Love of a Hero, a harry potter fanfic

Disclaimer: Book belongs to JKR. Song is Hero, by Mariah Carey. Read the book on paper and the lyrics to the song online. So've all of you.

That fateful night when Harry returns from the DoM, Dumbledore doesn't tell him only of the prophecy- he tells him everything, about the Horcruxes and Harry's ultimate role in the war. Now Harry must struggle through his feelings and duty to become the Hero he needs to be.

This story is based directly off of the song lyrics. So read through it! The phrases fit with certain parts of the story, but I didn't want to interrupt the flow by shoving them in between the paragraphs. There will be two more chapters, for the second verse and ending.

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Love of a Hero

Chapter 1

Verse 1

There's a hero

If you look inside your heart

You don't have to be afraid

Of what you are

There's an answer

If you reach into your soul

And the sorrow that you know

Will melt away

And then a hero comes along

With the strength to carry on

And you cast your fears aside

And you know you can survive

So when you feel like hope is gone

Look inside you and be strong

And you'll finally see the truth

That a hero lies in you

The still air of Privet Drive was broken on a scorching, mid-day in late July as angry yelling rang out from Number Four. The back door of said house crashed open and a body was harshly shoved out onto the step.

"-And I'd better not see your worthless self until it's serving me dinner!" The purple and perspiring Vernon Dursley sent his nephew a final glare before slamming the door.

Harry slowly picked himself up from where he had fallen hard, brushing off his grazed palms on his worn jeans. He sighed as he gave the air-conditioned house a longing look and walked around the house to get himself "thoroughly out of sight" as his uncle had requested. His feet unconsciously took him toward the park down by Magnolia Crescent as his mind wandered.

He'd been working all morning and, since he'd finished the outdoor chores the previous day, had spent most of it inside. But apparently, although he was doing exactly as his relatives ordered, the noise of the cleaning and his "presence constantly underfoot" was ruining his uncle's day off. After serving a "pathetic and disgusting" lunch the large man had finally had enough and told the boy that his company was entirely annoying, he couldn't do anything right and, basically, to get lost.

Normally Harry would be thrilled to have a few hours to himself, even in the stifling heat. But today wasn't a normal day and he didn't want the empty time alone, left with only his thoughts. He'd already had far too much time to think this summer and he'd found that it wasn't healthy. For once he was somewhat appreciative of the long hours of tedious work he was assigned. At least it kept him distracted and left him so exhausted as to get several hours of sleep before the nightmares came.

His green eyes shut and he repressed a shudder as he tried to push the images of the nightmares away. He knew better than to let his mind stray to such things. Ever since that dreadful night at the ministry that culminated in Dumbledore's office he hadn't had a single full night's sleep. How could he, after what he had done, now that he knew what he was, what he had to do…?

He couldn't repress the shudder this time and focused on the stone he was kicking to distract himself. Don't think about it. Not now. Everything's fine. There's nothing you can do about it now.

'Great, Potter. Now you're talking to yourself.' He thought, shaking a mental finger. 'And not only that, lying to yourself, too. Real healthy.'

He shook his head as he decided he was pretty much going insane. Not that you could blame him.

After everything that had happened, he'd been unceremoniously dumped at Private Drive (literally) via portkey as the rest of the students took the train home. Apparently it wasn't 'safe' for him to travel with the others, now that Voldemort was exposed and no longer working under the radar.

Upon arriving so suddenly on the kitchen floor as his relatives were eating breakfast he'd immediately been set upon by his upset aunt and uncle. Dudley hadn't even bothered to look up from his food. After a long rant and clout from his uncle that left his head ringing he'd been told to take care of his things and get to work. And so his summer began.

Now, a month away from returning to school, things hadn't changed much. He woke early each morning, gasping from horrific images that his mind plagued him with, having learned the hard way, long ago, to hold in his cries. Every day he faced endless chores, harsh words, frequent assault, pitiful meals (if he was lucky), and hateful glares- courteous of his adoring relatives. It wasn't an existence that instigated happy thoughts. He found himself hard pressed to remember those good times with friends when he used to smile and not be burdened with this heavy depression he couldn't shake.

