Paper Plane

By: Lady Lithe

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, which is copyrighted by J.K. Rowling and I'm not making any profit out of this except for creativity and distracting myself until the final Harry Potter comes out, so please don't sue.

Summary: After the Final Battle, Harry decides to leave everything behind. Ron, Hermione, Professor Lupin, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley...and Ginny. It's been seven years since then. Is Harry finally prepared to go home and face all that he had thrown away? And why had he left in the first place?

Naru-chan: Hi, hi! New fic! What fun. ;) Okay, the real reason why I wrote this was because I love Post-Hogwart fics where Harry disappears. So full of angst. But the thing is, all of those that I have read have been in Ginny's point of view. So I thought, what would it be like if it were in Harry's point of view? I wanted to explore the reasons to why Harry would leave in the first place and how he dealt with those years away.

It's very interesting, to be inside of Harry, especially one that's older and darker than the young Harry we all know and love. For once, we get the other side of the story. I tried to do the plot justice, and I hope you agree.

And I'm working on my other stories!

Chapter One: How Long Can You Remember

Sometimes I wonder. How long can you remember voices? I get worried and repeat it several times in my head. I can remember it; I can still remember it. But… what if I could never see her again? I wonder if it's the shape or the voice that lasts until the end.

-Mayama, Honey and Clover

It was a large gray room, with gray walls and a gray ceiling that seemed to stretch for miles. Perhaps it was because no posters or photographs donned the dreary room, no warm rugs or cheerful mats with corny quotes lay on the floor, or no little house-warming trinkets could be found anywhere. But here was an expensive silk dress, and there was a pair of black trousers with the fine leather belt still looped through the holes. If it hadn't been for the several articles of clothes that were strewn across the floor, torn off in a whirl of passion, one would have, no doubt, come to the conclusion that no one lived there at all. There was not much furniture either. An empty desk, aside from a few pieces of crumpled parchment and ruffled quills, a single drawer, and one lone large double bed was all that filled the nearly empty room.

And on this very bed, Harry Potter currently struggled to open his sleepy eyes. After this momentary battle, he found himself gazing at his bleak gray ceiling. He had moved into the apartment a while ago (when exactly, he no longer remembered – or cared), but he had not remodeled it. He hadn't made an effort at all.

He let out a soft sigh. He was so tired… When was the last time when he didn't feel the bonds of exhaustion tying him down? He stretched his long neck while reaching out to pick up his thin wire glasses and place them over his weary eyes.

He tilted his head and another sigh almost came out of him. Next to him was a gorgeous woman. She was as naked as he was, her long brunette hair curling against her pale body. He closed his eyes. Oh right, he recalled. This was the reason why he was tired. He always was after he was with another new one. Now what was this one's name? He mulled this over for a moment, but he didn't give this thought too much time before he just let it slip away into the many layers of his brain.

He supposed he needed to get up. But he did not. He could not feel it in him to. How long had it been since he last truly felt alive? He almost snorted sardonically at this thought. It was because it was so obvious. The last time he had felt alive was…when he had been home.

Shoving these unpleasant thoughts away, he busied himself by forcing his body to rise. The white blanket slid off his lean, pale body. Slipping on a white bathrobe, he leisurely traveled to his bathroom, idly kicking aside clothes that lay scattered in his path. He threw a casual glance at his appearance in the lengthy mirror in the bathroom. He was most certainly no longer the scrawny, underfed, and malnourished boy he used to be – the one that had been forced to wear unfitting, dirty, and torn garments. A twenty six year old Harry had replaced the eleven year old one. Indeed, he now ate the finest of foods and wore the nicest of clothes. His black hair, however, remained as unmanageable as ever. His long bangs fell over his half opened eyes and he absently attempted to flatten the black mass to no avail. There was a dark stubble on his face, which gave him a rather edgy look, but he simply shrugged and undressed.

He was very grateful when he entered the shower and felt hot, almost scathing water burn against his flesh. Only at times like this did he feel remotely animate anymore. It woke him up temporarily from what seemed like an endless dream – an endless nightmare.

