Disclaimer: I don't own HP.
Author's Note: One-shot. No further chapters planned. I'm not a Harry/Hermione shipper. This was written as a gift.
He had come back from the war with ugly scars. Mainly the ones on his chest. Voldemort had taken a sizeable piece of him before he finally died. His heart would never be whole again... not like it ever was in the first place. The Wizarding World was again saved, thanks to the "Boy Who Lived".
But the screams didn't stop. Falling bodies, silent, dark, lifeless eyes staring... always staring. He was so tired of his dreams being marred by wide, mad red eyes, and bodies cascading like falling flies with picked off wings down to the ground. Loved ones were now even more few and far between. But, what did you expect for "The Chosen One"? A life of normalcy? A life of rainbows and butterflies? Was it wrong of the Hero to be disgusted with the world he once loved and called his only home? Was it wrong for the "Boy Who Lived" to think that it was disgusting to forget those who had voluntarily fallen, and glorify only him, who had never had a say in the matter to begin with?
But she knew firsthand. One of those who were there to the end... someone he loved, and she loved him in return, just as much, if not more. She made the screams stop, and she wiped endless tears of pain, suffering, madness, and love. Tears that fell from her beautiful eyes, and the emerald ones that saw only her these days.
As they lie at midnight in what was left of Gryffindor Tower, the only place that existed where he felt safe, Harry stared down at the moonlit face of Hermione Granger.
She now had her own beautiful scars. Mainly the ones on her face.