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The scars of war left on the world weren't small. They were ragged and painful and still bled when Harry thought too hard about those he'd lost.
The restoration projects had been completed months ago and the world was learning to heal. Harry was decidedly not doing that.
He had locked himself up in Grimmauld Place as soon as the dust had settled, transferred the Fidelis charm to Kreacher, and erected a mail ward to keep the worst of it out. He'd still been drowned in letters, marriage proposals, and gifts from well-wishers and summoned to dozens of trials. He ordered Kreacher to burn them all.
He was drowning in loss. They'd lost so many people and friends. His owl! He couldn't respond to those letters even if he wanted since he refused to replace Hedwig.
And he'd lost Fred.
When it happened, he couldn't stop to process losing him, couldn't stop to hold George and cry. When the first cheers went up as Riddle's body cooled and he saw George's tear-streaked, dust covered face, he ran. Over a dozen patronuses had been sent to him from the Weasley’s, mostly from George. Harry assumed half the pain he was in was from driving away his surviving mate.
He wouldn't face him. Not as he was.
He started with the Black family library. Dark as they were, the ancient family had a wealth of knowledge and he was powerful enough to take the risk. There were some highly illegal potions made of more blood than he was comfortable thinking about. It was only a few months before he started sneaking into the ministry. He stuck to the shadows, even though he was always under his father's cloak, and began combing through what was left of the Department of Mysteries. He raided the offices of the remaining Unspeakables and spent more time with the Veil than in his own home.
The Veil had been a surprise. Last time he'd seen it, he could hear the voices of course but he couldn't understand them. The first time Harry understood the words coming through the thing almost ended in arson.
His magic had gotten more erratic the longer he strayed into experimental magic and the longer he was away from George. He had a goal and the loss of control would not distract him from it.
The elder wand made its presence known shortly after his visit to the Veil and with it came the resurrection stone. No specter of Death. No Albus Dumbledore and no King's Cross. Just a wand and a stone to match his cloak and to remind him of all he'd lost. He took to destroying them in increasingly creative ways when they kept being returned to him.
He ate less than he slept and if anyone other than Kreacher had seen him in the last 6 months, he would be strapped to a bed in St Mungos. His cloak had become a second skin by this point, only leaving him long enough for a quick shower when the cranky elf took to drenching him in retaliation. Harry was too absorbed in his work to do it otherwise.
It had been nearly 3 years since the battle when he locked up Grimmauld Place. The happenings of his peers had long since lost meaning to him. The ritual was ready and Harry wasn't telling anyone he was leaving. He'd settled his affairs with the goblins and set Teddy up to inherit everything.
As he stepped into the ritual space, the hallows returned to their rightful place by his side, and his magic sings with contentment.
Taking a deep breath, Harry drank the potion and let the magic take him.
The shrill scream of the Hogwarts Express felt like an embrace. There were more children than he knew what to do with and he was once again wearing Dudley’s cast-offs but he'd succeeded. He came back. He had another chance.
His body was on near autopilot as he went through the motions of boarding the train and selecting a compartment he didn't realize he missed so much. Harry put Hedwig inside his compartment first, savoring the sounds of carefree children and how loose his joints felt in his 12 year old body.
Well mostly. The trunk was still a nightmare to lift and he did kinda miss his muscles.
"Want a hand?"
And Merlin had he missed that voice. George leaned over him, all long limbs and freckles covering every part of his face. Fred was just down the hall and Harry wanted nothing more than to bury his face in the chest and never move again. He wanted to cry and scream and run away. He almost couldn't look him in the eye. He'd succeeded. God he got another chance.
"Yes, please," Harry said instead.
He worked so hard to get back to them. No one was taking this from him. He'd kill Voldemort this year if he had to. He might even shake Malfoy’s hand. Just to get a little more time with his soulmates.
He'd do it right this time.