He shut his dark, forest green eyes and ducked under the water, feeling the water wash over his handsomely rugged face and cause his thick, raven locks of hair to plaster against his pale skin.

"Come on in!" her bubbly voice laughed, sounding like beautiful and familiar music. "The water's wonderful."

He ran his hands through his hair. The water continued to pound against his vulnerable head.

"Oh, don't be a prune," she scolded playfully. Her crimson tresses danced around her lovely face. "Water never hurt anyone!"

He rubbed his hands over his frowning face as his head began to throb. Had her voice really been that high? Or had it been lower…? Husky yet sweet…yet…

"You can do it, Harry," she encouraged softly as her rosy lips curled upward into a delightful smile.

"I can't…" he mumbled, feeling the water drip over his open mouth.

"You can do it…because I believe in you…" her voice echoed...but it sounded a bit off, as if she was speaking at a great distance. And then she lifted her arms toward him while her gentle eyes…her gentle eyes…

What color were her eyes?

Harry felt the panic pierce him sharply. Frantically his hands slammed the water shut and he stumbled out. Unconsciously grabbing and throwing his bathrobe back on, he raced, tripping and stumbling, into the bedroom. Throwing open his drawers hysterically, he began hurling objects out, not caring where they landed or what happened to them. His sole goal was to find it.

"Harry?" a drowsy voice called out from the bed, but he didn't hear. There was only the wild hammering of his heart.

"Where…where?" he moaned madly to himself.

"Harry, baby, what's wrong?" the woman asked, sitting up in the bed. She quietly and cautiously left the bed, wrapping the bed sheet around her thin body.

"WHERE IS IT?" he screamed, now tearing through his possessions like a man possessed.

"Harry!" she gasped, jumping back in fear.

"Oh Merlin…thank you…thank you…" He fell to his knees, clutching a single picture frame in his shaking hands.

The woman inched closer. Her dark, brown eyes curiously looked over his shoulder, and she gasped quietly at the photo. It was a young Harry Potter in a comfortable blue shirt. But this Harry wasn't looking at her. No, he was absorbed with the young girl donning a white sundress in his arms. When he thought she wasn't watching, he would gaze at her full of love. Framing her perfect face were her bright and brilliant crimson tresses, which the young Harry occasionally buried his face in. The young girl laughed at this, her cheeks splashed a happy pink, but hugged him tightly, enjoying the comfort of his closeness. Occasionally they would lean in and softly kiss one another.

This young Harry wasn't the Harry she knew – or rather the one she had met. For the Harry she knew of was the one whose name was constantly highlighted on every tabloid with the name of another random witch. The one in the picture wasn't the smooth man who had bought her a drink at the party, just like the thousands of other parties he always attends. It wasn't the quiet and mysterious man who had kissed her so passionately and ravaged her whole just the night before. It wasn't the man who had dark, clouded and lost eyes. And she couldn't help but wonder why.

"Who's that?" she heard herself ask. She immediately regretted her question because Harry's – the older Harry's – wet head spun around, his dark eyes flashed dangerously.

"Who said you could look?" he spat ferociously, stashing the frame away from her. "Just because you're here you think you can barge into my life and what? Thought you could get close to me – cure all the dark scars of my past? Thought you could make the famous Harry Potter fall in love with you?"

"I – I just," she stuttered, taking a step away.

"Get out."

"W-What?" she asked incredulously.

"GET THE BLOODY HELL OUT!" he roared. He wildly grabbed a mirror from the top of the drawer and heaved it at the wall next to her. It smashed with a piercing crash as she screamed shrilly. She frenetically grabbed her things and Apparated away.

Harry shakily took the picture out again. Her eyes…they were a warm, happy, dark chocolate. He let out an unsteady laugh. How could he have forgotten? He suddenly found himself blinking away hot tears as he fell to his knees.

It had been seven years since he last saw her…heard her…touched her…and now even his memory of her was slipping away from him.

Naru-chan: In case you haven't read my first A/N, I thought I'd repeat here that this was written to show Harry's point of view while he was away. On another note, I love memories...so expect them coming your way. Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter and what I have coming for you. I hope you'll enjoy discovering why he left in the first place.

Please review?