Hi! So, this story was posted before, but then I took it down for some unknown reason. I am reposting it under a new title. Hopefully I'll get some reviews? Pretty please?
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Scarred and broken, Harry thought to himself. Broken. He was broken, he thought as he lay on the floor in a pitch-black cave. His whole body was screaming in pain, his mind, his mind shrieked- let me go, let me die, quickly now, it hurts so bad . . . but the end would not come, and Harry knew this. Voldemort was gone, dead, and so Harry survived. Harry survived, but a more broken man you could not find. Harry shuddered to think about the things he had endured during that final battle.
Harry lay there, unable to move, for what stretched from minutes to hours to what seemed like days. The time passed, and all Harry tried to do was forget. His mind was like a black hole; memories and flashbacks and pain came to him, but purposefully he shut everything off, sucking all feeling into nothingness.
Finally, Harry began to feel normal gain. He could hear dripping in the cave, and wind blowing far away, instead of just the silence in his head. He began to remember pleasant things, his friends, his life, and times of happiness. Things other than the pain that threatened to rip him apart.
Harry wasn't even sure exactly what had happened. He remembered coming into the Dark Lord's presence, and the cold, cruel laugh that came from that awful white face with slits for eyes. He remembered fighting. He remembered being tortured- physically, but also mentally, his worst memories coming back to him and changing to be even more gruesome, threatening to rip him apart- deaths that were his fault, from his failures, and then the pain. He remembered dreadful things; his mind not only relieved scenes, but relived them as the victim; Harry felt their pain, shared their pain- was their pain- screaming, crying, pleading, make it stop. It was in those moments that Harry had known that Voldemort was better, stronger than him; how else could he change memories in someone else's mind, simply to torture the person? Scars covered Harry's body; he wasn't sure how they had gotten there, how they were received, or what had happened to him. He had gone numb long ago.
Harry remembered a moment in that action, in the torture, when he had felt strong, felt a will to fight back. He had felt hatred, hatred and anger through is pain- and wand less, no explanation- 'Avada Kedavra'- a flash of green light, and it was all over.
And so Harry lay.
Eventually, he began to get hungry. Harry waited, trying to give his body all the time he could to heal, trying to give his mind all the time he could to simply block everything out once again.
Finally, Harry got up. He screamed. It seemed like his whole body had been ripped open, searing pain, shooting arrows into him at every weakness; it reminded him of the time Voldemort had touched his scar in the graveyard, simply more pain.
Harry took a staggering step and clutched the hard stone wall. He needed food; he was becoming very hungry, making his pain even worse. As Harry took a few more steps, he realized he wouldn't be able to make it much farther. When he looked at his hands, arms, and legs, red lines covered them that were rapidly forming into scars that looked like they would last a lifetime. Under the red lines, purple bruises loomed, looking angrily back at him. War wounds. What amazed Harry once again was that he had no idea where they had come from. The torture, obviously, but what? Harry didn't remember feeling it, being there.
Harry spotted his wand laying about 20 feet from him, deeper in the cave where he remembered Lord Voldemort standing, laughing. Fighting through his fear and hurt, Harry stiffly ran as best he could over to it, even though unknowingly he was screaming.
Harry gingerly picked up his wand, surprised that it hadn't been broken in half. He felt the magic fill him, and he felt stronger- but the pain, still the pain took over him, not allowing him to even perform the simplest of spells.
Gasping, Harry walked a few more steps. Every few moments, he would stop and close his eyes, again trying to forget, again trying not to think in those seconds, moments, hours that passed in between his steps.
Eventually, Harry made it to where he could see the entrance to the cave. He remembered so vividly walking through that stone archway- prepared to die, expecting to die. Not expecting to survive, not expecting to be broken. But there Harry was.
Standing, Harry wavered. His last strength gone, Harry fell, his face on the cold, unforgiving stone floor.
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When Harry woke again, it was just starting to dawn on the morning. The sun was just coming over the horizon. For a few, blissful moments, Harry was able to sit and just enjoy the sunrise. Then, as he stood up, pain shot through him, and memories came flooding back.
When it was over, Harry stood still and stared. A few painful steps later, Harry found himself standing on a ledge. Land stretched before him. Harry turned his head and gasped, not only from pain but also from the startling view. Nestled near the cave, deep in the rock, rose a black house- turrets and towers reached the sky, and a red stone path could be seen winding up the huge rock mountain. Harry had never seen the house before, but he recognized it despite all of this. This was one of the houses of the Malfoy family.
Harry began to walk across the precarious rocks, ignoring his pain. As he walked, he could feel all the scars on his body flaring up. But something drove him on, up the steps, slowly, painfully up the steps. Steps were even worse than just walking; but Harry wanted to be out of the cave, out of the evil clutches of memories.
Using a last burst of energy, Harry knocked on the huge door.
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Ginny sat in silence. Two weeks had passed since the news that Voldemort was dead had reached the ears of wizards. Two whole weeks. So where was Harry?
"Ginny?" Hermione came into the room. She looked at Ginny cautiously. "Oh, dear," Hermione said quietly. "It's that feeling again, isn't it?"
Ginny nodded miserably, her red hair sticking to her face as tears rolled own her cheeks.
Hermione sighed. She had already decided that when Harry returned, he would be in big trouble with her. If he even returned. His decision to leave during the night and fight Voldemort alone had already caused so much hurt and so much fear. Hermione didn't know what had made her accept his decision that night, but she had. Now Harry's life might be destroyed, she thought, and if he doesn't come back Ginny's might be also.
"Hermione?" Ginny whispered. Hermione looked back at her, waiting. "If Harry does come back, will he be…. different? Will he still love me?"
Hermione fought back tears. Not only was she crying because Ginny was in pain, but Harry had been one of her best friends also. "I don't know," Hermione said sadly. "I'm sure he'll still love you. But Ginny…. Maybe you already have, I don't know, but- I think you maybe have to accept that he might not be coming back."
With that, both girls began sobbing uncontrollably, lost in their own grief. Eventually Ron came in, looking equally distraught himself but a little shocked to see Hermione and Ginny crying. He wrapped Hermione in his arms- a sudden feeling came over him, a want to protect her from all the hurt she was in. But he knew he could not. Ron felt utter remorse, both sadness and pain, as tears rolled down his face- he held one sobbing girl, and watched another as she cried- so many tears, and the one she needed most was gone.
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Review? Pretty please?