A/N: In no way am I JK Rowling, and so I don't own this. Also I'd like to point out that the savoir reference in this story isn't my idea solely. Once I read a book by Molly Cochran about King Arthur, and the same theme was presented there. I liked it so much and it went so well with this story that I decided that I would borrow the same theme. I don't even know if I have to credit her since it's a theme and therefore also historically accurate, but I'd feel bad if I didn't say anything about it.
A/N For This story was created for a challenge on SIYE. It was originally in chaptered form, and I shall leave the chapters in the text, however, for convenience's sake I am putting this up as a one-shot.
Chapter One
Harry splashed his sweaty, ashen face with cold water, his stomach reeling. He rushed to the porcelain bowl nearest him and emptied the contents of his lunch. Once he was finished, he stood. Shakily, he walked back to the sink, rinsed his mouth, doused his head in water once more and took three deep breaths. Feeling his knees unable to support him anymore, he slid down to the floor. God, how had it come to this?
"You did the right thing you know," said a soft voice from the inside of the bathroom door. Harry looked up bleakly to see the delicate figure of Ginny Weasley. Carefully she walked inside and knelt next to him. She brushed back a lock of his raven black hair. Harry just shook his head, unable to speak. He didn't feel like he'd done the right thing. Ginny took a gentle hold of his chin, forcing his emerald green eyes to look into her gray orbs. "Yes, you did the right thing."
"How?" Harry asked, struggling to speak. "How could I have done the right thing, Ginny?" She put her hand on his cheek.
"Harry, can't you see? You saved a man's life. Perhaps you even saved all of Hogwarts. You saved the lives of students, of teachers. Can't you see that that was the right thing to do overall?" Ginny smiled gently. "You know, Harry, sometimes I think you might even be a little too moral. What you did was right today, no matter how much your brain is screaming its wrong. If you feel deep down in your heart, you'll know it was right."
"How can I feel deep down in my heart when my stomach's doing flips?" Harry grumbled, not really expecting an answer. Ginny got up off the floor, shaking her head with a barely held back laugh.
"That's a good question. Let me know when you find the answer," Ginny left, though Harry sorely wished she hadn't. He leaned his head against the wall for a few minutes, and hen when his stomach calmed he got up and changed into fresh robes.
People he met in the hall nodded at him gravely, some muttering words of thanks, some not looking him in the eye. Slytherins seemed unsure of whether they should spit at his feet or recoil in fear. Harry sighed. He didn't have time to think about them now. Not when there were so many other important issues to deal with. Harry opened the door to the Great Hall only to be bombarded with paparazzi and reporters. Harry blinked, his eyes being temporarily blinded by the bright flashes.
"Off you get now," Professor Dumbledore said in his characteristically calm yet loud voice. "Let the boy eat his dinner in peace. I assure you that I will personally answer any questions you may have later this evening. Thank you." With this firm resolution Dumbledore steered Harry into the Great Hall while the half-giant Hagrid shooed the reporters out the doors. Dumbledore looked down at Harry, and he felt oddly as if he were under a cross examination of sorts.
"As much as I disapproved at first, I see now why you did what you did. I still think that your decision was rash and harsh, but I still am in debt to you for doing what you did. Thank you, Harry," Dumbledore said carefully. Harry looked up at him, startled. He'd expected a harsher reprimand. He smiled to himself, almost sadly. Of course Dumbledore wouldn't chastise him with hollering and intolerance. Simply put, that just wasn't Dumbledore's way.
"I'm just doing what I have to do, Professor," Harry said. Dumbledore studied him for a moment, then went off to the Head Table, leaving Harry alone with his dinner and his thoughts. The other children in the Great Hall were uncertain as to how to interact with him. Ron and Hermione were perhaps the only two able to keep up a normal conversation with him. The large gap between Harry and the other students did not go unnoticed.
"Good job today, Harry. You did everyone a favor, I guarantee it," Blaise Zabini had come up from behind him. Harry gave him a melancholy nod in acknowledgment.
"Thanks. Thanks for…helping me out today," Harry said uncertainly. Blaise stiffened for a moment, but only for a moment. His expression softened slightly.
