Disclaimer- I do not own anything that has ever been written by JK Rowling. Duh.
Prologue-
"History does nothing; it does not possess immense riches, it does not fight battles. It is men, real, living, who do all this."
-Karl Marx
Harry was acutely aware of everything that surrounded him. He was aware of the dank walls that smelt of sulfur, of the steady sound of stagnant water dropping onto the cold stone floor, of the beetle that dared to live in such a desolate environment, and as always- of the dark. He could never escape the blackness. No matter what he did it was cursed to follow him.
As Harry sat cross legged on the floor he felt his magic reaching out and surrounding him, surrounding the dark cave in which he resided, surrounding his very essence. And Harry concentrated all his thoughts on one thing. He concentrated on his loss. For this is the only thing which Harry had. He no longer had family, friends, or love.
'But this is the path of the Hero. Lose everything, so that others may have anything.'
This had become Harry's mantra. It was what allowed him to continue to fight. The knowledge that no matter what it was that he sacrificed for the war, his happiness, his innocence, his friends, he was doing it to save others.
But now the war was over. And Harry found himself alone. 'The only survivor is the one who was least likely to live.' And it was true. Harry had not hoped to survive. Harry had thought he was a dead man walking. But he had survived, and he found himself wishing desperately that he hadn't.
Harry felt himself begin to lose control of his magic. It began to pour out in quantities that would have killed a normal person or in the very least left them a squib. He felt the lone beetle keel over from all the magic.
'Am I going to die? After all this time, will my magic- the thing that has saved me over and over- going to kill me?'
And as the magic began to pour out of him even faster, Harry felt light overtake the never ending darkness of the cave. And Harry gave in. He did not care if it killed him. At least then he would not be alone anymore. Harry's last conscious thought was that he no longer wanted to be alone.