Enigma

He awoke with a groan of pain, clutching his abdomen with shock and surprise evident on his face, not to mention annoyance. Rolling out of the small, rickety bed, he stumbled into the tiny bathroom that was adjoined to his motel suite. After emptying his stomach of its few contents and rinsing his mouth with a deep grimace, he returned to the lumpy mattress and lay down, exhausted, all the while contemplating how he could have possibly gotten into this position.

Gazing dazedly at the drying rain droplets splattered against the room's window, he held back a moan at the mental recount of the past few months.

War had come to a spectacular end when he finally killed Snake-Face, and, to his delight, not many of the Light forces had suffered. This was mostly because of the fact that most of the students of the Slytherin house had realized what the probable outcome of the war was, seeing that the Light 'army' was truly well prepared and had plenty of allies. With the element of surprise, Death Eaters fell from an array of spells, stunned that their own children were fighting against them. With his fallen servants, Voldemort went hysterical and had a strange, magical version of cardiac arrest; he thought the magic of the Dark Marks were wasted. The prophesied Saviour had shot a non-descript spell, and the evil Dark Lord epically died.

The dark-haired man tried not to dwell on the events after the battle, for while nearly all his friends and mentors survived, his almost two-year secret lover had proposed to him on the bloody battle field. That event led up to about a week of elation, excitement and sex, only to crash down at the night of the belated celebration party, where he saw who he thought to be his faithful, possessive lover going at it with said lover's ex-girlfriend and betrothed.

He had fled in anger and a terrible sadness, racing to his dorms and packing up everything that he owned. The only thing he left behind was a short note to his best friends, telling them that he needed to escape the world for awhile. That was all that he could do before he broke down and left the old castle that he had always called home.

Now he was in a dingy motel, somewhere far off of the west of Surrey. At one point during the past month of his travel and escape, he had decided to return to his childhood home to see how the Dursleys were doing. While they weren't the best caretakers, they were family; Dudley had even been decent to him long after the attack of the Dementors before his Fifth Year.

School, of course, had ended by now. He remembered watching Vernon and Petunia leave for London to pick him up (were they expecting him to be a slave again?), only to return with his uncle purple in the face with anger, but also sickeningly relieved. His aunt, however, looked sort of worried, as was Dudley when he heard the news.

That was when Harry left Number Four, Privet Drive, as he could not stand the idea of anyone being worried for his wellbeing when he was evidently on a short vacation, even if they didn't know of it. This was all in his own mind, sadly, as his despair had driven him into a state of almost-denial.

Shaking his head out of the depressing thoughts, he began to pack up his few belongings. While he did take all of his things from the dorm, he went to Gringotts and deposited everything except for the essentials. He had even converted some of his money into Muggle currency.

Generally, he was almost unrecognizable, for he had lost his curse scar when Snake-Face was killed, and he had grew his hair long enough to wear a short ponytail. He had also ditched his old glasses and opted for coloured contacts, allowing him to see clearly and look different at the same time. His eyes were a plain brown now.

Double checking the rooms, he quickly paid at the office reception counter, taking the old, used bicycle he had bought, and pedalled far away from the motel he had taken shelter at during last night's storm. It was when he felt a sweeping tingle over his skin that he stopped pedalling and fell with his transportation mechanism, eyes shut tight as he felt an excruciating pain take over him. He could almost compare it to a Cruciatus when he hacked up a few drops of blood and passed out cold.

Nobody had witnessed the scene, for the countryside was usually devoid of much life that was not plantation, and any Muggles that had been there would still have not noticed due to the wards the young man had entered.

Creaking almost silently in the wind, a lone sign hung above the gates where the body lay in front of. It was nothing spectacular, but when you considered it, having the Saviour of the Wizarding World lie unconscious at the boundaries of 'Malfoy Manor'…

Well, the lady of the house certainly got a shock.

A/N: Well, the irony of it all. And what I had planned to be a trilogy of a sort it now going to be 5 chapters/stories long. Do you REALLY think I should continue?

Disclaimer: HARRY POTTER AND CO. DO NOT BELONG TO ME - PLEASE LOOK AT JKR kthxbai.