"You're welcome," he said. Blaise cleared his throat and then walked away briskly. Harry had that uncomfortable feeling that all eyes in the Great Hall were on him. He stood up causing Ron and Hermione to look at him, slightly startled.
"I'm going for a walk," Harry said. Without waiting for their answer, he left hastily, heading for a way out of the castle and onto the grounds.
It was a crisp autumn day. Harry could smell the burning leaves from Hagrid's hut, could almost taste the unnaturally large pumpkins that grew in his garden. Harry sighed. At one point in his life, all this may have been of great comfort, yet now life's outlook seemed so bleak that even the cheeriest of things did nothing to improve his dark mood. Instead of looking at the beautiful turning leaves, Harry turned to the inky black lake water. It would surely be freezing cold at this time of year. Perhaps it would be so cold that it would cause him hypothermia, and he would die. No, Madame Pomfrey surely had one disgusting cure or another for hypothermia. Yet, casting a stone-weight charm on himself and then diving in would surely kill him for he would have no way of rising to the top, and there would be no way for them to tell that he was down there.
For a moment, Harry contemplated carrying out his suicidal plan, but then he shook his head. He had one last duty to perform before he could take his own life, and that was to kill Voldemort and bring his followers to justice, whether that meant killing them, sucking out their soul or sending them to Azkaban for the rest of their life. Harry gave an involuntary shudder. Anything would be better than having your soul sucked out, surely.
"Thinking about taking a swim?" Ginny asked from behind him. Harry jumped.
"How do you manage to always be right behind me?" Harry asked, though what he was really wondering was how she knew what he was thinking. Ginny just smiled at him and avoided the question.
"You're a hero, Harry. You're the savoir of the wizarding world. It wouldn't be becoming of you to kill yourself now," Ginny said lightly. Harry gave a short, humorless laugh.
"Oh, I know that. I've got to finish my job, first. I've got to finish what I was put on this Earth to do, to complete my one destiny, my purpose in life. Then what's left, Ginny? If my purpose in life is gone, then what is there left to be for?" Harry asked. Ginny frowned.
"There's being you left to be for, Harry. All your life you've never had a chance just to be you, to be Harry. It's all been taken by this stupid prophecy! Harry, haven't you ever once thought that it would be nice just to live a nice, quiet life after this is all over?"
"I did. Then today happened, Gin. I realize now…I won't be able to continue on after I kill him. It will just be too much. Besides, who says they'd let me lead a normal life?" Harry asked. At Ginny's confused look, Harry continued. "Think about it, Gin. there would be those death eaters who manage to cheat themselves out of punishment through bribery, and they'll always be trying to kill me. Then, I'd always be bombarded with reporters wanting to know about the savoir of the wizarding world. And what do we do with our saviors, Gin?" Harry asked, his face unreadable, his voice void of all emotion except for an ironic twist.
"We revere them," Ginny said slowly. She didn't understand what one Earth he could be getting at. He smiled at her, a smile with no happiness behind it.
"Think historically," he said. Ginny cocked her head.
"Harry Potter, what are you playing at?" she asked, annoyed. Harry leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.
"You don't get it. God grant you never will," he said, and then he walked away.
Chapter Two
Harry could feel himself trembling. He himself wasn't sure whether it was from rage or from fear. His stomach was in turmoil—he simply couldn't eat the pudding that was before him. Instead, he took to staring intently at Dumbledore. He watched as Dumbledore slowly pushed his pudding from him. Mustering up his last bit of courage for the day, he quieted his aching head and stood up.
"Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore acknowledged the young man's tall presence in a sea of sitting students.
Harry stood up on his seat, raised his voice, and said, "Malfoy, you have taunted me since we both started school here at Hogwarts. You have cursed me, sabotaged my schoolwork, tried to kidnap me for your master Voldemort, and even tried to kill me on more than one occasion. After this afternoon's incident, this ends now. I challenge you to a duel to take place at noon, this coming Saturday, on neutral Hogwarts grounds by the lake."
"Students dueling on school grounds is forbidden." Headmaster Dumbledore said starting to raise his voice above the startled students in the Great Hall.