And that was another thing. He hadn't received a single letter or word from his friends. Nothing. Not even the pathetic, short, patronizing letters they had sent last year. Even today, his sixteenth birthday, he hadn't gotten so much as a note. He knew it was his fault, that his foolish actions at Hogwarts and the Department of Mysteries had finally driven them away. But the abandonment still left him with a hollow pit in his stomach that ached from loneliness.

At the Order's insistence, he sent a letter confirming his 'well-being' every three days. They were usually only a line or two; "Dear whomever, I'm fine. Dursleys are behaving. -Harry" was the typical letter. He couldn't believe that they paid any attention to them beyond the fact that he was well enough to write and send them. The only thing that ever came back were the weekly assignments from Dumbledore. The Headmaster had decided that Harry needed to learn some things while he had "an excess of spare time this summer." He therefore gave Harry a load of books, papers, instructions and sent weekly letters giving him new things to look up and try.

Of course, he never included what the Order was planning or when Harry would get out of the black hole called Privet Drive. It seemed the man would never learn. But Dumbledore did make sure to include any attacks and actions of Voldemort, to keep Harry properly motivated and aware of the "dangers and horrors that could come to pass." But Harry didn't need that sort of manipulation to understand the importance of his task; he found it rather insulting, actually. The orphan boy knew first-hand the misery and destruction that Voldemort could bring to the world. He understood what he was and what his future must hold. Although the acceptance plagued and darkened his thoughts and soul, day and night, he had finally broken past the shock three weeks ago, when he sat huddled on his bed, silent tears running down his face from the bloody, taunting vision that the Dark Lord had sent him.

So Harry did as he learned to do as a small boy. He buried his feelings and kept living. He pushed those thoughts and images firmly to the back of his mind and spent those morning hours, before he had to make breakfast for his relatives, doing the readings, exercises, meditating, studies, and other assignments that his Headmaster allocated him. He had to prepare for his fate. The world was counting on him.

The rare sound of laughter and pleasant chatter broke him out of his thoughts. He'd reached the park. Several children ran about in a game of tag, their parents talking sociably as they watched from nearby benches. An older brother helped his sister up a slide, a petite, blond girl hummed as she wandered about picking wildflowers, a young couple were holding hands they dozed against a tree, and an elderly man sat reading a worn book in the shade.

It all looked so… alive. And unreal at the same time. These people were content, living their lives without any worry of the darkness that seemed to haunt Harry every step of his life. They lived lives that Harry could never have, no matter how he dearly wished for it.

He wandered over to the swings, sitting towards the end farthest from the muggles enjoying their Sunday afternoon. Shoving off with his tattered trainers, he slowly rocked the swing, clinging to the chains as if they could give him something to hold onto as his world was shifting beneath him.

Why do these people deserve happiness? Why should they get to enjoy safe, comfortable lives, and he didn't… he didn't even get to live? Well. That was the crux of it, wasn't it?

He didn't resent these people their happiness. He could never be angry that another person wasn't suffering as he was, or wish his suffering upon others. That was one thing he learned from the Dursleys and couldn't shake if he wanted to- he couldn't put his needs above another's, it simply wasn't in him to be selfish. But that didn't stop him from being envious of them. It didn't take away the fact that he was miserable. That no one really cared if he was content. That his friends seemed to have abandoned him and his only family hated him. That he had killed his own godfather. That he couldn't remember ever being loved, or even understand what that meant. That the entire wizarding world threw every problem and fault of their society on his shoulders. That he had to die.

Sometimes he wondered if it was too much. How could he go on like this? How could they expect him to fight and save them all, knowing that, in the end, he had to die to do so? He was spending the last months of his life training for and working towards his own death.

And yet, at the same time, he almost wished it could just be over. He hated himself now. Every moment of every day. He knew how 'worthless' he was, had learned this fact long ago from those who raised him. Everyone he cared for ended up leaving or dying, because of him. And, ignoring all of his own, personal faults, he was a monster. A freak of nature. A hideous combination of wretched and pathetic.

He couldn't think of any other way to look at it. He should have died when he was only 15 months old. But instead he had lived, his soul corrupted by a fragment of the darkest man in centuries. He felt polluted and contaminated. The throbbing in his scar, which had been almost constant this summer, seemed to tick down his days, counting every second that he continued to taint the world by living. He had been saved by his mother's love, but that love had then been shoved aside by the painful scar that marked Harry, wherever he went. Which only proved that Harry was never meant to know love, but only pain and darkness.

