Disclaimer: You know what? I think the only reason people write disclaimers is for fun. I mean, it couldn't be more obvious that these character do not belong to me, especially based on the fact that this is fanfiction. I do like to have fun from time to time. So...the characters in this story are manipulated to do my bidding by fulfilling the roles I've assigned for them to play within my plot and in no uncertain terms do they belong to me. I only stole them and will return them to the rightful owner when I'm done. How's that for a disclaimer?
A/N: There is a first time for everything. So, this would be my first chapter-less story. Or is it called a one-shot? It is also written in first person, something that I've been wanting to try for a while. Hopefully, my characterization isn't too horrible.
Warnings: You want warnings? Well, I think that is a terrible way to ruin the story.
Without further stalling...
Living Skeletons
Chess is a brutal game. Precisely, one winner and one loser. Just like the war. In the end, it was only Harry and Voldemort.
I can no longer be afraid to say his name after everything that has happened and everything that I've seen.
As I was saying before, it didn't matter what pieces we began with. Everyone were just bishops, rooks, knights, queen, and most of all, pawns. In the end, it has always been Harry and Voldemort.
When I realized how accurate it was to compare chess with war, I felt awfully sick. In good fun, no one could've beaten me and I'm not saying that to be an arrogant arse. It's the truth and I've proven that many times. Harry, on the other, was the master in what I like to refer to as the real chess, the one that mattered. It was a dangerous game, one that he couldn't win whether he was the one to make the last move or not. It was a lose-lose situation and even I couldn't have done it any better.
In the beginning, no one tells you what chess truly involved and how much skill it actually took for one to master it. I've treated it as a game. Harry treated it as a battlefield. In either case, there could only be one way to approach it.
Cool and calculating.
Ever wondered why Hermione couldn't win a single match against me? It wasn't because she didn't have the brains. No, it definitely wasn't that. It was more the fact that instead of thinking about the strategy, she focused more on winning, on wanting to win. I may not be the smartest wizard, but I understand chess like I know all the miniscule details of the Chudley Cannons and its players. Hermione, like many, don't realize that they lost before they even got started. Many allowed their emotions to distract them from the game, and many did that when they thought about beating me instead of thinking about their next move.
Harry later learned what I've known for years, the secret to mastering chess. It wasn't difficult. In fact, it should've been bloody obvious.
To win is to focus solely on the present. On the here. On the now. To see the consequences of your every move and to be aware of your opponent's every move. Then try to find the pattern and the weaknesses of the other's strategy. Focusing on other things like the outcome and the fantasies that might not come true, is the biggest mistake a player can make.
Luckily—no, not luckily, wisely, Harry never made that mistake. He left all that behind when he accepted the challenge that was life and death. He was the king and to win, he had to slay the other king.
It was one or two. This or that. Yes or no. Black or white.
There wasn't any confusion in between. The concept couldn't be anything, but simple. The execution couldn't be anything, but complicated and complex.
And Harry handled it better than any of us could've imagined, taking many of us by surprise. He became quiet fond of surprises over the years. It certainly helped him get rid of certain dark characters. Even I was surprised or rather, impressed, by all that Harry was willing to learn, to do, and most of all, to sacrifice, in order to come out on top. He was molded by others and by himself to be the perfect leader in this war and to be the worthy hero. Most of the time, though, it was us that weren't worthy to have him.
Hermione and I managed to be the few that did not end up as casualties in this all-or-nothing game. The match was spectacular, with brilliant plays on both ends. As a result, the outcome was amazingly close, so much so that just one wrong move on his part and it would've been game over for us. As I've said earlier, it was a lose-lose situation. I wanted to cry as much as I wanted to laugh at the cruelty of it all.
But the thought that he'd lose never once crossed my mind. And this lack of doubt didn't stem from the fact that I was his best friend nor was it a product of the media. It was just because he was Harry. I knew who he was, what he was willing to do, and if I had even a fraction of the determination that he had, I'd die happy knowing that I had genuinely tried. But despite knowing all this, despite never doubting what he could do, I was still thoroughly shocked when he had done it. This time, I was more than relieved to be the pawn and not the king. Harry was as relentless, as calculating, and as manipulative as his opponent. They both knew the game well, but Voldemort had the biggest flaw as a chess player.
He made the one mistake that a chess player could make, he let himself be distracted by the future. By the time, he realized that his head wasn't in the game; Harry had laid Voldemort's king off the chessboard and said the magic word.
Checkmate.