"Then the open courtyard in Hogsmeade. What say you, Ferret Face?" Harry continued, staring at Malfoy. If Harry hadn't been so nervous himself, he might've laughed at the look on Malfoy's face. He was gaping open mouthed like a fish. Finally it seemed Malfoy gained his resolve. The arrogant look returned to his eyes. He stamped up and jumped on his seat.
"I shouldn't have to duel the likes of you! I'd be wasting my time! I can wipe the floor with you any day!" Malfoy taunted. Harry smiled coolly despite his inner turmoil.
"Then prove it."
Harry put on his cloak and his boots, preparing to go out in the cold and unforgiving autumn air. He stuck his wand in his pocket and left the dormitory which opened out into the Gryffindor common room.
"Harry, I know what he did, and I know he's awful, but you can't do this! You could get killed!" Hermione exclaimed. The opportunity was too great. Harry grinned at her.
"Or worse, expelled," he said. Hermione looked murderous, but Ron could barely hold in his laugh.
"That is not funny Harry! I'm being serious!" Hermione said, exasperated.
"You've got to admit, 'Mione, it was pretty good," Ron said, laughing. Hermione shot him a glare that clearly said she'd have a few choice words for him later and immediately he shut up. Harry sighed.
"I have to do this, Hermione. The ministry can't get involved. They can't do a darn thing anymore. They just screw everything up. Can't you see? If I don't take matters into my own hands then everyone could be at risk," Harry said. Hermione released her stern look and replaced it with a look of pure concern.
"Harry…you don't have to fix everyone's problems. You don't have to save everyone," she said. Harry gave her a twisted smile.
"But Hermione," he said finally, "that's what a Savior is." He walked away.
"I don't approve of this," said a voice behind Harry as he walked down a lonely hall only minutes later. Harry looked over his shoulder but kept walking. The speaker was Dumbledore.
"It doesn't matter what you think about it," Harry said, though the words pained him to say. "All that matters is what I know and what I think about it." Dumbledore rarely frowned, but this was one occasion in which he simply had to frown.
"Harry, you shouldn't be doing this. You don't know what you're getting into, you have no idea what mess this will cause!" Dumbledore said in the closest thing to shouting Harry had ever heard from him. In response, he only raised an eyebrow and said coolly,
"I know exactly what I'm getting into. I also know the mess it will cause. You don't understand Dumbledore; maybe you never will. I must do this for everyone's sake. One less Malfoy is just fine for this world. He might be missed by his father and death eaters, but I promise you, no one else will care—well, we'll care of course. After all, we're getting rid of a threat."
"He can be brought to the light, Harry. He can be made to put on our side. Don't meddle in things you don't understand, boy!" Dumbledore almost yelled. Harry flinched at the name used for him, then his green eyes iced over as Dumbledore realized his major mistake.
"I know more about this situation than you ever will, Dumbledore, so keep out of it. For once in your life, why don't you not meddle in something?" Harry knew his words stung. He'd meant them to sting. It was the old man's time to learn that he didn't always know everything—and one thing in particular he didn't know was Harry.
Harry walked outside, ready to head to Hogsmeade. He took several deep, shuddering breaths. As much as he knew that he had to do this, as much as he knew it was necessary, he didn't want to. 'I suppose that's what my life is all about,' Harry thought wryly. 'Doing things that no one, including myself, want to do, but things that must be done. What a life.' Even his own thoughts were sarcastic. He dropped to his knees beside the lake and swirled his hand around in the icy lake water. The sore on his hand that he'd received that afternoon in a brawl with Malfoy went almost instantly numb with pain. If only his mind could numb that way, that quickly. If only it would just all finally end. Harry sighed, got up and continued to walk to Hogsmeade.
The pumpkins in Hagrid's garden were cheery and orange, a wonderful sight. If he lived to see the festival in which they would be eaten, he was sure that they'd taste marvelously. Harry sighed as he walked from there, hoping Hagrid wouldn't spot him. If he did, he'd surely ask Harry in for tea, which he could not attend, and he's want to know why, and Harry would have to explain that he was off to kill Draco Malfoy—for real this time. It would seem that one thing would go right for Harry that day as Hagrid did not emerge. Harry shuddered. When had Hagrid looked upon him last? At breakfast that morning? Yes, it had been then. That would be the last time Hagrid, or anyone really, would look upon him the same way. Nothing would be the same after the duel. Steeling his nerves and hoping desperately that he wouldn't vomit until after the duel, he walked all the lone way to Hogsmeade.
