Chapter Text
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Harry Potter woke with a gasp, immediately reaching for his wand. He shoved his glasses on, biting back a cry of pain as he nearly stabbed himself in the eye. As his vision tried to adjust to the darkness, his mind raced with several awful scenarios where he was either once again in Malfoy manor, trapped in that small, cramped cell, or out in the Forbidden Forest, his death mere minutes away.
He was shaking, his breaths coming out in harsh gasps. He was pretty sure a panic attack was coming, but he didn't know how to prevent it. Sure it wasn't his first attack, though he normally had Ron and Hermione to help him through them. Now though, he was alone. Alone to deal with the effects of what he now knew to be a nightmare. Despite trying to tell himself that though, it didn't help to calm him down.
What had Hermione said about what to do during a panic attack? He couldn't make his brain work. The only thing it was good for right now was to replay every horrifying thing that Harry had lived through for the past seven years. Sirius falling through the veil, every encounter with Voldemort at the end of almost every school year, Dumbledore falling from the Astronomy Tower, surrounded by green light. And of course, the final battle. Spells flying through the air, both enemy and allies being lost, Harry coming back from death, and worst of all, at least for him, Snape's last moments in the Shrieking Shack, blood and memories pouring from his wounds.
“No!” The word came out in a strangled voice as he tried to force back the memories. He didn't want to fall apart. Not again. He had done too much of that over the past few months. He thought he should be starting to heal from it all, but it sure didn't feel that way. He supposed that not blasting the curtains off his bed again was progress.
With a sigh, Harry quietly got out of bed, not wanting to wake any of his dorm mates up. He needed to go for a walk. There was no way he'd be getting back to sleep anytime soon. He just hoped that walking through the castle wouldn't trigger any other memories of the battle. The last thing he needed was to be found in the middle of a flashback, especially because he tended to start casting defensive spells at whoever was closest. No doubt he'd be labeled as dangerous, the next Dark Lord. After all, the Daily Prophet was already hinting that he was going insane.
Reaching into his trunk, Harry pulled out his cloak, draping it over his shoulders. This was the first time he'd brought it out since that night, and Harry wasn't sure how to feel. His cloak was one of the Deathly Hallows. It honestly didn't mean much to Harry besides the fact that his father had been in the possession of such a well-known and slightly dangerous artifact. The thing was, if anyone else were to find out, Harry could only imagine what they'd say about it. Once again, he'd be seen as a mini Tom Riddle, even if he had no desire to do anything more than take a walk in peace.
Harry thought back to something Snape had said to him in passing during the summer before his fifth year. He'd been sitting in a corner of the Black library, trying to finish the last of his summer homework. It had been one of the few quiet moments he could get to himself and he figured he should take advantage of it. As much as he loved his best friends, he knew the chance of him getting work done around them was very slim. Ron would complain about having to do work, while Hermione would try to check his work to see if he was doing it right. If Harry knew one thing about himself, it was that he would probably listen more to Ron if they were all together.
Harry hadn't noticed he was no longer alone until he felt someone looming over him. Slowly, he lifted his head from his essay, flinching slightly when he met Snape's dark, piercing eyes. For a moment, neither spoke, their gazes locked on one another, as though unsure what to think about the other. Finally, Snape sighed, breaking their little staring contest.
"Potter," He said, then hesitated. Harry hadn't spoken, letting Snape figure out what he needed to say. He was surprised at the lack of anger and hate in the professor's eyes. He knew it was temporary, but it was nice to see.
"Potter," Snape said again. He reached into his robe pocket, slapping down a copy of the Daily Prophet. "They're trying to keep this from you, thinking it'll hurt your precious feelings. I, on the other hand, couldn't care less. You need to understand that fame isn't everything. The public opinion, as I'm sure you know, changes constantly. You may be loved one moment, then shunned the next. Make sure you keep those you trust close, for not everyone can be that person." With that, Snape left, leaving Harry staring after him in surprise.
Snape had of course been right, a fact that Harry learned the hard way after looking through that paper. He'd only cemented that during that school year, where almost the whole school thought he was a liar.
Harry shook his head, trying not to get lost in his memories again. It turned out Snape had been right about a lot of things, and Harry had been an idiot not to see it. All he could do now was to try to move on, to live his life to make sure Snape's sacrifices weren't for nothing.