Voldemort finally lost. Harry Potter was the winner.
The weight and worry was lifted from my shoulders and I felt this overbearing joy burst inside of me, but looking at Harry, I immediately felt some of my joy ebb away. He had been cold through it all, but as we all know, it was necessary. What worried the pants off me was how he remained in the same frame of mind even after it was over.
Although, our approach during the game play was very similar, it was distinctly different in the aftermath. Normally, I'd cheer and rub my win over my opponent's face for a while and went on my way. Harry? He couldn't seem to let it go. He didn't relax or feel any better than before he accepted the challenge.
Since then, I've never stopped wondering just how much this war had taken out of him.
To him, it wasn't a victory. It wasn't over.
I wished I had realized that sooner, but unfortunately, Harry can be the best actor when it suited his purposes. And I am ashamed to admit that I'm not as observant as I can be when it comes to my so-called best friend. I paid dearly for that. We all did.
You could say that Harry and I were polar opposites. He was filthy rich and didn't care; I was filthy poor and cared too much. He was always selfless; I was somewhat more selfish. He wanted to be an inconspicuous little dot on the map; I wanted to be the face on Quidditich posters. He let everyone come first, and had no quips on being last; I, however, am sick of being second to last. Harry's fame never got to his head; any fame usually goes over my head.
Those qualities were what made him the ideal hero and Harry, despite all his protest, was never anything but.
I was lucky to be his best mate. Maybe some of those qualities rubbed off on me, because even I know what a git I can be sometimes.
You might wonder, if I know this much about him, why wasn't I able to realize that something was wrong sooner? Well, like I said before, Harry's a damn good actor. And he learned a long time ago from his harsh life that it wasn't smart to wear his heart on his sleeves. With his private and secretive nature combined with the right incentives, he had no problem fooling everyone around him, even those closest to him.
Makes you wonder just how much of himself he lets us see and how much he keeps to himself. I sure wondered.
Oh yeah, Harry was an undeniably brilliant actor. So absolutely bloody brilliant that he managed to fool even himself.
Now that's acting.
----------
Harry sat at the newly reconstructed building of The Three Broomsticks, leisurely sipping a butterbeer with a book in his other hand. Every single eye in Diagon Alley was on the raven-haired man sitting casually in the corner of the bar. A crowd gathered outside, some pressing their faces against the window trying to get a glimpse of The Savior.
Harry just took another sip of his butterbeer, his eyes never leaving the pages of the book. The people were content to watch from a distance and those inside the bar tried not to be too obvious in their staring. Harry was either too absorbed in the book to notice or he simply ignored the prying eyes that he's had to endure all his life. Even with all the attention he attracted, no one dared approach him or invade his privacy. No one had the guts.
If Harry was a celebrity before, he was a legend now.
The difference between the two was that you don't disrespect a legend. You don't mob a legend, especially when they give off an air of someone that's untouchable.
Fortunately, not all of us saw him that way or else he'd be one lonely bloke.
"Hey Harry, sorry for being late mate."
Harry looked up from his book and smiled softly in acknowledgment. Our entrance seemed to have broken some people from their trance.
"No problem," Harry said.
Hermione and I sat down.
Harry raised two fingers toward the bartender and almost immediately, two butterbeers appeared on the table. He placed a bookmark on the page he was reading and closed the book, placing it beside him on the table.
"You look good, Hermione."
"You too, Harry."
"And Ron, you look exactly the same."
"And what's that supposed to mean?" I said, mock angry.
"Nothing, Ron," he laughed, knowing I took no offense at his comment.
"I don't see how Hermione could look good. We saw each other last week. She looks no different than when we met last time."
I got a good whack on the head by Hermione at this point. Harry watched amusedly.
"Are you sure, Ron?" he asked, giving me a chance to redeem myself.
I looked at Hermione. Her hair was the same bushy brown, her eyes were the same color as it was in our previous outing, her robe…BLOODY HELL. How the hell did I miss that? At my reaction, Harry laughed again.
"Shut up, Harry!"
Hermione started blushing, as I couldn't tear my eyes away from her attire. She was wearing a dress. A pretty one at that.
"Stop it, Ron," she said, clearly uncomfortable.
I returned my attention to Harry, while attempting to cool my heated face. It wasn't like I hadn't seen her in a dress before…even if it was years ago. But back to Harry… I wish I could say he looked the same as he did the last time we met. Hell, I didn't think a person could change as much as he did in a week.