Chapter Three
Harry made it to Hogsmeade, walking the busy streets. He noticed that the crowd was thicker than usual, and it was filled to the brim with Hogwarts students and, of course, Harry's favorite people, reporters. Ignoring the flashes and walking grimly to a raised platform just outside the shrieking shack, Harry truly wondered whether or not he'd live through this. Would it even be worth it if he did? Harry wasn't so sure anymore. It was a grim concept, but to be completely honest, why should he save these people? Harry sighed, knowing that whether he had a good reason or not, he'd do it. He stepped onto the platform, a frown set on his face. He wondered if it would be glued there for the rest of his life, permanently.
Not but five minutes later, Dumbledore arrived, looking to Harry with anger in his eyes. Harry looked away. It's for your own good, old man, Harry thought defiantly. The old wizard seemed about to open his mouth to speak, but at that moment Draco Malfoy arrived, all glitz and glamour, his father trailing behind. He climbed gracefully onto the platform and opened his mouth to speak. Harry rolled his eyes and began to speak, not about to listen to any crap that was inevitably about to spill out of this arrogant ferret's mouth.
"Draconis Lucius Malfoy, I state that with your presence on the platform today you have hereby given your consent to this very much so legal and official duel. I will now give my reasons for holding this affair, and you shall listen without interruption," Harry said regally, formally, having looked up the proper words to use before a duel just before lunch that day. "Firstly, on petty grounds you have bullied my friends and I for years. You have called my friend Hermione Granger a dirty word on numerous occasions, have insulted my friend Ronald Weasley's status, and have even dared to duel me on Hogwarts Grounds and then desert. You have tried to discredit my name by giving lies to the reporters. Secondly, you yourself stated this morning while speaking with your henchmen, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle that you are planning an attack on Hogwarts for your master, Voldemort's, gain. I have evidence of this planned attack as you have a wardrobe placed in the Room of Requirement through which you planned to send Death Eaters. If I didn't hate you, I might congratulate you on a clever plan, but as it is I think you a despicable creature. Lastly, you beat me up, or tired to, during our fifth year here when you were working in cohorts with a ministry worker and Hogwarts defense professor, and you have tried to kill me on one occasion, which was this day's morning.
"This morning, I recall, you were speaking with your henchmen as I mentioned earlier. As is my due right, I confronted you about this illegality. Instead of responding, you, as well as your henchmen, attacked me, threatened me, and said that you would kill everyone in the school as well as the Headmaster if I told. Now, however, I have you locked in a duel and fill quite safe with revealing this information. You cannot hide now, Draconis Lucius Malfoy. Now the world will see you for the snake that you are, if they haven't already. Speak your rebuttal now, if you even can comprehend this information to have one." Draco's only immediate response was to blink as the crowd gasped and reporters scribbled furiously—or had their quills scribble furiously for them—as photographers flashed picture after picture. Draco shook his head and regained his composure. He adopted his arrogant stance once more. That's it, Harry thought, go ahead and get all haughty. That will be your downfall in this duel. Mark my words.
"Potter, I have only to say that you speak only lies. I know who will win this duel—the honest one here!" Malfoy shouted. Harry smiled grimly.
"Too right you are." The two duelists saluted as was custom, and the duel began.
Later, Harry would not be able to recall just exactly what happened. He remembered Malfoy firing off curse after curse with Harry defending, wearing him down. Malfoy began to get sloppy, and Harry took the offensive. Frustrated, Malfoy made a slip and started firing off illegal curses. Fearing for the safety of the crowd—which was now backing away—Harry decided to end the duel quickly. He pointed his wand at Malfoy, calculating his distance from the brick wall of the little pie shop behind him. Taking on the offensive once more, Harry pushed Malfoy back and back, calculating each move. Finally, he said the last spell of the duel. "Expelliarmus." Malfoy exploded backwards, hitting the brick wall soundly, breaking his neck on contact.
