Harry Potter and The Shadowed Light

The bonds that hold us

Grimmauld Place, 4th June 1998

Harry let out a soft groan as he stood, his body stretching in a way that made his back pop and crack in relief after sitting for so long in the same position. The book he had been reading, Soul Magics and Bonds: The Lost Rituals, hadn't had the answers he was looking for and he was almost at the point of losing hope that he would find any answers.

He was currently residing in the newly restored Grimmauld Place, more specifically the famous, or rather infamous, Black family library. When he had returned to the house for the first time days after the battle, Harry was surprised to see that the damage done by the war wasn't as excessive as he had imagined. Sure, it had been ransacked but most of the furniture was redeemable with a few scouring and repairing charms - and, with the help of Kreacher, the house was soon habitable. Luckily the library and a few other rooms had been spared completely thanks to the Black family's previous paranoia: certain rooms required Black blood to open and allow people in.

Resigned that he wouldn't find what he was looking for tonight, Harry made his way to the kitchen. Kreacher popped into existence as soon as he reached his target.

"What can Kreacher do for great Master Harry?" The elf asked.

Exhausted, Harry sat down. "Can you heat me up whatever is left over? Oh, and a cup of tea, please."

Harry soon found himself smiling softly as Kreacher mumbled to himself about great masters and mighty wizards who were too stubborn. Chuckling under his breath, Harry waited for his food; he knew Kreacher would have prepared a meal for him earlier as the elf had come to recognize Harry's habit of forgetting to look after himself and had taken it upon himself to ensure his "Great Master" was properly cared for. Tucking in when the food appeared moments later, Harry thought back to what had led him here.

Ever since the final battle, when he had finally fulfilled his destiny and that damned prophecy, Harry had been feeling empty and devoid, like his life had lost its meaning. At first he put it down to survivor's guilt, even if he did technically die. Yet, the feeling still remained, always there, subtly growing like a cancer in his mind.

In the days that followed the battle, Harry had found it hard to connect to the people around him. The few remaining Order members were all there, asking him question after question - watching him, wanting to know how he did it, and the public was the same. They all were wanting interviews with the newly dubbed saviour, the Light's hero. Even Ron and Hermione had questioned him with something like suspicion after the battle.

~

Hogwarts, 2nd May 1998

"Are you sure you're alright, mate?" Ron asked, staring at Harry intently.

"I'm fine, Ron," Harry assured firmly, tired of the questions and just wanting to go to sleep, as he looked around the destruction and carnage with sad eyes. "Maybe you should go be with your family," he suggested gently, seeing the remaining Weasleys huddled together in their grief in a far corner.

During this Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance that went unseen by Harry. "You know you're considered family right?" Ron asked. "Especially now."

Harry nodded absently. "Yeah, I know," he agreed, thinking about all the family had done for him. They had taken him in, fed him, and housed him in the summer; they had loved him like their own.

"And don't forget about you and Ginny," Hermione added, staring intently at the boy saviour.

Harry frowned at this slightly, thinking of his ex-girlfriend. He just didn't feel the connection anymore, the excited nervousness in his stomach when he thought about the fiery redhead. "Me and Ginny? You know we broke up," he said.