Surviving Guilt

Merry Christmas and/or Happy Holidays! If you don't celebrate anything in December then Merry December!

Disclaimer: I wished I owned Harry Potter, because if I did, Sirius, Remus, and Fred would be alive and kicking.

...

Running a hand through his wet and perpetually messy hair, Harry entered the small pub and out of the drizzle outside. It was a muggle establishment, dingy, and with dim lighting. Although he could've gone anywhere in the wizarding world, he would be bombarded by fans, reporters, and everyone in between. He was after all, the savior; the Chosen One.

It had been nearly three years since the Final Battle, but there had been no peace for him. There was always someone who wanted to talk to him, shake his hand, interview him, or ask for money, and he couldn't forget the prepubescent girls making eyes at him. It was even worse if he tried going out for dinner or to a pub to drown his sorrows. Persistent women with revealing clothing tried to seduce him, so they could say they had been with the Boy-Who-Triumphed. Most men his age would eat up the attention.

But he wasn't most men his age.

The battle and its repercussions had slowly eaten away him, turning him into a shell of his former self. The frivolities of life no longer held any appeal to him. Ginny had tried to get him to open up, enjoy the freedom, bask in the glory. But he couldn't.

The deaths of his friends and the families of those who fought weighed down on him. He couldn't go back to the being the boy that Ginny had loved. The guilt was to much.

Eventually people had stopped trying to fix him and went and moved on with their lives.

And so that was why he was in a muggle pub on a drizzly November evening; going to drown his sorrows without being bothered.

He sat down at one of the worn wooden stools and a woman of average hight and with freckles on her nose came over.

Standing in front of him she asked, "What canna get for ye, luv?"

"The strongest thing you've got," he replied wearily.

While pouring his drink she asked, "So, what's yer story?"

Meeting her warm hazel eyes, Harry snapped, "What's it to you?"

Shrugging, she handed him his drink. "People as sad as y'are always have somethin' to say. It may be lady troubles, 'ome troubles, I dunno, but if ye wanna talk, I'll be here all night luv."

And with that, she walked away to go and collect empty glasses from the various tables.

--

It had been several hours since he had arrived and Harry had gone through several glasses of his preferred alcohol. He had moved from his spot at the bar, opting for a corner table. His overly cautious nature from his years fighting Voldemort were still ingrained even if he was inebriated.

He had spent the past hours watching the various patrons come and go, as the barmaid went about her business. Harry had been considering her offer, but, could he open up to a stranger? Could he bear to talk about his guilt?

The answer to that was yes. He could.

It had been long enough, and if his friends had tried now, Harry knew he would've told them instantly. They had pushed him to early in his grief. It had been to soon, but now he was ready.

Watching the last few patrons make their way out, Harry motioned the barmaid over.

Smiling at him, she came over to his table. "What do ye need luv?" she asked as she took the seat opposite him.

Draining his glass, Harry looked straight into her hazel eyes. "Does your offer from earlier still stand?"

Settling into the old chair, she smiled at him. "You bet luv."

Letting out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, he had one last thing to ask her, "Alright, I'm going to tell you why I am the way I am. But you're going to hear somethings you won't believe, so please don't think I'm a nutter."

Nodding, she motioned for him to begin.

"Lets start from the beginning, when I was a year old, my parents were murdered. They were murdered because of a prophesy, this is going to be difficult for you to hear, they were murdered by an evil wizard by the name of Lord Voldemort."

She gave him a dubious look.

He continued, "I know, sounds like a made up story, but magic is real, my parents were wizards and so am I."

Raising an eyebrow at him she said, "Alrigh' Mista Wizard, prove it."

Harry took out his wand, and muttering a spell, two bottles of alcohol began to float over to them from the bar.

Wide-eyed with astonishment, she took one of the bottles out of the air, opened it, and took a large gulp.

Smirking at her, Harry continued, "Now this afore mentioned prophesy, said that I would be the one to bring this man's downfall, so he attempted to murder me and my parents. But he couldn't kill me. Instead, I ended up with this scar and he, disappeared. Now lets fast-forward past my childhood and to my school years. Since I was eleven, he had been trying to off me. For four years I kept him at bay. He had been trapped as less than a spirit since the night my parents died. When I was fourteen, he got his body back. Then the shit hit the proverbial fan. His followers, who called themselves Death Eaters were back, and the Ministry of Magic, thats the English magical government, refused to believe that he was back. I was made out to be a liar and a fool. Most of the wizarding population was in agreement; that I was just looking for attention. When they did accept the truth, that their worst nightmare was back, Voldemort was already immensely strong. After his 'downfall' the wizards of Britain became soft preferring the comfort of ignorance to standing and fighting. During this time people close to me died, my Godfather, mentor, and countless numbers of muggles -thats what we call non-magical people- and wizards were killed. This battle reached its crescendo three years ago, and during that final stand, people I cared for, people who barely knew me, laid down their lives to protect me. The loss of their lives is with me everywhere I go. The insane amount of guilt I have because I was supposed to protect them; save them."

Taking a deep breath, he pressed on,

"And what gets me, is that after that battle, people expected me to grieve for a short while, then be what they expected the savior of the Wizarding World to act like. I couldn't – can't- be that person. The girl I thought I loved, pushed me to get over my grief as fast as she had. When I refused, still filled with guilt, she left, along with my friends, and surrogate family. And so here I am today, sitting in this pub telling you my life story."

She was silent for several long minuets.

"So thats why all 'em people died. 'ey were killed brutally an wi' no mercy."

Harry nodded.

"An' you stop'd 'im?" she asked as if making sure she'd understood.

He nodded again.

"Well how I see it, those people died tryin' to protect ye, didn' die in vain. By getting' rid o' him, ya did a whole bunch o' good fer everyone."

"They died because of me," Harry said sadly.

"No, they died cos' of that nuttah. You didn' kill 'em, 'e did. Or at lease people who're told te."

Smiling at him, she reached across the scrubbed table and placed her hand on top of his.

"Ye said people who love'd ye gave their lives fer ya. Well they wouldn' want ye te beat yerself up over it. They'd want ya ta be happy. An' besides they woulda died sometime or anotha. Tis natural as breathin."

Looking up and seeing her smile at him with her slightly crooked teeth, dirty freckled face, and shining eyes, Harry couldn't help but smile back.