When Harry was younger, he'd only had a few toys—little knights on horses. He'd thought that it would be amazing to go off on adventures and heroics. He didn't like the killing people part—he never thought of that. Instead, in his mind he killed ogres, werewolves and goblins, and other nasty, fictional creatures, creatures that were forbidden to even be thought of in his uncle's neglectful and almost abusive home. When he entered Hogwarts, he'd discovered that some of these creatures were actually human like in quality, and that some weren't evil at all, namely werewolves, but also goblins. Harry switched the evil to being people that he actually despised—in this case, Draco Malfoy. He would dream his vengeance on him (as well as on Snape) and fantasized the day that he would gather up his courage and invite Malfoy to a duel in which Harry would most certainly be the victor. After he had won, he would be glorified and liked by all, and the crowd would cheer and raise Harry on their shoulders.
As Harry grew older, he didn't allow such delusions to cloud his mind. He knew the truth of what would happen, and now as it happened he realized with an icy grip over his heart that his realistic self had been right all along, and the little boy in him that still clung to fantasy and illusion suddenly vanished, defeated once and for all.
The crowd was silent. No one spoke. The silence was stifling to Harry, but he had expected no less. His dreams from childhood had been crushed. He'd known for many years that his fantasies would never come true, and that it might have been better if he'd just stayed at the Dursley's all those years ago, never having even heard of magic. Perhaps one day someone from the school would get suspicious about his bruises and unusual thinness. Perhaps a social worker would have come for him, or perhaps he'd just have killed himself in the end. Any of those fates seemed better to Harry now than what loomed on the horizon—an entire world of people completely dependant upon him and the outcome of one battle. An entire world wary of him after his killing of Draco Malfoy, and an entire world wondering what this deranged man would do next.
Harry straightened himself and looked at the crowd. "The duel is officially over. I declare myself victor on the grounds that Draco Malfoy is dead." Harry was going to finish with that, but decided he might as well have a little sweet victory while he still could, though the victory didn't feel sweet at all. "He said it himself. The one who would win the duel would be the one who spoke the truth." Harry climbed down from the platform, dizzy. He fought through the crowd of reporters, only to find Lucius Malfoy waiting for him, livid and grief-stricken.
"You'll pay for this, Potter!" Lucius snarled. Harry smiled crookedly. He knew he would. Of that he had no doubt, but he wouldn't give Lucius the satisfaction of his fear. After all, what was there to fear except death? Harry no longer feared death. At this point, he would welcome it.
"Maybe I will and maybe I won't sir, but if I were the losing party, I know I wouldn't be so cocky," Harry said, and walked off. Ron jogged up fro behind him.
"Mate, how did you…" Ron seemed at a loss for words. He shook his head, and then tried again. "Malfoy isn't careless. How'd you know just when to pop in for his treason-talk?" Harry regarded Ron and then looked ahead, smiling grimly.
"I had a bit of unexpected help from a certain Blaise Zabini. But don't tell him I told you, or he'll skin me alive. He likes his tough guy exterior, and who am I to strip him of something so precious to him when I've had need of his assistance?" Harry asked. Ron shook his head.
"Harry, mate, you've changed since last year. You're talking almost like…like I dunno, a philosopher or something," Ron said. Or a man who has wizened up, Harry thought to himself, but didn't speak it. Right now he needed to go to the loo, and before Ron noticed. His lunch was quickly rebelling against him. There would be a lot of heck to pay for all of this trouble. Never mind that he had just single-handedly saved Hogwarts. After all, Harry thought to himself grimly, what do we do with our saviors?
Chapter Four
Harry was sitting at the kitchen table in the Weasley home, twenty-two years old and deep in thought. The destruction of Draco Malfoy had only been the start of a chain of events that led to a full out battle between him and the most evil wizard of all time, Voldemort. Harry had been green on the field of battle, and when actual fights took place, he found himself sick at the sight of death. The newspapers mocked him—this little boy sick at the sight of a dead auror was to save the wizarding world? How could the public believe it? They should trust in the ministry, not in Harry.
