Harry lay in the bed in Charlie's old room, one arm draped over his eyes. He didn't want to be seen, nor see anyone. He'd, quite simply, had enough. He'd lain there for three days now, since the last funeral.
A knock at the door startled him. Without waiting for him to reply, she entered. Harry didn't need to look to see who it was, her fragrance enveloped every one of his senses.
"Harry, I brought you some dinner. Please try and eat," she practically begged.
Harry would have eaten the tray itself, just to make her happy. Hell, all he wanted to do was drag her to him, hold her close, then lose himself in her. So he did the only thing he could right now.
He turned away from her, rolling onto his side, facing the wall. When he heard her gasp, he knew she had felt his rejection.
His heart hurt as he heard her leave the room. He even winced as she slammed the door behind her.
He never wanted to hurt her, but it seemed it was all he did. He didn't deserve her, or her family; nor her brother as his best friend.
He was tainted, dirty. He'd had Voldemort inside him for eighteen fucking years, and now, all that was left was Harry.
'Who was Harry Potter?' he wondered. They called him a hero; he scoffed at that. He did what had to be done.
Countless dead, families torn apart. The wizarding world was in tatters as it began the long path back to normality. Hogwarts and Gringott's would take ages to repair, even with magic.
Harry wished he could care, but he was spent. He'd given his all and had nothing left.
Ron and Hermione told him they were leaving for Australia to find her parents. They'd asked if he wanted to join them. He'd considered it for a minute, the urge to flee too great to pass. But he'd declined, unable to be around them again, after the last hellish nine months.
He needed distance from them, and probably, them from him.
They were a proper couple now, after snogging during the battle. Harry supposed he was happy for them, if he bothered to care. But right now, caring hurt too damned much.
He rolled back onto his back, now that he knew she was gone. His stomach ached from lack of food, but his heart ached from lack of Ginny.
His mind had always been more in control than his heart. It's why he had been able to let her go after Dumbledore died. Some people called it noble. He called it a curse. He chose to keep his distance from her, despite knowing she was the one to help him through this nightmare. Sometimes, when they'd dated briefly, he'd wondered how she'd known him better than he knew himself.
He looked at the tray she'd brought him. Sure enough, it was his favourite food. Shepherd's Pie and treacle tart. Goddamn her! He picked up the tray and flung it against the wall.
He watched the mess slide down the wall, then lazily cast a Reparo. The mess cleaned itself, and it was as if it never happened.
Harry felt a lot like that mess. Sliding down, down to a heap on the floor. Waiting, needing someone, anyone (her!) to cast a Reparo on him.
Not that he deserved it.
Or her.
HGHGHG
When Ginny tentatively went to Charlie's old bedroom two hours later, she knocked and hesitated. He barely spoke any more, so there was no use waiting for him to either tell her to enter, or piss off.
She wanted desperately to help him, knowing she was the only one who could. She wanted to climb into bed with him and just hold him tight, to let her know someone cared, she cared. She didn't need to know any details, the where, or when, or how, or why.
She just needed him.
But he turned away from her, and that hurt.
She took a deep breath and entered, intending to simply pick up the tray that was sure to still be full, and leave.
She knew as soon as she entered.
He was gone.
The bed was made, with not a wrinkle on the bedspread. No sign of any inhabitant. The window was open, letting in fresh air.
It was almost as if he had never even been there. His essence, his Harry-ness, was gone too.
Only the tray, still full, was a reminder that he had been there, not two hours earlier. But resting on the tray was a rose. A pink rose.
Ginny tried not to cry. When they started dating in Harry's sixth year, her fifth, he'd always given her roses. He'd nabbed Neville's help in providing them, and he'd tell her what each colour meant. Yellow for friendship and falling in love, red for love, white for purity and innocence, orange for desire ( he'd blushed when he told her this) pink for gratitude. He'd had a white one delivered for her sixteenth birthday, just after he, Ron and Hermione had left on the Horcrux hunt.
He'd never given her a red rose.
Ginny picked up the rose and sniffed it's beautiful fragrance. She wondered how long ago he'd left, and wondered where he would have gone. She was deeply concerned, for she didn't think he should be alone right now.
She only hoped, wherever he went, he found peace.
With that thought, she let the tears fall. The petals of the rose fell to the ground as she plucked them out, one by one.
He loves me, he loves me not.
A/N A short introduction, I know. This started out as completely angsty, but as I've gone on, it's completely changed. Next chapter is a filler, explaining where Harry has been. It's also a short chapter, but they do get longer xx