This was our thing. Our way to keep in touch. We would meet up one day a week, to catch up, and to see what was going on in each other's lives. That was the general idea. But for the most part, Hermione and I, wanted to keep an eye on Harry, make sure he doesn't stay cooped up in that house of his. I wished we met more than once a week. Other than these meetings, none of us knew what exactly Harry does with his time, while he wasn't at work.
Subtly, I examined my best friend's appearance. He had the same messy, just-got-out-of-bed hair that usually drove girls (probably still does) off their rockers and the same piecing green eyes that was said to be able to turn any girl to mush. Not my words. Anyway, he was wearing baggy robes and jeans that didn't fool Hermione or me. The man was as skinny as a broomstick. If he got any scrawnier, he'd get lost in his robes. Even I could see that he didn't look right, despite the easy smile that he always greets us with.
Mum complained about not seeing Harry enough. He was always welcomed at the Burrow, but he rarely took us on our dinner offers. After the war, mum even invited him to live with us at the Burrow, but of course, he refused, saying that he doesn't want to intrude or take advantage of our generosity.
That was exactly the answer I expected to hear from Harry. I mean, he wasn't a child anymore. He can look after himself and who'd want to live with my crazy family anyway? I don't blame him. He'll never have a moment of peace with my mum hovering over him constantly, and believe me, she will.
So, I get that. Not wanting to live with my family and all. But sometimes, I just don't understand him and why he acts the way he does. The three of us, we've always been close. Even though we have these weekly get-togethers, somehow, I just get the feeling that Harry was only there because we asked him. He was so withdrawn a load of the times. There were moments where both Hermione and I, knew that Harry wasn't listening to a word we were saying. It was as if his mind was in a place far, far away, from reality and us. I'm afraid that without our insistence, we would've seen each other less and less. The war was over and we were no longer in danger just for being his friends. So, why does he insist on keeping himself isolated?
Not meaning to sound like a nutcase, but Harry is like an onion. There are way too many layers to him, you wonder if you'll ever get to the center of it. As his best mate and as someone that cares about him, I want to find out what's causing him all his troubles and why he's putting on an act around everyone.
My brothers and especially Hermione reminds me daily of how thick I am or can be. But no matter how right they are, I'm not so thick that I won't notice when something's off about my best friend. I'm not the ignorant git that I had been when I was still in Hogwarts. And the truth is, Harry isn't the only one that grew up. Being the best mate of someone that's supposed to save the world will do that to you.
If there's anything I've learned from the years of knowing him, it was that with Harry, you have to be one persistent bloke.
I've been known to be stubborn, and not in a good way, according to Hermione. She believed that the reason we fight so often is in large part due to my stubbornness. Well, imagine someone more stubborn than me. Yeah, that'd be Harry, who's ten times worst.
I guess, in this particular case, my stubbornness is a good thing even if it doesn't even come close to matching Harry's. And also, I have Hermione as backup, because she's proven over the years that she was no pushover. If she were, our fights would never have lasted as long as it usually does.
The point is, it's been a year since we won the war. Most of us have put it behind us or at least tried to, so we could move on and try to keep the peace. Most of the damages have been restored and life was as normal as it could be without a constant black cloud over our heads. There was happiness and hope in the world again. There was happiness and hope in me again, even though we came out scarred from having lost Charlie. But in this war, no one was left unscarred. It was the one thing that we all had in common and it became the one thing that constantly reminded us why we must prevent anything like this from ever happening again. All and all, there was a feeling of security and peace, greatly thanks to Harry. But the saddest thing was that I don't see any of the peace we won, in Harry.
In return for giving them their lives back, Harry received immense public recognition, a money reward so large, he had to open another vault to store it, and an unofficial key to almost anything he wanted. No one could deny him anything. If he wanted tickets to the Quidditch World Cup, he'd get the best seats without so much as a word, and of course, at no charge. If he only went to buy new robes, he'd come out of the store with a robe made of the best material and never have to pay for it. Whatever he wanted, he got. People were very willing to do anything for Harry Potter; he doesn't even need money. And if the Minister of Magic hadn't been so hell-bent that Harry takes the money, he never would've accepted it.
Anyone would've wanted what Harry got, anyone except Harry himself. He'd give all of his money to me if I wanted. In fact, he did offer to give it to my whole family to do what we want with it. We were never that well off, but we all agreed as a family that we couldn't accept the money, especially when we don't need it. Harry ended up splitting the money between several charities. That was just the type of thing I expected him to do. I think that at one point, he felt as if the money were a burden. I saw how relieved he looked after he had donated most, if not all, of the money he received from the ministry.
