn't been easy and he was at least grateful she had had someone there for her.

Ron and Hermione were together, which he supported though doubted its longevity. He loved his best friends but they were like oil and water, just a little too different to be compatible. But who was he to know? Still, so long as they were happy then Harry supported it.

George was rarely seen unless Percy or Ginny dragged him to the Burrow, other than that he stayed above the joke shop where he and Fred had lived. It was George who had suggested Firewhiskey to Harry. The red-haired man was broken, he no longer smiled and his eyes had lost their mischievous twinkle. It wasn't surprising, the man had lost his twin. It was a hard thing to recover from.

He and Hermione must have been there at least an hour before he heard a sharp tapping at the window. It was still five in the morning so he had no idea who would dare to send a letter. Glancing at Hermione who had tensed at the noise, she gave a small shrug to show she didn't know who it could be. The funerals were over and Harry had already promised McGonagall that he would help with the Hogwarts restorations and the Minister that he would testify at certain trials. He had already given his testimony in private in support of the Malfoys', at least Narcissa and Draco.

With a sigh, Harry dragged himself over to the window and opened it enough to let the owl in. It was a pretty barn owl who promptly dropped the letter on the table and turned back out again with an elegant swoop.

Furrowing his brows in confusion, Harry sat back at the table. It was a letter from Gringotts. Another wave of guilt hit him. He and his friends had rightly destroyed the bank and he wondered if this was a bill for the damage. He flashed the front of the letter at Hermione and as she saw it she sighed, her face drooping even more.

"We really should go and apologize to them," she said quietly. It seemed that all she ever did was talk quietly, if she talked at all.

Harry only nodded as he opened the letter. Blinking his eyes to focus them on the swirling ink, he took a breath to settle himself before reading it. And then reading it again.

Dear Mr. Potter,

Allow me to introduce myself. I am Nadrig, one of the accountants at Gringotts. Firstly, allow me to apologize for the earliness of this letter. Secondly, it has come to my attention that there is something surprising happening with your vaults. I think it would be most prudent for you to visit so that I may explain myself in further detail and show you what has happened. I would suggest the sooner the better in this circumstance. Merely ask for me at the front desk and I believe we shall get everything squared away rather quickly.

-Nadrig

Harry stared at the letter. What the bloody hell? Was the only thought in his mind. Wordlessly he handed the letter to Hermione, he watched as her brown eyes scanned the words and then scanned the words again and again. Finally she nodded, as if to herself, and then handed the letter back.

"Well I suppose you should go today. We can apologize at the same time." Was all she said.