((Just a quick note. This takes place in late July, right about when the twins turn 18. Everything is as it happened in the series.))



Hailey Potter paused in the midst of writing a letter. She was responding, yet again, to a curious reporter from the "Daily Prophet" wanting to hear about Harry's adventures.
Setting down her quill, she listened to the sounds coming from upstairs. She thought to herself while looking up at the ceiling.
Harry had never been quite the same after the battle. She and Ginny had tried getting him to open up, but that only made it worse. He'd even stopped playing Quidditch. Hailey knew that was a bad sign. Quidditch was his favorite thing in the world. It probably didn't help that he had lost his Firebolt.
He'd have to come out of his shell sometime. Out of frustration at her twin brother, Hailey balled up the letter she had been writing and threw it at the wastepaper basket.

Quietly, she slipped up the stairs to his room. "Harry?" she asked quietly, pushing his door open. The scene here was all too familiar. He'd punch the walls, ceiling, anything he could reach with his fists, leaving considerable dents. The contents of his rucksack lay scattered over the floor.
Carefully, she picked her way through the rubble to the bed, where Harry lay, facedown. She sat next to him.
"Harry, you don't need to keep beating yourself up over this," she said calmly, rubbing his shoulder. "They were ready to die for us. You did a relly great thing."
"I'd rather it didn't happen," came Harry's voice, muffled by the pillow.
"So you'd rather that Mum didn't sacrifice herself for us? Is that it?"
"If it means I'm not famous, yes."
"Harry, it doesn't matter to any of us that you are. George may joke about it, but that's just him. We all care about you too much to just stand aside and let you waste away like this." It was true. Ever since the battle, Harry had hardly eaten anything, instead preferring to stay up here.
"I'm fine," he replied tensely.
"Sure you are. I haven't seen you this thin in years. You're not fine, Harry. You need to pick yourself up and move on with your life." She rumpled his hair, knowing how much it bugged him.
It worked. He sat up, looking worse than he ever had. On his forehead, the old scar seemed to stand out more on his pale face.
She pushed his glasses farther up his nose, then continued speaking.
"What happened to my brother? Where's the reckless Gryffindor with a saving-people thing? Harry, please,come back to us. The others…" she paused, not wanting to mention their names. "…they wouldn't want to see you like this. They're not really gone. They just…moved." She placed her hand over his heart. That remarkable heart. It had continued beating through everything. It loved so easily. He just sat there, ignoring her.
Hailey stood up. "I understand how you're feeling. Any sane person would feel the same.
"You really are an incredible man, Harry. And I'm proud to be your sister. The rest of the world, they don't understand. You're not who you are because of your scar. You mightf be famous because of it, but you're you. You stand up for everyone. You love.
"Killing Voldemort was your past. Your future is ahead of you. You need to move forward. Move forward with a purpose. I know you can do it." She walked out of the room, leaving Harry to his thoughts.



((So, what did you think? I'd love to hear from you!))