Everything that the ministry gave Harry were meaningless things. Things that he didn't need nor want.
Hermione and I got together one night, trying to figure what was wrong with Harry. I know that around us, he tries to be the Harry that we know. He was very convincing, but Hermione and I saw right through him. When he smiled, his eyes weren't in it. When he laughed, it sounded hollow and empty. If we hadn't known him for years, we would never have noticed these little details. But we did, and we're going to get to the bottom of it.
----------
Even though it happened a year ago, you can't easily forget something like that. I don't often like to think about it, but I think it has something to do with Harry's current condition.
I got to see Harry up close when he fought, since I was right alongside him almost all of the time. At first, it was a scary and foreign sight. Harry was like a force of nature when he fought. It was like he had become a completely different person, one that enabled him to face all the horrible things that none of us have the courage to face.
Harry was like a beacon of light that penetrated all the darkness. If he had weaknesses, you couldn't tell. If he were ever scared, you'd never see it. All of those fears that most of us can't suppress, Harry just shoves it all away, into the back of mind. There was always a determined look on his face, no matter how bad things were or seem to be. Looking at him then, I could easily understand why many were so willing to trust him with their lives. I could never understand where he got his strength.
He didn't have what most of us have, a loving family, and a normal and carefree childhood. I know he considers us family, but it's just not the same. All along, he'd done it all by himself. His parents were gone. Sirius was gone. Yet, he holds it together better than anyone else.
I used to be jealous of him. I admit it. I used to be a git, when I had nothing to be jealous of. I really admire Harry. I don't know anyone else that can do what he did and I doubt anyone could.
I was there at the final duel. Some say that you should never involve your emotions in a fight, but Harry did. He never let it control him though. Instead, he controlled his emotions and used it to his advantage. I was a few feet away, and I could feel the hatred in Harry's magic as it vibrated through me.
It wasn't the normal blind rage that makes you lose control in a fit of careless impulsiveness, where you're incapable of thinking clearly. No, it wasn't that at all. It wasn't the type of hatred that thrashes and lashes out at anyone and anything wildly. It was the type of hatred that has been burning and building in silence to reach the point where it has become like a cold and unbreakable metal. The end of this type of rage was razor-sharp and jagged from the long buildup. And since it has already waited so long to unleash itself, it can bear to wait just a little longer to calculate and aim with strict accuracy to deliver a far more devastating blow by hitting its target at the most vulnerable area at the most opportune time.
The magical explosion that resulted from the surge of magic fueled by all the pain, anger, and fear that Harry has ever felt in his lifetime was strong enough to knock everything and everyone within the distance, off their feet. A short while later, the world trembled in violent shakes, and a shrill whistling of wind ringed through our ears. A strong force rustled our clothing and hair as everything plunged from extreme brightness to extreme darkness. Then like the suction of a ravenous, gaping black hole, the wind stopped its earsplitting scream and the world got over its shock. It was over. No one saw exactly how it happened, only Harry did. A few days later, Harry woke up in the hospital and refused to tell anyone how exactly he killed Voldemort.
The Aurors searched through the area and tried to sort through the damage. The area where the explosion took place looked as dilapidated as one would expect from a blast of that magnitude. All the trees were down, ripped out of the soils by its roots, and thrown across the air. There were big holes on the ground. Leafs, branches, and rocks were everywhere in a windblown mess… And through the chaos…
They never found even a trace of the one that was destroyed.
When questioned, Harry confirmed with absolute conviction that Voldemort was dead and that he will never return. Since then, no one questioned about the lack of a body anymore. There wasn't anything to disprove or prove his claims. Over time, people simply took Harry's word as the truth.
----------
Harry stepped through the warm fire and entered the homey kitchen of the Burrow. Mum quickly enveloped him in a tight hug, nearly squeezing the breath out of him. She then pulled back to have good look at him.
"Oh Harry dear, I haven't seen you in ages! Look at you! You're as skinny as a wand! Must be the lack of a good home cooked meal. Go on to the living room while I fix something up for you to eat."
Before Harry could even get a word out, he was ushered from the kitchen. He found Hermione in one of the chairs, reading a book. She looked up when he approached her.
"Hey Harry! I'm so glad you could make it," she said, giving him a small hug.
"Hi Hermione. I wouldn't miss it. Happy Birthday," he said, handing her a neatly wrapped gift.
Thanking him, she took the gift and put it on the table.
