Shattering Truth by carteblanche

Rating: PG13
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 20/05/2006
Last Updated: 20/05/2006
Status: Completed

What happens when the fragile illusion you have created to protect your own heart and sanity is
shattered? What do you do, where do you go? People deal with trauma in different ways. What about
Harry? The Dark Lord is finally defeated, but that is the last thing on his mind. (One-shot)




1. untitled
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Disclaimer: All characters of the Harry Potter universe belong to J.K. Rowling, as always.

Shattering Truth –

*Playground school bell rings, again.
Rain clouds come to play, again.
Has no one told you she’s not breathing?
Hello, I’m your mind,*

*Giving you someone to talk to...hello...
If I smile and don’t believe
Soon I know I’ll wake from this dream.
Don’t try to fix me*

*I’m not broken.
Hello, I’m the lie*

*Living for you so you can hide...
Don’t cry...
Suddenly I know I’m not sleeping.
Hello, I’m still here, all that’s left
Of yesterday...*

*~ Evanescence (Hello)*

Everywhere around him the upcoming winter battled for dominance over the peaceful land. The heat
of summer still lingered, putting up a good fight despite the occasional bitter winds sweeping
through the countryside, ripping golden leaves off of the trees, leaving mounds of dead foliage in
their wake. Bright sunshine still streamed through the devastated treetops, burning out the remains
of the morning fog.

Like the fog, a calm had finally settled over the land, much deserved after many years of living
in fear. These people deserved the right to know that they would wake up the next day, be able to
do what they have always wished to do, be able to see their loved ones again… Or at least, the ones
that remained.

But unlike the evanescent fog, this calm would not be easily displaced, for the wizarding world
was once again at peace.

This peace, of course, came at a very heavy price.

Looking around themselves, anyone would see jubilant, enthusiastic witches and wizards. No
longer caring what anyone else would think of them, people sporadically broke out into song,
sometimes sending sparks from their wands into the air or hugging complete strangers for no reason
at all.

Indeed, why shouldn’t they? Their war was finally over, as the wizard who fashioned himself Lord
Voldemort perished just one month ago.

Only looking into their eyes did you see the mixed emotions they concealed behind their raucous
laughter. There was joy in them, true, but also uncertainty, guilt, pity, shame, anger, hatred,
despair, all a jumble in their minds…

Uncertainty for the future. Guilt for not being able to save so many. Pity for those who
suffered more than themselves. Shame for surviving while so many others had not. Anger for those
who were better off. Hatred for those who made them suffer.

Despair for those lost forever.

Harry Potter’s eyes betrayed nothing of his internal struggle. However, there were moments when
he could be caught off guard, during which it was evident how much despair he was truly harboring.
How his ephemeral mask of happiness was just pretense for the benefit of others.

Where he stood, he couldn’t observe the gentle swaying of the autumn leaves as they floated
downwards, for where his gaze was turned to was perfectly barren: the black waters fathoms deep,
hundreds of feet beneath him, stretched past the horizon.

Far below, at the base of the cliff upon which he stood, tall waves crashed into the jumble of
jagged blacks rocks.

He had stood there for hours, perched precariously close to the edge of the rocky outcrop,
gazing out at the sea. His attempts of not giving in to the thoughts and memories threatening to
consume him were an utter failure.

It was a place where, lifetimes ago it would seem, a young Tom Riddle would stand and look out
at the sea when he managed to get away from the orphanage caretakers. Much like his nemesis, he
would stand there for hours, losing himself while staring into the endless black abyss.

Way below Harry was also the cave in which Riddle would torment fellow orphans, and would later
come to hide a fragment of his soul.

In which his great mentor and friend had met his end over two years past.

Everyone he ever truly loved was lost. The salty smell of the sea water, the monotonous calming
noise of the waves beneath him, punctured only by the cries of seagulls, the sunlight warming his
back… None would give him solace, but he welcomed it nonetheless for it numbed his heart.

~*~

A slight breeze carried the sweet scent of flowers through the warm autumn air, ruffling his
perpetually messy hair.

Immediately, he recognized her presence.

“Harry,” she said softly, yet with demand, laying a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve been here for
hours... *Harry,*” she said with a little more force when her words failed to produce any
reaction. “Look at me.”

Unwillingly he wretched his sight from the rippling waves, longing for nothing but to be further
lulled into a state of numb indifference.