Harry shut his eyes as he felt the wind brush over the ugly mark on his forehead. He tried to let it blow away the dark thoughts he couldn't seem to escape. But it was futile. Because dark seemed to be all that made up his life anymore.

That night, when he had foolishly endangered his friends and gotten his godfather killed, his grief had nearly overcome him. But then Dumbledore had arrived and began to tell Harry everything. Looking back now, Harry couldn't believe how manipulative the man was. But it didn't really matter. It had to be done, he knew. And, despite the fact that he had been nearly drowning in grief, desperate for answers that would give him hope of some safe ground, something to hold onto. Despite this, he had instead been dumped from the cold waters, that seemed to claw through the aching hole inside him with icy fingers, into a sea of heavy tar that seeped into him and filled the hole with a foul substance that made him want to tear himself apart to get rid of it.

And it frightened him. This thing that was inside him, had become a part of him. What if it took over? What if Voldemort was able to posses him again, through the Horcrux, and he wasn't able to resist this time? The thought nearly left him gasping from the panic it created inside. And how could he possibly defeat someone like Voldemort, who had such power and influence? What chance did he have to find and destroy all those Horcruxes before he, himself, was finished off? How was such a thing possible? He was only a sixteen year old, bespectacled orphan!

He didn't want to hurt anyone. And he didn't want his life to be unceremoniously snuffed out because he was a 'necessary loss.' He didn't want to 'kill or be killed.' He didn't necessarily want to live anymore, either.

What he really wanted was… a reason to live. Something beyond 'the world needs you,' something personal. A purpose to the life he felt lost in.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he hung his head and gripped the chains until his knuckles were white.

Suddenly a shadow fell in front of him and he jerked his head up in alarm.

He faced two bright blue eyes and a beaming, gap-toothed grin.

"Hi!" the blond girl he'd noticed earlier was bouncing on the balls of her feet. He couldn't understand why she was talking to him. "My name is Marianne. But most people call me Annie. Only, Jay still can't say my name right, so he calls me Mary-Annie. Jay is my little brother. He's only 2 so he still can't talk right. But I'm 5 already so I help him and he's smart. Da says, and Da always knows everything, he says that Jay will be talking per-'ictly real soon."

Harry just blinked at her as she chattered at him. She stood there grinning, her arm extended.

"Oh! I almost forgotted! I picked this for you. For you only. You're welcome!" Her arm came forward a bit more and he realized she'd been holding a slightly wilting Campion flower. "Go on! 'S only a flower, silly, 's not gonna eat you!"

She kept waving it in front of him, edging closer. Finally he blinked out of his surprise and slowly reached forward for the flower. He took it gently from her tiny fingers. He tried not to crush the delicate plant with his larger hand, long callused from Quidditch and his many hours of working for the Dursleys.

"Er… thanks." He didn't know what to say. He'd never seen this girl before in his life. He glanced around, certain that her parents would soon be swooping in to pull their 'poor little girl' away from the 'dangerous delinquent.'

"I knowed you would like it! Isn't it pretty?" she wrapped her arms around her stomach and twisted side to side as she chattered away. "I looked a long time for the per-'ict one. You was sitting over here on your own, and sos I knowed you could use a flower. You was sad. And Da says that when you're sad, flowers always makes you happy! Only, that's what he says when he gives mummy flowers. 'Cause Mummy… well-"

She glanced around before leaning forward, close to his ear. "Mummy gets cranky! So Da says he gives Mummy flowers, 'cause they make her happy!"

She pulled back looking satisfied and giggled at her shared secret.

Harry let a slow smile spread across his face. He didn't notice himself relaxing a bit in the energetic girl's presence. She was so full of life and light, twisting back and forth in her yellow, cotton sundress.

"I'm sure he's right. Flowers do tend to make women very happy."

"'Xactly! That's why I gave you a flower, too! 'Cause you was over her by yourself, and you looked sad, and a-lonesome. And a flower will make you happy! Well, did it make you happy?"

His smile grew wider as he glanced down at the Campion and back up at the hopeful girl.

"Yes, Mary-Annie. This flower makes me very happy. Thank you."

