A towering black plumage of acrid smoke wafted through the grounds of Hogwarts. The bitter scent poured into his lungs, coughs violently wracked his body. Copper rose into his mouth before pouring out, dyeing the cobbled street wine red.
It wouldn't stop coming; the coppery liquid flew from his mouth leaving a thin bead of cerise trailing down his chin.
He couldn't do this anymore. When would the fighting end beyond this point? Every pore of his body screamed for respite. He ached and desired rest above anything else but he couldn't stay here.
Voldemort had been vanquished by his own spell, now though they had to rebuild everything.
It was too much for him. He felt like a coward for wanting to run; he was scum for abandoning his friends like this. Ron & Hermione could deal with the aftermath; The Boy who lived had been fatigued by a lifetime of battles.
He slowly staggered to his feet, the world darkened as he flailed around. Exhaustion weighed on his shoulders, he longed for nothing more than sleep.
His body swayed back and forth, dancing like the wind. Ice-cold wood rested within his palm, he tightly clutched the Deathstick in all its battered glory.
'How do I get away?' he wondered, collapsing back onto the swaying grass.
Bees began to buzz around, latching onto the flowers and extracting the nectar, It was their source of life. It was what they lived to do. They spread pollen worldwide, causing splashes of vibrant colors to appear wherever their seeds fell.
He yearned for the same freedom, to be as carefree as a bee. He wanted a simple life; he never longed for fame and fortune.
Family was the most important thing to him. Family was why he fought; he would be damned if he let millions of families be torn to ashes due to his selfishness.
Now though, he was abandoning his own family. Ron, Hermione, Molly, Arthur, Kingsley, Teddy, and Ginny. He cherished these people more than he treasured his own life. But now he had done his duty.
He saved lives and stopped children from growing up without their mothers and fathers.
He had done his duty, right?
Suddenly the pitter-patter of footsteps could be heard behind him. Whirling around, fire-red hair and rugged brunette hair came into view.
"You alright, mate?" Ron inquired, "We're worried about you, Harry," Hermione implored gently.
He gulped, a million thoughts ran through his head, he felt awful for wanting to leave them behind, but he couldn't keep going, Not at this rate.
"G-Guys," Harry stuttered over his words, knots twisting inside his stomach. "I-I have to go," Harry told the pair of them.
Translucent teardrops began leaking over the edge of his eyes, falling onto the threadbare fabric of his khakis, disseminating into minuscule damp spots.
Concern was etched into Ron & Hermione's face, "Go where?" Ron asked, "Away," Harry replied, sorrow leaking into his eyes.
The ginger and brunette looked at each other. Their eyes served as a means of communication that transcended verbal language.
The pair turned their eyes back to Harry meeting his Jaded Emerald orbs. "You want to leave, don't you?" Hermione asked in a gentle tone. He stopped moving. How did they know?
It was during moments like these that he was glad he had friends that he cherished as much as these two.
"Do you really want to leave?" Ron asked.
He slowly bobbed his head up and down. Tears welled in their eyes. In an instant, the duo had encapsulated him in their embrace, their arms wrapped around his back, their chins resting on his shoulders.
Slowly he pulled away from the pair of them, "s-sorry guys, I have to leave." he shakily said. "Will you be alright?" Mione asked. "I'll manage." he breathed out.
"I always have, there's not much I can't do anymore."
Without waiting for a reply, he stood up, filled with renewed vigor; he began to walk into the distance, the sunlight clashing into his battered body, illuminating every bit of dirt, grime, and blood.
Continuing to walk, he didn't stop for a single moment.
The sun restlessly beat down upon his hunched and weathered body, and sweat dripped from every ounce of his very being. It wasn't a pretty sight to look at.
The grime and sweat that coated his face would've repulsed all but the bravest souls from venturing too close.
Gargles emanated from his stomach, how he craved something to fill his stomach. No signs of civilization were to be seen. He stood in an empty field with the rising peaks of mountains hugging him on both sides.
A gushing stream of water rushed past him on his left. He spotted trout swimming past him, watching them until the last of them had dispersed.
His body fell into the brittle grass. The sun shone directly on his body, filling it with a warmth he craved. His pale skin gleamed in the sunlight, the faint green veins in his arms on full display.
He should've taken supplies with him, but he just wanted to leave to escape it all. Now he was reaping what he sowed.
Golden hues filled the sky, shining a golden glow upon the world; it was cathartic, the soft golden hues adding a ray of vibrancy to the world around him.
He had managed to pick himself up from his place earlier.
