Chapter 1: Harry's Depression
The war was finally over. it was all over. as darkness fell over Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a heavy sadness rolled over the survivors. Harry pocketed his wand and walked through the once magnificent Great Hall that was now reduced to ruins. It felt as though an iron hand had clasped over his heart; much more than a school, it felt like his home had been destroyed. And what was worse was that there were deaths.
He tore his eyes toward the ceiling and swallowed hard to try to clear the lump that was swelling in his throat. His eyes were watering and he forced himself to stare into the infinite depths of the Hall's sky-like ceiling, which was now a stony gray. He knew that only feet away the Weasleys were crowding around Fred's body, and further along the hall Lupin and Tonks were dead too. It was too much for him, he put his hands over his eyes and felt tears streaming steadily out. It was as though an endless movie were unraveling in his mind; the first time he met Fred while boarding the Hogwarts express, the endless laughter, Quidditch, when he first learned to apparate at Headquarters, the sleepy summer days and dinners at the Burrow. Now he was gone. How could it be possible? Fred had been fighting right beside him only hours ago. And Harry knew, deep within his heart, that the whole thing had been his fault. If he had not spent time with the Weasleys then they would not have been dragged into this war, they would never have joined the Order of the Phoenix, and Fred and George would probably be laughing heartily while people bought their skiving snackboxes at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.
And then there was Lupin. Lupin, the man who had been like a father to him during his third year at Hogwarts. The man who had given him his first real look at Defense Against the Dark Arts, who told him he was just like his father and had his mother's eyes. Harry could see flashes of dementor lessons, fighting boggarts, long discussions with Lupin and cheering-up chocolate. It seemed like only yesterday he had clapped Harry on the shoulder after his exam and told him how proud he was of him. Just yesterday when they discovered he was a werewolf and Harry had discovered that he had been one of his father's best friends. It was too much to handle. Lupin had given everything to Harry, and he was all Harry had left of his father's friends. His father had died, then Sirius, and now Lupin was lying dead just feet away from him. The life extinguished from his body because he fought to save wizard-kind from Lord Voldemort. And, tragically, the whole wizarding world hated him for being a werewolf. This thought made the tears flow harder and Harry let out an audible sob. No one seemed to notice though. The stillness and emptiness had permeated the crowd, the sorrow had cast an eerie deafness upon the survivors.
Suddenly Harry hated himself more than anyone. He wished he had never been born, that he had simply died during Lord Voldemort's attack. Because now, even though Voldemort was gone, all these innocent people had died to make sure that Harry would live. He was the cause of all this suffering. He alone was responsible for the deaths. For George having to live without his best friend and brother, for Dumbledore dying, for Sirius falling through the veil, for Snape, for Lupin and Tonks, for so many members of the Order...for Dobby. It was overwhelming, it was sickening.
Harry picked himself out and ran out onto the lawn. He knew it would be the last time he ever saw it. The school stood behind him, jutting sharply into the steely sky. He could see the window of the Gryffindor Tower, where he spent so many evenings, wizard chess, exploding snap, homework with Ron and Hermione, lazy winter days in front of the fireplace, watching Fred and George test out their new creations, throwing parties after Quidditch matches. He could see Hagrid's hut, and suddenly memories of Norbert and Hippogriffs appeared in his mind, treacle fudge, Hagrid's stories of fascinating creatures, and Fang leaping up at the three of them when they came down for evening chats. It struck Harry harder than ever that it was really over. There would be no more of those lazy days by the lake, no more adventures, no more treading down the familiar path to Hogsmeade or butterbeers in the three broomsticks. No more Transfiguration homework or heckling from Snape. No more anything. No more home, for Hogwarts was home and there was no Hogwarts anymore. Hogwarts had died when Dumbledore died. This was the end of everything. Harry did not even care that Voldemort was dead; there was no satisfaction in knowing that he would never be back and his scar would never again wake him during the middle of the night. He would give anything to have it all back to the way it was; when the worst thing was having Malfoy make fun of you, when the whole month led up to a sunny day and a quidditch match, to milling around near the lake, watching the squid bask in the summer sun, to have another exam and to once again see Dumbledore welcoming first years into the Great Hall.
