Disclaimer – Harry Potter belongs to J.K Rowling. She's the rich celebrity with amazing imagination; I'm the poor student who only can write with borrowed characters.
Author Notes – My beta checked this over once and sent it back to me, and then I did some changes and gave it to her again. Sadly she seems to be to busy at the moment to check it over again and I really want to get this out before Deathly Hallows is released! So, just know that one day I might upload a new and improved version of this.
Once upon a time
This is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but a whimper. -T.S. Elliot
Once upon a time, the world ended. It was a sad day; a heart-breaking end to all that had ever been, and people cheered for it. Their laughter rang across the oblivion, lightened all the dark corners, and somewhere amidst their joy, tears leaked, fell and vanished, leaving only their shadows behind.
But some shadows are darker than others, and some tears cannot simply be forgotten at the first sight of light. And so, as the world ended, Harry Potter stood alone, tall and strong and broken, and grieved for the world he had lost.
Dark thoughts mixed with joyful memories and shadow tears ran over bloody cheeks.
It had not ended with a bang. It had not ended with a whimper. It simply fell apart. A world built around chaos and destruction, friendship and love, fell away into the abyss as the Monster that had haunted it was torn from his body. A whole world slipped through the shaking fingers of a boy they all hailed as a Hero.
For what was there left of the world he had once walked? What remained of the people, the places, the love? What, in the wasteland before him, could he call home? There was nothing. All he had left were memories of times before it had all ended, times when he could walk the world and see the people and feel the love. Times when he truly lived. His world had ended and he did not see the appeal of celebrating the birth of a new one.
He scowled at the ground, glared at the masses cheering, and he stepped across the land with heavy feet that left footprints of ash. He hated them for their joy, their nauseatingly sweet happiness and their eagerness to forget what had brought them here. The lives of generations, the hearts of the brave, had all been lost in the quest for this new world that was too shallow to be called real. They did not have the right to forget. The dead deserved to be remembered.
A heavy heart beat in rhythm with falling stars.
Shadows rolled down his cheeks, splattered against the ground beneath him and trapped his very soul. Every trace of a smile was soon extinguished from his young face, the shining emerald of his eyes faded to a dull green and in time his haunted countenance lost all hints of happiness. The light hesitated, the cheering masses halted as he walked among them, no longer burning with hatred but falling away. And they wondered for a second if they were doing the right thing, if they were abandoning the ideals they treasured, but the light called them again, beckoned for them to join it in its shallow world, and like sheep they followed it. And all that was left of the world they had once lived in was hidden inside their Hero.
So he walked across their new world, lingered there even as his soul died and nothing remained but his body and shadows of a life once lived. White cheeks turned grey as he became a mere shell, a box in which memories were stored.
And in time, the masses forgot who he was. For surely this broken man could not be their tall and strong and powerful Hero who saved them all, who gave them this new and wonderful world? This broken man could never be Harry Potter, could never be their guiding light in the darkness that steered them right when all hope had abandoned them. This man was not even worth their glances, never mind their time or compassion, and surely not their respect.
Mocking laughter echoed across streets and ripped a burdened heart apart.
No one heard the screams, the pleas for mercy that at every living moment haunted him. They did not understand that as they forgot where they came from, lost the memories of the people who had given their lives for them, their young Hero, aged beyond his years, endured it all. Every abandoned memory was remembered by him, stored within his shell and echoing to no ones ears but his own. He assumed their burden; let the masses forget so that they could live, while he slowly drowned in all the tortured moments of the past.
A shadow was all that remained of him in the end. A shadow of the boy he had once been, a shadow of the Hero they all remembered and a shadow of a world they all chose to forget. And shadow tears rolled over his cheeks as he walked across the land, for years and centuries, always haunted by a dying world.
Once upon a time, the world ended and a shadow was all that remained.