"Where's Ron?" Harry asked, noticing his absence.
"Oh, he's on his way."
"Busy at work?"
"How would I know? I don't keep track of him."
"Easy, Hermione. I didn't mean anything by it. I was only asking," said Harry, calmly.
"Sorry," Hermione said, blushing.
Harry just smiled.
Peeking from the staircase to see that the coast was clear, I apparated from the Burrow.
----------
Whose bloody plan was this anyway? Oh yeah, it was Hermione's! I shouldn't be doing this. Forgive me, Harry. I'm only doing this for you.
Harry's house wasn't extremely big. It was moderately sized for a person living alone. On the outside, it looked a tad bit ancient, like one of those houses that would have a dungeon underground. I've only been inside a few times and I can count it with one hand just how many.
Pulling out a piece of paper with Hermione's neat handwriting, along with my wand, I cast a spell similar to 'alohamora', only stronger, on Harry's door. It unlocked at once and I slipped in. It felt so wrong, sneaking into Harry's house. I could only keep telling myself that it was for Harry's own good. It didn't really help to ease my guilty conscience, but it did keep me going.
Harry lived in a one-story house with two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen, and a small living room. There were a few pieces of furniture scattered about, but other than that, it was a pretty barren sight. There wasn't a homey feeling to the house like the Burrow. Standing in Harry's house, I get the feeling that this wasn't home to him. It was merely a place he stayed in, out of necessity.
It wasn't like I haven't been here before, but every time I'm here, I felt uneasy. Not wanting to be discovered in case Hermione fails to keep him occupied, I quickly cast a detection spell, one that was designed to detect anything strange or out of the ordinary…
It took a few minutes, but when the spell came into effect, I immediately felt a tug on my wand. I followed the direction that the magic of the spell led me. I ended up in front of the closet in Harry's bedroom, and thoroughly confused when the light pull stopped.
The stupid bloody spell didn't w-Suddenly, my wand glowed in an eerie blood-red color. Out of thin air, words began to form in front of me.
To reveal the hidden, a secret you must reveal.After I finished reading the message, it slowly dissipated letter by letter as an invisible wind blew it to dust. That was something I've never seen before. I have to tell a secret to see whatever it is that's hidden? That's a hard one.
I took a few minutes trying to think of the least revealing secret I have… but wait, how would it know if I was telling the truth or not. Maybe a lie will do.
"I used to be a vegetarian," I said, trying not to laugh at the idea.
Nothing happened. Fine, I'll admit that wasn't very believable nor was it a big secret.
"I have had hand-me-down undergarments."
Nothing happened. All right, I guess it does know when I'm lying. What could happen anyway if I tell it a real secret? Would it somehow leak to others? I don't have a choice. If I want to find out…
----------
I couldn't go back to the Burrow because I was still reeling from what I found out…what I saw. I firecalled the Burrow to tell them that I couldn't make it and that I'll make it up to Hermione tomorrow. It was only an excuse. I just couldn't see Harry right then and I didn't think I have the strength to tell Hermione what I saw tonight.
Maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe it's not so bad.
But I couldn't imagine what he was doing with it and why he kept it. My suspicions had been in the right direction, but I had no idea how badly affected he was by everything. We should've known. I should've known. Should've gotten him help somehow. But we all assumed that he was handling it fine because of how composed he was whenever we saw him.
What dimwitted prats we are!
I'm so sorry, Harry.
----------
"Hermione, stop your fidgeting! It's driving me nuts!" I said, irritably.
She stopped fidgeting, but gave me one of her fiercest glares.
"It's your fault I'm fidgeting! You didn't come back right away like you said you would and you had me all worried!"
"I needed some time! Maybe you should've gone! I'd like to see how you'd react," I said, my voice lowering.
I was thinking about it again and could hear the slight quiver in my voice. She must've noticed too because her expression immediately softened as worry lines appeared. She placed what was supposed to be a comforting hand on my shoulders, but it was no use. I felt sick to my stomach, but I knew that I had to tell someone.
"Hermione, I found a dungeon in Harry's house and-" I hesitated.
She didn't say anything, but urged me to continue.
"I found that all along Harry was the one that kept…"
----------
He was exhausted. Smiling when you don't really want to smile was an exhausting task. He was already extremely worn out from work that he wasn't sure if he had been convincing enough to convey genuine happiness at Hermione's birthday party. He was glad that Ron couldn't make it. He was starting to get the feeling that Ron suspected him of something. Although, he was sure that Ron knew nothing about it.
