Broken Hero
Summary: The War was over, finished. A part of him died that day, locked itself away and wanted to be forgotten. As Harry regains his life, he starts to piece together the mysterious stories of his friends paths in the war, and where their loyalty truly lies. But will the truth be enough to complete him?
Chapter One
Only one good thing came out of that day, one thing among the millions of sacrifices.
'Where are you … ?'
He was now gone, like so many others. What if he'd gone where they had? What if he still tormented them? Maybe it wasn't so good …
'I see blood … it's so scary, so plain, so … real …'
The war he had been striving for was right there, right in front of him. It was what he had lived for. He hadn't a clue what he was going to do when it was all over, and he was the strongest, he just liked the challenge of getting there. But he had meant to survive; only he didn't. He just … didn't.
'She was staring at me … her eyes fighting every last breath … she wanted to live … she was supposed to live …'
The one who had survived was found among the ruins, among the bloodshed, among the bodies, among those he loved. He was barely breathing. His whole body had been a bloody, beaten up, and broken mess, but he was alive, thankfully.
'You're it … the soul survivor …'
He was unconscious. They brought him quickly to the hospital, and despite the death that surrounded them; they couldn't suppress the small smiles that lurked on their faces. Even that, that resembled a spark, lit up in their eyes. They were safe. Their families were safe. No more worrying, and no more suffering. The three-year war was over, and the one they carried had saved them. They owed him their life, their families' lives. Yet, they would never know, or at least understand, that he would rather have been the one who had died; he would rather have had the one that struck fear in the hearts of the world, be the one that had conquered instead. How was he to live with nothing, and no one?
'Don't give up … At least promise me that …'
'I promise,' he whispered out loud, and the man carrying him glanced down at him.
'Poor boy," he said to no one in particular. He shook his head in pity.
'I don't want to close my eyes …'
---
There was a searing pain in his forehead. It felt like a migraine, pulsating to every sound he could hear. Someone close by was crying, and it echoed in every corner of his brain. Why would they cry? He hoped it wasn't because of him. Struggling, he tried to open his eyes, but they felt as if they'd been glued shut.
"Harry?" he heard someone whisper. They sounded remotely familiar.
He tried to open his mouth, but like his eyes, he couldn't move it either. A feeling of claustrophobia washed over him. He was trapped inside himself. He felt himself struggle desperately, but it was in vain. Nothing was responding. A thought of fear cut through him like a knife that maybe there was nothing there to respond.
"Harry, it's ok. It will take time. You've lost a lot of blood. Your strength's all gone. The Healer said that you'd start to feel things soon though." It was a girl; he knew that.
She paused. "Harry, you're a hero," except she said it as if it were the worst thing in the world …
'If I die tomorrow, know that what I've lived now … being here … with you … it was worth it …'
---
A few days later, he awoke to a room shrouded in bright white light. Squinting, he moved his hands over his eyes to protect them.
"Hello?" he said hoarsely. A pain shot through his throat, and he closed his mouth, trying to protect it.
'I see Angels, Harry … I see … freedom …'
---
Someone was crying again, but this time he knew he could look. Opening his tired eyes, he looked over to the girl sitting on a chair, with her head in her hands.
"Why do you cry?" he asked, in a voice he didn't seem to own.
She looked up at him, seeming a little startled.
"Oh, Harry, you're awake." She jumped up, and threw herself on him, enveloping him in a large hug. When she moved back, he finally was able to see who she was.
"Who are you?" he asked gently, not wanting to upset her. But she cried anyway, harder then before.
"Don't you remember me, Harry?" She asked, and tears were brushing her lips, making them seem a full, beautiful, bright red.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. She shook her head.
"Don't be."
'He died fighting … just like he promised … just like he was suppose to …'
---
She came back every day. Sometimes she'd cry, sometimes she'd read and sometimes she'd just sit there in silence. She never told him her name, and he never asked. He was too ashamed. She was important to him; he felt that when he was around her, but what it was, he couldn't figure it out.
"What happened?" he asked bravely one day. She glanced up at him, from the book she was reading. It was the first word he had spoken since he'd told her he was sorry.
"To you?"
He nodded. "I'm not entirely sure. I wasn't there, Harry, but he died. You killed him."
"Who?" asked Harry.
"Voldemort," she whispered as if it terrified her.
"Was anyone there?" Her eyes filled up with tears again, and she looked away from him, and out the window, to the blue sky, to a cloudless day. Her mouthed moved but he couldn't hear what she was saying. Suddenly, she burst into sobs; loud, treacherous sobs.
