Title: The Art of Being Harry; or The Pursuit of Peace
Warnings: Violence, Child abuse, The general tomfoolery of magical beings
Pairing: Undetermined
Summary: In the immediate aftermath of the defeat of the Dark Lord, Harry strives for the pursuit of peace and being Just!Harry once again. Whether the Wizarding world will let him however, is anyone's guess.

It was done. He was finally dead, for good this time. It wasn't a matter of life and death at every single moment now, there was only life or something near to it. There would be only peace. That was a quality Harry most definitely yearned for. No more trials, no more Press, no more flip-flopping schoolmates, no more Dark Lord, just peace. Although, at the rate everything was moving in the scant few hours since Voldemort's timely demise, it seemed as if peace wasn't anywhere in his near future. Harry was exhausted. The need to sleep was building as he manouvered his way through the growing crowds of people clamoring for his attention. He'd even settle for his usual bed in the hospital wing right next to an extra snarky Professor Snape if he could just get some rest at last.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Potter," exclaimed a Hufflepuff third year unknown to him.

The thanksgiving from the younger years, his peers, he didn't mind so much really. It was the half-crazed adults that shouted at him their thanks from every available angle that was beginning to drain him completely. A nap in the hospital wing was starting to sound better and better to him, even if Madam Pomfrey did tend to hover and flit about Harry like a mother bird scolding one of her chicks.

"Harry, just Harry," he replied.

"H-H-Harry," squeaked the Hufflepuff.

"There you are,"Harry replied.

An absentminded pat to the child's head with one of those smiles that was beginning to make his face hurt and he was off again. Harry was becoming more maudlin with every step. The praise passing over him like the very oxygen used to the create the words in the first place. He had never done well with crowds. Harry was so focused he almost plowed into, a definitely feeling her age at the moment, Professor McGonagall.

"Do watch your step, Mr. Potter," she said, "And you should be off to see Madam Pomfrey."

"You are beginning to turn an exceedingly unpleasant shade of grey."

Harry nodded, an automatic reflex that bespoke of many years acknowledging this particular professor.

"Bed," he crooned tiredly.

"I should think so my boy," the Professor replied with a dark chuckle.

"You look positively ready to drop at any moment, Potter."

With a slow, precise flick of her wand, Harry suddenly felt distinctly lighter of foot.

"Thank you," Harry mumbled.

"No, thank you, Mr. Potter," stated the Professor with a warmth and pride that usually wasn't present in her voice.

Harry gave a tired grin of genuine affection to the woman who procured his first broom and proceeded to stumble off in the general direction of the hospital wing.

Bed, Bed, Bed.

It was a constant mantra in his mind as he shambled down the hall, each step seeming to get him no closer to his chosen destination.

In the end, it took the last of his strength he posessed to simply put one foot in front of the other to slowly amble through the doorway and collapse into the only available bed. As Harry's eyes shut, he thought he could just make out Madam Pomfrey yelling out things he couldn't comprehend. Then, all at once, everything went dark and silent.

Dreaming was something Harry normally avoided at all costs. Pleasnt dreams weren't afforded to him often. So, naturally he more than welcomed any pleasing images his brain decided to relay to him as he slept. Tonight however, it seemed even his overly veded brain was giving him a break. There was nothing for once, just the dark and calm of rejuvenating sleep much needed. Perhaps tonight he might finally get some rest.

"It's been three days, how much longer is he going to sleep?"

"Madam Pomfrey said his sleep is magical, Ron. His magical core is recovering and expanding at an unprecedented rate."

"You mean his magic is getting even stronger?"

"Blimey!" exclaimed Ron.

"Language, Ron!"

"Why do you think he's getting more magic now, I mean Voldemort's toast."

"Well, I postulate that he's either come into some sort of magical boost to make up for what I don't know, or perhaps from the strain Harry's magical core has been under these past few years."

"I guess we'll just have to wait for Pomfrey to tell us then."

"Madam Pomfrey, Ron," corrected Hermione.

Ron gave a grin of affection to his now three day old girlfriend. Reach out with a quick snap of arm, he snagged Hermione and tugged her close.

"I love your brain," said Ron with a laugh just before snogging her senseless.

A few minutes later, two-thirds of the reknowned Golden Trio departed from the bedside of their slumbering best friend and savior. Albeit, breathing harder and redder of face than when they first entered the hospital wing.

Preview of Chapter 2:

"It seems I was correct in your first year when I said you posessed sheer dumb luck, Mr. Potter."

Harry gave a sheepish sort of a grin, after all, who was he to argue with truth? Though, he could have used some luck a few minutes ago with Madam Pomfrey.

AN: This is my first foray in Harry Potter. I update VERY VERY SLOWLY. So, don't expect an outpouring of chapters. Constructive criticism would be nice.