He went into his bedroom and sat on his bed. He took off his shoes and changed into more comfortable clothes before he stood once again to the entrance of his hidden dungeon as he did every night.
"I don't regret having killed him."
At his words, a staircase formed from the floor and lowered into the underground chamber. He climbed down the stairs, hating himself for doing this and knowing that he couldn't stop. When he reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped off of it, the structure moved back up to mend with the ceiling of the chamber, sealing it shut and leaving no trace of the entrance he had gone through moments before.
Harry turned in one of the direction. He raised his wand and gave it a wave. One of the stone walls lowered into the ground to reveal a glass-like wall that looked into another large space. Inside that space, there was someone lying on the ground, face up. The eyes of the man were wide open and a swirl of inhumanly red color was visible on the eyeball. The face of the stranger was extremely pale and the unpleasant expression displayed there was enhanced by a sinister and derogatory sneer on those dry dead lips. A foul and disgusting smell began to seep into Harry's side of the glass-like wall, but he paid it no mind.
Instead, he conjured a bottle of one of the strongest alcoholic drink he knew and sat in a chair that was in the chamber. Sitting on his chair, he had a direct view of his prisoner. His dead prisoner.
Harry took a long swig of the drink, feeling the familiar burn in his throat as it went down. Immediately, he felt a lot more at ease.
His eyes returned to the corpse. The corpse of the man he killed.
The corpse of none other than Lord Voldemort.
----------
I heard the loud gasp that erupted from her lips after I told her what I saw. Immediately, I felt physically and mentally sick again. I quickly rushed to the bathroom, where I emptied my stomach into the toilet the third time since last night. I knew my face was either deathly pale or a sickly green. When I felt like I had nothing else to empty, Hermione helped me back into my room at the Burrow. Luckily, no one was home.
I sat on the bed, trying to still the queasiness before looking at Hermione. She was taking this better than I thought she would. Although, she looked about as pale as I am. We both sat in silence for while. I was trying not to faint and she was letting it all sink in. Finally, Hermione spoke, trying to understand what we just found out.
"Why would Harry do that? Why would he preserve and keep Voldemort's body?"
I saw her shiver at the thought. I wish I knew why Harry was doing that. I would think that he'd want to forget the war and not think about it at all after it was over. It doesn't make any sense.
It doesn't.
----------
Harry was pretty drunk at the moment. He was swaying in his chair, practically falling off. He looked at the body over and over again. At the face that haunted him for years. In his drunken state, he wanted to laugh. To laugh at the mingled and lifeless body of the man that wanted to kill him.
Ha! He wanted to kill me? Look where that got Red-Eyes!Harry took another swig. His expression changing from bitter laughter to extreme seriousness in a matter of seconds.
He was the one that murdered my parents! Sirius! He deserved it. I didn't do anything wrong. I didn't! I didn't want to kill, but I wanted—I wanted him dead. No! I didn't want to—HE made me! He forced me to hate him. F-forced me to want him dead! Forced the prophecy to come true…forced the life I have now. I hate him. I hate him. I HATE HIM.
Tears escaped from Harry's eyes, but he didn't bother with it. No one was here. He was all alone. It didn't matter as long as no one saw him.
He tipped the bottle upside down and frowned deeply when nothing came out. He looked around in a daze for five minutes before spotting his wand on the ground just beside the chair he was sitting on. He bends down to reach for his wand so he could conjure another bottle, but ended up falling off the chair and landing painfully on his back.
Harry laid still for a while as his back ached and his head spun wildly.
Damn, my back hurts! Ha. Ha. AH! So bright in here… I need a drink…after I stop spinning…
----------
After spending hours trying to come up with a plausible explanation, we ended up deciding to find Harry instead. We were going to tell him we knew about the fact that he kept Voldemort's body in his house. We were going to get an answer out of him. But when we arrived at his house in the late afternoon, Harry wasn't there.
I didn't want to go back down there, but I had a feeling that that's where he was. I was right. That's where we found Harry passed out on the floor. We took him to his room and left him on his bed. Then we sat on the sofa in his living room and waited for him to wake up. I know we could've woken him up right then, but neither of us was really ready to confront Harry about his secret.
Hermione and I ended up drifting into an uneasy doze because we were both exhausted from having a sleepless night. When we finally woke up, it was past midnight. I quickly sat up, but there was no sign that Harry had woken up. While we were sleeping, Hermione's ended up in my lap. I gently lifted her head so I can get up. I went into Harry's room and was surprised to see him sitting upright in bed. He must've heard me coming because he slowly moved his gaze from the small window in his room to me.
