Author's Note:

Welcome to my first ever fanfic! Fair warning: I'm not a native English speaker, so there might be some things that are wrong. Please leave a comment with any constructive criticism. If you're interested in being a beta reader for this fic, OH MY GOD YES PLEASE I NEED YOU!... ahem, I mean, that would be lovely.

Enjoy!

Harry Potter had not expected to survive the war. It was more of a thought that stuck in the back of his mind that time he watched Voldemort climb out of a giant cauldron in a graveyard in his fourth year at Hogwarts. Now that the battle was over and Voldemort's cold dead body laid wasting away under white sheets, along with many of Harry's enemies and loved ones alike, Harry did not quite know what to do with himself.

'Oh', he thought as he watched Mrs. Weasley's cheeks dry up; she was still crying, but it seemed her tears had run out. 'I'm still here.'

Ron and Hermione were huddled together next to Ron's mum. Ron's face was pale and violently red at the same time. There were streaks of dried blood in his hair and on his nose. It reminded Harry of that first day on the Hogwarts Express, of the boy in the hand-me-down clothes that he shared his candy with.

Hermione had a far-away look in her eyes. Her hair was weighed down with dirt and water. It draped heavily across her slumped shoulders, but Harry doubted it was her hair that was weighing them down. Even now she looked beautiful.

At that thought, Harry looked away. There had been a moment, while Ron was gone and Harry and Hermione were the only ones in that old tent in the middle of bloody nowhere, while they were dancing ever so closely together, where he thought that maybe they-

Maybe she and he could-

And then that moment passed.

Hermione was not his and he had given up on the dream of making her his the moment he gave up on surviving past the age of seventeen. He had walked to his death and he had left her behind. And now here he stood, hiding in an alcove, an ache in his limbs and bones and heart.

He was alive.

Backing deeper into the alcove as someone ran past him carrying potion bottles, and slumped against the cold stone. A soft hum coming from his pocket caught his attention. He pulled out the elder wand and the hum grew louder. Twirling the wand in his hands he looked out into the Great Hall and sighed.

When a war ends and the initial feeling of shock wears off a great many things happen at once. Hogwarts was being reconstructed, the shops in Diagon Alley were once more opening their doors and the Ministry was attempting to sort out the absolute mayhem that came with a failed successful coup d'etat. Anywhere Harry looked there were people celebrating or rebuilding, but there were also people mourning or angry or both.

Harry just felt lost.

He'd moved into number 12 Grimmauld Place right after the battle. The place was spilling over with memories. There was the couch Sirius and he had sat on drinking warmly spiced pumpkin juice and butterbeer. On the chair in the corner of the kitchen is where Snape would always sit, his back protected by the walls. When he climbed up the stairs he could swear he heard Fred and George scurry into their rooms, hiding away their extendable ears. But George was down at the Burrow and Fred's footsteps would no longer make sounds, even if he was hiding among the furniture. Because Fred was dead. And so were Snape and Sirius and Remus and Tonks and -

At this point Harry always ran to his room, slamming the door behind him. It was a room that had been unused before. There was still dust on the shelves and the bed smelled of mildew and stale air. There were no ghosts here, at least none that Harry was familiar with.

What few belongings Harry had were scattered across the room. The album with pictures of his parents sat on his nightstand. His clothes hung in the closet, although he barely wore any of them these days. Most of them were school uniforms he no longer needed. Letters with his name on it waited for his attention on the small writing desk by the window, held down by a random trinket he'd found in one of the drawers.

Harry sat staring at the small stack of them. He'd been putting off opening them for the last few weeks, not quite ready to talk to anyone at all - not even through letters. Straightening his back he reached for the small pile of parchments and opened the first one.

To Mr. Harry James Potter,

On May 16th, 1998 the Goblin Court met as requested by ms. Hermione Jean Granger to discuss the ban put upon the Misters Harry James Potter and Ronald Bilius Weasley, and the ms. Hermione Jean Granger and all their respective kin in accordance with Goblin Law following the following issues:

- Theft from the vaults of the Gringotts Bank
- Theft of a dragon from the Gringotts Bank
- Manipulation of a member of the Goblin Nation
- Entry into Goblin nation territory with the intention to act against the interests of the Goblin Nation and its people.

After reviewing the evidence laid before the court by ms. Hermione Jean Granger the court has decided to rescind the ban on your person. You are once again free to do business with the Gringotts bank on the condition that you and your kin do no physical or mental harm to any of the people of the Goblin Nation or enter into any territory of the Goblin Nation with ill intent towards its business.

May this be a mutually lucrative agreement,

Ragdor Skullsplitter, Goblin of the Law

Harry blinked at the parchment. It seemed Hermione had been busy. Harry wondered if she had received a letter or if she had heard the verdict personally.
Putting the letter away he picked up the next one. This one had the Gringotts stamp on it as well, but the content was much shorter.

Harry read the letter and then sat there in stunned silence. The chair clattered to the ground as he stood up. He stuffed the parchment into his pocket and rushed out the front door, nearly forgetting to close the darn thing on his way out.

The rest of the letters lay forgotten on his desk.