I don't own Harry Potter. It belongs to JKR.

Reality of a Hero

Chapter 1: Lost

Harry sighed again and knocked back the drink in his hand. Another night, another bar, another alcoholic concoction that he wouldn't remember the name of tomorrow, another partner who would be nothing but a fading dream tomorrow morning… afternoon, whatever. He would have rubbed his eyes, but that would have smeared his eyeliner. Instead he snickered to himself at his currently melodramatic melancholy.

The club was typical of its genre, filled with a multitude of people dressed in all manner of clothing, from full Elizabethan Dress to jeans and T-shirts. The average hair length was mid back and the average amount of makeup would have made a drag queen swoon with delight.

Taking his drink, he made his way over to a dark corner and plonked himself gracelessly down, or as close to gracelessly as he got these days. At twenty-eight, he still hadn't managed to top more then half a foot over five. And he was still as slender as a beanpole. He's long ago decided to just blame the Dursleys and be done with it. His glass, complete with it's blood red drink went onto the rose decorated shelf beside him and the Boy-Who-Lived-and-Defeated-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or whatever they were calling him these days settled back to enjoy the music and the ambience and to try, if only for a few hours to forget… everything.

The night passed into blur of lights and music and scantily clad bodies pressing up against him after the bargirl passed him a small pink pill with his last cocktail. Through the haze, the lights made pretty patterns as they trailed over the dance-floor, over the ceiling, the walls and the other dancers. He didn't remember getting up onto the dance floor. He didn't remember someone opening his shirt. The hot press of flesh, flat chest, a pierced nipple, the sensation of a syringe against his arm and the music began to speed up and become louder, somehow becoming calmer at the same time. He remembered being shoved onto the couch and he remembered the feel of hot, wet pussy surrounding him as the woman under him murmured something about 'Albert'. He remembered being lubed up and penetrated from behind and someone tracing his tattoos as they moved within him. He remembered arching back into the double sensations and he remembered spinning away on a whirlwind of sensation from the touches and the smells and the alcohol and the drugs and the men and the women. He remembered cuming.

He knew he returned to the dance floor with the smell of sweat and sex still on him, his shirt stained and his trousers sticking to his arse. He remembered finding cum in his hair and thinking it hilarious.

He was sure there had been more then those first ones. His arse hurt by the time the club closed and the drug began to fade. He was pretty sure he had managed to acquire at least three phone numbers and he had a feeling he wasn't wearing his own shirt as he stumbled into an alleyway near the club and jerkily pulled the portkey chain twice to activate it.

He didn't remember falling into bed, but that was because he didn't.

HP

"Harry!"

"Harry!"

The voice which broke through the drug and alcohol fuelled dreamland was filled with worry and… something he wasn't in any condition to recognise. The voice, however, was familiar. Hermione… what was she doing here?

"Harry! Come on, you have to get up!"

Realising she wasn't going to go away, he slowly forced himself in the general direction of full awareness, feeling his stomach and his head object painfully.

"'Mione…" he slurred on his second try, "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, Merlin, Harry; are you alright? What happened to you?"

"'m fine." He opened his eyes, noticing in the back of his mind that he was on the couch with Hermione looking worriedly at him before closing his eyes in pain. He rolled over with a low moan and forced himself into a sitting position, "Coffee…"

"Cof…? No Harry, we have to get you to St Mungo's."

"St Mungh..Gungo's?"

"Yes, you have to report this, Harry!" she was starting to sound hysterical.

He blinked dazedly at her, what memories of the previous night he had coming back to him, "Report…? Coffee… shower… talk…okay?"

"No Harry! You can't! The evidence… We have to go to St Mungo's and report this!"

Realising that Hermione was not going to let up and having no idea why she was desperate to get him to hospital, he slowly dragged himself to his feet, closing his eyes as the world spun and then shakily made his way to the kitchen. Still with his eyes closed, but with the ease of long practise, he snagged the hangover cure from the table where he always left one when he was going out and drained it in one go, slumping into a chair with a groan as it hit his stomach. Hermione followed him out, wringing her hands and muttering about St Mungo's and Aurors. He hunched over the table, resting his head in his hands as he waited for the potion to kick in.

A few moments later, he waved a hand in the general direction of the coffee machine which immediately turned on. Ignoring Hermione's pinched expression; he used the same method to get a cup under the spout and milk onto the table. He downed the first cup in one go, glad to get the taste of the hangover potion out of his mouth. It was his own creation, designed to get rid of more then just the alcohol.

Standing up, the shakes gone, Harry walked back over to the coffee machine, "Do you want a cup?"

"No!" Hermione snapped, folding her arms across her chest.