The night was slowly coming into view with the arrival of a golden sky; he knew he needed to get moving. Like a beacon of hope he spotted a bright light coming into view, no scratch that, it was a town.
He didn't know people lived out here in the sticks. Who was he to judge, though? He hoped he could get a room here for tonight. He would hate having to sleep out in the open.
Oh well, better pick up the pace; the town was still a distance away.
Orange spots of light flickered on his body, the wind carrying the whispers of those around him into his ears. Weathered buildings of deep, rich, and black stone stood on either side of him.
The grass crunched beneath his feet as he walked. Those around him wore expressions of disgust on their faces.
His clothes were beyond repair, grime and blood shrouded his body. No one could blame them for their scorn. He was a monster.
A sign up ahead read 'Lodge'; it appears he had found a place to rest for the night.
Walking in, the smell of pine gushed into his nose. It was overpowering, filling every fiber of his body to the brim.
The wooden floor groaned every time he stepped; the overhead lights flickered on and off, illuminating the room before casting it into perpetual darkness yet again.
Light and darkness continued their eternal dance.
He walked over to a woman who languidly sat in a chair located behind a sloping oak desk. She eyed him with disgust written all over her face. "Are there any rooms available for tonight?" he politely inquired.
Eyes continued looking at him, filled with disdain, and for a moment, he felt she wouldn't respond. "You willing to pay?" she abruptly spoke, her teeth grinding. Harry felt panic course it's way through his veins until he noticed the spare change loosely rattling against the fabric of his jacket.
He ruffled through his jacket for a few moments before grabbing seven galleons; they were coated in soot and ashes, the gold plating had lost its luster, and the coins felt hollow in his hand, feeling mildly uncomfortable in his palm, causing a mild prickling sensation under his skin.
The clerk eyed the filthy golden coins, with greed on her face. "Let me get you a room for the night." Her words were sweeter than honey containing an effortless allure that most couldn't resist. Harry laid the coins on the desk, her hand shooting out less than a moment later claiming them.
She slid a rusted metallic key toward him. It made an audible scraping noise against the wood, dirty orange flecks flying out from the bottom trailing behind.
He walked through the hall, feet hitting the red carpet, torchlight illuminating the walls, his shadow flailing as he walked. The light seemed to gravitate towards him, but it couldn't pierce the shadows that surrounded him.
Scratches in the wood starkly contrasted against the dull brown paint. He slowly inserted the key into the hole.
After much grunting and pushing, the door swung open with a thud crashing against the wall. The room had a single bed surrounded by dark wooden nightstands and glittering lamps. The carpet was a deep rich, satin blue with golden strands interspersed sparingly. All in all, the room was grandiosely furnished.
It wasn't what he expected from a lodge out in the boonies.
He stepped into the gray stone tiled shower; steam danced towards his body, gently caressing it before he fully stepped in. He scrubbed and scrubbed for how long he didn't know, but the minutes soon turned to hours as the vibrant clear water turned muddy, the debris and dirt mixing with the translucent liquid turning it into the filth that creeped into the drain, pouring from every inch of his body.
Why couldn't he stop scrubbing? His skin was raw and red, and his body burned from the boiling heat of the water, but he couldn't stop scrubbing. He had to wash every bit of filth off of him. It just wouldn't come off; it haunted him wherever he ventured.
He woke up with the soft, matte feeling of his blanket providing comfort to his raw and aching body. He shouldn't have showered with boiling water, another one of his foolish mistakes he had realized after he woke up. Why hadn't he apparated away last night?
He should've conjured new clothes for himself to replace his old ones. There wasn't any point in worrying about the past. Let bygones be bygones. He gripped his wand and swung it downwards in a single fluid motion before drawing it back towards him in a steep arc.
A button-down white business shirt and a pair of blue denim jeans appeared on his person, and green emblazoned socks with a duo of gray mesh sneakers fitted themselves onto his feet.
He took one last sip of his coffee, glancing at the remainder of his meal before turning his head and walking out of the room.
He walked through a silent corridor; the only noise present was the buzzing in his ears. As he walked, the walls creaked with every step he took, begging for mercy, for a respite from the years of torture.
He pushed open the door to the lodge, the warm morning sun piercing his eyes in full force, warming his body. He walked out of the idyllic village, watching children laugh and run around, brightening his mood.
'I can do this,' he told himself. He deeply inhaled and exhaled again, clasping his hand onto the frigid Deathstick. He concentrated on a deep blue sea with buildings surrounding the shore pushing further and further. In an instant, he could feel his body pressed flat as a pancake; his vision spun and flashed.
A lone blackthorn swayed in the wind, standing feet away from where Harry Potter had once stood.