Upon seeing her, he couldn’t help but feel awfully guilty at his very first thought: he hated
her for being the one to live. As soon as he caught sight of her eyes, he knew his negative
emotions towards her were by far not reciprocated. In fact, it was quite the opposite.

As he turned towards her, the sun illuminating his solemn features, his eyes were so full of
grief she longed to comfort him in any way she knew. As soon as she saw that flicker of emotion
pass through him, he hid it once more, leaving him looking like a mere shell of a human being, like
someone who experienced a Dementor’s Kiss.

He was looking at her expectantly now, slightly irritated since she called him out of his
blissful ignorance.

To him, she was like an open book, he thought with distaste. He could see everything in her
eyes, as though they were transparent windows leading to her very soul. *I want you*, they
spoke to him… *I need you…*

*Don’t you need me?*

Did he? Surely not. He thought about it, about her. About his future. Would it exist? Now that
Voldemort was exterminated, that was finally Harry’s own choice to make.

He saw the options clearly now: he could live a lie, simply deceive himself. Live in an
imaginary world, where all was not truly as he saw it.

Otherwise, he would not be able to live at all.

Incapable of looking at her any longer as painful memories flooded him, he shut his eyes,
inadvertently squeezing out a single tear.

Though his eyes were closed, he could suddenly see as bright as day: she was standing right in
front of him, wavy chestnut locks framing her sweet face, swaying in the breeze… Deep, chocolate
brown eyes looking up at him with adoration, reserved just for him… Perhaps a small smile tugging
at the corners of her delicate lips… Involuntarily, he reached out for her before him, all the
while knowing that the vision wasn’t real but letting himself get lost in it nonetheless.

Misinterpreting the gesture, his companion went along with the vision playing in his mind.

All of the sudden, he was very conscious of a pair of arms sliding around his neck, a small
feminine body pressing against him. He felt her lips on his and at that moment, he realized he
could not muster the resolve and self-control to resist. He wrapped his strong arms around her tiny
waist and kissed her back, pouring all of his emotions into the simple contact.

Standing there, kissing her and clinging to her desperately, his self-induced lie seeped in
through the cracks of the barrier he put up around his mind. The mirage swept all barriers aside,
flooding his consciousness completely, until he truly lost himself, believing that he was once
again with *her.*

The lie was a sweet, blissful poison to his mind. Though the poison was slow-acting, the outcome
was bound to be the same… Only even more painful.

But as he was concentrating on her, Harry couldn’t comprehend that. He so longed for the lie to
be reality, he began to believe it himself.

She was all that he could think of; the way her eyes would glow with love when they were
together… The way she tasted when he kissed her deeply… The way her sculpted, muscular back felt
under his roaming hands… How soft her hair felt, like raw silk slipping though his fingers…

All of the sudden, his vision came to a screeching halt and he visibly stiffened. Was he really
running his fingers through her silky hair? No, it couldn’t be. He didn’t feel anything of the
sort; he must have been imagining it. The hair that he was running his hands through was much more
coarse. The figure he held was slightly taller than it was supposed to be. Her waist should have
felt even tinier. And she even kissed differently. Had he caught the smell of flowers? Something
was definitely wrong with that picture… She ought to have smelled like peaches; she always did.

Opening his eyes, his vision was flooded with a fiery red, immediately sending him back to
reality with the brutal force of a rampaging hippogriff. He rapidly pushed her away with all his
strength, sending her stumbling backwards, failing to be ashamed of his actions even upon seeing
her expression of incredulity and hurt.

All he could do was whisper, “I’m sorry… I just can’t do this.”

He longed for the mirage to come back and numb his pain, but all the while beginning to
understand that it would just corrode him slowly, from the inside out. He had to face the truth.
*This* was real. *That* was not. He could pretend all he wanted, but ultimately it would
achieve nothing. Reality was a bitch, but still he had to force himself to face the truth.

“But why not? Don’t you remember all we had?” The tears that she was holding in were threatening
to break loose, and yet she managed to sound reprimanding, reminding him of Molly Weasley, “It was
perfect, Harry. You, me, we were perfect together. There was a time when I made you happy. Why
won’t you let me make you happy once more? And we promised each other… You *promised* me that
after all of this was over, we would have another chance together! Well, it *is* over! Where
is that chance, Harry? What changed between us?”

