Title: Smouldering (1/?)
Author name: yeah.ok
Category: Angst/Darkfic, slight H/D slash
Keywords: harry, voldemort, sad
Spoilers: nothing, everything.
Rating: PG
Summary: Short angsty fic set immediately after Voldemort's defeat. How does Harry react to his victory and the loss of his love? (slight slash) What's the outcome and how is everyone changed?
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Authors Note: I know these fics have been done before, but I had this thing that wouldn't let go until I wrote it and it doesn't fit in my other work in progress. So please review and tell me what you think of my interpretation.
*~*
A silence had fallen over the crowd.
There was no cheering and no celebrations.
And in the centre standing quiet and still was the Boy Who Lived. Saviour to the wizarding world - again.
He had never asked for it. Never asked for the glory or fame, never asked for the trials and heartache. He had never asked to be needed.
Except by one person.
His lover, his friend, his soulmate.
Harry was so tired.
The last battle - The Great Victory as it would later be called, was over.
Harry had won.
He had defeated the last Dark Lord - Voldemort.
He was dimly aware of the large crowd that was emerging from their shelters and safe houses but he could see nothing except the damage he had caused.
There were smouldering remnants of once great buildings, they were peoples' homes and peoples' lives, lying destroyed and almost obliviated.
Yet there was no weeping.
For this was not their moment.
Their hero dropped his head.
Harry could not breathe.
Although he tried, he could not lift his head again and see what he had done to these people purely because it was his duty.
If he had had a choice, he would have ran and hid under the nearest rock. But these things flocked to him.
Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived.
Again.
It was expected.
He shut his eyes and remembered.
The hissing voice. It was Evil and so cold.
The flashes of spells. Dark Arts - aiming to destroy.
Harry had not been injured badly.
He certainly didn't feel any pain.
Except for the incessant aching in his chest. In his heart.
For He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named;
As Harry would never speak his name again.
Had achieved his aim. He had destroyed The Boy Who Lived.
From the inside out.
Looking up, Harry saw the sky was blue. A clear and crystal blue.
"That's not right." He whispered to himself. Shouldn't the sky be gray and hung with despair? Like all of those movies he'd seen.
Hearing Harry talk, still no one moved. His simple statement touched them all.
"That's not right."
He hadn't really reacted at all yet.
No one moved.
"It's not fair." He whispered with tears beginning to leak out of his emerald green eyes. Those eyes that held so much.
"I've lost everything."
"Everything!" he shouted at the sea of people.
"Everything for a world who doesn't know me, and sees nothing more to me than 'Harry Potter'," he spat, "The Boy Who Lived."
"And through it all, that's still all I am to you." he was talking now, his head upright - addressing the crowd. His eyes dark and accusatory.
"I swear, if my name is ever, EVER printed again - any where. And if anyone EVER stops me in the street again and shakes my hand..." Harry paused and simply left the threat hanging like ugly curtains around them forever.
With that he knelt.
And saw in his hand that he still clutched his wand.
How could this beautiful thing, this thing that had been Harry's saviour and took him away from his life at Privet Drive, how could it have done this?
And how could they have asked him to?
How dare they.
Without a word, Harry calmly snapped his wand in two.
And with one last final spell from its pieces, it set itself on fire and burnt.
Now, it was nothing more than smouldering ashes.
It seemed only fitting that his wand should become like that around it.
Only remnants of the glory it was.
Harry took his dragon's still hand and apparated away.
And still, no one moved.
Everyone heard a voice from within the crowd.
Simply it stated,
"Look what we have done,"
"To him."
**Elea
The Chapter/Fic has now ended
Author name: yeah.ok
Category: Angst/Darkfic, slight H/D slash
Keywords: harry, voldemort, sad
Spoilers: nothing, everything.
Rating: PG
Summary: Short angsty fic set immediately after Voldemort's defeat. How does Harry react to his victory and the loss of his love? (slight slash) What's the outcome and how is everyone changed?
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Authors Note: I know these fics have been done before, but I had this thing that wouldn't let go until I wrote it and it doesn't fit in my other work in progress. So please review and tell me what you think of my interpretation.
*~*
A silence had fallen over the crowd.
There was no cheering and no celebrations.
And in the centre standing quiet and still was the Boy Who Lived. Saviour to the wizarding world - again.
He had never asked for it. Never asked for the glory or fame, never asked for the trials and heartache. He had never asked to be needed.
Except by one person.
His lover, his friend, his soulmate.
Harry was so tired.
The last battle - The Great Victory as it would later be called, was over.
Harry had won.
He had defeated the last Dark Lord - Voldemort.
He was dimly aware of the large crowd that was emerging from their shelters and safe houses but he could see nothing except the damage he had caused.
There were smouldering remnants of once great buildings, they were peoples' homes and peoples' lives, lying destroyed and almost obliviated.
Yet there was no weeping.
For this was not their moment.
Their hero dropped his head.
Harry could not breathe.
Although he tried, he could not lift his head again and see what he had done to these people purely because it was his duty.
If he had had a choice, he would have ran and hid under the nearest rock. But these things flocked to him.
Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived.
Again.
It was expected.
He shut his eyes and remembered.
The hissing voice. It was Evil and so cold.
The flashes of spells. Dark Arts - aiming to destroy.
Harry had not been injured badly.
He certainly didn't feel any pain.
Except for the incessant aching in his chest. In his heart.
For He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named;
As Harry would never speak his name again.
Had achieved his aim. He had destroyed The Boy Who Lived.
From the inside out.
Looking up, Harry saw the sky was blue. A clear and crystal blue.
"That's not right." He whispered to himself. Shouldn't the sky be gray and hung with despair? Like all of those movies he'd seen.
Hearing Harry talk, still no one moved. His simple statement touched them all.
"That's not right."
He hadn't really reacted at all yet.
No one moved.
"It's not fair." He whispered with tears beginning to leak out of his emerald green eyes. Those eyes that held so much.
"I've lost everything."
"Everything!" he shouted at the sea of people.
"Everything for a world who doesn't know me, and sees nothing more to me than 'Harry Potter'," he spat, "The Boy Who Lived."
"And through it all, that's still all I am to you." he was talking now, his head upright - addressing the crowd. His eyes dark and accusatory.
"I swear, if my name is ever, EVER printed again - any where. And if anyone EVER stops me in the street again and shakes my hand..." Harry paused and simply left the threat hanging like ugly curtains around them forever.
With that he knelt.
And saw in his hand that he still clutched his wand.
How could this beautiful thing, this thing that had been Harry's saviour and took him away from his life at Privet Drive, how could it have done this?
And how could they have asked him to?
How dare they.
Without a word, Harry calmly snapped his wand in two.
And with one last final spell from its pieces, it set itself on fire and burnt.
Now, it was nothing more than smouldering ashes.
It seemed only fitting that his wand should become like that around it.
Only remnants of the glory it was.
Harry took his dragon's still hand and apparated away.
And still, no one moved.
Everyone heard a voice from within the crowd.
Simply it stated,
"Look what we have done,"
"To him."
**Elea
The Chapter/Fic has now ended
