Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, I am not making money from this, and all that jazz.

Warnings: Gen fic, AU, language, coming of age fic (kinda maybe we'll see) Possible misrepresentation of foreign countries, future smut, future slash (maybe kinda we'll see), No Pairings. OC's, OOC-ness (a little)

Summary: Harry is tired of the wizarding world and how they treat him after the war. Fans and reporters are best dealt with at a distance, so Harry is going to do that. With his trusty trunk he is going on Holiday, and they better not follow! Harry will travel to different countries and finally get to see the world, meeting new people, seeing amazing new places, and most of all, healing.

The Trunk Chronicles

Peace Out, B******!

After his defeat of the Dark Lord, Harry experienced one of the few drawbacks of being a hero: Fans. They were everywhere! They were at the Ministry when the Minister asked for his company, they were outside his home, in Diagon Alley when he was shopping, and once when Harry went to a muggle grocer they had crowded the muggle shop and the poor flustered owner didn't know what to do. Did he assume Harry was celebrity and ask security to protect him, or ask Harry to leave and allow his business to return to normal?

Harry tried putting up with it at the start, but they slowly grated on his nerves until one day he snapped and ran out of his house brandishing a sweeping broom, flailing it around and screaming for them to leave. His exact his words had been 'Be gone you heathens! Be gone you foul parasites of magic!' In his defense it had been four in the morning and the group of fans and reporters had started a bonfire and sing-a-long loudly chanting his accomplishments to the neighbourhood. You don't just take that lying down!

Harry hoped that his small very tiny moment of crazy would scare his fans away and give him some peace, but it wasn't to be. The public's love for him had extended to the point where he could have pole-danced starkers on Big Ben's Hour arm and they would cheer him on. The morning edition of the prophet had boldly announced to the wizarding public 'Harry Potter Reenacts The Final Battle For Admirers'. The accompanying picture showed his looking downright psychotic with his old broom and his rumpled pajamas and tattered slippers. Harry groaned and then closed his floo, not looking forward to his friends calls and offers to talk.

That was another thing he hated. Everyone from Ron and Hermione, to a Ravenclaw classmate's neighbour's second cousin were asking him if he wanted to talk. They had concluded that after such a large and tiring ordeal that Harry may be suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. He didn't even know what that was, so he could hardly argue with Hermione when she announced her most conclusive reasoning behinds Harry's desire to hide away and not get back together with Ginny. Was it really so hard to just accept that he was tired? He fought a life threatening battle against a big mean grey dark loving fighting machine. He felt he was allowed the opportunity to kick back, relax, and not fear for his life for once. If that happened to not include Ginny, then he didn't see the problem.

Sure, he loved Ginny. She was a fierce woman with bravery and loyalty to spare, but when he approached her after the battle she had hugged him too tightly for his abused body, and then chatted his ear off about everything and nothing. It was then that Harry realized that just because they fought for the same banner, he really had nothing in common with the girl. She was still attractive in her battle worn clothes and he still loved her, but… he wasn't feeling it anymore. Their relationship had been short and sweet with clandestine meetings behind tapestries and fueled on the thrill that it was semi-forbidden- her being his best mate's younger sister and all. Add the acceptance from her family, subtract the fear of being dead tomorrow and all Harry was left with was a platonic love. Which apparently meant PTSD.

When Harry looked it up he didn't think he had it. All the 'symptoms' were pretty vague in his opinion. When he argued with Hermione about this she stood firm to her expert diagnosis. More frustrating than fighting with a stubborn Hermione was that everyone believed her because it was Hermione saying it and Hermione was the smart one, the cleverest witch of their age and all that. But Harry knew he didn't suffer from PTSD.

Did he have nightmares of the event? Yes, but he also had nightmares about loads of things. Green lights… not the most common but he did have it so it pointed it out.

"When I was little I had nightmares about a shooting green light. Does that mean I had PTSD since I was one?" He challenged Hermione.

"Oh Harry, that doesn't count. All children had nightmares about something, it doesn't mean they suffer stress from closets or the dark under the bed. No what I'm talking about is the nightmares you have from the time you fought Voldemort," Hermione countered.

"Ha!" Harry jumped on the flaw win her argument, "But technically I fought Voldemort that night in Godric's Hallow too. What do you say now?"

"Harry, why must you be so obstinate? You know that's not what I meant at all." Hermione had shook her head and gave him a disappointed look.

The next point was that he was 'numb' to the rest of the world. Harry didn't think he was. He just found that without a mad man determined to rip his soul from his body and cut him to pieces, things didn't seem as dramatic as everyone made them out to be. Like for example when Harry told Ginny firmly they weren't getting back together. The girl had cried, Ron had shouted and Hermione had tutted. Harry didn't see why they acted that way since Harry had broken up with Ginny a long while ago and really hadn't thought much about her on their Horcrux hunt. Why was it so hard to believe he had moved on? He wasn't being 'numb', they were just being drama queens. Harry tried arguing this but was shot down.

"I can feel things you know. I feel hungry, so I eat and then I feel content. I feel cold, so I put on a sweater and I feel content. I feel the need to piss badly so I go to the loo and feel so infinitely relieved it's wonderful." Harry was firm in the stance that he wasn't numb.

"Harry those as basic feelings and needs. Those don't count. I'm talking about you feeling emotionally numb. You don't laugh like you used to, you don't want to date Ginny again, and I haven't seen you smile once since the battle," Hermione stated.

"Hermione, I don't laugh because everyone is still so somber from the funerals, I don't want to date Ginny because I don't feel that way for her anymore, and I can't smile when you and everyone else you recruited constantly pester me. Who smiles when they are getting pestered? No one!" If anything he will develop PTSD from Hermione and her crusade to prove he wasn't mentally stable.

Next she tried pointing out that he lacked interest in his normal activities but Harry thought it was normal to avoid planning pranks when you would be accused of distancing or avoiding certain situations that could remind him of the event. Then she accused him of having difficulty concentrating which was a load of rubbish in his mind. He could concentrate just fine, the only reason he didn't concentrate was because every time she opened her mouth it was the same speech. Frankly, Harry was tired of it.

Harry didn't think he was the problem, but they were. He was moving on and growing up just fine after the battle, but they seemed stuck in the past and were transferring their fears and insecurities onto him so that they could feel better. Well Harry wasn't going to have it. If he could grow up then so could they, without him to use as a scapegoat.

So one night when Harry was preparing some edible projectiles to throw at the crowd of fans outside his house starting another worship circle, Harry got an idea. Why did he need to stay here and suffer from fans, media, and his nag happy friends? He could leave. He was the bloody hero, he could do what he wanted.

Running up to his room, Harry grabbed his old school trunk and decided that he would travel, he would explore the world with just himself and his old trunk. Together the two of them would create memories, learn new things, and most importantly live life the way Harry wanted. Throwing some clothes and his broom into the trunk, Harry left a note and left.

A few days later when a worried Ron and Hermione had pushed their way into his home, they would only find a note happily saying,

I'm going on holiday! Don't follow me.