Beyond All Hope
Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling and will never be J.K. Rowling; I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, I wouldn't have to write fanfiction.
A/N: This story takes place beginning at the end of the final battle with Voldemort; Harry is nearly eighteen.
…it's over, Harry Potter thought numbly. His wand hand shook, and his fingers felt numb as they grasped the smooth wood of his wand…his whole body felt numb…
He couldn't see—his vision was blurred, distorted…but of course, his glasses had been smashed during the duel—the final duel…
Voldemort's dead. Even amidst the haziness of his mind, he was able to hold onto that one thought, and he knew it to be true. The Dark Lord was vanquished, gone forever. But the victory had not come without sacrifice. Charlie Weasley had been killed, and so had Kingsley Shacklebolt and Mad-eye Moody…Harry had seen them fall. Who knew how many others had been hurt, or killed, while he was battling Voldemort? And he himself was drained, and wounded badly, in body, mind, and spirit. Maybe it would be better to just—slip away…
He had given the magical world their freedom. He owed them nothing. He had every right to let go, to escape from the pain which threatened to consume him…
He was losing his grip on consciousness. If he fell now on the battlefield, some desperate Death Eater trying to escape would find him, and most likely kill him. Maybe it would be better that way.
Ginny, whispered a corner of his thoughts, and his heart flooded with sudden emotion. You have to hold on for Ginny.
This thought seemed to give him a burst of strength he didn't know he had in him. Stumbling, almost fainting, he tried to think of a destination, somewhere, anywhere, as long as it wasn't here…his mind finally fixed on a place, he turned on his heel—
—and disapparated.