After

Nobody thinks about 'after'. You struggle and fight and face death, and along the way you lose people and parts of yourself, and you tell yourself its because things will be better 'after'.

Life will be normal. Whatever that is. Life will be better. You'll be able to settle down and do whatever it is you couldn't do 'before' or 'during'.

Harry never expected to see 'after'. Not once he realised what he was and what would have to happen. He didn't mind. Ron and Hermione would have 'after' for him. In 17 short years of life, they were the most important people in his life and while he didn't want to die, he'd do it so they could see 'after'. He knew they wouldn't waste it. (He didn't think at all about the possibility that they might die in the final battle and miss 'after'. If he thought about that he'd never have been able to go.)

In the moments after Voldemort died, Harry was too busy looking to the living, making sure that the Death Eaters were caught, making sure that the school wouldn't fall down, to realise he'd reached 'after'. And then there was the dead to see to. He spent what felt like hours crouched beside Remus' body, grieving him and Tonk silently until Hagrid came and picked him up like a small child, walking out of the Great Hall and down to the kitchen. The elves let them in and fluttered around getting hot wet cloths and soup and toast and tea while Hagrid deposited him on a bench and standing over him until he'd cleaned his face and hands and started to eat the food put in front of him.

"I'm not one for speeches Harry," Hagrid sat opposite him with his own soup and tea, "But thank you. Thank you for not being dead."

"I'm sorry I fooled you Hagrid," Harry put his spoon down, then picked it up at the ferocious glare aimed his way by a half giant and several elves. He ate some more until they stopped glaring and the elves went back to preparing food and magicking it off to people in the castle.

"Yer had no choice, lad. Yer haven't had a choice since yer were born, now I think on it," Hagrid sighed as Harry obediently spooned up soup and dipped his toast in the bowl as well, "Well, now is yer time I reckon. You can make yer own choices."

Harry nodded, chewing on soup laden toast. This, he supposed, was part of 'after'. Choices and decisions and finding some of the things he'd lost.

"Professor Hagrid, Professor McGonagall is needing you please sir," an elf tugged at Hagrid's sleeve and the half giant picked his bowl of soup up and drank it off like it was a cup of milk.

"I'm going," Hagrid assured the elf and wiped his mouth on his hand. He stood up and looked at Harry for a long moment, then sighed.

"Take yer time, Harry. The rest of the Wizarding world can do without yer for a little while. I'll tell Ron and Hermione where you are."

"Thank you, Hagrid," Harry got up and trotted around the table to hug the half giant as fiercely as he could, and was squeezed gently in return. He sat back in his seat and watched his first friend duck out through the kitchen opening.

Once the soup and toast were finished Harry took a deep breath and stood again. He thanked the hovering elves for the meal and headed for the main hall. It was likely he'd still find the Weasley's there and he needed to pay his respects properly this time.

As he walked slowly through the corridors, he was aware of how tired he was. All he wanted to do was go back up to Gryffindor tower and sleep, even though this was no longer his place. Maybe he'd be able to get into the room of requirement and find a spare hammock, or Hermione's bag and the tent.

"… be prudent to decide now what we do with him," said a vaguely familiar voice. Tired as he was, Harry's instincts hadn't relaxed in the last hour of quiet in the kitchens. He stopped and drifted over to the wall, listening intently.

"You can't be serious about this," a woman protested, "After all he has done for us!"

"He just killed a Dark Lord," a second man spoke up, "One that he has been fighting since he was a child. Now he has come into his own. He's strong enough to take on the Ministry if he wants to, and given the way the Ministry targeted the very people he thinks of as his …"

"Now see here," the first man protested and Harry finally recognised him as Scrimgeour, "That was not…"

"Lower your voice," a fourth person snapped, and there was silence, "Now is not the time to revise history. Now is the time to decide. If Potter goes Dark, we are woefully unprepared to deal with it. The Ministry is in tatters, the population in mourning. We need to revise the courts and the legislation that was passed in the last few years. We need to decide how we will deal with Potter now."

"He's not a threat," the woman said sharply, though her voice was low, "But if you want to make him your enemy, then by all means lock him up 'just in case'."

"He wanted to be an Auror," Scrimgeour mused, "We could take him into training at once. He'd be under close supervision there, and I could make sure he was only ever partnered with experienced, right thinking folk."

Harry faded backwards silently, unwilling to listen to any more. Once he was out of earshot, he turned and ran, heading for the room of requirement. Hermione would have left the pink beaded bag there, he was sure of it, and now was the time to leave. Before anyone decided to lock him up pre-emptively, or kill him outright.

So much for choices, he mused bitterly as he ran through the already opening door. Hermione's bag came when Summoned and he put it down, fishing for his rucksack. There had been times when they'd needed to look like Muggle hikers and he had clothes, his vault key, Muggle money and hard rations in the pack. He found Ron's bag first and pulled the rations out of it as well, even as he fished for his own. A random blanket came out as well and then finally his own rucksack. He loaded in the extra food, rolled the blanket and strapped it to the pack then dropped Ron's rucksack back into Hermione's bag before heading back down the passage to Aberforth's pub.

The elder wand was a weight in his pocket as he emerged into the pub proper. As long as he had that he would be a target as well. The fireplace had coals glowing sullenly in it, so he snapped the wand and threw it on them, watching for a long moment as they flared to life in the presence of a strongly magical artefact. The flames made quick work of the wand and he nodded once, before turning and heading out into the village.

As long as he used magic, he would be a target. Harry thought about this as he walked through the alleys and back streets, avoiding the busier main shopping mall that was heaving with people despite the late hour. The wizarding world was easily swayed and if those in power thought that he was a threat they would turn the people against him quickly and comprehensively. It was one of the things he'd hated about magical society – they were so quick to judge and condemn. So quick to go from friend to foe.

So, he would stop using magic. Harry had been raised a Muggle and as much as he loved the spells and wonder of the magical world, he would be able to return to life without magic easily enough. He wouldn't go to the Dursley's of course, no help would be coming from them. But there was more to the Muggle world than the Dursley's, and Harry had all the time in the world to find it. And to find himself in it.

Ron and Hermione would still have their 'after'. So, would he. Hagrid had spoken about Harry not having choices before. Now was the time to start making them.

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