People will believe anything they hear. They are gullible, they are dependent and most importantly, they are fickle. They enjoy changing their minds and allegiances. The ministry easily took advantage of that, but Harry was still winning over the hearts of the public. Deep down though, Harry knew who would win, who always won.
On the night of October 31, 2000, Harry finally defeated Voldemort. The wizarding public adored him. He was their hero, their savior. Their children were being named after him. There were entire lines of merchandise (not sanctioned by Harry) about Harry. For a year, they loved him. Harry thought grimly of all that could change in a year.
The wizarding public had had enough with their favorite toy. Now they expected him to fix every problem even though he didn't have any power in the ministry. They expected him to single-handedly bring justice to every death eater, including Lucius Malfoy, who had again gotten away on bribes. The reporters demeaned him every day, wanting to know why he had done nothing. Harry had tried. Oh, he had given his heart and soul to try and keep the people happy, but it didn't work. They were turning on him, despite what he had done for them. Harry knew it would happen. It always had.
Now Harry looked at his loving Weasley family. He had almost refused contact with them, lest he soil their name, but the Weasley's had always had faith in him, and Ginny still loved him, despite the fact that Harry refused to date her or marry her. With his knowledge of the inevitable, he simply could not give her that pain. He still had to be a hero, down to the very last. Harry sighed and stirred his soup.
Half of the population still loved and adored him, while the other half hated him. The Ministry especially despised him, for he wouldn't ally himself with them. They feared him, he knew. They feared his power, and they feared his power over the public. Fear was never a good thing in politics. Fear could cause rebellions. Fear could cause wars. Fear could cause uprisings, revolts, any number of nasty things that could send the cozy ministry workers into actually having to work for their jobs and status. Fear of the unknown. Fear of not knowing whether or not Harry would actually try to take the ministry or not. It was an empty fear, a fear with no backing. Those fears were the worst kind, the kind that drove whole governments to kill masses. The kind that caused the government to throw themselves into a dictatorship. The kind that caused the government to take down the one leader that could possibly cause this all. Eliminate the person, and you eliminate the fear. It had occurred for hundreds of years. Why should the people stop now?
It's not right. It's not fair. Harry could think of a thousand things to self-pity himself, but he didn't. If it had happened for centuries, then he wasn't the first to be feeling this. Heroes didn't have self-pity. Heroes didn't know what that was.
There was a knock at the door. Harry sighed and rose, saying to the Weasley's that he would get it, but they followed all the same. He smiled weakly at them, memorizing their features, their kindness, their bright red hair. He tried to memorize Ginny's smile in that moment. He knew who was at the door. He opened it, and there stood the Minister, a few members of Order of Merlin, First Class, the Wizengamot and Lucius Malfoy as well as some other influential leaders. What had alerted him to their presence however, was the dementors. Two stood, or rather floated, cold and foreboding. Harry found it odd that, even this close, just a few feet, they did not affect him. He smiled grimly at the minister, knowing that if they weren't affecting him, then they had a reason not to, and that reason was most unpleasant.
"Minister Scrimgeour. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Harry asked cordially, coldly, knowing perfectly well what he owed the "pleasure" to. Scrimgeour didn't break stride. Dully, he got out a scroll and began to read from it an order—an order calling for Harry's "death" (or rather, his being kissed by a dementor and having his soul sucked out) on (false) counts of treason and (false) illegal activity. They also had him for the murder of Draco Malfoy after it was "found" that he had been "bewitched into going onto the platform". The Weasley's outcry of rage and indignity was heart warming. The Ministry stated that with such hardcore evidence, there would be no trial. Harry's life would end here. Harry smiled coolly at the Ministry. He knew he had lost. He knew that long ago.
"Say what you want to, Scrimgeour. Tell the public how horrible I am. Make yourself out to be whatever you wish." Harry gave his nowadays trademark crooked smile. "Except, I won't allow you to rob me of my hard-earned afterlife. Your dementors won't take my soul. Make yourself out to be whatever you wish, Scrimgeour, the public will believe you. But I warn you now, don't make yourself to be a savior. Because you know what we do with our saviors, don't you?" Harry asked rhetorically. He raised his wand to his head, and before anyone could say anything else, there was a flash of green light. Harry Potter was dead.