He was so lonely.
The whole point of using the Veil was so that he could once again be with his family, or at least achieve a final end.
It was just another chapter in his life that something would once again be denied to him. Though he supposed that this shouldn't have been such a surprise, none of the methods he had tried before had worked, so why did he think that this one would?
His childhood bereft of anything resembling care or love. The 'adventures' he went through to survive in a place meant to be a safe haven from said childhood. Two opposing figures of power after him for their own ends; one to rid themselves of their downfall, another to boost their own power.
He survived.
It seemed that all he did was survive.
As one nemesis was taken down, the other seized their chance. Lies were exposed. Their faked death revealed to boost the morale of the people and while surprised, he was gladly forgotten.
He grieved for the fallen, his chosen family, his friends and those caught in the struggle.
He took a breath of free air, 'This was his chance', he thought. He could finally start to live.
The people rebuilt and settled, but things didn't change. The war was fought and won, but a tyrant still existed.
The hate wasn't resolved. Death and torture still ran rampant.
It was now those of the 'Light' who attacked.
He turned to his friends, unable to understand how this came to be, and found none.
His remaining family was kept from him, to keep the babe safe. It was inferred that it was from him.
His mentor, the one he looked up to, the one he repeatedly forgave, turned against him.
He was too powerful, too independent, cared too much.
He tried to help, and was branded a traitor; the public reviled him, the new pinnacle of all that is evil.
The first end came from his first friend whilst smuggling a family out of the country, seeing the flash of green as he fell off the cliff.
He woke on a beach. A thought went to a certain three artefacts but was discarded. After all, it was not the first time that the curse failed on him.
The years went by. He no longer lived in the country of his birth, but still they hunted.
Attempted muggings by oddly dressed strangers.
Food poisoning, found to be basilisk venom induced.
Waking after being burned alive in a safe house cemented his growing suspicions. It had been eight years and he had not aged. He could no longer attribute this to ageing gracefully. He knew the stories were true. Understood why his mentor chased him with such fervour.
He no longer wished to survive.
But they kept bringing him back.
Unable to bring himself to empower the new evil plaguing his home, he tried to destroy the items.
Gifting the cloak to a passing child solved nothing, it returned as he woke.
He searched, alone, remembering fond times and found what he believed to be his solution.
He travelled back to his country, familiar and confidant in his power which had only grown from the end of the war.
Finally stood before what he thought to be his freedom he thought back, back to the good times, back to where, for a time, he lived.
Aching with memories he took a step forwards, a stone clasped the cloak about his neck, a wand secured to his side.
Walking into the darkness he felt relief. Losing consciousness he felt himself smile.
He woke in a cave. Sitting up he looked around and saw no one.
There was no family to greet him, he survived still.