For the first time in years, I could see everything in those emerald green eyes and to tell you the truth, there was a lot to see. His guard was finally down and he didn't bother hiding his feelings this time. I didn't know whether I should just look away or keep looking because there were so many different emotions there simultaneously, that I couldn't possibly name or spot them all. However, I knew then that he definitely knew we found out about his dungeon.
Being Harry's best friend has never been this hard. Neither one of us knew where to start nor who should speak first.
That was solved when Hermione appeared at the door. I didn't think Harry was ready to talk about it, but Hermione figured that this was a good a time as any. I agree. No matter when this conversation takes place, it won't be any less uncomfortable.
"I think you know why we're here, Harry," she said, bluntly.
I was impressed with her courage. When Harry tensed, I knew what I needed to say. Harry has always been there for me. For once, it was time to return the favor.
"We're not going to judge you, mate. We just want to know why you're doing this to yourself. I know you're not fine. You haven't been for awhile."
Hermione cut in.
"Don't think for one second that we were fooled by your act. That smile you've been giving us? I don't want to see it again. If you don't have a reason to smile, then don't. We're your friends, Harry. You can pretend all you want to the world, but we won't settle for anything except the truth."
"Yeah Harry. We're not strangers. We've known each other for years. Whatever trouble you have, we have. You've got to stop forgetting that you're not alone. Hermione and I, we're not going anywhere."
"Please, Harry. Tell us why you feel the need to do this."
"We promise we won't run away repulsed no matter what you spill," I said, and knowing immediately when I had hit Harry's point of hesitation spot on.
From the look of things, I can see how much Hermione was dying to touch Harry. But we both know that if we touched him, all our efforts in drawing him out would be wasted. So, we gave him encouraging looks and didn't push him further.
"I don't really know why I did it. Why I took the body," Harry began.
I was about to open my mouth, when Hermione nudged me. Harry didn't look at us. He stared at the floor as he continued to talk.
"I just did it. When we were dueling, there was a moment when I knew that the war was about to end. I felt my magic pulsating inside me, causing my whole body to shiver. Before I knew it, I felt everything I've ever felt for Voldemort fill me. The feelings I've harbored for him had been eighteen years in the making. I've kept it at bay for so long and it finally chose that moment to decide that it won't remain repressed any longer. I couldn't push it back. I didn't want to. Hatred is a powerful emotion. Mine was so strong; it threatened to tear me apart into a million pieces if I didn't control it. I knew I couldn't keep it inside me any longer and so I decided to use it to my advantage. I tried to get my anger to focus into my magic, so that when I do finally burst, Voldemort would feel the hatred I felt for him. I thought maybe it would even be strong enough to kill him."
"A lot of the times, our magic are tied to our emotions. You really put it to good use, but I can't imagine having such strong negative feelings," said Hermione.
"Me either. I felt it. I felt a portion of your hate and anger just before the explosion. I can't imagine what it must be to like to have it actually aimed at you."
"So, what happened next?"
Harry sighed and took a moment to calm down the feelings that stirred from talking about it. That hatred was still there, but it wasn't as strong.
"Then I killed him. I can't remember the exact details, but everything I felt for him spilled out of my wand. He had nowhere to run and my magic shot through all the shields he tried to conjure and killing him as a result. While all of you were blinded by the light and dark, I saw everything clearly. I saw my spell hit him. I saw him shake as the spell touched all corners of his body, mind, and soul. Then I saw him fall. Lifeless to the ground," Harry said, his voice oddly detached.
"Oh Harry…" Hermione said, tears in her eyes.
I couldn't speak. Hearing everything in Harry's point of view was a lot different from what I saw as an outsider.
Harry continued as if Hermione hadn't spoken. I think he knew that if he stopped, he wouldn't be able to finish telling us everything.
"The realization that I'd killed someone didn't hit me. Not yet. He wasn't just anyone. He was the one that murdered my parents. He was also the reason why Sirius wasn't here. He took away from me so many of the people that I love. At that moment, I didn't feel anything. I just knew it was something I had to do. Something that had to be done. But that neutral feeling didn't last long. I've never killed anyone before. Even though, I knew that this was what I had to do a long time ago, it didn't make me feel any better. He'd ruined so many lives and made mine a living hell. But what I had to do was also the last straw. He turned me into a murderer, like him. I swore I'll never be him, but I never had a choice. I never had a chance. I don't want to be a murderer. I never did."