*Everything*, he thought warily as he listened to her tirade, her voice level steadily
rising to a shout.

“I never made promises I knew I couldn’t keep,” he uttered, effectively putting an end to her
righteously angry monologue.

She gasped, and even Harry realized just how cold and cruel his voice had sounded. He wanted to
rage at her, to make her feel at least a small portion of the horror within him, but he had no
right to blame her for her actions, nor for expecting them to get back together. No right at all.
Especially when he was kissing her like there was no tomorrow just moments ago, and then flinging
her away like a decaying flobberworm for no externally evident reason. *Talk about mixed
messages*. His face burned red with shame, and Harry found himself having to avert his eyes.

He had thought *she* succeeded in changing him for the better, if not during her lifetime
then maybe after it. But there he was, still acting like a spoiled five-year-old whose lollipop was
stolen, lashing out at everyone around him although they had done him no wrong. Still the selfish
bastard.

After all, how could the young Weasley have known?

Ginny was not permitted to search for Voldemort’s horcruxes with them, naturally. She was too
impulsive and inexperienced and young. She lacked the courage and the magical capabilities to be
anything *but* a hindrance. Even if there was a chance in hell that her mother would allow
her, Harry would not. He used to think it was because he wanted to protect her, but he had long
since realized that it was simply because she did not belong by his side.

No, she could not have known.

She was not there to witness how Harry turned to someone else, out of mere convenience at first,
if would seem. It would be natural, considering she was his only female companion. The convenience
was, perhaps, all that was needed for him to realize his true feelings, those buried so deep inside
of him so long ago he had forgotten about their mere existence. She did not know the power of the
love that had blossomed between them… How he loved her more than anything else, more than life
itself… How they had done things with each other that innocent Ginny could never have even
imagined. Indeed, Hermione had been his solace, *his* saviour when his heart was so full of
darkness. The one that kept him going, kept him fighting. His sole motivation was to have her once
the war was over, to start a family with her. If only for that, he needed to live.

That was why she was the true reason he succeeded, not to mention the number of times she saved
his life. He had already lost count…

And he could not even save her once.

He never felt more pain in his heart than when he thought about all that she had done for him
and all that she had been, whereas he only caused her suffering. Due to him, she had to bear the
murders of her parents. She hid her grief so that he would not feel guilty about it, and he took
that for granted and didn’t even try to comfort her. That was her job, after all, comforting
*him*. When they were not battling Death Eaters, she spent every waking moment doing research
in the Black library, whereas Harry and Ron would slack off, sleeping or playing chess or
occasionally flying – magically concealed by the Fidelius charm – in the skies surrounding
Grimmauld. She had always been willing to spar with him when he needed to train since Ron was not a
challenging enough partner, no matter how exhausted she was after many sleepless nights. When they
got back from missions and he would enter one of his numerous fits of sullenness, she would give
herself to him to take his mind off of their task, never asking for anything in return. He never
once wondered what she thought of it. He didn’t even bother about what their physical relationship
was doing to her, as long as he got his dose of nirvana. Indeed, she was his narcotic, and he
simply used her as such.

He couldn’t believe it now, how selfish he had been. But he knew that, if he had the chance to
do it again, he would not be able to do anything differently as much as he may have wanted to.

But this, it was Harry’s choice to make… He could live the rest of his life being haunted by
nightmares, replaying the last moments of her life in his mind: how she took Voldemort’s Avada
Kedavra curse, aimed at Harry, so that he could finish him off. How he caught her fragile body
before it could even hit the floor and cradled it in his arms, while the Aurors were still fighting
to subdue the remaining Death Eaters all around them. It didn’t matter though, since all light had
left her eyes before she even started to fall. They were still open and glazed over, all of their
former intelligence and spark gone, which frightened Harry beyond anything he had ever seen. Yet
unlike most victims of that wretched Unforgivable, her frozen face held a look that bore no
resemblance whatsoever to surprise or fear. Why would she have been surprised? She knew perfectly
well what she was doing and what the consequence would be. Anyone could tell by the cold
determination etched in every line of her rigid, rapidly paling features.

He thought he could continue to live, deceiving himself into thinking Hermione was still alive.
He thought he could imagine that he was with Hermione while kissing Ginny.

But he already tried that and saw how it worked out.

Or rather, he mentally corrected himself, how it *didn’t* work out.

