He Lived in a White House
They had all risked their lives and they had all seen people die.
But Harry had had no choice, had watched people die for him, to protect him, had lived with a piece of Voldemort's soul inside him for eighteen years, had had to be prepared to sacrifice his life to destroy it. There was no way anybody could come out of that alright.
*****
He lived in a white house now; his neighbours were called Frank and Alice.
A woman came to visit him a lot, a beautiful woman with red hair and sad eyes. Once, after many, many visits, she had brought a man with her. That time, she had grasped his hands and told him she was sorry over and over again, but he couldn't work out what for. She had cried more than usual. Another time, after that, or maybe before (time was vague here, with no calendars, no seasons, and day blending into day) she had brought a baby boy with her. His name was Harry, too.
Strange, that.
Two others came as frequently as the woman. They looked like children he thought he had known, once upon a time. It was their hair that reminded him - the woman's was bushy and brown, the man's a vivid orange. Sometimes they came wearing party hats, and they ate cake with him. Normally, they stayed for what felt like a long time, but once they came only for a few minutes. That was the time that they had been wearing the strange clothes - the man formal robes, the woman a white dress. He had told her she looked pretty, which took a lot of effort, as talking always did, and she had cried. Twice, or maybe three times, he wasn't sure, the woman's stomach had swollen and then shrunken again. Sometimes they brought babies with them, and other times they brought children; most recently it had been young adults.
Once, a blond man came with his blonde wife and their blond toddler. The man shook Harry's limp hand and said "Thank you". A lot of people who came to visit him said thank you.
Harry figured they must have mistaken him for somebody else.
The women and the man, and some other people - a clumsy man, a sincere blonde woman, more redheads - seemed to droop after a long while. Their skin became wrinkled, their hair turned grey and thinned. Some stopped coming at all. Frank and Alice moved away.
When he looked down at his own hands they were wrinkled, too.
How odd.
Only people he didn't recognise at all came now. They were nice, but he was lonely.
One hundred years after Harry Potter defeated Lord Voldemort, he awoke in a strange bed, in a house which wasn't white. He blinked slowly, squinting at first to get used to the bright light. When his vision focused, which was peculiar because he knew he wasn't wearing his glasses, he saw that his bed was surrounded by people.
Ginny was there, and Ron and Hermione, young again. All of the Weasleys, in fact, Neville, Luna, Hannah, Remus and Tonks, Dumbledore, Sirius, his parents, a few people he didn't know. One of the strangers looked just like Hermione and he did a double take, before he saw that she had red hair, not brown.
"What happened?" he asked, his voice drowsy.
George (or was it Fred?) cracked a smile at him. "You had a little episode, mate. All better now, though."
"Yeah," the other twin said. "We didn't think you'd make it for a while - thought perhaps you'd been naughty without telling us." They laughed raucously, and Harry smiled.
Yes, all better now.
A/N: I hope you liked it :D Was it too confusing, though?
Feel free to check out the poll on my profile, and there is also a link to a one-shot challenge that I've set up there.
Oh, and the Harry Potter Awards forum is open for nominations now - there are so many great fics there, so I highly recommend that you take a look (the link is on my profile).