I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters other than the plot. Please enjoy. :)

After the war and the Battle of Hogwarts, things didn't go back to the way they were. They probably never will. But people tried their best to move on from those horrible memories. They would never forget the people who sacrificed their lives and fought in the battles against the Dark Lord, but there were just some things people didn't want to remember.

Harry Potter wasn't the type to forget so easily. He stayed at the Weasley's for a while, rooming with Ron. At least until he could convince Mrs. Weasley that yes, he did have money to buy a flat and no, he was sure he could buy himself food and not starve and yes, of course he would come by almost every day to visit. About a few months of convincing, Mrs. Weasley was mollified and Harry packed his stuff (not much) and moved into his knew flat in London.

He, Ron and Neville entered the Auror's training program as soon as they could. It wasn't that hard for them, actually. They fared pretty well in the training, which wasn't surprising at all. Neville was always a surprise. They all thought that after the war was over, he would go back to his old ways, clumsy and slow witted. He, instead, became more clever and stronger in his spells, always modest, of course. He never bragged about his accomplishments, Neville. Probably why Harry liked him so much as a person. He didn't let this sudden fame get to his head. Ron, understandably, was eating it up. He didn't brag but he always held his head a just a bit higher whenever a photographer or a journalist or even a fan stopped him on the streets. He always answered questions as honestly and brutal as possible.

Harry didn't like the attention. He never did, but he was used to it. He tried to avoid journalists and such whenever he could. He would politely decline his fans autographs and pictures. Some people understood while other, small minded people, thought he was being arrogant and rude. He didn't care. Let them think what they want. If they had a problem, they could just come up to him and tell him directly. No one ever did that, of course. You'd have to be crazy to pick a fight over Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived and destroyed the most evil and dark wizard of all time, once and for all. Over something as pathetic as an autographed picture? Anyone who did was asking for a death wish.

However, besides all that, his life changed dramatically. He no longer had to fear for his life. Not really, anyway. Sure, there were probably still some dark wizards out there who would want him dead. But they were nothing compared to Voldemort. Never the less, he kept wards all over his apartment, just in case. Some habits don't die that easily.

That was beside the point. He could live on his own now. He didn't have to worry about saving the world anymore. He could get up whenever he'd like on weekends. Eat whatever he felt like eating. Go to his training and get a career. He could just go over to the Weasley's and stay the night if he'd like. He, Ron and Hermione hung out almost every day as much as they could. It was great, or so he thought. It should have been great, but he felt like something wasn't right.

He still had nightmares. Voldemort still tortured him in his sleep. He still thought of that battle. Of everything that happened that built up to it. He tortured himself with what-ifs. What if Harry had told Dobby to move faster? What if he had made the deal a bit clearer to Griphook? What if he had killed Wormtail back then, so long ago? What if he could have saved Sirius? Or Dumbledore? Or anyone who had been involved and had died at the hands of the Death Eaters?

Harry should have felt at ease. Let these things go. Sometimes he'd feel alright, everything in the world was perfect, when he was suddenly hit with these feelings of survivor's guilt. It wasn't something he could just wait for it to go away. His friends could see it. He would be talking to them and laughing like everyone else. Then someone would mention something war related. It wasn't always intentional. They were innocent sounding words, unless you knew true meaning, such as 'crown' or 'locket'. 'Riddle' was a word to be avoided by the lot of them. But they would see him shut down suddenly, when something was mentioned. He wasn't with them anymore. His mind would be flooded with memories, with that guilt and he would just stop whatever he was doing.

Hermione and Ron knew the signs. They could tell something was wrong with their friend. They tried to ask him more than once if he was alright. If he wanted to talk to them about what had happened. Every time he said no. He was quite alright and fine and would you like something to drink?
They came to ahead when Harry finally snapped and told them to leave him alone. At once, Ron became defensive and reminded him that they were there too. They remember it all. Hermione still had the word 'mudblood' on her arm and that Ron's scars from the brains so long ago were faded, but there. Reminders of the war that will always haunt them. Harry finally broke down and told them. His feelings of guilt and his thoughts on what he could have done to avoid tragedy. How he can't sleep much at night because of the nightmares and the sleeping draught wasn't helping.
They talked for hours. A solution couldn't really be found, only that they knew they could count on each other if one of them needed the other in any way shape or form. Hermione promised to look for another potion to help Harry sleep. Ron and offered his bed back at the Burrow or get a few days off from the training so that Harry could rest up. He shook his head, thanking the both of them, but this was something he needed to do on his own.

As the days grew shorter and the weather colder, Harry sighed, watching his breath as puffs of smoke blow into the air. He was half way into his training. Kingsley said he had a good shot at becoming an Auror early, the way he was passing through the classes. Ron had asked Harry if he wanted to go out for pint near the Ministry's office, but Harry turned it down. He was feeling tired today, particularly more than usual. It was one of those days, he guessed. He bid his best friend farewell, apparating near his apartment building.

Harry quickly jogged up the stairs, unlocking his front door. His flat was quite empty. Not much, other than the necessities such as the refrigerator and the bed. He had his old school trunk in the corner, along with his broom that he hasn't touched in a years. He had a couple of pictures on his mantle and bedside table, and a drawer for his clothes. Besides that, it was empty. There were a couple of things still in boxes. Newspaper clipping from the time around the war, awards that the Ministry honored him with, First Class of Merlin and what not. The place looked hardly lived in, if you didn't count some clothes on the back of his chair or floor.

He didn't mind. He was never the sort to like too many things in a house. If it wasn't useful, it wasn't worth it. Buying things for decorative purposes seemed a bit stupid, really. Hermione, however, was determined to make him think differently. He was about to put his coat up on a hanger, when he heard something, laughter in the bedroom. Harry was on high alert immediately. Who on earth could have possibly passed through all his wards? Certainly, a very powerful and dark wizard. A rogue Death Eater come for revenge on his late master's behalf? Harry took out his wand and slowly walked to the bedroom door. He listened carefully, trying to determine where the person might be standing. He heard creaking. His bed? The Death Eater was on his bed?
Gripping his wand tightly, he carefully clicked the door knob open and slammed the door wide; ready to hit the other man with an "Expelliarmu-"

"Hiya, Harry! Great day isn't it?"

A brown haired boy of 16 was smiling up at Harry, not in a least bit worried that Harry Potter was standing in front of him with his wand raised. In fact, he looked ecstatic. "Gonna do some more magic today, Harry?" he asked, bouncing in place, making the bed creak.
Harry only stared. How is this possible? How could he be here? It wasn't possible. He was supposed to be dead!
"Colin Creevey?"