Hindsight

by Cindy Lucy

Before the war began I made a decision to sacrifice it all and do what I could to save the wizarding world. I was expected to play the part of the hero, so the choice was simple.

Title: Hindsight

Character: Harry Rating: PG for one swear word

Style: Angst/drama

Summary: The war is over and regret sucks.

Disclaimer: My name is Cindy, not JK... so what do you think I DON'T own?

Hi everyone, I'm Cindy. I hope you enjoy yet another depressing ficlet from yours truly. If you're new to my fics, welcome. I have a few others, so feel free to have a gander at those. I appreciate comments, constructive if that's within your ability. The inspiration for this little piece came when I learned of some distressing news where I wished I had known something earlier. I hope you can get the real emotion coming from Harry in this piece... he's got a lot on his mind, the poor dear.

SEPARATE

Hindsight is always 20/20 and the present is clearer after looking at the past, or so they say. But that applies to everyone else, not me. Not the hero. I have always chosen correctly, I have always done what's right.

And then I feel it... that nagging part of my subconscious creeping up from the back of my brain, slowly manifesting itself before my not-so innocent eyes, and coating me with an impenetrable layer of self-doubt and regret.

I lay back on my four-poster bed, my hands behind my head and look up to where an elegant canopy once hung. I stare at the now visible, ancient ceiling, letting my eyes follow one of the many cracks that seem to stretch forever. Somehow this school that has been my sanctuary these last 7 years does not seem as strong as it used to. Its lofty Gothic towers and echoing corridors no longer impress me as they once did, and for the first time since I stepped off the scarlet train all those years ago, I feel cramped. The comfort Hogwart's once brought is now gone and I am left with the endless cracks and guilt.

My eyes cannot seem to concentrate on anything else but the cracks in the stony overhead, and I cannot help but think they are mocking me. Mocking me because they know I am more cracked, broken, and weaker than Hogwart's could ever be now that they're gone.

Before the war began I made a decision to sacrifice it all and do what I could to save the wizarding world. I was expected to play the part of the hero, so the choice was simple. Almost three years later it is over and the dark side has been slaughtered, the wizarding world is safe one more day. The seemingly perfect end to any fictional story.

I saved the wizarding world from a fate worse than death, as the saying goes, in a glorious final duel with the Dark Lord. History books were made that fateful night and my name is now infamous. Yet as I lay on my bed, eyes never leaving the cracks that now seems like giant gaping holes, their faces dance in my head, circling and flickering like dying flames. I have won, but at what cost?

Somehow the end does not seem as glorious as I imagined it would be. Somehow I did not picture myself alone. My palms press against my stinging eyes as I sit up and I blink the tears away, telling myself that heroes don't cry while rising to my feet.

I levitate my trunk holding what's left of my belongings and cross my room for the last time, my footsteps echoing in its emptiness. My hand reaches the doorknob and I turn it only to be hit with such nostalgia that my body moves to have one final look.

My eyes shift from one empty bed to the next as if hoping to see my old friends sleeping there still, but I am left once again with the reality of their death. Only a handful of Gryffindors are alive, and those that remain will never be the same again. There has been too much loss.

I step outside and close the door firmly behind me, sealing off the happiest of my memories. Questions of doubt pour through my head, questions hero's should have answers to.

Did I make the right decision? Yes, I tell myself.

Will the world be better off? Yes, I repeat.

Was it worth the sacrifice? Of course.

I walk down the familiar stairs and know I am lying to myself. Hindsight is always 20/20 and the present is clearer after looking at the past, or so they say. I damn those "they" that apparently know so much. For I cannot take it back. I cannot change the decisions I have made. And as I step across the room of gold and red, trailing my trunk behind me and walking towards the exit, I regret it. I regret my need to please and wish I hadn't care. I regret being singled out and wish I could have been just another face in the crowd. I regret my reputation and wish no one had known me. I regret sacrificing my friends for "the cause" and wish I could have been selfish. I regret having had the need to feel strong and wish I could have be weak. I regret being a hero and wish I could have just be me.