Part Six: In the Gloaming
What had been could never be/it was best to leave you thus, dear
He wakes up two full weeks later at St. Mungo's, with Ron and Hermione at his beside. They are sleeping when he first opens his eyes, her head on Ron's shoulder, his arm draped protectively around her shoulders. By the time he blinks they both are stirring as if they can sense him. He finds himself turning his head away.
"Harry," Hermione whispers, her eyes bright. She squeezes Ron's knee and he gives Harry a grin before running for a healer.
"It's over then, isn't it?"
"Yes. You defeated him again."
"Who?" He asked weakly, his voice raspy from lack of use.
"Harry, I don't think..."
"Who!" He insists on knowing who perished in the battle, which should have been his and his alone, but Hermione purses her lips and does not speak another word. Ron comes with the healer soon after, and the two are rushed from his room as the portly woman bustles about, muttering under her breath about 'poor souls' and 'incredible damage'. After swallowing an obscene amount of potions (there were twenty or so before he lost count) Ron and Hermione re-enter.
"Glad to see you awake, Harry. Hermione and I were very worried 'bout you."
"I know."
"You did it. You defeated him."
"But what do I do now?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"That was my life, you guys. That's all I had to live for—so Voldemort would die. He dies, I live, and now there's nothing. I never finished classes, and I can't go back and get gawked at by knob-headed kids who think I'm a hero. I only had one purpose. I think I got the raw end of the goddamn deal."
"Harry..."
"Just get out." After they make no motion to leave, he screams the command at them, causing Hermione to leave in tears and Ron following her.
He asks that no one be permitted to see him, and spends the next two weeks staring at the plain white ceiling and wishing it would fall down on top of him.
When he is well enough to leave, he does so quietly. He doesn't want anyone around him, though he knows he is no longer dangerous to be around. There is just too much death and destruction. He has to get away. When he was ten years old, Harry Potter discovered he was a wizard. He thought about a life away from the Dursley's, a life he might have had with his parents. He thought about friends, spells, and mild adventures. Seven years later he is wiser and powerful, but the life he wanted and desired had been destroyed long before his time by an incomplete prophecy and a power hungry tyrant. He doesn't want to rebuild atop the wreckage—he wants to leave it and start a life on regular solid ground. He leaves quietly, writing hasty messages for his two best friends, Lupin, and Hagrid before he embarks on the next phase of his life.
Oddly fitting, he begins his journey alone.
What had been could never be/it was best to leave you thus, dear
He wakes up two full weeks later at St. Mungo's, with Ron and Hermione at his beside. They are sleeping when he first opens his eyes, her head on Ron's shoulder, his arm draped protectively around her shoulders. By the time he blinks they both are stirring as if they can sense him. He finds himself turning his head away.
"Harry," Hermione whispers, her eyes bright. She squeezes Ron's knee and he gives Harry a grin before running for a healer.
"It's over then, isn't it?"
"Yes. You defeated him again."
"Who?" He asked weakly, his voice raspy from lack of use.
"Harry, I don't think..."
"Who!" He insists on knowing who perished in the battle, which should have been his and his alone, but Hermione purses her lips and does not speak another word. Ron comes with the healer soon after, and the two are rushed from his room as the portly woman bustles about, muttering under her breath about 'poor souls' and 'incredible damage'. After swallowing an obscene amount of potions (there were twenty or so before he lost count) Ron and Hermione re-enter.
"Glad to see you awake, Harry. Hermione and I were very worried 'bout you."
"I know."
"You did it. You defeated him."
"But what do I do now?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"That was my life, you guys. That's all I had to live for—so Voldemort would die. He dies, I live, and now there's nothing. I never finished classes, and I can't go back and get gawked at by knob-headed kids who think I'm a hero. I only had one purpose. I think I got the raw end of the goddamn deal."
"Harry..."
"Just get out." After they make no motion to leave, he screams the command at them, causing Hermione to leave in tears and Ron following her.
He asks that no one be permitted to see him, and spends the next two weeks staring at the plain white ceiling and wishing it would fall down on top of him.
When he is well enough to leave, he does so quietly. He doesn't want anyone around him, though he knows he is no longer dangerous to be around. There is just too much death and destruction. He has to get away. When he was ten years old, Harry Potter discovered he was a wizard. He thought about a life away from the Dursley's, a life he might have had with his parents. He thought about friends, spells, and mild adventures. Seven years later he is wiser and powerful, but the life he wanted and desired had been destroyed long before his time by an incomplete prophecy and a power hungry tyrant. He doesn't want to rebuild atop the wreckage—he wants to leave it and start a life on regular solid ground. He leaves quietly, writing hasty messages for his two best friends, Lupin, and Hagrid before he embarks on the next phase of his life.
Oddly fitting, he begins his journey alone.