But it was over now. It was all over. Nothing would ever be the same. Harry could hardly breathe for crying, his heavy breathing fading into the thick, cloudy air. He gazed up one last time at his house, the Hogwarts castle, to the memories of the best time of his life. He thought of the moment he first saw the castle, that split second when he thought he was dreaming. When he saw the turrets and gently rising smoke coming from the chimneys. He thought of that wonderful feeling and was now experiencing the worst in the world. Because now it was gone. Half was destroyed in the battle, and the soul of the castle was gone. The echoing laughter of the Weasley twins, the wise gaze of Dumbledore. And Harry knew that he would never be as happy as he was back then.
Chapter 2: After the War
After the end of the war, Harry had nowhere to go, so the Weasleys let him live at the Burrow until he found his feet. It was only that Harry had been too depressed to really do much of anything. He spent most of his time staring through the cracks of the Burrow's attic ceiling, gazing at the forever-gray sky that seemed to have plagued England since the war. It was as though the whole wizarding world was still mourning for all who lost their lives, but somehow Harry found the darkness soothing. It brought him back to that day at Hogwarts, when he looked up at it for the last time and was filled with all those happy memories. Only when he saw the same sky could he remember all the goodness that once surrounded him, the goodness that was now so intangible.
It was during those long days in the attic all alone that he really found Ginny. After a few weeks of hardly speaking or seeing anyone, she finally came up to the attic to see him, bringing a bottle of Odgen's Old Firewhiskey with her. She claimed that she had realized where he was when she noticed the ghoul of the attic had moved into the shed, but Harry had the feeling that she had been watching him somehow. Not that he minded entirely, for in his last years at Hogwarts he had started to notice how beautiful she truly was. True, sometimes he saw Ron's face when he looked at her, but he could usually overcome that. Her hair was long and silky, strikingly red, and her eyes had this vibrant sense of life in them that he did not see in anyone else's. He distinctly remembered when he had found out that she was dating Michael Corner, how his insides had twisted in anger, how, during the middle of the night, he had punched the common room wall because he did not feel like he was allowed to dream of her anymore.
But it all ended, of course, when the war started. Ginny was forced into the recesses of his brain, back behind all the tears and fighting and sorrow. But now, with seemingly nothing left to live for, Ginny's face had reemerged. Her happiness and optimism like some infectious disease that Harry's immune system could no longer resist.
So she brought up the firewhiskey. She sat next to him, watching the grim looking sunset fade behind the village of Ottery-St. Catchpole.
"Do you want a few shots or something, Harry? You look so glum. Maybe it'll help just to relax and cut back a little." she said.
"Erm - yeah, I guess so. I've never really had firewhiskey before though. Is it strong?" asked Harry.
"What? You've never had firewhiskey? Well, I suppose I never did see you drinking much. You were always off busy somewhere." Harry looked up at her and snorted. "Well you were! Don't be modest! I mean, c'mon, You-Know-Who was after you half the time! It's expected! But as for me, I used to always sneak down with the other kids and drink firewhiskey in the forest. You know, me and a couple of guys, spin the bottle ..." she trailed off, noticing the angry look on Harry's face.
"Oh well that's good. I hope you had fun. My turn now." Harry picked up the bottle and unscrewed the cap. He upturned the bottle and poured several very large gulps into his mouth. He screwed up his face at the taste, but then grabbed the bottle again and chugged more of it. Ginny had to pull the bottle out of his mouth to make him stop.
"Harry! What are you thinking? Don't you know how strong Firewhiskey is? Only one shot is enough to make you completely mad! Why did you drink so much" she cried desperately.
"Well sorry if i am fucking depressed!" he cried out angrily. He wasn't sure what was making him say it, but he felt as though a whole summer's worth of anger was boiling out of him, like an exploding cauldron in potion's class. "I've been sitting in this fucking room half the summer, knowing that I am responsible for everything! It's me, Ginny! My fucking fault! They all died because I'm alive. I wish I hadn't been fucking born. You'd be sitting here with Fred right now if it weren't for me. If I didn't exist, your family would be happy." He lowered his face, he suddenly felt a surge of guilt for what he had just said.