Harry shrugged and poured himself a second cup, taking a look in the mirror as he did so. His eyes widened, "Shit…"

His eyeliner and mascara were all over the place and the non-smear burgundy lip gloss had not lived up to the advertising. Despite being waist-length, his hair was going a Robert Smith impression and going from the flakes, using cum instead of gel. He could vaguely remember someone pulling out of his mouth… It had been funny at the time… Groaning, he took stock of the extent of his condition. His arse hurt, which wasn't unusual and suggested that there were more people then the original group he remembered. His dick felt like a wet rag, he needed a piss and for some reason his right nipple hurt. There were four long scrapes across his chest when he opened the shirt… the slut in the red corset? And he was somewhat bemused to discover he had got his second nipple pierced at some point. Had that been the big black man? He's had a needle… or was it a syringe? He probably had a handful of hickies as well and of course, he plucked at the bright pink shirt he was wearing and shuddered, he's been right the night before, he was wearing someone else's shirt.

"Mione, I need a shower and a change of clothes. Whatever the emergency is, can it wait till then?"

"No!" she yelped, "We have to go now so they can get the evidence. You can't shower!"

Harry blinked at her, confusion evident on his face, "What evidence?

"The rape… You were 'attacked' right? That's why you're in this condition, right? All bloody and… and…" she waved vaguely to his hair and side. Harry followed the waving hand and found a condom stuck to the side of the shirt.

"The rape? You thought I was raped?" Harry laughed, "Hermione Granger, always the first person to jump to conclusions! I hate to disappoint you, Mione, but this is how I usually look on Saturday mornings… afternoons." He corrected himself when he noticed the time.

"What?" the look of horror on the girl's face drew a sigh from the man standing on front of her.

"When I get back down, Mione, I'll answer any questions then. All I ask is the basic courtesy of not going to the paper with anything I say".

At her nod, he went back into the sitting room and climbed the stairs, slowly disappearing. Hermione waited until she heard the shower turn on before heading for the kettle. She needed tea. She possibly needed a large shot of brandy as well, but had no idea where Harry kept it.

Walking into the kitchen an hour later, his still damp hair in a loose plait and dressed in a pair of black combats and an open shirt, he looked far better then he had before as he absently fiddled with a nipple ring. Hermione was sitting with her arms and legs crossed and glared at him from the moment he was through the door. Harry sighed, there was no way to prepare for this conversation, nor was there anything he would say or do to lessen the blow. So he hadn't bothered to try… hence the open shirt.

Hermione's eyes widened as she took in the sight of him. At five foot five, he wasn't that tall, but he was one of the most powerful wizards in the world and that confidence showed in every fibre of his being. He might have been slender, but he had packed a wiry strength into his body over the years, there wasn't an ounce of fat on him, it was all muscle. The tattoos stood out starkly against his pale skin and black shirt. On the left was the massive Celtic eagle that went from below his ear to his thigh. On the right, a second stylized stag and grim like dog chased each other from his shoulder to his ankle. There was a lily on his lower stomach, she knew, positioned so that it was between the stag and the dog and on the centre of his back, a snake curled up his spine. The zodiac sign for Gemini was below it with an interlocked G and F. She could clearly see all the tattoos; her mind filled in the pieces covered by his clothing having heard them described enough times. A nipple ring glinted on each side of his chest, catching the light as he moved gracefully towards her.

"What do you want to know?" he asked as he poured himself a cup of tea from the pot she had made and sat down.

"When did you get your nipples pierced?"

He leaned back, "The left was in seventh year. It was dare from Seamus. The right was sometime last night."

"How many do you have?"

"Two in my nipples, two in my dick, six in my ears and one in the nape of my neck."

"Your…" the shock on her face was almost comical.

"Mmhum" he nodded in agreement.

"Why…?"

"Why not? Because I wanted to? Because I'm not part of the wizarding world and don't need to conform to their standards? Which answer do you want?"

They were silent for a moment.

"What happened last night?"

Harry shrugged, "I went out to a club and started drinking. Eventually I was offered something else and I took it. After that everything goes a bit hazy."

"Drugs? YOU took drugs? How could you Harry?" Hermione had jumped to her feet, scowling at him, "Are you insane? Do you have any idea what they can do to you?" she was practically shrieking by the time she finished.

Harry remained seated, looking at her calmly, "Yes, yes, because I wanted to, probably and yes."

"What?"

"You asked the questions, Hermione, I answered them."

She sat down slowly, going over what he had said, "You wanted to?"

"I went out to get drunk, get high and get laid. I wanted to forget, to just enjoy myself without having to worry about anything."

"Did you have sex?"

"Yes, at least six times going off how much my arse hurts."

"Language, Harry" she frowned in concentration, "You're gay?"

"Bi if you want to get technical. I think I screwed four girls, but one of them could have been a bloke."

Seeing Hermione's expression, he elaborated, "They slid under me while I was giving a blow job to someone else. I was too off my head at that point to remember it clearly enough to tell." He shrugged, "I probably knew at the time."

"The cuts in your chest?"

"An over enthusiastic young lady with very sharp and very fake nails. The most I remember about her was a leather corset she looked ready to pop out of."

Hermione uncrossed her arms and then crossed them again, trying to reconcile that she thought of Harry with what she now knew, "You went to the club to get laid?"

