Disclaimer: I'd love to have Harry, and the gang! No such luck though:/ I guess I haven't been wishing loud enough yet.:(
AN: This is a short Harry-ranting type of story:) Also contains descriptions of torture, language, and non-canon character death (people who don't die in canon, die.)
Summary: After the war, Harry is accused of becoming the next Dark Lord; Harry snaps. AU world where Harry isn't afraid to tell the WW where to shove it.
The Reality of Give and Take
Harry stood at the podium in front of the whole Wizarding World as he is accused of becoming the next dark lord. The abuse keeps coming; the slander doesn't stop…until finally he's had enough.
He conjures a pensieve in front of him and a projector screen behind him, strides up to the microphone, and with tears in his eyes, asks the Wizarding World, "Do you think I've not yet lost enough? DO YOU? I have lost loved ones to a dark lord, HOW CAN YOU EVEN THINK THAT I WOULD BECOME ONE? I lost parents at one year of age! My relatives slander my parents' memory! I became their bloody house elf! I met my first friend at the age of ELEVEN and now Ron's dead! Hermione's dead! Fred, Molly, Bill, Remus, Tonks, Dean, Seamus, Neville, Luna, Colin, Dennis, McGonagall, Dumbledore, Sirius, fuck half the Hogwarts population! I faced Voldemort every year since I was ELEVEN for you! We all fought for the good of the Wizarding World! And now you tell me I'm becoming the next dark lord because I don't fucking want to sentence millions of creatures to their torture and death? Is this what we fought for? WHAT I FOUGHT FOR?" his voice turning hysterical as he points to the screen where the memories from the pensieve are being displayed.
Behind him shows memories of his childhood; the abuse, loneliness; his craving for love and confusion as to why he apparently does not deserve it. His attempts at suicide as he dreams of a person who would simply talk to him, remind him he's a person.
The memories shift to his finding loved ones; and suddenly the memories show their deaths, followed by faces of strangers he has seen dying or tortured into insanity, creatures he remembers as being kind to him running for their lives as they are hunted down like animals; the fear, anger, despair, love, desperateness, and sheer horror they all felt; death, blood, gore, insanity. He shows the Wizarding World just how ugly it really is.
As the pictures were flashing, Harry saw many people turning their heads while muttering about it not being their business, or it being "good riddance"; he spells every single face to the screen as he screams in his hysteria and despair, "LOOK AT IT, DUMBFUCKS! BIGOTS! HYPOCRITES! SEE THE WORLD YOU ARE TRYING TO RECREATE! You blame me for becoming the dark lord? HOW ABOUT SEEING THE THINGS YOU CONDONE THEN? HOW DOES IT FEEL TO REALIZE YOU ARE WORSE THAN THE DARK LORD EVER WAS?"
He forces the memories to switch to current ones, made after the war. How hope comes crashing down when people he fought to SAVE clamored for the extinction of millions of lives. How the vampire who turned against his own Sire to protect him got hunted and put down by his own people as soon as the war ended. How Sanguini is, even now, barely surviving as the toy of a sick couple as they leave him chained to a dungeon wall while they torture him. How the he pleads for death as the Thirst eats him alive, as the torture barely leaves him his sanity, as the injustice leaves him empty.
How a beautiful Veela who spied for them became one of the fucktoys for politicians. How Maria was separated from her mate and children then forced to witness as her husband is tortured and her children raped. The atrocities the Wizarding World has committed plays on and on in the screen as Harry asks then again quietly, brokenly, "Have you not done enough?" and collapses. The screen plays on, with the people unable to look away.
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Harry wakes up in a hospital bed, covered in silk pajamas and velvet covers. The whole room is filled with flowers and get well cards filled with pleas for forgiveness; more kept coming through the open window beside his bed. He feels bitterness as he realizes the Wizarding World is once again all show and no result. He turns to the right in an effort to ignore it all and sees five other beds beside his. He starts when he notices that the mountains of mail and flora were separated into five piles, one for each of the room's occupants. He cannot see their faces, but Harry closes his eyes and smiles; he glimpsed blood packs, blond hair, and tiny toes. Outside, however, another war rests on the horizon; the war for atonement and equality versus tradition.