Instead, something funny happened. Ginny looked at him, her eyes teary, but she put her hand under his chin. She pulled his face up and then closer to hers and said 'no, I thank God every day that you survived'. Then she kissed him. He pulled back out of surprise, and half out of dizziness from the firewhiskey. He gazed at her for a moment, then pulled her body close to his. She smelled so good, like butterbeer and fizzing whizbees. Her body was light and easy to handle, and he laid down and pulled her on top of him. She willingly kissed him for several long minutes, her red hair covering him and lightly brushing against his face. But then she pulled away, first looking at him and then turning gazing up at the night sky.
Harry felt a strong sensation in his groin area; he didn't want her to stop. He was angry at her for stopping and denying him. Was she thinking of Michael Corner instead?
"What? Too busy thinking of sleeping with another Hogwarts student, eh?" he said nastily.
"Are you fucking kidding me? How very dare you?!" she cried, shaking as she looked into his emerald green eyes. She turned again, getting ready to get up. But Harry grabbed her around the waist, pulling her backwards into the front of his body. He grabbed at her hair with one hand and pulled at her lace shirt with the other. It ripped easily, exposing a light pink bra on top of milky skin. She was clearly crying now, though not struggling. He bent her over and felt around her front with his outstretched hands. He rubbed her front and felt two small lumps on her chest, and surprisingly she let out a very faint moan. He felt as though his body were exploding, a very hot sensation spreading rapidly from his chest to his knees and back again. He pushed her down face-forward again and used his free hand to push up her small brown skirt. A delicate black thong appeared, and he gently pulled it aside. He admired her soft beauty, like an angel that had never been touched. Yet she was breathing steadily now, letting out small and quiet moans of pleasure as he explored her body. He reached down to his own clothes and unbuttoned his pants, pushed them down, and then entered inside of her. He felt the surge of warmth, of unity, completely synchronized with her loudest moan. Apart from their love making, the only sounds that night came from the hooting of owls up above the attic...
Chapter 3: ten years later:
In the past ten years, much had greatly changed. Ginny and Harry were married, though 'happily' would not be the ideal word to describe their union. Though Ginny desperately tried to make Harry see that it was not his fault that people lost their lives in the war against Voldemort, Harry still bore the unmistaken signs of a depressed man. It would be an understatement to say that Harry Potter had gone slightly to seed - he had become barely a shadow of his former self. Always slightly thin, he now, for the first time ever, looked more like Vernon Dursley's son than Dudley had. He was extremely overweight, his face pudgy and red underneath his matted black hair, which he now wore patted down on his forehead to cover up his lightning shaped scar. His once vivid green eyes were watery and red, looking more like tiny slits in his overly large visage. His body was average height, but his width was so enormous that not a single person in their right mind would look at him and think he was Harry Potter.
And there he sat, on his decaying red arm chair, watching the muggle TV with an oddly vacant expression on his face.
"Harry, for the last time turn that thing off!" Ginny shouted from inside the kitchen.
"Don't talk to me. For the last time, don't call me 'Harry' either. Someone will hear you. Call me Dursley. I'm sick of the neighbors thinking I'm someone I'm not! I don't want to be known as the Boy-Who-Lived; I'm a disgusting fat oaf and I am a muggle... NOT a wizard. Again, I'm sorry you married me. I've told you that you're welcome to leave me if you want to. Why don't you? I still don't see why not!" Harry looked up at the kitchen door, but did not even expect a response. This might have been the hundredth time he had told her this, but she had grown so tired of telling him that she had fallen in love with Harry Potter and that she was willing to wait until forever until he returned.
Ginny came walking out of the kitchen, her eyes averted as though she could not even bear to look at what he had become. He was nothing more than a clone of Uncle Vernon: bitter, horrid, and terribly unattractive. She placed a large bloody slab of steak on the TV tray in front of him, and proceeded to the dining room to sit by herself.
