Hello readers! Welcome to my first Harry Potter published fanfiction. Not my first experience with fanfiction, mind you, just the first time I've made a HP one public. It's not very good and my writing is horrible, but I'll let you decide that.

Harry is about 100x angstier and edgier than I meant him to be. Just as a warning, considering quite a few people dislike it when characters are extremely angsty.

So, I'll stop rambling, and let you enjoy the story! By the way, none of the characters or settings are my creation. Only the writing.

What is it like, standing there as you watch the ground crumble beneath you, as your friend's corpses build up behind you with the massacre, to hear the screams of your friends ripping through the tense atmosphere of the battle, as you sob inside your mind while you walk to your death?

Harry knew the question wouldn't be answered by anyone but himself. No one else knew the pain of knowing that it was your fault that all the bodies that had piled up were dead. Everyone suffered their own horrors from the war, but Harry couldn't help but feel a sense of unfairness in it all. He had died and come back and he was still expected to be the poster boy for the light side.

The part about that was that he didn't want to be a poster boy. He didn't want to be on the light side, in fact. He was nowhere near being on the dark side, but he just didn't want any part in it. He wanted all the memories of the event gone. He didn't want to replay the entire battle in his head every time he opened his lips to speak.

Harry wiped at the tears that dripped from his eyes before looking upwards at the night sky. The stars were out, the sky was dark, and there was a full moon. He wondered how Remus was doing, before remembering he was long gone. His head dropped down away from the sky, finding it unbearable to look at.

He continued his previous goal of taking a walk around the castle. He had hardly gone outside since the battle. So much time had been taken up by the rebuilding of the castle, he hadn't known the date until recently. He had finally mustered up the courage to ask Hermione, whom had responded with cheer that it was the 29th of July.

Harry hadn't realized so much time had already passed. He should have at least guessed as much, seeing as the castle was almost completely rebuilt. He couldn't help but feel a small swell of pride in his chest every time he looked at the castle, even though he knew he didn't deserve to. It was him who had caused the destruction of it after all.

A rumble of thunder broke him out of his thoughts. He frowned as he felt the first few drops of rain hit his skin. It was abnormally warm rain. He shrugged off the realization, however, when the rain came down full force. It felt heavenly against his skin, and he shut his eye, basking in it. He must have looked like an odd sight to anyone who looked out at the grounds in that moment.

After a few minutes, he realized he should probably go back into the dry castle. Everyone would be worried sick about him. He took a deep breath as he prepared himself for the onslaught of questions that his friends would provide. He appreciated their concern, but they asked him so much that it was becoming irritating. He had half a mind to not respond to them again.

Harry stuck his hands in his pockets, biting on his lip. It wouldn't kill him to stay outside a bit longer. It wasn't like he had any responsibilities for the day. Everyone seemed to treat him as if he was made of glass. He couldn't help but wish he had someone who would push him until he actually did break. He wouldn't doubt the usefulness of himself then. At least he would be easy to manipulate.

The rain dripped against his glasses, blocking his vision. He lifted his hand up to push them up his nose as he sighed. He resighned himself to plopping down upon the grass to wait the rain out. He had no way of directing himself towards the castle, or anywhere else dry for that matter. The only significant land mark he could see was the whomping willow, which he had no intention of getting near.

The world around him seemed to dim as he lay down, the wet grass tickling his skin. Harry's eyes drifted closed, absorbing himself in his thoughts. He couldn't help but wonder what his school days would have been like without the entire Voldemort mess. He most likely would have gotten a real education, and he wouldn't have to repeat his seventh year to get his NEWTs. Also, he wouldn't have to share a dorm room with a member from another house at all, unlike he had to that year.

He drifted off into a world of dreams, one where he was a normal boy who lived with his parents and knew he was a wizard before he could talk. He dreamed of going to Hogwarts and living out a happy and Voldemort free life. That is, until he was struck by lightning.