He reached out, and touched her hand. She clutched it, grasped it as if she would never let go, and he let her cry. A sinking feeling settled in his stomach. Someone had died …
'I'll never leave … no matter what happens, I'm always here …'
---
She only came back once a week after that. He didn't dare say a thing. She was suffering, and he could see that. There was nothing to say though, because he didn't understand. He'd never understand, unless he remembered. He willed himself to though.
Sometimes, he'd sit there and flashes would appear in front of him but they were so fast, changing without a whim, that they were impossible to decipher.
He saw colours though. Blue, red, yellow, sparkles and stars – he saw green the most though. Green always laughed at him. Green always stabbed him in the heart.
'He killed them, Harry … he killed them because he could … because it hurts …'
---
He strength was almost whole again. He'd been there for months and felt it was finally time for him to leave.
The nurse came trotting in, after he called her.
"I need to leave," he said quietly to her, his eyes downcast, feeling the weight of his sadness.
She nodded. "I'll call her."
An hour later, the girl came again.
"Harry?" she asked cautiously.
"I need to leave," he repeated in the exact way he'd spoken to the nurse.
She nodded too. "Ok."
'I thought I could make you whole, Harry … I really did …'
---
His home was empty. It couldn't reflect him, could it? The plain white walls, silver table and chairs, a spotless floor and no sign of comfort?
"You were hardly home," she explained quietly to him.
"Where did I go?" She just shrugged.
"I don't know. I wasn't here to watch you." Her tears were cascading down her face again. He reached out to touch her, to hold her, but she ran.
The door slammed shut behind her, and Harry flinched, as if it had slammed on his heart.
'She's gone, Harry … we can't find her …'
---
He touched a glass in his cold, uninviting kitchen and something flashed in front of him.
A young man with red hair. He was tall and lanky, with a goofy smile on his face. An identical glass to the one in Harry's hand, was held loosely in his.
"Cheers, Harry," he heard the young man say in a deep, and peaceful voice, that was full of excitement. Light seemed to be drawn towards him. His skin had a rosy glow, and the air around him was shimmering gold. He held up his glass.
"Cheers, Ron." Harry heard himself say in a voice similar to Ron's. He didn't even realize he'd lifted his glass to knock Ron's.
He watched it in slow motion and felt a small smile slide onto his face as the two glasses connected.
But then it was gone.
And he was standing in his dark kitchen, his glass held in midair, and a feeling of utter despair settling deep inside of him. He was all alone.
'If you laugh, all your fears go away …'
---
"Who was Ron?" He asked the next time she visited him. She faulted.
"Ron?" She was trying so hard to hold onto her composure. She couldn't cry any more. All her tears were gone. She had drained them away.
Harry nodded.
"He was your best friend."
"Oh." Was all he could say.
"I should go," she said and went to pick up her bag, but she fumbled, and its contents poured out onto the ground. Harry knelt down to help her but as he watched her arm, one of the sleeves rode up. He could see a thick pink scar sticking out.
Before he could stop himself, he grabbed her arm and pulled up her sleeve. She flinched, and trembled
The scar was long, snaking up her arm, and past her shoulder.
"What happened?" he breathed out.
"My flesh broke when they tortured me." She couldn't look at him. Her voice was barely loud enough to be heard, and her lips were trembling. She grabbed the rest of her stuff, pulling her arm free, and covering it up again.
Harry stared at her, wide eyed, opening his mouth to speak, but his tongue didn't want to move. He watched in a daze, as she fled the house.
His heart was beating fast, and Harry knew in that moment that her pain was irreparable. He'd broken a promise …
'They can't hurt you anymore … I won't let them …'
---
Ron visited him that night in his dreams.
He saw himself too, but a different version of himself.
His eyes were hardened; they knew their place, and his voice demanding, and gritty. His hair was longer, and his skin seemed grubby from constant moving, and anxiety. His frame stood up straight, in a commanding, and intimidating way. They stood by a forest, its large branches hanging over them, giving them shelter, and privacy.
"She's gone, Harry … we can't find her." Ron's whole resolve collapsed, his despair unbearable.
Harry had heard those words before, echoing in his mind. They meant something to him.
"Gone where?" he heard himself bark at Ron, in his intimidating voice.
"He has her, I didn't leave her alone for long, only ten minutes, and when I came back, she was gone."
Harry felt his anger rising up inside of him. He was only remotely aware that next to him a tree had caught on fire, and as its fingers licked the top of the tree, he saw within Ron's eyes the same burning fire, full of passion.
Pain and suffering had become their motive …
'Just remember what you're fighting for … remember … and you'll win …'
---
A/N: Thanks for reading. I hope you like it. Please review. Constructive Criticism is most welcome. If you review mine, leave a note and I'll be happy to review yours.