Summary: Harry once knew love and to be loved but now that's long gone. He goes on an adventure to reclaim what was once his but is it all for naught?
Harry has lost many friends and family during the war. Everyone sees him as the saviour of the Wizarding World but all the death has had a negative effect on the young Potter. Now he's but the shell of a man and talk of the town in hushed whispers. Everyone else has deserted him but his best friend, Ginny.
This is a Harmione story, which is why Ginny is the best friend (not the love interest). Everyone who has died in the canon is still dead. Post-War, AU I guess. EWE and maybe OOC but we will see.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
It had been years since he last felt whole, since he last felt like he was worth something. He knew love, what it was to feel loved, but it was just a vague memory and never felt again. He waxes nostalgic from time to time but it brings him despair not comfort. What he would do for one last taste, one touch, one thing to bring him hope again.
Day in, day out, it is all the same. He interacts will all those around him but it's just a facade. He knows what they say behind closed doors and cupped hands. He's the one that had it all at one time, the one who was destined for greatness and who had finally achieved it. He was the one, the Chosen One. But now he is nothing. A ghost among the living, barely there and wishing to just past over. After the pleasantries are exchanged, they quickly run away from him. They don't want what has befallen him to happen to them or their loved ones. It seems that everything he touches is taken away from him. A dark cloud hovers above, stealing his warmth and warding off others.
All except one. She has been here the whole time, but he knows it's just out of pity. She was there when he once felt love, watched as he crumpled and fell to his knees, and she is there in the aftermath. But everyday he worries, for how long? When will that final day come when she just walks out of his life, disappears like all the others, and leaves him completely and utterly alone? It is this dread that frightens him while it fuels the rain clouds above, the dread that causes him to lash out at her and others and renews the cycle of self-loathing and loneliness.
A knock on the door brings him out of his fog, his internal meditation and half-sleep. It must be her, no one else visits. He lumbers out of his room towards his front door, the path easily traversed through muscle memory and lack of inconveniencing furniture. He pulls the door slightly, his eyes slightly burning from the bright light of the outdoors. A sight like him would frighten little children, cause mothers to draw them close to their bosom. But not her, never her it seemed. She smiles sweetly at him before pushing the door further and walking in, neither waiting for invitation nor resistance. This is their daily routine it seems and he grateful for her, though he never shows it. She will never know just how much her presence keeps him alive.