The characters of the following story belong to J.K Rowling and this is my version of after war.
Chapter 1
Drop…Drop…Drops of Blood were hitting a dirty ceramic floor, making a small red pool. It was too foggy to see the source of Blood but he tried. His fingers tried to clear the fog and his eyes saw a bloody hand..." help" he whispered. He wanted to go further but his legs wouldn't let him…Blood was dripping from a deep cut on a wrist and when he got a closer a look he saw a handwriting …
"I must not tell lies"
He opened his mouth in a silent scream but the voice died down from the horror of the scene in front of him. The bloody wrist…his wrist was cut off. His broken fingers wrapped around the elder wand…" No.." he whispered louder this time. His breathing became heavy...He took a step back, then another and something hit his ankle, making him fall on his back. Only he didn't fall on the floor but he kept sinking in the darkness. Pain shot through his body and his green eyes snapped open…His heart was beating fast and his chest was on fire…He gripped the wand in his sweaty scared hand and sat up, ready to face the danger but there was none. His chest was moving up and down rapidly and he was panting like he had just ran a mile or two. He realized from his clear sight that he had fallen sleep with his glasses on his eyes. He let out a shaky breath and leaned back on the headboard. Hermione was curled up in Ron's arms right in the next bed. He fixed his eyes on the two of them, sleeping not peacefully yet soundly. One would think he finally should be happy or feel something. Now that there was no…No Dark Lord. A green light flashed in front of her inner mind and his body stiffened for a minute and this time he noticed the pain in his chest. He rubbed the place with his palm which only made things worse. There was a pile of sandwiches and a jug pumpkin's juice next to his bed along with some clean clothes which he assumed was Creature's work. His hand snatched some clean clothes and he half dragged himself in the bathroom to take a shower. He felt…Dirty. As Dark and dirty as the spilled blood, As Death.
His nails pulled on the fabric, covering his body and took off every single piece of clothing…He looked up to the mirror and stared back at the broken yet familiar image of the Harry James Potter with a new set off scars, including a life longing deep open gash on his chest, right where the killing curse had hit him for the second time. It was like someone had ripped him apart…A part of him was missing and he felt…nothing…No feelings...His mind was shut down and wouldn't let him remember or feel at all…but deep down the pain was pulsing…breathing and seeking a chance to lash out and sallow what was left in his shell. Harry took off the glasses with surprisingly steady hands and opened the cold water, closing his eyes and leaning back his head to the wall, wishing it could wash everything away. The freezing water was hitting his skin constantly but all he felt was burning. His nails were turning purple and his skin started to feel numb after a while. Just like his mind, just how he wanted to feel. His eyes opened for a second and what he saw made his breath hitch. Blood was gathered around his feet and the cold water was only making it grow. He traced his new scar and watched his bloodstained hands which was clean after seconds by the water.