The first thing Harry was aware of was the pain that was coursing through his body, all the way from the tips of his toes to the ends of each strands of his hair. He felt like he was on fire, but at the same time he was in the artic. He couldn't even open his eyes, all the feelings assaulting him causing utter exhaustion to wash over him. He couldn't register the diminishing screaming that came out of his mouth. His sight grew dark, and, with a final breath, sank into darkness.

"Will he be alright Madam Pomphrey?"

"We can't be sure. He's showing a good sign of waking up, but we can't be sure of what damage was done until he's woken."

"Please, do anything you can."

"I will do my best, Ms. Granger."

Everything ached. All his muscles were tense and in pain, he could feel it. His eyes flew open, and he let out a painful groan. The white ceiling of the infirmary greeted him. He heard a gasp of surprise and a loud "Ms. Granger, please stand back for a few minutes." All he could focus on was the overwhelming amount of disappointment that coursed through his veins. He didn't know why, but he felt as if he was missing out on a large opportunity.

"Mr. Potter, I'm going to sit you up now so we can take a good look at you," He heard Madam Pomphrey explain before she propped him up against a collection of pillows. He squinted at the light that came in through the open windows, his eyes adjusting to the… whiteness of it all. He never could understand why they decided on such a boring tone of white.

He watched as Madam Pomphrey cast a diagnostic charm on him, sending a soft shiver up his spine. He always got a slight violated feeling whenever those were cast on him. He wasn't expecting Madam Pomphrey's surprised gasp. Harry sent her a questioning look, to which she responded, "Well, not all of it is as bad as I thought. You're insides aren't charred and you only have one rib broken. We've healed any scars. However, there seems to be a serious problem… Your, uh…" She coughed. "Your vocal cords are permanently damaged.

Harry's eyes widened as he tried to speak. All it resulted in was a searing pain in his throat and no noise coming from his being. Hermion summarized what he wanted to say well enough. "His vocal cords are what?"

"Permanently damaged. The lightning sent the strongest signal around his vocal cord, which caused irreversible side effects," She said, swallowing visibly. "We haven't found a way to fix it magically. Wizards and Witches alike have looked for a cure for centuries, but nothing has turned up… I'm sorry Mr. Potter."

Harry could hardly process her words. He stared ahead, his hand trailing upwards towards his throat. His fingers skimmed his adam's apple, the fact sinking into his brain. He would never be able to speak again. He was damaged, more so than before. If only he hadn't gone for that stupid walk the night before…

His eyes traveled over to Hermione's, who had tears spilling over hers. She seemed as if she was going to burst at any moment. She exclaimed, "Oh Harry! I'm so sorry! If only we had been taking care of you better, you wouldn't have lost your voice! It's all our fault."

Harry opened his mouth to contradict her, but closed it when he remembered he couldn't talk. Instead, he opted for shaking his head to show his disagreement. His fingers dug into the sheets beneath him, as rage surged up inside of him out of nowhere. He went through all that in the war, and this was how he was payed? By becoming mute? What kind of bloody god was running the world?

He stretched his neck, popping it both ways, before climbing out of the bed with ease. The pain had dulled into only a slight hindrance, and it hardly bothered him. After the war, his pain tolerance had skyrocketed to an almost concerning high threshold. He could hear the fussing of Madam Pomphrey behind him, but he pretended to be unable to hear. He continued forward and out of the infirmary.

Harry's feet carried him all the way to Myrtle's bathroom, where the lonely ghost no longer existed. Harry had no clue what happened to the poor ghost. He always hoped nothing horrible, but with his luck, it was doubtful.

He leaned against the entrance of the chamber of secrets, tears already falling down his face. He could deal with the consequences of the war, he could deal with all the blame on him, he could deal with a lot of things. Becoming mute and not being able to speak was not one of the things he would put on that list.

His shoulders shook as more tears escaped his eyes. He must have done something to deserve such a strong punishment. He already assumed the death and betrayal of half of his friends was enough, but someone out there thought the opposite. He was cursed to no voice for eternity, and as he tried to scream, all that it resulted in was skin-splitting pain.