He nodded and sighed, sinking further into the chair, "Sometimes I'll pick just one or two and bring them home. Other times, I'll take advantage of the club's… unorthodox behaviour policies, if I'm in a place with those policies anyway. Like I said, I went to drink, to get high, to get laid, to have a good time without having to worry about either the press or the wizarding world or tomorrow."

She bit her lip, putting together all the clues she'd ignored over the years, "That's what… Oh Merlin, Ron! You and… Oh Merlin."

A pained smile crossed Harry's lips at the mention of his childhood friend, "Yes. He walked in on us. I always hoped he'd get over it."

"Sweet Circe, I'm sorry Harry, I never… I didn't know…"

"It's alright Hermione, 'Survivor's Guilt never helped anybody, so snap out of it', isn't that what you said at the time?"

She winced at the callous tone of his voice as he mimicked her that day perfectly. She wanted to reach over and hug him, but knew the touch would be unwelcome. In some ways Harry was more open these days then ever, in other's he was even more closed off.

"Is this why you and Remus aren't talking?"

"Remus thinks I'm wasting my life. He wants me to return to the wizarding world and go back to being its hero."

"And you don't want to?"

"Nope. I've had enough of those… sheeple to last me a lifetime."

"Isn't there anything for you there?" Hermione whispered.

"Like what Hermione? Beyond sycophantic worship, what can I have in the wizarding world that I can't have here? I can't play Quidditch. I have no desire to get within a hundred yards of the ministry ever again, let alone work for it. Dumbledore pretty much ruined any chance of me ever wanting to return to Hogwarts. Where else would let the Boy-Who-Lived work after the first few times I get mobbed? The Weasleys… let's not go there. Neville has moved on and got his life sorted out and you visit when you get the chance. What do I have there, Hermione?" there was a thread of anger in his voice now.

"But Harry, we need you. You are a symbol of light and hope. The people need you to be there for them."

"Like they needed an abused child to save them?"

Hermione was silent for a moment, then she shook her head, "Remus is right, Harry, you're wasting you life."

"They were silent for a moment. Hermione shifted slightly letting Harry know that there was something she was working up the courage to ask him. He waited until she bit her lip and straightened his back for what he knew would be the last fight they ever had.

"How can you enjoy this life?" There was desperation in her voice.

"How can I enjoy Quidditch? How can I enjoy loosing at chess? I don't know, I just do. Is that really so wrong?"

"I don't know…" she hugged herself tighter, "Why did you never tell me about… about this?"

"Because I was scared you'd react the way you are now."

The anger in her eyes was immediate, "You were scared of how I'd react? This was a better way of finding out? Coming to visit and seeing you so cut up I thought you had been raped? How the hell am I meant to react? How can you live like this Harry? How can you want to?"

The spark of anger had reached his eyes, "Why do you care Hermione? You've got your own life."

"I care because you are my friend, or at least I thought you were! But after this? I always thought you were doing something here, instead you're getting drunk and taking drugs! I don't know what happened to you Harry, but I don't like it. You need to come back to the wizarding world and get yourself sorted out, now!"

"I don't think so."

"Damn it, Harry! The minister is demanding your presence, and you will damn well take an interest in the world around you, or so help me God…"

"Or what, Hermione? Why should I care? Haven't I given them enough already?" Harry snapped, ignoring the fact that Hermione was swearing, Harry felt his own anger beginning to rise, how dare she…

Hermione was practically shaking, "Harry James Potter, you will be at the ministry tomorrow morning and you will leave this insane waste you call your life or I will never see you again. Remus is right! You are just a bitter little boy hiding because he scared to come out! You're just like Snape, holding grudges and punishing everyone else because Dumbledore is dead!"

She stood up then and turning, stormed out the door. Harry watched her go, a look of infinite sadness on his face as he softly whispered, "Why Hermione, why can't you just let me be?"

He had known he would loose Hermione, just as he had lost Ron because of this, although not for the exact same reason. Despite their claims to the contrary, he was still The Boy Who Lived to them, the hero. He always had been, right up until he shattered the illusion by showing them the side of himself that didn't match their expectations. For Ron it was finding out he liked blokes. For Hermione it was the discovery he wasn't fighting some crusade from his bedroom.

He went to a club again that night, breaking his usual rule of not going two nights in a row. He had to use a healing potion, something he hated to do.

The club was rammed, more so then his usual venues, with people. He made his way to the bar and ordered a bottle of Tequila. He had no idea how much he drank before the pill was offered. He snatched it eagerly and downed it with what was left of the Tequila, followed by the worm.

Reality phased out under the drug's influence and the dance floor beckoned. Yes, this was what he wanted, then was what he needed. He let the drug take him. Tears fell from his eyes, mixing with the sweat on his face. He wanted them to understand, the chance to explain… He wanted to do it all over again and get it right this time.

In the sweltering heat of the nightclub, Harry's magic soared. Under the influence of the drug, it followed his subconscious order and found away to obey.

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