"I'll wait until the end of time. I know who you are, Harry. You're the man I fell in love with, the one who defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. You're the one who rescued me from Tom Riddle and the Chamber. You're the one who taught us at the D.A meetings. I wasn't dreaming. You were, and still are, the most amazing person I've ever met. One day you'll come back, and I'll be here waiting for you with open arms." Ginny said sadly from the other room.
Harry looked down at his plate and suddenly lost his appetite. Who was he? He could see his own large stomach's fat rolls drooping onto his food tray, stains of soda and rotten food coating his great wool coat, his hands like two platters with ten fingers that ressembled giant sausages. He was disgusted with who he had become, yet he was disgusted with Harry Potter, the boy who had created this mess. The boy who, in his mind, was responsible for the deaths of many witches and wizards, of his parents, of his godfather Sirius Black, ... of Albus Dumbledore. All these people, all of them who deserved to be alive, to be breathing in the air of the wonderful fall day and who deserved to be so full of life, all were dead because of Harry Potter, because of the prophecy. Harry knew that he could never be the Boy-Who-Lived again, for his heart was too heavy with grief.
Harry stood up and left the family room, abandoning his dinner and instead going upstairs to his bed. The house was warm and very comfortable, slightly reminding him of lazy summer days spent at the burrow and some of the grandeur of Grimmauld Place. There were handsome portraits on the way up the stairs; gold-framed moving pictures of the remaining Weasleys, one of Hermione, Ron, and Harry together in front of the Gryffindor common room fire. Harry could vividly remember those days, the long nights spent pouring over homework, watching Hermione knit house elf hats, discussing the whereabouts of Voldemort and what they might do on their next Hogsmeade trip. What he wouldn't give to go back in time and replay it all, to save them all before it was too late...
He continued up the stairs, not pausing to look at the remaining portraits. It was too painful to deal with it all, too painful to remember how good things used to be. Harry opened to door to his bedroom, which was already slightly ajar. Strangely enough his things had been moved around, his photo album of his parents was lying on his bed, opened with the tiny pictures of his mother and father merrily waving up at him. Harry's stomach gave a lurch, for he knew that nothing had been moved before he went downstairs. His skin prickled as her heard a noise to his left, and as he turned, his heart nearly stopped at what he saw.
Chapter 4: People Once Known
Hermione and Ron were standing in the corner of Harry Potter's room, mouths open with aghast expressions upon their faces and what Harry had become. True, he might have looked horrible in the dim lighting of the TV room, but that was nothing compared to how he looked in the bright sunlight that was flooding into the room through several opened windows. His stubble was matted down with bits of food and chunks of hardened drinks, he smelled like sour whiskey and chewing tobacco, and his eyes were completely bloodshot and puffy. He looked so hideous that Hermione and Ron both had to exchange confirmatory glances and nod before even speaking to him. It was Hermione, however, that took the initiative.
"Harry. Erm... Ginny told us you've been having some trouble lately. I - well we, wanted to stop by and see if we could do anything to help. Because frankly Harry, we miss you. It's been years. We want to spend time with you. We want Harry Potter back, the boy and the man that we know is in there." she said clearly and slowly, almost as though she thought he might attack. Harry knew she would approach him like this, for too many times had she seen him overreact. Ron nodded to her right, but did not meet Harry's eyes.
"You do, do you? You sure? I don't think you actually care at all, really. No one wants me back. Life is better for everyone. Has anyone died since I've disappeared? Anyone been hurt? Actually this is probably the first time you two have ever avoided mortal peril for such an extended amount of time. So why are you wanting me back then? Feeling sorry that I'm a hideous fat cow then, eh? Well I don't want to go back and ruin more lives, thanks. So thank you two for visiting. Go on then, have a good laugh at me and then leave." Harry turned and sat on his bed, his fat back facing the two of them as he slammed his parents photo album shut and cursed at it.