Fred, Remus, Tonks, Mad-eye Moody, Dobby, Hedwig, Snape, and many others all had their lives taken during that last stretch of the war. He could hardly bare to think of their names. They had died hero deaths, each one of them. He always felt as if he was betraying their memory if he thought of them.

After the war was where the most losses counted. Almost all Gryffindors turned their backs on him. It seemed they only liked him while he was "The Chosen One", not when he was worthless to the cause. Dean, Seamus, even Ron. Ron had been the biggest shock to him. His best friend had spat in his face and called him a mudblood. Harry couldn't bear to think about it, but the only conclusion was that the entire friendship was a fraud.

Harry lifted a hand up to wipe the tears away from his eyes. He would have to face the world, in all his mute glory eventually. He stepped over to a working sink and turned it on, staring at his reflection in the cracked mirror. He looked like death itself, with the large bags under his eyes and his hair casting shadows across his face. It almost made him laugh, but the self-pity swallowed that idea up before he could.

He splashed the water into his face, begging it to calm down so he could leave the room without worrying any of his friends. His friend group, currently, consisted of Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, and Neville Longbottom. They were the only ones who could make him smile. He hated to admit that it all seemed superficial, as if he was tricking himself into thinking he was happy.

After a few minutes of deep breathing and drying his soaking bangs, Harry stepped out into a corridor of the castle. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to flatten it. He hoped he didn't look he had been crying. He didn't need to bring more melodrama to everyone's lives.

Harry made his way through the hallway, a shiver running up his spine. What would everyone else say, when they learned he was mute? His friends got annoyed with him on a daily basis, it wouldn't make it better if he couldn't respond. What if they no longer wanted to be his friend?

As he wasn't paying attention, Harry jumped in shock when he felt something collide against his body. His rear hit the ground before he hissed in pain from the cold stone flooring. He blinked a few times before sparing a glance upwards, mentally sighing when he saw it was none other than his ex-best friend, Ron Weasley.

"Watch where you're going, Potter. Just because you can't think straight doesn't mean you get to be a hindrance," Ron hissed, the hatred clear in his eyes. Harry opened his mouth to retaliate, wondering if Ron actually knew what the word hindrance meant. He shut his mouth again, choosing to instead glare at Ron with as much venom as he could gather. It wasn't much, as the memories of the golden trio flashed through his mind.

"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?" Ron questioned, laughing at his own comment. Harry pulled himself off the ground as he tried not to cry at the mirth that echoed through his old friend's voice. Things really were different. He continued past Ron, ignoring the calls behind his back that called him a coward and a freak. It was all he could do to take deep breaths to stop his shoulders from shaking.

When he arrived at the 8th year dorms, Neville had his arms wrapped around Hermione, who was crying. He stood in the doorway, shifting between his feet as he rubbed the back of his neck. He had wanted to say something, before the big realization kicked in. He took a few deep breaths before walking forward, passing the pair and going into what he claimed as his room.

It was the farthest away from the others. He would have to share it with another student soon, but for the moment he appreciated the silence. The best part of the room for him was the window. The part of the castle they were in was under the water, though few would realize such a thing. For those who had windows in their dorms would have the spectacular view of the underwater world. Harry often pulled up a chair to the window and stared out into the depths, watching as fish of all kinds swam past.

In that moment, he spent no time admiring the tranquility of the fishes. He stumbled over to his bed and launched himself onto it, landing face first into his pillow. His shoulders shook for the third time that day, and the shock of never being able to speak again came back to him. It didn't seem real. Nothing after the war had ever seemed real to him. It all felt like some elaborate form of deception.

He continued his self-pity until his vision faded, and exhaustion swept over him. Harry found himself drifting off to sleep wishing that everything would go back to the way it was before. Even if that meant Voldemort was still alive.

Please review! I appreciate feedback, no matter the kind. I hope you enjoyed!