Harry took one last look at his sleeping dorm mates before quietly slipping downstairs and out of the common room. Unsurprisingly, the halls were empty. No one wanted to be out at night, afraid of what they might see. Not only was the castle not fully recovered from the battle a few months ago, but ghosts of the fallen had appeared, causing bad reactions from students and staff alike. Harry had no problem being out after dark. The ghosts brought up unpleasant memories, but he was used to it. As long as he didn't see the ghost of Tom Riddle, he was alright.
Harry wasn't really thinking about where he'd go, letting his feet guide him through the halls. He had hoped the walk would relax him, but instead, his mind was a chaotic storm of thoughts and memories.
Despite them winning the war, at times it didn't quite feel like a victory, no doubt due to all the people they'd lost. People always told him the pain would get better with time, but if Harry was being honest with himself, he wasn't sure he believed them. The war had been brutal, several lives being unjustly cut short. He didn't think any amount of time would be enough to get over that.
Harry also felt guilty. Why did he return from the dead when so many others hadn’t? What was so special about him that he not only defied death once, but twice? Harry could think of so many people who had been lost to the war who still deserved to be alive. His parents, Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Fred and... Snape. Merlin! Snape had gone through more than anyone. He'd suffered for his entire life, and he died in the worst way possible. It didn't matter that it was for the greater good. He had still been murdered by Voldemort's awful snake, being viewed as the bad guy until the end.
Several times, Harry had wanted to forget his previous insistence to keep the remaining Hallows hidden. He wanted to go back into the Forbidden Forest and find the ring once again, to turn it and see the faces of those he so desperately missed. But as much as he wanted to, he knew he couldn't do it. He had hidden the wand and the ring for good reasons, his temptation being one of them. He had to remember that they were all dead, and there was nothing he could do about it.
When Harry finally came to a stop, he found himself in a part of the castle he wasn’t familiar with. The only thing he knew was that he was somewhere on the fourth floor. That didn’t really help him though. Harry didn’t often explore the castle much, choosing instead to take the familiar route that he’d used for six years. Harry wasn’t sure he’d gotten there. This wasn’t the first time he’d gone for a walk at night, though normally he’d always end up back at Gryffindor Tower. He wasn’t sure why this time was different, and he wasn’t sure he liked it.
Not knowing what else to do, Harry sat down on a nearby window ledge and stared out at the castle grounds. It was a full moon out, and everything was bathed in a silver glow. Surprisingly, Harry found the scene peaceful, erasing for the moment his worry of being lost. He supposed it wasn’t that surprising, since Harry often sought out the comfort of the night when things became too much to handle. He wasn't sure what it was, but there was just something about this time that calmed him. Perhaps it was that it was one of the only times he wasn't being practically harassed by his classmates, or more recently by the entire wizarding community. Harry had honestly lost count of the amount of fan mail he'd received since the final battle. All he knew was that they had made a rather impressive bonfire.
Harry didn't realize he'd been drifting off to sleep until he was abruptly woken by... a piano? He blinked, thinking at first he'd started to hear things, but as he listened more closely, there was no mistaking the sound of someone playing the grand piano. Harry didn’t even know Hogwarts had a grand piano, so of course he became curious. He wanted to follow the music, to find out who was playing such a melancholic song.
Harry was having no luck. He’d done his best to follow the song, but every time he thought he was close, he only came across a wall. It was as though it was coming from the walls themselves, something that probably shouldn’t surprise him as much as it did. Though part of him wanted to continue searching, he had grown tired, choosing instead to slide down the nearest wall and just listen to the person play.
The first thing that came to his mind when he first paid attention to the song was sadness. Everything from the tempo to the melody radiated melancholy.
As he listened, memories began replaying themselves in his mind. Walking through the castle halls at night, looking at his family through that cursed mirror, encountering the dead unicorn in the Forbidden Forest, and finally, the end of his first potions lesson, where he realized he’d never be able to get past Snape’s hatred. Harry blinked a few times, trying to make the sudden burning in his eyes stop. The pianist clearly affected him more than he thought.
Slowly getting to his feet, Harry gently laid his hand on the wall. “I’ll find you,” he whispered, hoping the person could hear him. “I promise I’ll try to help you.” He stood there for another minute before slowly making his way back to the tower. Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t even notice that the music had abruptly stopped, as though shocked by his words.