The redhead still looked at him expectantly as he pondered, her anger ebbing and morphing back
into tears. She never knew about him and Hermione, and that was how it would remain. They were all
better off that way. It was unlikely that she would react any better than her youngest brother if
she found out.

Since Ron was also their companion, searching for Horcruxes and residing at the House of Black
with them, he was bound to find out somehow. As Harry’s luck (or the lack thereof) would have it,
he found out in the worst way possible: he walked in on them.

He exploded then, screaming and cursing at them, with a steady stream of such choice words that
would make Mundungus blush. Mudblood was prominent among them. Surprisingly, he lashed out at
Hermione above all: one of the most civilized things he called her was a scarlet woman whore who
seduced both of her best friends. That was when Harry punched him. Ron rapidly fled the room and
left Grimmauld Place. After looking for him everywhere with no positive results, they decided that
he must have left them for good. Harry was even relieved since that would mean at least one of his
best friends would be out of danger.

A little over a month later, Ron returned, saying he merely needed some time away from them at
the Burrow. When it came to Harry, he attempted to act as though nothing ever happened. But he
never spoke to Hermione on friendly terms again, always giving her the cold shoulder. That had hurt
her above all.

When Harry confronted Ron about his unacceptable actions towards their best friend, the other
boy grumpily explained, “She broke my heart. She does not deserve my forgiveness.”

When asked why he still talked to Harry, Ron was taken aback. He answered, “How could I possibly
blame you for being seduced by that little slut?”

Harry then proceeded to punch him again. They no longer spoke of the incident.

As she was being buried in the small graveyard by the lake outside Hogwarts, Ron was the only
one of the myriad of people whose lives she touched not to shed a single tear. He had stood then,
stony faced, betraying himself only by looking anywhere but at the open casket of black marble.
Afterwards, he drank so much firewhisky that he had to be taken to St. Mungo’s and given a full
blood transfusion.

Indeed, it was best if Ginny never knew anything. At least someone would maintain a peace of
mind, to a certain extent. Plus, thought Harry with a grim sort of humor, he didn’t want Ginny to
apparate all the way back to Hogwarts just to spit on Hermione’s grave.

A wave of awful loneliness hit him like a powerful curse, penetrating his heart so deeply that
he wanted to scream as he realized, there was no one to remind him for the thousandth time that
*no one could apparate on Hogwarts grounds*. One of the first things he bothered to do after
her death was to read Hogwarts, a History, though in truth all the while he thought only of her and
did not pay attention to a single word.

Because the awful truth was, nobody really could replace Hermione to him. When she died, she
took his heart with her. And what use was life when you didn’t have a heart?

He lifted his head and looked straight into Ginny’s eyes, glinting amber in the bright sunlight.
Her face had gone all blotchy and presently she was sobbing uncontrollably. Harry tried to find it
in himself to comfort her.

He stretched out his hand to wipe her tears away. “Listen, Gin… Promise me that you will try to
be happy. *Please?* That’s all I need to hear right now.”

She simply sniffled, relaxing slightly and tilting her head into the contact with his hand,
which he rapidly withdrew.

“Ginny, I’m serious.”

“Okay,” she responded slowly, looking lost and perplexed, “but why are you saying this,
Harry?”

She still could not understand what was going on, and it would be best if she remained confused
while he got out all that he needed to say.

“And I need you to tell Ron that he means the world to me, and that I wish him best of luck,” he
continued quickly, “and give Arthur and Molly my thanks. They were the closest I ever had to
parents, save Sirius, of course. Oh, and Remus and Tonks…” He added as an afterthought, ”just
please let them know that they were some of the most important people in my life. I wouldn’t be the
same without them… Can you do all that for me?”

By then, Harry was well aware that he was rambling since for some reason he couldn’t help being
nervous, but he went on with his little speech anyway: “I hope it’s not too much to ask, bit I
kinda figured… Since you know, you see them all the time anyway, you could do me one last favor and
– “

“But I don’t understand,” she interrupted, “where are you going? You’re leaving us? *Now?*
Harry, I don’t understand!” She whimpered, sounding on the verge of hysterics, grabbing his hand in
both of her shaking ones and clutching it tightly.

He held her gaze one last time, willing her to compose herself. It would make what he was about
to do much easier.

“*We shall meet in the place where there is no darkness*,” he whispered, inadvertently
quoting Hermione’s favorite muggle book, as he gently removed his hand from hers.