"Harry, mate. Please stop. I miss you! I want you to be Harry again. The Harry I met on the Hogwarts Express on the first day. The boy I fought the troll with, drank polyjuice potion with, got lost in the Forbidden Forest with, and saw Viktor Krum Wronski Feint with at the Quidditch World Cup. My best friend, mate. Not the Boy-Who-Lived, but YOU. Because we both know there's so much more to you than that." Ron said as he walked over and stood in front of Harry. Though he was barely recognizable as Harry Potter, Ron looked at him with that same boyish grin that made their best friend days come right back. Harry felt for one fleeting moment like the three of them were back in Gryffindor Tower, about to throw on the invisibility cloak and run down to visit Hagrid.
"I miss you guys, it's really not that. It's the fact that I am nobody now. I am not Harry Potter and I don't even know that person you're talking about. Don't you understand that I've been burying him for ten solid years? I've been shoving all those memories out because they're too painful. The fact that I can never again talk to Sirius, that I can never shake Dumbledore's hand and say thank you..." Harry's voice trailed off, his voice slightly stifled as tears welled up in his eyes.
The thought of Dumbledore was what really destroyed Harry. The thought of such a great wizard, of such a great man, risking his life and his soul for Harry Potter. He sacrificed himself to protect Harry, to protect all of those students at Hogwarts. And it wasn't so much as this as it was the fact that He never got to say goodbye. He never got to say thank you, to look once again in his blue eyes and his lined face, never got to feel that strength and power and warmth from him while he said goodbye. The tears were now flowing steadily and Harry buried his face in his hands. Hermione came over and patted him on his back.
"I know it's hard," Hermione said, "but you have to trust us that we want to be with you. Do you think Dumbledore would be proud to see you sitting here and hating yourself for who you were born to be? I cannot pretend that it's easy, Harry, or that I can even come close to realizing how hard this has been on you for your entire life... but all those people who died died to make sure that we live, Harry. They would want to see you happy, living, celebrating that V-Voldemort is gone. That they made that happen and that you made that happen. Don't keep letting them down by living like this. What about all the survivors? Don't pretend like we're dead too."
"I never thought I'd say this," said Ron, "but you cannot live in fear, mate. You've always been the brave one, but now you're acting the coward and refusing to be who you actually are. Please come back to us. That's all we have to say. Please reconsider and come back to all of us." And with that, the two of them patted him on the back once more and said 'to Dumbledore's past and current army' and then walked out the door as mysteriously as they had come.
When the two of them left, Ginny entered the room, looking beautiful and windswept. She was wearing a silk dressing gown and smiling eagerly at Harry.
"So...?" she asked hurriedly. "What do you think? What did they say?"
"They said everything I know, and everything I needed to know. I know I need to stop this. I know I can't do this to you. I love you, Ginny, and yet all I do is push you away. I can't believe you even stayed with me through all of this. I honestly cannot believe what I've become. If Dumbledore could see me, I think he would cry even if he were in heaven..." Harry trailed off, looking up into Ginny's sympathetic and stunning face. He wanted to touch her, to make her realize how much he cared for her and how sorry he was, but he felt too repulsed by himself to do it. He wanted to sink away and disappear, and yet he wanted to return; he wanted to be Harry Potter once more.
"Listen, Harry," started Ginny, "do what you think would make you happy. Are you truly happy living like this? Do you think that all those people who died and sacrificed themselves for the greater good would want to see you living like this? You are an amazing human being, and you are loved by so many people. Your parents died to save you, so did Sirius, so did Dumbledore. I think that they would be forever happy if you lived your life as the Harry that they knew and loved, as the Harry I know still lies within you." With that, she moved towards him and kissed him softly on the cheek, touching his face gently and then gazing into his vivid green eyes. She brushed back his hair and tenderly kissed the lightning bolt scar that he had kept hidden for so long.
With Ginny's compassion and Hermione and Ron's words, Harry knew what had to be done.
He had to return. He had to return to the wizarding world, he had to remember it all, even relive it all, and he had to go back to where it all went wrong. He needed to go back to the one place that meant more to him than anything: Hogwarts.