"See? I'm right. I'm always right. Jay tries to say I'm not, but he's wrong, 'cause I am!" She beamed at him, but then her brow furrowed and she leaned forward, seemingly inspecting him. "Hmm… You still don't look very happy…"

"Well I…"

He broke off as she hushed him, putting a finger to his lips as she continued to inspect him. After another moment as he sat there, his eyes wide, she leaned back, a decision on her face.

"Mm-hmm. You is still sad. You need a hug."

"Wha- no. No. I'm fine!" He was alarmed at the idea of a hug from the small ball of energy in front of him. He didn't like contact very much. The last person who had hugged him was Sirius…

"Don't be silly. You is sad and so you need a hug and don't argue." She shook her little finger in his face then, with an enormous grin, lunged forward and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck.

He froze, his green eyes wide behind his glasses. What was he supposed to do? What if someone saw them, and thought he was attacking the girl or something? He-

His panicked thoughts halted as she wiggled a bit and then, her arms still wrapped around his neck, climbed onto his lap. After another few moments as he continued to sit there on the swing, he finally relaxed a bit and let his arms come around her tiny frame.

An intense glow seemed to spring up inside him, somewhere in the middle of the gaping hole and dark shadows left from that night in June. The tiny arms clutched tighter and Harry felt a sudden tightness in his throat, a fierce burning behind his eyes. He returned the embrace with more feeling as he squeezed his eyes shut. He was overwhelmed by the love and concern he felt from this tiny angel that had stepped into his dark corner of the world.

Just when Harry was certain he was going to lose control and break down bawling in the middle of the park, the arms loosened around his neck and he felt soft hands touching his cheeks. He opened his eyes and saw that Mary-Annie was now holding his face in her hands, her nose close to his as she studied him again.

"Mm-hm. I told you, you is needing a flower and a hug. Now you can be happy!" She beamed at him, showing off her missing tooth, and scrambled off his lap. "Don't forget to feed the flower with water and sunshine. Pretty things need water and sunshine and lotses of love to be happy. That's what Da says."

She gave his hand that was still clutching the Campion a pat, then turned and skipped away toward the other children, her light, blond hair flying out behind her. Harry watched her for a several minutes as she raced about, giggling and chattering away. Sometime later, the faint call of "Annie!" rang out and she whipped around before racing toward a short, stocky man who was standing beside a blue Land Rover at the edge of the park. She leaped into his arms and he laughed as he spun her around. Her father settled her into the back of the vehicle then helped a blond, obviously pregnant woman into the passenger seat.

Harry watched as it drove away, a wistful feeling taking over as he gently stroked the Campion. He felt a sudden chill and realized the sun was much lower in the sky and it was getting late. He should probably get back to the Dursleys and start on dinner. He didn't want any more trouble today.

He felt oddly at peace as he got up from the swing and made his way back to the oppressive house. That little girl… her precious gift had touched him deeply. He'd never seen such innocence and love before, had never know that sort of care from a stranger. It gave him hope.

The small, five year old girl, unaware of who he was or what he was going through, had reached out and completely changed his day. Probably she had changed his entire life. She had saved him, given him a purpose.

This innocent child, she should have the freedom to stay the way she was. He hoped she never had to experience what was out there in the world. And that would be his job. As long as there were gap-toothed, blue-eyed 75 centimeter (2 ½ feet) angels skipping about, changing this world one flower at a time, he would be there to make sure they would have the chance.

It didn't matter, really, what he would have to go through in the process. He could handle it. His innocence and childhood were lost nearly 15 years ago. But despite being essentially alone in his task, despite the Horcrux and the pain in his scar, despite the overwhelming odds- if one half-wilted flower and tiny hug could create such blaring light in his being, he would have something to get him through it all. He would survive through sheer will, if he had to.

Harry Potter slipped into the kitchen of Number Four, letting the grumble of "It's about time!" from the next room wash over him. He grabbed a small glass, filled it with water, placed the Campion gently into it, and set the make-shift vase in the window. Another smile graced his world-worn face as he set to his task, a spark back in his eyes that had been missing for months. He had been sent an angel, a hero to save him in his darkest moments. It was his turn to share that gift with the bleak world.

He would prove to everyone how much love he had to give.

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