*…The imagined future, which one would never see, but which, by foreknowledge, one could
mystically share in…*

He had no real future, he realized. His choice was made: he could not keep on lying to himself.
Hermione was dead; there was no way to bring her back. She had gone on, moved on to the next great
adventure, when there had been so many times that, lying in her arms, he would promise never to
leave her side. And then she went on without him! The nerve of her, thought Harry. To even think –
he simply could not let her go on such a grand adventure alone.

She would still be waiting for him, he knew… There, on the other side of the veil, just beyond
mortal sight.

*He visited the Death Chamber occasionally after Voldemort’s defeat, only in his dreams, of
course. In his dream world, the Ministry of Magic remained whole and untarnished, with hundreds of
faceless witches and wizards milling about for no apparent purpose. In reality, the whole complex
was blown to pieces during what would come to be known as the Final* *Battle**.*

*He would always sprint through the ministry, never paying a morsel of attention to anyone or
anything else. Climbing into the dirty telephone booth, scrambling across the crowded Atrium,
knocking into specters of people without bothering to look who they were… Slamming on the down
button as the grilles of the elevator closed, clattering down the elevator shaft… Sprinting down
the deserted corridor, into the circular room, across the many unidentifiable subsections of the
Department of Mysteries… Reaching his destination, he would tumble down the rows of the huge
amphitheatre, climbing on top of the dais in the sunken center. There, suspended in his timeless
nightmares, he would stand for eternity, captivated with horrified morbid fascination by the gentle
swaying of the tattered veil hanging from the crumbling arch. From the other side, he would hear
her voice softly whispering words of comfort, but in such twisted, unearthly tones that it
enveloped him in the cloying scent of decay and brought bile to his throat. He would attempt to
convince himself that it was truly Hermione he was hearing. Every time, he would attempt to whisper
“I lo – “ but every time he was jolted back to reality before completing the simple phrase.*

*He would wake up in cold sweat, the sheets twisted wildly about him, with a sharp metallic
taste in his mouth, and the one word he never said to her at his lips.*

The young redhead still stood there, silent now, no longer sobbing but looking so alone and
miserable, and ever so confused.

“Goodbye, Ginevra. Do try to forget me,” he said with a small, mirthless smile.

And then, it only took one step backwards. He was still holding her gaze as realization dawned
on her, and she collapsed, dropping on her knees. She opened her mouth to emit a high-pitched wail
worthy of a banshee, and yet filled with such raw emotion…

The thought, *this feels just like flying,* crossed his mind as he plummeted downwards,
towards the jagged rocks. Ginny’s screams faded into silence, and Harry was no longer aware of
anything but the air pressing in on him from all directions and that wonderful feeling in the pit
of his stomach that he loved ever since Draco Malfoy stole Neville’s remembrall in their first year
at Hogwarts.

In truth, the feeling *was* just like a Wronski Feint. *Or Wonky Faint*, he mentally
corrected himself, feeling tempted to smile at the ridiculously trivial memory and the images of a
bushy-haired fourteen year old girl that it procured. Only, he didn’t have enough time to finish
that thought before all coherence was momentarily knocked out of him.

If the sensation could be compared to that of flying, it was then as if he had forgotten his
Firebolt. This was a dive out of which he could not pull out, even if he wanted to.

His choice had already been made long before, if only subconsciously. His purpose in their world
was served, his duty completed. He didn’t belong there any longer, not without *her* by his
side at least.

He thought he had prepared himself for everything, but he could never have imagined the pain
before experiencing it. As he connected with the rocks, it was as though his entire being was
shattered to a thousand pieces, torn apart limb by limb. *So this is what dying feels like*.
After all, he had always wondered.

There must have been a simpler, much more painless way. But then, when was Harry Potter one to
take the easy way out?

As indifferent waves caressed his broken body they retreated from shore tinted slightly pink, as
if carrying fragments of Harry away with them into eternity would preserve his presence on this
Earth. But what are a few more drops to the cold, endless ocean?

He had only a single thought on his mind as merciful blackness consumed him once and for
all:

*At least I will see my Hermione again…*

*And I will finally be able to tell her that I love her.*

For the first time since he lost her, he no longer felt any pain.

Author’s Note: I hope you liked it… My first attempt at creative writing EVER, so I would be
very grateful to anyone willing to leave a review… Please?



