Chapter Text
After Voldemort's defeat Harry didn't really feel anything.
The few times the possibility of winning had come to mind during the war, he had imagined he'd probably feel victorious, relieved, happy or even terribly guilty for having killed another person.
Instead there was nothing. No fear of having turned into a monster, no happiness at finally being free from that bloody prophecy. No pride at the parties that were held in his honour. No unbridled joy at the sound of his friends' carefree, relieved laughter. Just an all-encompassing numbness that spread through his entire being.
This was all he’d been working towards and now that his purpose was fulfilled there was nothing left.
He snorted at himself, feeling the slightest twinge of bitter amusement. 'I'm seventeen years old’ he reminded himself, because he felt ages older than that, ‘I should be out there partying, getting drunk, pulling stupid pranks or basking in the ladies' attention.' The idea of doing any of those things was not in the least bit appealing. It never had been, to him.
Instead he did his best to avoid the wizarding world. He had no desire to listen to the accusations of those who had lost loved ones, the occasional veiled threats and the overwhelming hero worship.
Most of his friends didn't seem to know what to do with him. Out of everyone only Ron and Hermione seemed to somewhat understand what he was feeling. They had stood at his side for so long and through so many dangers that they knew him better than anyone else.
There was a bond between the three of them, one that could only be created through hardships faced together. The tentative start of that bond had come into being during their very first year at Hogwarts, while facing that troll in the girls’ bathroom. After that it had only increased in strength. Now Ron and Hermione were just about the only ones who could get him to… really care.
It wasn't that he didn’t bother with anyone else anymore. He still cared for the Weasleys, for his friends from the DA, for Remus and a few other members of the Order. But the rest of the world, the wizarding world as a whole that was hailing him as their saviour once more - the nameless, faceless 'innocents' that he had fought so hard for, defending them from the Dark Lord… He cared no more for them.
It should be enough, shouldn't it? He had his friends, his family in a way. And they were slowly rebuilding all that had been lost. They were moving on. Remus and Tonks, the twins and their joke shop, Ron and Hermione… A smile formed on his face as he remembered their wedding. The first truly happy moment after the conclusion of the war. He was happy for them, he really was. He was glad that everyone was moving on. And still he somehow felt left behind.
Harry knew he was always welcome amongst any of them but… he didn't feel like he belonged there anymore. Sure, he smiled and felt warm at their happiness but he just couldn't find any joy of his very own.
He almost wished he had died at the end. Not because he longed for death, not really but… it would have been almost fitting, wouldn’t it? If it wasn’t for the pain it would have caused his friends… it would have been nice. At least death would have been something. 'The next great adventure…'
He shook his head, sighing, and turned his back to the thought. This was one thought he would not be sharing with Ron and Hermione - they were worried enough as it was. Harry shook his head once more and went to bed.
'Perhaps things will look better in the morning,' he told himself again - as he had for the past few days just before sleep claimed him.
Perhaps this time, it would.