At that point, Harry's voice was no longer able to remain steady and aloof. I knew that Harry was doing everything to stop from breaking. At least, not until he's let everything out.
I pulled out my wand and conjured a bottle of liquor. It was just enough to keep him together for a while longer and not become completely drunk at the same time.
"I knew his blood was forever on my hands. In my wand. I hated him even more then. Everything I was feeling became a jumble in my head and before my mind comprehended what I did, the body disappeared and reappeared at my house. When the extra Aurors arrived, I was too frozen and numb to give them any answers. And when I finally felt too weak to stand and to stay awake, I gave in to my exhaustion. When I regained consciousness, and people started asking me if I was sure that Voldemort was dead, I couldn't say anything but 'yes, I'm sure'. After everything I went through, he better be dead. I was trying to convince myself…that it was finally over and that I saw him die. But there was this nagging doubt in my mind that wouldn't go away. I was scared that it wasn't over. That Voldemort's death had all been a fragment of my imagination. I couldn't go through that again."
Harry took another drink with his shaky hand. He wouldn't look at us. He had a far off look on his face, as if he was truly reliving everything that he was telling us.
"When I was finally released from St. Mungo's, I went back to my house, wishing I had stayed unconscious. Every single moment when I wasn't doing anything, I thought about what had happened. I thought about what I did. I've thought about it so much that it seems as if I was remembering a dream that I had. Sometimes, the details were blurred. Sometimes, they were crystal clear. Then I found the chamber. I didn't build it. It was just there. When I found out what was inside, I no longer doubt that it happened. But for some reason, I needed to be reminded everyday that it was all real. I began going down there to see him, just so I could temporarily erase all of my fearful doubt that it wasn't over. I didn't put his body here. I feel like I'm losing my mind. I want this doubt to go away. I'm scared all the time and when I'm down there without this doubt, I'm disgusted at what I was doing. And I'm painfully reminded that what I did was true. That I am a murderer. I don't know which is better, doubting that I was a murderer, or knowing that it was over, and that I did kill."
I was speechless. I never imagined that it could be this bad. He had kept all this to himself for a whole year… He finally looked like how he feels. Harry was distraught. I didn't know what to do, what to say. I looked to Hermione who hadn't stopped crying since Harry started talking. I felt my own eyes watered at all the pain and worry that Harry was feeling. We found out later that Harry subconsciously transferred Voldemort's body to his house. I was angry at myself. We should've done this earlier. Why didn't I question him and try to find out all this as soon as I felt that something wasn't right!
I didn't notice when Hermione had finally stopped crying. Then I looked at Harry who sat on the bed, looking worst then he ever did.
What are we doing! He just told us everything and we're just sitting here. He probably thinks we're disgusted by him or something.
As if reading my mind, Hermione rose from her position on the floor and surprised Harry by throwing her arms around him in a hug. Harry immediately stiffened, still not used to such affection after so long. Hermione let go one of her arms and mentioned for me to join the hug. I did. It wasn't just a hug. It was one that that told him that no matter what, we're here for him. We'll make it up to him for not being there before.
I think Harry finally realized that we weren't leaving him or going anywhere anytime soon, when we didn't let go for a while. He slowly relaxed and awkwardly hugged the both of us back. Before we knew what was happening, Harry's body was wrecked with sobs that I thought were long overdue. He didn't make any sounds as he cried and neither did we, as we held him.
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I've always wondered how he came out to be the same Harry after everything he's been through. How was that possible? It turns out that it wasn't, possible that is. He was just very good at hiding what he felt.
I've always been a little thick, or so Hermione tells me. Often, might I add. I'd been a bloody fool to not realize what Harry had been going through alone for a whole year. We were all fools. Maybe except for mum.
She had the right idea. She was the only one to suggest that Harry see a professional. Of course, Harry refused with the much-overused answer of his.
"I'm fine."
Ironic, isn't it? Harry was anything, but fine.
Our biggest mistake was that sometimes, we forget that Harry is as human as any of us. Of all people, I couldn't believe we let his hero persona swept us away. No matter how strong he appears to be on the surface, he wasn't immune to everything. He wasn't the invincible Harry Potter that everyone believed him to be. He was Harry. Just Harry.
We all needed to remember that.
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The End.
A/N: No matter how talented, how smart, how strong, how careful, how competent someone may seem to be...they will always be human. Prone to failure and mistakes.